Wanted

Protector. l Masterlist

Summary: After your attempted kidnapping, former Navy SEAL and CIA Agent Christopher Evans is hired to be your personal bodyguard, much to his dismay and yours. Chris takes one single look at you and thinks he has you all figured out—you’re a rich, spoiled little brat who doesn’t have a clue about the real world. When it turns out that you’re absolutely nothing like he expects you to be, he finds that his duty to protect you runs deeper than he could have ever imagined.

Pairing: (AU) Bodyguard!ChrisEvans x Female Reader

Warnings: This series contains the mention and use of weapons that includes the mention and use of firearms, the mention and actions of kidnapping, mention of character death, a massive age gap between two of the side characters, foul language, implied sexual content, and later chapters will contain some smut. 18+ Only, Minors Please DNI.

Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction. Series banner made by me, images all found Pinterest.

A/N: Please excuse me while I organize myself here. First chapter will be up very soon, I am in the stages of revising. <3

CHAPTERS

Part 1

Part 2

DRABBLES & BLURBS (Coming Soon)

CHARACTERS (Coming Soon)

My Queen, My Sun and My Sea

talokan once had a queen. one who loved her people with all her heart—with the same heart she had given to her k'uk'ulkan for what felt like millennia ago. but they lost her to the hands of the enemy; it was a tragic tale painted on the walls of the king's mural, the pain searing itself onto his heart uninvited. he rules now with a darkened hole in his chest, fueled by the loss of his true love and a force to protect his people even more. after all, only the most broken people can be great leaders.

pairing: namor x fem!talokan!reader

warnings: bpwf spoilers!! death (i was lowkey evil for that), colonizers, inaccurate translations, nawt very proofread lol

El Niño Sin Amor.

That was a name that echoed deep inside Shuri's head, its bitter aftertaste lingering still; a piece of Namor that she'd just uncovered.

He was an enigma; a powerful being who rose from the sea, unannounced with his presence but has always been there, deep in the waters where he and his kingdom have flourished in the city of Talokan. He'd just finished recounting about his and his people's origins, how the colonizers brought a disease that left his ancestors to drink a concoction from a vibranium-infused plant found in an underwater cave to save themselves, turning them into water-breathing individuals; the Talokanil.

She turned to Namor with many questions unanswered, only to see him staring at something with a look akin to pain and longing on one of the surfaces on his murals, caressing the painting with a gentleness she had yet to seen from the god.

She shifted to the side quietly, trying to see what he was gazing at. When Namor bowed his head, Shuri saw a painting of a woman beside his serpent, posing regally with what looked like a staff in her hand.

She wore a beautiful jade and gold headpiece, green and brown feathers lining the outer layer, fading in its design as if the light was shining on them. It towered atop her figure, framing her perfectly like she was always meant to be there. She was adorned in jewelry, from the large, circular green jade plugs that hung from her ears to the tessellated necklace that she wore—a striking amalgamation of gleaming silver beads, plated viridescent tiles to carved gold pendants and everything that complemented her beauty. The woman had a tan clothe wrapped around her body, washes of terracotta and hues of sage and cream woven in stripes on the fabric. She was covered in jewels—just like Namor.

One thing for sure, she must have been of royalty in Talokan, or a goddess, perhaps. The corks in Shuri's head turned as she tried to figure out where the woman in the mural fit in Namor's story.

"Who is that?" Her question seemed to break him out of his reverie. She could see the way his body tensed at her question, and whether it was because she cut him out of his thoughts of because of what she asked, she didn't know.

It took a quiet moment before Namor answered, looking in deep contemplation with his eyebrows furrowed deeply and his eyes growing darker. The next thing he uttered was so full of emotion that it flooded through the sentence, his voice sounding thicker than blood.

"Leti' ka'ach in reina. My queen. In k'iino' ka, in k'áak'náabo'."

(She was my queen. My sun and my sea.)

For a second her words refused to make it out of her mouth. The Wakandan princess' mind didn't wonder to Namor having a queen.

The Namor now wasn't like the Namor she had met in the shores of her land with her mother. The Namor now felt like a broken man who would go the farthest lengths to protect his people. With every counting second of being in this underwater cave, Shuri seemed to discover more and more about the man, slowly laying bare the walls he had built around himself.

"Is she-"

"She was.. she was killed by surface dwellers." The god cut off, as if he couldn't bear to hear the words coming out from someone else's lips. He closed his eyes for a moment and Shuri felt the sea grow quiet for a split second. It was like it remembered their lost queen.

He took a deep breathe before speaking out and if one were to listen closely, they could hear the slight shakiness in his voice, like talking about this particular incident tore his wounds open again. "Years ago the surface dwellers tried to find Talokan. They were told of an underwater city filled with glittering gold and diamonds, with a palace of precious metals whose value exceeds all else."

"They are greedy, always taking and taking what is not theirs—beasts who ravage land with no mind of its consequences. She was there where the land met the waters along with the young ones, and those monsters crossed paths with them." Namor shook his head, disdain present in the way he moved his body and his words.

"The first thing they did they raised their weapons, pointing it at her when all she did was offer them her hands. She tried to speak to them, to negotiate with peace and kindness. But they are blinded with hatred." He spat that word out and Shuri almost flinched at his tone.

"With no mercy they killed her and the children. They took their lives as if it was nothing to them."

"When I emerged to the surface.. she was already dying."

One of your handmaids had been the one to inform him of the situation, barging into his mural room right when he got back from a trip with a growing panic in her eyes as she screamed in anguish, 'Le reina! Le reina!'

"I turned to those murderers and treated them with how they treated my wife and the young ones; I killed them with no mercy."

The feathered serpent god will never forget the possessing rage he felt when he saw what those killers did to his wife. Without a single doubt in his movements he flew towards them like a strike of lightning and sliced their heads off before they could even scream.

Something that would always haunt his dreams was seeing his beloved die in his arms, unable to do anything, running out of time.

Sometimes, if the K'uk'ulkan thought too much about it, he could still feel the way he held you in his arms, the jarring coldness of your body that surged across his skin like a bloodthirsty frostbite.

Your hair fell in a pool beneath your head, encrusted with blood that he didn't know where it came from. There was too much, too much of it that slithered around your body. With trembling hands he supported the back of your neck, bringing your face closer as he cradled your cheeks in his palms.

"Ma', ma', in puksi'ik'al.. jaap wicho'ob, láayli' ma' jach a súutuko'," he pleaded, heart racing a thousand beats at your weakened state. His fingers stroked your temples, tracing the skin from your eyebrows to the high point of your cheek and you swore you would forever savor the feel of his skin on yours.

(No, no, my heart.. open your eyes, it's not your time yet,)

"It's al-..right, in amado." You choked out, holding the hand that held your face and leaning onto his palms with whatever energy you had left in you. It was getting harder to open your eyes or even speak, the hole in your chest rampaging your body like an unquenched beast.

"In ku. Let go, K'ukulkan. Ts'o'ok in meentik le ba'ax táan des-.. destinado in beetik waye'.. je'el u páajtal in je'elel bejla'e'.."

(They call me. I've done what I was meant to do here.. I can rest now..)

He ignored your terrifying acceptance and gently quieted you, pressing his lips onto your forehead in deep fervor. "Save you words, in yaakunaj-"

Namor's heart threatened to jump right out of his chest when he felt your hand go slightly limp, desperately taking it above the crook of his neck, right where the ends of his jaw met his ears. The king held onto you so tightly, trying to keep you grounded with him in the world of the living as if the warmth of his body would spread life to your decaying one. He saw you smile peacefully, like his touch rejuvenated you for a single beat, slowly yet surely stroking the tip of his pointed ears as you've always done whenever you had the chance to. It was a small act of affection that Namor fell weak to, and he couldn't contain the abrupt cry that fell from his lips at the familiar gesture.

"K'a'as a puksi'ik'al yéetel a-.. a yaakunaj, in ajawo'," but even then your stubborn and insistent nature persevered. You spoke with only him and your love for him in mind, silently telling him that this will not be the end. That despite after all this when you will no longer be there to tell him just how beloved and brave he is, he should still remember what he had learned—what he had taught you. You hoped that it would keep him grounded and true, still fierce but with compassion and empathy.

(Remember your heart and your love, my king,)

"In.. yaakunech," and you let our your final breathe, the light in your eyes no longer shining as you stared up into nothing. At the least you looked content to pass to the afterlife in your husbands arms, a gentle lift on the corner of your lips to signify that you've moved on. But along with your departure you tore apart of Namor that he didn't think could ever be replaced—left him with a half-ripped heart and as a shell of the man he once was.

(I love you)

Now, kneeling on the prickling pearly sand tainted with weeping carmine, he was not a god. He was not the king of a powerful underwater nation, he was not a lethal mutant, a hero, a villain, or a protector. No, he was just a man. A man whose heart had been punctured with a hole in the shape of his beloved.

He screamed at the world with the voice of someone who had just lost everything, scorning the surface dwellers with a burning pit of anger and vengeance in his blackened heart. It echoed around the area, bleeding onto every rock, every blade of grass and every tree with his promise of death. The sea grew restless, mirroring the raging currents in his soul.

Namor choked a cry, closing your eyes as his hands shook with grief and pain, body threatening to collapse under his heartbreak. He brought your face closer to his, resting his forehead against yours while he scrunched his eyes closed, disbelieving and mourning of the loss of his beloved. Because no matter how much he begged, how much he cried for you, you would never come back to him, never blessing him with that delicate smile on your face again. The god stayed there for what felt like hours and days, whispering sweet goodbyes, harrowing sobs and promises to avenge you.

When he carried your cold body to Talokan, the people could only stare in shock and despair over the loss of their darling queen. In their eyes you were one of the most powerful people in the kingdom, not just because of your position, but because of your compassion and your love—something that knew no bounds.

It was a painful and gut-wrenching experience, to bury his own wife. It brought him back to the time where he had to do the same to his own mother, to cover her in clothe and put a piece of maize inside her mouth.

"The surface dwellers have taken so much. Talokan's queen, our home and our freedom. I will not let them do so again." Namor had a scathing look in his eyes, a latent tone of tiredness from facing a world that only took from him.

"She must have been an amazing queen and a strong woman." Shuri could only utter these words with a solemn expression on her face, unable to reply to such vulnerability of someone she had considered a dangerous enemy. Despite that.. there was an underlying empathy between the two. Shuri understood him. She knew the pain of losing someone you love.

"She was." A calm visage eventually spread around his face as he looked up at the glorious mural depicted on the walls of the room. "She had the biggest heart and the kindest soul."

Namor couldn't help but get lost in his memories of his beautiful wife. He speaks no lies when he describes you. You were the people's queen, as what the Talokanil called you. You'd always visit the people, play games with the children and scour the underwater markets that sold all kinds of trinkets and foods. Whenever the people needed you you were always there, willing to help them without a second glance as you opened your heart to them all.

After you death, whenever he would swim around Talokan and talk to his people—laughing and joking around with them—there would be this.. serene melody inside his heart, a gentleness that ran through his veins. Namor would feel the water pulsing on the pads of his skin and he'd always take a moment to close his eyes to relish the feeling. Then a smile would make it onto his face—the kind of smile that you would always tell him to show more often. His people felt it too, like a warm embrace to their soul, as if you were watching over them, still caring about them even when you were gone.

It was not only to Talokan's people, but to the ocean's animals too.

If there was one thing about his queen, it was that you had a deep affinity with the marine animals. Whenever the king couldn't find you anywhere in your room or in the palace halls, Namor would only smile to himself and swim to the clearing of the sea just outside of Talokan, watching his wife croon along the whales and the orcas, taking care of them as if your love spoke a thousand languages.

"In ch'ujuk, ko'oten paakat!" You would shout, gleefully waving your hand up in the air with no care in the world.

(My sweet, come and look!)

Sometimes he would only stay back and watch you with eyes so tender that it looked like he was entirely captivated by you. By your voice, your laughter, your smile; your everything. Other times, Namor would be too taken by you (as he always was), deciding to join you play with the creatures that you'd called 'your babies'. Whirling and chasing them around them felt like dancing in the water and Namor was too in love to ever deny you of your little joy.

Even now whenever the whales would call out to the sea, or when the orcas whistled and clicked along, he could still hear your radiant laughter singing along with them and oh how he longed to hear that sound again, to hear the melody of the ocean in its fullness.

You were simply the glue to Talokan; everyone adored the queen.

Until now, your throne still sat next to his, the jade and vibranium never ceasing to glow. Every time he sat there, watching over his people and celebrating his kingdom with defiant shouts of "L'ik'ik Talokan" he would always remember your face, remember the proud look you had when you would raise your fist to your chest along with everyone. Your memory will never fade in the heart of Talokan, always lingering in the brightest places, comforting during troubling times, because you will always be a precious piece of the kingdom that neither he nor his people would forget.

If he brought the sun to his people, you were the sun to him.

"You and I, we are not so different, princess." He broke his train of thought.

"Those people only see us as threats because they know we are powerful. They will not stop until they have what they want. It is a danger to my kingdom and my people—a threat to your people too."

Finally, Namor turned his head to face Shuri, a determined aura lingering in his voice and in his expression. She felt compelled to stare back straight into his eyes, the conviction in his tone like a true king. "And so I offer you again."

"Join me, and we will never have to see our people suffer, to see our loved ones suffer. We will no longer mourn our losses and bury the dead for unjust cruelty."

"Together, we will watch the world burn."

lawd this man singlehandedly got me out of a writing slump like.. making a fic with angst + namor = too easy 😩💳💥

this is my first time writing for him, so i hope it was okay! im so in love with him and i wanted to contribute my own piece to the fandom.

also, i'm pretty sure the yucatec mayan was not properly translated, so i apologize from my heart for the inaccuracies. please tell me if i have to fix anything!

dividers by @delishlydelightfuldividers and @rpinkling

tags: @bloatedandlonly

he can not see

the great shirt debate

requested: could you write a fluffy fic about chris and reader (it could be it the futile series or not!) where they are doing laundry together or just doing domestic stuff! thank you so much!

a/n: this is so soft i love it, lowercase on purpose ig because im lazy but wanted to crank this out also it feels like i haven’t written for chris in so long and i miss it lmao

warnings: this is 110% tooth rotting fluff and therefore i am not responsible for your dentist bill ;)

no beta/loosely proofread so please excuse errors!

my main masterlist

the pile of dirty clothes in the laundry room had only grown exponentially over the past two weeks. you and chris had both been nonstop working, which meant that the household chores got pushed aside. luckily, the two of you are both relatively clean people, so the worst was really only the laundry, and the accumulation of dodger’s fur on the floors and couches.

and after a lazy saturday morning sleeping in (and resting up after various intimate reunion activities after almost two weeks of no time together), you and chris finally decided to get on with the chores.

he took on the vacuuming - rearranging the furniture so he could get under and behind things -  while you started on the laundry. you emptied the hampers, stripped the beds, and filled up the washing machine for the first load before wandering back to the living room to check in on chris. from afar, you’re able to hear the soft whirr of the vacuum cleaner, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight that falls upon your eyes when you walk into the living room.

your six foot something hunk of a boyfriend has a pair of headphones over his ears, completely unbothered by the sound of the vacuum, and wiggling around, lip-syncing and dancing to whatever song is playing in his headphones as he sucks up the dog hair from the area rug. he’s sporting a simple hoodie and a baggy pair of joggers, but he’s just so adorable that you can’t help but interfere with his task.

you walk up behind him, then snake your hands around his torso, and he reacts with a small jump, clearly not expecting you. he looks down at you with a smile, switches off the vacuum, then pulls his headphones off his ears, letting them rest around his neck, and you can hear that he’s listening to Neil Diamond.

“boo,” you hum, softly scratching your fingers over his tummy.

“gosh, you scared me, love,” he laughs, cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment as he pauses the music, then pulls the headphones off his neck and tosses them to the couch.

“sorry, you just looked too cute,” you giggle, and he turns around in your grasp, leaving the vacuum to stand on it’s own so that he can wrap his arms around you, too.

“mm, thank you,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to sweetly kiss your forehead. “you’re pretty cute, too.”

Keep reading

CHRIS EVANS ➔ A CHARACTER STUDY THROUGH COLOURS (insp)

Safe With Me

bucky barnes x reader

"Bucky didn't know how to deal with his own demons sometimes, but he was determined to keep you safe from yours."

[3k] | melancholic themes, a bit of angst but quite fluffy by the end, lashing out, a light-hearted argument, depressed reader, concerned bucky, hurt-comfort, platonic idiots, happy ending. beware that this was written right after a mental breakdown and it shows, lol

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

Despite not looking like it, Bucky was far more attentive than one would give him credit for. It's just that everyone around him seemed like they had their shit together- pretty much unlike him, a guy dealing with a continent's worth of trauma and guilt, and within the boundary of the sorrow that comes along with it; he wasn't the one to show his friendlier sides often.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that he didn't care- he did, he cared about everyone's well-being. But he didn't feel like he was strong enough at that moment to actually reach out to anybody if they were to need his help, in personal matters rather than business.

He was doing better though. Steve helped out a lot about that, even though it'd never feel like the way it did in the late 30's, he was still Bucky's guy and they'd be there until the end of the line, no matter what it took. Through Steve, Bucky was able to open up a bit to Sam too, the trio forming a wonderful brotherhood through their shared trauma and tendency to look out for others.

You came around then.

Always so cheery, cracking a joke to anybody who seemed to be on the edge between happiness and something worse- doing your best to keep them at bay. Keep their minds at the moment instead, even if it meant making a complete fool of yourself at times with incredibly shitty jokes that you just came up with on the spot, or a hug, mostly always initiated by you.

Bucky was astonished to see that such people would exist.

People that are naturally just happy, born a goofball, always aiming to make others happy in their own way. Whether it's with a thoughtfully baked batch of cookies for a group returning from a mission, or a Netflix & 'you can cry for as long as you need, i'm here' session; you seemed to always be there. Always be a warm shoulder for anybody to lay their heads on when things got tough.

That's what made you happy.

But would it be enough for a person? Not necessarily. Bucky knew that very well, knew how sometimes, things you did to stay happy would decline in effect, leaving you hopeless as you tirelessly looked for another way to keep your emotions the way they used to be. If you stopped looking, then that's when things would get miserable.

He started noticing it a few weeks before your initial breakdown.

Usually, your smile would linger on your lips after a joke or a thoughtful comment; but it seemed to fall as soon as the words left your lips and the attention was switched to something else. You wouldn't frown, no, but to see such a blank expression on your face that often, honestly worried him.

He didn't think much of it until the day where the Avengers were having some sort of a movie night, where they'd pause the movie every two seconds to fight over something pointless- you were laughing along with everybody. You seemed happy, just content to be there with everyone, their laughs on your mind and your gaze on their smiles.

You got up to get a refill on your beer after a while, the rest of the group deep in a debate about something Bucky couldn't exactly catch up with. He excused himself a couple of minutes after you left, deciding to join you in the kitchen before he could grab some water and go back up to his room.

He found you awfully quiet, hands gripping the sides of the counter as you leaned against it, eyes closed, chest heaving. You seemed pained with the way your brows were knitted, too deep in the ocean of your thoughts to notice that Bucky came after you, and that he was staring right at you. "Are you okay?"

You snapped out of it with a slight flinch, nodding far too fast for his liking. Sniffling a bit and patting the underside of your eyes with the back of your palm, you hummed, offering him a kind smile before taking a step back from the counter. "Sorry. Zoned out."

"Yeah, I could see that." he hummed, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips as he just kept staring at you, almost as if he wanted you to go on, as if he wanted you to explain why. You didn't, though. You didn't know if you could.

"Um- did you need something?"

"No, not really. I was just here to get some water and, seeing you like that, I just- Everything okay?" his tone was softer than you got used to hearing from him.

"Everything's fine, Bucky. No worries." you replied, walking towards the refrigerator to pull out the water jug. "I think I'm gonna go up to my room for the night. Kinda tired."

"You could join me," he offered right away, cringing a bit when he realized how quickly he said it- as if he came there to say that, to start with. "I mean, I'm probably going to fall asleep to NatGeo but we could talk about lions and stuff before I did."

You chuckled at that, and he internally high-fived himself for the success.

"Would love to. Not tonight, though. I really wanna fall asleep and not to NatGeo, unfortunately."

He nodded, understanding. "Sure. Just pop by if you change your mind."

You nodded slowly before pouring two glasses of water, leaving one for him behind. "Will do, Sarge."

He couldn't help the dread he felt in his chest as he watched you walk away from the kitchen, towards the stairs.

The compound was awfully quiet.

Most were gone on missions, leaving the lucky few behind to enjoy the serenity of having the whole place to themselves. Within the earlier hours of the morning, Wanda took it upon herself to wake the remaining heroes up for a well-deserved breakfast, knowing well that none of them would get mad at her- her cooking was impeccable. Rhodey opted to steal one of the grilled cheese plates and go back to his room, leaving Bucky alone with Wanda as they ate in silence.

They were both surprised to hear the soft patter of your feet against the floor, quite later than they expected you to show up. You weren't the one to be late, not even to casual events.

And they were even more surprised when your usual good morning wish was reduced to a reply of a hum when Wanda said it.

Bucky didn't manage to get a good look at you, feeling a bit too awkward to do so for some reason, but the look in Wanda's eyes as she stared at you caused the same feeling of dread to slowly creep its way back. "Slept well, Y/N?"

You raised your gaze to look at Wanda and offer her a warm smile after her question, shrugging a bit. "Eh, usual. Nothing special with my sleep nowadays." you muttered, finally causing Bucky to look at you.

Your eyes were a bit puffy, and rather red.

Luckily for you, Wanda didn't push it much. She just reached down to place a soft kiss on your cheek when she was done eating, before leaving the kitchen area. You ate quietly, chuckling to yourself at Bucky's slight bed hair before reaching in to fix it a little bit. "Somebody slept well, anyway."

"You know you can talk to me, right?" he spoke right afterwards, catching you a bit off-guard.

"There isn't much to talk about, Bucky," you huffed out a snicker, shrugging a little bit. "But yeah, I know. I appreciate that- and of course, it goes both ways."

"Yeah, I know that."

You seemed to do better by the evening. Vision returned earlier as he was done, stealing Wanda from you a bit- you didn't complain though, as you figured now would be a great time to pick up some work. Burying yourself in your research, you didn't leave Steve's office -which he only let you use, because unlike his wonderful friends, you didn't draw dick figures on his notes- until it was a bit past midnight, a deep yawn cutting you off from work. You grabbed your now-empty mug of coffee and left it by the counter island, making a turn for the stairs before you ran into Bucky- again.

"Oh, hi," you gave him a firm pat on the arm. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

"Have you been working all day?"

"Yeah, figured I should use my pastime effectively," you chuckled to yourself a bit, knowing very well that you wouldn't keep up with this newfound habit.

"Well, in that case, my NatGeo offer still stands for whenever you want to take it." he smiled, before waving you off with a slight chuckle. "At least pretend like you're considering it!"

"I am, I swear!" you laughed along, tilting your head a bit to the side. "Just need to be alone."

Bucky knew the feeling. With a short nod, he took a step forward towards the side, letting you pass through him. "Have a good night in that case."

"Thanks, Bucky." you smiled gratefully, slowly stepping your way up the stairs. "You too."

"Y'all noticed anything weird about Y/N?" Sam broke the silence of the room, causing Steve and Bucky to look up at him from where they were seated playing some game that you taught them. Bucky let out a sigh, deciding to leave no comments as Steve slightly knitted his brows, urging Sam to explain. "She's like, barely around anymore."

"I invited her to play with us and she just said no immediately, said she was off to some pub." Steve added, sighing deeply with the controller tucked tight in his palm. "She didn't like to go alone back then."

Bucky, finally getting back on his feet with a grunt, left the controller by the table and signaled Sam to take his place instead, ignoring their confused eyes. "One way to find out."

Okay, maybe it wasn't that good of an idea to wander around Manhattan in hopes of finding a specific pub that you might've gone to, but he was trying. You didn't pick up the phone; probably had it on silent anyway as he let out a sigh, and finally made his way over to that one Irish pub which you always ended up at.

Pushing the glass door open, Bucky looked around for a moment before noticing your slouched figure near the bar, a big glass of Guinness by your side as you snacked on a nut mix, head leaning against the hand you propped up on the bar with your elbow. Careful as to not startle you, he made his way over to your side, pulling another barstool a bit closer to you before clearing his throat.

You looked up, surprised to find him there as you didn't tell anyone where exactly you'd be. "You didn't pick up my calls."

"Ah, sorry… My phone was on silent."

"I figured." he sighed, leather glove-clad hands signaling for the bartender to bring him a glass of what you were having. "People are noticing, you know."

"Noticing what?" you asked, pushing your small bowl of dried nuts towards him, just in case he'd like to have some. You raised your glass to take a small sip, wiping the white foam of the beer off the top of your lip with your tongue.

"You. The way you push us away," his careful gaze on you made you want to run away right there and then. It felt like he was able to read right through you, and you didn't like that one bit. "Something is clearly wrong and you're not saying anything."

"There's literally nothing to say, Bucky." you shrugged him off, eyes darting between him and the bartender when he thanked the other after his drink arrived. "I don't know why it's so tough to believe, but I'm fine. I'm doing well."

"Are you?" he asked, the bitter taste of the drink lingering on his tongue. "Or is this how you convince yourself?"

You stood quiet at that, just timidly taking a few more sips of your drink, wanting nothing more than to have this conversation be over. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, watching the way your jaw tensed and your demeanor seemed to grow defensive.

"Are you tormented by memories?"

"For fuck's sake," you finally snapped, sighing to yourself before getting up from your seat, fishing for your wallet to take out a twenty and slap it against the table. "Just quit it, would you? If me trying to enjoy some alone time really bothers you, let's go back, Bucky."

The walk back to the compound was awkward. Eerily quiet. You weren't the type to give in to your anger, not with your friends at least, unless something was really wrong. Bucky didn't want to let it go that quickly.

"You've been rejecting me almost every night for weeks, when all I ever wanted was to spend some time with you," Bucky finally managed to say, before you could even make it inside. Standing with your arms crossed on your chest at the compound yard, you glared up at him. "What the fuck is that all about?"

"I'm fucking tired, alright, Sarge? I'm sorry I couldn't get through yet another pity party of ours," you snapped right back, chest heaving with the deep and angry breaths you were taking.

"That's- Is that what you think this is all about?" he asked, voice laced in disbelief. "Christ, Y/N, you've barely been in the moment for weeks now. You don't smile like you used to, you don't laugh- you don't even dare to spend some time with any of us unless it's absolutely necessary." he let out a deep sigh, reaching forward to put his hands on your arms, just to get you out of your defensive state. "So fuck me for being worried about you but I am, I'm concerned to the point where I can't help but think about how you must be feeling almost every moment of the day."

You sighed in defeat, shoulders falling a little as you looked down at the ground. You weren't all that aware that you were concerning him. You wouldn't have dropped the mask that often if you knew. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, just- just tell me why," he pleaded, thumbs rubbing against your clothed biceps as reassuring as he could muster. "Tell me why you've been shutting me out."

"It's not exactly- um," you took in a deep breath, shaking your head. "I just didn't feel comfortable, for some reason."

"Is it because you cry yourself to sleep every night?" he asked straight away, earning nothing more than a dreadful silence from you. "I know. I've noticed. I felt the same way before." Bucky felt as if his heart was shattering right before your eyes, a sigh escaping his lips before he pulled you closer, right into his embrace. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." he whispered, feeling your deep draws of breath- he knew you were fighting back the tears, just to not seem weak in any way before him. "Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"It's just- I'm always expected to be a certain way," you whispered back, not trusting your voice at that moment. "To behave a certain way, to react a certain way- But I'm not happy. I haven't been, for a long time. I feel so empty that it makes me feel guilty because whenever I'm around you all, I feel like a liar and-"

"Hey, hey…" he cut you off, a sympathetic smile on his lips as he pulled you apart a bit, thumb running against your cheek as an attempt to fix the pout on your lips. "That's not the answer to my question."

"It's because I didn't want to bother you with my problems."

"Bother me? Christ, do you realize how much I adore you?" he chuckled in disbelief, his own eyes feeling more damp by each passing second. "Look- I was lucky, okay? I'm lucky because I had someone to reach out to me and pull me through. You just gotta let me be that hand, instead of shutting me out like this."

You nodded slowly, feeling a few drops of tear glide through your cheek- but Bucky wiped them away from you. "If your NatGeo offer still stands, then, um…" you trailed off, chuckling to yourself after a sniffle. "You know what, there's no need to- yeah, I won't- I'll just go up to my room, if that's okay?"

"Y/N," his tone made your name feel like a warning against his lips. "Stay with me for a night or two. Talk to me instead, when you feel like crying. Let's see where that takes us."

"Sure- okay. That's a, uh, good idea." you nodded your head a bit, reaching for yet another hug rather immediately. "Don't tell anyone about this, please."

"Your secrets are safe with me, angel." he hummed against your hair, keeping you as close as he could. "I'll keep them 'till the end of the line."

A night turned to two, two went all the way to a week until Bucky practically started to share his room with you. The two of you would talk for hours before sleeping, and you'd always make sure to guide him back to reality when he was awakened by nightmares. He didn't get them that often anymore, as your presence by his side was comforting enough to make him feel safe. And you?

You didn't feel that burdened anymore.

Shoulders lighter, deep conversations evolved into laughter fits and lighthearted jokes, limbs tangled with one another as you slept. Bucky would press his lips against your shoulder here and there, mumbling about how much it meant for him to have you trust him like this, and cut himself off before going any further about his feelings.

You knew, though. You could feel it in his gaze.

The two of you didn't need any words to tell each other about your love.

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰 | 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 "𝐒𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐢𝐱" 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲

Courtland Gentry × Reader

Summary: Being pregnant fucking sucked, but he made it tolerable.

Warnings: Language, Insomnia, Fluff, Mild angst, Sexual Frustration, Implied age gap, Pregnant Sex, Minors DNI, Choking, Daddy Kink, Spitting, Handjob, Rough Sex, Pregnancy kink, Breeding Kink.

Had a bit of a field day. Don't mind me.

Your gaze is stationed on the ceiling, your hand cupping your swollen belly with what you hoped was endearment but what you actually knew to be deep, underlying… irritation.

"You're the guest here." You mutter aloud.

"A guest in my body." You turn in the empty king sized bed. Splayed across your body was the fierce and overwhelming scent of him. You had hoped slipping into one of his shirts would alleviate any chance of insomnia befalling you tonight. That, if you somehow manage to trick your brain into believing Six was in this bed with you, not out on some godawful mission, that you would feel comforted enough to get some fucking sleep…

But no such luck. You were far too aware and far too smart to trick yourself into anything really. The second you had announced your pregnancy, Six had insisted-

'No,' Your inner monologue chided with fierce resistance, 'that isn't the correct verb at all.'

Six had threatened any and all forces that would dare dispute your check-in for early maternity leave. Your entire life was confined to this lovely, modern splurge for 5 whole months and after 5 whole months, you begin to get antsy. You begin to get short tempered. Oftentimes chiding the innocent little life in your belly since there really was no one else around this massive house to talk to.

Six was Six.

Six had a job.

And while a part of you knew his getting out of his job was far more easier said than done, you never failed to hold impenetrable resentment to the entity on the other end of the phone calls, interrupting your family time with their top secret bullshit.

And the insomnia.

God, this baby never fucking slept.

"You're the one paying rent here. I let you piss, shit and eat inside of me, and this is the thanks I get, Little Monster?" No matter how hard you tried, there was not a sliver of malice in your voice, it sounded like a smile. A happy smile, because you knew you always had a part of him with you.

"I miss your dad," You say with so much melancholy it rips the tears right out of the sky. A light drizzle begins to sprinkle over the grounds, tapping away at the floor to ceiling windows like an amicable visitor coming to keep you company for the evening.

"Look at that. It's raining." You say, pushing your heavy body up by your forearms before wiggling your way out the edge of the bed. You unconsciously splay a hand over your stomach as you go to draw the curtains, finding much more comfort in the pelting rain than the darkened bedroom.

"Did you bring me some rain, little monster?

"It's not my baby you're calling a monster. That I know for sure,"

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your gaze is stationed on the wet grounds beyond the window, never daring to turn around for the impenetrable fear that it all might be a dream.

"It's a term of endearment," You manage to say after a few moments of silence, "A little nickname to remember it's father by." There's a tinge of bitterness veneered behind your sentence, and your shoulders are rigid. You fold your arms beneath your full, sensitive breasts as you glare at the window.

That all dissipates when you're enveloped from behind by a strong pair of arms. You have it: the comfort you have been longing for but never having the capacity to provide for yourself. You simply melt into his firm arms, his biceps tightening against the wet windbreaker far too cold against your bare arms but you don't care.

"Low blow, Mrs Gentry." You're greeted by a gruff voice, speaking into the nape of your neck. You blame it on the pregnancy hormones but the feeling of his facial hair alone has a pool of need welling between your legs.

"How are my two girl's doing?" Six's hands stretch over your belly, rubbing slow and deliberate circles. "I missed you both so much."

"Why do you just assume that we're having a girl?" You ask in mock irritation. "You don't even know-"

Six does an evil thing. A very very evil thing. Your sentence dissipates in the confines throat becuase of the hand that once one rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your belly, drifting upwards until his palm is laying flat against your breasts. The nipples harden under his soft and pleasant grip and you moan into nothing.

"Jesus Christ… you're so.." Six searches for the words as he massages your breasts. His tired, overworked brain is clouded with nothing but the ever present tempest of adoration and lust. "You're so…"

"Horny?" You finish for him, paying close attention to his heavy breathing behind you and the bulge growing in his pants.

"Pregnant." He says instead, finally spinning you around to look at him. Once you do, you are firmly planted in the knowledge that he is in fact real.

Your feet move on their own accord. The rain sings as you drift by Six and his half-lidded gaze. You waltz over to the bed -your bed. Six's eyes darken when you plop yourself in the center, opening your legs like a vixen in heat.

He had never seen a more delicious sight but he craved to see more.

"The shirt. Take it off." You fight the smile off your face at the dominating streak already slithering in. Last time he spoke to you like this, you ended up pregnant.

"Is this better?" You ask, having discarded the shirt on the bedroom floor. You're wearing nothing but your comfort cotton panties. Your breasts are on full display, catching all his attention.

Six slowly stalks toward you. The thunder claps in the distance as he appears from the shadows. A delighted thrill eases down your spine and the ache between legs intensifies.

Six is already palming his cock through his pants as he draws closer. You unconsciously open your legs further.

"Daddy's missed you so much," he says, working his cock out of his pants. You frown at that, feeling far too petulant.

"No more talking to her," You say, a pout protruding from your bottom lip. You ought to be ashamed really, but you had just gotten your man back.

Right now he was yours.

"Who said I was talking to the baby?" Six says, causing your heart to skip ever so slightly before he's lowering his head, crashing his lips onto yours. Court keeps a steady hand on the bed as he hovers above you. The kiss, between you both starting out like tiny licks of a flame before descending into complete and utter madness.

"You're so pretty like this," he murmurs against your lips. His fingers rub and pinch your sensitive nipples, making your cunt squeeze around nothing at all. "Daddy loves seeing you like this, baby." He continues, teeth clashing against teeth before he forces his tongue into your mouth.

"Fuck, I just," You break away from his lips to deliver a trail of kisses down his neck. Six closes his eyes in pure bliss. "I've missed you so much," your hand, as sly as a fox drifting down his body before slipping quite unceremoniously into his pants. You wrap a firm hand around his hard cock, squeezing lightly which draws a pained hiss from him.

"Fuck, baby girl," Court musters, trying but failing to hold his reserve as his eyes screw shut and your hand works magic around his cock. He's so far gone, thinking about how he's wanted this for as long as the two of you had been apart. He had thought of you multiple times on his trips, oftentimes waking up in luxury hotels with the budding image of you, pregnant and asleep, waiting for him to touch you... To fuck you...

"I missed you so much, Daddy," Your words drip like fresh honey. "And I know you've missed me."

"More than you'll ever know," he whispers into the air. Every semblance of resolve is broken, every ounce of his control has dissolved. He's teetering on the edge, wanting to fill you up once again with his seed. The thought having his hips bucking into your hand.

"Open your leg, baby. Open your legs," as if you had ever really closed them. Court runs two fingers down your slit, sending your head reeling back into the sheets with your back arching as far as your belly would allow. "Jesus- please! F-fuck me, Daddy,"

Court's breathe is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he throws his jacket and shirt over his head. "You keep saying shit like that and I'd have to keep you like this forever."

You gaze up at him with lust-filled siren eyes eyes begging to be fucked raw. It was what you both needed. You craved his hands, rough and calloused, coasting over every inch of your body as if it was his property. You needed him everywhere.

But before that, your gaze drifts down his muscular torso. A torso littered with scars of past trauma and pain. You lift yourself as best as you can, getting slight aid from Six who pulls you up lightly by your forearm. You splay small kisses along each and every scar, the tenderness of the act having Six's mind, heart and dick swelling even more.

"Lay back down, Princess. I need you, okay?" You're quick to comply and Court is quick to guide his cock to your soaking entrance. Your pussy clamps tightly around his cock, drawing him further in. A cracked groan escapes from him.

"You take me so well, baby," His other hand, whether consciously or subconsciously, goes to clamp around your throat, causing you to rut your hips further up against him.

"So. Fucking. Well." Six punctuates each sentence by thrusting his dick further in, all until he cannot help but thrust much more violently into your wet cunt. "T-Tell me when to stop, Princess. You've gotta tell me when it's too much,"

"Shut up and fuck me, Court." You say. And he does. Skin, slapping against skin fills the silence. Outside, the rain pours much more violently, as if rejoicing along with the couple, having finally been reunited.

He wishes to cum everywhere. In your mouth. On those huge fucking tits...

"Fuck, Daddy loves seeing you like this," he says, hand on your throat drifting down and squeezing your breasts. "You're so full, so fucking… mine." That word alone rips a moan and a groan from the both of you.

Your pussy tightens at his words, causing his resolve to snap once again. "You like that? You like being mine don't you."

You're completely cock-drunk, your gaze is filled with nothing but whorish intent as he pounds into you... only spurring him to fuck you faster. "I fucking love it, Daddy," You nod fervently, eyes still completely lost in a daze, "I fucking love it all."

"You'd do anything I want right now, wouldn't you? My princess is so fucked out, so fucking beautiful." You nod mindlessly, far too focused on the tip of his cock finding that soft cushiony tissue inside your tightening walls.

"Open your mouth, baby. Open your mouth for me," and when you thought the sex couldn't get any more obscene... the second you mindlessly open for him, he leans over and spits directly into your mouth, punctuating it with drunk, heated kiss.

"Mine," he murmurs against your lips as his hips begin to falter. "All fucking mine."

"Please, please, please-"

"Cum for me, baby. You don't gotta ask this time. I just wanna feel you milk this cock, okay?" You're nodding profusely as your walls convulse and you're finally pushed over the edge. A cracked moan goes into the air when you cum, Six, of course, not far behind.

He cums where he always does, his very favorite spot. Right inside you. It extends your orgasm by proxy, feeling his seed spill into your pussy.

Nothing at all matters but this moment.

"Fucking, Christ." Six says, finally collapsing beside you with his chest heaving wildly. His hand is still splayed over your front, rubbing slow circles along your breast before ascending over your stomach. "Why are you still up this late?" He asks, still breathing heavily.

"Your child hates it when I rest." You say, pulling an airy chuckle from him.

"That was enough of a workout though." Your eyes flutter shut before you push them open. You wish to prolong this moment, nestled in his arms, bathing in the afterglow, but you're far too comfortable. And when you're comfortable, sleep descends.

"I think I'm gonna be out…" your eyes flutter closed.

"Like a light," he concludes, placing a delicate kiss to the side of your temple before drawing you in further. He continues to rub slow circles around your stomach, feeling his chest tighten with an emotion previously uncanny to him. "Please let your mother rest," Six smiles and says, "Little monster."

<3

andrew’s spiderman and ryan’s deadpool WHEN

Restitution Master List

Restitution

Characters: Ari Levinson, Steve Rogers, Andy Barber

Summary: The loan shark fell in love... but so did his brother. And the other brother? He's a ghost from her past.

The enforcer, Steve Rogers is the oldest of the Barber brothers. His poor health caused his mafia family to reject him as an infant, and he was sent to live with an Aunt in Brooklyn.

The loan shark, Ari Barber is the youngest. He's a wild child who came back from his wanderlust travels to help his family when circumstances demanded.

The boss, Andy Barber wanted a life free of the Irish Mafia. He almost escaped before the mantle of leadership was thrust on him. The woman he left is haunted by his betrayal. Will she forgive him?

Chapter List

Restitution - Chapter One

Restitution - Chapter Two

Restitution - Chapter Three

Restitution - Chapter Four 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Five 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Six 🔥

Restitution- Chapter Seven 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Eight

Restitution - Chapter Nine 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Ten 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Eleven

Restitution - Chapter Twelve 🔥

Restitution Chapter Thirteen

Restitution Chapter Fourteen

Restitution Chapter Fifteen

Restitution - Chapter Sixteen 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Seventeen

Restitution - Chapter Eighteen

Restitution - Chapter Nineteen

Restitution- Chapter Twenty 🔥

first date, last night

summary: You were supposed to go on a date tonight, but Bucky just had to interfere. It doesn't make any sense, either. It's not like there's anything going on between the two of you.

pairing: 40s!bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: good old angsty fluff. banter and miscommunication (it's two painfully oblivious idiots in love, people), socially anxious reader, slightly jealous bucky in the beginning, a lot of cake, sad-ish ending (only if we take mcu canon to be a real thing)

prompt: this was written for the lovely @imaginearyparties' theatre challenge—congrats again on 300 followers, ilana!! (and thank you for extending the deadline) my prompt was "first date / last night" from dogfight. you can and should listen to the whole song here.

a/n: frankly, this has zero rights to be as long as it turned out to be, but the second half of this hated my guts and i had to just roll with it. hope you enjoy x

masterlist | read on ao3

It’s late, and Bucky is pacing.

You can hear it through the ceiling, even though you’ve pulled a pillow over your head to try and block out the noise. He’s been pacing ever since you’ve sent him marching upstairs, slamming the door so hard a bit of plaster fell off your living room wall, and you shouted a name after him your mama would have smacked you over the head for.

But tonight was meant to be lovely, your first real night out in the city, and he just had to ruin it. And once again, you’re left to literally pick up the pieces on your own in an empty apartment. What a waste.

You’re sort of glad your roommate has to work the late shift tonight, though. Angie would’ve found this whole thing hilarious. You can almost hear her.

“It’s just because he wants to be your fella,” she’d have said, soothingly combing her fingers through your hair, and you’d have rolled your eyes. “So he doesn’t like anyone else asking you out.”

“It’s not like that, Ange. We’re past the age of pulling pigtails, you know. This ain’t how you treat people,” you told her last time you had this conversation, after Bucky had frightened away the man at the laundromat who’d asked you out for ice cream. Granted, that guy had been a bit of a creep, so you didn’t think much of it at the time. You can’t let yourself.

No matter what strange unspoken thing there seems to be between the two of you. Surely, you’re just imagining things anyway.

Tommy’s different though. Tommy’s a nice guy. Works for a newspaper, sent flowers to your doorstep last week and asked you to go dancing with him soon after, flushing so deeply it reached his ears. And sure, they might be a bit large compared to the rest of his head and he had a somewhat aloof air to him, but he was sweet enough. Besides, you’d never actually been on a proper date. Of course you’d said yes.

Angie made you get a new dress for the occasion, navy colored with a lovely petticoat. The price of it almost made you weep, but “you never get anything nice for yourself, Y/N,” as Angie put it. “Besides, I have the perfect pair of shoes you can borrow.”

8 p.m. rolled around and you were trying not to wait next to the door. Your hands wouldn’t stop sweating.

After ten minutes, you started to worry. Then again, it had just started to rain. Maybe Tommy’d turned back for an umbrella.

At half past eight, you decided to go downstairs to see if he was waiting for you there. Instead, you found Bucky, wearing his newly issued uniform and peaked cap. He was smoking, half-leaning in the entrance so he’d be sheltered from the weather underneath the tiny wooden porch.

Immediately, you felt the old familiar twist in your stomach at the sight of him, the little flutter and sting. This time, though, it was followed by an immediate sense of dread. He wasn’t even supposed to be home so early. Last you’d heard, he’d found some girls for him and Steve to take to that science exposition the papers won’t shut up about. Neither of them had even thought to ask you, of course, even though you were the one who’d first pointed it out to them.

“Sounds like a crowd puller,” Bucky’d frowned and soon changed the subject to some movie with Hedy Lamarr he wanted to see, not noticing the way your face fell.

“He’s a knucklehead,” Steve had said later with an apologetic smile, and you’d nodded and thrown the flyer in the trash, unsure what you’d expected or how you’d wanted the conversation to go. After all, you’re just the girl from the second floor, a friendly face on rainy days, sure, but also easily ignored. Well, most days, anyway.

Bucky turned when he heard your steps approaching. Your bad feeling seemed to be confirmed, because at the sight of you, he choked on the smoke he was inhaling. Like someone caught. Ignoring his coughing, you glanced past him. Not a single person was out in the rain.

“Has anybody asked for me?” you asked wearily.

Bucky’s eyes were still wide as he took you in. “Well, look at you all decked out,” he said hoarsely.

You crossed your arms. “Just answer the question.”

“Fella came by a bit ago,” he said nonchalantly, turning his head to blow out a puff of smoke away from your face. “Didn’t stick around.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re not interested?” He made it sound like a question, cocking his head slightly, that little lopsided smile of his dancing around the corner of his mouth but never reaching his eyes. It only irritated you more. “I actually wanted to—”

“Why on earth would you do that?” you interrupt him.

“Why, was I wrong?” He went for another drag from his cigarette, but you snatched it out of his fingers and stomped on it. For some reason, that just made him give a laugh. “Come on, sugar! That guy’s a drip, anyway.”

“You don’t know him!”

“Neither do you, or you wouldn’t’ve agreed to go out with him. He ain’t right for you.”

“Well, you don’t get to decide that! You don’t see me going around tellin’ you you can’t go out with Clara from the flower shop or whatever she’s called!”

That was a slip-up. Bucky’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

“Oh, grow up, Barnes, I don’t care what you do!” Turning around on your borrowed heels, you pushed back inside.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t know either, would ya?” he called after you, still sounding way too amused.

“I don’t give a—” In your anger, you forgot to skip around the broken floorboard. The heel of Angie’s shoe crashed right through it and you could feel yourself rushing towards the ground. At the last second, a pair of strong arms stopped your fall, pulling you back up until you regained your balance, heart thundering.

“Careful there,” Bucky’s voice murmured way too close to your ear. “Don’t want you fallin’ for me like that.”

There was a beat. Neither of you seemed to breathe.

“You alright?”

“Get off me,” you hissed. His hands disappeared as if you’d burned him, but your skin was left cold. With an annoyed growl, you slipped out of the shoes and yanked the stuck one out of the floor. The heel was left all scratched up. Angie was going to murder you. “Look at this!” you snapped at Bucky, jabbing the messed up shoe in his direction.

He caught it in his hands. “Jeez, that ain’t my fault!”

“Yes, it is! Because without you constantly interfering in my life, I’d be out cuttin’ a rug right now!” Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes now, so you turned your back on Bucky and started to climb up the rickety stairs in your pantyhose.

“You really think you’d be havin’ a good time right now if you’d actually gone out with Dumbo back there?” Bucky called, taking two steps at a time behind you. “Look, I’m sorry but I think—”

“You know what, Bucky,” you interrupted him, turning around sharply in front of your apartment door. “You might fool all those other girls with that fancy uniform of yours that you’re so keen on showin’ off, but underneath, you’re a jerk. And I just want you to stay the hell away from me.”

A look of genuine shock flashed over Bucky’s features for just a second, revealing something else under the layer of jovial swagger you usually saw him wear. Something that almost looked like hurt. It was gone in less than a second, though, replaced by an unusually cold sneer that seemed unnatural on his handsome face.

“All right,” he said, brusquely handing you back the shoe you’d left behind. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, anyway.”

“Great,” you shouted as he made his way upstairs, “can’t wait for the peace and quiet!”

The door slammed. The plaster fell.

Angie couldn’t be more wrong, you think as you lie there in bed. You know the way Bucky acts around girls he wants to be with, charming and funny and confident. You’ve seen it too many times, each of them another tiny stab because he’s never been like that with you. Not once.

The pacing finally stops and you breathe a sigh of relief. You emerge from underneath the pillow and drag yourself in front of the little vanity you share with your roommate. In the silence, you wipe the smeared make-up off your face and start pulling the pins out of the elaborate updo you’d spent half the afternoon on. Your hair tumbles down in an unruly mess.

You think about dropping by Tommy’s agency tomorrow to explain your situation, but you don’t think you’re that desperate quite yet. Besides, the thing that really annoys you about Bucky’s words is that he’s not wrong.

You weren’t that interested in your date in the first place. You’d just welcomed the distraction from your actual feelings, because it’d felt nice to get positive attention for a change.

Because despite of his meddlesome ways and his sometimes thoughtless actions, you still care about Bucky. Probably more than you should, and more than he cares for you anyway, no matter how high Angie raises her eyebrows.

Matter of fact is, these past couple of weeks, he’s barely even talked to you, your interactions limited to brief nods in the stairwell and the odd word or two, with him never quite meeting your eye.

Lost in your tangled thoughts, you’re about to start unbuttoning your dress, when a knock on the door brings you back to reality.

You frown. It’s not the rhythmic knock Angie uses when she’s forgotten her keys again, and it’s too timid to be your landlady. Probably Steve trying to talk reason about his best friend’s behavior again. You’re not keen on the speech, but you don’t want to keep Stevie standing in the drafty hallway. He’s stubborn enough to catch pneumonia out of spite and misguided loyalty. Again. Rubbing your cheeks one last time, you go to open the door.

You almost slam it again immediately when you realize it’s not Steve who’s standing on the other side at all. It’s Bucky.

He’s changed out of his fatigues into something more casual, and his hair looks as if he’s dragged his hands through it several times. The disheveled look of it almost has your heart fall over itself and you inhale sharply to keep it firmly locked in your chest.

“What do you want?” you try to snap, but it comes out toneless. You’re too tired for anger.

Bucky clears his throat. He keeps shifting under your gaze, keeps moving, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the hem of his sweater. Little cracks in his carefully crafted façade that have you pause.

“I was wonderin’ if you’ve eaten.”

Confused doesn’t quite cover your feelings. You’re at a complete loss. “Excuse me?”

“Seein’ as your plans tonight, uhm—fell through, I just thought I’d … ask. In case you’re hungry.” Never, in all the time you’ve known him, have you heard Bucky stumble over his words like this. It’d be endearing if you weren’t still annoyed at him.

“I’m not,” you lie. Truth is, you’ve only had a late lunch and your kitchen cabinets are basically empty since no one was supposed to be in tonight.

“Right,” Bucky says, swallowing. He pushes his hair back again. “Or maybe we could get some sodas down the block, there’s this shop on—”

“Is this some kind of joke?” you interrupt. His eyes finally stop their constant wandering and find yours. There’s an ache in them you haven’t seen before, one that doesn’t make any sense at all. You shake your head, ignoring the flutter. “First you scare off my date and then you want me to come out with you?”

“That’s not what I—it’s not a joke,” Bucky says. “Look, you’re angry with me, I feel rotten, let me make it up to you! You gotta believe me, I’m sorry.”

The sad thing is, you do. When he looks at you like that, you do. You can’t help it.

You sigh deeply. “Go to bed, Bucky, it’s been a long day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

But when you move to close the door again, he holds it open with his foot. “See, here’s the thing,” he says, his voice wavering ever so slightly, “that’s not exactly an option as I’m being shipped out first thing in the morning.”

Another chip, another crack, and the puzzle pieces are starting to fall back into place. It’s your heart that breaks instead, the last of your anger dissipating into thin air.

“You’re leaving,” you say softly, and Bucky nods curtly. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Only found out yesterday myself.”

Obviously you’ve known this day would come. You’ve known ever since you first saw him in that damn uniform, and even before then. You just thought he’d have more time. You feel your heart trying to pound out of your chest as you look at Bucky, suddenly desperate to commit his face to memory before … you don’t want to think about it.

“What about—does Steve know?”

“Said goodbye to him at the expo. He wanted to try enlisting again, but I don’t know …” He laughs humorlessly. “At this point, they’ve either taken him or booked him and there ain’t a thing I can do about either. Don’t even know which one’s worse.”

You’re glad you’re still holding onto the door, because you feel slightly faint. In the past months, you’ve gotten so used to living downstairs from Bucky, to having both him and Steve always lingering somewhere nearby, always close, reliably inseparable. And now, from one day to the next, neither of them is going to be here anymore.

“I could eat,” you say abruptly. Bucky seems as surprised about it as you feel, but your heart is still beating fast and you’ve never felt more resolute about anything. “Let me just get my shoes.”

You slip into your everyday oxfords with the flat heels and grab your purse off the floor next to your bed where you’d dropped it earlier. As you pass the vanity, you notice the worried flicker in your eyes. With a deep breath, you try to soothe it away. Not yet. He’s still here.

Bucky is leaning next to the door as you lock up and straighten your back. When you meet his gaze again, he holds it as if he thinks you’ll change your mind any second.

“Where to?” you ask with forced joviality, dropping your key in the bag.

He gives you a tiny crooked grin. “I know just the place.”

“And where’s that?”

“It’s a surprise, sugar.” He sticks out his elbow slightly as you get to the stairs as if he wanted you to take his arm. Bewildered, you look at it for a second before you move past him and start descending. You think you hear him sigh before he follows you.

“You know I hate surprises,” you say, ignoring it.

“You’re gonna like this one. Trust me?”

You hum noncommitantly and hop over the hole in the floorboard. “I still think you’re a jerk, by the way,” you tell him. Because it’s safe. Because that’s what you are, that’s what you do, the two of you, shallowly bickering all the time like neighbors do.

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly as he holds the door open for you, “I know.”

The rain has stopped, but the air still feels like there’s a storm incoming. The milky glow of the street lamps dimly lights your way through your empty Brooklyn neighborhood. Most shops are closed by now, bedroom windows darkened. Only once you get closer to the larger streets are there still a couple of late-night strollers dotting the alleyways.

You don’t talk, hiding again in the heavy silence that follows an argument. Neither of you seems to want to be the one to come out of it. Personally, you don’t know how.

Stealing a glance at Bucky, you find him already looking at you. Hastily, you avert your eyes again, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. Every ounce of your earlier determination seems to have vanished; you feel more unsure with each step. Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets, coughing. You wonder what cat caught his tongue.

He looks more like himself in his own street clothes. He even walks differently, back less straightened, more relaxed. The uniform suits him well, but it makes him look younger, somehow. A bit lost in its ironed edges.

But now, like this, he’s just Bucky. Just Stevie’s best friend. Just your too-charming-for-his-own-good upstairs neighbor who can’t ever make his rations last and comes knocking for eggs and cups of sugar at ridiculous times, making you threaten to tell the landlady. You never do, though, not when he flashes that little lopsided grin at you, his eyebrows drawn together in an almost bashful expression.

You’ve started drinking your coffee black, instead.

It’s little things like that that sometimes make you wonder whether there actually might be something between you two that he’s just decided not to tell you about. It’s certainly enough to make Angie hide a knowing smile, no matter how often you tell her—and yourself—that it’s not like that.

A seawater breeze makes you shiver and you realize you’ve almost reached the bridge. You just start thinking that you should have brought a cardigan when suddenly Bucky stops, muttering to himself.

You halt, too, and half-turn to him, about to ask him what’s wrong when he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. The gesture is so gentle, so unexpected, that for a moment the words get stuck in your throat.

“Aren’t you gonna be needing that?” you ask softly.

Bucky smiles, and for the first time tonight, it reaches his eyes. You hate the effect it has on you. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “But it’s still a bit of a walk.”

His fingers linger on the collar for another second or two before he slowly pulls back. He inhales as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself at the last moment.

“What?” You pull the jacket more tightly around yourself.

His eyes flicker down your body and back to your face. “Looks better on you than me, anyway,” he says.

You feel the warmth spread to your cheeks, and it isn’t just because of the additional layer. Even though he doesn’t mean anything by it, because it’s not like that between you. Right?

You hurry to catch up with him and once again, silence envelops you both, but it feels different now. As if something in the air has changed.

“Bucky, is this—”

“Listen, Y/N, I—”

An awkward laugh falls from your lips when you both start and stop talking at the same time.

“You go first,” you decide. Maybe he’s just saved you from embarrassing yourself by outright asking him what it is he’s doing.

Bucky chuckles quietly, even though you fail to see what’s so funny. “This isn’t how I expected my last night to go, is all.”

And there it is. “What are we doing here, then?” you ask, crossing your arms even tighter. “Why aren’t you getting dinner with flower shop girl?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not interested in Connie.”

Right. That’s her name. “Then why’d you even ask her out?”

“Because I can’t well walk up to a gal and her friend sayin’ ‘hello, either of you interested in accompanying my pal and me to this exposition while the other one stays behind?’”

Why didn’t you ask me?

You don’t want to say it out loud, but apparently you do, because the next thing Bucky says is, “What, to go with Steve?”

“To go with you.” The sentence is out of your mouth before you can stop it, the hurt still palpable on your tongue. Your heart gives another nervous flutter.

Bucky doesn’t even blink. “Didn’t think you’d say yes.”

You frown. “I like science.”

“You don’t like crowds. Hell, most of the time you barely like me.”

“That’s not true.”

Bucky snorts. “It is. You almost fainted the other week when that fella had the whole laundromat starin’ at you, remember?”

That’s not the part you were protesting, but you do remember. Your sweaty hands holding onto your laundry basket for dear life. Your breaths coming in faster with every passing second. The way your vision started to blur slightly, as if your eyes were trying to protect you from the prying eyes you felt piercing every inch of your skin.

You hadn’t realized that Bucky noticed that, though.

Thankfully, he keeps talking before your thoughts can go down that road. “Besides, you already had a date for tonight.”

Your lingering irritation at his earlier behavior again seems like a much safer topic, somehow. “A date you managed to shoo off before I even got downstairs,” you remark dryly.

He kicks a pebble and you both watch it tumble across the empty sidewalk. “I wasn’t gonna,” Bucky sighs. “I only wanted to say goodbye to you before I left, cross my heart. He just—he got under my skin.”

Now it’s your turn to grin. “And how on earth did he manage that, Buck?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he blushes. “Would ya look at that, we’re here,” he finally mutters, nodding up ahead.

You follow his gaze. “Did you drag me halfway through Brooklyn to get murdered in a roadside diner?” you chuckle nervously.

In your defense, it doesn’t look promising. Cold lights and a sadly flickering sign, the windows fogged up with the humid wind blowing through from the docks. When Bucky holds the door open for you, the broken sound of the brass bell has you cringe.

“First of all,” he says, “I couldn’t drag ya anywhere you didn’t want to go if I tried.”

You hide a laugh behind the sleeve of his jacket. The smell of him lingers in the fabric, but not enough to block out the stench of burnt eggs and stale air.

“And second of all,” Bucky continues, sliding into one of the booths next to the window, “I happen to know this fine establishment has the best dessert selection in the city. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure,” you say, sitting down opposite him. Your back is to the wall, which gives you a nice view of the whole of the diner.

Apart from the smell, it’s not as bad as it appears on the outside. The tables are clean, the menu is surprisingly extensive, and the only other customer is a bespectacled elderly man nursing a milkshake with a surprising amount of whipped cream at the bar. You can hear quiet music coming from the kitchen.

You push the half-empty sugar dispenser over to Bucky’s side of the table with a slight grin as a tired looking teenager makes his way to your table with the coffeepot and two mugs. Bucky watches you with curious amusement, but doesn’t seem to pick up on the joke.

“You guys want anything else?”

“Yes,” Bucky says with a charming smile. “However much cake we can get for one dollar and seventeen cents.”

“Are you nuts?” you hiss while you get your coffee poured.

“And give us a variety, please.” He turns back to you. “What?”

“You’re not serious. He’s not serious,” you tell your waiter. “You can’t spend that much money on cake.”

Bucky shrugs. “Not like I’ll get much use out of it come morning. I am very serious,” he tells the teenager.

“Doubt we have that much left, anyway,” the guy says with a yawn and leaves for the kitchen.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you snort, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I did tell ya I was gonna make it up to you.”

“Yeah.” You lean your head against the back of your seat. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

His eyebrow twitches, but he keeps his eyes on his mug, swirling the contents. “I’ll live, sugar.”

“Promise?”

The painful uncertainty makes the air seem to crackle when he looks at you, then. This time, you don’t pull up the walls protecting your heart immediately, because slowly but surely, you’re running out of time.

You’re sure Bucky notices the emotion on your face, because there’s something similar lingering in his gaze, something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s like there’s still a puzzle piece you’re missing and the answer to all of it is hiding somewhere in the blue depths of his eyes.

Have they always looked so soft?

For once, Bucky is the first one to look away, and you hastily clear your throat and lock your heart away again.

“So,” you say, “how was the expo?”

“Good,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “It was good, it was fun. Lots of people.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Well, if I tell you about the flying car we saw, that just makes me seem like a bragging arse.”

“Language,” you say automatically, then bite your tongue when he looks at you, amused. You think of the plaster on your living room floor. “A flying car, huh?”

“Yeah.” His eyes sparkle like the light reflecting off the sea, and it’s beautiful. “Though it did break on stage, so maybe you didn’t miss that much.”

“What a letdown,” you say sarcastically.

“I know. Steve was so disappointed he left.” He taps his fingers against the rim of his mug.

“He’s gonna be fine, you know,” you say, sensing the leftover worry in his voice. “Even if trouble follows him.”

Bucky snorts. “Steve follows trouble, not the other way round.”

“Still. Bad weeds grow tall and all that.” There’s a pause again and you hum to fill the silence. “Also, he’s not gonna wanna miss Stark’s next grand brain child.”

“I’ve got a feeling that’s not gonna be a good enough reason for that righteous punk to stay outta bad business.”

“You’ll see. Next time, he’ll be front row.” You hesitate, but only for a second. “I’m fine with crowds, by the way. Long as they’re not looking at me.”

Bucky nods slowly, that little lopsided smile making another appearance. His eyes crinkle with it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The arrival of his cake order turns the flutter in your stomach into a growl. Coffee cake with cream and steaming apple pie, jam filled vanilla sponge and cheesecake are placed in front of you, each slice about twice the size of what Angie is allowed to cut at the automat.

“We are so gonna turn our stomachs,” you laugh.

“It’ll be worth it,” Bucky answers and ceremoniously hands you a fork.

He’s not wrong. For a couple of minutes, you don’t talk at all, just tasting your way through the different plates in front of you, each bite more delicious than the one before. You have to control yourself hard to not make any obscene noises.

“I’mma miss this,” Bucky says, washing another bite down with the rest of his coffee. “Doubt they’re much for dessert in Italy.”

You watch him over the rim of your own mug. Your eyes flit to the untouched sugar dispenser, and it just irks you.

“Do you bake?” you ask with a doubtful expression.

“What?” Bucky chuckles. “No. Why, do you want me to?”

“Then what are you doing with all that sugar you keep borrowing? Do you eat it raw with a spoon?”

“Ah, you noticed that.” In the harsh light, the pink on his cheeks is all the more visible this time.

You snort over your fork. “Of course I noticed that, how was I not gonna?”

“Well, forgive me, but you have a tendency to wilfully misinterpret my intentions. Or outright ignore them.”

“I do not.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans back in his seat and takes you in for a second. “You look stunning in that dress, sugar.”

You look down at yourself, his jacket still thrown over your shoulders. “You can’t even see it.”

“All right. So when was the last time you changed the water on your flowers?”

You narrow your eyes at the change in topic. “Yesterday.” He stares at you blankly until your eyes widen. “So that wasn’t—”

“Nope.” He takes another bite of cheesecake.

“Right,” you say, slowly putting your fork down. You’re starting to feel a bit queasy, though not in an entirely unpleasant way. “Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Are you makin’ a pass at me?”

His cheeks darken a little more. “Been tryin’ to do that for weeks now, but thanks for noticing.”

Your mind is racing, trying to form a single coherent thought, but all that manages to make its way out is, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Bucky says. “Because I like you, that’s why.”

“No, you don’t.”

His brows draw together. “I don’t?”

“You went out with a different girl hours ago, and now you’re telling me you like me?”

“I told you before that I wasn’t interested in her.”

“Because you’re interested in … me.”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” His hand is in his hair again and you’re not sure whether he wants to push it back or make a mess of it. You wonder if they’re going to cut it, and the thought stings. It’s ridiculous, really, but it’s also easier to worry about his hair than about him.

“I don’t …” You trail off. Your heart is beating so loud it’s making it impossible to hear your own thoughts. For some reason, Angie’s voice seems to drown out all the noise inside your head. Told you so, she singsongs.

“Look,” Bucky says, and there’s a pained sort of cadence to his voice. “I know you don’t feel the same and this is just about the worst timing, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t risk … but I also didn’t want to leave without …” He huffs quietly and just like that, the final piece of the puzzle falls into place.

You’ve guarded your heart too closely around him.

You stand up with a jolt and he doesn’t even lift his head, as if he thinks you’re just going to leave him sitting there. Instead, you slide into the booth next to him, your body turned towards him.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice reaches barely above a whisper. Bucky’s breath hitches when you touch his shoulder to have him look at you. “Say it again?”

His eyes flit between yours, still uncertain, still searching for something. Permission, maybe.

You hold your breath.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

And this time, you don’t have to question it. You see it in his eyes, clear as day now, no longer hidden in covert glances and friendly banter. It’s warm and soft, and you’ve never seen this particular expression of his directed at anyone else. He’s looking at you as if you are the only thing on earth that’s real. So you let your walls crumble away.

“I like you so much it terrifies me.”

The changes on Bucky’s face are imminent, the realization as your words hit, the same relieved sort of disbelief that courses through you as well. You pull him in until you can wrap your arms around him and bury your nose in his sweater, breathing him in. He holds you as if you’re something precious, his heart racing as much as yours.

“God, you’re an idiot, Barnes,” you mumble, and you can feel him chuckle.

“I’d say we’re on par for that, sugar.” He presses the tiniest kiss to your head. “We still have the whole rest of the night. About three more slices of cake to go through.”

He doesn’t let you out of his embrace, only draw back enough to face him. His eyes have little specks of gray and brown in them. You’ve never noticed them before, but you’re already committing each and every one of them to memory.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be back in a couple’a months with some small scars and a medal or two. And then I’ll take you out proper, wherever you want.”

“I’d like that,” you say quietly. “I’d settle for you coming home safe, though.”

“‘Course I will,” Bucky says, and that beautiful little lopsided grin returns. You’re dizzy with the weight of his gaze, and when he leans in closer, your eyes flutter shut. You feel his breath on your cheek when he speaks again, sweet like cake. “Can’t keep my best girl waitin’ too long now, can I?”

Ever the optimist.

And yet, you’re the first one to lean in, as if he still doesn’t believe you’d let him.

You restore his faith, again and again. It almost feels like a promise.