19 || burnt out writer and impulsive fangirl || REQUESTS ARE OPEN ||
Statistics
We looked inside some of the posts by blueposthings and here's what we found interesting.
Inside last 20 posts
Time between posts
2760415
Number of posts by type
Photo
0
Video
0
Audio
0
Text
0
Chat
0
Answer
0
Link
0
Quote
0
Explore Tagged Posts
blueposthings · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
324K notes · View notes
blueposthings · 4 days ago
Text
Little Informant (pt.3)
Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide aka death of Brock Rumlow, daddy issues :D
Word count: 2.8k+
————————–
You were brought to the Avengers Compound and they had you checked up by the doctors they had on standby. They confirmed your injuries to be a broken nose, a sprained wrist, some bruising on your stomach and back, and a couple of hairline fractures to your ribs. The doctor let you go with a request of staying out of fights for at least a couple months but the team wouldn’t let you off that easily.
So here you were, tailing a billionaire with a goatee as he led you from the elevator to the conference room of the Avengers Compound. Upon arriving, you became… uncomfortable, to say the least. The room full of notorious heroes couldn’t help but stare at you; the bruised and battered teenager wearing a loaned SHIELD shirt a couple sizes too big with a cast on her wrist. They stared at you because despite your unfamiliar existence, you reminded them of the man that, one way or another, almost tore them apart for good.
For Steve, it was the man who he had trusted and worked with until he betrayed him and tried to kill him on multiple occasions. For Sam, it was the man he fought only seconds before he almost died among the rubbles of a collapsing building, the man he thought he left to die in that same building. For Wanda, it was the man she had thrown through a construction filled with innocent people as she watched him blow himself up, no way of escaping death. For Bucky, it was the man that had commanded him to do despicable things by day and watched him get tortured by night.
Even with the holes you could feel burning into your figure, you held your composure and straightened your back. When Stark told you to sit, you did so while you held your head high, not afraid to make eye contact anytime you caught another’s eyes. You steadied your breath, you hid your emotions and fear, you pretended to be someone you weren’t, because that’s what a Rumlow does.
Keep reading
46 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 4 days ago
Text
Little Informant (pt.3)
Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide aka death of Brock Rumlow, daddy issues :D
Word count: 2.8k+
--------------------------
You were brought to the Avengers Compound and they had you checked up by the doctors they had on standby. They confirmed your injuries to be a broken nose, a sprained wrist, some bruising on your stomach and back, and a couple of hairline fractures to your ribs. The doctor let you go with a request of staying out of fights for at least a couple months but the team wouldn’t let you off that easily.
So here you were, tailing a billionaire with a goatee as he led you from the elevator to the conference room of the Avengers Compound. Upon arriving, you became... uncomfortable, to say the least. The room full of notorious heroes couldn’t help but stare at you; the bruised and battered teenager wearing a loaned SHIELD shirt a couple sizes too big with a cast on her wrist. They stared at you because despite your unfamiliar existence, you reminded them of the man that, one way or another, almost tore them apart for good.
For Steve, it was the man who he had trusted and worked with until he betrayed him and tried to kill him on multiple occasions. For Sam, it was the man he fought only seconds before he almost died among the rubbles of a collapsing building, the man he thought he left to die in that same building. For Wanda, it was the man she had thrown through a construction filled with innocent people as she watched him blow himself up, no way of escaping death. For Bucky, it was the man that had commanded him to do despicable things by day and watched him get tortured by night.
Even with the holes you could feel burning into your figure, you held your composure and straightened your back. When Stark told you to sit, you did so while you held your head high, not afraid to make eye contact anytime you caught another’s eyes. You steadied your breath, you hid your emotions and fear, you pretended to be someone you weren’t, because that’s what a Rumlow does.
“So,” Tony broke the silence. “Wanna tell us your name?”
You diverted your gaze to the man. “Y/N.”
“Okay, Y/N,” he sat down across from you. “Where have you been all this time? Because honestly, I couldn’t find anything about you for the life of me.”
“Minding my own business.” You said, a sharp edge to your voice.
Steve spoke before Tony, stopping the two of you from getting into a snarky comments fight. “Tell us what happened.”
You leaned back in your seat, trying to make yourself look less intimidated, less small. “I got back to my apartment, and there was a man trying to kill me.”
“Who was he?” Natasha then spoke up.
“Beats me,” You shrugged, “said he was an old family friend.”
“So he knew you?” Steve leaned in, resting his forearms on the table.
“No.” You shook your head. “He said when I accessed the information I gave to you, it sent a signal to them, and they thought my dad had come back from the dead.” You paused. “But he knew my name.”
“And that is weird… why?” Another man from the far corner of the table you recognized as Colonel James Rhodes inquired.
“Well if your genius of a friend here couldn’t figure out my name without asking me himself, I don’t suppose your everyday hitman could.” You bit, a defensive tone never leaving your voice.
“You said ‘they’. Who is ‘they’?” Steve asked, disregarding your attitude.
You sighed, exaggerating your exasperation. “I don’t know, okay? HYDRA, Hero Mercs, whatever- he did try to recruit me into his whatever-little-army, which I declined. Then he wanted to know what I did with all the shit I got from that laptop. He wasn’t very happy with the answer.”
This time Bucky leaned in with interest. “He tried to recruit you?”
“And I said no.” You repeated yourself, putting an emphasis on every word. “He went ballistic and almost shot me in the head but I shot him first, beat his ass unconscious and ran like hell.”
“Which was impressive, by the way.” Clint couldn’t help but say.
You pulled your lip in to a sarcastic smile. “Thanks. I suppose my dad taught me a thing or two.”
You noticed the way everyone would tense everytime you mentioned your dad. This time Steve looked down for a second, you could swear there was sadness and guilt in his eyes. Good, you thought. You knew it was probably selfish to think this way, The Avengers probably did what had to be done and plus, they didn’t know Rumlow had a kid, but you still wanted them to feel bad. You wanted them to at least think of the unknown damage they have bestowed upon hundreds of people while they were fighting the big fight.
“Speaking of,” Tony cleared his throat. “You know anything about what your dad did? At all?”
“Aside from what he told me, no. Not one bit.”
“And what did he tell you?” Natasha inquired.
“That he worked for SHIELD.” You let your gaze divert to the wall across you, staring at nothing. “After SHIELD was gone he said he’d gotten recruited into another security agency. I didn’t know anything about this-” you paused, gesturing to nothing in particular, “mess.” You sighed again, your defensive and rude facade faltering ever so slightly. “Then one day he left for a mission and never came back.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Sam said after a moment of silence.
You only looked at him, face unreadable. After that, you went back to the cocky, overly-confident brat you were. “So, can I go now?”
“No.” Steve answered without missing a beat. “You barely made it out alive, Y/N. It’s not safe for you to go back out there by yourself.”
"Yeah, remember the last time you tried to do that?" Tony asked rethorically, gesturing to the bruises on your face and the cast adorning your wrist.
You rolled your eyes at the man.
“We have more than enough space here for you. You should stay.” Steve said, although his tone made you believe it wasn’t really a suggestion.
You let yourself think for a short moment. “For how long?”
“Until we clear out every immediate threat,” Tony answered as he pulled up the hologram showing a bunch of digital files. “With the information you’ve given to us, I’d say about four weeks.”
With a deep breath you say “okay.” The fact that you had agreed a bit too quickly raised a few questions for everyone around you but they figured not to push their luck.
Tony raised to his feet. “FRIDAY, show Y/N one of the empty rooms.”
“Of course.” An unknown being voiced ahead. “From the door to your right please, Ms. Rumlow.”
You were surprised with the AI addressing you by your last name, but as always you recomposed yourself within a split second. No one even noticed your quick flustered demeanor aside from Bucky and Steve who picked up how your heart rate sped up just a little bit. You rose from your seat and left without a second glance, following the directions from the AI echoing the hallways.
You were left to your own accords for a few hours, FRIDAY left a message from Tony that said you should settle in. But the only belongings you had brought was your knife and the gun Steve had yet to return to you. The sun was already rising, you haven’t slept in almost three days but even after the long night you’ve had, you still couldn't sleep. So you sat on the edge of the way too comfortable bed, staring off to the skyline.
There was a knock on the door right around six o’clock in the morning. You pulled yourself out of your train of thought and stood to open the door. On the other side was Sam Wilson, his hands were behind his back and it seemed like he had aged a couple years since you last saw him merely hours ago.
You looked at him expectantly, mouth shut waiting for him to speak.
“I have something you probably want to have.” He unclutched his right palm in front of him, his eyes studying your reaction upon seeing your father’s dog tags in his hands.
You grabbed it hastily. “Where did you find this?”
“In your apartment,” he said truthfully. “I probably shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.”
You didn’t reply, you only looked at the metal tag sitting in your hands. You wondered how you could have missed it. When you lost your dad, you quite literally lost your dad; you didn’t even know where your dad was buried -or if he was even buried at all. And for three years, your dad’s dog tag was the only remains of him that you had. You had held on to it for so long but you must have forgotten about it after your mind was too clouded by HYDRA, Hero Mercs, and the fact that everything you thought you knew about your dad turned out to be a complete lie.
“Sam.” You didn’t even register the word leaving your mouth. You sounded so scared, so broken. So small.
The older man raised his eyebrows. Though your eyes weren’t meeting his, you could feel him staring at you. You’d expected judgement, deprecation, but you could only feel kindness maybe even a bit of sympathy.
“Is it wrong?”
“Is what wrong?”
“That I still- that I still love him,” you sniffled, tears glistening your eyes, “even after I know what he’s done.”
“No. Of course not.” There was no hesitation in his answer. “People are… complicated. I didn’t know your dad like you did. But from what I’ve gathered, he was a good dad to you.”
You nodded. Because he was an amazing dad. He lied to you, that’s obvious by now, but in the back of your head you believed it was because he wanted to protect you, he wanted what’s best for you. And that’s what made you held on through the past few days.
Sam suddenly continued, his tone changing to one more serious and deep. “Steve didn’t kill him.”
“What?” You finally met Sam’s eyes in a surprise, blinking your tears away.
“He, uh- he killed himself. Steve was there, he was the last person to talk to him and I think he felt responsible.” Sam added with a sigh. “I thought you should know,”
“Oh.” You felt a crippling dull pain crawl from your chest to the rest of your body. Your dad killed himself? Why would he do that when he knew you were waiting for him to come back home? You were just a kid -hell you’re still a kid now, he wouldn’t do that to you. Would he? No, no, he cared for you, he wouldn’t leave you if he had a choice… Right?
There was a moment of tense silence, you were processing and internally panicking and Sam, well truthfully he didn’t know what to do at the moment. He had worked with a handful of war-wounded veterans but he had never consoled a teenager before, let alone a teenager who had just learnt that her mass-murderer father intentionally left her when he decided to blow himself up.
When he looked up, he was greeted by a slam of the door. He flinched, wondering if he made the right decision by telling you what he told you. He finally sighed, sparing one last glance to the door closed tight before walking away.
You sat on the floor, your heart was pounding so hard that you forgot about all of the injuries you had obtained less than six hours ago. The metal accessory you had once thought to be a source of warmth and a reminder of love was now as cold as ice, you could almost feel the letters ingrained into it glaring at you. A reminder that the man you thought you knew, you thought you could rely on, the man you grew up looking up to was nothing else but a stranger who shared the same DNA as you.
Then you planned.
You planned all the things you were going to do within the next four weeks you will be cooped up in this tower. The Avengers now know who you were; where you lived, and so did the people who worked with your dad who now probably wants you dead. You can’t stay in New York anymore so you planned your disappearance. Faking your death might seem a bit far fetched, too dramatic. So you decided after these four weeks were up, you would leave. You would leave with a smile and an expression of gratitude to the people who have protected you. Then you’d say you would return to your apartment and process, you’d need some alone time, about a week. You would tell them to leave you alone for a week, but they were welcomed to visit afterwards. But you will be long gone by then.
EXTENDED ENDING
Afterall, you didn’t just inherit your father’s last name, or eyes, or jawline, or cocky demeanor. If there was one thing you’ve learnt about your family these past few days, is that the Rumlows are one hell of a liar.
You found yourself walking home one night when you came across a TV in a store’s front display playing a live news report. You held your breath, not stopping the small smile creeping up your lips.
SAM WILSON IS THE NEW CAPTAIN AMERICA
Proud was an understatement. You might not have known him for too long, only for four weeks, but during those weeks you saw how kind, thoughtful, and responsible he really was. Sam was arguably the person who cared about you the most, despite what you’ve heard from Vision -who, mind you, has no filters whatsoever- his encounter with your late father wasn’t exactly a pleasant one. You listened to Sam's speech the other night and you knew there was no one more suited to takeover the mantle than him.
You have been thinking for a while about what would have happened if you never left New York, if you have stayed with The Avengers. Maybe you would eventually become an Avenger yourself, maybe you would have fought against Thanos, maybe you would’ve been blipped -or even died. There were so many possibilities, however none of them made you regret the decision that you made.
Besides, fighting the big fight wasn’t really your thing, you’ve figured that much. You didn’t have superpowers or flying suits or extensive Red Room training, all you had were the skills your father left you with and some self-taught tricks you learnt while you were on the run. And if with great powers comes great responsibility, then your smaller power comes with smaller responsibilities; can’t say you’d complain. So with a mask covering your face and a fake name to hide your identity, you stayed on the ground; protecting the little guy. That’s what you’ve been doing for at least three years now and you gotta say, Baltimore has quite grown on you.
“What do you think?” A familiar voice rang, breaking your train of thought.
“Of the new Captain?” You glanced at your boyfriend beside you. “I think he’s the right man for the job. Glad he finally made the decision, I don’t imagine it was easy for him.”
“Yeah,” he nodded knowingly. “I bet.”
It was silent for a couple of minutes, the both of you stood hand in hand as you two listened to the news reporter reviewing the stunts the Flag Smashers tried to pull yesterday night. However, the silence was soon broken by the shrill of a police siren passing by you across the street.
You looked at your boyfriend apologetically.
“Well, I guess that’s your cue,” he smiled at you teasingly, “Shadow Trail.”
“Oh, shut up.” You pushed him by the shoulder lightly.
“I really wish I could go with you.” The smile on his face turned into a sad one. His hands lingered on your hips, unwilling to let you go.
“And give your grandpa a heart attack?” You joked, poking his nose to try to lighten up the mood. When it didn’t work you sighed, looping your arms around his neck. “I know you do, babe. Soon, maybe. Okay?”
He planted a kiss on your lips, mumbling an “okay.”
There were a couple more police cars passing by you and you forced yourself away from your lover. “I gotta go, I love you.” You turned to walk towards the direction the police cars had gone.
“I love you too.” He said before you got too far. “Bring that beautiful face of yours back home safe!”
“You bet!” You shouted over your shoulder but then you stopped and turned on your heels. “Oh, and Eli?”
His eyes hadn’t leave yours when he tilted his face to the side, cocking an eyebrow.
“If you see Sam again, tell the Captain I send him my best regards.”
Tag list: @iamthescarlettwitch @sincerely-kizzy @ineedmorefanfics @moonyinthestars @mjaudrey @anon03030
The laugh that left his lips was bubbly, genuine. “I will, Y/N.”
With the MCU starting to drop hints in kick-starting Young Avengers I thought why not give a little tribute to it. I was thinking about making more fics based on this Y/N when Young Avengers and Eli Bradley as Patriot becomes canon in the MCU where Shadow Trail would eventually become a part of Young Avengers. With her family background and her history with The Avengers I feel like it would be a fun storyline to play with. But I would love to know what you think!
46 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 4 days ago
Text
i love seeing the little bits of y/n's relationship with other members of the avengers family🥺 pepper being a mother, sam being like the cool uncle/big brother, and ofc peter "bestie vibes only" parker (and bucky being a protective dad)
also i cant wait for my girl to fuck walker up.
everything i wanted (ch.6) • bucky barnes x teen!reader
Tumblr media
CHAPTER SIX
summary: you get a devastating phone call revealing the demise of steve rogers. now, the shield is placed in doubtful hands, you make a trip to queens, and how the hell did bucky end up in baltimore? word count: 5700 (HOLY COW its LONG) warnings: funerals, loss of a parent, cussing, brief mentions of separation anxiety, John Walker a/n: thank you guys for the overwhelming support! hope you enjoy this long one! :) @idiotonlegs thanks so much for the idea of adding in peter! though not as a love interest, wouldn't have thought about it without your comment <3
prologue - chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six
masterlist
Loss isn’t exactly new to you. It had reared its ugly head quite early on when you lost your mother to terminal cancer. While you were young, you could still remember the heavy air left in her absences after that. It took a while for your dad to find that glint in his eye after losing his love, but eventually things had gone back to the way they were before. Every Mothers Day you would leave her flowers at the marble headstone, tiger lilies were her favorite, and eat her favorite ice cream at the local parlor.
Then The Blip happened. You were at school when kids started to disintegrate before your eyes. The basketball you passed to Randall had never met his hands, left covered in his dark ashes. Kids shrieked in fear, teachers as pale as ghosts as they maneuver kids throughout the dusty halls.
The pain of losing your friend was nothing compared to when police officers came to pick you up from school with heads hanging low. The worst part? He wasn’t dusted, he was killed by someone who was. Crushed by an 18-wheeler, killed on impact.
Spending time in the shelter wasn’t awful, and the volunteers weren’t neglective, they were overwhelmed. Only one lunch for each kid, no matter the circumstances. The shelter was nice, equipped with toys and clothes for each child, but living in a home with other orphaned kids reminded you how alone you were. Ma, Pa, there was no one else.
Steve came into play then, providing that paternal figure that you desperately needed. You went to your first day back at school beside him, cried with him when he talked about the people you’ve both lost, learned to drive in his car next to him. He was there for everything.
Maybe that’s why getting the phone call hurt so much.
Downtown Brooklyn Nursing Home had your phone number on file since Bucky wasn’t tech-savvy in the slightest. You’d get weekly phone calls telling you how he was doing, where he was mentally, etc. At first you’d look forward to those calls, claiming to be his ‘great-granddaughter’ and talking to him over the phone like nothing had changed.
But then it hurt talking to him over the phone. He never knew what time he was in, whether he was in 2012 where he needed to fight an alien army to protect Earth, 2018 when he had seen Bucky dust before his eyes, or 2022 where he was teaching you to drive in the parking lot. Other times he was asking when Peggy was coming to visit, claiming that he missed her that she should come home from the office soon.
But Steve was gone, fully this time. Not frozen at the bottom of the atlantic for 70 years, not lost in the past with the love of his life, he was laid on his bed with closed eyes and a resting heartbeat. The nursing home called and told you that he went peacefully, that he wasn’t in pain. But it went unheard in hindsight. That night you found yourself stuck to Bucky’s side like glue, tears cascading down your cheeks until morning. You hugged his arm to your chest like it was a stuffed animal, snot clogging your nose as you sobbed quiet and loud alike. Bucky was just as broken as you were. But you had each other.
- - - - - - -
Steve’s funeral was beautiful. Covered in flowers and pretty reds and blues. His family with Peggy Carter sits in the front row, sobbing and sniffing at everyone’s loss. The remaining Avengers on Earth attended as well. Rhodey sat quietly in further rows, tears brimming in his eyes yet none falling, Clint sat next to him with shaky shoulders and laboured breaths.
Sam sat next to you in the second row behind the Carters, shoulder bumping with yours as you clutched Bucky’s right hand.
There was a lot of crying that day and the days to come. Sam, who you had spoken to after the funeral and finally got his phone number, had checked in with you every couple of days with texts and phone calls. Rhodey gave you his phone number too, letting you know that if you needed anything he would be there ASAP.
Not long after Steve passed did the government ask about Captain America. This, of course, led them in the direction of Sam.
- - - - - - -
The school days were moving slow. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours. It wasn’t until lunch did the teenagers find a pep in their step. It seemed like each and every one of them were glued to their phones, more than normal at least. They spoke in whispers and glanced up at you, as if they were waiting for you to say something, as if you were a zoo animal and they were beckoning you over with a treat.
You sat down with your lunch in hand, glancing up at different cliques every now and then to find their wandering eyes on you. Eventually, a nice boy from your economics class, Marshal, sat down beside you with his phone out.
“Have you seen the news recently?” He asked, gesturing to his open phone. With a small frown you shook your head. His eyes held a sympathetic look as he handed over his phone to you. You glance at him wearily before dragging your gaze to the illuminated screen.
CAP IS BACK: JOHN WALKER NAMED CAPTAIN AMERICA
It was as though all the air that filled your lungs dissipated, and there was no more left for you to take in.
With a pale complexion and an uneasy stomach, you handed Marshal his phone back and practically sprinted to the bathroom, all eyes following your retreating form. You could not have gotten to the bathroom quicker, tears brimming in your eyes and shaky hands clutching the sink.
Sam had the shield. He called and told you personally about giving it to the smithsonian earlier that week. So who the hell was John Walker and why is he carrying your Dad’s title like it’s his own?
With a few shaky breaths you glance at yourself in the mirror, face red in silent anger and eyes puffy from tears. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and sigh. The phone rings once before-
“(Y/N)?”
“Hey Sam!” A false happiness fills your tone. “You wanna explain to me why there's a Cirque du Soleil clown on the news playing dress up with my dad’s shield?” Sam sighs over the phone, you could practically imagine his distraught features at your words.
“Kid, I’m sorry. I had no idea that was gonna happen.” A scoff fell from your lips.
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, Sam. Man looks like he came out of Party City with the adult size costume in hand.”
“Shit, maybe he did. Ya never know.” You chuckle softly, tears coming back to your eyes. With a sniffle you wipe them away, letting out another shaky breath. “I really am sorry, cher. If I knew they were gonna parade someone else out with it I wouldn’t have given it to the Smithsonian.”
“I know, Sam. I’m just so angry at everything right now.” The bell rings, signalling the end of lunch. “I’ll call you later, but expect a feral Bucky on your ass soon enough if he hasn’t spoken to you yet.”
“I’d expect nothing less from him, honestly. Bye, kid.”
The line ended before you could respond, leaving you alone in the raunchy school bathroom with a boiling anger and wet cheeks.
- - - - - - -
As you walked out of the school campus, teenagers watched your every move like you were a ticking time bomb. But you couldn’t exactly blame them. With the tension in your area tight as a rubberband, it was like they were walking on eggshells.
You rushed down the large staircase with your phone pressed to your ear, phone ringing at an agonizingly slow pace before you were sent to voicemail.
“(Y/N)... What the hell am I supposed to s-” A groan fell from your lips, eyes screwed shut. You really needed someone to rant to, to get some sort of a distraction from the burning pile of garbage that is your life. With the blaring posters burning the image of John Walker into your eyelids, there was nowhere to turn without seeing him glaunt the shield like it was a play thing.
You brought your hand to your mouth, rubbing your chin roughly while letting out a shaky sigh. Rhodey was there with Sam when he handed the shield over, Scott had been spending lost time with his daughter, Rocket and Nebula were reunited with the Guardians in space, and Okoye was in Wakanda protecting the throne. Everyone was busy, and Bucky didn’t answer his damn phone.
You took long strides to the side of the road and hauled a cab. Eventually a bright yellow car pulled over. The door opens, revealing battered leather seats with inexplicable stains. With a breath you enter the car, swiping out a lone 20 dollar bill from your pocket and hand it over to the driver.
“As far as you can get me to Queens with this, please.”
- - - - - - -
Wandering the streets of Queens was not how you expected your day to go. Then again, this day had been nothing but a disaster the second you stepped out of the apartment. But the streets of Queens made you on edge more than Brooklyn, partially because you’ve spent enough time there to walk the sidewalk with your eyes and ears covered. Queens was unfamiliar territory, something you hadn’t had to experience since returning to Brooklyn. But you weren’t here just for a stroll.
As you walked, your gaze focused across the rooftops of each building. After about an hour you sighed and leaned onto the brick wall. How the hell were you supposed to find one person in all of Queens by just strolling? Now you were stranded without spare change for the bus or a few bills for a cab. With a strangled groan, you pushed yourself off the wall, shaky legs trotting further into the city.
“Hey! That’s my purse!” Your ears perked, head turning to find a man in all black darting into back alleys and a woman haphazardly following him, tripping over her own feet clad in heels. In a moment you were sprinting, following the thief desperately. He was fast, but scrawny. If you could get him under your boot, yanking away the stolen purse would be a piece of cake. Just as you turn yet another corner, a flash of blue and red swooped by, resting unnaturally against the wall. Spider-Man in all of his nerdy aura.
“Hey man! Nice fanny pack!” He quips before shooting a web from his wrist to the man, a satisfying thwip following. Spider-Man jumps to the man, landing a swift kick to his gut. The thief's hand was stuck to his side, leaving him heaving with his face pressed into the concrete. A satisfied hum falls from your lips.
“Nice work, Spider-Boy.” Spider-Man yelps, turning to you with comically large eyes through his mask. You strut down the alley, yanking the purse from the perps hands and prodding at him with your foot. “Really got him good.”
“Miss Rogers!” He says. You send him a smile and wrap the purse over your shoulder, stalking back down towards the street.
“It’s (Y/N), Spidey. Miss Rogers makes me sound older than Bucky.” He sticks the thief to the floor securely, sending him a wave and a ‘Bye, Mr. Criminal!’ before following you.
“Sooo…” He starts, watching as you handed the purse over to the woman from before. She thanks you and Spider-Man profusely before dashing to her own car and diving off. “What brings you to Queens? Don’t you live in Brooklyn with Sergeant Barnes?” He asks. A small frown graced your features.
“You’ve seen the news?” He nods slowly, looking off into blank space.
“I have. I’m sorry about that, by the way. It’s pretty messed up they gave him Captain Rogers’ shield.” He cautiously sticks to the wall and climbs as he speaks, reaching the top of the building after he finishes his statement. You glance around, finding a fire escape and climbing with ease to meet him up there.
“Yeah, well I’m currently burning with anger and don’t wanna rant to my cat back at home, so I thought I might as well team up with Queens’ very own Neighborhood Spidey. Punch a few purse stealers, pick a cat out of a tree. The usual.” With a shrug, you look towards the boy. He hums and nods.
“Well, we best get a move on then, (Y/N).” You could practically hear his grin in his words. He rushes to your side and securely wraps his arm around your waist.You yelped, he pulls you both off the ground and jumps down off the building. A shrill shriek fell from your lips as you free fall, eyes screwed shut and anticipating the hard ground.
It never came. Instead you were flung into the hair, dropping a few feet before being flug once more as you clutch to his torso. The adrenaline shoots through you, a loud laugh echoing off the buildings of Queens as he travels across the city.
- - - - - - -
The rest of the evening was as anti-climatic as the purse theft. You and Peter had caught a bike thief, (you gave him a firm talking to while he recovered from your anger filled punches) saved a baby kitten from a tree for a little girl nearby, and pointed a nice old man in the direction of the closest bookstore. (He bought you both ice cream).
The sun was just about to set as the both of you retired onto a rooftop, Peter’s mask pulled off his face in favor of the ice cream he was gifted. You happily ate the soft serve ice cream while watching the sun retire, lost in thought. As Peter starts to eat his delicious reward, you pull your phone out of the zipped pocket in your backpack, finding a few missed calls from Sam and Bucky. With a sigh, you place the phone to your side, watching the sky go from blue to a bright orange.
“Ya know,” Peter started, looking towards you as you turned your head. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it to your dad’s funeral.” His gaze fell to the floor. “I really wanted to, but everytime I wear that suit it reminds me of…”
“It’s okay, Pete. I’m not mad at you or anything like that.” A weak smile graced your features. You both sat in a comfortable silence. You shift your waist towards him fully. “How do you do it?” Peter gawks.
“Do what?”
“Keep smiling.” You run a hand through your hair with a shaky sigh. “You’ve lost so much and still wear your nerdy science puns shirts and babble my ear off about Star Wars, how?” He stares at you wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing a few times before clearing his throat.
“I’m not too good at this talking thing, but I’m gonna try the best I can.” He sighed before making eye contact with you. “I keep putting on my fabulous shirts because I know that’s what they would have wanted. I get up and get dressed because I know Aunt May wants me to keep smiling and living for those who didn’t have the option.”
“My uncle Ben told me before he passed that ‘With great power comes great responsibility’. That’s why I keep putting on the suit. I could protect so many people with my powers and if I ever told Ben before he…” He cleared his throat. “I keep on going because there are a lot of things to look forward to. Like getting my first car or taking MJ out on a date.”
“But Steve left me!” You exclaimed, picking at the skin around your nails, tears welling in your eyes. “He had the chance to come back to me after returning the stones, but instead he stayed with Peggy Carter and played suburbia with her in the past! He had a choice and he still left!” A tear rolled down your cheek, but the frown on your face didn’t stem from anger, it came from rage.
“And now we have John Walker, a soldier who went to Afghanistan and came back with three medals of honor. Like that matches the qualifications of being Captain America.” With a scoff you wiped your face roughly, cheeks still wet with tears. “Now there’s a guy trying to be my dad for the rest of the country, parading around like a celebrity waving the shield around as if it were his play thing.” An agonizingly long silence fills the air as the sun sets past the horizon. Peter cautiously reached over and placed a hand over yours, squeezing softly.
“I don’t know how you feel, no matter how much I wanna tell you.” You looked up to him, puffy eyes meeting his hazelnut colored ones. “But I know you mean a lot to a lot of people.” With a firm nod, he looked back to the skyline. “Plus you fought in an alien war for the sake of half the universe, so that put you pretty high up on the pedestal.” A soft chuckle fell from your lips.
“I did save your ass that day, huh?” He rolled his eyes and nudged your shoulder, laughter falling between the two of you. The silence was broken by your ringtone. With a sigh, you reached for the phone to your side and moved it to your ear. “Hel-”
“You are receiving a call from an inmate at Baltimore Detention Center…”
Your eyebrows furrowed, pressing the phone further into your ear.
“(Y/N)?”
“Bucky? What the hell did you do? Why are you in Baltimore?”
“The only time you answer your phone is when it’s a random number?” Bucky’s harsh tone silenced your retortion, guilt growing ever so slightly. Your silence led him to sigh. “We’ve talked about answering your phone, (Y/N). I was about to send a search brigade after I called you back and you didn’t answer.” You sighed, very aware of Peter’s gaze on you.
“I know, Buck. I’m sorry. I wasn’t exactly in a great mindset earlier. But why the hell are you in Baltimore?”
“I missed therapy.” He answered simply. With a groan you closed your eyes and looked to the sky. Peter stifled a laugh from your side. “I know what you’re gonna say, kid. I just…I’m your only listed guardian, so they may come to the house.” He finishes quietly. Your stomach drops, gulping an invisible ball in the back of your throat.
“Cant I just go there? So they don't take me anywhere?” Your question was quiet.
“How are you gonna get here, doll? I can’t exactly book you a flight from behind bars. I know you don’t wanna go with them, but It’ll only be for a little while.”
“No!” You exclaimed, putting the phone on speaker and scrolling through contacts on your phone, finger hovering over ‘Pepper Stark’. “I can get there, just give me an hour or two.”
“Wha-?”
“I’ll see you then. Gotta go, love you!” You ended the call abruptly, grimacing at his tone before you pressed the red button. With a sigh, you stood up quickly and stuffed your phone in the jacket pocket. Peter followed your movements watching as you checked for any lost belongings. A sheepish smile was sent his way. “Sorry to cut this short.” He shook his head soft.
“Don’t be, May wants me home soon anyway. Gotta finish my homework and watch a couple of episodes of ‘Jane the Virgin’ with her before she smacks me across the head.” With a small giggle you reached over and wrapped your arms around him. He sputtered before he returned the hug.
“Thanks for the talk, Pete.” You said softly. He smiled sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck.
“It was nothing.”
“Give yourself more credit. It was a pretty good talk too, considering you started it warning me.” He snorted while pulling on his mask, watching you gracefully slide down each fire escape. As you walked off across the street, you turned around with a smirk.
“Tell May that if she likes Michael more than Rafael we’re not friends anymore!”
- - - - - -
After a long awaited call to Pepper Stark filled with motherly scolding, you hopped off of the private plane with a fresh debit card forced into your wallet. “If Barnes is gonna get himself into trouble, you gotta be able to take care of yourself, sweetie.” She told you to text her every once and a while, to check in and let her know that you’re okay after Steve’s passing.
Now, you were walking into the detention center with a soft scowl, nose scrunched up at the bright white walls. You eventually found a waiting room, making your way to the front desk. The receptionist looked up at you through her lashes, eyebrows raised as she took in your appearance.
“Who are you here for?” She asked, voice nasally and high. You try your hardest not to cringe at the sound.
“James Barnes, ma’am.” You may be angry, but the manners that have been drilled into you since 2018 outweigh your anger. She seemed to like your formality, a smug smirk on her face as she types on her keyboard.
“Name?”
“(Y/N) Rogers.” She looks back up to you, the frown on her face returning as she takes in your appearance once more. With a sigh she leans back into her chair, pen in her hand.
“Listen, sweetie,” Your eyebrows furrow at the nickname. Apparently only Pepper can call you that without it leaving a bad taste in your mouth. “Mr. Barnes can’t have any fans pretending to be related to his friend. So go on and get out of here before I have to call security.” Your jaw dropped. Who the hell did she think she was? She couldn’t kick you out, just because you don’t look related to Steve.
“You listen hear you old hag-”
“(Y/N)?” Sam came up from behind you, confusion laced in his features while pulling you close to his side. A huff fell from your lips, glaring at the receptionist. “What’s going on over here, cher?”
“I don’t know, maybe ask,” You reached over the counter and glared at her nametag. “Marie.” Sam turned to her expectantly, eyebrow raised. She shrunk under his gaze, looking into her lap. Sam hummed, placing his hand on the small of your back and guiding you to a set of chairs. With a triumphant smirk sent her way, you sat down on a chair and gave Sam your full attention.
“(Y/N), why the hell didn’t you answer our calls? Bucky was kinda freaking out, so was I.” You nodded thoughtfully.
“I didn’t mean to, I was just… busy.” You shrunk under his gaze, looking away from him when he gave you a pointed look.
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Hanging out with Parker. Saving cats from trees and stuff.” As you shrug nonchalantly, Sam rolled his eyes.
“We are gonna unpack that with Barnes later. With that out of the way, how the hell are you in Baltimore right now?” With a sheepish smile, you reached for your wallet in your school backpack and waved it around.
“Made a call, Pepper apparently wanted to give me a debit card after Buck got his pardon, but we kinda rushed to the city by then.” Sam deadpanned.
“Pepper sent you to Baltimore?”
“Along with a scolding session, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, plopping down on the chair next to you. A few minutes pass in a comfortable silence, Sam zoning out and you picking at your nails. Then, a woman clad in a green coat and a pair of jeans walks up to you both.
“Sam? (Y/N)? I’ve heard a lot about you both. I’m Doctor Raynor, James’ therapist.” She held her hand out. Both you and Sam stand to shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” You state with a pleasant smile. She sends you a smile back and shakes your hand before turning to Sam.
“Thank you for getting him out.” Sam says. Doctor Raynor’s smile turns humorless.
“That was not me.”
“Christina!” Your blood ran cold, jaw setting as you laid your eyes on John fucking Walker. As he takes a selfie with a passerby, he glances over at Doctor Raynor. “Great to see you again!”
“You gotta be kidding me.” You muttered, glaring harshly at the blonde as he walked over.
“I heard you were working with Bucky so I thought I'd step in. Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.” He glances at all three of you as he speaks. Raynor lifts her eyebrow.
“But we haven’t finished our work, who authorized this?” He smirked and pointed to himself. A scoff fell from your lips, turning to look away from him before you accidentally blew a fuse. His eyebrows furrow in your direction.
“He’s too valuable an asset to have tied up, so just do whatever you gotta do with him and send him off to me.” Your head snapped back towards John, eyes burning in rage. With a finger pointed to his chest a snarl falls from your lips.
“If you call him an asset one more time, I will shove that shield so far up your ass-”
“(Y/N).” Sam glared at you through the corner of his eye, stepping on your food ever so slightly. With a hiss your eyes pulled away from Walker to Sam, a half-hearted stare coming from you. John watched with raised eyebrows before turning on his heel.
“We’ve got some unfinished business, him and I. You too, Wilson.” He waved over his shoulder. “I’ll be outside.” You watched as he pushed the door open with gusto, a flamboyant smile gracing his features while he walked out.
“Ace?” You twisted on your heel, turning towards a newly released Bucky standing by the receptionist. Within a few strides you wrap him up in a hug, gripping the leather of his jacket. He sighs into your hair before pulling away, a stern look on his face as his eyes dance across your form. “Don’t you ever hang up on me again.” You nod silently, leaning back into his side and relaxing for the first time since the morning.
“James, condition of your release session, now.” Doctor Raynor walks through a corridor. “You too, Sam. (Y/N) dear, I wanna talk to these two bozos alone for a while, then I’ll come back and speak with you .” You nod slowly and release your grip on Bucky’s forearm, resting both hands behind your back. He watched with concerned features before reluctantly following Sam and Raynor. With a sigh, you plant yourself back into the cheap chair and pull out your phone. It was low from the amount of phone calls you’ve received, leaving you with only about 10 percent of battery to play Subway Surfers. Your knee bounced up and down to its own rhythm, eyes glued to your screen in a desperate need to drown the gnawing feeling deep in your stomach.
Surprisingly enough, only five minutes had passed before footsteps echoed from the corridor they had gone down earlier. Sam stalked out of the doorway, a scowl on his face as his gaze fell on you. After shooting you a silent nod, he takes long strides out of the waiting room and into the fresh air of Baltimore. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched his form, looking back to the corridor to find Bucky trekking silently. His gaze meets your, offering a small nod while making his way over to you.
“First door to the left, doll. She’s waiting for ya.” He muttered to from your side and patted your shoulder, leaving the office with a final squeeze. After a shaky sigh, you trotted to the heavy door and pushed it open.
There, Dr. Christina Raynor sits in a poorly lit room with a notebook laying on the iron table in front of her. Despite the accommodations of the room, the cold temperature and a lack of windows, her kind smile beckons you to sit in the plastic chair across from her.
“Hello (Y/N), I’ve heard a lot about you.” She said, holding her hand out over the table. You shake it firmly, flashing a sweet smile her way.
“It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to the name, Ma’am. I hope you’ve heard good things?” As you pull your hands away, she shakes her head gently.
“Please, call me Christina or Raynor or Doctor. Anything else besides ma’am. It makes me feel my age. And I’ve definitely heard good things.” An awkward silence fills between the two of you. After a moment, you cleared your throat and adjusted your legs in the chair, the space suddenly feeling a bit too small.
“I’m gonna be real, doc. I have no idea why I’m in here.” Dr. Raynor hums and nods, before pulling a pen out from her bookbag and, almost dramatically, jotting a few notes in her book. “Ah, the famous notebook.” She rolls her eyes softly as she finishes up her sentence before looking up to you.
“I know you don’t know me very well, dear. But from what I’ve heard in my sessions with James, you lost your father very recently.” Wow, the table seemed really interesting right about now. “And now someone is marching around wearing his name with stride. I don’t know how you’re feeling but if I were in your situation, I’d be pretty pissed.” You gulped silently, studying each scratch on the table's edge. Raynor sighed, you could hear the sound of the ink meeting paper. With a sigh, you broke the silence.
“I don’t…” She stopped writing and glanced up at you. “Know how I should feel right now.” She gently placed the pen down and let her hands rest in her lap, all attention on your nervous form.
“My dad left me willingly with Bucky. That’s kinda messed up if you think about it, no matter the circumstances. Throwing your child onto your best friend because you missed a woman you kissed once in the 40’s.” You looked up from the table to meet her gaze. “That messes with a girl’s self image, ya know? Why wasn’t I enough for him to come back and live with me? What could she give to him that I couldn’t?”
“And now Walker’s walking around like he owns the country, oozing characteristics that are - were - opposite to my dad’s. Let me tell you, ma’am. If Sam didn’t stop me back there I woulda ripped him a new one.” The brunette chuckled softly. “I swear! He woulda been so butt hurt about it, running back to D.C with his tail between his legs.”
“I believe you, (Y/N).” Another silence sat, this one more comfortable than the last. “Because your father left, you’re stuck to James like glue.”
“I wouldn’t say-”
“(Y/N), I saw you as taut as a bowstring until he walked out. You can't exactly deny that.” You huffed and looked away, yet didn’t rebut. What could you say? You aren’t tense when you don’t know where Bucky is? That would just be lying.
“Listen,” Raynor started. “I’ve worked with James enough to know where his priorities lie. That man would burn the world to ashes if you asked him to, he’s not going anywhere.”
“Getting a weird sense of deja vu here, doc.” A fake smile came to your face. She deadpans at you before shaking her head.
“Well James doesn’t have time travel, does he? He doesn’t have anyone to go to besides you, (Y/N). I’m sure his highlight of the day is when you get home from school and actively hang out with him rather than kids your age.”
A vibration comes from your pocket, drawing your attention from the woman in front of you.
Sam: Almost done? Your staring machine will not stop pacing. Sorta pissing me off.
With a sigh you stand from your chair and gather your bag. Dr, Raynor raises her eyebrow in question.
“Gotta go, The Falcon calls.” She rolls her eyes, but you don’t make a move. With a rush of confidence, you reach over and hold your hand out. She smirks softly and places a business card in your hand.You pull away with a sheepish smile as you head to the door. “Um, this was better than I thought it was gonna be. I may or may not call you with requests for a second date.” Raynor scoffs and looks to the side, an amused smile playing at her lips. “I mean it! Maybe I could even bring you a coffee and ask you out like a real gentleman!”
“Get outta here, Rogers. Before your pet bird comes to pick you up.” With a laugh, you walked through the door and down the hall, a small smile gracing your features as the cool air of Baltimore hits your face. Not far from the exit do Sam and Bucky sit, the former leaning against a small brick wall with his arms crossed and the latter pacing slowly a few feet in front of him.
“Hey, losers.” You greet while walking, a smirk set on your features. Bucky’s head snaps towards your direction, looking you up and down for any distraught before flashing you a small smile of his own, bumping shoulders.
“Finally you’re out of there. I think a few more minutes without you and he woulda walked himself to the Earth’s core.” Bucky sends Sam a glare over his shoulder as the three of you start walking down the street. “I’m not wrong, man.”
“I know you weren’t wrong, Sam. Why do you think I came out so quickly? I like it when my guardian isn't trapped under the asphalt.” Sam barks out a laugh and Bucky’s sends you a half-hearted glare.
“You’ve got some nerve back talking like that, kid. After you decided to hang out with a boy all day instead of answering your damn phone.”
“I just returned this lady’s purse! And an old man bought me and Parker some ice cream!”
“I told you no boys until you’re 50, you’ve betrayed our code!”
“What code?!”
TAGLIST (OPEN): @sofiapadilla28 @illuxions-x @mackycat11 @idiotonlegs @spiitfires @bonkybarnes107 @deedepee @blueposthings @crypjm @poetbarnes @loudbluepancake @astroponyo
37 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 5 days ago
Text
Little Informant (pt. 2)
Warnings: Violence, blood, language
Words: 2.1k+
---------------------------
You had taken your time in getting back home, the fifteen minute walk turned to two hours when you decided to take a stroll around town. It was late, too late for a frail girl like you to be roaming the streets of New York all by yourself. But you had to clear your mind. Besides, with your self-defense skills along with the trusty butterfly knife you always had with you at all times, you were pretty confident.
However, when you finally arrived back at your apartment, you had noticed several things out of place; the dust on the right side of the door frame, two feet above the floor, had a gap, you were sure you hadn’t touched it; the nail of one of the panels on the creaky floorboard was slanted, someone had tripped on it.
There was an intruder in your house.
You slowly grabbed your knife from your jacket pocket before reaching for your keys, intentionally shaking it in your fingers. You turned your keys and opened the door with your left hand, the knife on your right, ready to fight. When no one ambushed you, you crouched down like you were going to untie your shoes when in fact you reached for the gun you had stored below the shoe cabinet.
You replaced the knife in your hold with the handgun, holding it firmly with both of your hands before peeking out from the corner of your doorway. Sure enough, stood a man about six feet tall dressed in all black in your poor excuse of a kitchen, you noticed he was holding a pistol of his own in one hand and a framed picture of you and your father in the other.
“You do look like him, you know?” He said, acknowledging your presence.
“Who are you?” You had your gun trained on him. Your gaze unwavering, despite your heart trying to beat out of your ribcage.
“You can consider me an old family friend.” The man placed the frame back to the countertop as he turned to you.
“Why are you here?” You stood your ground at the front doorway as he approached you slowly, his gun in hand.
“When you opened that laptop, it sent a signal to us. We thought Rumlow had come back from the dead so I offered to go.” He said, ever so casually. “Then I found these photos and, I gotta say, I’m quite surprised. I never took your father as- well, a father.”
He was only a few feet in front of you now, your gun pointed straight to his chest. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“If you’re anything like Brock, you could be a great asset to us, Y/N-”
“How do you know my name?”
“Perhaps, you might want to consider joining us? Your father would be proud.”
“I’m not an asset,” you gritted out. “And I’m nothing like him.”
This perked your intruder’s attention, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Oh?”
You realized then that you might have spilled something you shouldn’t have. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, your hands struggling to keep your weapon steady.
“Do tell me, Y/N. What did you do with the information from that laptop?” His tone was now much sharper, accusing.
You searched your brain to try and find a believable lie, something that wouldn’t put your life in danger. In your moment of silence, the man in front of you grew impatient and furious.
“Where were you just now?”
“None of your business.” You finally said, your voice giving you away with a crack.
“What a shame.” The man sighed, bowing his head to the floor for a second. “I hope Brock’s gonna forgive me for this one.” Then he raised his gun at you, with anger in his eyes.
Time seemed to slow down when you pulled your trigger. However, the man managed to avoid it at the last second, the bullet only hitting his shoulder. The force pushed him back and he let go of his gun, his good hand holding his wound.
“Little shit.” He cursed before charging at you.
You re-aimed your gun, but due to the close distance between the two of you, he successfully pushed it away. He used his whole body weight to knock you back to the wall, resulting in you losing your grip of the pistol in your hand. You grabbed your knife from your pocket, forcing the butt to his head, making him groan as he stumbled ever so slightly. You pushed him back by the injured shoulder, your thumb digging in to the bullet wound. You then kneed him in the stomach, your dominant hand twirling open the knife and stabbing him in the back. You pushed his body off of you with all your might and tried to make a run for it.
You only managed to get a couple of steps away when he grabbed your foot. You tripped and fell face first to the floor. You groaned, your head was spinning and you could feel blood oozing from your nose. The intruder dragged himself up with his good arm while you tried to collect yourself. You still had the knife in your hand so you tried to land another stab to his leg, but he blocked it, grabbing your hand and twisting it so you’d drop the weapon. But what you lack in size and power, you made up with agility -when he yanked your arm up, you used the momentum to help you jump up and straddle his neck with your two legs, your arms holding him in a choke hold. He tried to get you off but between the bullet and the stab wound, he was already losing a lot of blood. He stumbled around, crashing through your coffee table and one of your bookshelves. At one point he went close enough to the TV stand where you had an old glass vase on top. You grabbed the vase and swung it to his face, it broke and he fell unconscious with you below him. You were sure you must have heard a crack, but with the adrenaline numbing your pain you couldn't tell if it was his bone or yours.
------------
When you noticed he wasn’t moving, you took a second to collect your breath. Eventually, you pushed him off and got up, grabbing your knife and both guns before running off.
“And we believe the kid?” Clint crossed his arms. He stared at the back of his teammate’s head, almost seeing the cogs in his skull turning.
“Yes, I know she was telling the truth.” Steve said, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. “I could feel it.”
“No offense, Cap. But when it comes to the sake of the planet’s security, I would rather not go on gut feeling.”
“Have you considered maybe this is just your guilt speaking?” Natasha chimed into the conversation from the other side of the table.
Steve was silent for a moment. “It’s not,” he finally said, although it seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.
“As much as I hate to say this, but I think the oldman’s right,” Tony sat back down on the closest chair to the front of the room. “I don’t think she was lying, at least not about this.”
“I say, it is better to be safe than sorry.” Vision spoke up, his gaze not leaving the files displayed on the holograms.
“He’s got a point. We have this information- the location of everything. Why don’t we go see for ourselves.” Rhodes added.
When no one interjected, the room took it as an agreement. Tony was about to tell FRIDAY to display the closest base that they could locate when the A.I. had another idea.
“Tony, there has been a 911 call from the address you told me to look out for.”
This got the man on his feet. “When?”
“Just a few seconds ago. The neighbors reported hearing gunshots and loud crashes. The police are on their way, they should arrive in eight to ten minutes.”
“We can get there in two.”
----------------
They got to your apartment in exactly eighty four seconds. Tony, along with Steve, Clint, Sam and Natasha rushed past some of your curious neighbors and arrived in front of your door. Your keys were still in the door knob when Natasha pushed the door open. Obviously the first thing they noticed was the situation of your living room. And the unconscious man on the floor.
Clint approached the bleeding man, checking for a pulse. “He’s alive, barely.”
Natasha tossed him a pair of handcuffs and the archer gathered the unknown man’s hands before securing him. She then entered a nearby closet in an unsuccessful attempt of finding the apartment’s owner.
The rest of them looked around the ransacked apartment trying to get an idea of what happened or who this man was. Steve picked up one of the photographs that was shattered on the floor, the one your intruder was looking at earlier. There was a pit forming in his stomach as he processed what he was seeing. You’d taken the photograph at your middle school father-daughter dance. He was always at work, but that day he had taken a day off to attend the event for you, even took you shopping to get a nice pastel pink dress and a tie for him to match. You grinned in that photo, unintentionally showing off your braces; your father had his hand around your frame, a gentle yet charismatic smile adorning his lips.
Sam went further to the apartment, ending up in your room. He took in the decorations -or rather lack thereof. Your walls contrasted those of the living room, aside from one old poster of a band Sam didn’t recognize, there was only a bed in the centre of the room. He stepped out of the room and entered another. There was more personality, more life, in this room. Ironic really, seeing as it was your late father’s. There were pictures of him and you on his bedside table, among other things. His bed was unmade but dusty. He spotted a glimmer beyond the papers strewn across the floor. Curiosity led him to picking it up; it was a dog tag. He pocketed it before appearing back to the rest, shaking his head.
“Hey kid!” Tony hollered. “It’s Tony! With The Avengers?”
Silence.
Suddenly the front door re-opened with a force. The five heroes immediately got to a fighting stance.
“NYPD! Put your hands where I can see ‘em!”
The team sighed, half in relief and half disappointment. Upon realizing that the Avengers themselves were in front of them, the police officers lowered their weapon with faces full of questions.
“With all due respect,” one of them spoke nervously, “what are you guys doing here?”
“Our jurisdiction.” Tony snarked with sarcasm before going back to looking around the room.
“That man needs medical help.” Natasha stepped up to the officer, pointing at the body on the ground. “We don’t know who he is yet but we assume he’s bad so keep an eye on him.”
Steve rested his shield on his arm before picking up one of the framed pictures that looked the most recent before giving it to a different officer. “Look for this girl, she might be in danger. And injured.” It was one your father had taken of you only a few months before you last saw him, you had grown a little since then but Steve thought it should do.
“There might be no need for that,” Tony called. “One of the security cams across the street spotted a girl running away from this building, must be her.”
Steve nodded. “Let’s go.” And with that they were off, leaving the police to take care of the crime scene and culprit while they search for you with the guidance of FRIDAY.
----------------------
You finally decided you couldn’t run any further; your chest was heaving, your head was spinning, your back was killing you, and you’re pretty sure the man had sprained your arm. You stopped at an empty alley, a good block away from your building. You let your body slide down the wall to the concrete below you in exhaustion. You lifted your shirt up to see a purple bruise starting to form on your upper stomach. You raised your hand to wipe off the blood staining your face but only ended up spreading the red liquid everywhere before you limped, your muscles giving out. You sighed, turning your brain trying to find out how you were going to get out of this one.
Then you felt a presence to your left. Your instincts kicked in, grabbing the gun you had carried and aiming it to the figure.
“Wow, hey. Put that down.” The figure said, three more people emerging behind him. “It’s me.”
God damn the Avengers. You thought, lowering the gun in your hand. You let your head lull back to the wall behind you.
You heard a metal clink from your other side. “You’ll manage, huh?”
You couldn’t find the energy in you to return the attitude.
Tag list: @iamthescarlettwitch @sincerely-kizzy @ineedmorefanfics @moonyinthestars
I know this is very much long overdue, i hope you'll still enjoy it regardless xx
37 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 6 days ago
Text
Ah still one of the best series I've ever read ever. Definitely my favorite, we're about to see 3b in some action! I can't wait!
New York, Interrupted
3B; Part 4 - Masterlist
Summary: Bucky is used to being alone, so is the girl living in apartment 3B. He keeps to his routine, to crossing off amends. But mutual loneliness forges an unlikely friendship. Alone and reclusive, sweet and incredibly strange, with deep secrets and regrets, 3B has more to reveal than meets the eye.
This Chapter: The reader confronts Bucky. They find out they have a common problem.
Pairing: Bucky X Reader
Word Count: ~6.9K
Warnings: Mentions of death, abandonment issues, mentions of racism, fatws series spoilers
A/N: This series from this point forward assumes that you've seen fatws. This will be 6 parts and will take place before and during fatws. Please let me know what you think!
Tumblr media
August 2023 - 3 months after the return
She’s standing in the entrance to one of the reception tents for the camp that had sprung up just outside New York, trying not to scream. A hot breeze plucks at her skin, ripping her raw. It feels odd to be visible, to feel so seen, to know people are looking at her. Her sister stands at one of the many tables, signing paperwork, listening carefully to the aid worker in a crisp black t-shirt and jeans, just the right amount of sympathy on his face.
She digs her fingers into her palms in an effort not to fade and flicker and disappear.
My mother is dead, she thinks distantly. Not disappeared, not lost, not waiting to come home. She’s dead and it's her fault.
It isn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known. What were you supposed to do, stop living your life for five years and wait? Sit in the apartment and never leave? Her sister had asked on the car ride over, always the realist. The scent of the rental car, clean and sleek, and the pulse of guilt in her belly had made her want to vomit.
Maybe, she had said. Maybe I should have.
Standing straight-backed and strong at the table, she can see how her sister wants to cry, she can see it the way her shoulders slump slightly, in the way she breathes, shaky and hard, pretending to listen to whatever the aid worker is saying. It reminds her of the day their father died, how she had stood next to their mother and not shed a tear, not made a sound.
Her sister had been unfairly lucky. She had reappeared and found her family intact. Her husband and child remained unchanged, having been blipped away too. Their home was kept by her in-laws, who didn’t sell and had let no one inside. Her sister’s life was exactly the same as it had been the day of the blip, only she hadn’t been able to reach her sister at her Georgetown apartment, she hadn’t been able to reach her mother in New York.
“She told us that her apartment had been repossessed and she had nowhere else to go,” she can hear the aid worker recounting the story she already knew well. “No one was there and there was no contact information. The DC number didn’t work.”
Her sister touches his hand, “Thank you. I know that everything was done that could have been.”
“Well, hopefully people are able to go back to their homes soon. It’s crazy right?” He opens his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “You think everything is the same and then someone else is living in your house? I can’t imagine.”
She turns and walks away, not able to listen anymore. Her mother and sister had been blipped but she hadn’t been. The apartment was her property, gifted to her shortly before her graduation. New York was her home. She should have been in New York when the blip happened, she should have been in New York when the return happened.
She should have looked harder for her mother, as soon as people started showing up again. She should have been able to save her mother. She should have been there to do something, to help.
The grounds outside the white reception tent are filled with other people trying to find loved ones, some are hugging and crying, others carry sheafs of paper determinately striding away. Some look devastated. People that hadn’t been blipped away are arriving, receiving meager food, having been kicked out of whatever home they had made for themselves during the blip.
She pauses and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for her sister to finish coddling the GRC rep and catch up.
She watches as a child is led by another aid worker toward a set of parents who fall to their knees in tears. How had they managed to go on all those years, their only child ripped away? Blipped to oblivion? How had any of them managed to survive the grief without end, the uncertainty of what had happened?
How was she supposed to go on now? How was she supposed to go on, after all that she had done, after the one failure she promised she would never commit? Letting her mother down was never part of the plan, no matter what other sins she had committed.
She thinks of all the disturbed lives.
Human lives floating by, bumping into each other and moving on, seeking something, the lives they led before, their friends and family and sanity.
“He would not stop talking,” her sister huffs as she approaches, shoving paperwork into her bag, her eyes rimmed with tears as she struggles not to cry. “Her...body,” her voice wobbles dangerously, “will be moved to a funeral home today. We can make arrangements tonight, sort out what we’ll do with the apartment-,”
“The apartment is mine,” she says sharply. “What would we do with it?”
Her sister stares at her blankly, swiping away tears from her cheeks. “Well...I thought maybe we would sell it. But it's such good property and rent controlled-,”
“And where would I go?” She asks, aware that she sounds unreasonable.
“You said it yourself, you haven’t been in New York in years.” She looks away from her sister’s earnest eyes searching her soul, a sharp pain wracking her chest, guilt settling snugly between her bones, making a home of her tired body. “Hey,” her sister takes her hand and she jumps so hard at the sudden contact that her sister tilts her head to the side in askance.
She isn’t used to touch anymore.
God, she is so tired. She wants to go home.
“Hey,” she tries again, slowly releasing her hand. “It's me and you, kid. We’re all that’s left now. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just don’t want you to be alone. I thought you could come live with us in Portland.”
For a moment, she imagines it. Selling the apartment, packing away their childhood home, moving to a new start, away from the stalking past and haunting future. But the future is dimmed in her mind by dust and ash, by neighbors and friends and family disappearing again and again and again. The future is darkened with a stain, that she will become something terrible again, that she didn’t deserve to move on.
“I can’t leave New York again,” she shakes her head. In New York she knew who she was supposed to be, what she was supposed to do. “I should never have left.”
“You couldn’t have stopped this. Mom wouldn’t have expected you to remain exactly where you were. She would have wanted you to live, to move on and-,.”
“You don’t know what it was like,” she whispers, eyes jerking up from the ground to meet her sister’s gaze. “You weren’t here, you don’t know what I did. You didn’t have to see people lose everyone, you didn’t hear the screaming, or feel the confusion. You didn’t have to lose everyone. You didn’t-,” she stops, throat working hard, trying not to cry. “All I ever wanted was to be enough, to do the right thing. For mother, for everyone. I did what I thought I had to, and I was wrong. I ran away.”
Her sister reaches out and pats her cheek. Her sister who used to be five years older, but who has suddenly become her twin. She never realized how similar they looked. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But, I know you have always been enough. We were never ashamed of you, we were afraid for you. We never wanted you to have to make those choices. Whatever you did or had to do these last couple of years, it was what you thought was best. You have always wanted to do good.”
She feels her face contort with grief, with unshed tears and regret, and thinks of the comic books slipped under her door, of pretending at being an avenger during the Battle of New York. “But I did make those choices,” she whispers, “And if I were in New York, mother wouldn’t have come to this camp. She wouldn’t have died. I didn’t need to be a hero like you always let me believe, I just needed to be here. And I wasn’t.”
She pulls away from her sister’s hand. “Go ahead back to the apartment. I’ll catch up.”
Her sister says her name, gentle and tired but she can’t look at her and eventually she walks away.
For a moment, she stands in silence, letting the grief circling her heart sink into her bones, wash her in regret. She watches her sister pass through the crowd and through the gates, back to the parking lot beyond where they had left the car. The sun is high overhead, the day already hot and humid.
“You’re her aren’t you?” Someone asks close by her shoulder.
She flinches away from the sudden presence beside her and turns.
A man stands there, assessing her, eyes flicking over her before he grins. “It is you,” he confirms, sounding impressed. He says her name and she feels dread settle over her.
Layered over her intense sorrow, it's almost enough to make her vomit. She steadies herself against one of the tent’s wooden poles. “How do you know my name?”
“Vanish,” he says. “That’s what people called you. Vanish.” He sounds almost reverent and it makes her take a step back.
“I don’t-,”
“I know what you did. I heard you talking to your sister. She’s right, you did the right thing. You helped save a lot of lives.”
She scoffs and rubs one hand over her forehead. “What I did was terrible.” Those first few horrible, confusing days after the blip, where the whole world felt like it was burning down, suddenly doesn’t feel so distant. The days where she hadn’t been able to return to reality, where she tore and ripped and burned, just to be felt, just to not feel so alone.
The man doesn’t reply for a moment, only stares at her. “If you hadn’t killed those people, many more would have suffered and died. You saved people. They were able to keep going because of you.” He gestures out at the crowd, “Now look where we are. People like you in a place like this. We kept the world running and now we’re being kicked out of it again.”
“My mother died.”
“And this place killed her. We could use someone like you.”
She glances over at him, suddenly afraid, wishing she could crawl back inside her own skin, disappear from this stranger’s prying eyes. She’d been apart of something before and didn’t care to do it again. “And who is we?”
In response, he hands her a square of paper, a red handprint against black, the outline of a world. “The Flag Smashers. You wouldn’t have to kill. We aren’t killers. But we could use someone with your gift.”
Flag Smashers.
Her gift.
She doesn’t have to ask what their mission might be.
She crumbles the paper in her hand, “Telling yourself that you know better, becoming judge, jury, and executioner for everyone around you is a dangerous road to go down. It eats your soul. Everyone coming back isn’t going to be an easy transition but you have to give it some time.”
“They already want us kicked out and I know you don’t stand for things like that. We just want to keep our homes.” He nods to the paper, “Offer’s always good, if you want it.”
Present Day
When Bucky makes it back to the apartment building, he knows he’s fucked up. There’s been a roaring in his ears, a rage cutting around the edges of his heart, since he saw the goddamned announcement. John Walker with Steve’s legacy like it belonged to him.
He knows he should have texted 3B, but by the time he missed their dinner he was already out of New York, on his way to DC, nothing on his mind but confronting Sam Wilson. But getting the shield back to who it rightfully belonged.
And then so much else had happened.
The Flag Smashers, and the supersoldier serum making its rounds in the world again, and John Walker and the shield.
He doesn’t want to think about any of it. He doesn’t want to think about how he will have to face Zemo in a couple of days, how the serum always brought death. He doesn't want to think about a stranger carrying around the last memory of his oldest friend, his only connection to his past and who he used to be.
But Bucky really doesn’t want to think about how he just left 3B without warning, without so much as a word, without so much as a text.
He tells himself he hadn’t had a chance, not until they were on the jet back to DC and then Baltimore. And then it had seemed wrong, like he was too late anyways. He told himself he might as well wait until he was back in New York, so he could properly explain where he had been, why he hadn’t been around, in person.
He’s afraid that it will be too little too late, that she might not want to hear from him at all. That he’s broken the thing between him that they had crafted so delicately and with such care, that he’s lost her before he ever really had her.
A thread of anxiety wraps itself around his lungs and pulls taut, razor wire against the soul. Bucky hasn’t been able to properly breathe in hours, the fear circling him making it impossible.
Sam had looked at him curiously when he said he had to take care of something in New York, that he’d be back in DC in time to make their flight to Germany. Even after their confrontation in the police station, Sam was still courteous and hadn’t asked, promising to text details when he had them.
He should have texted her the second he walked out his front door, he knew how spotty communication could be out in the field, whether from signal or opportunity. He should have stopped in at her place before he left but the blind panic and rage hadn’t let him.
Jogging up to the third floor he comes to a stop outside 3B’s door, looking at the brass lettering against the dark wood.
He imagines her mother and sister, her father, all the neighbors that used to frequent the quiet apartment standing outside the door as he is now, laughing and mourning, carrying food and gifts, arriving for dinners and birthdays and holidays.
Bucky can’t help but feel inadequate, like he did not belong, did not deserve to be there.
He knocks.
He waits.
Two minutes pass, then three.
Anxiety squeezes his heart, chews into the middle of the softest parts of him. He knocks again, reminded of the first time he had called on her, how she hadn’t answered right away.
When ten minutes have passed and pounding on the door has yielded nothing, he resolves to pick the lock. He could just snap the bolt but decides against it, decides that breaking down her door would likely not gain him any favor.
Five seconds later, the door swings open under his hand to an empty apartment, though he does have to break the security chain.
He calls her name, silence echoing back at him.
3B hasn’t left the apartment since their outing to 7-Eleven, aside from her occasional appearances at his own door at all hours of the day. A fear of the likes Bucky has never known reaches up and crushes his heart in an icy fist. Someone could have taken her, something terrible could have happened to her, but a quick check proves all the windows untampered with and the security chain had been in place before he ripped it out.
Was she gone or invisible, silent and waiting for him to take a hint and leave?
“3B, please,” he says. “If you’re here, please sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Something came up, I had to go. I should have let you know.” He turns in a slow circle, hands spread wide in supplication. “I didn’t get a chance to reply and then by the time I did I was already on my way back.”
Bucky tries not to think about her texts, the missed calls.
Bucky Barnes, you’re late. That means whatever counter argument you have for me is automatically wrong.
Will you be here soon? This is one of those times you should text me back.
If Bucky Barnes doesn’t arrive on time and only his neighbor is around to notice, is he still late?
Please message me back.
Bucky, please.
I’m so worried, please just let me know not to worry.
Eventually the messages had tapered off into nothingness and silence. No more missed calls. No more texts.
The room is still and hushed as a morgue. Empty, dead space choking him.
Bucky crosses the room and sits on the couch, elbows against his knees, pressing his fingers into tired eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, regret suffocating him. This was her unforgivable sin. He knew, he knows, that this is her greatest fear. Being left behind, the dead and disappeared and gone trailing behind her.
“Lemme tell you about where I was.” A headache is forming at the base of his skull. He’s exhausted and bruised, but he’ll sit there all night if that’s what he needs to do. He can’t have fucked this up, he can’t have fucked up the only real connection he’s managed to form, this thing between them that was so good and real that it shakes him right in the center of his soul.
“They gave Steve’s shield to John Walker and named him Captain America. It was supposed to be Sam’s. Steve gave it to Sam. I was so fucking furious, I was gone before I knew what I was doing. I-,”
3B suddenly materializes in the center of the room, a wave of hot emotion accompanying her. Where before the room had been empty of any presence, as though no one was in the apartment, the room is abruptly bathed in tension. Anger, grief, hurt.
She flickers just a little with the force of her pain. It crackles in the air, spiderwebs through the room and punches him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of him.
“Have you ever considered, James Barnes, that the world does not revolve around you?” He flinches at the use of his first name. “Did you even consider me? Did I cross your mind? You had to walk past my door to leave. Was I not worth telling? Have I ever mattered to you? I wouldn’t have tried to stop you. Am I-,”
Her voice trembles dangerously. She isn’t looking at him but her eyes are blazing. Her normally calm, inquisitive aura is gone, replaced with something unrecognizable. The room is tainted with the stickiness of fear. “Perhaps I’ve become a bit overbearing. I’ll stop bothering you. I promise I will. But I need to know, I need to know to stop looking and waiting.”
Bothering him? She was his whole world at the moment, his whole irritating, frustrating, wonderful, unbelievable world. And she thought she was bothering him?
Though, what else was she to think? He left her. She was afraid of being left behind with no explanation and he had done just that.
She was terrified of being forgotten and that is something he knows too, feels deep inside of himself like a never ending well.
Bucky’s never seen her like this, has never known her angry. Guilt drowns him, gnaws at his veins. “I-,”
“No,” she whips toward him. “You must listen to me. I am alone for a reason. I didn’t seek you out a second time, you sought me. You chose me. I thought we would never speak again after you left me at my front door that first night but you came back. You don’t just get to leave me behind.”
She shakes her head, “I let you choose me and I trusted you not to leave me alone, Bucky Barnes. I trusted you to let me know not to wait, not to worry. And you didn’t. Three days?” Her voice cracks open, splinters raw, a wide river of hurt pouring out, “I thought you were never coming back. And if you were never coming back, then I made a mistake because you should not have been allowed in in the first place. People who are gone for three days never come back, they-,”
She cuts herself off, anxious nails digging into her palms.
“I thought you were dead, or gone. Or disappeared. I thought maybe you just left and I wasn’t worth explaining to.”
He licks his lips, shakes his head, “Never. No, never, 3B. I didn’t. I didn’t, 3, I promise. I came back. I was always going to come back.”
Bucky expects her voice to turn cold, but it's wounded and small instead. “How was I to know that?” She whispers. “All you had to do was tell me and I would have understood. I would have known to wait, that you were coming back eventually, maybe not even soon. But you couldn’t be bothered.” She shakes her head. “I knew better than this.”
His eyes snap up, “What does that mean?”
“It means you didn’t care enough to warn me and I was stupid enough to believe that you did.”
~
For a moment it’s quiet, so quiet she could hear a pin drop. Her heart is banging against her ribs.
She’s said too much.
He hates her.
Bucky sighs and gets to his feet heavily. Her heart drops, seizes violently in her chest, but she lifts her eyes and meets his gaze. She won’t hide, stare at the floor while he leaves and confirms everything she’s always known.
She was not enough, she was too much. She was delusional and opinionated. She was clingy and flighty and irritating. She was not worth the trouble of sticking around.
And now she’s made him realize it, realize his mistake in ever letting her close.
Why else would the universe have blipped away everyone in her life and left her alone if she wasn’t meant to be that way?
But his blue eyes are ablaze, fierce and all consuming. He stops in front of her and she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. She juts her chin out, squares her shoulders, prepared for whatever goodbye is about to happen between them.
“Sweetheart,” he begins. “I’ll apologize forever for leaving you in the lurch like that, everyday for the rest of my very long life if I have to. But I’m not fucking going anywhere. I’m sorry to say you are very much stuck with me. Ask anyone, I’m the unlucky penny you can’t seem to get rid of.” He pauses and turns his right hand out to her, palm up, “But if you’re expecting me to go willingly, you’ve got another thing coming. You’re going to have to tell me to go. I care about you, much more than I probably should.”
Bucky shakes his head but stands firm. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t leaving you behind but you didn’t know that.” He swallows thickly. “You’re right, I picked you that day and you’re mine now. You are stuck with me. I’m still not used to not always being alone either.”
She blinks, shock shattering her resolve.
There’s anxiety in his eyes, shivering out of him in waves. He thinks she’ll do it. He believes he’ll be tossed away.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one afraid of being forgotten and lost and alone.
She bites her lip and looks at his hand, still in the space between them. “Bucky Barnes,” she says. “I do believe we’re becoming rather co-dependent.” She reaches out and touches her finger to the center of his palm, just as he had done to her the day he fixed her coffee table.
Hope and duct tape.
The act of not leaving someone behind, trust.
The tension floods out of his shoulders in a violent wave, the sharp lines of him softening. But when he turns his hand to circle her wrist, she pulls away. “I don’t trust you. You walked past my door, you could have let me know,” she says, honesty sticking heavily inside her mouth. “But please don’t go. Please don’t leave.”
Maybe she loves Bucky, maybe she loves him more than she should, faster and harder than expected. But she wouldn’t be disposable, and he should know that now.
This was her life that she had let him into, despite everyone that had come and gone.
She had still opened the door for him and she wasn’t ready to see it closed.
Bucky closes his eyes, his jaw clenched tight, and for a moment she thinks that he’s angry with her. He apologized and she wasn’t accepting it, not yet. She feels heat spool out inside her veins, embarrassment and fear, her skin going translucent, when he lets out a long breath and nods. “Yeah, figured so, 3B.”
All she finds in his eyes is self-loathing and regret and heartache. She recognizes it well.
She curls her fingers into her palms, fighting the thing inside her trying to swallow her, take her away from the world. Bucky makes her shaky, makes her control and resolve crumble. It's with great effort that she doesn’t disappear.
“I trust you though,” he says her name gently, “and I can say that about almost no one. I’ll prove it to you again. I got you. I won’t let you go. I won’t leave you. I won’t let you disappear.”
She wants so badly to reach for him, but doesn’t, holds herself carefully away. All she wants is to disappear inside his skin, into the safe cocoon of their world together, to pull him close and kiss him, let him press his nose against her neck, to hold his hand while they ate something good.
But she doesn’t, she can’t.
“Would you like to know how you can start?”
“Anything,” he says, desperate.
She can’t help it then, looking into solemn eyes, she reaches out and pats his cheek. “Get me some food.”
~
He gets 3B her food.
After returning with french fries and pizza from two different joints, he settles down at her coffee table, like before, and tells her everything that had happened.
He doesn’t leave anything out, because he meant it. Bucky trusts 3B more than he cares to admit, and as he watches her delicately fold a slice of pizza in half with fries smashed in the middle, and try to take a bite without making a mess, he can’t help but feel like it's more.
The feeling inside him is more. He trusts her, maybe he loves her. But it feels like more, more than words can capture. More than trust, more than love. What should he call that?
He tells her about the shield, about Sam and Steve.
“Sam is right,” she says, licking sauce from her thumb. “This country has never been kind. A Black man with the shield? That is a heavy load to carry, a load I don’t envy.”
“It wasn’t his to give.”
“Sure it was. Steve gave it to him, Steve is gone. It was Sam’s to give. Especially if he thought he was doing the right thing.”
“So John Walker should have ended up with it?”
“That’s a false equivalency, Bucky Barnes. I didn’t say that. I’m saying Sam made the choice he thought best. Did Sam hand it to John Walker? No, our bastard government did. I’m saying that we live in a very racist country and I wouldn’t want to carry a burden like that shield. How can someone be expected to take up a mantle that so many will hate you for just for the color of your skin? It's something you’ll never understand. It's something many will never really understand.”
There’s no argument to that and so he lets it lie. “The shield is the last part of who I used to be. It's the only thing left from my past.”
“Maybe you should explain that to Sam so he doesn’t think you’re just being an obstinate ass. And Sam didn’t put it in a museum to spite you. Not everything is about you.” She leans forward and for a moment he thinks she might kiss him. His heart thumps a painful beat, and he tilts his face to hers but she just presses a finger into his chest. Her hand lands against the hard metal of his dog tags hidden beneath his shirt. “And it's not the only thing. You still have you.”
“Yeah,” he deadpans, lungs tight. “Fantastic.”
She leans back abruptly, looking embarrassed, the warmth of her hand disappearing as she puts space between them and tucks her feet beneath her, eyes wandering to the window. It's dark outside, and Bucky is exhausted. But he doesn’t want to stop looking at her, he doesn’t want to tell her that he has to leave again in the morning. His heart hurts, his eyes ache.
But he keeps talking and after the last few days of speaking as little as possible, it's a relief. His mouth is dry but 3B’s curious eyes are on him, head tilted to the side as she listens to every word like it's precious to her, and so he continues on.
He tells her everything. Jumping out of the plane, the fight on the trucks, talking to Walker and Lemar, Isaiah Bradley and the police station.
Her gaze doesn’t waver, eyes soft as she watches him talk.
Maybe it hadn’t only been anxious waiting and worrying.
Maybe she had missed him, maybe she cares about him just as much as he cares about her.
It's a funny, fickle thing but he still has to wonder, did she care about him or had she been alone for too long? Would anyone have done? Would anyone else be better?
Bucky thinks he already knows the answer.
He glances away, leans back against the sofa from his place on the floor. “Those people we fought, they call themselves the Flag Smashers. The serum is making rounds again, especially in their circle, so we’re going to talk to Zemo, see what he knows about it since he wants the damn stuff destroyed.”
Silence rings, tense and harsh. “What did you call them?”
“Flag Smashers. Why?” She inhales a sharp breath and stands. “Hey,” he says, watching her twist her hands together, watching her pace, “what’s wrong?”
Her fingers dig into her palms again. “I think there’s something I need to tell you.”
Some days later
When Zemo walks ahead of them toward the jet on the runway, his back firmly turned, Bucky reaches out and tugs at Sam’s sleeve.
He motions for him to hang back and stop which Sam does without hesitation. “I have to tell you something.” Sam’s eyes immediately flick to the plane Zemo has just disappeared into, concern sweeping over his face. “Not about him,” he tries to reassure.
“You sure, Bucky? Because we’re about to get on a plane with that man.”
Bucky rolls his eyes, “And of the two of us, which can fly? It's not about him.” He pauses and then crosses his arms over his chest. “I brought someone with me from New York.”
He knows how crazy it sounds, all things considered, that this person would not have materialized at any point from DC to Germany, from prison breakout to airport.
After the impromptu prison riot, Bucky hopes this is something else Sam will take in stride.
The worry that crosses Wilson’s face tells Bucky he thinks he’s lost his fucking mind. “And can you see them right now?”
Bucky huffs, annoyed. “I’m not fucking hallucinating.” He glances around, Sam following his gaze, truly alarmed now. Bucky can hardly blame him. “3B, it’d be really helpful if you could show yourself now.”
“3B?” Sam asks, “What, like a droid?”
The air beside them suddenly splits open, energy lancing through both of them as she reappears. “Not a droid,” she chirrups. “That would be much cooler. 3B is only an unfortunate nickname I’ve been saddled with.”
Unfortunate nickname. It's like a punch to the gut. Maybe he should stop calling her that.
Sam looks between them for a moment, shocked though not as surprised as someone who wasn’t constantly bombarded with new strangeness would be. “Who is this? What the hell, Bucky?”
3B takes the opportunity to stick out her hand to shake and introduce herself by her real name. When she takes her hand back she twists her fingers together anxiously in front of her, glancing over her shoulder.
Bucky wants to push her between him and Sam, so at least she doesn’t feel so exposed. But he doesn’t dare touch her. It was obvious his touch wasn’t exactly welcome anymore. She jerked away from his hand anytime he neared her, not a flinch precisely but something close.
He clenches his jaw, looks away from her, and resists the urge to reach out to her.
“My neighbor. She’s had run-ins with the Flag Smashers before,” he tells Sam instead. “I told her to stay put in New York but she wouldn’t have it. She would have just followed anyway.” And Bucky would much rather have her where he can see her, protect her, instead of floating in the background somewhere unseen and unknown.
Besides, he doesn’t want her to have to erase herself from the world, especially not on account of him.
“Sam Wilson,” she says, interrupting Bucky before he can continue. An unwelcome and unexpected flash of jealousy darts through his veins. He’s never had to share 3B’s attention with anyone, has never had to watch her interact with anyone else. Maybe her naming tick wasn’t just a peculiarity reserved for him.
Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes, ricochets around his brain. Apparently not particularly important after all.
“It's very much a pleasure to meet you. Don’t blame Barnes for my being here, as he said I would have followed. I’ll try to make this brief. I’ve been approached by the New York group several times. I’ve always said no to joining their ranks but as you can imagine I have a skill set they find very useful. For many reasons, I’ve been a recluse since the return, but also because of this. I don’t know what they know about me. And I think the circulation of the serum would be a mistake.”
Sam looks suspicious, but she only tilts her head to the side and waits patiently, blinking at him. “Why are you here?” He asks eventually. “This doesn’t have anything to do with New York.”
“Ah, but what’s abroad always makes its way home. This group popped up almost as soon as the return happened. They don’t do much now in New York, but I think they follow cues from leadership abroad.” She lifts her shoulders, “New York is an attractor of problems. It's always been the case.”
“You're worried they might distribute the serum in New York eventually.”
“Perhaps. I think New York needs no more supersoldiers. If it can be contained, it should be. Bucky mentioned that the serum tends to invite new death.”
With no small amount of effort she pulls her hands apart and tucks them inside her sweater sleeves. She’s riddled through with anxiousness, while her voice is sure, she trembles violently with suppressed worry and fear.
Bucky again feels the urge to shield her, though from what he can’t say.
“I don’t think they’re bad,” she says suddenly. “I think they aren’t being properly listened to or addressed. They’re witnessing terrible things everyday in these camps. Heading them off, that’s what’s most important. They steal medicine and food for people who need it. How can I say that’s bad?” She looks up and squares her shoulders looking from Sam to him and back again. “You should know that’s something I’ve assisted them with before.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, “I thought you weren’t one of them.”
“I’m not,” she answers, smiling at Sam, “They don’t know I did it. Just happened upon a few security guards on shift at the storage facility and made sure they were...otherwise occupied.” She only has eyes for Sam at that moment. Bucky furrows his brow as he watches them, she’s marked Sam out as leader of their group. She isn’t wrong. “I only tell you this so that you can make the best decision. I am clearly not unbiased.”
Sam sighs and glances at the waiting jet. “Yeah, well, I think we’re well past unbiased. Zemo’s not exactly balanced.”
She presses her lips together, suppressing a smile. “Yes, I’d agree with that.”
“Do you have any training?”
“I can handle myself,” she answers and Bucky wonders for the millionth time what her past held, what she did during the blip.
“Great, let's go.”
She falls in beside them as they approach and board the jet, Sam making quick work of the introductions. 3B takes the seat across from Zemo, their eyes meet and neither of them look away. Zemo is holding a thin book in his hands.
Bucky had started to explain who Zemo was to her back in New York, but she had already known. She knew her modern history well. I wanted to be a foriegn service officer, of course I know about the man who destroyed the accords, she had said.
“Who are you?”
“Oh, just the neighbor.”
A full minute passes in silence, their eyes locked, before Zemo looks to him, “Your girlfriend, James?”
Bucky glares but remains silent, not giving Zemo the benefit of drawing his reaction. Even so, something hot rises up inside him, though he’s not sure what the feeling could be identified as. Shame that she wasn’t or stupid fucking hope?
“Excuse me,” 3B says.
Zemo looks back to her.
“His name is Bucky Barnes.”
Sam suppresses a snort and Bucky has to look away.
He catches her cock her head to the side in that slightly aggressive, challenging way of hers, waiting to be disagreed with.
Something about it reminds him a little of Steve.
Zemo inclines his head slightly in acquiescence and she settles back into her seat looking out the window, satisfied. He turns his attention toward the book in his hands.
“Why don’t you tell us about where we’re going?” Sam says, trying to diffuse the tension.
Bucky’s watching 3B, not paying much attention to Zemo, but he notices her head suddenly tick to the side as though sensing something. “I’m sorry,” he says, flipping the book in his hands open, “I was just fascinated by this. I don’t know what to call it, but this part seems to be important.”
There’s a slight pause, Bucky can’t see what he’s looking at.
“Who is Nakajima?”
Rage sparks, snaps, and breaks free, racing along his veins before he can reign it in. The stress of the last few days, his anxiety over 3B coming along and where they stood with each other, and the fact that he still wasn’t sleeping culminates to a breaking point as his hand presses around Zemo’s throat.
“If you touch that again, I’ll kill you.”
Bucky wants to kill him, can feel it in his bones. And he hates himself for it. He doesn’t want to feel out of control, he doesn’t want to feel like his past, murderous and hateful, hated.
Something about the man drives him up a wall. Zemo knows exactly which of his buttons to push.
In the split second it took him to lunge across the aisle, 3B had reached across in the same instant and snatched the book out of his hands, landing a hard kick against Zemo’s shin in the process. “Oops, very sorry about that Zemo,” she says, sarcasm heavy on her tongue.
Bucky releases him, prying his fingers away with deliberate slowness before he sits back down, not taking his eyes off the other man.
3B reaches across, and for the first time in more than a week willingly touches him. She presses her fingers to his wrist, saying more than her voice ever could, it's okay it's okay it's okay I’m here, and hands him the book. A hard wave of guilt washes over him. 3B was always there.
It only serves to remind him that he hadn’t done the same for her, that he had just shown the worst parts of himself to her, the dangerous sharp parts of him.
Bucky tucks it into his jacket as her touch disappears.
Tension melts out of his shoulders and Zemo coughs and rubs his throat. “You two have quite the hive mind.”
3B juts her chin out, “I don’t like you.” The protective edge in her voice lightens his guilt just a little. Even upset with him, she still cared.
Sam looks like he might be regretting every decision he’s ever made.
472 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 7 days ago
Please add me to your little informant tag list
of course!
0 notes
blueposthings · 7 days ago
Text
you'd be surprised to hear that the third and last part of little informant is written and almost ready to post even though i just posted the second part yesterday lol
i gotta say, im proud of myself
3 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 7 days ago
Text
Little Informant (pt. 1)
Warnings: Language
Word count: 1.6k+
————————————–
You’ve always lived your life on the edge, having a father who was the STRIKE team’s commander for SHIELD does that to you. You’ve never slept without a gun on your bedside table since you were ten years old. And when your father didn’t return after going on a mission that one night three years ago, you’ve expected and prepared for the worst. However, despite the absence of your father in that fairly long period of time, you’ve always hoped against hope that he will come back one day. He always did, even that time he returned with horrific injuries all over his body that you had to tend everyday for months until it healed.
That’s why you’ve never touched his belongings, you’ve never entered his room, just like he always told you to –claiming that it was for your own safety, the information that you might find in his room might put you in danger –and you knew better than to disobey.
But now that it has hit the third anniversary of his disappearance, you felt like it was the right time to let him go. To let your hope go.
Keep reading
544 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 7 days ago
Text
MASTERLIST
Series
Subject 302 [finished]
Subject 302 was born and raised by HYDRA, proclaimed as the youngest out of many of HYDRA’s skilled assassin. After HYDRA’s fall, two former HYDRA scientists sent her to reclaim The Winter Soldier to their possession.
Little Informant [on progress]
Reader is the daughter of former SHIELD double agent, Brock Rumlow. Three years after she had last seen her father, she stumbled upon classified information regarding HYDRA and Hero Mercs. She decided to turn to The Avengers.
One-Shots
Bucky “Bother” Barnes (Teen!Reader x Bucky Barnes ft. Avengers)
103 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 8 days ago
Text
Little Informant Masterlist
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 
12 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 8 days ago
Text
Little Informant (pt. 2)
Warnings: Violence, blood, language
Words: 2.1k+
---------------------------
You had taken your time in getting back home, the fifteen minute walk turned to two hours when you decided to take a stroll around town. It was late, too late for a frail girl like you to be roaming the streets of New York all by yourself. But you had to clear your mind. Besides, with your self-defense skills along with the trusty butterfly knife you always had with you at all times, you were pretty confident.
However, when you finally arrived back at your apartment, you had noticed several things out of place; the dust on the right side of the door frame, two feet above the floor, had a gap, you were sure you hadn’t touched it; the nail of one of the panels on the creaky floorboard was slanted, someone had tripped on it.
There was an intruder in your house.
You slowly grabbed your knife from your jacket pocket before reaching for your keys, intentionally shaking it in your fingers. You turned your keys and opened the door with your left hand, the knife on your right, ready to fight. When no one ambushed you, you crouched down like you were going to untie your shoes when in fact you reached for the gun you had stored below the shoe cabinet.
You replaced the knife in your hold with the handgun, holding it firmly with both of your hands before peeking out from the corner of your doorway. Sure enough, stood a man about six feet tall dressed in all black in your poor excuse of a kitchen, you noticed he was holding a pistol of his own in one hand and a framed picture of you and your father in the other.
“You do look like him, you know?” He said, acknowledging your presence.
“Who are you?” You had your gun trained on him. Your gaze unwavering, despite your heart trying to beat out of your ribcage.
“You can consider me an old family friend.” The man placed the frame back to the countertop as he turned to you.
“Why are you here?” You stood your ground at the front doorway as he approached you slowly, his gun in hand.
“When you opened that laptop, it sent a signal to us. We thought Rumlow had come back from the dead so I offered to go.” He said, ever so casually. “Then I found these photos and, I gotta say, I’m quite surprised. I never took your father as- well, a father.”
He was only a few feet in front of you now, your gun pointed straight to his chest. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“If you’re anything like Brock, you could be a great asset to us, Y/N-”
“How do you know my name?”
“Perhaps, you might want to consider joining us? Your father would be proud.”
“I’m not an asset,” you gritted out. “And I’m nothing like him.”
This perked your intruder’s attention, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Oh?”
You realized then that you might have spilled something you shouldn’t have. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, your hands struggling to keep your weapon steady.
“Do tell me, Y/N. What did you do with the information from that laptop?” His tone was now much sharper, accusing.
You searched your brain to try and find a believable lie, something that wouldn’t put your life in danger. In your moment of silence, the man in front of you grew impatient and furious.
“Where were you just now?”
“None of your business.” You finally said, your voice giving you away with a crack.
“What a shame.” The man sighed, bowing his head to the floor for a second. “I hope Brock’s gonna forgive me for this one.” Then he raised his gun at you, with anger in his eyes.
Time seemed to slow down when you pulled your trigger. However, the man managed to avoid it at the last second, the bullet only hitting his shoulder. The force pushed him back and he let go of his gun, his good hand holding his wound.
“Little shit.” He cursed before charging at you.
You re-aimed your gun, but due to the close distance between the two of you, he successfully pushed it away. He used his whole body weight to knock you back to the wall, resulting in you losing your grip of the pistol in your hand. You grabbed your knife from your pocket, forcing the butt to his head, making him groan as he stumbled ever so slightly. You pushed him back by the injured shoulder, your thumb digging in to the bullet wound. You then kneed him in the stomach, your dominant hand twirling open the knife and stabbing him in the back. You pushed his body off of you with all your might and tried to make a run for it.
You only managed to get a couple of steps away when he grabbed your foot. You tripped and fell face first to the floor. You groaned, your head was spinning and you could feel blood oozing from your nose. The intruder dragged himself up with his good arm while you tried to collect yourself. You still had the knife in your hand so you tried to land another stab to his leg, but he blocked it, grabbing your hand and twisting it so you’d drop the weapon. But what you lack in size and power, you made up with agility -when he yanked your arm up, you used the momentum to help you jump up and straddle his neck with your two legs, your arms holding him in a choke hold. He tried to get you off but between the bullet and the stab wound, he was already losing a lot of blood. He stumbled around, crashing through your coffee table and one of your bookshelves. At one point he went close enough to the TV stand where you had an old glass vase on top. You grabbed the vase and swung it to his face, it broke and he fell unconscious with you below him. You were sure you must have heard a crack, but with the adrenaline numbing your pain you couldn't tell if it was his bone or yours.
------------
When you noticed he wasn’t moving, you took a second to collect your breath. Eventually, you pushed him off and got up, grabbing your knife and both guns before running off.
“And we believe the kid?” Clint crossed his arms. He stared at the back of his teammate’s head, almost seeing the cogs in his skull turning.
“Yes, I know she was telling the truth.” Steve said, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. “I could feel it.”
“No offense, Cap. But when it comes to the sake of the planet’s security, I would rather not go on gut feeling.”
“Have you considered maybe this is just your guilt speaking?” Natasha chimed into the conversation from the other side of the table.
Steve was silent for a moment. “It’s not,” he finally said, although it seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.
“As much as I hate to say this, but I think the oldman’s right,” Tony sat back down on the closest chair to the front of the room. “I don’t think she was lying, at least not about this.”
“I say, it is better to be safe than sorry.” Vision spoke up, his gaze not leaving the files displayed on the holograms.
“He’s got a point. We have this information- the location of everything. Why don’t we go see for ourselves.” Rhodes added.
When no one interjected, the room took it as an agreement. Tony was about to tell FRIDAY to display the closest base that they could locate when the A.I. had another idea.
“Tony, there has been a 911 call from the address you told me to look out for.”
This got the man on his feet. “When?”
“Just a few seconds ago. The neighbors reported hearing gunshots and loud crashes. The police are on their way, they should arrive in eight to ten minutes.”
“We can get there in two.”
----------------
They got to your apartment in exactly eighty four seconds. Tony, along with Steve, Clint, Sam and Natasha rushed past some of your curious neighbors and arrived in front of your door. Your keys were still in the door knob when Natasha pushed the door open. Obviously the first thing they noticed was the situation of your living room. And the unconscious man on the floor.
Clint approached the bleeding man, checking for a pulse. “He’s alive, barely.”
Natasha tossed him a pair of handcuffs and the archer gathered the unknown man’s hands before securing him. She then entered a nearby closet in an unsuccessful attempt of finding the apartment’s owner.
The rest of them looked around the ransacked apartment trying to get an idea of what happened or who this man was. Steve picked up one of the photographs that was shattered on the floor, the one your intruder was looking at earlier. There was a pit forming in his stomach as he processed what he was seeing. You’d taken the photograph at your middle school father-daughter dance. He was always at work, but that day he had taken a day off to attend the event for you, even took you shopping to get a nice pastel pink dress and a tie for him to match. You grinned in that photo, unintentionally showing off your braces; your father had his hand around your frame, a gentle yet charismatic smile adorning his lips.
Sam went further to the apartment, ending up in your room. He took in the decorations -or rather lack thereof. Your walls contrasted those of the living room, aside from one old poster of a band Sam didn’t recognize, there was only a bed in the centre of the room. He stepped out of the room and entered another. There was more personality, more life, in this room. Ironic really, seeing as it was your late father’s. There were pictures of him and you on his bedside table, among other things. His bed was unmade but dusty. He spotted a glimmer beyond the papers strewn across the floor. Curiosity led him to picking it up; it was a dog tag. He pocketed it before appearing back to the rest, shaking his head.
“Hey kid!” Tony hollered. “It’s Tony! With The Avengers?”
Silence.
Suddenly the front door re-opened with a force. The five heroes immediately got to a fighting stance.
“NYPD! Put your hands where I can see ‘em!”
The team sighed, half in relief and half disappointment. Upon realizing that the Avengers themselves were in front of them, the police officers lowered their weapon with faces full of questions.
“With all due respect,” one of them spoke nervously, “what are you guys doing here?”
“Our jurisdiction.” Tony snarked with sarcasm before going back to looking around the room.
“That man needs medical help.” Natasha stepped up to the officer, pointing at the body on the ground. “We don’t know who he is yet but we assume he’s bad so keep an eye on him.”
Steve rested his shield on his arm before picking up one of the framed pictures that looked the most recent before giving it to a different officer. “Look for this girl, she might be in danger. And injured.” It was one your father had taken of you only a few months before you last saw him, you had grown a little since then but Steve thought it should do.
“There might be no need for that,” Tony called. “One of the security cams across the street spotted a girl running away from this building, must be her.”
Steve nodded. “Let’s go.” And with that they were off, leaving the police to take care of the crime scene and culprit while they search for you with the guidance of FRIDAY.
----------------------
You finally decided you couldn’t run any further; your chest was heaving, your head was spinning, your back was killing you, and you’re pretty sure the man had sprained your arm. You stopped at an empty alley, a good block away from your building. You let your body slide down the wall to the concrete below you in exhaustion. You lifted your shirt up to see a purple bruise starting to form on your upper stomach. You raised your hand to wipe off the blood staining your face but only ended up spreading the red liquid everywhere before you limped, your muscles giving out. You sighed, turning your brain trying to find out how you were going to get out of this one.
Then you felt a presence to your left. Your instincts kicked in, grabbing the gun you had carried and aiming it to the figure.
“Wow, hey. Put that down.” The figure said, three more people emerging behind him. “It’s me.”
God damn the Avengers. You thought, lowering the gun in your hand. You let your head lull back to the wall behind you.
You heard a metal clink from your other side. “You’ll manage, huh?”
You couldn’t find the energy in you to return the attitude.
Tag list: @iamthescarlettwitch @sincerely-kizzy @ineedmorefanfics @moonyinthestars
I know this is very much long overdue, i hope you'll still enjoy it regardless xx
37 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 10 days ago
Text
Subject 302 Masterlist
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Epilogue
12 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 10 days ago
Text
Hi I’m back :)
It’s been a very long while. I’ve been handling some stuff and I actually stopped writing for quite some time, but I’m here again! I’m in uni now, studying filming (thanks Marvel).
But yeah, I’m back, and I will be writing again. So if you have any requests, hit me w it ;) 
I write for the MCU and Criminal Minds. Any pairing, platonic or romantic. But I do not write smut, incest, or pedophilia/huge age gap.
I’ll be looking forward to wrting again! also I’m planning to make Little Informant to be a mini-series, lets see how that goes
4 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 10 days ago
Text
everything i wanted (prologue) • bucky barnes x teen!reader
Tumblr media
PROLOGUE
summary: steve finds you early on in the recovery of the blip, taking you in for the five years until bringing back the dusted. the, steve brings the stone back to their time.
word count: 3,000 (jeez, kinda got carried away for a prologue lol)
warnings: *endgame spoilers* death, orphaned reader, old steve feels
prologue - chapter one
masterlist
Steve had seen a devastated community before. He’d grown up in the 40’s where every week a postman would come by with an overflowing bag and sorrowful expression on his face. He remembers watching mothers crumble to their knees, fathers stone cold demeanors dissipate, sisters sobbing into their stuffed animals.
He’d never forget when he’d have to tell the Barnes family that Bucky had fallen from the train. He watched the three younger sisters -- Rebecca, Judith, and Mary -- sob for their only brother. They had clung to each other like their lives depended on it as he held Mrs. Barnes crying for her son to come back home.
But this… this was different. They had lost. Thanos snapped his fingers, and disappeared. He had lost his best friend before his eyes again, dust the only thing left of him. Bucky, Sam, T’challa, they were all gone.
And then Thanos destroyed the stones. There was no way to get everyone back.
Walking down the streets of New York was like walking through a ghost town. Not a single person was walking on the sidewalks of the once busy city. Cars rolled down the street slowly, no honking or yelling heard. It used to be lively, the city that never sleeps. Now? There was no life to be seen.
He frequented a small sandwich shop every week, getting the same order every time, walking to and from there to the Avengers Compound. He did it in hopes to create a routine, something to follow and pay attention to instead of the image of Bucky turning to dust, his body ashes before he could even touch the ground.
A plastic bag with two sandwiches finds itself in his hand as he walks back to the compound. He gazed at the familiar street signs, seeing a quiet overpass rather than the lively streets it had been 80 years ago. A sigh fell from his lips as he shook his head.
“(Y/N)! They still don’t believe me!” Steve’s ears perked up, stopping in his tracks as he strains his ears. “I don’t know why they never believe me.” The speaker sniffed.
“Anthony, it’s okay. You can just have my share. I’ll try and tell Miss Teresa that your sister really needs her food, okay?” He followed the voices, soon finding two kids in one of the many alleyways.
“But, I’ve taken your food for the past three days… ” The little boy whimpers. You gave him a soft smile, dropping to your knees to look the boy in the eye.
“I can take a little less food, bud.” You hand him the paper lunch bag, his small hands clutching it to his chest. “Now go, your sister is waiting.” He nodded, stomping out of the alley and past Steve as he watched. You sighed, hands clutching your now growling stomach, leaning against the brick wall.
“That was nice of you.” Your eyes shot open, fear laced onto your face. Steve walked towards you slowly, one hand shoved into his pant pocket and the other still clutching to his lunch. You watch him wearily, trying desperately to figure out his intent. Without a comment from you, he pulls his hand from his pocket and runs it through his blonde hair. His eyes danced over your form, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. “How old are you?”
Your hands are pressed into your side, watching his movements before you gulp. “Twelve.” Your voice is soft, embarrassed. His head fell between his shoulders, a sigh falling from his lips as he sags. His hands flew to the plastic bag, pulling one of the sandwiches out and handing it over to you, blue eyes never leaving your stiff form.
“It’s from Maurice’s, around the block a little bit away.” You had never stopped watching him, fear that he would pull the food away with a bark - Just kidding! Slowly you moved to take the wrapped good, never breaking your gaze with him. He smiled softly as you opened the paper, finding a well made sandwich. A small smile finds its way onto your face.
“Take care of yourself, kid.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, a newfound pep in his step.
- - - - - - -
It had become a new part of his routine, seeing you. Every week he would find you in the same alleyway, a lazy grin on your face at the familiar footsteps. He always brought you food, and had now graduated to two water bottles in his large hand.
You had passed stories on, him listening intently on school gossip and you lighting up at Captain America stories told by the man himself. He would tell stories about the war, New York before he had left to fight, and his family. His mother, Sarah Rogers, who had saved so many lives as a nurse, his dad, Joseph Rogers, who had fought in the first World War and died for the country, and his brother, Bucky Barnes. He spoke ruefully, looking back into the past when days were easier, shorter than they seemed now.
You never talked about your family, always seeming to falter as he talked about his. At first Steve had thought that maybe he was talking for too long, boring you with his century old stories. But as time when on, even when he mentioned his mother or father, your usually shining eyes would dim ever so slightly. One day, he decided to ask about it.
“What about your family, (Y/N)?” The two of you sat against the brick walls of the alley, knees to the sky with his arms laying over them. Your gaze averted to the cracked cement, trailing up to the other wall a few feet in front of the pair. “(Y/N)?”
“My Ma died when I was little.” You spoke softly, fingers picking at the dead skin between your nails. “And my Pa… ” a shaky breath from your lips. “He wasn’t blipped, he was just in the car of someone who did.” Steve gently placed a hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles as a couple of tears cascaded down your cheeks. “I’ve been staying at the shelter for the past few weeks. But they have their hands full, and I always liked my own time.”
When your eyes lifted to meet his, you broke. Soundless sobs left your lungs, leaning into Steve’s side. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and held you tight, chin atop your head as you cried. After a bit, your sobs turned to small sniffles.
“You can come with me.” Steve said softly, watching as you lifted your head from his side, eyes red and puffy. “So you don’t have to spend your alone time in a back alley in New York.” With one last sniff, you pulled the sleeve of your sweater over your hand and wiped at your eyes, nodding slowly.
“I’d like that.”
- - - - - - -
That was five years ago. Five years Steve had to watch you grow up, losing the baby fat in your cheeks and developing curves. Five years to hold you close every time he had a nightmare, to be your shoulder to cry on when life became all too much to handle. You weren’t the little girl he had met on the street giving away her rations to a little boy, you were a strong young woman who helped fight a war.
Now, he sat leaning against the wooden staircase of Tony’s cabin house, watching as you played with Morgan Stark with a smile plastered on his face. The youthful giggles that fell from then young girls lips helps mask the loss of two heroes, Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff. You held her atop your shoulders, a grin on your face as you jogged along the lake’s edge.
“So, you’re a dad now?” Steve looked over his shoulder, watching as Bucky came to his side, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. A laugh fell from his lips.
“Yeah, I am.” His eyes found your figure once more, marveling at how much you’ve grown in the time he’s known you.
“From what I gather, we were only gone for five years. She looks way older than that, bud.”
“You were gone for five years. She lost her dad to a car accident during the snap. Met her in New York giving a kid her food for his sister. Been tied at the hip since.” Bucky followed his gaze and watched you work with the little girl in your arms. He gulped as you dropped her from your shoulders, pretending to fall in exhaustion.
“How much does she know?” He asked.
“All of it.” Bucky’s shoulders sagged. “She knows about the Winter Soldier, and knows James Bucky Barnes. My brother from Brooklyn who helped take care of me when I was too sick or proud to take care of myself.” A breathless laugh fell from his lips, his throat tight.
“Talked me up then, huh punk?” Steve smiled fondly, looking over to his friend and shaking his head.
“Not one bit.”
“Morgan Stark! Lunch has been ready and waiting for you for 15 minutes!” Pepper called from the kitchen, drawing the attention of the two girls in the grass. Morgan rushed from her place sitting on top of you, stumbling up the stairs inside the kitchen. You brushed off the grass chunks stuck to your knees as you made your way over to Steve, a fond smile plastered on your face.
“She’s really something else, that girl.” You stated, shaking your head softly. Bucky watched your movements intently, noting your mannerism was almost identical to Steve’s. You looked towards the brunette, smile turning soft as your eyes landed. “Hi.” You held your right hand out to shake. He took your hand and shook it firmly.
“Hi.” He mused, nodding slowly. “I’m Bucky.”
“(Y/N).”
“And I’m Steve. Now let's get inside before we get yelled at for waiting too long for lunch.” Steve patted both of you on the shoulders, guiding you both inside the house.
- - - - - - -
Steve finds himself outside again, watching the moon reflect across the glassy lake water. He holds his compass in his hands, torn with guilt. He sits on the steps leading into the house, soft footsteps come from behind him, until Bucky sits on the step beside him. A comfortable silence rests between the two, the only sounds audible is the birds chirping and the soft hums of crickets.
“You aren’t coming back tomorrow, are you?” Bucky asks. Steve closes his eyes and hangs his head between his shoulders. Bucky nods his head softly besides him. Steve’s fingers trace the metal trimming the encased magnet, then the image of Peggy Carter. “What about (Y/N)?”
“I don’t know.” Steve whispered. “She’s the best thing to ever happen to me in this new era. I don’t…” He took a shaky breath. “I don’t know if staying back is worth losing what I’ve got now.” He looks up to Bucky with tears brimming in his eyes. “But I never got to love, or to live like I wanted to.” Bucky nodded again, placing his hand on his shoulder in comfort. He looked from Steve back to the glossy lake.
“I’ll take care of her.” He said. Steve wiped his eyes. “You should do what you want to do, Steve. If that’s living a full life with a firecracker like Carter,” Steve let out a wet laugh. “Then that’s what you should do. I’ll always be here to support ya’.”
“I really missed you, Buck.” He leaned back, resting his muscles from the position he was in earlier. “She reminded me so much of you. So damn brave, and smart, and kind.” A single tear fell from his eye as he spoke. “I’m glad you’re all back.”
“I’m glad too.”
- - - - - - -
Your arms crossed against your chest as your father grabbed hold of all 6 infinity stones in a suitcase, walking and talking with Sam as he made his way over to you and Bucky. Bucky stands beside you with both his hands tucked in his pockets.
“Ya know,” He glances over at you as you speak, finding a boyish grin on your face. “I don’t have anything against that lion’s mane of yours, but I can cut it for you if you like.” His shoulders shook in silent laughter, bumping shoulders with you with a grin on his face.
“I’ll let you know, kid.” Your grin grew glancing at your father who stands in front of you. He gives you a pointed look, eyebrow raised in suspicion.
“Are you making fun of him, punk?” A laugh fell from your lips, pulling your arms from your chest and around his broad shoulders. He returned the hug immediately, closing his eyes. His hold lingers longer than normal. As he pulls away, you place a peck on his cheek, smiling softly.
“I’ll see you in a couple seconds, tops. Don’t get too hung up.” Your tone was playful, yet he gave you a rueful smile before placing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“I’ll see you in a couple seconds.” He whispered before turning to Bucky. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, watching as the two hug and send small, sad smiles to each other. Then, Steve walks onto the glass platform, quantum suit building over himself. He lifts Mjölnir in one hand, the other holding the stones.
“How long is this gonna take?” Sam asks, looking over at Bruce. Bruce flipped a couple of switches before glancing back up at them.
“For him as long as he needs, for us five seconds.” He states. Steve turns to both you and Bucky once more, eyes lingering on you with a sad smile.
“I love you, Hon.” He said. You send him a smile.
“I love you too, Pops.” A helmet forms over his face, leaving only his eyes to view. Bruce glances up from his device.
“You ready , Cap?” Steve nods. “Alright, we’ll meet you back here, okay?” He flicks a few more switches.
“You bet.”
“Going quantum in three… two… one…” In a flash, Steve was gone. The machine whirred as you watched it in anticipation. “And returning in five… four… three… two… one…”
And yet Steve wasn’t there.
Your face fell, fear budding its way into your stomach yet your eyes never left the machine.
“Where is he?” Sam asked, glancing at the scientist. He hurriedly messed with the computer, eyes frantic.
“I don't know, he flew right by his timestamp.” Your breathing staggered, stuck staring at the glass structure in front of you in fear. Bucky turned to you, a small, sad smile on his face.
“Well get him back.”
“I’m trying-”
“Get him the hell back.”
“(Y/N).” You snapped your gaze to Bucky, tears forming in your eyes. He grabbed your hand softly and led you towards the edge of the river. You quickly found a man sitting on a log. Shaking your head, you turn back to Bucky. He nodded again, reaching forward and wiping a tear that began to fall from your cheek. “Go ahead, doll.”
Slowly, you made your way over to the man, watching him intently, until you were by his side. You gasped softly as he turned. An older, frail Steve Rogers looked to you with a small smile. Shaking your head, you closed your eyes and faced the water. He chuckled softly.
“Just as stubborn as I remember.” His voice sounded brittle, as if he could fall apart any second. He reached for your hand, looking up to you. “Not that I could ever forget.”
Your bottom lip trembled as he gently pulled you to the log with him, both hands now holding yours. You opened your eyes and got a good look at him. Old spots splattered across his face, wrinkles formed more than just at the edges of his eyes from laughter, his usually blonde hair was as white as snow. You purse your lips, reaching to wipe your tears.
“How old are you now?” You croaked. His smile widened.
“105.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and closing your eyes.
“How was she?”
“As beautiful as ever.” He reached over and cupped your face with his small hands. You leaned into the touch just like you always did, but instead of strong, callused hands holding your face, small, fragile hands brushed their thumb across your cheekbone. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” More tears cascade down your face.
“I love you too, Pops.” Steve looked over his shoulder to Bucky who watched intently. He turned back to you and gestured to the super soldier behind him.
“He's gonna take care of you, okay?” You nodded softly. “But you gotta take care of him too.” He made eye contact with you. “Take care of each other, sweetie.” Slowly, you shift enough to wrap your arms around his small frame, burrowing your face into his neck.
“I promise, Dad.” He brightened before turning back to the lake, a content smile formed on his face. You stood up slowly, leaning over and pressing a lingering kiss atop his head before walking back towards Bucky. You sent Sam a small smile his way when he passed by, going to talk to your dad. Standing beside Bucky, you held your hands together, and shifted your weight in the comfortable silence. Watching as the two talked, tears brimmed once again at the sight of Steve. Bucky glanced at you before reaching for your shoulder, pulling you to his side. You leaned into his side, resting your head against his shoulder.
“I guess it’s you and me, huh Bucky?” You sniffed, glancing up at him. He looked down to you and smiled.
“I guess so, doll.”
148 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 18 days ago
Text
ONE OF THE BEST SERIES IVE READ IN A WHILE I LOVE IT
to be a god or a hero (ch.1) --- bucky barnes x immortal!reader
Tumblr media
CHAPTER ONE 
summary: your favorite regular (and arguably, only friend) is dead, and you’re reminded you’re the oldest person alive. or at least, one of them. word count:  2900+ aint bad! warnings: grief, character death, making FRIENDS? if u follow me u know how bad i am at warnings lol a/n:  thank you to everyone who let me know they liked the prologue!! again this will basically be my outlet for all the Feelings I Have after every episode of tfatws so pleaseeeee lmk if you wanna see another chapter and i will continue to spew nonsense for u <3 thank u sm for the love and reblogs on the last post omg🥺
prologue - chapter one - chapter two masterlist
That was the last you saw of Bucky Barnes.
He left you with nothing but Steve’s crinkled letter and the faint scent of his cologne in the air, the bell on the door still ringing from his quick exit. 
You closed early and left for your current home: the affordable, Blipped-Only housing provided by the government until you could get a place of your own.
You’d been lucky enough that your landlord, selfish as he is, kept almost your entire personal library… though the dust your favorite volumes collected had shown you he used the books you used to survive as nothing more than home decor. 
Armed with Steve’s letter in one hand, you dug into one of the many unpacked boxes you’d been living amongst for the past few months. You hadn’t thought you’d be here this long.
Finally, you found it: your ornate, beautiful and arguably too expensive copy of The Hobbit. As soon as you opened it, your eyes caught the gentle drawing decorating the top of the new chapter page: it was your library, yes, but more than that, it was Steve’s favorite spot, lightly sketched with shading and sunshine and a little date and signature at the bottom.
That’s when the dam broke. 
Keep reading
477 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 19 days ago
Text
PLEASE hype Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings as much as you hyped The Falcon and The Winter Soldier or Wandavision, it deserves all the love and REPRESENTATION MATTERS.
With all the Asian hate going around, THIS is our moment as a fandom to show love and support, and hype this the fuck up because it's gonna be BRILLIANT!
Tumblr media
18K notes · View notes
blueposthings · 10 months ago
Text
Vices (Part One)
Tumblr media
Word Count: 3.1K+
Author’s Note: Ok, no one asked for this, but Mothica came out with a song called Vices and it’s a bop and I wanted to write something so I came up with this. This is just a little mini thing, a three or four parter, but yeah! I don’t want to tag anyone from my other Criminal Minds stuff, but if you want to be tagged let me know!
Warning: Discussion of murder, rape, and violence, and graphic descriptions of all three. Substance abuse.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: As Dr Reid reaches three years sober, a case reaches the BAU that his old vice Dilaudid plays a key role in – the only witness to the murders is a young woman who abuses the drug to forget. Can Spencer break through to her and catch their killer before he strikes again?
Keep reading
270 notes · View notes
blueposthings · 10 months ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Ruby Bridges was the first black child to desegregate the all-white William Frantz Elementary School in Louisiana during the New Orleans school desegregation crisis in 1960.
This movie made me cry, I was so heart broken by how Ruby Bridges was treated! She was only 6, but was so strong. She is a very brave girl and she did not care what the white folks called her.
People are simply disgusting to minimize people by skin color!
Ruby you might not think you’re a hero… But to other people you are! You are A HERO and you are A PERSON WHO MADE AMERICA CHANGE!
523K notes · View notes
blueposthings · a year ago
Text
i don’t think people really get how little feedback fanfic authors actually get? like the effort to reaction ratio is so abysmally skewed here that a fic nearly 50,000 words long takes an entire year to amass like. 16 comments. someone reblogged a fic i wrote at 4 am and tagged it with a 5-word compliment and i can’t stop thinking about it, not because it was so nice but because half the time you post a fic you’re going to hear nothing and anything feels like so much
fandom culture is so, so good about giving artists the credit they’re due, but we gotta start doing that for writers too. you’ve got no idea how much people put into their stories and get maybe a handful of reblogs and a dozen-odd kudos. that’s not enough. writing is an endurance sport and y’all need to start giving fic writers a reason to endure it and improve their craft. encourage writers like you encourage artists. reblog fics, leave tags, leave comments, acknowledge that these stories do not just spring into being for your entertainment. 
every single damn writer i know feels like half of their readers see them as a machine. that’s gotta change. 
102K notes · View notes