mercedesgonz - Tumblr blog

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

the right partner

Summary: You and Bucky have always possessed a complicated history, and even more strained relationship with one another. Begrudgingly, you're sent out on a mission with Barnes where you two are posing as a newly wed couple. In an effort to investigate the consistent disappearance of young women in a certain neighborhood, you find yourselves forced to confront a whirlwind of emotions.

Pairing: enemies to lovers bucky barnes x avenger!reader (fake married trope)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, a lot of angst, arguing, and fluff

Word Count: 10.4K

Italicization implies a flashback.

Pretending was easy. It came to you two flawlessly, without hesitation or second thought. The key to perfection resided in the small details. A hand placed there, a gentle smile exchanged here. Bucky and you were lovers, absolutely enamored whenever the other was around. When you held hands, the lines in your palms perfectly melted in his. Your steps kept in time with one another, the beat of his heart synching to the rhythm of your breathing. You worked like a lock and key, one useless without the other. Everything was pure flawlessness.

Except none of it was real.

You and Bucky. Bucky and you. Despite the endless amounts of warmth your humble home provided, the rooms always felt so frigid, lonesome. You both had resided under the same roof for nine weeks, and no progress in your actual relationship had been made. Pretending? That was easy. But something real? That was hard. Sentences naturally broke themselves off during conversation attempts. Eye contact was never truly sustained for a meaningful period. But this was not love, this was your mission.

In an unassuming suburban area, dozens of women had disappeared over the decades. Concerning, but not your usual assignment. This was not the guns blazing, stealth mode missions you had come to understand. They each in their own right were unique, but at the end of the day, they followed the same formula; find, interrogate, fight, and finish the case. The only reason Bucky and you were sent down to Huntington Fields was because Tony had suspected the involvement of “witchery” as he called it.

Since childhood you had trained to become a full fledged witch. As your body grew up and out, your powers grew with you. The modest nature of Huntington Field may not have been your normal territory, but magic was your arena. You assured the team that you were able to complete the mission yourself, that you didn’t need a partner, but Nat insisted.

“You’re gifted, Y/N, but you’re still new,” Nat explained.

“Why not just send Wanda out instead? She’s way better than me. I can do something else,” you tried to reason. Any way out of this was a good way out.

“This is your first long term mission. You have a chance to go investigate something you already know, it’ll be good for you.” As she explained, she could see your face twist into an expression of frustration. Everyone knew you could do it alone, they just were worried about your tendency to jump into danger.

Nat sighed, looking out the window as she spoke. “It’s Bucky isn’t it?”

Your body stiffened, but you remained silent. She already knew the answer.

So, alas, there you were, occupying a quaint house that resided on Oak Avenue, bearing the cold of New England. Everyday you two would walk out of your house, hand in hand and mingle with the neighbors. Due to your piano skills you posed as a private music teacher and Bucky played the role of a computer programmer, “working” from home most days.

Tonight, Bernadette was over your house, spreading neighborhood gossip. She was a chatty old lady, with paper thin skin and transparent white hair, but she was sweet for the most part. Talking to her truly offered nothing valuable to your intel, but the company was nice. Within these walls, no conversation flowed between you and the soldier. It was for the better, you rationalized, it kept everyone more focused on the task at hand.

“Oh, dear, look at the time, I should get going,” Bernadette fretted as she abruptly placed her teacup down. She quickly gathered her purse from the counter and thanked you kindly for the warm welcome you had provided her.

“Anytime, Bernie. You are always welcome at the Barnes home.” You gave her a warm smile in return, while emptying a few cookies into a container for her to take her. Barnes. You could feel your stomach lurch at the thought of marrying Bucky. Forever condemned to a fate of sharing the same space with him.

As if on cue, Bucky walked in and placed a loving hand on the small of your back. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, after casually giving you a peck on the lips. He was not too keen on your neighborly visits and opted to stay away from people when possible. Even on an undercover mission where talking was your job, he’d find a way to avoid people. Typical.

Bernadette let out a small sigh. “Oh, I remember when I was your age. I had just gotten married to Clint. Twenty years have passed and I still think about him everyday.” A glossy look coated her eyes as she reminisced. “Enjoy this time, these are the memories you hold on to.” She politely excused herself and took her box of leftover cookies, exiting the house to make her short walk to her own home, five doors down.

Bucky’s hand slowly slipped from your back and an immediate three feet was placed between the two of you. You took a seat at the kitchen counter, frustrated. Weeks in this personal hell and you didn’t seem one step closer to finding out what was going on. It felt like the universe was testing you. How much longer could you labor through living with Bucky?

“Don’t do that again,” you mumbled, pulling out your computer to reread articles about past disappearances. Since the 40s, they had occurred every 10 years and the next attack would be just a mere week from now. Time was running out to save the next victim who would fall to the hands of whatever you were searching for.

“What?” Bucky asked in an uninterested tone. He took a seat across from you at the counter, pulling up his computer to do the same.

“Don’t kiss me,” you snapped, not lifting your eyes from the screen.

“We’re married.” Bucky took off his gloves and held up his hand to reveal a wedding band. Luckily for Bucky, the cold weather permitted him to offer bad circulation as an excuse for always wearing gloves. It made hiding his metal arm much easier. Even so, he wore the wedding band. It’s the small details that are the most convincing he rationalized.

You huffed and glared up at Bucky who returned your stare with a blank facial expression. “Yeah, well tone it down. We don’t have to play it up every time Bernadette comes around, she’s more than convinced.”

“If our cover’s blown, the past two months would have been for nothing,” he answered sharply, straightening his posture. You weren’t sure if he felt the need to expand himself to make you feel smaller, but you weren’t backing down. Weeks of insincere kissings on top of disingenuous words were getting to you. The first time you had seen the Winter Soldier, you promised you’d kill him if given the chance. Now here you were, playing house. It made you feel like a fraud, a phony, and a liar above all else.

“We’ve gotten nowhere, James, the past two months have already been for nothing. The only thing I’ve gotten out of this is a headache,” you retorted, closing your computer to move to the bedroom.

Bucky had decided he wasn’t backing down either that night. “Like you’re so easy to work with. I’ve tried time and time again, but you won’t even meet me halfway.” He approached you, frustrated footsteps pounding the ground. You two stood face to face now, one pair of eyes barreling down into the other in a fit of anger.

“I don’t have time for this tonight,” you spoke through gritted teeth. This was the longest conversation you two had had in weeks. Before this mission, you had just simply avoided him. If Bucky was in the kitchen, you’d find your way to the opposite end of the Compound. At first he didn’t seem to pick up on your need for distance, but once he did, he never seemed to be where you needed to go. It worked for you two. But being forced together like this made an ugly hatred swell within the pit of your stomach. Life had been so much simpler when you could avoid his daunting blue-eyed stare.

Before Bucky could respond a ringing came from his back pocket. Huffing under his breath, he answered. His feet carried him into the living room, where he slept at night. The first night you arrived, he immediately setup on the couch. You didn’t care where he rested as long as it wasn’t near you.

As you walked to your bedroom, your hand gently rubbed the area Bucky’s fingers had previously occupied. Whether intentional or not, he had touched the same spot of the scar he gave you. Didn’t matter what name he went by or how much time passed, he’d always be the Winter Soldier in your eyes. You tried forgiveness, really, but fuck it was hard. You couldn’t ignore the fact that he almost killed you once before. What’s stopping him from doing it again? The mark had begun to fade as time passed, but the memories never left.

You’d be fine, then all at once it would hit, stealing your air and shattering your mood. One moment you would be enjoying your day, then the next you could feel the Winter Soldier’s hand around your throat. The ghost of his metal hand digging into your side was all too real. The whisper of a dagger lodging into your back still lingered. Even in your dreams he would appear, a silent and unforgiving figure. He had occupied the most sacred corners of your mind. He invaded your space.

A knock on your bedroom door jolted you from your trance. You cocked your head in the direction of the noise and held your hands up in a fighting position. You relaxed when you saw it was just Bucky, sheepishly peeking his head into your room.

“Sam thinks he found a lead into this guy three houses down. His name is Terrence Catracio, we should go check him out tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you replied, sitting down on your bed.

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed. “Do you want some water?” His feet made a noise as he awkwardly shifted on them.

“Goodnight,” you replied, laying down and turning away from him. In all honesty you were parched, but you didn’t want his help. Because if you took his help, then you would feel like you owed him something back. That was a vicious cycle you knew would be tough to break. You didn’t want the feeling of payback looming over you.

Bucky sighed and wished you a gentle goodnight before returning to his place on the couch. Time and time again he had tried to extend an olive branch to you. He’d make your bed in the morning as you ate breakfast, he washed the dishes even when you told him you would, he made sure to take cold showers so you could use the hot water. None of it worked though, all vain attempts to gain your trust. You never explicitly told him why you didn’t like him, but you didn’t need to.

He remembered it all too.

Your eyes peeled open as you felt a sunbeam warming your face. You shifted groggily in your bed before finally propping yourself up onto your elbows. 10:34 A.M. Fuck. You had slept in longer than you intended to. Sleepily, you discarded your pajamas to the foot of your bed and slipped into some clothes for the day. The aroma of coffee danced its way into the bedroom, filling your nose with the comforting smell of hazelnut.

You made your way to the kitchen as you checked your phone for updates Sam had sent about Terrence. While skimming the briefing, you sipped at the cup of coffee Bucky had provided for you on the counter. The first few times he prepared it for you, you decided the best decision would be to pour it down the drain and make your own. Without fail, though, he would always make you another cup the next morning.

“You don’t have to waste it, you know. I’m not going to drink it,” you told him. There was no malice or even sharpness to your tone. Your intention wasn’t to stir trouble, you just took no interest in his small gestures.

Bucky came out from the bathroom, his newly cut hair still dripping from the shower he had just taken. “Don’t you drink coffee every morning?” When you two were at the Compound, he had noted your consistent caffeine consumption. Didn’t matter if there was a mission or not, you’d make yourself a cup every morning.

“Yes,” you replied flatly, leaving the steaming liquid on the table. You didn’t like him, but you didn’t have the heart to dump it out in front of him. That felt a little excessive.

You two had shared the house for a week at that point, this being your first and only conversation for a while. Still, he still never failed to make you a cup every morning. He didn’t even drink coffee, it was much too bitter for his liking. Bucky took it upon himself to wake up earlier than you to make sure you had some. It was a second thought to his daily flow at first, but it slowly grew to become part of his routine. Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, make coffee, investigate for the day, come home, sleep, repeat.

After the third week of coffee wasted, you caved in and drank it. In all honesty, it wasn’t how you took yours. Too sweet for your liking, but the gesture in itself was thoughtful. Plus, it gave you a few more minutes to sleep.

It had gone lukewarm by the time you were drinking it. Bucky usually woke up around 8:30 A.M. to start snooping around the town on his own time. Eh, coffee’s coffee. You gulped down the cup within ten minutes while plotting out your next step. Tossing your finished drink in the sink, you put on one of Bucky’s coats before slipping out the door. You had your own, but you liked the way his leather jackets seemed to mold to your back. It fits my character, that’s all. He didn’t seem to mind, so this became a consistent habit.

The gentle snow descending from the sky was a stark contrast to the harsh winds that blew. It pushed back your eyelashes and whipped your hair about as you trekked over to Terrence’s house. The town was beautiful, but the snowy weather was unbearable at times.

It was unusual for you to go out on your own, but Bucky hadn’t told you when he was coming back and the mission was on crunch time. There was less than a week now to find why these girls were disappearing. You concluded it was best to weasel your way into Terrence’s house.

Gingerly, your chilled hands knocked at Terrence’s door. No reply. Another knock. No reply. Your eyes skimmed for a doorbell of some sort, only to find the button broken. Shocker. Even the outside of the house looked run down. The windows sagged in their frames, the unkept lawn cried out for attention, and the chipping paint on the house made it appear to be shedding. You knocked harder the third time, wanting to be able to leave as soon as possible. Maybe I should have brought Bucky. As you turned to leave, a squeak sounded from behind. A pair of shaken eyes looked through.

“What?” a gruff voice asked.

“You must be Terrence?” you beamed, plastering a synthetic grin to your face.

“Who’s asking?” He was still looking at you through a small crack in the door. His tired eyes scanned your body up and down as he awaited your response.

“I’m Mrs. Barnes, my husband and I moved down here a few weeks ago. I just realized we’ve never properly met.” You went to stick out your hand for a handshake. Mid reach it came to a stand still, as the door still remained as a barrier between you two.

With a hmph he opened the door all the way and met your hand. His grasp was too firm for comfort. He shook for a prolonged amount of time, tongue licking his chapped lips as he continued. The sight was enough to make you internally squirm. His pupils stung holes into your flesh, his gaze looking down upon you like you were a piece of meat. His hungry stare remained at your chest area as you continued to speak.

“We have to have dinner sometime,” you encouraged, fluttering your lashes. It felt gross to play into his perverse game, but you needed answers and you needed them fast. Your hand brushed over his arm as you spoke. “Maybe we can have dinner sometimes. . . with my husband of course.”

He answered with a lopsided smile, his bony frame attempting to slyly lean against the door frame. “Pretty lady, I’d love to, but I can’t cook for shit.”

“Oh, that’s alright. How about I do the cooking and me and the old man will come over here? I’ve been told I make a pretty killer cream pie.” You winked at him, giggling lightly. You felt yourself gag in your mouth. It had only taken minutes of knowing this man to pick up that he was an absolute sleeze bag.

It was settled, then. Bucky and you would go have dinner over at Terrence’s house and hopefully uncover some useful information. You gave a friendly wave goodbye to him as you made the short walk back to your house. Next time I go undercover, I’m going to the Bahamas. The cold continued to nip at your face as you pushed forward. Upon entering the house you saw Bucky sitting on the living room couch. His head whipped to face yours and a wave of relief washed over his face.

“Where have you been,” he asked, walking up to you. He searched your face, looking for any scratches or bruises.

Admittedly, you were taken back by this sudden sense of panic. As he awaited his answer, he caught a view of your hands, still shivering from the cold. Without hesitation he took off his gloves and slipped them onto your hands.

“Hey, I’m fine. Is everything alright?” You had grown used to Bucky being warm towards you despite your cold demeanor towards him, but this was, well, a bit much.

“I called and you weren’t answering.” His eyes finally met yours. If he was trying to disguise the fact that he was worried, he wasn’t very good at it. “I thought something had happened.”

“I was at Terrence’s. You weren’t home, so I went there myself. I didn’t think it was that important to mention. We have a dinner date with him, maybe we can find-”

“Please don’t do that again.” Despite his best efforts, his voice came out pleading. His eyebrows were upturned; he resembled a begging child with his wide eyes. What the hell was happening? “Just leave a note next time. Please.”

You paused, still bewildered at the scene unfolding before you. Disliking him was so easy when he didn’t talk, when he avoided you. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but you would have been content to never get to know Barnes. Right here though, his worried expression peering down on your face, it triggered something. The walls you had built up around yourself were beginning to crack, he had finally begun to snake his way in. No. You weren’t going to forget everything that had happened just because he spared you a pair of puppy dog eyes.

“Okay,” you answered in an even tone. Slowly, your fingers began to remove the gloves he had just delicately placed onto your hands. He saw this from his peripheral and moved his hands to meet yours, enclosing his large fingers tenderly around yours.

“Your hands are freezing, Y/N. Keep them on for now.” His hands entangled with yours caused your heart to pick up. You held each other's gaze for a moment longer, neither of you wanting to break away from whatever you were sharing. The past temporarily ceased from your minds. Everything that had happened until that moment, the fighting, the cold shoulders, the resentment, all drifted away. You and Bucky. Bucky and you. Maybe a minute went by, maybe an hour did. There was enough time for you to see his expression soften and he lightly squeezed your hand.

Suddenly, you were jolted back into reality, back to what was actually happening. Your hand quickly moved back towards your body and you averted your stare from his eyes. This was a level of intimacy you had not expected to endure with Bucky. Awkwardly clearing your throat you mumbled a small thank you and shut yourself inside your room. This mission was going to be a lot more trying than you thought.

Your body shot up out of your bed, a nervous sweat beading on your forehead. Breathing in deeply, your eyes frantically skirted around the room, for something, for someone. You didn’t have nightmares often, but when they arrived they were unrelenting. Instinctually, you reached for the scar in your back. A sigh of relief escaped your lungs when you realized there was no blood. Of course there wasn’t, it was just a dream after all. He can’t hurt me anymore. Things are different now. I’m different now.

This wasn’t like your normal nightmares though, no, it was much worse. The Winter Soldier still seeped his way in as always, but there was something more sinister there. Something more magical. You were by no means a psychic, but you had a knack for predicting major disasters. Unfortunately, you were never able to exactly pinpoint when and what they would be.

Try as you might, there was no shaking this premonition off. You found yourself tiptoeing to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Your throat was dry and maybe a refreshment would stop your head from spinning. Despite your best efforts to keep the noise to a low, the floors creaked beneath you and the cabinets seemed to open with a louder squeak than usual. You heard a shift from nearby.

“Can’t sleep?” a tired voice spoke. Bucky leaned against the doorframe as he took your image in. You appeared slightly disturbed, leaning on the counter, slowly sipping at your glass.

“I had a dream,” you replied, eyes fixated upon your water, “I was in pain. A lot. I felt some sort of magic, though. This must mean we’re getting close.”

Bucky hesitated in his movements. He knew he was probably the last person you wanted to see right now. He wanted, no, needed to help though. Calmly, he walked over to you and placed a tender hand on your arm. “Are you okay?” His voice barely carried above a whisper. He didn’t want to frighten you anymore.

You could feel his stare upon your face. You sharpened your focus harder on the counter. Damn, he made it difficult to not like him. “You don’t have to save face, no one is here,” you whispered back. He couldn’t be sincere, because if he was that meant you were wrong about Bucky Barnes. Maybe in another lifetime, you two would have been friends, perhaps even more. Not this one though, no. What happened was out of his control, but it still ached. The moment had etched itself into your very core. The damage had been done and you weren’t sure if you could ever look past it. It was better, it was safer to keep your distance than get hurt again.

“I know we don’t get along all the time-”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He couldn’t help but laugh at your quippy response. A small smile found its way to your face for just a mere second. It was long enough for Bucky to know you were making progress.

“I still worry about you.”

You swallowed, not sure how to react. A gentle grin appeared on your face, but no words left your mouth. This mission was already so hard, why did emotions need to complicate everything so much more? Bucky accepted your silence as an answer. You weren’t ready to let him in. He was just happy to see you smiling, genuinely, because of him.

“You should go to bed,” he said, turning to the kitchen clock.

“I’m not tired.” Bucky was correct, but sleep seemed impossible at that moment. You were still shocked, still scared.

Standing straight, he offered his palm face up to you. Finally, you turned to look at him. His face wore a very tired look, his eyelids actively fighting slumber. Cautiously, you accepted the invitation, placing your hand within his, as he led you to the living room. He gestured for you to take a seat. This is a trick.

“We could watch TV,” he said, sensing your hesitancy, “I can sit on the floor if you prefer.”

“It’s okay. . . we can share,” you replied, positioning yourself at the opposite end of the couch. He was slowly beginning to grow on you. Your best efforts to push James Barnes out of your life were pointless. You hated him for it. You loved him for it. It was a lot to take in. Taking the hint, he sat at the other end, a whole cushion between you two as you watched TV before inevitably drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

It had been an absolutely pointless night. While you had entertained Terrence, Bucky went to snoop around his house multiple times. Nothing. A whole night wasted on a wild goose chase. The weight of the mission was seriously starting to get to both of you now. It was time to make an exit and start from scratch yet again.

“Can I use your restroom?” Bucky directed towards Terrence who sat across from you two.

“Down the hall to the left,” he replied, taking a sip of his fourth beer that night. You knew Bucky was going to take one final look before you called it quits. Part of you admired his persistence, but both of you knew there was nothing there.

You continued to bite into your rice as you felt a pair of wandering eyes scan your body. Terrence hadn’t been bold enough to pull something while Bucky was around, but the moment he left, he was ready to pounce.

“So, darling,” he purred, hand rubbing your knee from under the table. It took a moment to register what was happening. Laughing nervously, you pulled your exposed leg away from him. I picked the wrong day to wear a dress. Any other time, you would have made that bastard sorry for even looking at you. For the sake of not compromising the mission, you tried your best to remain poised, politely declining his advances throughout the night.

“Oh, Terrence, I don’t think now is-”

“C’mon, scared your little husband is going to find out? He don’t have to know baby-”

“Is everything alright in here?” Bucky boomed as he reentered the room. His face was stoic, but you could see the fire in his eyes. He was pissed. He took his seat next to you. Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze from under the table he asked, “Ready to go, honey?”

“We haven’t even had dessert yet. Stay a while longer,” Terrence protested.

“I think we’re done here,” Bucky spat, getting up. He kept a firm grasp on your hand as you two walked out of the door. Even after leaving the sightline of Terrence, he continued to keep his fingers intertwined with yours until you entered your home.

“Bucky, what the hell? We weren’t done looking around,” you panicked. You hated Terrence’s house, but you were more than willing to endure it for the mission. If one uncomfortable dinner meant dozens of lives saved, it would be more than worth it. Maybe by some miracle you could find something useful.

“We were done,” he replied. You could see the smoke coming out of his ears. Honestly, you were shocked he hadn’t ripped off the man’s head on the spot. “He’s a dick, but not our guy. There was no longer a need for you to be there.”

“I can hold my own, Bucky,” you reassured, slightly perturbed.

“But you don’t have to.” His frustration leaked into his tone.

“I’m not a child, I can handle the heat.”

“I know you can, but- fuck. Why are you so okay with being in danger? It’s okay to know when you’ve had enough,” he argued back.

You began to slip off his coat and place it back on the hanger angrily. “I won’t apologize for being good at my job.”

“Why can’t you just be more selfish sometimes?” he bursted out. He was tired. He was tired of how you always put yourself in harm's way. He was tired of how your bravery cost you so much. He was tired of seeing you get hurt. It ate him up inside how willingly you would sacrifice yourself for a cause at any expense.

“Why does it matter so much to you? If you knew so much about me, you’d trust me,” you snapped, stepping closer to him. Your faces were now inches apart. You could see the defeat slowly enter his eyes. This wasn’t an argument he was going to win. She cares too much.

“Okay,” he breathed, anger dissipating from his expression, “okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“I trust you. I’m sorry.”

Deja vu. You had been here before, mere centimeters away from his frosted blue stare. You could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He could see the shift in your posture as you grew more relaxed. The last time you were this close, he had lodged a knife into your back. Just days ago, you would’ve ran from this moment. Your eyes would have found something else to focus on. An excuse, any really, would have popped into your head for you to escape. Not this time. No more running. You and Bucky. Bucky and you. Everything would be okay in time.

Two more days until another girl would go missing. There was nothing to follow. As the clock slowly ate away at the time, your feeling of dread grew. It was only a matter of when. It had been decided, Bucky and you would go on a night protol in hopes of catching the perpetrator in the act. Not the ideal route, but it was the only option left. Neither of you spoke about the failure you felt. The disappointment weighed down on your shoulders heavily.

To pass the time, you began to quietly play the piano in the living room. You hadn’t actually gotten to practice it much since moving in. With Bucky occupying the same room as it, you simply had avoided playing until now. He was taking a shower and therefore wouldn’t be bothered by your enjoyment for the moment.

Your fingertips ran up and down the instrument, feeling the way each key seemed to hum back through your hands as you played. In spite of yourself, you let out a small laugh. How normal this scene looked. A wife, casually playing as she awaits her husband, taking a shower after a long day of work. The white picket fence was never something you dreamed of, but it did cross your mind sometimes. You occasionally pondered how different life would have been if you gave up magic when you were young and went to pursue a normal life. It was much too late for dreaming. This was your life now. Mission after mission, fight after fight, never a dull moment in sight. For better or worse, this is where you were. You played on as you thought, eyes blurring as you contemplated further.

“You play, but do you dance?” A voice teased from behind. How strange it was. Here you were, actually talking. Bucky almost didn’t say anything, hoping your concentration wouldn’t be interrupted by his intrusion. He couldn’t help himself. You seemed to be making progress in your relationship, but he still felt nervous. What if after this mission, everything returned to normal? What if he never got to speak to you? What if he never made you smile again? He was going to enjoy your limited time left.

You grinned lightly as you continued. “I prefer to watch the dancing. You?” He took a seat next to you on the piano bench. He concentrated on how your hands freely danced across the black and white keys. He noted how you decided to keep your ring on tonight. Usually, you’d take it off in your spare time.

“No. I haven’t danced in a long time.” Not since the 40s, he thought to himself. The urge had never crossed his mind, there were too many other things to worry about.

“I’m more of a people watcher. Maybe I’ll find someone who’ll people-watch with me.”

Bucky never noticed the curvature of your lips before. They complimented the rest of your features nicely. He admired the position of your nose and the angle of your eyebrows. It was all just so wonderful. Anyone who knew you could see you were pretty, but in the dimly lit living room as you played, he could see you were beautiful.

“Or maybe you’ll find someone to dance with,” he offered, continuing to revere in your glow.

You let out a small chuckle. “Doubt it. I’m not the romance type. People are too dishonest nowadays.”

“You’re jaded,” he joked. For someone who would sacrifice herself for the world, you sure seemed to think lowly of it.

“I could say the same about you,” you retorted playfully to the soldier.

You carried on, allowing yourself to slip into the music. Bucky’s presence acted as an odd comfort. It was as if the music had created a shield around you two where nothing mattered. There was no more mission, just two individuals enjoying the silent company of the other. At some points he would hum along if he knew the words, other times he sat just happy to have the privilege of your companionship.

“You still haven’t said why.” Now his hands were upon the instrument. He claimed he remembered a few songs from his childhood and attempted to play them out. The notes were too spaced apart and his fingers appeared to have the desire to hit the piano rather than play it. Nonetheless, it was wonderful. A smile broke upon his lips as he kept on messing up the chords and you would hopelessly try to aid in his struggle.

“Why what?” you giggled, trying to place his fingers on the right keys still.

“Why you don’t dance.” His voice softened as he turned his focus away from the piano to you.

“Always the wrong song, never the right partner, I guess,” you responded coolly. You had had relationships in the past, but they were temporary, just blips in your day to day. All wonderful people in their own right, but never the person for you. You were tired of searching in an endless sea of fish and resigned yourself to solitude. It wasn’t for everyone, but you found solace in it.

“You’ll find them one day.” Bucky’s fingers had now lifted themselves off the piano. “I know it.” He gave you a sincere smile before getting up from the bench to go to his bed (or couch rather.) Heat tinged your cheeks at his sweet remark. Damn you, Barnes. Stop being nice. Quietly, you continued to play as Bucky fell asleep peacefully for the night.

The day of reckoning. The air around you felt thick. Deep within your stomach, you just knew something was off. Bucky insisted that you stayed inside for the day until you two would sneak about the neighborhood later that night.

“Why? I can help.”

“They’re targeting young women, Y/N. I can’t let you get hurt on my watch.”

“I can handle myself,” you gently reassured him as you sipped at the coffee he prepared.

“I know you can. Just until I get back from a possible lead, please stay.” As the day approached, Bucky grew more and more fretful. He’d never let you see, of course, as you would probably lecture him on how you didn’t need a babysitter. He knew you were strong, probably even more so than him, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to make sure you were safe. For the past three days, he had stayed up a few hours later at night, fearing some creature would steal you away in the dark. When walking around the town with you, he was always more cautious of the men who let their eyes linger on you for too long. No one was going to lay a finger on his partner.

You conceded. You knew he would be back within the hour. As of recent, you had begun to note his inability to leave you alone for too long. You caught glances of his knotted eyebrows and concerned looks. It would be a lie to say you didn’t like the doting you received as of recent. “I won’t snoop around. Promise.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief. As he put on his coat to leave, he assured you that he didn’t mind skipping this lead. It’s probably a dead end anyways. Whatever you’re more okay with. We’ll catch them tonight either way. Are you sure? I don’t mind. You basically had to force him out the doorway before he finally left.

You looked around at the now empty house around you. Over the past few nights, you’d both slowly began to pack your things away. The bare essentials of what was required to live were still left, nonetheless, the house felt hollow. You walked over to the living room, sitting on the couch. Over the weeks, it had slowly melded to the shape of Bucky.

It’s over, isn’t it?

An unfamiliar sensation crept its way into your veins. Melancholy. After weeks of dreading your stay, the familiar sound of Bucky’s steps had grown on you. His presence was now a part of your daily life. Your eyes made their way to a small framed photo on the coffee table. It was a picture of you on Bucky on your “wedding day.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. No one even notices that stuff,” you argued with Tony. It was his idea for Barnes and you to have a wedding photoshoot. “Aren’t the rings enough?”

“Y/N, how many married couples don’t own a photo of their special day?” He tiredly placed his head into his hands. You had been going back and forth with him for the past two hours about this. His forehead progressively creased more and more with exasperation.

Finally swallowing your pride, you grumbled, “Fine, but I’m not kissing him.”

As if on cue, Tony popped out of his chair and excitedly rubbed his hands together. “Great, your dress is in the next room.”

“What?” Before your thoughts could puzzle what was happening, you found yourself slipped into a flowing white gown. There was no denying, the dress was absolutely stunning. Tony did a wonderful job picking it out. Still, it felt all off. It was a cage, trapping you underneath your own sense of dread. You wanted to rip it apart, burn it to pieces. Walking to meet Bucky in the backyard of the Compound felt like a funeral procession. An inescapable feeling of panic rang in your chest cavity.

Bucky wore a simple, flattering suit. His gaze attempted to meet yours, but you were unable to look him in the eyes. This was all becoming too real.

“Christ, kid, you’re not dying, you’re getting married. Smile.” Tony teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You looked to face the soldier, blue eyes gleaming under the sunlight. You mustered the brightest smile you could, slowly moving closer to him. Nervously, he wrapped his arms around your torso and smiled back. Snap. The photo was taken and you immediately began to discard the veil. You almost quit right on the spot, gave up then and there. But this was bigger than you. People’s lives depended on you. This would be your burden to bear.

Bucky found you in the hall, where you frantically removed your heels. Even a fifteen minute photo shoot was overwhelming for the both of you.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

You responded with a huff as you continued to fight your way out of your wedding garments.

“In public, we can hold hands, kiss, and do the marriage thing. When we’re alone though, you aren’t obligated to any of that. I’m taking the couch. You won’t even know I’m there.” He felt his heart splintering as he continued. He craved your validation, but he understood your disgust.

He didn’t like himself either.

You now grasped the photo in your hand, tracing your thumb in small circles around it’s golden frame. It was a convincing shot. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say you appeared in love. Bucky looked at you like you had personally hung the stars, moon, and sun alike in the sky. A rush of emotion came spilling up. Sure, it was all pretend, but you were going to miss this. You were going to miss Bucky making your coffee in the morning. You were going to miss the steady grip of his hands. You missed it already. Your heart ached at the thought that this was it. Tears threatened to pool at your eyes, but you quickly shook the feeling away. None of this was real. It wasn’t worth crying over a misguided fantasy.

For a while you laid on the couch, aligning your body to the impression Bucky’s form had left. It smelled like him too, pine and coffee and patience. You pressed the photo to your chest, allowing yourself to live in this beautiful invention for just a while longer. How lovely it was to exist in this illusion of normalcy.

A knocking came from your door, jostling you up. Sadly, you set the frame down on the couch cushion and went to answer the door.

“Hi, Bernie,” you greeted kindly to your neighbor. You were going to miss her once you left Huntington. She had always been so warm to you.

“Hello, dear. I hate to bother you, but it appears some shelves fell over in the basement. My old bones can’t move them myself, I was wondering could you help?” Her aged frame stood shivering in the wind. As you put on one of Bucky’s coats, you remembered his earlier request that you leave a note. Dashing to the kitchen, you grabbed a piece of paper and pen and quickly scribbled ‘Be back soon, helping Bernie for a sec.’

You tailed behind Bernadette as she led you into her basement. You had never been inside her house before. It was decorated top to bottom with those eerie baby angel sculptures and a surprising amount of taxidermy. To each their own, I guess. A pair of creaky stairs later, you entered the damp, dark basement to see nothing but a concrete floor. Empty.

“Hey Bernie, I don’t-” Suddenly, a violent shock of pain shot through your body, stopping your sentence short. Your feet were lifted off the ground as you attempted to fight against whatever the hell was going on.

Bernadette let out an amused laugh as she circled you. Her papery skin took a new, glowing form. Her white, thinning hair turned itself into a gorgeous chestnut brown. She was no longer the meekly old lady you had grown to know, but rather a stunning middle aged woman.

“For someone with your skill, I’m surprised you didn’t catch on sooner,” her eyes squinted as she examined your useless struggle against her magic. She was entertained by your battle against her power. It fed her ego to see how helpless you looked.

“How?” you gasped out, a burning sensation now rising in your lungs. They felt like they were filling up with fire, polluting the rest of your body with an ugly ash. She was powerful and above all else she was merciless. Her hand movements were fluid, her incantations so precise. She was dangerous.

“The moment I met you, I sensed something different. So young for such a strong witch. I was impressed. If you and your husband hadn’t come to ruin my plans, maybe I could’ve taught you a thing or two,” she droned on, continuing to circle you like a shark sniffing blood. “I’ve been able to restore my youth for damn near a century with no issue. So what if one girl goes missing every couple of years?”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that, didn’t agree with me too tough.” If not for your compromised state, you could’ve hit yourself for being so ignorant. How was the pattern not clear before? They always had to be young. She couldn’t feed off of an older life source. Your heart broke for the dozens of girls who suffered at the hand of this monster. They had valuable time stolen from them because of one selfish woman with power.

“I prefer this form,” she explained, gesturing to her physique, “don’t get me wrong, but the old lady facade really makes people let their guard down. A false sense of security, if you will.”

“Bucky is going to find me,” you hissed, thrashing against her hold. Damn, she’s good.

“Aww, young love,” she sarcastically smiled while tilting her head. “Naive, but so pure. Brings me back.”

Mustering all your strength, you temporarily broke from her spell, abruptly landing to the ground. Immediately you began hurling energy her way, knocking her off her feet onto the hard concrete beneath you. You hovered over her, veins ready to pop from your neck, prepared to issue a fatal strike. Kill or be killed. Before your fist was able to make contact with her supple skin, her fingers skimmed your temples, casting an orange glow around your head. The room went dark as you crashed on top of her with a thud.

Bucky returned home within the hour, just as he promised. Another dead end. He felt guilty for allowing you to stay home alone for so long. She can handle herself. He gnawed at his lip anxiously as he pulled into the driveway. He leapt out the car and quickly entered your home. His eyes were met with an empty living room. No one. He peered to see if you were asleep in the bedroom. No one. He saw the bathroom door askew, unoccupied. No one.

“Y/N?” he called out, panic seeping its way into his chest. Lastly, he checked the kitchen and was only greeted by a sloppily scribbled note. Be back soon, helping Bernie for a sec. A sigh of relief parted from his lips. He didn’t want to seem overbearing, but he rationalized it was the right move to join you. He just needed to see that you were okay, that’s all. He headed out the door with a nervous swiftness.

He arrived at Bernie’s door. None of the lights were on inside it appeared. That’s odd. He gave a knock. Silence. He repeated himself, adding more impatience to the second knock. Silence.

“Bernie? Y/N? You guys there?” Silence. He wasn’t knocking a third time. Reeling back, he forced his way through the old wooden door, crashing forcefully into it. The house was empty. Damnit, doll. Something was wrong. He searched around the house, checking rooms, breaking many angel figures in the process, losing his mind in a labyrinth of shattered glass and taxidermy animals in an attempt to locate you.

A deep groan sounded from the distance. Bucky felt a cold chill run through his spine as hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He had heard that noise before. It was the same one he heard in his endless nightmares. It was the reason he willingly kept his distance from the new recruit. It was why he longed to carve his brain out of his own skull some nights. It was unmistakably yours.

He listened to the direction it came from, leading him to a pantry-like door. Without hesitation, he bursted through it, chips of wood flying about in his path. Hearing you in pain awoke something primal within him; the only mission that mattered now was to find you. He bolted down the steps to be met with the image of you, pathetically curled on the ground as a woman held her hands to your head. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he knew it needed to stop. With his full force, he barreled into the mysterious woman, landing on top of her as his fingers met her face.

You gasped awake, the darkness which stunned your sight being cast away. You heard the ungodly sound of flesh making contact with flesh. Weakly turning your head, you saw Bucky punching the crap out of a younger Bernie. Before he could make a third swing, her eyes glowed a firey color as he was lifted off her and thrown against a brick wall. A grunt forced its way out of his mouth.

Bernadette tsked as she stood back up, wiping the fresh blood that leaked from her nose. She looked down at the red liquid that now stained her hands and back to Bucky. “You’re quite the fighter.” She sounded impressed with the gull it took to come full charge at her.

“Bucky?” you managed, looking over to him. He struggled to go over to you, as Bernie’s magic held him against the brick wall. Your body didn’t possess the strength to get up and fight. You felt it dying all around you. Whatever Bernie had done to those other girls, she was doing to you before Bucky interrupted. He gave you a pained expression as he repeatedly whispered sorry. Tears were coming to his eyes, but he forced them back. He didn’t want the last memory you had of him to be so bleak. So you restrained himself, whispering sorry, fuck I’m so sorry, sorry.

Death. The thought had never crossed your mind before. A natural consequence of life you hadn’t expected to meet with so soon. You saw Bernie stand up to approach you, finish the job. Out of all the ways to go as an Avenger, this was probably the most peaceful. You felt nothing as she worked. There was just a blackness that engulfed your body. Not the worst way to die.

“Wait,” Bucky shouted desperately, trying to work against Bernie’s spell, “Wait! Take me instead.”

She paused her work, looking him up and down. “No offense, but you’re not my usual target. You’re not as young as you seem. I can tell you’re not from this time, loverboy.”

“I know that. You don’t want her, though.” His voice faltered as he said the word ‘her’. Glancing over to your shivering body he continued. “I have super soldier serum pumping through my veins. I’m sure that’s much more valuable to you.”

Bernadette paused, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. “Hmm. You make a good point.” Since the moment she met Bucky, she could tell something different about him. She felt it every time he got close to her, it radiating off his body. He seemed to possess no magic within him, so this would explain how he was able to live for so long.

“Bucky, no,” you called out in pain. He couldn’t die because of you. Not after everything you had been through together. It felt cruel, so sickly twisted of fate to do this. The moment you had learned to trust the most caring soul in the world, he was going to be ripped from you. With every last bit of will power you had, you tried to do something.

“It’s okay, doll. I’m okay. We’re going to be okay. I promise,” he reassured as Bernadette approached him.

“Too bad she can’t live, she knows too much. Thanks for the lovely display of passion, though.” His heart fell through the floor. He shattered into a million pieces, strewn upon the floor by two simple sentences, speechless. “I have a better idea for you lovebirds.” With a wicked flick of her hand, she casted another spell over you.

Your body had strength back within it. Vigor re-entered your veins as you rose to your feet. You weren’t quite sure where you were, you just knew you were frightened. Unexplained aches peppered your body as you looked around. The snow pounded down into the ground all around you. Then there he was. Your breath hitched as he moved closer, hands out in an offensive stance. You said you’d kill him the next time you met. You intended on keeping your word.

Your hands flew out in anger, casting golden bursts of energy his way. He didn’t waver. Your hits weren’t slowing him down one bit. He moved at you more swiftly. Never again. You reeled your hands back and sent out a large wave his way.

Bucky hit the floor with a thump as he approached you. “Y/N, it’s me,” he tried to ration. There was a film over your eyes. They looked foggy, like an unclean fish bowl. He got back on his feet and tried to approach you more slowly. “C’mon, whatever is happening, I know you’re stronger than.”

The Winter Soldier refused to stop. You decided on a more forceful tactic, lurching forward and connecting your hand with his stubbled face. A shock of gold rippled over his face. No reaction, just the dead stare of a killer.

Bucky let out a deep scream of agony. It felt like half his face was melting off, searing his skin. You were now on top of him, facial features growing more and more feral. It wouldn’t have been difficult to knock you off. You were throwing passionate, but imprecise hits. Like an animal dying, you didn’t seem sure what to do, you were just gifted with the knowledge that you had to do it to survive. “I’m not going to hit you,” he managed to speak between punches. His face's sharp features were now coated in a thick layer of fresh blood. Streaks smeared across his face as you repeatedly threw down your fists upon him.

The soldier wasn’t letting in. He laid there, motionless, staring back at you, taunting you. No matter what you did, how hard you hit, he was unbreakable. You screamed out in anger as your stamina slowed. The exhaustion was quickly catching up, but you couldn’t quit now. Then he spoke your name. After minutes of silence he spoke your name in his gravelly voice. He never spoke before. Yet, somehow the sound seemed familiar.

You had your firsts stalled mid punch. Your breath was ragged as you hovered over him, straddling him so he couldn’t get away. Bucky saw the milkiness slowly fade from your eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered sweetly, “No one is ever going to hurt you again.” His face was soar as he spoke, bottom lip busted from the countless blows you provided. It didn’t matter how long it took, he wasn’t going to lay a finger on you. Never again.

He had spoken. The ruthless murder had spoken to you. You looked down at him in shock, unsure of what was happening. No one is ever going to hurt you again. The words reverbed through your mind. Though you stood still, he made no advances to attack you. He just layed, staring back at you, searching for something. The face grew more familiar. You had seen those eyes before, but not like this. A flash of his lips smiling. The feel of his hand lovingly cupping around yours. The warmth his body provided next to yours on the piano bench. The coffee, the arguing, the forgiveness. Floodgates broke and it all came back. The snow dissipated, you could now see you were still in a basement. There was no more Winter Soldier; there hadn’t been in a long time.

“Bucky?” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. You knew what you had to do. You had to act hastily, Bernie hadn’t realized you had broken from your trance yet. With every last fiber of your strength you let out one last spell. It filled the entire damp basement with a glowing golden light, entrapping Bernie’s body with a bright shine.

The air from Bernadette’s lung was drawn out ferociously. You had used the last bit of power you had in you to literally take her breath away. It was awful and if you could have ended it another way, you would have. Your body didn’t have the strength though. A simple spell, yet quite useful in dire situations. You collapsed onto Bucky. There was nothing left inside of you. He cradled you against his chest as he watched the scene unfold.

Bernadette reached for her throat, face turning red as she lost air rapidly. Her body buckled as she fell onto her knees and finally her side. She attempted to speak, to get a final word in, but she was unable to manage. Now, she lay there, just feet in front of you, still. With no living magic to mask her age, her body rapidly shifted into her older version and slowly into dust. Bucky held your face closer to his chest as this all occurred, hoping to shield you from the grim sight.

She was gone. Your mission was complete.

You forced your eyelids open, looking up at a very bloodied Bucky. Your hand felt its way to one of his and gave it a weak squeeze. How ironic. You almost died because of him once, and there you were tucked in his arms, about to die again because you tried to save him. He could feel your heartbeat as he pulled you in closer.

“Hey, you have to stay with me. Okay? It’s going to be alright,” he murmured softly into your hair, one arm around you, one hand firmly grasping onto yours. You didn’t deserve to go like this. You couldn’t go like this.

“Bucky,” you tried to say, but a cough quickly interjected.

“Shhhh, shhh. Don’t push yourself. Someone’s on their way right now.” The damage done would require more than your average doctor. You both knew by the time useful help arrived, it might be too late.

“You owe me a dance.”

“Once we get you all fixed up, doll. First thing.”

“Promise me, Bucky.”

“I promise.”

“What song were you thinking of?”

“With the right partner, they’ll all be perfect.” Bucky held you tighter, scared you’d slowly start slipping through his fingers if he let go. He hoped the room was dim enough to hide the hot, salty tears streaking down his face. This is no way to go. His thumb slowly rubbed against your hand as he gently rocked back and forth.

Bucky’s super soldier serum offered a lot of advantages. Fast physical healing, super strength, everything it took to be the ideal human. His body was atune, too aware of everything happening around him, though. That was the only drawback. He had grown used to overhearing private conversations. He was accustomed to smelling burnt food from two floors away. He learned to ignore these things.

Thump.

But this time, he wanted to feel it all

Thump.

He had never held a person near enough to feel their heart.

Thump.

He had to strain his body to sense it.

Thump.

But it was there and it was beautiful.

Thump.

It was the sound of hands intertwined, the smell of home, the touch of a piano playing, the sight of feeling worthy, the taste of love.

Thump.

The feeling was heaven.

Thump.

Poet’s envied what he could sense, musicians could only dream of the profoundness the feeling offered, this was the playwright’s perfect romance. All from one simple sound.

Thump.

“Hey, Y/N?”

Silence.

“You still with me?”

Silence.

“Doll?”

The incredible thing about humanity is its ability to fade. Whether from sight or from memory, life can be seen as a large cycle of disappearing. Feelings also possess this wondrous gift of fading away. Within that, though, there lies forgiveness. Anger had dwindled from your soul. Your eyes no longer averted his. When your arms beckoned for him, he always came.

The recovery was a long process. Wanda had to help fix you from within. She was a gifted witch, but not a miracle worker. Patiently, for weeks, she worked to piece back together the torn pieces of your mind and body. Bucky was inseparable from you the whole time. Though unconscious for the first two weeks, he still remained by your side. He read books he thought you’d enjoy, played music he knew you’d appreciate.

It’s not like a normal coma, Bucky. She can’t hear you.

That’s okay. She will when she wants to. She can handle this.

Now there you were, pressed to Bucky’s chest. His arms wrapped gingerly around your still recuperating body as you two swayed in sync. Once you were able to walk, you insisted he kept his promise to dance with you. He didn’t hesitate to accept. Whatever he could do to see you smile again was worth it to him. Your feet stumbled over him on occasion, but he didn’t mind. You and Bucky. Bucky and you. He felt like he was dancing on sunshine as he took in every piece of your being.

“I don’t think I’m doing this right,” you laughed lightly, bumping into his foot once more.

“You’re perfect. Always.” He moved back a little so he could admire your tender stare as he spoke. “Hey, you ever find that dance partner you were talking about?”

“Yeah,” you sighed happily, “I think I finally found the right partner.”

A/N: Holy fuck this took so long to make. I hope you all enjoyed! All likes, reblogs, comments, and constructive criticisms are deeply appreciated. I’m super proud as this is the first long piece I’ve written and I’ve revised it like 100 times. Requests are open as well :) DM if you want to be added to the taglist or just want a friend. <3

Taglist: @itscheybaby

3K notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story ~ Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST

“This will all sound cheesy, but I figure that if you’re reading this then you should already be prepared. This is the story of my family. Of our love, our losses, our sacrifices. Of how we fought to stay together, fought to survive. This is the story of Bailey Stark and the Avengers. This is my story.”

This story contains the movies: Avengers Age of Ultron, Captain America Civil War, Spider-Man Homecoming, Avengers Infinity War, Captain Marvel, and Avengers Endgame. It also has stories that happen in between the movies.

Comments, likes, reblogs, and/or asks are always welcome for this story.

One shot requests for this story are open.

Keep reading

817 notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

Bucky Barnes Angst!

Hi, friends! Welcome to angst-central! I love me some Bucky Barnes angst, and I hope you enjoy my angsty posts :)

Find my Ko-Fi here!

All in My Head | Your perfect boyfriend Bucky just wants to take you dancing, and his sweeping romantic gesture is almost too good to be true.

The Ballad of Love and Hate (Inspired by The Ballad of Love and Hate by The Avett Brothers) | angst and fluff: Bucky refuses to open up to you even after you've moved in together. You need some time away to think while Bucky spirals due to your absence.

Begin Again | Bucky broke up with you six months for an unspecified reason, leaving you absolutely heartbroken. When he shows up on your doorstep, your feelings come rushing back.

Blood on My Hands | A text from Sam sparks anxiety about Bucky’s state of mind after his most recent mission, and all you want to do is fix it for him.

Burning the Midnight Oil | Bucky says he’s okay. He tells you that he just can’t fall asleep, but his continuous absence from your bedroom spells trouble.

Call Me When You Get This | Bucky always worries about your safety, but his anxiety gets worse when he’s away on a mission. He doesn’t hear from you for an entire day, and it makes him spiral.

Damaged | It’s date night, but your chronic pain is rearing its ugly head. Bucky spends the night worrying about you and trying to care for you.

Dark Reflection | A particularly dark night terror wakes Bucky in a panic. He reaches for you and finds your side of the bed empty, save for a few drops of blood.

Darling, You Will Bury Me Before I Bury You (Inspired by Ya'aburnee by Halsey) | You know Bucky is a super soldier, but you worry about how long he'll be around. He is 106, after all.

Documentary Now | In his free time, Bucky wants to catch up on all of your favorite movies and tv shows, but he stumbles upon something darker.

Do You Want to Die Together? (Inspired by Do You Want to Die Together? by Stars) | Bucky’s lost a lot of people in his life, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts thinking about losing you.

Double Agent | Bucky can’t control his rage as he sees you, a former Hydra operative, joining the team. His fury is quelled, however, when you reveal the truth about your past.

Double Agent: Part 2 | A nightmare violently wakes you up, but Bucky is there to take care if you. After calming down, you tell him every last detail of your time under Hydra.

Double Agent: Part 3 | All Bucky wants is for you to get some rest, but there’s no way you can sleep. He picks your brain over some breakfast, and learns more about your past.

Double Agent: Part 4 | Things between you and Bucky improve consistently, and you quickly become close friends. But one unfortunate middle of the night event sends the two of you back two square one.

Dust to Dust | Bucky’s on a long mission, and you’re preparing for his return home. But Sam has some unfortunate news that shakes you to your core.

End of Story | An injury forces you to examine Bucky’s mortality head on and talk about things you never wanted to admit.

Excuses | An unexpected relapse of Bucky’s Winter Soldier mindset makes him do something he doesn’t remember- the worst thing he’s ever done.

False Reality | Running into an unpleasant person from your past sends you into a shame spiral. Bucky gets you home and takes care of you- reminding you of your worth.

Family Man | More than anything, Bucky wants you to be happy. He’d do anything to help you find someone, no matter how much it hurts him.

Happiness is a Butterfly (inspired by Happiness is a Butterfly by Lana Del Rey) | You never expected to meet the Bucky Barnes somewhere so mundane, but bumping into him at the grocery store leads to a first date.

Haunted (Inspired by Haunted by Taylor Swift) | You and Bucky have finally admitted your feelings for each other, but when he hurts you by accident, he runs. You're left to pick up the pieces in his absence.

Help me | Bucky wakes from a night terror and divulges the details of a particular horrifying memory- one he’s never shared with anyone.

Home | Bucky is your best friend in the compound and your favorite person to spend time with until he ices you out completely.

I’ll Never Smile Again | Part two of Honey, Come Home | Bucky’s mission keeps getting extended, leaving you sad and alone.

I’ll Wear Your Ring | Bucky loved you. He gave you a ring and asked you to be his wife- and then he left without a trace.

I Never Learned to Read Your Mind | Bucky broke up with you just over a month ago, yet gets jealous after seeing you with another man.

It Feels Easier to Just Swim Down | Several unanswered texts make Bucky work about you, and he ends up at your apartment to check in on you. What he finds breaks his heart.

It Will Come Back (Inspired by It Will Come Back by Hozier) | Bucky is your very best friend but he’s very hot and cold toward you, so you confront him.

Just in Case | On the run after the events of Civil War, Bucky hasn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. You offer to sit with him, and he makes an off putting request.

Let Go | Bucky knows there’s something you’re hiding from him, and all he wants is to help. But you remain closed off and tight lipped until everything falls apart.

Like a Secret, Like an Oath | Bucky never misses an opportunity to give you a kiss or hold your hand- unless the team is around.

Love Language | You notice that Bucky has started pulling away from your usual physical affection, and it makes you rethink the way you show your love.

Lucky | A dicey mission has Bucky looking a little worse for wear. You’re already worried about him, but he makes a comment that sends your anxiety into overdrive.

Making Amends | You’ve never seen the inside of Bucky’s secret little notebook, and when you accidentally take a glance, you can’t believe what you find.

Monster Mash | A Halloween party goes very south when you and Bucky are met face to face with someone from both of your pasts.

Muscle Memory | Things with Bucky are perfect until he touches you in a way that brings back terrible memories.

Never Alone | Bucky is afraid of who he is deep down, and thinks leaving is the best option for the both of you.

Nothing Fucks With My Baby (inspired by NFWMB by Hozier) | Bucky shows up late to a Shield party and finds out that a new agent made you uncomfortable. He takes care of it.

Nowhere to Go | Bucky’s temporary living situation falls through and he needs a place to crash, but he’s too embarrassed to ask for help.

Old Habits | Bucky’s old Winter Soldier training starts rearing its head, causing him to become more protective of you than ever before.

Packed Bags | Bucky comes home to find your things neatly packed into a suitcase, and he does everything he can to convince you not to leave him.

Penance | Bucky comes home from a mission bloody and injured. You want him to get some medical attention, but he refuses.

Protect Yourself | Bucky worries endlessly about your safety and just wants you to know how to keep yourself safe. Unfortunately, you end up injured in the process and he blames himself.

Put My Mind at Ease | You return home from a successful mission with plans to have a pizza night with Bucky- but things go awry when an injury rears it’s head.

The Quiet (inspired by Til I Fall Asleep by Jayme Dee) | Bucky is gone all the time on mission after mission, fulfilling his duties as an Avenger- but is he doing too much?

Revenge | A mission gone sideways finds you bloodied on the floor of a Hydra base, and Bucky knows exactly who’s to blame.

Safe With Me | A mission goes sideways, putting you in the hands of a notorious Hydra arms dealer. Upon returning home, your well-being takes a turn for the worst, but Bucky is there for you.

Self-Inflicted | A strange sound wakes you up in the middle of the night, and you discover a sleeping Bucky covered blood.

She Never Asked Me Once About the Wrong I Did (Inspired by Work Song by Hozier) | Bucky comes home from a mission, racked with guilt and covered in blood that isn't his. He needs comfort and safety and that only you can provide.

That’s My Girl | Bucky hates when you go on missions without him, and he counts the hours till you return. When you end up in the med bay without him knowing why, he loses it.

Unanswered Letters | Bucky is your best friend in the Avengers compound...until he leaves with no warning. His return is confusing and complicated for the both of you.

Under the Influence | Girls night out with Nat and Wanda gets ruined by a particularly creepy stranger, and Bucky spends the night taking care of you.

Unhinged | At argument between you and Bucky gets a little out of hand, prompting him to leave with no intention of returning.

Watch You Sleep (sequel to Just in Case) | Bucky falls asleep in your lap and finally gets the rest he deserves. One tiny mistake by you wakes him, however, leading to a violent outburst.

Weak Link | Bucky is your favorite person to work with on missions, and you’re partnered together every time- until someone keeps changing things up last minute, making you doubt your friendship with him.

Winter in my Heart | Bucky just can’t get a handle on his emotions as he tries to adjust to a normal life with you.

The Words | While out with you at the store, Bucky encounters something from his past that messes with his head.

The World Stopped Moving | A mission gone wrong leaves you and Bucky both gravely injured.

You Don’t Own Me | Bucky’s wounds land him in the med bay after a mission, much to his dismay. A particular scar of his catches your eye, forcing Bucky to unravel even more of his traumatic past.

Yours (Inspired by Yours by Ella Henderson) | Bucky loves being your boyfriend, but he knows he's got a lot of baggage. He worries that it's too much for you, so you talk him through it.

You're Here Now | Bucky always begs you to lock the front door, but you're forgetful. Too bad you forgot to lock it the day Hydra came after you to get back at Bucky...

Find my Bucky smut here 🔥

Find my Bucky fluff here 🥰

2K notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

Head is A Jungle

Summary: While recovering from being a homicidal murder machine for seventy years, one Bucky Barnes may find hope for himself yet.

Word Count: 16.4K

Pairing: Wakanda! Bucky x reader (pronouns she/her)

Warnings: strong language, anger issues, temper, depressive episode (labeled relapse), anxiety and paranoia, self esteem issues w/ self image mentions

Notes: Gif is not my own, credit to original creator. I’ve been terrible at reading replies and interacting with everyone who interacts with my posts but I’m going to be better about it, I promise! Thank you for reading and supporting! Enjoy!!

There was always some kind of noise.

A heart rate monitor beeped at a steady pace to his right. A soft, barely audible hum of machinery in the background. Ambient sounds filling his day.

Birds chirping, music playing, kids shouting with giddy excitement. Street vendors.

The scuffle of medical staff and lab technicians through the hallways. Going about their days of research and reports.

It had become rather monotonous, or perhaps even comforting. Wakanda had become comforting. Bucky hadn’t realized how much he wanted peace until he had it.

Almost had it, anyways.

“Shuri is running late today,” Ayo commented softly. Her fingertips brushed along the countertop. “There is no telling what she has gotten into.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

Ayo had been his appointed guard when he arrived in Wakanda. In the beginning, she was more watchful, wary of his alter ego. She had followed him everywhere— literally, everywhere.

Bucky didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. In fact, Ayo wasn’t bad company. She didn’t linger or leer in the background. She made easy conversation and was extremely helpful with details of Wakanda’s culture and history.

They often found themselves just spending time together instead of her being a watch dog.

She had become more lenient since there hadn’t been a relapse in his therapy in months. Ayo had gone from her constant supervision to guarding during the therapy sessions.

Even then, she only stayed in the room sometimes.

Bucky liked to think he had gained her trust over their time together. She had gained his, at least.

The doors burst open, Shuri striding in confidently. Almost declaring that she herself was not late, everyone else was early. A casual grin on her face.

“Who is ready to party?” She shouted, arms spread wide in a playfully welcome stance. That was one thing Bucky always noticed about the young woman— she seemed to be in a constant good mood. Always a joker. Always cool under pressure.

Ayo, however, was the complete opposite. Stoic and on guard. Constantly vigilant. Her humor was less brash. Much more refined than Shuri’s.

While he enjoyed Shuri’s fanatic, frankly chaotic, sense of humor, Bucky often found solace in Ayo’s calm energy.

“I think I will be taking guard.” Ayo teased, her eyes widening as she slipped around the eclectic young woman. Shuri whined at her reluctance.

“You are no fun, Ayo.” She tsked disappointedly. Cocking her head to the side as she eyed Bucky, hopefully. “Sergeant?”

“I don’t think is a party but I’m always up for it.” He promised. Shuri pumped her fist. Ayo rolled her eyes, popping the door open and swinging herself out gracefully.

“That’s the spirit.” The princess cheered.

Bucky shifted further back in his usual seat as Shuri scooped her equipment up. Electrodes to monitor his heart rate and vitals were pressed onto his chest and neck. A blood pressure cuff to his upper arm.

Two, small ear cuffs latched to his ears. Like earbuds. Shuri had explained their importance to him multiple times— mainly scolding him for adjusting them. He couldn’t help it, the metal was uncomfortable and felt awkward.

She would use them to send signals from her computer and hologram, where she would be running base on her algorithm.

He didn’t understand the details, just that it was all working to retrieve his memories and eventually, would rid him of the Soldier.

That was enough for him.

“How have your migraines been?” Shuri’s fingertips were cold as she efficiently applied the electrodes to his neck.

Bucky had told her, weeks before, that he had migraines after their sessions. They would range from mild annoyance to severe, debilitating pain and nausea. Luckily, they only lasted a few hours at most, but they would occur a few times each week.

She suggested he go to the infirmary across the hall to get a true diagnosis but he refused, and settled for her explanation. Which was more of a guess. Around the ball park of ‘maybe brain pain is a good thing— your memories are coming back’. Which was pretty much the same conclusion he himself had come to, though he had been hoping for something a little more scientific from her.

“Better. Haven’t had one this week.” He confided, truthfully. She hummed quietly, slipping behind him to gather his hair up in her hands.

He wanted to shrink away from the touch— no one touched his hair, he hated the feel. But Shuri needed full visual of her instruments, therefore, his hair had to be out of the way. That and she commented that his ‘colonizer hair would get caught in the brackets and joints and fuck shit up’.

Did he mention he enjoyed his time with her?

“Very good. You are adjusting.” She nodded, quickly tying the long hazelnut strands up with the hair tie around her wrist. She made quick work of it, not lingering longer than she had to. Fully aware of how his shoulders tensed whenever she pulled his hair back. “Any nightmares?”

“All the time.” He murmured, accepting the pair of ear cuffs from her.

“The usual?” She spoke over the quiet typing of her fingertips over a holographic keyboard. The clicking noise was quiet, almost nonexistent, but Bucky heard it.

“The usual.” He confirmed, tucking the mechanisms into and over his ears.

Shuri hummed quietly, her eyebrows furrowed in empathy. Lips twisted to the side as she finished adjusting her algorithm for the day’s session.

“I hope you find pleasant memories today, James.” She made a few more clicks before stepping away. Bucky glanced toward her station, eyes laid on the familiar vital sign charts and brain wave activity. A series of fast paced code beginning to run on one hologram— the algorithm beginning.

“Me too.” He responded.

Then he leaned back, closed his eyes and let go of the tense breath he’d been holding. Letting his mind drift.

He found that this was the best way to begin. He’d tried any and everything to trigger memories— thinking about something particular, making up scenarios and hoping a little voice would correct his falsities. But it was always easier to let his mind take the reigns. To guide him where it wanted to go.

“Jamie, you almost ready? Church starts in thirty minutes and your brother and sister’s already dressed!” His mother’s voice echoed along the stairwell, up and into his room. “And Steve is here!”

Bucky huffed out, irritated at his fingers for fumbling across the tie. He hated church for this exact reason. His mother always wanted spick and span— including a tie. Bucky kept forgetting how to tie the stupid thing.

Was it under first or over? Through or…

He groaned, nearly in tears from the frustration.

“I’ll be down in a minute, ma!” He called out, slinging the tie from around his neck and to the floor. He snagged his dress shoes on the way out, glaring back at the blue tie on the floor by his bed.

“What, you finally wake up?” Steve’s voice was teasing as Bucky rounded the bottom of the staircase, plopping down to tug his shoes on.

George stood beside the door, patiently waiting for his family to finish dressing. He had just memorized the books of the New Testament and he was eager to tell his Sunday school teacher.

“Shut up, punk.” Bucky growled, tying his laces. Rebecca giggled as she darted through the pair of friends, making a break for the kitchen.

“Jamie, where is your tie?” His mother’s figure came into focus, nearing him. Her heels clicking gracefully against the wood floors. Her dark hair styled and her blue eyes startling. They shifted focus to the little girl running rampant, her red velvet skirt flapping behind her. “Rebecca, go put your shoes on, we can’t be late.”

Bucky’s head tilted back, his eyes taking in the full sight of his mother— an angelic glow behind her from the early morning sun. Rising through the windows. Winnie sighed through her nose, shaking her head with a smile as she brushed Bucky’s hair back softly. Her eyes turned to Steve, her other hand punching his cheek gently.

“You boys promise me that before you go play later this afternoon you’ll change outta these good clothes?” She demanded. Steve grinned broadly, nodding eagerly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma.”

“Becca, you sure you wanna date this guy? You know what pop would say about him?” Bucky worried, his hand running through dark hair. Disrupting the slicked back style. His teeth gnawed at his lip, eyes darting between his sister and the door to his room.

“You know what he says about your dates? His judgement is biased.” Rebecca rolled her eyes with a dismissive shake of her head. Her own dark curls bounced with each movement. “Besides, I really like this one, James. You’ve just gotta know him— he’s sweet and funny and he cares about me a lot.”

He swallowed, that familiar, funny feeling of surrender eating his esophagus the longer he stared. She got her father’s looks. A strong brow, deep, meaningful brown eyes. Full, peachy lips.

That was one of the reasons their father was so protective. Well, and she was his only daughter.

But, then again, Bucky always looked out for her. Always had her back.

“Okay. I’ll cover for you.” He relented, hands on his hips. Becca squealed and leapt up, barreling into his arms. Bucky instinctively hugged her close to his body, keeping them from toppling over.

“Thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll make it up to you.” She swore, backing up a few steps, toward the door.

“Yeah, yeah. Go, before I change my mind.” Bucky grumbled.

“I want you to be careful, alright, Jamie?” His mother instructed, smoothing down the lapels of his green army jacket. Her voice nasally, eyes watery.

“Alright, ma. I’ll be careful.” Bucky promised, reaching up to squeeze her hand. She sniffled again, this time a tear accompanied it— slipping down her sharp cheekbone.

“And clean your plate, try to keep warm and dry, don’t forget to—“

“Winnie, why don’t you just go with him?” Bucky’s father chuckled, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Oh, hush, George.” Her voice broke as she swatted at her husband’s chest. Attention immediately swinging back to her son. “I’m proud of you. My baby boy, all grown up.”

“Ma.” Bucky complained, feeling a phantom of heat creep up his ears. Eyes darting around in hopes no one had heard her.

“Don’t you be embarrassed by your mother, young man.” George Barnes told him sternly, a nod of his head as he clapped a hand to his eldest son’s shoulder. “Stay strong, over there. ‘Member that picture I gave you. Don’t lose sight of your hope.”

The picture was one of the whole family. A wallet sized photo that George had paid for when the family went to… they had gone…

A sudden blur of static filled the space as the memory continued along, ignoring the portions it couldn’t fill at the moment. Bucky knew that it would eventually click into place— maybe without him even realizing. One day the information would just… be there.

“I understand.” He confirmed.

“Good man.” His father smiled. Bucky could have sworn his eyes shone a little too brightly. “Alright, Becca, Georgie, come say goodbye to your brother.”

Becca stepped up first, her feet faltering for a moment before she pulled him in for one of her tight embraces. Arms locked around his waist, her head pressed against his chest. Squeezing tightly. Bucky didn’t hesitate to return the gesture. His cheek pressed to the top of her head.

“I’m gonna miss you— come home, please.” Her voice muffled by his army greens.

“I will.” He promised quietly.

Becca’s finally released him, allowing George to step forward. Hands in his pockets, shoulder casually dropped. His lips curled into their usual devilish smirk.

Good looks had apparently run through the entire Barnes family, as the youngest boy, George, was following in both his older brother and his father’s footsteps.

Tall and lean, broad shoulders and a thick brow. Strong, dimpled chin. Sharp jawline. Sturdy, built men.

“Shoot some Nazi fucks for me.” George grinned. Bucky scoffed, shaking his head.

“George Barnes, Junior!” Winnie scolded, giving a harsh tug on the boy’s ear.

“Ow!”

“I oughta wash your mouth out with soap, d’you understand me, young man?”

Steve stepped into place. Standing before his friend. Bucky knew the blonde felt downright envious. But his blue eyes only shone with whispering tears of foretold melancholy.

“I’ll see you around, Buck.” Steve put his hand out. Bucky took it instantly. Squeezing hard.

“You’d better not join me, you hear?” He warned the scrawny man. Steve only smiled softly.

“I can’t make promises.”

Bucky sighed. An emotion he couldn’t quite name welling up inside his chest. Damn near making it burst.

“Stay out of trouble. Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” He instructed. Steve grinned, recognizing one of their familiar phrases.

“How Can I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.”

There were approaching voices. One he recognized as T’Challa— the deep, accented baritone ringing pleasantly in his ears. Even from down the hall. There was another, this one unfamiliar. But the tone of their words wasn’t hostile.

It was boisterous and friendly.

He didn’t recognize it.

His eyes opened, heavy lidded and sleepy. Energy fading— his stomach growled lowly. It was common after sessions, to be so drained and exhausted, it barely registered anymore.

The door to their private room swung open, the pair of voices becoming more prominent now. T’Challa threw his head back slightly, laughing at the woman who walked beside him. She herself grinned, pleased to have elicited a response from the king.

Shuri, who had turned as soon as the door opened, grinned broadly, her hands on her hips. Weight thrown onto one side.

“I was beginning to think you’d never return.” The princess teased lightly.

The stranger returned the manic grin, equally as blinding. She approached, her arms outstretched to pull the young scientist into a bone crushing embrace.

Bucky could tell it was tight, by the way she squeezed, the rustle of clothes, the small puff of breath that escaped Shuri’s lungs.

“As if.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes in jest. “I got caught up in South America for a while— had a couple… discrepancies pop up.”

Shuri hummed, low in her throat. A noise of disbelief, her eyes narrowing into thin slits. Lips pursed.

“Uh- huh, just like you were caught up in Australia when my birthday came around.” She retorted. The woman shifted her weight under the scrutinizing glare.

“I already apologized for that.” Her tone was exasperated— Bucky could only assume the two had the conversation many times before. Shuri only shook her head, her attention retuning to her holograms. The woman finally took a moment, her eyes scanning the room. Landing on Bucky’s stormy blue eyes. Surprise littered her features, lifting her brows as she murmured: “Hello.”

Bucky gave a small, tight lipped smile, with a tilt of his head. His eyes flicking away just momentarily before adhering themselves back to her face. He shifted to his right slightly, lowering his shoulder, somehow hoping that she wouldn’t notice the missing limb.

T’Challa opened his mouth to begin introductions but his sister beat him to it.

“This is James— a broken white boy I have been rebuilding.” She called over her shoulder, adjusting a few settings.

“Shuri. A little more class.” T’Challa scolded. Shuri’s middle finger popped up in response. The king ignored her and kept speaking. “Sergeant Barnes, I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine—“

“She was my friend first.” The princess interrupted.

“This is YN.” His voice broadened— talking over Shuri’s interruptions. He turned to the woman again, gesturing to Bucky. “This is Sergeant James Barnes. We are aiding in his rehabilitation.”

“More like working a miracle.” Bucky added. When her eyes flicked back onto his, he flinched and swallowed hard. The pure kindness in the irises jarring. It almost made his voice falter. “It’s nice to meet you.“

“Likewise.” YN offered one of the softest smiles he had ever witnessed. Eyes crinkling in the corners, lips upturned. Her eyes were suddenly shifting away, gracefully flowing over the mechanics surrounding Bucky’s upright body. “Quite the extensive set up, Princess.”

And just like that— their conversation, and moment, were over. Bucky snapped out of his trance, only realizing he was in one when he had followed the trajectory of her face. His nose stung with embarrassment, praying no one noticed.

“Oh! You must see the new installation upgrades I made on the Binary Augmentation Platform I have been using.” Shuri snagged Yn’s elbow, leading her toward a portion of the lab he typically didn’t enter.

Bucky watched as Shuri took off, the newcomer in tow. Seemingly forgetting about her previous concentration. T’Challa noticed his gaze and nodded with a light hearted chuckle.

“It seems I should have waited to bring her here— I forgot how distracted they could make each other.” T’Challa apologized.

In truth, T’Challa had known that Bucky and Shuri could have still been in a session. Sometimes, if he was doing okay with the memories, Shuri would let him keep going. Bucky would come to, sweaty and out of breath, mind reeling. Unaware of the setting sun.

But YN had been adamant. She hadn’t been to Wakanda in months, being tugged from one end of the world to the other and she was eagerly anxious to greet her friend. As hard as he had tried, T’Challa couldn’t slow her down.

“No, no. It’s okay, I feel like we’ve been here for hours anyways.” Bucky chuckled quietly, gently peeling electrodes from his neck and chest.

As he lifted his hand to remove the mechanisms on his ears, Bucky risked another glance at YN. Her eyes hadn’t dipped away from his face once while they were speaking. Usually, conversations went the same way. The person’s attention continuously being drawn to the absent appendage— some people even asking about it.

And while he wasn’t ashamed of his disability it was always a tad awkward. He always left feeling self conscious— which he loathed.

So he didn’t meet new people. Avoided contact as often as possible. Stayed to himself. Being alone meant no conversations and no conversations meant no explanations.

But somehow, YN hadn’t even seemed curious about his arm. Matter of fact, she didn’t even seem to care why he was being rehabilitated. Or harbored by the royal family.

Did she even recognize him?

Who didn’t watch the news nowadays? Maybe not even news stations— he was almost certain that when he was a fugitive from Shield, they had plastered his mug across every platform and internet server they could get their hands on.

With suspicious eyes, he watched the pair of women glide around the edge of the lab. Shuri jabbering on about upgrades and new prototypes she’s begun experimenting with. Even the new set of screwdrivers she ordered two weeks prior, which Bucky had also heard about.

YN follows dutifully, nodding and giving comments when prompted. Bucky wondered if she really understood everything the eccentric scientist was saying.

What kind of woman is this?

Bucky found himself sitting in the gardens. He knew they existed, that they were open to everyone. Yet, they were almost always empty. Even he didn’t go into them— if he wanted nature, he would go into the wilderness and jungles in the country. Or visit the small villages to help out with the farming.

But here he was.

Watching the warm breeze blow. Feeling the sun beaming down on his head.

It was peaceful— just as every hideaway in Wakanda. Serene and peaceful. Beautiful.

Then a figure almost barreled into the garden entrance, Bucky flinched, the intruders head turned to watch behind them.

What were they running from?

Suddenly, their face was visible— YN. The strange visitor from three days ago, the lab. She was still here?

With startled, wild eyes, YN nearly leapt out of her skin as she saw him. Seemingly more surprised by seeing a person, than him in particular.

“Oh, hi…” Her voice was timid, almost rough sounding. As though she hadn’t spoken in a while. Her eyes darted back to where she came from, weight shifting from foot to foot. Fingertips drumming an irregular beat against the coffee cup in her grasp. “I’m sorry, usually no one else is out here.”

“No, it’s, fine. I’m not usually out here.” Bucky supplied. Surprisingly, to himself mostly, he didn’t get up to leave. Didn’t move from the bench.

It was even more of a surprise when she, dropping her anxious behaviors almost immediately, and asked:

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Bucky blinked, staring at her outstretched, hand. Gesturing to the seat beside him. She didn’t seem to be offering out of necessity, nor out of awkward nerves.

“Go ahead.” He replied easily; Inside he was burning with paranoia.

She sat down, rather fluidly. No stiff limbs or awkward fumbling. She didn’t even slide back when she accidentally sat too close.

It was startling, perhaps it would have been refreshing had he known what she was up to. But he wasn’t sure what she wanted yet.

So, Bucky did it for her. While she settled in, he pressed his palm to the metal bench, attempting to subtly put distance between them. Somehow he managed to pull it off.

Either that or she wasn’t offended that he wanted space.

But… there was no way she didn’t know. She was a modern person, with modern interests, she watched the news. Why was she acting this way?

“So, you’re—“

“What is—“

They both abruptly stopped, their mouths hanging open. Bucky’s snapped closed as YN laughed. It sounded good— really good. He hadn’t remembered the last time someone’s laugh made an impression.

“Sorry, you go ahead.” She offered quickly, backtracking her own statement. Bucky nodded, in thanks, before beginning again.

“I was gonna ask how you knew Shuri and T’Challa.“

“I’m a horticulturist.”

Bucky didn’t exactly know what that meant but he wasn’t going to ask. He’d learned his lesson with the genius that was fixing his head.

He’d mistakenly asked about one of the machines she used which led to a slew of complicated words being hurled at high speed. She had also added in copious amounts of modern slang he had yet to fully grasp. All jumbling together, further mushing his brain.

She hadn’t truly explained a thing, unable to see that others didn’t understand her terms or the processes that went into her everyday life. Blaise to her complex world.

But it seemed he was quiet for a beat too long. YN gave a soft smile, twisting her coffee cup back and forth a few times before telling him: “I study plants.”

“I thought that was a botanist?” Bucky blurted out, internally freezing into place as he realized the avalanche he had just began.

He screamed too loud in the canyon.

Yn’s eyes lit up, seemingly intrigued by the topic and his knowledge. Bucky nearly sank back into his chair, steadying himself for the worst.

He wanted to learn all about her, all about everything really. But it was hard when all the scientists he had come into contact with spoke in cryptic words and long, hard to pronounce phrases.

“I’m kinda both. I’ve got degrees in both, anyways.” She nodded, twisting her coffee mug by the tips of her fingers. “A botanist is more… scientist. Horticulturalist is more of the get your hands dirty type. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, actually.” Bucky exhaled through his nose, a small, almost laugh. YN met it with a small smile. “Is that why you come to Wakanda so often?”

“Kinda. I do some work in the jungles here. Last month, I was in South America doing some work with the Rainforest Preservation Society. Before that, I was in Canada researching their invasive species and effects on their ecosystems.” Her voice almost abruptly tapered off, her lips sealing. Eyes darting toward his. “I ramble, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s interesting.” Bucky assured her, truthfully.

It seemed she wasn’t accustomed to that response— if her eyebrows were any indication. Nearly halfway up her forehead before she responded.

“You’re not just saying that to keep me talking so you don’t have to?” She teased. Bucky hummed, head tilting so that he could watch his fingers play with a string of his shirt.

Wondering where to begin. Would she know anything about him or would he just speak gibberish until she asked questions?

“I used to… before the war… before I was drafted, I would drag Steve all across the city to museums and expo’s and science fair’s. All sorts of science-y stuff.” He related, waiting a moment before continuing. “You do a good job at explaining— at least, so far, anyways. You make it easy.”

That seemed to do the trick— her smile immediately fell into pressed lips. Eyes falling to her hands, tapping against the coffee cup as a distraction. Bashful. That wasn’t something he’d anticipated.

“Oh, well… you make it fun.” She offered, attempting to turn it back to him.

Bucky knew that move. He did it several times a day, when Steve and Sam were around. Deflect and ignore.

He wasn’t quite finished yet, he needed more information and perhaps he could’ve obtained it differently but honestly, he was having a good time investigating and interrogating her himself.

And besides, he didn’t want to cause any trouble. It was obvious Shuri and T’Challa trusted YN enough to allow her into their lives and home.

He was just being paranoid and bored, was all. He could handle this himself.

“How did you even get into Wakanda?“ Bucky asked, a tilt of his head punctuating his question. It took half a moment to realize he had made a mistake. “Sorry, that came out wrong— I meant that this place seems pretty tight about their borders. I thought no one got in without an invitation from the royal family?”

She didn’t seem to mind. She only took a sip of her drink, taking a moment to savor it before responding.

“Shuri’s the one who called me that first time. Asked me to come because she was looking into this plant based medication. It was fairly interesting— definitely ingenious.” YN marveled, a small smile on her lips. “We probably talked for two weeks before T’Challa asked me to come in. After Shuri’s consult, he asked my opinion on a species taking over in the jungle. Then he gave me an offer to run a study on the plants of Wakanda. The first study of its kind.”

��Wow… So that’s what you do? Research and run experiments?”

“Ugh— I wish that’s all I did. I have to do a lot of bureaucratic stuff. But I think my favorite is the conventions and the university visits.”

“You teach?”

“A couple seminars, here and there. Just when I’m asked.”

“Must be a pretty big deal then?”

It was bait. He knew it was wrong, he just wanted confirmation. Sure enough, Yn’s head dipped. Eyes returning to their downcast position in her lap.

“I wouldn’t say that. I just… like my work. I like to share it.” YN corrected, her fingertips brushing along the arm of the bench. “Plants are important, to pretty much everything. They can do so much more than what we know…What about you? What are you doing in Wakanda?”

Bucky paused. Holding his breath. Was this bait— returning the favor from what he had done earlier?

The lighthearted nature of the conversation quickly crashed, sending waves of panic through his chest.

“The King offered his help in my… rehabilitation.” His words were careful, tone tentative. “I… lost a good chunk of my memories and…” oh fuck it. “I was held captive by an organization for seventy years while they brainwashed and manipulated me.”

A quiet laugh escaped from low in her throat. Her gaze cut sharply to Bucky when he didn’t join in. He saw it in her eyes before anything else. Recognition. It flashed dangerously. Apologetically.

“Oh, you’re… you’re serious. Oh, my god, I’m so sorry. I thought you were joking.” Her words were rushed and thoroughly apologetic, though Bucky thought it was almost… amusing. He almost laughed— lips quirking to the side.

“It’s alright— I’m coming to terms with it myself.” He admitted, watching a small bird swoop down to the grass. Hopping along a few steps and pecking before taking off again. “When I got here, first, I couldn’t tell up from down. Things were so twisted and tangled. Some things were fabricated, others were half truths. Nothing made sense.”

“How long have you been here?”

Bucky shrugged, thinking along his timeline. It was a struggle, as he never bothered to look at a calendar.

Didn’t matter anyhow. All the days blurred together.

“There were a few months, in the beginning, where I was cryopreserved. Then Shuri got her plans together and they thawed me. Not counting that, I’ve been here… seven months?”

YN nodded solemnly. She leaned back into the metal bench, her arm just barely brushing his. Skin tingling as her moved over, ensuring the space between them.

“But you’re better now?”

A laugh escaped through his nose, before he could stop it. No. He wasn’t better— or at least he felt worse now. Physical and mental aches, memories and ghosts keeping him awake.

But then again… he knew who he was. He remembered things. He knew what was real.

“Yeah. I guess I am.” He murmured.

“How long will you stay?”

“Until they manage to reverse the trigger sequence. Shuri is building me up to it— she told me she wants to get all my memories straight and it’s hard when more memories come up every day. Takes a little time.” He admitted.

It was silent between them after he spoke. The words setting into the air, but not making it dense. No tension.

Just… listening. And being.

He liked it.

“Everything worth it takes time.” YN finally broke into their quiet. Her index finger tracing over the rim of the cup. “And you’ve probably heard this a million times but, I’m glad you’re okay and I’m sorry that happened. Wasn’t fair.”

He didn’t acknowledge her words, not verbally. Not to her. He just took them in. Felt the sincerity, could almost taste it in the air. Wafting from her.

Bucky’s eyes followed the shift of the trees in the wind. Listening to her breathing, her heart beat. The birds.

Just being.

“I’m done with the chicken— what’s next?” YN asked, holding her hands up. Wiggling her fingers to emphasize her completion.

“Wash your hands, first.” Bucky instructed, fingers brushing through divots on the potatoes in the sink.

Cooking lunch was something Bucky hadn’t done in a long time. It was definitely slightly more difficult with one less hand. Though, both of Yn’s were helpful in aiding. Under direction, of course.

Bucky hadn’t expected to actually like speaking with her— he hadn’t expected to become acquainted with her at all. He assumed she was making small talk, just speaking with him because he was there.

But that hadn’t been the case at all.

YN was consistent. She would make it a point to find him on days she was at the palace. It wasn’t often at first, after her first visit it took almost a month for her to come back. But after that, she had Bucky had almost stuck together like glue.

And he hadn’t minded it at all. He liked talking with her. Being with her. He liked her company. She brought such a relief with her, soothing rain pattering on glass panes. A rhythm completely her own, that was slowly invading his space. That he was accepting. Wholeheartedly. Without complaint.

Now, her visits were more frequent. She told him that she had time allotted to give him, moving her schedule around to make the four day visits possible.

It had made his heart sing when she told him.

It meant everything to him.

So with their sparse time together, both Bucky and YN made it worth it. He often invited her to lunch— though this was the first time they cooked together, usually venturing out into the city to find a restaurant.

YN had to work a few days while she was there; The bright side of that was that whenever he wasn’t in a session with Shuri, she would bring him along. Down into the jungles and rainforests to find her bio-markers, to continue her study. Bucky would watch, enraptured, as she carefully collected soil and plant samples, attempted to propagate certain plants, eager to begin her studies. She would give him her camera, instruct him how to take the photos she needed, showed him her notebook for the area’s species.

As mundane as it was, he enjoyed being her assistant. Because the whole time, she would talk. Explain her processes, why she was doing what she was, explaining what she wanted or expected to happen.

She was eager to share with him, to show him. But as open as she was, as encouraging as she was, Bucky couldn’t help but feel guilty.

He didn’t know why— it was irrational. Something Ayo had pointed out after he had apologized for simply sitting too stiffly in the lab one too many times.

Bucky had a reason for the guilt, this time around. He had asked Shuri for YN’s case studies and her thesis’ for her study on Wakanda’s eco life. The princess hadn’t given it a second thought, granting him a tablet with all inclusive access to her works.

He’d been enthralled for weeks.

But then, when he saw her again, in person, it felt… creepy. He felt like he’d been stalking her or something. Her works were so full of passion it felt invasive.

“Here, you can get these potatoes. I’ve washed them and peeled them— just chop.” Bucky passed the dishpan over before starting in on the chicken she had finished chopping.

“Got it.” She confirmed.

Bucky waited in the silence of, maybe six seconds, before his heart burst in his chest. Sending the shrapnel through his body and forcing the first words out.

“YN, I, uhm…” He paused, his tongue suddenly heavy in his mouth. All too aware of her, just standing in his kitchen. “I read your Wakandan species study. I asked Shuri to get it together and I read it last weekend.”

There was a moment’s silence. Bucky winced, all the emotion he’d packed down began creeping back up. With no where to go except into his brain. Filling to the brim with anxious thoughts.

“Oh?” YN’s voice didn’t sound nearly as tight as he thought it would be. He couldn’t even hear an ounce of anxiety from her. She almost sounded… excited. He glanced back over to her, seeing that she’d stopped her task completely. Staring at his figure in anticipation. “How’d you like it?”

“It was great. Amazing.” He was quick to assure her of his opinion, his face flushing with heat as he turned back around. His eyes downcast to the pot on the stove. He busied himself with the spices he’d dig out of the cabinet. “Shuri gave me all of them— I’ve gotten through four. Still got a few to go.”

“If you decide to read them, please tell me what you think. I’ll leave my number for you to call me.” YN suggested, grinning down at her potatoes.

He paused. Uncertain of the new twist of the conversation. This hadn’t been how he’d pictured it at all. No where near the reaction he’d expected.

He found himself wondering, yet again, who was this woman? Who defeated and defied all his expectations and preconceived notions? Usually, his first impression of a person fulfilled their typical personality. He wouldn’t have been so good at being the Winter Soldier had that not been a part of him.

Intuition was key.

But, something was wrong. Maybe his intuition was broken? Maybe all the anxiety he felt nowadays was throwing him off his game?

He didn’t like it. With YN it was fine— he… he trusted her not to switch. She was constant. Consistent. But with others… it could prove to be a problem.

“You aren’t mad I read it?” He asked, eyes glued to the cabinets in front of him. Fire licking up his neck, the residual heat nipping his ears.

He knew his face was burning at an uncontrolled color. The hairs at the base of his neck itched, an irritating constant brush against his skin. He was becoming all too aware of everything, the longer he stood there. Adding spices. Face burning. Stomach churning.

If YN noticed, she didn’t say a word.

“I published it for anyone to read. You’re not making me upset by putting them to use.” YN chuckled, pressing her lips together, trying to suppress her giddy smile.

He read her articles. Looked at her research. Listened to her drone on and on about this and that, helped with her projects.

Good god— the man was perfect.

YN bit down on her lip, sneaking a glance up at Bucky again. Broad shoulders filling out his t shirt wonderfully, tapered waist. Thick chestnut hair tucked into a low bun, a stray piece slowly slipping from behind his ear. The tips of the his ears were pink, his neck a matching tint. She only wished he would turn so she could see those startling blue eyes— the comforting hues she’d grown so familiar with.

She hummed contentedly, finishing up her task. Her hands sticky from potato starch.

Bucky took a final, settling breath before turning around with a jar of olive oil in his hand. With a couple of back- and- forth’s, he’d moved all his spices over to her counter to begin working on the next dish.

He had been self conscious about his disability, at first. But YN didn’t seem to mind. She treated him… normally. Asked him to do things— which seemed normal at first, until he noticed that no one else asked him to ‘grab that’ or ‘hand me this, please’.

Apparently around this place, if a person had one arm, it meant don’t bother them.

Shuri had mentioned, around the same time YN had started showing up, that she had begun building his new arm. But he wasn’t sure he wanted it, not now at least.

He much rather preferred YN seeing him with no arm over a metal one. He posed less risk this way. He wanted the least threatening options available. This was safer.

Besides, he was getting accustomed to this new adjustment rather well, not that he would brag or anything.

“Hey, how do you work this?” Yn’s soft, confused voice floated into his peripherals. Snapping him from his reverie.

She pressed a few buttons on the oven, brows scrunched adorably while she tilts her head. Her lips twisted into a half frown, pout combination.

Bucky smirked, exhaling a laugh through his nose quietly as he wiped his hand on the nearest towel. He turned, leaned over her shoulder. Basking in the warmth gleaned from her body from the barely there proximity. His arm snaked around her, finger pointing at the chrome dial on the appliance.

“You just, press, then twist it, like that.” He murmured, his fingertip skimming it to demonstrate. YN, hummed, lips now in a straight line. Eyes still glued to the oven. He couldn’t tell if she was avoiding his gaze or simply understanding the mechanics.

But he wouldn’t be able to stand there all day, peering over her shoulder and watching her reactions.

So he quickly input the correct instructions, setting the oven before sliding away. Back to his station. Garnering distance between their bodies.

“Oh. Guess that makes sense. Thanks.” YN muttered, leaning closer inadvertently to study the instrument closer. Bucky chuckled at her newfound fascination.

“How do you manage to get confused by kitchen appliances?” He asked, dumping the sliced vegetables into a dish. Evening them out as he grinned. “You’ve got like twelve degrees.”

YN scoffed, backing away, retuning to her position across from him at the counter. Opening the spices one by one, lifting them to smell after.

“I’ve only got three, thank you. And none of them are in kitchenware.” She teased, sniffing the basil before dumping it on top of the potatoes he was laying out. Bucky followed behind with the oil, amusement evident on his features.

“It’s a convection oven.”

“I didn’t get much practice in kitchens when I was little.” YN explained, humor in her tone. “Plus all this stuff T’Challa has is super fancy.”

Bucky shook his head ruefully, allowing her to take the dish to the oven while he turned back to the stove. He wanted to argue, that if he, a one hundred year old, war veteran, ex- captive and assassin, could figure out how to work a convection oven in the twenty first century, then YN certainly could.

“What did you do when you were a kid, then?” He asked, broaching his new favorite topic.

Her.

He noticed that she had become more comfortable with him. Easily giving him details of her work or her life. But when a compliment was involved, she shut down. Changed subjects.

As long as he stayed between the lines, she would keep going.

“My dad ran a mechanics shop and my mom was a geneticist. So I was between the shop and a lab for most of my free time.”

“Must’ve been pretty interesting.”

“I was the only kid in the third grade who knew how to put an engine together and the functions of all twenty three chromosomes.” YN declared proudly, her hands propped up on her hips. Her chin tilted up and shoulders back.

“But no ovens.” Bucky clarified with a soft grin. YN shook her head.

“No ovens.” She confirmed. Her hands fell back to her sides as she dropped out of her stance, poking at the sizzling chicken pieces with her fork. “What about you?”

“My ma taught me how to cook. She didn’t expect much but she wanted me to be able to take care of myself.” He explained, leaning into the counter with his hip.

In truth, Bucky loved watching his mother cook. He loved learning from her even more. It was something Steve could help with, as well, though he wasn’t much good at it. He could remember his family throwing few dinner parties, before the war especially. Though every time, whenever food was being cooked, Bucky could be found in the kitchen. Staring in amazement. Transfixed by his mother’s skills.

So he had picked up on a good amount of information to use for himself when he and Steve moved in together.

“Who’s this little guy?” YN asked, pointing up to the potted plant in his windowsill. Bucky scratched his neck, palm resting against the rewarming skin.

He was embarrassed to admit:

“I’m not sure. It was here when T’Challa put me here. I’ve just been watering it every now and then. It seems to like that windowsill.” He supplied sheepishly. YN’s jaw dropped in dramatized astonishment, eyes wide.

“You never named it?”

Bucky blinked. He had expected outrage at his complete lack of knowledge of the one plant in the place. But a name? That’s what she was upset about?

“The plant?”

YN laughed, her stern demeanor cracking, shattering at his confusion.

“Yeah. Everything deserves a name. Even begrudgingly adopted plants.” She explained. Bucky only lifted an eyebrow at her inherent silliness. YN didn’t take it personally— in fact, she kept going. “Fernando? Lilith? Carmen?Henry?”

“No.”

“Come on.” YN groaned, practically melting to the counter. Propping her head up, elbows planted firmly on the cool marble. Bucky shook his head, attempting to remain stern in his position.

“I’m not naming a plant. It doesn’t even know.” Bucky argued. Yn’s bottom lip curled, her brows knitting together. His heart stuttered, thudding to an irregular beat against his sternum. How the mighty fall. Who was he to say no to that? “Fine. Fine— you name it.”

YN clapped her hands together twice, wiggling in place happily. Bucky rolled his eyes, as she scooped the plant up to inspect it further. He had no doubt the thoughts running through her mind pertained to the species and family of the plant, every scientific fact she could think of pulling from every corner of her brain.

He could only stare at her face. Wondering how in the world they ever crossed paths.

“I’m going with…” YN twisted her lips and tilted her head. “Domino.”

Bucky nodded, accepting the fact that he now owned a named plant. He wasn’t calling it that when she wasn’t around. He refused.

“You name all your plants?” He teased. YN rolled her eyes, carefully replacing the plant to its original position. She took a moment to brush dust from one of the leaves before nodding.

Whether it was a response to his question or just a general head nod to Domino, he wasn’t sure.

“The one’s in my greenhouse are mostly, unfortunately, unnamed. But I do have some in my house that are named.” She skirted around Bucky, moving toward the fridge.

“Greenhouse?”

YN bent at the waist, leaning into his fridge, shuffling around for the dessert they had purchased earlier that morning. Bucky glanced over at her, from his place at the stove. His face flushed with excruciating heat— eyes shooting back to his business.

His mother had raised him better. He had class. He had self control. He exhaled softly as he heard the door close.

“Oh, you’d love it— I have this giant greenhouse. It’s where I house all the experiments and propagated plants and crossbreeds and— oh, it’s beautiful there.” YN crooned, practically swooning with reminiscence. He was sure she had that gleam in her eyes, the one she always got when she spoke about her work. Bucky loved that gleam. But he couldn’t meet her eyes just yet. “Of course, I have all of my scientific equipment in my office. It can’t stay with the plants because of the humidity. So I run back and forth a lot.”

Bucky cleared his throat, all too aware of the blush still prominent on his cheeks. He stirred the soup, keeping himself busy while it tamped down a bit. Once he felt composed enough, he spared a glance to her again. She was standing at the oven, peeking in at the potatoes.

“I’d love to see it.” He finally responded. Voice barely audible.

YN closed the oven, making her way back to the stove where Bucky stood stoically. Dutifully stirring their lunch. She leaned against the counter with her hip, crossing her arms over her chest.

“When you’re all better, cleared to leave here, I’m gonna take you there. Show you around. Introduce you to Pontifer, Lucille, Emilio, Raquel, everyone.”

She sounded… hopeful. As if he were going to be able to leave soon. She wanted to show him all these things— her things. Her work, everything she was so proud of. She wanted to introduce him to her life, incorporate him into it.

Have him around.

It made his throat swell closed, his eyes sting with tears he couldn’t correspond with any rational emotion.

“Let me guess— those are all plants?”

Bucky decided it was easier to address the silly names at the end of her statement first. He couldn’t even fathom how to cope with the words she had so easily spoken. They were just that: words. But why did they feel so heavy?

“Bingo.”

Bucky smiled, though it couldn’t hold for long. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that it might be a very long time before he was deemed safe to leave Wakanda.

A long time before he felt safe again. Before he could trust himself with her safety.

For the millionth time in his life, Bucky cursed Hydra and every sorry bastard that joined. He cursed himself for ever picking up that stupid weapon— for thinking he could operate it without killing someone on that train.

Why hadn’t he just died that day?

Was that too much to ask?

Bucky clenched his jaw, trying to force himself back into the moment. He wouldn’t let himself spiral in front of her.

Because it was an ugly process to be alright again. Something she didn’t need to see. Not now. Not ever.

It would be a long time before he would be truly alright again.

But he would be alright.

He had Yn’s whole world to see. He had the whole world to see.

If nothing else, he could be alright for her.

“It’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

Shuri explained the situation as soon as she landed.

Her heart nearly shattered at the news.

Set backs and bad days were to be expected with anything, especially with people. With James.

It seemed that there had been a minor (Shuri’s words) complication a few days before YN had landed.

Bucky had been ecstatically happy— his face was brighter and he actually walked the halls of several wings. Even went out into the villages to see the markets and vendors. Played with a couple of the children, as well. Taught them how to skip rocks.

He had been doing so well. Exceeding expectations.

Shuri was convinced it was because of YN. James had never made that much consecutive positive progress, not even when he first arrived.

But then the Incident happened. Five days before YN was meant to return for another visit. Bucky was practically buzzing with anticipation. He’d even rambled to Shuri as she set up for their session— spilling his guts about everything YN had shown him. He delved into portions of her research he’d read, asked if there were any more he could have.

Shuri promised him she had plenty more she could print off and give him. They just had to get through their session first.

So he’d managed to calm his rapid heart, level his breathing. Steady his mind. Focus on their task.

Then it all went to shit.

The princess had gone too deep, triggering a relapse. The Soldier had returned.

And he was confused. Angry. Bloodthirsty.

Shuri managed to evade him as the guards struggled to subdue him. Even with one arm, the Soldier was a mighty opponent, desperate to escape his captors.

A swift blow to the head decommissioned him for at least a day— Bucky laid in an infirmary cot, handcuffed to the bar. Unconscious for most of his time there. When he woke up, he knew what happened. It was written on everyone’s faces— the pity, the terror, the uncertainty…

So when he was released, he returned to his room, locked the door and kept the lights off.

No one had seen him since. Not even Shuri or T’Challa. They both left him to his grievous moping. But YN didn’t accept that.

Shuri gave her a heads up, T’Challa followed her to his room, insisting she just give him more time. Allow him to recover from his relapse. He would be better and she could visit again soon. But YN kept walking— ignoring the king as he trailed behind her. Both Okoye and Ayo trailing behind him.

All she could think was ‘What if he didn’t get better with time?’ What if he needed help? Because she knew the only thing he was doing in that room was lying in agony— tormenting himself for things he had no control of. He wasn’t recovering, he was spiraling.

She pulled to a stop in front of Bucky’s door, arms crossed over her chest. Weight on one hip, tapping her opposite foot. T’Challa sighed, switching his gaze from Bucky’s door to YN’s face.

“YN… please. I know you and James mean very much to each other. I am only trying to keep your relationship peaceful.” His dark eyes were imploring— praying she would just heed his advice.

Because he too, had tried when James’ world went dark. His good intentions had led to dreadful, hurtful outcomes. It wasn’t worth the hurt that he’d inadvertently afflicted.

No, it was better to let James handle his own business. He knew how to handle his own heartache and turmoil better than anyone. He was always strong enough to drag himself back out of the mud.

He just needed to be alone while he did it.

“And I appreciate it. I know you want what’s best for him, so do I. But this is just something we’re gonna have to disagree about.” YN replied, her gaze even with T’Challa’s. Tension burned between their eyes. Neither willing to give way to the other. “If we let him, he’s just gonna rot away in there. He won’t get better. Not without some support.”

“He has pulled himself out of this before.” T’Challa argued, remaining firm.

“But now he’s got us. We’re his support system, we should support.” YN bit back, fire drowning her veins in indignation.

T’Challa settled back on his heels. She was prepared to argue themselves in circles. He could admire her for her strong will. Her steadfastness. Her hopefulness.

But perhaps she just needed a dose of reality to jolt her back into the real world.

“Ayo…” T’Challa began, his lips set into a firm line. YN straightened her spine, jaw set in preparation. He was going to forcibly drag her away— he had reached his limit. He wasn’t going to argue anymore. His deep brown eyes scorched her skin, but she didn’t back down. “Unlock the door.”

YN nearly jumped out of her skin, startled by his command. Her lips fell into a frown, brow creased at his lenience. As diplomatic as he was, T’Challa had a habit of being stubborn when he wanted to be.

Ayo stepped forward, fingertips tapping on the digital pad in the wall. Overriding James’ code with her own. The lock snicked quietly, signaling it had released and the door was open.

T’Challa had yet to take his eyes away from YN’s. She nearly squirmed under the severe pressure, manifesting in her chest. She was doing the right thing… wasn’t she?

A flash of self doubt quickly seeded itself into her mind, grasping a tight hold over her already overworked heart.

“Ayo will be outside, here in the hallway.” T’Challa informed her stiffly, finally tearing his eyes away and turning on his heel. Beginning down the hallway. “In case you need assistance.”

In case he isn’t truly finished being the Soldier.

“Good luck, YN.” Okoye murmured, her hand brushing the woman’s forearm lightly as she passed. Her head turned, watching the pair disappear from the hallway. Their footsteps eventually fading.

At least Okoye was in her corner.

YN exhaled forcefully, attempting to pull her confidence back into her body. She stared at the door handle for several long minutes. Preparing herself. Steeling her nerves, slowing her heart.

Ayo met her eyes, a kind gleam in her dark brown eyes. YN swallowed hard, inhaling shakily. Blinking hard.

What was she walking into?

T’Challa was treating the situation as dangerous— leaving guards and taking precautions. But Ayo and Okoye were encouraging her.

It was confusing, the opposite pull.

But… she could feel it. This was right. She was doing the right thing.

Finally, her fingertips stretched out and connected with the frigid metal. She closed it softly behind her, frowning as she walked through the dark. The blinds were drawn shut, every light turned off. There was no noise.

Deathly silent.

Unnervingly so.

Cold tendrils of dread crept up her spine, threading through her vertebrae. Consuming, feeding from her willpower.

Bucky needed someone. He was sulking in this environment— in the suppressing dark and freezing cold. This was no way to survive, he couldn’t live here. He couldn’t live in this headspace.

Despite the creatures clutching at her ankles, she kept pushing. Making her path through the familiar living room, down the short hallway and stopping at the cracked door at the end.

She shook away the nerves that stuck to her skin, cleared the anxiety out of her throat. Taking a deep breath before giving a quiet, warning knock. Calling his name softly as the door groaned, the hinges squeaking as she pushed it open.

She could barely see his frame— buried deep under a pile of blankets. His head was buried there too, pillows shoved to the side. The only thing remotely visible was part of his hair, the long chestnut locks tangled.

Bucky had heard the door unlock, he’d heard her come in. Walk to his bedroom. He had listened to it all. There had been a chance to get up and lock the bedroom door. But his muscles wouldn’t support it. He should have made himself do it.

“Bucky? You awake?” YN neared his bedside carefully. His room was as expected: neat and clean, spotless even. The only signs of someone living in the pristine environment was the man lying in the bed, if that was even considered living. “You wanna go for a walk? Get some fresh air?”

No response. YN grimaced, folding her hands awkwardly in front of her roiling stomach. Another wave of nauseous self doubt lashing at her mind. Anxiety ate away at her blood vessels, leaving her fingers and toes tingling and numb.

“Maybe we could grab something to eat.” She suggested, rocking forward on the balls of her feet. Not allowing the discouragement to take hold yet. “Ayo said you haven’t been out of your room in a couple days.”

Nothing.

He didn’t even budge.

YN sighed, despite herself, unable to hold it in. She took a step closer, resting a hand on his mattress.

“I know you feel miserable and that’s why I’m not leaving until you say something.” She demanded, her voice leaving no room for his reluctance or arguments.

“Go away.” Bucky’s voice was croaky— hoarse and rough from disuse and lack of fluids. But it made her heart soar— the muscle beating against her ribs as a new blast of hope shot through her body.

“Clever. It won’t work.” She grinned, attempting a more playful approach.

Carefully, she pulled herself onto the mattress, folding her legs beneath her and gazing at the unmoving mass of blankets beside her. Bucky groaned as the bed shifted, squeezing his eyes closed and rolling further away from her.

It ached. All over. He ached. He wanted her comfort, he wanted her hands brushing over his skin, fingers threading his hair and smoothing it out. He wanted to relinquish himself, give his all to the devotion of her.

But he couldn’t.

He didn’t deserve her. He was going to hurt her. One way or another, he was going to make her cry. And he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t watch her cry— he wouldn’t.

The only thing he could think of after he came to, after the hijacking, was that YN could’ve been there. She could’ve been in that lab with him. Or it could’ve been here— in his kitchen or living room. Or worse, they could’ve been in the middle of nowhere.

He would’ve killed her. No hesitation. The Soldier would have killed the one thing keeping Bucky’s head above water.

He was a fool for thinking he could keep her so close without repercussions.

“Go home, YN.” Bucky exhaled the words, barely able to move his mouth to form the words. Unconsciousness was beckoning him, sleep gripping his hair and tugging him down to the mattress. Pinning him still. “There’s nothing for you here.”

“You’re here,” She replied, without missing a beat. Without hesitation. Without remorse. “So, I think, by definition, that’s something.”

Bucky curled up tighter, desperate for more warmth. That pesky little voice near his right ear kept insisting YN was warm; She could’ve crawled under those sheets and warmed his whole body. Shed some light on his soul.

He couldn’t.

“Just leave… leave me alone.” He moaned, voice breaking halfway through. Bucky despised it. “Please.”

YN frowned deeper, staring at his blanket- clad body. For a moment, T’Challa’s voice was clear. His intentions. He had wanted to protect them both. He didn’t want YN to inadvertently make Bucky feel worse. He didn’t want Bucky to make YN lose hope.

Because as good as they were together, as perfectly as they fit, this could only lead to bad things.

But YN was stubborn. Even more than T’Challa’s just fist. Even more than Bucky’s self depreciation.

“No.” She spat out, fiery indignation burning her esophagus. Unrelenting and demanding. “I’m not letting you stay here alone. I’m not giving up on you. You still haven’t seen the greenhouse—“

Suddenly, Bucky shoved the blankets off his body, pulling himself into a seated position. The shock evident on her face— mouth open and eyes wide. A gasp stuck in her throat. Her heart rate picked up. He could hear her lungs quicken in pace.

“Don’t you get it: I’m never going to leave this place. All this shit, it doesn’t even matter because every time I close my eyes I see it all. I relive it all.” He roared, sitting up on his knees. YN fell back onto her ass, her feet flung out in front of her. Prepared to scramble out of the way. “What’s it going to take to make you see that I’m never going to get better? I’m still him and that’s never going to change.”

YN swallowed. Bucky grit his teeth. Blue eyes smoldering as he stared her down. Waiting for one of them to crack under pressure. She shifted under the penetrative glare, her teeth biting down on her lip. Eyes watering.

Oh god, it was coming. The inevitable. She was going to cry. And Bucky was going to fling himself out of his window and hope for death.

”I don’t know, Buck. Maybe I was hoping that I could make you see what I could.” YN’s voice shook, warbled and warped with anger lacing her words. Bucky could see it in her scrunched up features. Hear it in her racing heart.

She pushed off of the bed just as Bucky fell back, sitting on his heels. Watching as she yanked the door open and slammed it closed as she left.

Silence.

Now that he had it, he wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore.

Because now, he could hear her heart breaking. He could hear his own. The first thing he’d felt in days.

Heartache.

Bucky snatched the nearest pillow and flung it, in a fit of petulant, childlike anger.

He wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. Just that it was there. Lying just out of reach.

Flopping back down, Bucky returned to his cave of fleeting warmth and shame. Wrapping his arm around his abdomen to ease the nausea creeping up his throat. Trying to burrow deep enough to find indifference. Numbness.

He lay there for what felt like hours, waiting. But he never heard the doors open. And he never heard any stifled sobs or tears.

Instead, he heard the television click on. Turned down to a volume where he could barely hear it. He heard the soft noises of YN in his kitchen, rummaging quietly through a cabinet.

She wasn’t leaving.

He couldn’t shake her.

She hadn’t left for the entire week. Bucky could hear her every morning— make her coffee before stepping out for thirty minutes, maximum. Then she’d return, make breakfast. She’d offer it to him and every time he’d ignore her.

She would tinker around in his apartment until lunch, offer him lunch. He could always smell the aromatic dishes as she cooked. Listened to her hum quietly. But again, he would ignore her.

During the afternoon, Bucky would drift in and out of consciousness. The times he was awake, he could hear her typing away on her laptop or talking quietly on the phone.

YN was always careful to keep it quiet, her tone always soft, her movements always padded.

At night, he would hear her quiet typing begin to cease, her breathing even out. She would fall asleep on his couch.

She would hear Bucky get up a few times, sparsely throughout the day to use the bathroom. More so at night when he thought she was asleep.

But he wouldn’t eat. He would just shuffle to the bathroom, drink a couple sips of water before ducking back into his room and closing the door quietly.

The week had gone by relatively the same each day. No improvements, no changes. YN only got more concerned every day that passed.

But her time was running out. She was due in South Korea for a convention and she had to get back to her work after that. YN hated to leave him like this but she had been there for a week and all it seemed he wanted was to be left alone. To sleep it off.

YN dried her hands on the dish towel, sighing as she glanced at the dishes she left to dry on the dish rack. She hoped Bucky wouldn’t be upset, by her making herself at home in his apartment.

As much as a home she could’ve made it, without him there.

She maneuvered around the furniture of the living room, grabbing her backpack from the couch. Moving tentatively toward his bedroom door. Slinging her bag over her shoulder.

YN knocked lightly on the doorframe, giving a warning before pushing the door open slightly. It was the same as it had been all week. Buried under the mountain of blankets. Blinds drawn shut. The air stiff and stale.

“Buck… if you’re awake, I have to go.” She informed him softly. Her eyes strained, watching for even the smallest amounts of movement. Any sign of life. She leaned heavily against the frame, pressing her hip into the wood. “There’s leftovers in the fridge and I made soup earlier. It’s on the stove. If you feel like eating anything.”

No response. She hadn’t known what she was hoping for. Things like this didn’t heal overnight, not even after a week. She should’ve just left when he told her to, she should’ve listened. YN nearly cursed herself, swallowing down the guilt to mellow in her belly, along with the dark hopelessness that had settled in that morning.

YN sighed, shifting her weight back to her feet and taking a few steps into his room. She pulled her backpack from her shoulder, digging down into the side pocket and fishing out a bottle of pain pills. She wasn’t sure if ibuprofen would work on super soldiers but it was worth a shot.

Placing them gently on his bedside table, she put the bottle of water down on top of the sticky note. She backed away, opening the door a little wider before glancing back over her shoulder.

Dammit.

YN closed the door behind herself.

Bucky waited until he heard her steps fade, the front door to his apartment closing and locking. He turned over, struggling against the thick blankets and his tangled, matted hair.

He squinted at the strip of color beneath the water bottle. His fingers slipped it out, the paper unfamiliar between his digits.

‘You’ve always got me, Jamie, remember that, always.’

A small, hastily scribbled, crooked heart filled in beneath the scrawled words.

A huff escaped his nose, lips pulling despite himself. Eyes watering and cheeks stiff as the rusty muscles moved for the first time in two weeks.

The African sun was harsh— beating down on the back of his neck. Sweat drenching his chest, making his shirt stick.

YN huffed out, stepping over a fallen tree branch, her hands thrown out for balance. Her boots crunching against the jungle floor. Legs glistening with a sheen layer of sweat.

“Ooh, what’s this?” Bucky asked as they stopped. YN leaned back, squinting at the flower he pointed at.

“Strophanthus welwitschii— indigenous to tropical East Africa. It’s used in a wide range of medicinal remedies. The seeds can be ground up, used for arrows— they’re pretty potent for poison.” She responded. Bucky hummed, yet again impressed at her expansive knowledge.

“Guess I shouldn’t touch it then?“ He winced, drawing his hand back into his abdomen. YN laughed softly. Her black backpack swayed as she swung it to her feet to dig her journal from it.

He had offered to carry the bag but she declined. Her explanation was that he didn’t need the cardio from the extra weight. He wanted to argue that she didn’t either but, it wouldn’t have meant anything. Just drive their argument in circles.

“It’s safe— the seeds are what’s dangerous.” She corrected.

Bucky studied the plant for a moment before deeming it safe to trust her word.

“It’s beautiful.” He murmured, fingertips brushing against the leaves gently. Admiring the soft pinks and vibrant maroon that laced the white petals.

“That it is.” She agreed.

Bucky watched as she crouched down to the ground, at a different plant. It looked to be some type of fern— he was learning. She made a careful snip on the leaf before sliding it into her reusable storage bag. Cataloguing it with a number before tucking it into her journal.

He had been reluctant to meet her this time. Considering he had yelled at her the last time she was in the country.

Even thinking about it brought an angry flush to his chest. He felt so stupid, why hadn’t he just locked his doors? Why did he even let his anger get that out of hand— to yell at his friend. His best friend, of all people.

He hadn’t even been angry at her. It was always his fault. He always assigned blame to one person. He could only thank himself for it.

But even then, YN had searched for him— found him in his apartment. Demanded he go hiking with her, like usual.

So far, Bucky’s awkwardness had not been reciprocated. YN was her usual self, going about like their previous conversation hadn’t existed.

YN righted herself, swinging her backpack up and onto her shoulders again. Ready to start their trek to the next marker.

“You’re like a walking encyclopedia.” Bucky teased, his shoulder bumping into hers as they walked slowly.

“Thank you.” She grinned, damn near brighter than the sun. He almost had to turn away— shield his eyes from the shine. “What about you, Whatcha got?”

It had started with her first visit. It was an almost, unspoken deal they had going. He would ask a question about something he wanted to know more about, in return, he would talk to her about memories that surfaced.

So far, he had been only sharing the good things. The best pizza in Brooklyn was made by an old Italian woman on his block. His sister, Rebecca had one time beaten him at a race around the block, even though he was an athlete in school. Steve and Bucky sitting with his mother in the kitchen, staring as she delicately braided Becca’s thick hair. The pair immediately attempting to learn and miserably failing.

It helped. Tremendously. To be able to retell stories and relive experiences. Being able to vocalize the good made the bad seem not so scary. Not so dark. It made him realize how much good he actually held within the cavity of his chest.

So he would tell her stories. She would give him facts and history about certain species of plants and every little tidbit she had stored in her expansive mind.

Of course, it was difficult to keep her on task, sometimes. Bucky would see this manic light come to life behind her irises at the mention of her favorite topics. Her conversation, if not steered, would be derailed within minutes.

It was amazing to see how her mind worked. Bucky adored watching her speak and explain and make seemingly random connections.

But it seemed they always had limited time. She would be upset if he let her talk all the way through their day, without him being able to squeeze in.

So, he recalled the last few memories he had gleaned from his previous session with Shuri. He had one the day before— it was a lighter one. No bad memories surfaced, at least.

“Jumping rope with Rebecca and George and Steve.” Bucky revealed, a melancholic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Recalling the his friend and two younger siblings, all shouting and calling out rhymes. The rhythmic tap, tap of the spinning rope against the sidewalk. “Steve couldn’t do much because of his asthma but he could spin the rope. He just liked being able to go outside… ‘nd George always got his foot caught, always fell and scraped his knees all up.”

A sharp cry from the boy would send him toppling to the ground, his knees bloody and palms scraped. He had taken to carrying bandaids in his pockets for his clumsy brother, and when Steve would get caught in the alley by bigger boys. Bandaids wouldn’t solve a broken nose, but it helped with the gash in his forehead until his ma could deal with it.

Bucky fell quiet, being sucked back in to memories of the all the kids on the block playing baseball. Drinking fresh fruit punch on the stoop of the Roger’s apartment complex, the kind Sarah always made for Steve’s birthday.

“I always find it amazing, when you tell me these stories about Steve— being small and… immunocompromised. Then I see pictures and he’s this… giant beast of a guy, knocking out bad guys for a living.” YN laughed, her eyes glued to the ground, watching for critters and roots.

Bucky hummed, in agreement. He couldn’t begin to articulate the surprise of when he had seen Steve, post- serum. It shocked him into speechlessness. Course, he’d been loopy with pain and exhaustion and whatever the hell was in that serum.

In complete transparency, Bucky thought he’d been hallucinating.

But by now, he was used to tiptoeing a line between real and fabricated— the hallucinatory make believe that had been spoon fed and crammed down his throat. Not much felt strange anymore.

His head tilted, eyes scanning Yn’s face as she watched her step on the gnarled path.

Some things he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Like her. YN made no sense to him, which was errantly confusing; She was one of the most easily pleased, simple person he had ever met. He shouldn’t have been so confused— perhaps a little more trusting of her consistent nature.

But she just treated him… differently. Not as a war veteran, an amputee, a long lost best friend, a struggling new friend, a damn piping hot, mess of a human being with scrambled eggs for brains.

To her, he was just Bucky. A new friend who liked to listen to her stories and her travels and her passionate rants about the ecosystem. Someone she wouldn’t give up on. No matter how hard he’d tried.

How hard he kept trying.

As they approached a blocked portion of their path, Bucky stepped forward. Pushing a fallen tree over with foot. Out of her way.

“You know… it’s really unhealthy to stay with someone who yells at you.” Bucky muttered, holding a tree branch up. YN ducked underneath, the scent of her shampoo whisking by. Unable to stop himself, he inhaled deeply, wincing as he realized what he did. Praying she didn’t notice.

“You didn’t mean it.” YN waved a hand over her shoulder, dismissive as she readjusted her backpack straps.

Bucky blinked, wildly confused by her indifference.

She should be mad— why isn’t she furious with him? Why didn’t she immediately cut ties when he yelled at her? When he pushed her away?

That creeping paranoia returned. Crawling up into his throat, sinking silver claws deep into the muscles. He always felt estranged when things didn’t go the way his brain had planned— when she threw curveballs.

Rocked the rhythm he’d set so carefully.

“Making excuses for them is even worse.” He prompted, attempting to keep his argument going. But the steam was running out. Running on empty as her head dipped, feet slowing to a stop.

“If you’re trying to apologize, you’re doing a terrible job.” YN cocked an eyebrow.

Bucky’s eyes scanned her face, searching for any giveaways, any micro expressions. Something to tell him he was correct in his paranoia, that she was keeping up this mask of patience and that it was running thinner by the moment but…

It wasn’t there.

Not in her eyes, that shone with sincerity and humor. Nor was it found in the slight tilt of her lips. The wrinkle in her forehead wasn’t even of annoyance or misunderstanding.

“I’m trying to make you see that I’m not… I get…” Bucky’s sentence spluttered to a halt, his mind grasping for a word just out of reach. One that wasn’t completely derogatory toward himself, one that she wouldn’t give him a disappointed grimace for.

He could not show her how he felt about himself. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Moody.” YN supplied gently, bumping his abdomen with her elbow. An understanding smile on her face. “I know. That’s human. To be human is to feel. And sometimes you feel too much. Sometimes you don’t feel at all. And that’s okay. But you’re good. And I’m not going anywhere until you can see that good too.”

His throat closed off almost instantly. Bucky could feel the tears well up behind his eyes— salt water stinging his corneas as they dampened.

Guilt tore at his guts. He hadn’t deserved any of this from her. He wasn’t the person she was making him up to be. There was no good left, not enough to salvage. There was no James Buchanan Barnes remaining for her to save. Or to help.

He was a ghost. A man out of time. Out of place— even in his own body.

He wasn’t the kind you save. Not anymore.

Bucky opened his mouth— after a long moment of collecting himself from her words, forcing his throat to open and his lungs to keep pumping.

“I—“

A shrill ringtone cut through his words. YN winced, lips pressing together. Her eyes flashing with the first sign of annoyance he’d ever seen before. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips before gritting her teeth.

“I’m so sorry. Do you mind?” YN asked, not making a move to retrieve her phone. Bucky quickly weighed his options— choosing a cowards route. Avoiding the current conversation as long as he could.

“Go ahead.” He confirmed, brushing loose strands of his hair from his face.

YN frowned as she fished the device from the pocket of her backpack. A crease forming between her brows as she studied the screen before sliding her finger across it.

“Your Majesty?” She stopped walking, pausing in the clearing. Bucky pulled to a stop beside her. Watching as her face contorted from concern to mild confusion. Her eyes fell to his, cementing him into place. He froze, startled by her intense gaze. “Is there? We’re turning back now.”

YN frowned deeper, shoving her phone back into It’s original pocket. Bucky swallowed, unsure of what exactly had her bright mood suddenly dampened. But he knew it was something to do with him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have looked at him that way.

“What is it?” He asked, tentatively.

YN shifted, a deep sigh escaping her throat. Her hand lifted, brushing along the back of her neck. Wiping sweat away and pushing stray strands from her skin. Lips pursed, pressed tightly before she rested her palm against her neck, letting it hang.

“You have visitors.”

He wanted to strangle them.

He wanted to wrap his hands around their necks and squeeze.

Bucky sat on the uncomfortable leather, squeaking every time he shifted. Which, apparently, was more than he realized. Across from him, sat Steve and Sam.

In the early stages of his recovery, Bucky couldn’t shake the two. They seemed to be around every corner. Asking him to go places or do things— take his mind off of recovery. Attempting to push his comfort limits piece by piece, carefully expanding his borders.

It served to do nothing but stress him further— the two men were trying a pace much too advanced for his mental capacity.

Shuri had taken notice of his extreme mood swings and increased paranoia. All stemming from peer stress. When she finally got him talking, Bucky admitted that he didn’t like that people were coddling him and constantly near him.

His support system was too extensive. Too invasive.

Their visits had become more sparse, with Shuri’s insistence that he would make more progress without them leering.

Besides, Steve had to clean up the mess he left with Tony Stark. It had taken up most of his time so he hadn’t been able to stay for long. Sam had to get back to his family in Louisiana— they’d had their own things to deal with.

After that, he didn’t mind their bi-monthly visits.

But today was one of his only days with YN. There weren’t many and they were cutting into his time with her. To make things worse, he and YN only had two more days together before she was off to New Zealand to consult with an eco project. She’d be gone for at least two months.

He didn’t know if he would survive it.

“You sure you don’t want something to drink, Buck?” Steve asked, passing Sam the orange juice he’d requested.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Bucky insisted, leaning back into the padded chair. His hand brushing along his thigh, swiping sweat off his palm.

He was grateful for everything Wakanda, and the royal family were doing for him, but he was even more grateful for the air conditioning in the palace. It was usually hot and humid in the country but somehow, today seemed to surpass his expectations.

It hadn’t helped that he and YN had been in the jungle not thirty minutes before.

God, what he’d give to be back in the million degree weather, sweating profusely, listening to YN talk and guide him along the wilderness.

“Cheer up, old man, we’re not here to walk you to the choppin’ block.” Sam grunted, a teasing lilt to his voice. Bucky’s eyes rolled, opting to ignore his comments as usual.

“Yeah, you act like we’re coming to make your life hell every time we’re here.” Steve added after a hearty gulp of his own water. The two visitors had yet to accustom to the scorching temperatures of the African country. “It’s like pullin’ teeth with you sometimes.”

Bucky shifted further down into his chair, sending a scathing glare across to his visitors. Steve lifted an eyebrow. He had been on the receiving end of one too many of those looks to respond with anything other than one of his own.

Finally, the brunette muttered a ‘whatever’, and turned his glare to the wall. Steve smiled, quite smug at his newfound ability to deter the grumpy man’s infamous stare down.

“You’ve got some color back to your skin,” Sam noticed, nodding toward the sulking soldier. “Gettin’ more fresh air now?”

“Yes.” Bucky’s response was short, stilted with attitude. His attention focused elsewhere.

“What’ve your been up to outside— farming?” Steve prodded.

T’Challa had explained his plans to Steve when they arrived the first time. After his rehabilitation, if Bucky chose so, he could be granted a home in the countryside. A small village sect on the outskirts of Wakanda.

He had been hopeful, that Bucky would soon be able to make the transition to the next phase. T’Challa had given a short report when he and Sam arrived that morning. Bucky had been doing much better and he seemed to be going strong in his memory recovery. They had even begun with his deprogramming.

It would be slow moving but it would definitely be faster than the memory portion.

“Hiking. Going down to the city for a few hours.” Bucky answered, purposefully leaving out a key aspect of his purpose for hiking and city- visits.

Just as Steve opened his mouth to speak again, a phone alert sounded off. All three immediately reached— Steve and Sam eyeing Bucky suspiciously as he revealed his phone. Keeping it low to his lap.

Because it was his. Bucky’s phone had a text alert.

And that truly was uncommon.

It was a picture message. One that made his lips curl into a soft smile— one he tried to suppress so he didn’t appear even more suspicious.

He couldn’t.

It was YN. A picture of her and a couple of the village children. A crooked flower crown perched delicately atop her head, a matching, goofy grin on her lips.

His heart tugged, raged with longing; wanting desperately to be out there with her and the kids and the fresh air. He felt like a kid who’d been told he couldn’t go to the playground that day.

Bucky loved that village. He loved it even more when YN went to visit with him. So much his brain shouted, screamed— longing and begging him to get off his ass and leave the palace. Find himself at his own personal heaven.

Lying in the thick grass and watching the clouds shift by. Feeling the warmth from the sun on his skin— a warmth on his soul from the girl lying beside him. Shrieks of laughter peeling around them, a little boy hurtling directly at his legs before a whole gaggle of them pile around the pair of adults.

This shit wasn’t fair.

“Who was that?” Sam asked, attempting to be delicate, though his curiosity peeked through. Bucky glanced up, noticing that both men were staring directly at him.

He turned his phone face down, shoving it to the side.

“Shuri. She sends me these… picture things from the internet.” Bucky explained— much too smoothly.

“You laugh at memes?” Sam’s grin broadened. Bucky’s lips fell back into their natural scowl. Sam howled at the expression, his head thrown back in a loud laugh. “Oh that’s a goldmine of opportunity!”

Steve huffed out a chuckle at the ferocity of Bucky’s sour face. The apples of his cheeks burning a bright red, stained across his skin. Going toward his ears.

“I never said a word about you or those stupid television shows, why don’t you shut your mouth?” He growled out, fingers itching to reach something. To throw something at his smug face and shut his laughter down.

Sam pressed a hand to his chest, mouthing a low ‘Ooh’ to Bucky’s thinly veiled threats and deadly hairpin trigger.

“Ouch.” Sam hissed, sarcastically. “And I’ll have you know, America’s Funniest Home Videos is a classic and you’re missing out.”

“Alright, easy. Both of you.” Steve interjected, putting his foot down gently before things escalated, out of hand. Sam took another sip of his juice, eyebrows jumping playfully wile Bucky shook his head, a sarcastic sneer tugging at his upper lip. “You two could act civil together, you know that right?“

“I’ll be mature when he is.” Sam declared, throwing his palms out after placing the glass to the table.

“Over my dead body.”

“Bucky.” Steve warned, attempting to portray how close he was to the edge of the blonde’s patience.

Steve was playful— just like the others. He could joke and tease and shoot the shit all day, with the best of them. But he didn’t like when Bucky put himself down. He didn’t like when Bucky wasn’t fair to himself.

That was where he drew the line.

The door creaked open, Ayo’s confident footsteps befell their ears. All three men turned their eyes upon her lithe, built frame entering the door. Her intense eyes locked onto Bucky.

He swallowed, knowing only bad things could come from her today.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Ayo nodded in greeting to the other men before stepping closer to Bucky, her back toward the guests. She leaned in, her mouth close to his ear as she continued. Her voice low. “I’m afraid I have bad news; YN has been called in earlier than anticipated— she wished to say goodbye in person but I told her I would deliver it.”

The words hit him like a train. Pummeling his organs with a barrage of attacks. His mind reeling with the words and conversations that had been left unfinished. The things he wanted to share, to give to her. All of it.

Gone.

“Is she already gone?” He sat up, prepared to take off in a sprint to reach the air strip. To… to what? To stop her? Go with her? Say goodbye?

He would just be barreling into the airspace with no thoughts, no plan in mind to implement.

Just that he would see her.

“Her plane cleared takeoff ten minutes ago.” Ayo reported. He could almost feel the regret and consolation drifting from her body, crashing into his broken heart. Mingling into a toxic concoction of missed opportunity and disappointment in his blood.

“Right. Thank you.” Bucky mumbled. Eyes glued to the arm of the chair he had been sulking in.

Ayo nodded once more. She didn’t even know if he saw her back away. Or regretfully leave the room. His gaze remained locked on his target.

Once the door closed behind the warrior, and Bucky remained vigilantly silent, Sam took the initiative. Observing the obvious shift in demeanor. Unsure of what happened or what it would make Bucky do.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked gently, his head dipping lower to attempt at catching Bucky’s stone cold gaze.

The soldier clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. The man’s words grating over his exposed nerves, irritating his already strung out emotions.

“Nothing. Just…” Bucky snapped his mouth shut, an aggregated huff escaping. He shook his head, stiffly, muscles refusing to budge from their cramped positions. “Nothing.”

Sam and Steve glanced to each other, a moment of tense concern passing between them at the words. Bucky shifted further back into his chair, wondering if he could get away with saying he was tired and he wanted to go to sleep. He just wanted to be alone, for now. Maybe he would be in a better mood tomorrow— he didn’t want to deal with any of this shit today.

“We could help,” Steve prompted, sitting forward and leaning his elbows on his knees. “If we knew what you were upset about—“

“You’ve helped enough.” Bucky snapped, his glare returning full force and locking onto Steve’s blue irises. The moment their eyes connected, Bucky’s abdomen seared with rage. He pushed himself off the seat. “Both of you. You always choose the worst times to come here and fuck things up.”

Steve’s brow furrowed, his own eyes lighting up in a twin flame, akin to Bucky’s that burned along his organs. Consuming reasonable thoughts. Pushing the two toward a more explosive reunion.

The blonde matched his friend’s stance, his fists clenched as he stood up. Shoulders back and prepared for the argument.

“Now wait just a minute—“

“Hey, man,” Sam leapt to his feet, holding his hands out between the two super soldier’s chests. Hoping they didn’t just go through him anyways. He turned to Bucky, keeping himself collected. “Just take a minute to talk this through with us—“

Bucky scoffed, kissed his teeth with his tongue and spun around on his heel. Stalking toward the exit.

He slammed the door behind him.

Finalizing the blow. Leaving it to resonate, echo in ringing ears.

He had stewed in his anger all day. Opting to sit on the floor of his living room, staring holes into the sheet rock walls. Teeth grinding.

He wanted to throw things and destroy the place but he hadn’t moved a thing since YN was there last.

He had made it a point to not speak with YN either. He wasn’t upset with her, just that she had been called away early. That he had been graced with the presence of his friends.

God, his friends.

Bucky wanted to put his head through the wall— do something because he was the biggest idiot in the world.

Eventually, he couldn’t sit still any longer. He’d paced and chewed his fingernails down, nearly bit his bottom lip raw. Stomach twisting with anxiety and guilt— more anger building behind his sternum. But still, it was anger toward himself. It just boiled. Simmered. The same as him.

In the end, he’d fled the chilled corridors of his apartment and taken off to the guest quarters. Hoping his friends were still there— that they hadn’t become fed up with his bullshit and abandoned.

Three knocks to the door did the trick. It opened revealing his friend— a rush of relief, followed by a chaser of guilt, rooting him to the spot.

“Buck?” Steve’s jaw clenched, his spine snapping straight. Shoulders back— head reared. Readying himself for the fight that had been looming over his head all afternoon. The one he just knew Bucky was coming back to finish.

And Bucky Barnes didn’t finish a fight with strong words. He finished with his fists.

Bucky shifted his weight, his hand coming up. Palm resting against the back of his neck, a frown on his lips. Bashful blush rising to his cheeks.

“Hey… I just wanted to… I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve been acting bitchy and just all around terrible whenever you visit.” He acknowledged. Steve’s brows raised, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe, steady gaze on his friend. “I don’t want to, not really but I do it anyways. S’not much of an apology, I know… I’m just, I’m sorry.”

Steve sighed, nodding even though Bucky didn’t look up.

“It’s okay. You were always a little temperamental but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” Steve assured him, arms coming up to cross over his chest. When the brunette didn’t respond, Steve continued. “Buck, hey, I understand. Maybe not fully but I understand enough. I just want you to be happy and safe.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. That feeling still hadn’t disappeared. Probably wouldn’t. He would carry it along for a while until something worse happened, then he would restart the cycle.

He just wanted to escape the torment of guilt and the anger. He didn’t want to be angry anymore.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, vocal chords raw. Voice hollow and hoarse.

“Don’t.” Steve replied, dismissing the statement. He studied the slightly bowed head of his friend, the obviously torn soul he was attempting to mend. Steve took a step back into his room, head cocking to the side. “You wanna start this visit over or just call it a night?”

Bucky glanced toward the room, then took a decisive step over the threshold. Steve hummed under his breath, a pleased noise at his friend making new progress.

“I Wanna tell you about… someone.” Bucky blurted out, hopeful eyes turned to Steve. Surprise written over his features. “But no questions. I wanna tell somebody and who better than my best friend?”

“What I’m hearing is that I’m just option one?” Steve questioned in response to the stipulations the man had quickly laid into place. Bucky huffed, a harsh glare sent as an answer. “I’m joking. Tell me everything you want me to know.”

“Her name’s YN.”

Left. Right.

Check both ways before crossing.

Left. Right.

An old, worn out cadence that had become too engrained in his mind.

Left. Right.

Two turns. Down one street. Up another.

Left? Right?

How to choose? Which to use?

He gazed down at the mismatched palms before him. Flesh calloused and scarred. Metal giving a matte shined finish from midday sun.

It shouldn’t even be a decision. He should’ve been able to perform a simple task without overthinking it. But everytime he came to a crossroads, he found himself spiraling down a rabbit hole of dangerous excitement. Of hope.

Fact of the matter was, Bucky couldn’t help to get lost in the flashy lights of the future. Because now, he could see it. He was aware of time passing, of choices, of mundane tasks… of a maroon colored door standing tall before him.

And his hands held out flat.

Left.

Right.

Choices. Choices.

With a shaky exhale, Bucky tore his eyes away from his hands. Swallowing hard in anticipation as he steeled his nerves. Reaching up with his left, the metallic knuckles rapped a steady succession of taps.

Knock, knock, knock.

His heartbeat was too loud. He could hear it, along with the blood rushing to his head, through his ears. Waiting. Waiting.

Quiet…

Left, right, left.

Pattering feet across the floor of the house. Enhanced ears picking up on even the creak of an old, possibly warped floorboard.

A breathy hum, quiet undercurrent of noise.

Locks being thrown as he straightened, throwing his shoulders back. Chin high. A smile already pulling at his lips.

The red door swung open, a rush of scents bombarding his senses almost immediately.

Fresh flowers. A candle— sandlewood— burning somewhere. The soft acoustics of acidic lemon scented cleaning liquid. The smell of her perfume. Of her shampoo.

Of her.

A bright smile befell her, teeth flashing in a blinding smile as she recognized who stood on her welcome mat.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” She commented blithely, smile lines crinkling around her eyes.

Bucky hummed, unable to find words. Relishing in the feeling of her. Reluctant to shatter the easy air that had been established. Reluctant to break his grin no matter what.

With a light, giddy giggle, she backed away, eagerly waving him across the threshold. Bucky glanced down.

Left.

Right.

Fuck it.

He looked back up to meet her eyes, shining brightly. His feet moved.

And he didn’t give a damn which moved first.

66 notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

dreaming in june || B.B || Masterlist

Summary: Alive for centuries, you’ve navigated this world in all its singularities, all its multitudes. You’ve avoided, intercepted, and learned the meaning of loss. At the request of an old friend who now happens to be the new Captain America, you move to a place that only vaguely feels peaceful, to secretly protect his best friend. There you meet Bucky Barnes, your next door neighbor, who has also lived countless lives, seen a lot of things, and lost the one he loved. You have more in common than you thought.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) POC Enhanced Reader || PastOriginalMaleCharacter x Reader || Past Bucky Barnes x Unrequited Steve Rogers

Trope(s): Neighbor!Bucky Barnes; mild Slow Burn; Hurt/Comfort

Based on the Song(s): Heat Waves by Glass Animals and iann dior ; Coney Island by Taylor Swift and The National

This series is in-progress.

Warnings: This series explores rough topics and situations, such as genocide, alcohol abuse, strong language, graphic depictions of violence, the umbrella of past HYDRA abuse, suicidal thoughts, discussions of infertility, and sexual situations. This material is not to be taken lightly. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Although not heavy in smut, this work is still strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

Author’s Note: I have been told I’m really good at writing angst lol. This is a (Fem) POC Enhanced Reader x Bucky Barnes fanfiction. However, I never write specifics about skin, eye, or hair color/texture. As a new chapter is posted, this masterlist (specifically found on my ‘main masterlist’ that is pinned) will also be updated.

If you would rather read this fanfic on AO3, here is the link. It will be updated at the same time a new part is uploaded to Tumblr.

🌹 indicates smut

🥀 trigger warnings

Keep reading

317 notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

dreaming in june || B.B || Masterlist

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) POC Enhanced Reader || PastOriginalMaleCharacter x Reader || Past Bucky Barnes x Unrequited Steve Rogers

Trope(s): Neighbor!Bucky Barnes; mild Slow Burn; Hurt/Comfort

Based on the Song(s): Heat Waves by Glass Animals and iann dior ; Coney Island by Taylor Swift and The National

This series is in-progress.

If you would rather read this fanfic on AO3, here is the link. It will be updated at the same time a new part is uploaded to Tumblr.

🌹 indicates smut

🥀 trigger warnings

Keep reading

317 notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

The Perfect Alibi

~12,100 words of (AG/TASM) Peter Parker x reader fluff

Pairing: Peter Parker x female reader

CW: Swearing, blood/wound, alluding to (Gwen’s) death

If you went back less than two years and told your fresh-out-of-high-school self that you’d soon become the fake girlfriend of a vigilante, you’d… well, to be honest, you’d probably have found it cool.

Maybe ‘cool’ wasn’t the right word. More… unconventional.

It was the perfect arrangement. You both got exactly what you needed: an excuse, a reason, a justification for your actions.

It’s a ruthless, cutthroat job market out there and, after getting a full-ride scholarship Columbia University, which was widely regarded as the best school for science in New York, you knew these next four years were for focusing hard, studying harder, and getting the best grades possible. Bonus if those grades got you valedictorian.

Sure, maybe it had been a pipe dream to be valedictorian of your class but after topping almost all of your freshman courses, you gained more confidence in that crazy idea that you could just maybe do it. It would look stellar, unbeatable even, on job applications. Hell, maybe you wouldn’t even have to apply, and they’d all come crawling to hire you.

You’d created a list (found in the back page of your journal which you only wrote the most important things in) of non-negotiable ways to ace the college life.

1. No dating

2. No drugs/alcohol

3. No dating

4. Find like-minded friends, keep the circle small

5. NO DATING!!!

6. Don’t skip class under any circumstances. Even if you’re dead.

The list was your bible, and it had clearly served you well. However, at the beginning of your sophomore year… it started. The few close friends you’d made, Dana especially, starting probing into why you never dated. There were admittedly a number of people on campus you found attractive, some of them you even had a spark with, but you suppressed any emotion, snuffing any potential flame before it started. Whenever you tried to explain that your high-school relationship had almost cost you your SAT results due to the distraction of it, Dana and Sam would wave it off as you being a dumb teenager and point out that you‘re clearly better adjusted now, if not having gone too far in the opposite direction.

They pestered and pestered, obviously with their hearts in the right place but you were getting to the point where you were nervous that showing up to hang out with them would result in you being tricked into a blind date - that’s how persistent they were. They’d tell you whenever someone asked whether or not you were single, and you’d, without fail, say “Tell them I’m not available.” You were met with eye-rolls, admonishing stares, the occasional begging for you to give them a chance. You held firm. Half a semester into your sophomore year, they started worrying about you a little more, asking if you were nervous about dating, if you’d give it shot, did you not like anyone? It was okay if you didn’t. They just wanted you to be happy, not at all understanding the pressure you were under to keep your grades up to keep your scholarship. Almost at the breaking point, you considered going on just one date to shut them up for a while.

Then, one night, the perfect solution climbed through your window.

It was lucky your roommate’s girlfriend lived ten minutes from campus, effectively rending your room a single-person dorm. Seriously, you could count on one hand the number of nights Olivia spent in the dorm with you (and none of them were very pretty, considering she’d only sleep in her own bed when she and Remi were fighting). This particular night, all was well with their love so Liv was nowhere to be seen. It was early, around 2:00am, when someone jimmied open the latch on your fourth-story window.

You held your breath, dead silent, as your fingers closed around the Louisville Slugger aluminium bat you hadn’t used since you were nine but brought to college specifically for this reason. The blood pounded in your ears, your heart felt like it’d jumped into your throat, blocking any potential scream as the window between the two single beds slid open. A small grunt, a cough, a wheeze, then, a loud CLUNK brought a yelp through your lips as a tall, masked figured tumbled over your bedside table and onto your floor. The groan of pain told you he was injured, and the dim glow of the safety streetlights dotting the pavement outside illuminated the blue, the red, the webbed patterns, and you dropped the bat from shock. It fell in a muted clang to the floor beside the bed, ricocheting and softly whacking Spider-Man in the head.

“A-are you okay?” You gasped, instantly falling to your knees beside him. “You’re Spider-Man,” you stated the obvious, reaching up and scattering your hand around the beside table until you switched on the lamp. Once you did, another gasp left your lips when the brighter light revealed a large strip of blood pooling around his abdomen. “Can you hear me?” You took his masked head in your heads, looking at the blood stain slowly creeping, growing. He only responded with a groan. “Look, I-I know your identity is a secret so you can keep the mask, but you’ve gotta let me check out this wound.”

He groaned again, turning his head to look up at your face properly. “Oh man,” he breathed out, then tried to sit up. “Oh man, oh man,” he winced and grabbed his side, just at the bottom of the blood patch.

“I know first aid,” you let him sit up. “Look, I’m really not trying to-”

“I’ve gotta get outta here,” he coughed again, shakily planting one foot on the ground. “Wrong window, oh man.”

You winced, huffed and grabbed the first-aid kit from the bottom shelf of your bedside table, holding it up to show him. “Seriously, you can keep the mask on, but we have monthly dorm inspections and I can’t explain that much blood on my carpet without looking like a serial killer.” The frantic words tumbled through your lips in one long breath as you desperately hoped you weren’t going to have to report a dead vigilante in your room. Your chest heaved as you gestured to the drops making their way through his suit and splattering at his feet.

“Sorry- sorry!” He placed his other hand on his side as well, before looking over at your raised blinds. In a second he’d whipped up his wrist, shot a web at the cord, then yanked it down to cover your window. He looked down again at the blood, and you threw a towel to him. “Uh, thanks,” he winced again, “Ah, ah, ahhhh,” he breathed out, applying pressure to the patch. He sounded young.

“Will you let me see?”

He looked back up at you, and a small shift of his head to look at the first aid kit you’d opened told you he was considering it, then a lowering of his head and shoulders told you he’d resigned himself to it. “That would be nice,” he laughed nervously. “Man, sorry, you must’ve been so freaked out… some weird guy falling through your window. I promise I’m one of the good guys.”

Your mouth twitched into a nervous, wry smile as you beckoned for him to pull out the office chair which sat nestled in the desk at the edge of your bed. Having only gone to sleep an hour or two before after a night of trying to figure out the same damn physics question, your notes and failed attempts were strewn about the light oak desk. It was extra credit, to be fair, but the fact that it’d kicked your ass for four hours straight was enough for the sight of it to be discouraging.

“Mind the mess,” you sniffed, pulling Liv’s barely-used chair over to sit next to the vigilante. He turned his head as one hand went up to tug at a zipper on the back of his suit, just above the base of his neck.

“Looks complicated,” he said slowly, looking more intently as he worked the upper-half of his suit off his body, leaving his mask in-tact.

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, biting your lip to distract from the heat pricking at your cheeks when he revealed his very toned chest and abdomen. “Something isn’t clicking. I’ll have another shot at it tomorrow and- ooh, ouch,” you let out a puff of breath as the five-inch gash was revealed. “Mind if I…?”

He nodded, “It doesn’t feel too deep. I can web it up.”

“Somehow that doesn’t seem sanitary,” you mumbled, shifting your glance upward to give him another wry smile, this one a bit more shy. “Does that stuff come out of you?” He laughed, which made you smile wider and blush as you picked up a cleaning pad and some rubbing alcohol from the kit. “Well, it didn’t seem like a stupid question.”

“No, you’re clearly not stupid,” he tilted his head, and something told you he was smiling behind his mask. Maybe you heard it in his voice.

“This is gonna sting,” you said, saturating the pad. “But judging by the news footage I’ve seen, you’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance.”

“They always show the videos of me getting my ass kick- AH!” He flinched with a sharp intake of breath when you pressed the pad directly onto his cut.

“Or maybe you don’t,” you teased. Which seemed impossible, right? Was this some kind of fever dream? Surely it wasn’t possible for Spider-Man to have accidentally stumbled into an Columbia dorm of all places. “Focus on my physics question,” you joked as you cleaned the wound, trying to assess how deep it was. You searched your brain for the information you’d learned at those first-aid courses, and came to the conclusion that it would probably be okay without proper medical attention. “At the risk of killing the best vigilante in the country, I think a bandage will do,” you looked up at him again, to find him focused on your question. He shifted the papers with his elbow, careful to not get blood on your notes, then you saw him lean in a little more. Taking the chance while he was distracted, you cleaned the wound completely and ripped open two large gauze pads.

“Your rounding isn’t wrong,” he suddenly spoke and you paused, moving your gaze from his gash to his mask. He looked at you for a second and then sighed, nodding back at the paper. “You wrote here, “rounding incorrect decimal?” … nah, that’s not it.”

“But my answer is so close to the one given. It’s only out by a fraction of a whole number. How could it not be a rounding issue?”

“These readings were taken in Antarctica, right?”

“Yeah, so? Centrifugal force on a sphere is-…” Then, it clicked. You let out a frustrated sigh. “Dahammit,” you whined and collapsed back into the chair. “Of course… the Earth isn’t a perfect sphere so it-”

“Centrifugal force isn’t the same around the globe, yeah. Something I’ll need to remember if I ever need to go up and take down Santa.”

“Right,” you scoffed a laugh and shook your head. As you placed the bandages, something occurred to you. He was good at science. He was on campus. He climbed in your window, clearly by accident. He sounded young.

He… could he?

It didn’t seem polite to ask. It didn’t seem like something you had the right to know-

“I gave it away, didn’t I?”

He said it solemnly but he didn’t sound upset. You took your lower lip between your teeth, not quite responding, just sticking the medical tape to his skin.

“Where’s your roommate?”

“She’s never here.”

You ripped off another piece of tape, swallowing thickly. He must go here. Maybe you knew him. Was this going to be a problem?

“Lucky. Mine will be back by now.”

You held your breath as you packed away the stuff. Your hands shook slightly, your nerves getting the best of you as you avoided looking up at his mask. Sensing your unease, he reached out a placed a gentle hand on your forearm.

“Can this stay between us?”

You paused, nodding furiously. “I’m good with secrets.”

“And with first-aid.”

“Sixteen-year-old me was considering med school.”

“What happened?”

“I’m too squeamish.”

He let out a surprised laugh and let go of your arm, and that whole thing kind of broke the tension. You half-grinned as you stood and replaced the kit underneath your bedside table.

“Thank you,” he stood and replaced the suit on himself with some effort.

“Thank you,” you stammered, turning back to him. “My uncle. He, uh, owns a small bodega in Queens. The last three Thanksgivings he tells the family how the heroic Spider-Man saved him from an armed robbery.”

He paused, only for a second, before zipping the suit back up behind him. “I’m glad I could help.” His voice was sincere, if not a bit abashed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone this story. It’s the least I could do to help someone who’s actually making a difference. And, um, I might have some of my older brother’s clothes I stole if you need to change before going back into your dorm.”

You both stood in silence for a few long moments after you spoke the quiet part out loud.

“I’ve got a pack stashed on the roof.”

“Good,” you nodded, crossing your arms in front of your pyjama top. “I take it you’ll be going out the window considering boys aren’t allowed on this floor after 11pm?”

He hung his head, but you heard a small chuckle, which made you need to suppress a cheeky smile.

“Thanks for the reminder.”

You stood aside as he approached, letting him pass you. He removed the webs from your blinds and switched off your lamp before letting the fabric fling up into its rolled-up position. He crawled out the window and just before he closed it again, he turned to you, that smile evident in his voice, and said:

“I’ll see you around.”

There wasn’t really a hope of easily going back to sleep after that encounter. You actually had half a mind to march yourself down to the medical unit to get checked out, wondering if you’d studied too hard and given yourself hallucinations to make life less math-y.

You managed to catch an hour or two of sleep before your alarm went off, and when you planted your feet on the floor your eye immediately caught the droplets of blood on the carpet. It had happened. Spider-Man had been in your room, you’d patched him up, he said he’d see you around. He practically admitted to being a student here. Which was crazy. Insane. How on earth- why on earth...?

There was too much going on in your brain, too much to process, so you used his helpful hint to distract yourself with scurrying through the final stages of the physics question still strewn across your desk (thankful to see it was free of any bloodstains). Using the hint he’d given you, you cracked it in just under half an hour; just enough time to frantically brush your teeth in the shower, throw on some warm casual clothes, sling your bag over your shoulder and rush out the door as you shuffled the work into a folder as best you could.

If you walked fast you’d make it slightly early, which is how you liked to be, but this time, as you made the trek to your nine a.m. lecture, you found your eyes darting between every tall, slender, male student you saw. He could be any one of them, and everyone around you was none the wiser.

When one guy made eye contact with you, your breath caught in your throat and the immediate feeling searing through your gut was that it had to be him. But when you looked away, then looked back, he‘d turned his attention elsewhere. He looked a bit too tall anyways.

Physically shaking your head and blinking hard before you entered the lecture hall, you took a deep breath in. The second you stepped inside, you released it in overwhelming thankfulness - a sleepy grin came to your cheeks when you saw Dana and Sam sitting in your usual three, Sam beckoning you over with an extra cup on her writing desk. You trudged over, while trying to make it look like you weren’t trudging, but your best friends were too perceptive.

“Holy shit, dude,” Dana laughed, somewhat nervously. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Not really,” you mumbled, sliding in next to Sam, resisting the urge to kiss her passionately in thanks for the coffee she’d brought you, making sure to not accidentally kick the guy at the seat in front of you.

Sam sipped her coffee and raised an eyebrow. “Everything alright? Liv and Remi aren’t fighting, are they?”

“No… no,” you shook your head and wrapped your fingers around the coffee. You’d promised him. “This extra credit question got the better of me and I lost track of time. I figured it out, but I barely slept.”

“I suppose it was a pipe dream to hope that you’d been up late texting someone…” Sam sang, taking a rather sassy sip of her coffee.

“Or, you know, making out with them,” Dana tossed in, opening her laptop as the professor entered the room.

You laughed through your nose as you swallowed your own life-giving sip. “When have I ever given you two even and inch?” You pulled your own laptop out. “I’m not dating in college. End of story.”

“We’ll find you someone you can’t refuse.”

“Please don’t.”

“One date?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you.” The three of you looked down to the brown-haired guy who’d taken the seat directly in front of you. He smiled sheepishly and held out his empty hands. “I kinda forgot a pen. Do you have one I can borrow?”

He was looking directly at you, which made you furrow your brow in question as to why he was only asking you, but you were barely there, so in an automatic movement you reached into the outer pocket of your bag, “Uh, yeah, of course,” you smiled back and handed him a pen. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, but it was more like a little grin, and it lingered for a second or two before the professor cleared his throat and began the class.

As you opened your notes document Sam nudged your elbow with her own. When you looked over, you were met with very enthusiastic wide-eyed friends who were mouthing “HE’S CUTE.” Instead of indulging them in yet another reason as to why they should respect your “No,” you rolled your eyes and turned your attention to the matter at hand: mechanical waves.

It was a gruelling three hour morning lecture slot, thankfully with a fifteen minute break in the middle of it to stretch your legs, refill water bottles, go to the bathroom, perhaps brave a mad dash to the closest coffee cart. Today, however, once the boy who’d borrowed your pen had absconded to do one of those things, Dana and Sam cornered you in your seat before you had much of a chance to stop them.

“He’s so cute,” Sam whispered loudly. “Did you see how he looked at you?!”

“Who doesn’t have a pen?” Dana scoffed excitedly.

Sam cut in, still looking at you. “Everyone has a pen.”

“He wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“Or,” you ducked your head to the side. “He forgot his pen.” Before they could protest you help up a hand and declared you were braving that mad-dash, asking if they wanted anything. They declined, both with stern glares, so you chuckled and rushed out of the room.

The closest coffee cart was only a two minute power-walk, so the trick was beating the rest of the people who had the same idea. The line only had a few people in it by the time you got there, one of them being the boy who borrowed your pen. He was directly in front of you, but didn’t turn to see who’d taken the spot behind him. That was probably for the better, considering your head was so full of equations you doubted your ability to have any kind of social interaction. In no time, he was at the front.

“I’ll have uhhh, double espresso and,” he turned to you. “Whatever she’s having.”

“Oh!” You shook yourself out of an equation. “You don’t have t-”

“Consider it rent for the pen,” he chuckled. “Hurry up, these people need their caffeine.”

“Black,” you blurted out. “Black, no milk, no sugar. Thanks,” you smiled and rubbed your arm self-consciously as the boy paid and thanked the barista for the coffee. He held them both in his hands as he stepped several feet away from the line, forcing you to follow him to receive your drink. You held in a sigh, hoping this very nice boy wasn’t about to ask you out.

“One black coffee,” he smiled, handing it to you.

You slipped the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before taking it. The cups at these places were always too thin. “Thanks, but… you really didn’t have to do that. It’s just a pen.”

When you met his eye, you saw him take a nervous breath in, release it, his face softened but like someone who had to deliver bad news. Something about his demeanour, his voice, his posture - you narrowed your eyes and tilted your head in curiosity.

“Then, uh… consider it an apology for the blood on your carpet.”

The blood in your own body immediately drained from your face, somehow still pounding in your ears, in your throat, even in your hands and feet. Your stomach surged with a sickly anxiousness as your chest heaved and you tried breathing through your nose.

“Hey, hey,” he placed a hand on your shoulder and you flinched, too rooted in your spot to take the backwards step you so desperately internally screamed at your foot to perform. You’d always had a hell of a flight instinct, but a bitch of a freeze response. “Are you okay? Sorry, that’s a lot to drop on you- I’m an idiot- sorry, sorry,” he ducked down to try catching your gaze as you calmed yourself down enough to brave looking up at him again. He had such kind eyes.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you whispered.

“I know,” he removed his hand from your shoulder. “I heard your friends earlier. Thank you,” he nodded earnestly. “That means a lot.”

“Y-you didn’t have to show me your face.”

“I know, but…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, this is gonna sound so stupid but it sounded so good in my head- I had this idea when I heard your friends talking - which, I wasn’t eavesdropping by the way, or not trying to, it kinda just happens with the whole spider thing - but I heard them giving you a hard time and I just thought-”

“I’m gonna need you to get to the point before I throw up.”

He froze, then let out the remainder of his breath. “Hear me out.” He gestured to you, “You have friends who won’t get off your back about dating,” he started.

Well, there came the blood returning to your face; the superhero knew you were an antisocial dweeb.

He then pointed to himself, “I have a roommate who keeps asking where I go so late at night.”

The second he’d spoken it aloud, it made sense. It made perfect sense. You instantly relaxed, which made him relax. Your head turned to the side in thought, a bit of a mischievous smile coming to your cheeks, despite all odds, and you admitted, “I like where this is going.”

You two shared a look, both fighting the excitement of the potential arrangement. He truly was a hero.

Other students began making their way back to the lecture theatre and so you two walked back together, whispering between yourselves, exchanging names. His name was Peter. Peter trusted you, and he knew he could give you what you needed, and you could give him what he needed. Ultimately, you both needed the same thing:

An alibi.

“I have a plan,” he grabbed your arm just before you two came into the line of sight of the people inside the hall.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see,” he nodded. You gave him a look. “Just- don’t tell them I bought your coffee.”

With that, he slipped past you and into the room. “Peter!” You called after him in a loud whisper, but he was already gone. You gave yourself a moment to laugh at the absurdity of this entire thing, ponder your existence, and make a good case as to why you really should go to the medical wing for a psych evaluation because no way in hell was this happening.

But there he was, sitting at the seat in front of you, twirling the pen expertly. You wondered if he was one of those people who’d looked up how to do the pen tricks in class, or if it was a result of the whole Being Spider-Man Thing.

Just like sleeping the night before, focusing in class was some unobtainable pipe dream. This time you didn’t try forcing it upon yourself, instead giving yourself a gentle reminder that you could always listen to the recording later and it was okay to be kind of freaking out about this.

Peter seemed calm. Far too calm for someone who just revealed their secret identity to someone he’s met literally one time before. He seemed so sure… maybe there was some kind of super-intuition to go along with his powers. God, his powers. How did he get them? How long has he had them? Did he seek them out, or was it an accident? A billion questions raced through your mind, unlike the professor’s voice which went in one ear and out the other, and you couldn’t stop wondering how it all worked and if you’d ever be able to ask him.

Time flew as you zoned out of the teaching and in no time everyone around you was making to pack up their things. Peter stood up and turned to where you were closing your laptop lid. He placed the pen on your table and slid it towards you, leaving his hand on top of it.

“I owe you one,” he smiled.

Your heart pounded as you locked eyes with him, your tongue subconsciously slipping out to wet your nervous lips. “I-it’s just a pen,” you repeated the earlier sentiment.

“Yeah, but,” he shrugged. “Who knows, if I hadn’t taken those notes I might have failed this class and flunked out and ended up in some dead-end job I hate, no hope of happiness in my career or paying off my now-useless student loans…” he let himself trail off. You laughed once through your nose and suppressed a grin as best you could as you reached over and took the end of the pen his hand wasn’t covering.

“So you’re saying I saved your life?”

“You’re a hero,” he smirked knowingly. “The least I could do is buy you a coffee.”

You nodded to the table next to you, “I have a coffee.”

“Dinner, then.”

You laughed from pure surprise, and maybe a little bit from the nearly inaudible squeak you heard leaving Sam’s mouth as she turned away and poorly pretended that she wasn’t listening. Oh, he was good. You narrowed your eyes at him for a few moments before letting your smile turn mischievous and you tugged the pen from his grasp.

“Considering I saved your life… it better be a nice dinner.”

Needless to say, Sam and Dana damn near exploded when you three left the room together. You were grinning, caught in a flurry of fanatical friends declaring how proud they were of you, how cute he was, what were you going to wear?! Did you want Sam’s help doing makeup? She’s really good at it and she wouldn’t make it look too much and-

“Guys,” you laughed, hoisting your bag higher. “It’s no big deal. It’s one dinner.”

“No big deal?!” Dana whisper-shouted. “You just said yes to a date.”

“With a really cute guy!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure it’ll be nice and fun, he seems cool,” you smiled and checked your watch. “I need to get to Bennett’s office hours but I’ll catch you guy later.”

They begrudgingly let you go, walking off together while chatting about lunch.

On your way to Professor Bennett’s office, you tried making those extra credit notes just a little bit tidier, letting your mind wander to this strange arrangement you were about to enter into. How would it work? What would you do together? What do you say to your friends, your family?

All those questions were answered later, around midnight, when there was a noise at your window for the second night in a row. You were sitting on your bed studying, the blind was drawn but there was only one person it could be. You opened your window and Peter crawled in with much more grace than than his previous entrance. He was just in jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt, so the powers must be him and not the suit.

“How’s your cut?” You asked as he drew the blind. He listed his shirt, revealing that toned core once again, and showed you a wound that looked more like a scar at this point.

“Much better,” he dropped it. “Thanks for cleaning it out, I’m not too great at that and it’s a mess when it’s not done right. Sorry you had to do that.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you sniffled a laugh and crossed your arms over your stomach, still finding yourself somewhat tongue-tied in his presence.

Desperate to fill the awkward silence, Peter clicked his tongue, “Should we figure this thing out?”

“Yeah!” You jumped.

“You sure?” He lifted an eyebrow. “You alright?”

“Yeah, good- I’m good,” you assured. “So how do you see this working?” You perched on the edge of your bed, Peter mimicked your movement on Liv’s white comforter.

“You and I say we’re dating. Boyfriend and girlfriend. That way your friends don’t pester you to find someone and, as an added bonus, if you ever want time away from them to study you can say you’re with me,” he said. You nodded in thought. “And my roommate is getting way too suspicious about why I come back so late, so I can say I was with you,” he nodded back.

“Okay, but we also have to sell it,” you cut in. “We can’t just say we’re dating and then never be seen together.”

“Good point. We should probably go on some dates.”

“One meal out in a public visible place each week, and we can do our work in the library together. That’s an easy two-for-one.”

“You’re a huge nerd, aren’t you?”

“That’s no way to talk to your girlfriend,” you playfully shot back. He chuckled, you smiled. Feeling the anxiety alleviate, and the comfort he radiated filling the space between you, your smile was genuine, and weirdly excited. This would work.

And it did work. Really well, in fact.

You went out to your first dinner together the very next evening at a casual restaurant close to campus. There, you covered the basics. Home, families, you were on a scholarship and he was too. He went to a dedicated school for science so when you asked why no MIT he explained he couldn’t bear to leave New York; he had a lot of history here and even though the city had taken much from him, he couldn’t bear to leave. He didn’t elaborate on what that meant, but you got the feeling that, whatever happened, it still hurt him.

Much to your surprise, you felt confident and comfortable enough around him to brave asking how he got his powers. Though as the night went on, and he told you stories, and you keenly listened and asked questions that made him think and laugh and tell more stories, you couldn’t quite believe your luck. Because here was someone you were about to spend a lot of time with, and you genuinely liked him as a person. Thank goodness Spider-Man wasn’t a pompous asshole. That would’ve sucked.

You also took the chance to establish some ground rules and ways for him to work around his roommate. You recounted the tales of Liv and Remi, and you two agreed that if for whatever reason he couldn’t sneak in your window one night, the blind would be closed. Be it that Liv was back or something else was going on, he wasn’t to enter unless it was open.

When it came to the whole “selling it” part of your relationship, you both felt sure enough to be flirty and cozy in public, give each other hugs, he‘d put his arm around you, the very innocent list went on. You would do those study dates in the library, and he’d have to make a bit of effort with your friends and you with his, otherwise they’d resent the other for stealing their friend away.

“Man, this is getting complicated,” you laughed nervously, pulling your coat on as you two walked out of the restaurant. “But I think it’ll work.”

The hopeful disbelief in your voice made Peter laugh, and he threw his arm around your shoulders just as the late-autumn air started nipping at your neck. Seamlessly, you put your arm around him and you two walked across campus keeping each other warm.

That very same night Peter went out on his patrol, and he snuck back in through your window just before three in the morning. He was quiet. It only woke you because it was such an unsettling sound. But those nights started happening frequently and that early hour shift of the pane soon blended into your dreams most evenings.

During your library study dates, or when you were out eating your meals together, Peter would tease you for the way you snored, or the panda pyjamas you loved to wear. Sometimes you’d swat at him, though most times you were able to come up with a remark to shoot right back. He seemed to like that.

You learned a lot about Spider-Man, and a lot about Peter Parker, over the following months.

He was resilient. Even after the occasional night he’d slip into your window and his groan of pain would give his injury away, he’d shrug it off and insist he was fine. Sometimes he let you help. Whenever he did, though, he made sure to break the tension by commenting on the chubby pandas or lamenting that you weren’t wearing them. He’d crack lame jokes until your worry turned to exasperated humour and you were fighting a grin instead of fighting the urge to worry sick over him.

He was insanely smart. The guy went out five or six times a week to keep the city safe, returning home sometimes just before dawn. News story after article after op-ed explained how Spider-Man was cleaning up the streets but privately, Peter Parker was somehow still acing all his classes on three hours sleep and way too much coffee. Or maybe it wasn’t too much - super metabolism and all. Actually… it’s a wonder coffee even worked on him.

He was kind, and a good friend. Those nights you got dinner, or those mornings you got brunch, all to keep up appearances, he’d ask more about you. He wanted to know about your life, your interests and hobbies, what you wanted to do with your intellect. He was encouraging and helpful, and so caring. One night he returned to find you still awake, hunched over your desk, crying from stress. God, you felt so stupid to have him see you like that. But he didn’t make you feel stupid. He didn’t make you feel foolish for being upset over something you couldn’t figure out because he seemed to understand the way you doubted yourself and how much it killed you to feel incapable. It was your own version of powerlessness, and he said he knew all about feeling powerless. Seeing you were embarrassed to be actively crying in front of him, he said: “Put on your pandas. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Ten minutes later, Peter crawled back through your window with a pint of chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream and two of the tiniest spoons you’d ever seen. The sight of the fluorescent pink plastic spoons made you laugh, and laughing made you cry a little more just from being overwhelmed, but Peter chuckled and pulled you in for a warm hug. When he pulled away, he made fun of you for the panda pyjamas.

Around the time you two celebrated four months of fake dating, some kind of guilt started tugging at your chest. It was something you’d been thinking about for a while and it had never seemed like the right time to say anything about it. Though one Saturday morning, over surprisingly good pancakes in the cafeteria, you noticed a girl from your class and her stare lingering on Peter for a few seconds too long for someone who wasn’t interested. She was beautiful. You’d met her once, in passing really, but she seemed really sweet. Smart, too. Peter didn’t seem to notice her, happily chatting away to you about an armed robbery he’d foiled the night before. Or, you thought he was, but his hand waving to you made you snap back into the moment with small puff of air.

“Sorry, Peter” you sniffed and turned to your pancakes, realising you’d barely touched them.

“I guess you’ve heard one too many stories of heroism lately,” he smiled kindly, albeit sheepishly.

“Not at all,” you smiled. “I like your stories. I‘ve… I’ve just been thinking about this whole thing and…” you sighed and didn’t quite meet his eye.

“Hey,” he reached his hand across the table, not grabbing yours, just enough to pull your focus upwards.

You sighed deeper. “I don’t want to hold you back if there’s someone you actually want to date.” Your gaze turned back to the swirling mess of melted butter and syrup. “You’re a great guy. Anyone here would be lucky to date you a-and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t.”

Peter was silent for several long moments, retracting his hand and sitting back to press himself into the leathery cushions of the booth. When you looked back up at him, he was looking out of the window into the busy courtyard. Even though the snow had just melted, students gathered around tables chatting and laughing over breakfast, blissfully unaware this seemingly-ordinary student had single-handedly stopped a shop-owner from losing a night’s takings, and potentially much more than that.

“I’m, uh-… I’m not ready. For anything like that,” he sniffed, pulling himself away from a memory of someone before looking at his own nearly-empty plate. He averted his eyes and chuckled sadly, “It’s been two yehears but I still… it feels wrong to think about another girl that way.”

You were smart. You could tell this pain was far more than just a bad breakup. This was true loss.

“I’m happy with you,” he finally looked up, eyes noticeably glassy but nothing more than that. “I can be myself around you and there’s no pressure, and it’s fun and it’s so weird that we’re doing this,” he laughed again, and he looked at you, urging his sincerity. “But this is exactly what I need right now.”

You smiled sadly, feeling a little bad for bringing this up, still grateful to know that even in some small way, you truly were helping him too.

The scheme continued to great success. Your friends were happy that you were so happy, they liked Peter - really liked him, and you got some unequivocally blissful, silent study time when you were supposedly with him but he was actually webbing crooks to brick walls and calling the cops on them with their own phones. Peter’s roommate liked you and liked that you kept Peter away from the dorm, giving him the chance to bring whoever he liked over. You giggled abashedly when he’d told you that but he was so confident in his statement that you had to respect the machismo.

There had only been a handful of nights your blind had been closed when Peter came around. One of them you‘d fallen asleep at your desk and forgotten to open it, the other you were holding and comforting a sobbing Liv as she lamented over Remi apparently texting another girl. It was all a misunderstanding, apparently, which was little solace to Peter who had to strip and change on the roof when it was covered in snow.

All in all, you were making it work.

Then, the day came when it all threatened to unravel.

“Peter, nine-one-one, get to my dorm now!” You’d hung up as soon as you‘d made the demand, then tossed your phone down on the bed and paced back and forth across the carpet. His damned bloodstains never fully came out and they were all you could focus on as you took your thumbnail between your teeth, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. In less than a minute, a breathless Peter burst into your room. You were so used to having him come through the window that you gave a startled yelp when he near-crashed through your door.

“What’s wrong?!” He panted. With one hand ready to shoot a web, his eyes darted around your room to assess it for any threats, only finding a very upset you with your arms folded over your stomach and a worried-sick look on your face. “Hey-hey-hey, what happened?” His battle posture dropped as he took on his own worried look. He shut the door and strode over to you, placing his gentle hands on each of your upper arms.

“The worst thing possible,” you breathed out shakily.

He looked back and forth between your eyes, urging you to continue.

“We have to go on a double date tomorrow night.”

His worry immediately turned into confusion, then into disbelief, then his hands dropped from your arms and he opened his mouth but couldn’t quite find the words - kind of a first for him, in your experience. You started blurting out the chain of events before he had the chance to turn tail and run.

“Dana asked what I was doing tomorrow night and I said hanging with you, obviously, and she asked what we were doing and I stupidly said we didn’t know yet “probably watch a movie” - that’s what I said - and she was like “oh, if you don’t have plans then we should totally go on a double date” and I had no good reason to say no and I panicked and-and-and said yes, and now we have to-”

His hands met your shoulders again, his features hesitant, and it stopped you in your tracks. You panted from the nerves, from the lack of breathing in your retelling. Peter grimaced and lowered his voice to a whisper to tease, “You’re scaring me.”

Your worry turned into a scowl when you saw the amusement behind his eyes. With a small grunt of frustration you shoved his hands off of you and looked out the window.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal,” he said calmly. “It’ll be fine.”

“Fine? Fine?!”

“Oh no-”

“Peter, we know big picture things, family, friends, aspirations, but there’s no way we know enough about each other to convincingly play a couple who’s been together for nearly five months.”

“Then we’ll study,” he declared with a nod.

“Study?”

“I’ll give you a crash-course in Peter Parker, and you can do the same. You and I get along great, we’re comfortable around each other, convincing Mike and Dana we’re in love will be a piece of cake.”

“Well,” you mumbled, “Love is kind of a stretch. It’s only been five months.”

“Oh, trust me,” he grinned, taking steps back towards the door. “If I’d given you the full Peter Parker experience, you’d be head over heels right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Hey, I’ve got class but I’ll be back in two hours,” he opened the door to leave and you opened your mouth to maybe protest, maybe ask him to skip class and start studying now, but he pointed to you with one foot out the door, “The vege sub from that weird little shop you like? No pickles? I’ll bring dinner.” And with that, he was gone.

To distract yourself, and to make good use of the time while Peter learned more Spanish, you started looking up relationship quizzes, get-to-know-you questions, lists of things to ask the other person before you get married - quite literally any content you could get your hands on. Then, you stumbled across the holy grail: an app.

IceBreak was free - it had a few ads but, whatever - and it landed on your phone‘s Home Screen with an icon showing a minimalist ice cube adorned with a small crack. The reviews said it was fantastic - that there were conversation starters for friends, family, new relationships, long-term relationships, roommates, almost every way a human could be connected to another. You were sifting through some of the questions, smiling as your heart lifted, when a knock on the door commanded your attention. You called for Peter to come in, recognising the way he seemed to always knock.

“One vege sub for my beautiful girlfriend,” he charmed with a cocky smile. You fought the urge to stammer and blush, but didn’t fight it very well. Peter‘s smile turned into a grin and a laugh as he closed the door with his foot. “You can’t act like you’ve never heard that before.”

“I know, it’s just… been a while,” you blushed harder and started unwrapping the sandwich. “How was class?”

“Couldn’t tell you, I was dreaming up the new schematics for this,” he bumped his eyebrows and pulled a small device from his backpack. “New and improved web-shooter.”

“Let me see.”

He handed it to you and sat beside you on your bed, both of your backs against the wall. His feet hung well over the other side’s edge, so he didn’t bother taking off his shoes. You’d since changed into a faded long-sleeved shirt and some workout leggings, even though you hadn’t worked out in way too long. You tucked your feet underneath your legs as you sat up and inspected the device. It did look more streamlined than the previous model. You knew better than to test it, knowing there was an unexpected kick Peter was keenly attuned to, so you handed it back to him with an impressed nod. You sucked your teeth and smirked to yourself before saying, “Espero que valga la pena reprobar español.”

He chuckled and winked, “Ya soy fluido.”

You showed him the app and let him focus his eyes on tinkering with the web shooter, picking up minuscule tools from his small tool kit, as you two exchanged answers to all the basic questions people in a relationship would realistically know about each other.

Favourite colour, flower, movie, dream vacation location, would you rather go to the moon or the bottom of the ocean, did you ever want to climb Mount Everest? What did you want to be when you grew up, and did that change? Why did it change? Do you think you’d be good at the job you wanted to do when you were six?

You went back and forth for over an hour, Peter successfully getting his shooter into an acceptable beta model.

“Morning person, or night person... I think we know the answer to that,” you bumped your eyebrows and pressed the NEXT button. One you had, Peter looked up at you with a worn look in his eye.

“I think we’ve studied enough.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“You’re forgetting I’ve got much more on the line here,” he laughed. “They’re not going to quiz us on each other. They won’t know if I don’t know your favourite colour.”

“Yours is green.”

“So is yours, but that’s beside the point.”

“Just a few more,” you pleaded. “For my peace of mind.”

“Five more,” he put the web-shooter down, giving in with a turn of his head against the wall to give you a firm stare.

“Fine,” you sighed and clicked the randomise button on the app. “What was your favourite place to go as a kid?”

“Easy. The skatepark,” Peter shrugged. “You?”

“The museum.”

“Wow. You’ve always been a nerd, haven’t you?” He teased. “Did you collect rock samples too?”

“Next question,” you glared, fighting a smile, settling back beside him so you could look at the phone together. This proved to be a mistake, proven by overwhelming desire you had to press the button again, fib that you’d already had that question, and ignore the new question that’d popped up on the screen.

Where are you most ticklish?

“Oh, uh… I think on my feet? I don’t know, bad guys tend to use knives and guns, not feathers. How ’bout you?” He asked it so casually, and he didn’t even look at you when he asked it. If you had the ability to act cool, calm and collected you may have been able to rationalise that Peter was not considering acting on the knowledge he was seeking, but the lie tumbled through your lips before you had the chance to use that rational part of your brain.

“Umm- I-I’m not,” you cleared your throat, wondering if there was possibly a more obvious way to tell that lie.

“You’re not telling me?”

He turned his head. Oh no. You didn’t return the look. Instead, you shrugged, “No, I’m not ticklish,” you mumbled, swallowed thickly and pressing your thumb against the random button. Peter stayed looking at you, and you could’ve sworn he was smirking in your peripheral vision. “Okay! When did you have your first kiss?” You braved turning to look at him, hoping it looked innocent enough. He didn’t respond right away, instead narrowing his eyes. You nodded to urge him to answer, and he cracked a cheeky grin.

“The summer between eighth and ninth grade. At Camp Riverside in Maine. You’re lying to me.”

“I haven’t even told you about my first kiss.”

He raised his eyebrows, and before you could react his fingers were at your side. You gasped at the contact and shifted to move away before realising he hadn’t made any attempt at tickling you.

“You little liar!” He laughed and a whimper slipped through your lips as he made no moves to take his hand off you. “How are we supposed to convincingly play a loving couple if you won’t be honest with me?” He punctuated his teasing rhetorical question with a dig of his fingers, making you jump and squeak. “Secrets can destroy a relationship, you know,” he said as if he were serious, squeezing your side a few more times as giggles bubbled up from your chest and you shot your hand down to close around his fingers. “I mean, really?” He clicked his tongue, beginning to shift to face you. Your eyes widened and you began stammering.

“Wa-wait, wait, Pete,” you laughed, nerves bringing a blush prickling to your cheeks. “They’re not gonna ahask about thihis,” you sniffled, still trying to push away his hand which had stilled at your side.

He shrugged and sighed deeply, feigning the despair of having no other choice. “But-but what if they do? I mean, we can’t get caught,” with a solemn shake of his head. “And you clearly can’t be trusted to be forthcoming with this information, so I might need to-”

“No, Peheter!” You tried to squirm away as he opted to finish his sentence not with an explanation, but with a demonstration. His other hand found your other side, and they both creeped up for him to lightly dig his fingers into your lowest ribs. Your elbows folded inwards and tried to shove him off as you fell into desperate giggles almost immediately. “NahanonoNO!” You tried turning in on yourself as his attack made your backside slide down from where you’d been sitting up. As much as you tried to press your arms against his hands to dissuade him, to push him off course, he still seemed unbothered by your attempts at self-defence. “PARKER!”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“And youhou- YOU- AHA-” You kicked out and tried to turn onto your front as he brought his hands inwards to claw at the sides of your stomach. Completely involuntarily, you kicked out and caught his shin with your foot. “CUT IT OHOUT!”

He laughed and grabbed above your knee with one hand, squeezing the muscle between his thumb and middle finger, making you shriek and kick out again before his grip closed around your knee and pulled you further from the wall. “If you’d just answered the question I wouldn‘t be forced to extract this information from- woah!” He cut himself off with a laugh when his fingers were vehemently blocked from trying to wedge themselves under one of your arms. He yanked you even closer, your hips nearly over his legs, and got to work on prying your bicep away from your side. “What do we have here, huh?”

“Peter, so help m— AHH NO!” You growled and sent your knee punting into his stomach. He made a small grimace, but your strength wasn’t really something that could hurt him. “Back OFF, Web-Head!” You shouted through nervous giggles, trying your best to keep your arms clamped to your sides. He scoffed and paused his wrestling, giving you a mischievous look.

“Really? You’re gonna get cute with me?” He resumed his fighting, with much more strength than before. You squeaked and shook your head as he pulled you by your wrists to be sitting up. “Right now, you’re gonna get cute with me?!”

“Noho, I- Ihi wohon’t!” You laughed and squirmed nervously, but you were no match for his strength. With another swift tug, he lurched you forwards to be sitting between his legs. With a final yank, he turned you to be caught with your back against his chest, his legs ensnaring yours as he handled your wrists in his grip. “Peteher,” you sniffed, squirming as anxious giggles bubbled through your lips. “Thihis is so unfair!”

Before you could register what was happening, Peter grabbed your left bicep and pulled it away from your side with terrifying ease. Before you had the chance to gasp, squirm, or beg, his other hand shot around your waist, up your ribs and dug wiggling fingers into the soft space of your underarm. You shrieked out in laughter and arched your back away from him, thrashing in his trapping limbs.

“Woah-ho!” He laughed, letting your arm clamp down at your side with his tickling fingers worming deeper against the thin long-sleeved shirt. “Oh man, I’m never gonna let you live this d-”

SMACK!

You didn’t mean to slap him.

It was his fault, really. You tended to get involuntarily violent when tickled, even if you did secretly find the whole ordeal pretty fun and playful. Nevertheless, the open palm that’d met his jaw now covered your own gasping mouth, his hand beneath your arm stilled from the shock of your hit.

“I’m soho sorry,” you apologies through laboured breaths. “I dihidn’t mean to. I- HEY! Peter - NO!”

He, apparently, didn’t accept your apology. Because his right hand abandoned your underarm in favour of grabbing your own right hand, the one that had dared to slap him, and he pinned it to the wall above his shoulder. With widened eyes, you saw him pick up the web-shooter he’d been tinkering with and aim it at the hand he’d stuck above you.

“N-n-no! Don‘t you dare web me!”

Fwip.

“HEY! Get it off!” You yanked on your wrist, now webbed to the wall, gritting your teeth with a frustrated growl to hide the blush creeping into your cheeks. “Peter,” you whined, “Let my hand go.”

“Mmmno. That one’s in time out.”

In an instant, his fingers were lightly skittering at the fabric under your now-exposed arm. The sensation was light, just enough to be damn near unbearable, and your reaction was instant, dramatic, and, apparently to Peter, hilarious. He erupted into laughter alongside your squealing, breathy bursts of loud, shrieking giggles.

When your free hand swiped over at his tickling fingers, he closed around your wrist and held it just enough at bay that you couldn’t interfere with his torment. A growl of frustration resounded through your laughter that was pitching up every second he continued, and he spluttered in his own laughter when he found an especially sensitive spot just above your ribs that made you attempt to fly out from under your imprisonment.

“PETEHEHER!” You squeaked, sliding further down despite yourself, trying to twist away to no avail. “P-PLEHEASE!”

“Please what?” He teased, scratching just two fingers at the centre of your underarm, laughing breathily at how you squealed and tugged against him. “Hey, you never answered the question.”

“IHI’M NOT TELLIHING YOU!”

He paused, fingers still poised to strike. “Why not?”

“Because this’ll get wohorse,” you coughed.

“Oho…” Peter’s smirking laugh made your stomach flip. “Ohoho…” He ducked his head around to look at your blushing cheeks. “I was talking about the first kiss,” panic struck your chest as he lowered his voice to just above a whisper and said, “but now you have me very intrigued.”

“W-wait. No. No Peter, I-”

“I mean, I thought this had to be it,” he scoffed and resumed tickling at your underarm with all five fingers. Cackling laughter burst through your lips, your eyes shutting tight once again as you submitted to your fate. You were stuck, there was no fighting back. That was, until he released your free wrist in favour of hunting down your most ticklish spot. “You gonna tell me?” He teased over your squeaks and cackles. “Seriously, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to find it myself,” he sighed sarcastically as you shook your head, indicating even if you had the ability to form sentences right now, no way in hell were giving him that sort of information. “Thankfully… you and I, we’re scientists. We’re good at experiments.”

“PARKER!” You managed to yell, pulling on your legs still trapped in his.

“So, let’s see…” With one hand stilled at your underarm, his other hand clawed into the side of your stomach. You lurched and barked out a laugh, your free hand wrapping around his attacking fingers. No sooner had you done so, he dug his wiggling fingers back in under your arm. You shrieked, burst into belly-laughter, and abandoned his stilled hand to fight off this new attack. “Hmm, interesting,” he mused. There was a shit-eating grin evident in his voice. Then, his plan sunk in: he was going to force your hand to reveal what was most unbearable. And so he did.

When you swatted at the attack under your arm, he turned the side of your ribs into his target. When you squealed and tried to crush your elbow against his hand, he shook his fingers into the same spot on the other side of your body - the one with the arm still stuck above your head. “Very interesting…” He laughed along with you as you twisted in vain, trying to hit at both hands at once. You sniffled and whined through the laughter bursting through your chest, reacting too hard to form a cohesive sentence.

“NAHAHA, I cahan’t- P-PE- NAA!” You tried to dampen your shrieks, but he was too damn good at this. After a particularly hard hit at the fingers drilling into the uppermost ribs exposed by your pinned arm, and a particularly loud shriek, you begged with just his name. “P-Pehehe… Peter!” You gasped, and he backed off.

“Answer the question,” he sang, shifting his fingers down to ready themselves at your sides should you choose to refuse. Despite the fact that he was removing all the air from your lungs, you couldn’t deny the fun of it all. It’s not like you got physical touch all that often, and certainly nothing as playful as this.

Your brief reverie was ended by Peter deciding you’d waited too long to answer, and him declaring this by digging his fingers into the sides of your stomach.

You screeched, hitting your hand at both of his while the laughter was once again forced through you. “I’m gonnaha GEHET YOHOU FOR THIHIS- EEP!” You squeaked, high-pitched giggles weakening you further as he skittered his fingers all around the sensitive patch in the very centre of your belly.

“More threats?” He gasped, taking your free wrist in one hand and pulling it away from where you were interfering with his current target. “Youhou just never learn, do you?” You giggled and squeaked as he made use of his unobstructed movement, alternating between prodding and scratching at the skin. “Now, that’s adorable,” he teased, moving his fingers closer to the centre to ghost along the exposed skin below your navel. Your giggles hitched up and you tugged on both of your trapped wrists, obviously trying to form some kind of words but failing miserably. Sensing this, Peter chuckled and halted. “How about now?”

You took the moment to catch your breath, resigning yourself to the reality that you’d have to disclose your secret to save yourself from him hunting down every ticklish place on your body. “Okay okay okahay...” You coughed. “Youhou… you win. Unweb me, and I’ll tehell you. But you ha-.”

“Shh!” His hand flew to your mouth and you both sat dead still. His head turned towards the hallway, his hyperaware senses alerting him to an impending visitor. “Dana’s coming,” he whispered, reaching up and ripping the webbing from your wrist before shoving it behind his back. “Tell me now or you’re getting it when she’s gone,” he grinned beside your ear as your limp arm toppled to your side.

“I hate you,” you mumbled and sighed, beginning to pull against his legs again. “Around my hip area. Like, if someone squeezes at the sides and stuff,” you admitted, blushing profusely. “Now, let me go before Dana thinks this is something else.”

“Well…” he started, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your waist. Your heart beat in your chest, hearing that cheeky lilt in his tone. “Isn’t that exactly what we need?”

“Peter, no-”

“Peter, yes.”

“Don’t you dare, Parker. I swear I’ll- nahAHA WAHAIT!”

He dug his fingers into your ribcage, attacking the place where your back met your sides with a pinpoint precision, just as there was a knock on the door. He ducked down to whisper, “This’ll sell it,” before he lifted his head and called “Come in!”

“Peheter nohoho, dohon’t lehet- AH!” You squeaked again and collapsed your head against his chest in defeat as he picked up the pace, slowly travelling one hand down your side with every few digs and squeezes. “Dahana hehelp!” You begged, tears of mirth forming above your flushed and grinning cheeks.

“So this is why you weren’t answering my messages,” she playfully glared.

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter sighed sarcastically. “I really am - you know, for distracting her like this, she just- woah, careful there!” He tugged you a little higher, both hands now dangerously close to your hips. “As I was saying… sometimes, when she won’t stop studying, I have to resort to drastic measures to get her to stop.”

Dana raised an amused eyebrow at your demise under Peter’s fingers and rolled her eyes with an endeared smile. “We get it - two are super cute together. Should I come back later?”

“Dohon’t leave me- PETER!” You squeaked louder and gripped at his wrists, trying to push his hands off course to no avail. “Pehete, PLEASE!”

“I’ll come back.”

“DANA!”

“Sorry, Dana,” Peter stopped his hands, allowing you to catch your breath. “It’s the sworn duty of a boyfriend to enact tickle torture in times like this.”

“That’s fair,” she shrugged. You shot her a death glare from behind disheveled hard.

“Okahay,” you panted. “I’ll stop for tonight, just- no mohore… please.” You gulped the air in, chest heaving with the exertion from bearing the brunt of Peter’s playfulness. He turned his head to grin down at you, you looked up at him with a glare that was betrayed by a smile you couldn’t hold back. You couldn’t hold back your blush either, or the way that you weren’t really trying hard to escape his arms.

“Ugh, you guys are sickeningly adorable,” Dana rolled her eyes and went to leave the room. “Seriously, the way you two look at each other… anyway - are we still on for tomorrow night?”

“Yeheah,” you coughed, then grumbled, “If I’m still alive.”

“I’ll keep her in one piece,” Peter promised as Dana grinned and shut the door.

You continued to catch your breath, taking the chance to swat at his leg with your now-freed hand. “Peter!” You scolded. “That was so embarrassing,” you coughed again, and found yourself subconsciously settling into his arms before remembering what you were doing. “Alright, we can stop studying now.” When you tried sitting up, his arm around you didn’t relent. “Peter.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper as he grimaced and said, “I have to try.”

“Huh?”

“The spot, I have to try the spot,” he whispered again and you felt him shrug apologetically.

Your eyes widened, you shook your head, whipping it around to look up at him as you giggled nervously, “No. Peheter you’ve done enough!”

“I-I’m sorry, but it’s necessary and-”

“It is not necessary, you just-”

“I mean, you can’t just tell me about it and then not-”

“You forced me to tell you! Peter!” You continued struggling as he shrugged again and started leaning sideways with you still in his arms. “Peter, plehease,” you pushed at his hands and squeaked when he turned himself to be partially pinning you face-down with his own body. “PETER?!” You held tight to his wrists as he started pulling one away, already giggling hysterically and groaning at the situation you’ve found yourself in. As he pulled his hand away slowly, but with very little effort, you realised there was no stopping him. The best you could do was to ask him to go easy on you. “Okay- OKAY, WAIT!”

He paused with his hand about to strike at your hip, his legs tangling tighter around yours as you squirmed in anticipation. “Yes?” He taunted in a sing-song voice.

“Okay,” you breathed out. “I’ll let you try, but- hey, don’t laugh at me!” You swatted at his shoulder behind you and tried to glower up at him.

“Oh, you’ll let me,” he laughed with a sarcastic edge. “That’s what this is - you calling the shots.”

“You have to let me tickle you too.”

“Sure.”

You hadn’t expected him to agree, which threw you for a loop. Just as you opened your mouth to stammer and come up with some kind of bargain for him to ease his torment, his fingers squeezed harshly around your hip and began digging into the susceptible place next to the bone.

Your face flew straight into the pillow close to your head so you could muffle the volume of your scream of ticklish ferocity. Your whole body flew into fight and flight, tensing and twitching and thrashing against the way Peter had locked you in his arms between him and your bed. After a gasp for air, you fell into silent laughter as you continued to writhe against him and his kneading fingers pressing and wiggling against your hipbone. You spluttered and gasped for air, the laughter trapped in your chest as the tears of mirth spilled over onto the pillow. When he backed off a little, only to flutter his fingers at the space on your stomach just above your hipbone, you pressed your face back into the pillow to muffle some of the boisterous laughter he was drawing from you. Your twitching and spluttering soon overcame your laughter and coherent struggling, so he stopped his tickling and laughed brightly near your ear, giving you a squeeze with his arms before slowly snaking them away from you. He laughed again when he saw how limp you’d gone, making some kind of comment about how dramatic you were, and how he’d gone easy on you.

It took you a solid half-minute to catch your breath and work up the courage to glare up at him. “You’re an ass,” you seethed, gritting your teeth in an effort to hide your smile.

“Ah, but,” he held up a finger with a cheeky smile, “We’ve certainly convinced Dana. Which means… we can stop studying.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself up to sit, propped up on your hands behind you. “Well I’m not gonna argue with you,” you mumbled with a blush before casting a glance to your laptop. “I have some notes I wanna catch up on anyway so-”

He cut you off with a firm hand on the forearm you’d reached towards your computer, and a hesitant shake of his head. “When’s the last time you did something fun?”

“What d‘you mean? I have fun all the time.”

“No, I mean when‘s the last time your Friday night wasn’t spent studying?”

You sighed and looked away, knowing where this was going. “I find it very fun to keep my scholarship,” you said, and you two almost instantly traded unimpressed looks. There was no pretending it wasn’t a lame excuse.

“We’re going out,” he announced, letting go of your arm and standing up from your bed. “Let’s go.”

“Where?!”

“Anywhere but here, or the library, or the cafeteria,” he said with a somewhat worried, exasperated look. “You’re in desperate need of a break.”

You sighed with a scoff, “Peter, come on, I-”

“I’ll be right outside the door,” he stated, pulling his jacket on. “Get changed. If you’re not out there in five minutes, so help me-“ He chuckled incredulously, balling his hands into fists just below his chin before shooting them open for emphasis. “-I will hang you from the ceiling and tickle you so hard.”

Some noise between a scoff, a squeak and a whimper burst through your lips, bringing a grin to Peter’s cheeks. He slid on his beta web-shooter and wiggled his fingers at you before shutting the door to your room and waiting outside.

You silently laughed and shook your head at the ridiculousness of it all, sliding off your bed and replacing your long-sleeved shirt and leggings for some jeans and a nicer crew-neck. As you tied the laces of your shoes, you found yourself smiling, blushing, maybe more grateful for Peter than you ever realised you’d be. Sure, he was convenient, the perfect excuse for studying way too hard, but maybe he was what you needed in more ways than just a fake boyfriend.

You opened the door to your dorm as you slid your other arm into your jacket and snuggled it over your sweatshirt, giving Peter a smile that you wanted to look annoyed and fake, but you were pretty sure it just looked shy and endeared. He smiled back and when you turned around from locking your door he took your hand and laced his fingers through yours.

In a split second, you fought your gasp and your face morphed from surprise into sheepishness. “Right,” you laughed. “Gotta keep up appearances.”

“Yeah. Right,” Peter smiled, softer than before, and nodded. After a few seconds of hesitation, he pulled himself back to the moment and smiled wider. “Let’s go.”

692 notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

Writing Masterlist

All my writing, not just my fanfics

❤️ = Fluff

💔 = Angst

💙 = Fluff & angst

⭐️ = Most popular

✅ = Requested

Loki:

Driver’s License - ❤️ - Loki is bored one night, so he sneaks out of the Avengers Tower by impersonating a member of security and ends up meeting Y/N.

The Way to Valhalla - 💙 ⭐️ - Loki is to meet Y/N for the first time at the celebration of their engagement, and he knows only enough to dread it. But Y/N is certainly not what he expected.

Bucky Barnes:

Emergency Room - 💙 ⭐️ - Y/N is an ER nurse with Tony as her emergency contact, only when called about an emergency, Tony sends Bucky instead. (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

Peter Pevensie:

Bruises - 💙 ⭐️ - During the Golden Age of Narnia, Peter takes an interest in Y/N, a maid at Cair Paravel, and goes to great lengths to keep her safe from her abuser. But there’s more to Y/N than either of them know.

Bruises Masterlist

Paul Lahote:

Love & Hate - 💙 - Sick of his life being dictated by the wolf inside, Paul Lahote is determined to keep one choice for himself and never imprint on anyone. But the universe has different plans, and when Paul imprints on a fierce doctor who has plans of her own, the two desperately try and find a way to break the bond. But is it even possible to break a kind of love so innate? Or will Paul and Y/N be stuck as each other’s soulmate? (Takes place a few years after Breaking Dawn)

Love & Hate Masterlist

Anakin Skywalker:

Eyes - 💔 - Y/N loses track of Anakin and desperately searches for him (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 coming soon??)

Petunia Dursley:

The Letters She Hid - 💔 ✅ - The five times Petunia Dursley missed her sister, and the one time she did something about it.

Firsts & Lasts - 💔 - Hero is dying, and Villain’s doing everything he can to help

Rules for Enduring a Family Wedding - A short story inspired by my real life family drama

Don’t see what you want?

Read my request guidelines here!

209 notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

Main Masterlist

I write mainly for Bucky Barnes and other Sebastian Stan characters, Steve Rogers, and the Avengers in general. I am still branching out on writing for more characters.

Let me know if any links for whatever reason do not work please!

Requests are CLOSED (for now), and my taglist is open!

(Updated 12/21/21)

Keep reading

1K notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

Masterlist

Click here for my Marvel Masterlist.

Click here for my Criminal Minds Masterlist.

Click here for my Harry Potter Masterlist.

Click here for my S.W.A.T Masterlist

Click here for my Supernatural Masterlist.

Click here for my Walking Dead Masterlist.

Click here for my Gilmore Girls Masterlist.

Click here for my Doctor Who Masterlist

Click here for my Brooklyn Nine Nine Masterlist.

Click here for my Lucifer Masterlist.

3K notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

20K notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

Overture Pt. I

Overture: An introduction to something more substantial

> Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (Female/Second Person!)

> You and Spencer are sent on a side case that takes you deep in the Great Smoky Mountains. Why? You are the only two on the team fluent in all of the different languages the unsubs are using to communicate. The only problem? You and Spencer would kill each other if it wasn’t for the watchful eyes of your team. Will being crammed in a tiny log cabin for a week in total isolation change that? Or will you end up loathing one another even more?

WordCount: 4.8k

Warnings: Fueds, pettiness, self-doubt, teasing, talk of food and eating, talk of feeling sick, some (very mild) cursing, slight sexual tension (not really, but if you squint hard enough you might see it).

A/N: Guys!!! Thank you so so so much for loving my first two works. I love and appreciate all of you! Welcome to my first multi-chapter fic on this page, Overture. I’ve had an idea to write something like this for a long time, and I’m so very glad I’m finally doing it. Forewarning: this fic will contain HEAVY smut toward later chapters. I kindly ask to proceed with caution in reading this, as I will ask for readers to be 18+ when those later posts are up. I can’t really stop you from reading it anyway- but I do ask that minors don’t interact with those later posts (which will be labeled accordingly). Once again- thank you and enjoy.

—————————————-

You were never good at standing up for yourself. That’s how you got yourself into this mess in the first place.

When Aaron brought you into his office and asked you to do this case, you thought you would be going alone. To you, nothing sounded better than a week long stay in the Great Smoky Mountains, a cabin to yourself where you stayed inside all day and stalked the neighbors across the street, taking notes on any suspicious or illegal behavior that they were suspected of. It sounded like paradise, honestly. That was until your boss brought in your colleague, Spencer Reid, and said that he would be joining you.

“What- why?” Spencer quickly asked, his face turning crimson.

“Look- I know this is the last thing either of you want. But, for the sake of this job, it is necessary. The bureau asked for two polyglot agents for this assignment, and that would be the two of you. Also, you guys have no rapport whatsoever, and it is causing serious damage to this team. If the two of you can’t get along during the duration of this case, I’ll be discussing options with both of you on a possible department transfer. I don’t want that to happen, however, the way you two act toward one another is nothing less than juvenile. Think of this not only as an assignment that the bureau needs you two to go on, but as a time to reconcile.”

The protests rung out simultaneously, the words you both spat mingling together into one big tantrum. The two of you went from arguing with Aaron to arguing with each other, your voices rising and snarky comments flowing generously from both of your mouths. You wanted to laugh at how red Spencer’s face had gotten and how the vein on the side of his temple was poking out from his skin. You wanted to so badly, but that would only piss him off more - if that were possible.

To your dismay - and to Spencer’s by the way his jaw tensed up and his lips turned down in a near scowl - Aaron had said that this decision was final, and if the two of you wanted to keep your jobs you would have to go and somehow get along well enough to not kill each other in the process.

Keep reading

339 notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 2 years

Text

Welcome to my masterlist! Take a look around!

Below are all my works and requests guidelines. Please reach out if you have any questions.

Likes, comments, reblogs, asks, and dms are always welcome!

TAGLIST INFORMATION

Keep reading

2K notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 3 years

Text

call me when you want

summary || when you call a sex hotline with a need to be dominated you don’t expect to meet (or hear) someone as wonderful as James. but your life becomes a complicated mess as you already love your coworker, Bucky Barnes. however, you are unaware that they are actually the same person.

warnings || BDSM, Dom! Bucky Barnes, dom/sub dynamics, phone sex, dirty talk, identity porn, sex toys, and a lot more (if you didn’t get the gist, this is filthy). SMUT. ANGST. FLUFF. (the holy trinity). MINORS DNI.

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

— one

— two

— three

— four

— five

4K notes · View notes

mercedesgonz · 3 years

Text

Tying You To Me — Part I

Summary: Adjusting back to his old life, Spencer learns of a betrayal that will forever shift his life and relationships.

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Female Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 3,100

Content Warnings: 18+ Angst & heartbreak, cheating on spouses, Spencer gets cheated on, Reader gets cheated on, sexual remarks, crude language

Author's Note: AHH!! Here it is! I'm so freaking excited for this. The biggest thank you in the world to @reidslibrarybook!! She's the best with helping bouncing ideas off and gave me so amazing lines/ideas! Okay I have no patience, I wanted to do Thursday releases, but maybe we will do Wednesdays instead? Who knows.

Series Taglist Sign-Up │ Thoughts? Ideas? Share │Next Chapter

Illicit Affairs — Part One

Spencer woke up on the couch dreaming of soulmates.

"The Greeks interpreted the idea into an ancient mythological story of one person who was so magical, so perfect for their missing half. The Gods sliced humans into two, forcing them to navigate this cruel world alone with only the hope of finding their other half. Soulmates is a concept so contrived that Spencer hesitates to commit to it.

Every fiber in his being, all the molecules and strands of DNA that make him up, scream at him in unison to reject the silly notion that one of seven billion people is the only person he could ever find happiness with. That he made all the right choices in his life to wind up sleeping next to his soulmate, Rebecca, his wife? If they were soulmates, then why doesn’t she understand that the vertical blinds in their bedroom make his hair stand on his neck. Or that her silky blankets are too much against his skin that he can’t even think? If she’s his soulmate, then why do they sleep with layers of wood and nails and a mile thick tension between them?

If soulmates exist, so does fate. And fate overrides soulmates. And if fate overrides soulmates, Spencer knows he’s bound to be alone. Even when he humors Rebecca, playing the charade of a happy, dutiful husband.

His back aches from sleeping on the couch. Couches aren’t much more different from that the 5 in thick pad prisoners sleep on. Maybe that’s why he likes to sleep down in the living room over his bed with Rebecca. It’s better to believe that, than it is to fess up to hating waking up next to the ghost of the woman you married. Her hair is the same fiery red and her eyes the same golden-brown, yet the glares of disappointment are unrecognizable to him. So, Spencer seeks the familiarity of the couch to avoid the unfamiliarity of his wife.

She walks into their living room, wearing a blue sundress with tiny white flowers. He thinks to himself that the blue compliments her hair. Spencer sits facing the big window that faces their street, watching families pass by carrying trays of food and children with pool toys and towels. He can hear Rebecca in the kitchen opening and closing drawers without speaking into him.

Spencer’s head aches and it even hurts to open his eyes. Fearing the worst, he thinks that his chronic headaches are back, and this history is repeating. The block party is in an hour, but maybe he’ll have enough time to just close his eyes, rest his mind...

“Spence,” she calls, walking into the living room, pretending she didn’t come home at a strangely late hour the previous night, “Baby, you said you were going to come with me,” she asks, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Be right there,” he says, smiling timidly at her. Maybe if he tries hard enough she won’t be a stranger with an achingly familiar smile, but something to find joy in knowing again, “do you have the strawberries?”

“Yes ma’am,” Spencer says, forcing a smile as Rebecca gathers her keys and purse, “Bec, baby,” Spencer calls out, reaching out towards his wife and squeezing her elbow, “We don’t have to go, you know. If you don’t want to. We can just stay at home and, I know, I don’t know... be together,” Spencer suggests, searching Rebecca’s eyes for an ounce of familiarity.

“No, Spencer,” Rebecca says, a thin smile forming across her lips as she stands on her toes to kiss his cheek, “we should be going. It’s good for us. For you,” she adds, unconvincingly. She releases herself from Spencer’s grip around her elbow. He drops his hand, feeling how cold it is without her warm skin against his.

“Whatever you want, Bec,” Spencer says, wishing she’d let him hold her like she used to. He rubs his temples, chasing away the inevitable headache, “Whatever makes you happy,” he adds, whispering more to himself than to Rebecca, but knowing she’ll hear it.

“Sound like you mean it, Spence,” Rebecca chides, “And maybe I’ll start believing you again,”

He’s alone, again, with only the sound of the door ricocheting from the frame.

***

“Well, I mean at least the pension is good,” James says, taking a swig of his beer as his wife’s piercing stare ices him over. “What?” he asks, looking her down.

“Jesus, James. He hunts freaking serial killers. It’s the least that can be done,” Y/N says, giving Spencer a pitiful glance. He nods, silently thanking his neighbor for being the voice of reason.

“Hell, Y/N. I didn’t mean it like that. Why are you always fucking twisting my words? Spencer knows he’s a badass. I mean dude, have you killed people?,” James starts, but gets cut off by Y/N, putting a hand up and turning to a crying Aster in the stroller.

“Well, James. There was the time a cult kidnapped me. Like twice,” Spencer says, staring at the short man with a dead look in his eyes. He licks his lips, entertained by the way he seems to wiggle under his stare.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Y/N asks, her voice annoyed with her husband, who sips on his beer as Y/N tries to calm Aster down.

“Sorry, Y/N. James,” Rebecca says, squeezing Spencer’s elbow as she turns them away from their neighbors. Spencer watches as Y/N tries to calm Aster as her husband storms off to the deck, probably in search of another beer or two.

“Was it necessary, Spencer? I mean, what’s going on with you?” Rebecca asks, her eyes flitting over Spencer’s shoulder, watching the other neighbors mingle and drink. Her lips spread into a thin smile, “Let’s just put work talk on hold-”

“Becky,” James calls from the deck, leaning over as he smiles shamelessly at Spencer’s wife, “we’re out of ice. Need to take a run to the supermarket. Take a ride?” he asks, avoiding both Spencer and Y/N’s eyes.

“Be right back,” Rebecca tells Spencer, dropping her hand from his elbow as she walks towards James. She smiles, as if it can mend her defending a man who insulted him. She smiles as if it can hide his pain for him, not heal it.

“I’ll come,”

“No, Spence. I, uh. No,” Rebecca says, “We’ll be right back. Lucy is gonna freak if we don’t hurry back. It’s quicker this way,” she explains, smiling politely as she walks towards James

They walk side by side, closer than two friends should. His hands dangerously close to Rebecca’s waist as his arms swing back and forth. Even looking at her from behind, Spencer can tell when his wife is smiling. What he can’t say is how long it’s been since she smiled like that.

Spencer watches them walk away, not sure if he hates himself more for not knowing sooner or not caring as much as he should. So he denies it. Deny himself anymore pain, anymore hurt because God knows he’s been through enough. He sits down on the extra cooler filled with ice and beer, grateful for a moment alone amongst the bustle of the party.

“It’s been happening for a while,” Y/N says, sitting next to Spencer on the cooler with Aster in the stroller facing them. “Don’t look at me like you don’t know what’s happening,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer says, watching the neighborhood kids splash excitedly in the pool. “I really don’t,” he says, leaving out the care part.

“Please, Spencer. Me and you, we’re not idiots. My husband has been fucking your wife for what, 8 months?” she tells him, “You’d think they’d have the decency to at least pretend they’re not,”

“Bec wouldn’t do that. She loves me. I love her. That’s not part of our plan,” Spencer says, knowing he sounds ridiculous. He checks his watch, it’s been twenty-two minutes since James and Rebecca left, which is more than enough time to run to the 7-11 and back for a bag or two of ice. But just enough time for something else.

“You sure about that?” Y/N says, sarcastically, “Look, Spencer. I know you’re adjusting to things again. But when you’re ready here. I think this situation should get you the friends and family discount,” Y/N says, handing him the rectangle business card with a Divorce Attorney’s name and number written on the cover.

“Don't project your failing marriage on my relationship with my wife,” Spencer hisses, his words contrasting his action as he shoves the card in his pocket.

She stands up, fixing Aster’s hat and smiling at her daughter. Spencer wishes he can be so okay about his wife cheating on him. Strangely, he’s more jealous of Y/N’s ease of all this than someone telling him his wife is fucking another man.

“I still don’t believe you,” Spencer adds, staring at the little card in his palm. “I don’t want to believe you,”

“I know,” Y/N says, a hand on his shoulder, telling him silently that she knows the exact cocktail of emotions swirling around in his body, “So, uh, I’m going to tell my husband that it’s not the 4th of July, but I’m getting my fucking Independence Day,”

***

She came back an hour after she left with James. The ice melted, totally unrecognizable from its desired form. It’s still water, still made of the same things, but it’s not at all what you want.

“I’m going to go shower,” Rebecca says, placing her hand on his chest. She stands on her toes, carefully holding Spencer as she moves closer. She places her lips on his, kissing him gently. Her lips ghost across his, hiding something.

Instinctively, he brings his hands to Rebecca’s face, cupping her cheek in his hand. Rebecca, bringing her hands to Spencer’s head, tugs on his hair. Her lips are soft. Maybe from being kissed earlier today? Or maybe it’s from her coconut lip balm? Whatever it is, Spencer wants to chase all those thoughts away. The next thing he knows, he’s taking off her sweater, pushing it down her shoulders as he moves onto her neck. His lips glide across her skin, latching on to the spot he knows he loves, but finding that his marks are not the only ones there.

He erases them with his own, making a painting of red, angry marks on her skin. Spencer’s teeth, clashing against her skin, like fractured glass, leave their own marks. His heart doesn’t flutter. There’s no butterflies or sparks or romantic music. Only the feeling of her lips drowning him in the remnants of lies that slip by.

He stops, breaking away from her neck to look at her. She’s a mess, her hair knotted and neck filled with red marks. He should look at her and feel desire, but all he feels is used.

Could it be true? Could Rebecca actually throw away 7 years of marriage for a quick fuck? Could she destroy him like that, being so casually cruel and laughing as their love burns away?

No, she can’t. Not when her teeth nip at his bottom lip, tugging gently. She smiles into the kiss when her affections elicit a whimper from Spencer. Letting her kiss him, Spencer can feel the business card burn in his shirt pocket, yet he ignores it. He lets her kiss his bottom lip, feeling no distance between them as he loses himself in the kiss. Because maybe for a moment, a sliver in time, he’ll be enough for Rebecca.

“What’s gotten into you?” Rebecca teases, separating from Spencer as she smiles. The kitchen light dances in her eyes, making her look as beautiful as she fixes her cardigan, “Maybe after my shower we can, you know?” Rebecca asks, kissing his cheek.

“I-” Spencer starts, summoning the courage he needs to say this, “Maybe James might be interested, I’m a little tired,” he says, staring her straight in the eyes, watching her movements.

He’s trained in reading people. For 9 years, 245 days, it’s what he’s done without stopping. In a twisted way, it’s poetic that he can dedicate his life to reading people, but not be able to read his wife. He can’t decipher what Rebecca is thinking, no matter how much training he has had, no matter how many interrogations he leads, no matter what he can’t read, the one person he should be able to read.

“What did you- what are you talking about, Spencer?” Rebecca asks, tears forming in the corners of her eyes and her hands balling into fists.

“Don’t even try to defend it, Rebecca,” Spencer says. “I know what’s happening between you and James. Y/N told me,” he adds, leaning over on their kitchen island, rubbing his temples as if he can chase away a headache.

“Spencer,” Rebecca says, her voice breaking as she walks closer to Spencer, “Spencer, I-”

She moves closer to him, as if holding him can wash away the pain and humiliation that courses through his veins. He steps back, letting Rebecca feel just how empty it is to not have any arms hold you as you stumble.

“So you’re not even going to deny it?” Spencer asks in a deadly calm voice, “How could you?”

This is going to be what ends him. Not his dad leaving, not his mom being sick, not his job or prison, but this betrayal- Rebecca’s betrayal. Not giving her anytime to come up with an answer, Spencer bangs his fists on the counter, letting the rage fester in his heart.

“So what, Rebecca? You were just going to fuck the neighbor until when? When is this gonna stop?” Spencer shouts, staring at Rebecca, desperately hoping for an answer, but knowing he’ll hate it in the same breath.

“I’m lonely, Spencer. Being your wife,” she whispers, wiping the tears that stain the same cheeks Spencer kissed moments ago, “It kills me.”

Her words rattle in Spencer’s brain, not quite landing on a concrete meaning. He wants to look away from her because maybe if he didn’t look at her it wouldn’t hurt so much. But Rebecca is like a car crash and he can’t help but stare at a sickening mixture of awe and fear.

“It kills you? Being married to me kills you?” he repeats, not recognizing the ghostly glow on her face, “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks, getting calm again. Rebecca’s eyes match her face: blotchy and red from crying.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Spencer. I don’t love him,” she whispers, the words he never wanted to hear spill out from the lips he was meant to kiss. “He was there. I was there. We were lonely-”

“And what happened?” Spencer asks, spitting out the question like he hates it, because he does.

“Please, don’t make me tell you. Please, Spencer-” she pleads, crying as she begs. He wants to forget this, to say a magic word and make this go all away. Then, they can go back to playing the Happy Couple game, forever dancing around each other, trying to not get burned.

“Tell me,” Spencer says, not recognizing himself in the microwave reflection, “You owe it to me,”

“We fucked. And it just became a habit I couldn’t quit. I’m sorry, Spencer. But I-I couldn’t, I can’t-” she says, getting incoherent as yet again Spencer rejects her.

“Bec,” he whispers, ignoring the lump in his throat when he uses her nickname, “If you still love me, we can fix this. Baby, please, let’s fix this. We’ve been through so much,”

“We have. You’ve put me through so much,” Rebecca tells him, standing to her feet. She holds her hands, wringing them together as she breaks his heart again, “and it was suffocating me. Killing me. And you weren’t here-”

Her voice, a knife, slices him open, blaming him for the worst things he’s been through, betraying him when he needed her most. If being married to him kills her, losing her is going to kill him.

“Because I was in prison, Rebecca. Prison,” Spencer shouts, disgusted with the way his mouth curves into an uncharacteristic smile, “I was in fucking prison. Oh and then my mother was kidnapped and I was worried sick about you. But, you know what? Least you were getting fucked? Is that what you needed, Becky? So why hasn’t it stopped?”

“It’s been years, Spencer. He’s not the first. You’re never here. You’ve never been mine, so how could you expect me to be yours?”

Spencer has never heard a silence this loud. The hum from the refrigerator or the dripping sink plays in the background as Rebecca’s words replay in his mind. He takes a step back, shielding his body from Rebecca as she steps forward. He shakes his head, telling her to not touch him.

“Spencer,” she pleads, his name shaking on her lips, “I’m sorry-”

“Get out,” he whispers, sliding down the front of the refrigerator, “please, leave me. I can’t look at you right now, Rebecca. You disgust me. You aren’t the woman I married. You aren’t the woman I love. I don’t know who you are anymore,”

“I’m your wife,” she answers, “I’m Bec,” her voice breaks, but it’s nothing compared to way she shattered his heart, “Spence, I love yo-”

“I’ll leave,” Spencer says, getting up from the floor. “if you’re not going to leave, then I will. I just can’t be in the same room as you right now,” he says, frantically searching for his phone, “I’ll be at Penelope’s-”

“No, uh,” Rebecca says, mopping up her tears and tying her cardigan around her waist, “I’ll leave. I’m going to go,” she whispers, unsure if a goodbye is really appropriate at the moment.

She leaves without a word. Her footsteps don’t echo in the hallway and the pain of her words that killed him dissipates. Spencer sits on the kitchen floor, waiting for the car to leave the driveway. He’s not sure what he expected when he confronted her about James. Did he expect her to deny it? Did he want to forgive her? All he wants right now is to sleep, but would he be sleeping in a bed that his wife shared with another man?

Feeling another headache come on, Spencer raids the cabinet for some medication. In the big window that overlooks his garden, he can see the neighbor’s kitchen from his. The kitchen light flickers, never quite going off and never staying on for more than a couple of minutes. Yet, Y/N ignores it, drinking her wine in the kitchen with the flickering light, alone. Like Spencer sits with his back against the refrigerator. But unlike Spencer, she looks almost happy, no relief. She catches Spencer watching her and, with a smirk, toasts to him with a large glass of red wine.

For a moment, he feels less alone.

----

Thank you so much for reading!! I'd love to hear your thoughts, this is a really special fic to me and I appreciate any feedback I can get!!

Taglist (there's still room!)

@alexlovescriminalminds @fightingdragonswithreid @livvieclinestarkeys @reidslibrarybook @donald4spiderman @sleepyspencer @beepbooptoop @koolllook @acoolnight @cuddlyklaus @givemeth @uhuhuh @radtwinkie @kahootlobbymusic

@winterwhore @science-hoes -> please check visibility settings as I am not able to tag your account!

566 notes · View notes