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superfics-forone · 2 years

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*SQUEALS IN FLUFFINESS*

This was so sweet!!! Ugh!!! I love a fluffy Steve!! His gentleness was amazing!!!

Safe

summary: Steve Rogers makes you feel safe. And you haven’t felt safe for a long time.

pairing: Steve x You

word count: 4.1k

warnings: slight angst, reader being self-deprecating, swimming, allusions to an abusive past relationship, fluff fluff fluff

a/n: I started this fic with one idea in mind and in a completely different direction, lol, but it’s my first Steve fic on here and I tried

masterlist / / ao3

—

Y/N,

Meet me at the dock at 11, please.

Steve

That’s all the note had said. Written in flawless penmanship, you’d found it propped up against your pillow when you’d returned to your room a half hour ago, the evening around the campfire eating more s’mores then you could’ve ever imagined being able to eat having finally come to a close.

Now, as you glance at the clock, you find it’s a quarter of, and you are a bundle of nervous excitement as you try and decide whether to wear the blue dress or the red. It only felt fitting to wear one of his colors tonight.

You’d arrived at the lake house yesterday, and you’d be leaving the day after tomorrow. It was only the four of you: Steve, Nat, Sam, and you. The house belonged to Tony, who’d been generous enough to offer it up as a means for a weekend getaway for the team.

And, well, for you, the girl who’d somehow become a fixed feature in the group despite not being an Avenger yourself.

Some days you still couldn’t believe it, that not only were the Avengers your friends, but that they felt like your second family even.

And that, when it came to one Avenger in particular, your feelings for him had become far more than platonic.

Specifically, the one blonde-haired supersoldier responsible for introducing you to the Avengers in the first place. The one who’d walked into the record store you worked at one day and ended up walking straight into your life in the process.

In those first two weeks of knowing you, he’d come to that record shop nearly every day, buying more music in two weeks than you’d ever seen before. And yet, no matter how many records he bought, he kept coming back, asking for your recommendations or what you’d been listening to recently. And you found yourself answering him, rambling on about your new favorite song or artist, because for the first time in a long time, it felt like someone actually cared about what you had to say.

While it may have started off with records, you soon began talking to each other about any and everything. You opened yourself up in a way you hadn’t done since…since you’d learned the risks of what could happen when laid bare in front of someone.

He introduced you to the rest of the team soon after having met you, and they welcomed you with surprisingly open arms. You found a place with them much easier than you’d expected, finding an acceptance there that you came to cherish.

You were happy with what you’d found with Steve and the team, and that made you all the more worried that you were going to lose it.

You’d lost everything once already, and you weren’t sure if you could risk that again. You weren’t ready to lose the safety of what you had now.

So, you played it safe, and in doing so, you kept what you had with Steve strictly under the label of “just friends”, despite what you felt. And what you knew he felt too.

Steve had wanted more with you for a while; from the moment he first laid eyes on you, really (although he’d never told you that). He wanted a relationship, with all the strings attached.

But, you couldn’t give that to him. Not yet. Not so soon after your last relationship and the baggage it had given you.

You’d told him that—about not being ready, not the reasons behind it—when he’d finally asked you about it one day. You’d expected him to turn away, to leave you like you’d been left before when you gave him the answer he didn’t want to hear.

But, rather, he’d been nothing but respectful and patient, and so kind about it all, that your heart ached over not being ready, because your feelings for him were raw and real in a way that you knew all too well.

But you weren’t ready for what all those feelings meant, so you waited. You both did.

You were still friends, and it was wonderful, each moment you spent with him. Peace and a calm you hadn’t known for a long while came in the months that passed, and it felt like you were finally healing.

And with healing came discontent, because you didn’t want to be just friends with Steve any longer.

You wanted more, you had for a while, only now you were ready for it.

So, when Steve had asked you to come up to the lake house with him, you hadn’t hesitated in saying yes. The secluded, little getaway had felt like the perfect opportunity to come clean to him, to ask if he still wanted something more with you too.

You really, really hoped he did.

You finally decide on the blue dress instead of the red. You hope to look half as good in the color as Steve did in it.

You slip it on in place of the towel you’d wrapped around you after your shower, careful to avoid looking in your room’s standing mirror as you do. You knew better than to risk catching glance of the scar, or any other part of you that reminded you of…well, that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

You swallow, a chill you despise suddenly running over your skin.

No, not tonight. You think, determined to escape from the dark corner of your mind you’d found yourself in.

Your resolve holds for a little bit longer, as you slip on your shoes and apply some finishing touches to your makeup.

Just as you are contemplating whether or not you had the time to do something else with your hair, you hear an alert go off on your phone. A text message, from the sound of it.

You grab your phone from off your nightstand, clicking the message after taking a second to glance worriedly at the time. It’s only five minutes till eleven.

Hey, girl, the message reads. It’s from Christina, one of your closest friends back home. Thinking about you today. How’re you holding up? If you wanna talk, I’m always here. <3

You furrow your brow for a second, puzzled about what she’s talking about, when it clicks.

Your breath catches at the realization, your hands clenching tighter around your phone before it loosens enough for it to slip from your grasp.

How could I have forgot?

Your question is rhetorical, because you know damn-well how you forgot. Too caught up with thoughts of Steve and the night ahead with him, you’d forgotten to remember how today marked a year since your last relationship had ended. A year since you’d last seen the man you’d once thought you were in love with, the same man who was the reason for many of the scars you carried, ones both visible and not.

You swallow thickly, a new twist to your stomach that wasn’t there before.

You glance over at the mirror, tempted to raise your dress up so you could see the scar, so you can see the reminder of—

No.

You are not going to let that man ruin anymore of your life, you’re not going to let him control you anymore. He was in the past. He couldn’t hurt you anymore.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

The affirmation rings hollow and echoing in your mind as you pick yourself from off your bed, not having realized you’d fallen back on it when your knees gave out until that moment. You run on autopilot as you hurry out your door, rushing through the house to the front door. You head towards the docks and towards Steve, each step you take carrying you farther from your phone and the memories it had drudged up.

You couldn’t forget about it entirely though, because no matter how far you ran, the scar remained.

And as long as the scar remained, you knew a part of him did too.

You slow your pace once the dock comes into view, extended out over a long stretch of the lake’s calm waters. The moon glints against the water’s surface, but it’s not the only light reflected against the lake.

Your eyes rake over the view, your breath taken from you for a second time, this time for a much better reason.

Extended from the start of the dock to the end, laid candles. The flames flicker in the gentle nighttime breeze, but their warm glow remains, the light they provide just enough for you to see Steve’s silhouette against the lake’s backdrop.

Petals lay scattered across the wooden boards of the dock. You feel almost guilty as you walk across them. They look like rose petals, in particular. Your favorite.

You glance up from looking at your feet to look at the man ahead of you. Steve had gotten up from where he’d been sitting on the dock’s edge in favor of standing in wait for you, looking just the tiniest bit awkward as you watch him stuff his hands in his pants’ pockets before apparently thinking better of it and taking them out.

You stifle a laugh, already at ease from only seconds in his presence.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice slightly breathless as he takes you in. You stand barely a foot from him now, and your face warms as his eyes travel up and down your body before he says, “You’re…you, you look beautiful.”

Beautiful.

The last time a man had looked at you so intently, that hadn’t been the word he’d settled on.

Your hands clench at the memory, angry at yourself for not knowing how to respond before settling on, “Look who’s talking.”

He laughs, the smile you love so much—the one that reaches his eyes—finding a home on his face. “I owe it to Sam. He was the one who helped pick it out.”

While part of you glowed at the thought of him caring so much about the night to ask for advice on what to wear, the other part of you simply took the time to properly take in the sight before you.

He wore a blue button down that clung snugly to his broad shoulders and muscled arms, paired with perfectly fitting jeans that had surprisingly zero rips or tears in view. He’d styled his hair, brushing it away from his face, and he’d shaved, removing the five o’ clock shadow he’d had only hours before. While you’d never seen him with a full beard before, the thought occurred to you that you’d like to.

You redden, realizing with not a small amount of embarrassment that you’d been blatantly checking him out for far too long. You clear your throat, desperate to move past it. “I’ll have to tell Sam thank you. He did a really good job.”

“Please don’t. It’ll go straight to his head,” Steve jokes, still smiling that gorgeous smile of his as he gestures for you to take a seat.

He’d laid a tablecloth across the part of the dock at the very end, where the majority of the candles sat.

You sit, careful to not let your dress ride up and show the scar or anything else that he’d once found fault in. You blink rapidly, the memory of your ex’s words and the shame they had brought you causing a swell of emotion you were not prepared for.

You angle your head away from Steve as you try to get yourself under control. You catch only the tail-end of his sentence.

“…I brought champagne. You like champagne, right?”

You turn to face him once more, nodding. You plaster on a smile for his sake. “I do.”

“Good, I knew most dames liked it—at least, I thought that they did—and Sam said you would too when I asked, so I bought a bottle. I’m sorry if it’s not good. I haven’t drunk a lot of champagne to know what’s good and what’s not, but the guy at the store said it was one of the best bottles they had and—”

“Steve.” You set a hand atop his, your boldness surprising both of you. “I’m sure it’ll be great. But, either way, let’s open it and see.”

Steve’s gaze had trained on where your hand met his, the hand holding the champagne bottle still in the air.

He pulls his hand out from yours reluctantly to open the bottle, the pop of the cork stirring a laugh from the both of you. He pulls two glasses from a basket you hadn’t noticed before, setting one before you both.

He pours your glass first, the small gesture resonating in a way that shouldn’t have felt as profound as it did.

I was never put first before.

You chase that thought away with a long sip of champagne, the drink fizzing on your tongue and eventually in your stomach.

Steve watches nervously, having not yet taken a sip of his own drink. “Do you like it?”

“It’s delicious, Steve. Thank you. For all of this.” You smile at him, casting an awed glance around at the candles, the roses, the tablecloth beneath you, and then once more on the champagne. “You put a lot of thought into this, and that…that means a lot. More than you know.”

“I just wanted it to be right, this first...” he hesitates, but you watch as a boldness similar to your own crosses his face and he says, “…date with you, if I can call it that. I wanted you to like it, but I don’t have a lot of experience with dating or big, romantic gestures, but I knew a dame like you would, so I-I just wanted it to be perfect, like you deserved.”

Like you deserved.

Another’s voice in your mind burned to tell him that you didn’t deserve this, that you weren’t worth all this effort. That you’d never be worth anything.

That you were worthless. Ugly and worthless—

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Steve’s voice cuts through his, worry from your lack of response evident, and you were both grateful and sickened at the sound of it. You want to believe what Steve says, but you worry that if you do let yourself believe it—that if you let Steve believe what he does—later when he sees the real you, you’ll disappoint him the same way you always disappointed him.

But, as you look into Steve’s eyes, you can’t bear to tell him the truth when faced with the adoration you saw there, the pure care and concern contained within that bottomless blue. No woman could, no matter her intentions.

So, you change the subject, desperate to preserve his look of love and care just a little longer.

“Have you always liked the water?”

If Steve’s taken aback by the abrupt change in conversation, he doesn’t let it show before replying, “Yeah. I used to go to the Coney Island beach a lot, back in the day. I never swam out too far though. I only got good at swimming post-serum.”

“Have you been back since out of the ice?”

He shakes his head, taking a sip of champagne. You stare a little too long at his lips as you wait for his answer.

“No. I’ve thought about it, but I dunno. Just didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

“You’d have fun if you went,” you urge, shifting to lean a bit closer to him. “The beach is always a good idea, and you’ve more than earned a day off. You should go.”

Steve looks at you intently, noticing how you’ve drawn closer to him, and something there in his eyes that was once a flicker is now burning so brightly you wonder if his stare will leave you with a burn mark.

Unlike your ex, you wouldn’t mind wearing a reminder of Steve on your skin.

He clears his throat, having suddenly remembered to blink, and looks away. You wish he hadn’t.

It’s quiet for a moment, the stir of the leaves in the breeze and the stray sounds of wildlife being the only noise, before he says, “I’ll go, but only if you come with me.”

Your eyes are already on him when he turns to face you once more. “Deal.”

You’ve shifted closer to him, or he’s shifted closer to you, but either way your side’s now pressed to his and his body is warm in contrast to the slight chill in the air. The warmth is soothing, peaceful, and as he tentatively puts his arm around your shoulders, the solidness of it grounds you in a way that makes you want more, that makes you want everything.

Everything, as long as it’s with him.

You stare out at the water in silence for a little while longer, but you’re greedy, and you want to hear his voice again, so you say, “It’s a shame we didn’t go there this weekend. I would’ve liked to see for myself whether you really are a good swimmer or not.”

You meant to be playful, and maybe a bit flirty, but you hadn’t thought it through nearly enough as his reply is both obvious and immediate. “We are at a lake, sweetheart. I could show you now.”

You’re still reeling from the unexpected endearment when seemingly in the blink of an eye, he’s dived under the lake’s surface, splashing both you and his discarded pile of clothes with lake water.

“Steve!” you yell in astonishment, a laugh in your voice as you wipe a drop of water from your brow.

He breaks the surface and smiles smugly as he lazily does the backstroke close enough to the dock so you can see his perfect form. “Is this good enough for you?”

You roll your eyes, looking into his stupidly pretty face as you say, “You’re crazy, Rogers.”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to see for yourself. Can’t blame me when I only gave you what you asked for.”

Laughing, you try to keep your focus on the fact that he’s just jumped into a freaking lake in the dead of night, rather than on the pile of clothes beside you or the visible expanse of his chest and shoulders as he glides through the water. His skin glistens, and you can just make out the shadowy planes of his muscle by the candles’ light.

You hesitate in replying for a second too long; a second where he thinks of the one question you wish he hadn’t asked.

“Do you wanna get in?”

Yes.

No.

Both.

You don’t know how to reply. Part of you desperately does want to get in with him, because you really couldn’t think of a more perfect, romantic, out-of-a-movie time to admit your feelings for him than under the glow of candlelight while you hold on to one another in a lake, but another part of you—the part of you that refuses to believe that someone like him would ever want you—tells you to say no, or better yet, to run from Steve like you ran from him.

No. No. Steve isn’t him, and he never would be, and you, you want this. You want everything, as long as it’s with Steve.

You have to do this. You have to take this first step. You need to trust Steve, to put faith in him that he more than deserves.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

“Okay.”

Your reply is surprisingly unstrained, spilling from your lips with an ease that would’ve convinced nearly anyone that you thought getting into the lake with him was no big deal, no deal at all, for a fact.

Steve’s smile widens—if that’s even possible—as you stand, and it doesn’t leave his face as you ask—no, say, “Close your eyes.”

He does, respecting and understanding your boundary immediately. It leaves you a bit stunned, his respect.

You pull your dress off, your shoes following. You wish you’d worn a matching bra and panty set, but then again, you hadn’t been expecting anyone to see either tonight.

You take a shaky breath in, goosebumps rising on your skin, before you jump off the dock.

The water is cold, as you expected, but it still leaves you a bit breathless as you break the surface.

“It’s freezing!” You shiver, chattering your teeth exaggeratedly, and Steve chuckles.

He’s close. Close enough for you to feel his laugh on your face, close enough for his hand to brush against your arm, and then to take your hand in his.

It’s a small gesture, holding hands. It’s one that you’ve both offered and received many times in your life, but in this moment, under the darkness, with your hands just skimming the water’s surface as they intwine with each other’s, it feels more revealing than taking your dress off had.

The quiet is deafening as you both draw closer to the other. Steve gently pulls you closer to him until your free hand finds his shoulder, your thumb brushing against the hollow near his collarbone as you grasp for purchase.

You’re chest-to-chest, and your one leg has wrapped around his, using it as an anchor. It’s fitting because he’s kept you secure far longer than just tonight. He’s been the one constant in your life, your rock and structure, holding you steady when you needed him to.

Now, though, he’s using you as a support too, something solid to hold himself to in the water, because his free hand has found you too, and his hands are calloused and soft as they slip through the water till they find and rest on your hip. His fingers dig a bit deeper against your skin as he tightens his hold.

You glance up to look at his eyes, but find that they’re closed, his brow slightly furrowed. It’s as you feel his fingers trail over your ribs and stomach, that you realize he’s memorizing the feel of you, exploring your body like it’s something he wants to immortalize in his memory.

He wants to know you like you want to know him, and it’s gentle, and kind, and nothing like him, and it’s…it’s wonderful, to be known. To be known by someone who doesn’t look and touch you with eyes and hands of judgement, but rather with acceptance.

He opens his eyes as if he can read your thoughts, and they flit to yours. “Is this okay?”

You nod, because you can’t speak, but it is, it really is.

You fall into him, your face pressed into the side of his neck, and close your eyes, a final act of vulnerability.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

The affirmation is different this time, because this time it’s true and in the shape of Steve Rogers, because with him you really are safe.

You tug your hand out from his so you can loop both arms around his neck as you slide your one leg up higher, hearing his sharp inhale of breath as you do. You soon have both legs around his torso, low on his hips, and you feel the strong muscle of his stomach tense as you settle against him.

His hands rest against your waist now, holding you to him, but when one of your legs slips, one cuts through the water to grab it, finding your thigh and finding your scar.

You can’t control the flinch, despite your calm, and he feels it.

His hand stills, and then after a second it moves, sliding slowly across the length of the scar. It’s rough in some places, smooth in others. But, you’re not worried as you let him feel it Not when it’s his hands that have found it, his hands that you’ve laid yourself bare to.

“What is this?” he whispers, but you know he already knows what it is.

“A mistake,” you answer, because the man from your past was and always will be a mistake. The worst one you ever made, in fact.

But, he’s gone and Steve’s here, and that’s all that matters, and you can see that now.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He wants you to say yes, you can hear it in his voice, but you also know that he won’t press the topic if you say no either. He’s good like that.

“I do,” you respond, pulling your face from against his neck to look into his eyes. The love and care remains, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll last. Maybe you deserve it, his love. Maybe you always have.

You want to believe that. You do.

You reach one hand up, brushing your thumb along his jaw, and then the fullness of lower lip, so impossibly soft.

“But not now,” you continue. “I have more important things to do.”

You kiss him then, and after, when both of you have regained the ability to speak and he tells you you’re beautiful, you believe him.

You do, you really do.

—

a/n: *sigh* can I have a Steve Rogers, please? (also, if you want to join my taglist, just send an ask 💕)

taglist: @fangirllife98 @commonintrest@loki-leufeyson-81 @ajeff855 @rebelfleur22 @bucky-loves-alpine @lovelylokis

#help I’m so happy #fluffy steve #lake swims

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superfics-forone · 3 years

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This was so good!!! I literally hyperventilated with the angst!!! Her melting into his arms had me just

That was so good but I know there’s more trouble coming but I’m so here for it!!!

Delicate Edges (6)

series masterlist / series playlist

Your hands were trembling as you locked the front door to May Flowers; neon pink sign faded to black, overhanging lights dimmed over the baskets of roses and lilies. It was only minutes before noon and you couldn’t chance catching a glimpse of Bucky’s navy-blue baseball cap through the crowded sidewalk, a bag of food in hand as if nothing had changed. You knew he would offer you convincing excuses disguised under the delphinium blues in his eyes. Every part of you would ache to believe him but something awful would fracture in your chest instead.

The image of his battered and bloodied mugshot quickly washed away the memory of his charming smiles, diminished the lightness of his cheesy pick-up lines, and shattered every kindness he offered you. The article you had read under the aching strain of Wanda’s cellphone light had served as certain proof of Bucky’s ties to the biker underworld of this town, to his years of corruption and violence. It didn’t matter how sweet he was with you, how impossibly charming he was, gentle in even the roughest parts of him.

You knew the truth of what he was capable of. There was no room for doubt.

Your life was already chained to one biker club under the rusted metal of cuffs on your ankles – digging sharp and unrelenting deep into your bone. You didn’t have room for another, didn’t have the strength to fend off the torture of another man. Rumlow would sooner have you killed than waste his time bantering with the 107 over a debt Hydra had laid claim to a decade ago.

You didn’t spare a glance to the sidewalk before you rushed up the back stairs to your apartment. The echo of the second hand ticking around the clock seemed to rattle inside your chest with every step, inching closer and closer to the hour you had once cherished above all else. Your hands were shaking so badly, you had to curl them into fists, even within the safety of your apartment.

You tried to ease yourself on the possibility that Bucky wouldn’t bother himself with this game anymore. He wouldn’t show up at your front door with lunch in hand like he did every day for the last two weeks. He wouldn’t pick up the broken stems from the vases outside and carry them inside for you as if they were wounded soldiers in his hands. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and it nearly made you jump out of your skin.

Wanda had helped you set Bucky’s called to go directly to voicemail the night before, afraid the temptation of the man you so desperately wanted him to be might convince you to answer. Heart pounding, you pulled the phone from your pocket. Bucky’s name was illuminated at the center of the screen.

One missed call. One voicemail message.

You knew Wanda would tell you to delete it. Nothing good could come from listening to the message. It could only be another trick to draw you back into his charm, to manipulate you into starting another war between the 107 and Hydra. Nothing good could come from it.

You pressed play anyway.

“Hey, doll. It’s... uh, it’s Bucky.” A strained groan followed through the speaker. “Right, you know that. Sorry.”

You held your breath at the sound of his voice. It carried the same sweetness laced into the inflections, the same tenderness he had held you with when you kissed him amongst the lilacs the day before. But there was a slight tremor in his tone. Nerves, you realized.

It was part of the game, you halfheartedly convinced yourself. It had to be. The man you’d heard terrible stories about couldn’t be the same Bucky you knew. This man, who extorted money from local businesses, who threatened families down on their luck with violence until they feared for their lives. This man, who children ran from in the street, whose name alone drew fear. The Bucky you knew couldn’t exist within that man. It had to be a mask.

You dared a glance down to the sidewalk from your window above the shop. There, you found Bucky staring into the empty windows, trying to catch sight of you. He pressed his hand against the glass, searching amongst the darkness and the flowers for a woman he would not find.

“I know you’re dodging my calls,” he sighed in the message, “and you’ve got every right to after I left the way I did yesterday... but I brought burgers from Daisy’s Diner on the eastside. You mentioned a few days ago how much you missed their curly fries so I thought... I don’t know. Hoped that might entice you enough to give me a chance to explain but... I see you’re closed so... I’ll go. I’ll see you tomorrow, doll.”

The voicemail ended long before you felt the cold wash of tears against your cheeks. You brushed them away quickly, reminding yourself that the man you knew was a fiction – an entirely made-up creature to hide the monster underneath. It was the only possible explanation. You had proof that Bucky Barnes was the leader of the 107, that he’d beaten men to a pulp. It didn’t matter that those men were Hydra. He was capable of violence on par with what you’ve witnessed in Rumlow and Rollins.

But something was screaming in the back of your head; a terrible, unpleasant feeling as you tried to group Bucky amongst the men who slipped through the shadows of your shop, who made your skin crawl and terrified you through your bones.

When you dared to look out the window again, Bucky was gone. He’d left the bag of burgers and curly fries by the door.

***

The next day when Bucky came by again, the lights were out in May Flowers. You waited from the safety of your apartment as he first stepped up to the shop, the realization dawning. His shoulders sank, the fictitious hope draining from his body as he looked inside the empty shop for you. Peering in through the windows, cupping a hand to the glass in an attempt to see better. When a hand print was left in his wake, he grimaced and quickly attempted to brush it away with the sleeve of his jacket.

As a last resort, you watched as Bucky’s fingertips hesitantly reached for the knob. Panic surged inside your chest; flooding worry second guessing whether you’d locked it firmly enough, but the door didn’t budge. Relief sank heavy into your body as something strange crossed Bucky’s features. Something close to defeat.

Slowly, Bucky pulled out his phone, his gaze casually trailing up the exposed bricks and awning above the shop to your apartment window as he brought the phone to his ear. You slammed your back to the wall behind the curtains, clutching hands into the fabric before he could see you. Your grip was aching by the time you a notification of a voicemail appeared on your phone screen. It was only then that you gathered the courage to peer outside the window one last time.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh and set the sandwich bags on the sidewalk. He gaze remained fixed on the interior of the shop, as if he were holding out hope that you might have simply forgotten about your lunch meetings, that you might bound down the back steps and flick the lights on and welcome him inside with a bright smile on your face. Misplaced hope. Foolish hope. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and he hung his head, turning to walk back to the east side.

It was where he belonged, you thought bitterly. Why he would bother taking the risk in the first place to walk carelessly through the west side was beyond you. If Bucky was who you believed he was, he was dancing with an offense that could get him killed. You’d seen Hydra beat men into submission for less. If the leader of their enemy club paraded himself into their territory... they’d kill him for his sheer arrogance alone.

You closed your eyes, wishing you had the strength to simply delete his message.

“Hey doll,” Bucky’s voice carried through the speaker. “I, uh, I can see you don’t want me around. That’s okay. I promise, honey. It’s okay. I’ll just leave the food outside like yesterday, all right?” He paused for a moment, exhaling a slow, steady breath. “When you’re ready to talk, just let me know. I hope you will. I hope... I didn’t completely mess us up. I was a fool for leaving you that day but I... I swear to you I didn’t have a choice. I want to explain everything, honey, if you’ll let me. But I can't do it like this.” He cleared his throat, as though the words had pained him. “Just know it wasn’t you that scared me off. It wasn’t anything you did and it—it wasn’t the kiss. So, I’ll... I’ll wait for you. Please, just... call me when you’re ready.”

You tossed the wilted, stuffed bouquet made of wild colors and mismatched flowers in the trash after you deleted the message. They were both too painful to look at.

***

Three days later and Bucky hadn’t dared another step onto the west side.

Every so often, you’d catch yourself looking up the windows in search of the navy-blue baseball cap through the crowd only to be harshly reminded of the man you were hoping to see. Shame curdled into your stomach, disappointment weighing heavier in your heart. You couldn’t make sense of any of it – why you longed for a man who could only serve to hurt you.

The only solace was that Bucky had stayed true to his word. He’d stopped coming around, stopped calling.

He was giving you control, the annoying voice in the back of your head tried to reason. That must mean something. A man like Rumlow would never think to grant you that kind of power over him, but you pushed aside the thought as quickly as it came.

It was on the fourth day when he sent the first text.

You were with a customer, explaining the watering needed for the ready-to-plant tulips along the left wall of the shop when you felt the vibration in your apron. As the customer bent down to closer examine the array of colors, you quickly glanced at the screen, thinking it might be Wanda trying to convince you to come to movie night with her and Pietro.

But it was Bucky’s name across the top of your screen instead.

I know I said I wouldn’t call, but I hope you won’t fault me for a text. You don’t gotta say anything, doll. Just let me know you’re okay. Please.

You stared at the message, carefully reading over each word until the woman tapped painfully on your shoulder to get your attention. She furrowed her brows at you, her annoyance evident as her pointed glare dropped to your phone. You apologized quickly, shoving it back into your pocket without a response.

***

Days dragged by without word from Bucky. You knew you should be grateful for it, relieved even, that you could keep May Flowers open through your lunch. It would help increase the chance of potential customers stopping in around noon with a sandwich in hand from the deli next door. That terrible aching knot in your stomach should have gone away. But it hadn’t. It only seemed to get worse.

You hadn’t given yourself a moment to notice just how many pieces of you Bucky had brought back to life in the month you’d known him – gently pulling them out from the wreckage Hydra had created in the wake of your father’s death and easing the shattered edges back into your soul with Elmer's glue, with the light graze of his lips and the calloused touch in his hands. Kind. So impossibly kind and wonderful and –

No.

Bucky lied to you. Whether his entirely personality was a twisted game or not. He made you believe he was just a bartender at the Centenarian, that he was nothing more than a man from the east side. He had every opportunity to tell you who he really was and he’d held his tongue.

Would you have let him explain if he’d tried? You weren’t sure. Even weeks since Hydra’s last visit, you could still feel Rollins’ hands sliding along your hips, his breath hot on your neck, could still see Rumlow’s outline in the shadows the night they came for their payment. Fear settled into your veins – familiar and still, ruthless.

It was impossible to separate the rumors of the 107 to the man you knew Bucky to be. You were terrified to try – scared that you might uncover the same sort of monster who extorted your father and left your family in shambles. Worse, you realized, to discover he might be every bit the man you hoped he was, to realize you were caught up in a war between the clubs you were certain you wouldn’t survive.

You were at the register, counting the profits for the evening when your phone buzzed. Bucky’s name lit against the screen – the silly emoji of a wildflower by his name you hadn’t had the heart to change.

It’s been a week. I’m worried about you, doll, the message read. Tell me you want more time. Tell me to fuck off. Anything. Just say something.

You swallowed, staring helplessly at the screen.

For a moment, you imagined the sun gleaming in through the open windows, the bell chiming under the front door as Bucky strolled inside. Smile bright upon his face, cheeks flushed pink in warmth from his walk, and a bag of food under his arm. Your heart would leap at the sight of him, stomach fluttering as he crossed the shop to you.

He’d ask how your day had been as he slyly picked up a fallen rose from the floor, hiding it behind his back until he met you at the center of the store. Before you could finish your story of the awful woman who chastised you all morning because she somehow managed to kill her succulents in less than a week, he’d raise the rose to you – that beautiful smile of his pressing high into his cheeks.

Your fingertips might graze his as you took the flower, his lips might fight their way to your temple, to your lips. He’d tell you he liked the color of your dress and you’d pretend he didn’t notice the way he affected you, made you feel all warm inside.

This beautiful, wonderful man who never had the chance to be yours.

But the image shattered as the sky morphed into a deep, unsettling darkness and the ghosted image of Bucky approached you with malice soaked into the blue of his eyes – blood dripping from his fingertips, bruises covering his face, blisters on his knuckles. He looked at you with an awful hunger in his gaze, rolling down your chest to your thighs – never your face. A gun settled on his hip.

The scream of motorcycle engines rang in your ears and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the nightmare away. You knew Bucky had never once looked at you the way Rollins did, never once approached you with anything other than the kindest intentions. You knew but— nothing made sense anymore. You didn’t know what to believe and you couldn’t trust your own naivety, your own desperate hope, over the belief of an entire town. The fear that he was every bit as vengeful and terrifying as the Hydra leader was crippling. Dollar bills crumpled in your hands.

“Preparing for our evening together, are you?”

Your heart leapt from your chest as Brock Rumlow sauntered through the back door of your shop; his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. You swallowed back the yelp caught in your throat, your hand clutching to the rapid pulsing within your chest, fingertips curling into the fabric of your dress.

Rumlow slipped through the shadows, his dismissive gaze trailing along the flower arrangements along the walls. Your gaze quickly flashed to the calendar hanging behind your desk and the red circle marking the date the Hydra club would show up for its payment. He was five days early.

“You remember what I told you about being short this month, don’t you?” Rumlow said, his voice low enough it could have cut through gravel. You studied the patch of the skull and tentacles on his back as he continued about the shop. It stared back at you.

“Y-Yes, I remember,” you managed to reply though the knot building in your throat. You didn’t even consider giving excuses. You’d be short – you knew you would.

Your hand slid along the desk, digging through the drawer, through you kept your gaze on Rumlow as he picked up a single white rose. Your breath hitched as he appeared to study it for a moment. If you were a fool, you might have suspected he was admiring the thing, but he crumpled the petals within his hand, tossing the broken flower to the ground.

You flinched when he looked back at you. In your hand, you gripped onto your keys – on a familiar keychain that you did not dare to use but one that would remind you that you were stronger than this man made you feel. You dug it into your palm, focusing on the sturdiness of the plastic, the warmth as it took on your body heat. It would get you through this. Rumlow would leave, just as he always did. It was only ever about fear. Only fear.

Rumlow smirked. He must have noticed the strain in your eyes. The redness there. The evidence of his effect on you. You struggled to keep your hands still – to not touch your fingertips to the gold watch you knew would give away your panic.

“Are you afraid, darling?”

Yes.

“No,” you replied, trying to keep your voice even. You steadied your gaze beyond his shoulders, to the stars hanging outside the windows; misguided hope that they could draw you some relief from the demon in your presence.

Rumlow tilted his head, studying you as he did the rose. You wondered if he might crumple you within the palm of his hand as well.

“I want my money, Y/n. Tuesday."

He lingered as he passed the register, his fingertips brushing aside your hair as he leaned into your ear. You held your breath, clamping down so sharply on your cheek, blood spilled into your mouth. Copper and bitter and warm on your tongue. Lips grazed your neck and you stopped breathing entirely.

“I will not be so kind with you this time if you hold back on me,” Rumlow gave his final warning.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You did not dare to move until Rumlow’s footsteps no longer echoed inside your shop, until you heard the engine purr in the alley. Only when the loud hum of the motorcycle faded into an unsettling silence did you finally allow the sob to break you.

A godawful sound escaped past your lips and you fell to your knees, gasping for air. Fingers growing numb, your mind spinning. You desperately clung to the fabric of your dress, touched the cool tiles on the floor under your knees, gripped that damn keychain until your hand ached – but your lungs wouldn't inflate enough. Breath after breath – not enough. Wetness coated your cheeks, spilling down your neck and against your collar.

He'd kill you. Tuesday, he’d kill you. Or he’d do something worse to make you wish he did.

The bell chimed at the front of the shop.

No. No.

He came back.

“Y/n?” a gentle voice called from the door.

You froze, clutching your knees behind the counter as cautious footsteps approached. An agonizing tension bore through you – uncertain whether you should feel relief at the sound of Bucky’s voice or whether you should fear him in the way you had Rumlow.

“The door was unlocked,” he announced hesitantly. “I’m just—I don’t want to bother you, doll. You haven't returned my messages and—and I’m sure that’s on purpose because you don’t want a damn thing to do with me and that’s okay. I swear to you I’ll leave you alone after this. I just want to make sure you’re--”

Slowly, you emerged from behind the counter. Bucky stilled at the sight of you, devastation wrenching through him as his gaze flickered over the tears on your face; reflective until the low dim of overhead lights and the moonlight slipping in through the windows.

“What happened?” His voice was low, restrained by only a thread.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, ignoring his question.

Bucky swallowed, blue eyes flickering to the floor, coated in shame. “Because you don’t want me here?”

“Because you’re in Hydra territory.”

Bucky blinked, the realization washing over him that you knew exactly who he was. Ice pressed to exposed skin, standing in the heart of blizzard; shock and panic, crippling. You waited for the mask to fall – for his cruelty to rise to the surface. But instead, the hardness upon his features began to fracture, guilt swarming through the cracks.

As you stepped out from behind the counter, determined to show at least one of the dangerous men in your shop tonight that you would not be afraid, Bucky’s gaze dropped to your hand and something in him seemed to break. He stumbled into the table behind him, trying to catch his balance.

In your grip was the keychain he’d given you the night you met. The one he’d made you promise to use in defense, to hold when you were afraid, to give you strength against the men who would do you harm. Sharp edges expanding from your knuckles. A weapon in your hand. Your fear of him seemed to puncture worse than any blade could.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you,” Bucky eased. His hands raised. “I would never—”

“You lied to me,” you seethed, gaining courage in his moment of weakness.

But Bucky was grasping at straws, shaking his head as he closed a trembling hand to a fist. “No, I—I never lied. Not once.”

“You didn’t tell me the truth!” you shouted and a terrible part of you was pleased when he flinched in response. “You should have told me who you really are! The sort of people you run with!”

If this was game, he was playing it poorly. You’d expected him to drop the pretense of the character he’d constructed to manipulate you in favor of the cold, calculating man he hid under the surface. But there was no trace of men like Rumlow or Rollins upon Bucky’s features.

His chest rose high with every new breath as if it hurt to simply pull in air. His hands gripped into the edge of the table behind him to keep him steady. He looked absolutely wrecked, like he hadn’t slept properly in days. He didn’t look like a man who had spent the last month playing games with you – charming you for fun and mocking you behind your back. He looked as though his heart had been broken.

“What was I supposed to say?” Bucky asked instead, his voice calm despite the tension filling the room. “You would have looked at me like I was no better than Hydra. The way you’re looking at me now.”

“I had a right to know, Bucky!” you shot back, a terrible mixture of anger and remorse boiling inside of you. “A right to know you'd beaten four people within an inch of their lives! To choose to not make a fool of myself by caring for a monster!”

Bucky recoiled as if you’d struck him. It hadn’t left you with the satisfaction you imagined it would – leaving only a hollow ache behind instead.

“You’re right,” Bucky admitted, his gaze falling to the floor. He took in a deep breath, slowly drawing his eyes up to meet yours. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze; the keychain gripped tighter in your hand. “The truth is that I am the head of the 107.”

It didn’t feel any better to hear it aloud in his voice – the agony, the aching, the desperation to believe it wasn’t true. Bucky took a step closer to you, only for you to retreat backwards. He froze, devastation evident upon his features as he nodded and put more distance between you.

“I know that you must think that I’m... I’m like Rumlow,” he said, his voice catching on the name that haunted you through the shadows of this shop. “Let me prove to you that I’m not. Ask me anything and I’ll answer you truthfully. I swear it on my life. I won’t lie to you. Never again.”

You stared at him – caught somewhere between your desperation to believe him and the self-preservation screaming at you to run. Bucky had become a steady, comforting presence in the time you’d known him – a sanctuary within his touch – and you could not rectify the rumors of the man standing before you, ones that made him out to be as vile as the men who threatened and extorted you. Split between your head and your heart.

“I’ll start,” Bucky offered when you did not respond. He shifted awkwardly on his heels, steadying his breaths. “The men you mentioned, the ones I sent to the hospital... that night I was lured to the west side by a woman that I had –” he swallowed, biting back the word that had almost slipped past his lips, “—trusted. She called me close to midnight, made me think she was in trouble, and got me to cross the damn border for the first time since the line was drawn. She told me that Hydra had taken her... that if I didn’t come for her, they’d kill her.”

Bucky sighed, the breath near painful. “She was... uh... very convincing. When I got there, Hydra was waiting for me. Four of them. Armed to the teeth. She set me up to be ambushed on their turf where I had no friends, no allies. But she was there. Untouched. Unharmed. Standing behind the row of men intent on ending my life, Brock Rumlow’s arm draped over her shoulders and this... satisfied look on her face. Because she knew I would come for her. She knew I would have done anything to—” Bucky clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if to swallow back the end of the sentence.

“It was the perfect setup, really. She found a weakness and exploited it. A trap was set and I walked right into it.” Bucky pinched at the bridge of his nose and it was then you noticed the slight tremor in his hand. “I still don’t know why she did it. Power, probably. Money. I don’t think she ever cared for me at all.”

The grip on the keychain slacked as Bucky began to pace. He’d never told the story out loud, might not have even allowed himself to remember it fully since that night– that much you could gather by the strain in his voice as he spoke like every word was harder to say than the one before. Like the memories were digging into his spine, tugging him back into his past and shoving him onto the pavement in the alley.

“One of them came at me with a knife,” Bucky continued. He paused his pacing then, glancing cautiously over at you before slowly, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it above his ribs. A raised scar ran along his torso – pink and faded with time but still angry, still jagged and tangible. Your stomach twisted at the sight. You looked away.

“I did what I had to do,” Bucky said quietly, as though it pained him. “I fought back. They would have killed me. They almost did if Sam didn’t find me in time. It was self-defense. It’s only ever been self-defense.”

You didn’t know who Sam was, but you imagined he was in the 107 club as well. He was either incredibly reckless with little care for his own self-preservation, or he valued Bucky’s life to such an extent that the danger of crossing the border was worth saving his friend’s life. You wondered briefly if Rollins would dare risk his life to cross into enemy territory to save Rumlow’s.

Bucky’s story seemed plausible enough – aligned with cruelty of what Hydra was capable of. But there were still too many questions unanswered, too many pieces of the man standing in front of you, you were not able to reconcile on your own.

“The rumors,” you choked out, wincing at how rough your voice sounded. Bucky’s head perked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes that you would entertain his offer to explain at all. “I’ve heard about the 107, Bucky. I know what you’ve done to the people in the east and—”

“They’re all lies,” Bucky replied quickly. “Nothing but stories we made up to intimidate Hydra, to give us enough credibility to keep those bastards away from as many people as we could. Kids starting telling some of their own to scare each other and we didn’t deny them. It helped keep Hydra at bay.”

You swallowed. Could that really be possible? Could it be that the mask Bucky wore was the monster of the 107, not the man who strolled into your shop each day at lunch and made your heart beat so badly it felt like it could burst? Could he be every bit the man you hoped he was?

“What about the protection fees?” you asked, thinking back to what Wanda had said of the 107 charging businesses under the guise of security.

“A lie to make Hydra think we had a market over the businesses on our side of the border,” Bucky explained. “They were pushing into the shops by the Centenarian, threatening to burn them to the ground. We made a show of insinuating that we already laid claim to them. It’s the only thing Rumlow would respect. We don’t take money from anyone, I swear it. Mrs. Marcovaldo at the café across the street gives me free coffee for keeping Hydra off her back but only because she won’t let me pay a dime. That’s as far as it goes.”

You held your breath, listening intently. The keychain slipped from your grip and you placed it on the counter. Bucky's eyes followed the movement, his gaze fixated upon the tension releasing from your hands, the marks of the keychain imprinted upon your palm.

“So, it’s all a story?” you questioned slowly. “The 107... you’re not... you’re not like Hydra at all?”

Bucky shook his head, relief pouring through his body. “That’s right, doll. We’re still a biker club. Still got rides parked outside the bar, but we’re not interested in staking claim on this town. If there’s a fight, it’s because Hydra didn’t give us a choice. The cops aren’t doing shit to protect this town. Someone had to step up.”

Tears blinked from your eyes and Bucky’s face slacked. Panic rusted into his features, mistaking your tears for the same fear you carried when he walked inside the shop in Rumlow’s wake.

“Doll, please don’t cry,” Bucky begged, his voice barely a whisper. “Please, honey. Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it. Let me fix this.”

You took a step closer to him as he rambled, his hands closed to fists as if to hold back the shaking.

“I’ll take you to the Centenarian,” he offered desperately. “You can meet the club. Steve—Steve's my best friend. Used to be a tiny little shrimp but he’s a giant now. You’ll see. Sam’s a huge pain in my ass. Drives me absolutely nuts. But he’d take a bullet for me, I know that. I’d do it for him most days. Natahsa—you'd like Nat. She's scary as hell but—you'd like her. She likes you, I think.”

You were halfway across the shop when Bucky’s eyes fell to the tracks of tears slipping over your jawline. He clenched his jaw as you approached.

“Peter’s just a kid. Carries french fries in his pockets,” he continued, listing off his family in an effort to prove they were nothing like the Hydra club you recognized. “Stark’s an old washed-up genius of some kind and he still sticks around in a shitty run-down bar with us. Pretends like he’s above it all, but I know the old man cares more than he lets on. Barton—hell, I don’t even know where Barton came from but I—”

You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s waist and he froze. Arms held out by his sides; his breathing stopped entirely. You rested your ear against his chest, listening for the fast, heavy pumping of his heart. Your hands slid along his spine, touching the thick material of his jacket and the low dip of his back. You breathed him in as your tears wet the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Y/n?” he whispered, terrified to so much as speak your name in fear he might scare you away.

“I believe you,” you exhaled against his chest and Bucky’s knees wobbled. You clung to him, holding him steady as his arms circled around you. You swore for a moment that you could feel the fractured, jagged pieces inside his ribcage mold back together with glue and tape, fusing into the messy, misshapen heart you'd convinced yourself was absent and hollow. The heart he’d had all along when you were too afraid to look beyond the tales whispered in the dead of night.

The warm graze of Bucky’s lips peppered over your hairline – timid and gentle, asking. Hesitant and still, desperate; like the distance had hurt him worse than the lies of the 107 had hurt you. As if being deprived of your laughter, of your pastel floral dresses, of the sunlight smile on your face, of your sheer presence was enough to render him aching and helpless.

You held him tighter, begging for the days lost to your own fear.

Bucky didn’t say a word as his hands slid along your spine, fingertips gingerly stroking the ends of your hair, but you could feel the apologies, the words unsaid, slipping through his touch.

I’m sorry, as a hand brushed against the small of your back.

I missed you, as he rested his lips against your forehead. Lingering. Present.

Please forgive me, as his arms circled around your shoulders, holding you closer to him, like he was afraid you might slip through the cracks in the title if he let go for even a second.

Don’t hate me, as his breath coaxed against your skin. Warm and shaken. Nerves still nestled into his lungs.

Let me make this right, as something hitched inside his chest when your hands slid up along his cheeks, gently brushing the tense muscle from his jawline.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and Bucky’s eyes widened, stunned you would say such a thing. He quickly shook his head, trying to absolve you before you could even admit to your failing. “I should have known you weren't... I should have trusted that you...”

“No,” Bucky answered instead, his hand resting over yours, fingertips curling around your palm as you held his face. “You were protecting yourself. I know what they write about me in the papers. I know what the town thinks of me, what they believe me to be. Knowing all that, cutting me off... it was the right thing to do, honey. The smart thing. I just wish I’d had the courage to tell you the truth of it when we met, before you found out about this mess on your own. Could have saved us a whole lot of hurt.”

“Could have,” you nodded, your thumb drawing a tender line along the stubble on his jaw, “though I’m not sure I would have had the strength to believe you then. Not with what I know about Hydra.”

A line pressed into Bucky’s forehead, a question narrowing his eyes, though he did not press for an answer. Enough truth had been spilled and you didn’t know if you had the resilience to empty the darkest parts of your shame to him just yet. You ached to. You hoped you’d find the courage to. Soon. Because the chance that Bucky would only miss Rumlow by mere minutes again was too small to risk.

“It’s been easy to forget who I really am under all the rumors. I think I did for a while,” Bucky admitted, the thick tension in his muscle under your palm. He sighed, slowly bringing himself to meet your eye. “I need you to know that no matter what this town thinks of me, who I am with you is the closest I’ve ever felt to being myself again since this all started. Who I am with you is the realest part of me.”

You nodded, offering him a heavy smile. “I know that now. I just wish I had sooner.”

Bucky didn’t reply and you didn’t expect him to. There was little else either of you could say for the missed days stolen by the intricate weave of lies and rumors around this town. But he could hold you a little longer. You could lean into his chest and breathe in the warm scent of his jacket. He could press his lips to your temple and linger there for hours. You could finally feel safe again, wrapped in his arms.

It was all that held you together anymore.

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Oof! This was sad and sweet and I’m here for it!

For You

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!female!reader

Summary: Bucky is in love with you, but that will have to wait until after he saves you.

Word Count: 5.1K

Warnings: heavy angst, canon level injuries, mentions of blood, anxiety, happy ending I promise my loves

Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

It was just supposed to be another easy mission. You were supposed to get in, grab the intel, and get out, the place was supposed to be abandoned, but it never worked out that way. Honestly, Bucky was surprised that you guys still expected there to be no one there even after the countless bases you’d found agents in.

Bucky didn’t quite remember your last words before you got separated, but he remembered your look of determination as you led one group of Hydra agents away from him — he already had a group of three he was holding off while the hard drive finished downloading the files.

You should’ve been back by now, the three men Bucky fought were on the floor and the hard drive finished, but you were nowhere to be seen. Bucky was glancing over the floor, eyes quickly scanning the area for his comm that was ripped out of his ear by one of his assailants.

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Oh my god Kas!!! The absolute ANGST!!! You enjoy this chaotic cliff hangers, I swear!!!

But it hurt so damn good!! The scene of her asking him to go to the festival and the sweet little look on his face watching her enjoy the beauty! I can’t! 😭 it’s so good it hurts!!

Lord! Now I have to go on with my day and wait a WHOLE WEEK to see how Bucky comes to explain 😱😱

Delicate Edges (5)

series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky kept true to his word.

Each day at noon for nearly a week, he appeared under the soft chime of the bell hanging over the entrance of May Flowers, carrying paper bags of food and a promise to not hound you for flowers or let him sweep the shop even though it desperately needed it.

To your relief, Bucky hadn’t said a word when he first noticed the messy bouquet displayed proudly on your desk in the back corner of the store. Wild arrangements of colors and flowers that had no business sharing a vase. The bouquet he’d made for you the night before. Still – his smile lingered a little longer after that.

Once, he had tried to sneak a watering can behind your back to feed a succulent by the windowsill. Always determined to be helpful. And though it was a very sweet gesture, he almost certainly would have drowned the poor thing if you hadn’t caught him in time.

Most days, he showed up with food from the kitchen at the Centenarian, but every so often, he brought you treats from the different shops on the east side you hadn’t visited since you were a child. This time, Bucky managed to grab some bagels from the café you had visited every Thursday like clockwork with your mother as you were growing up after soccer practice. They had the best cream cheese in town, she used to say.

You’d only mentioned it once in passing – you were certain of it – and yet, Bucky came waltzing through the front door of your shop with an assortment of flavors and an extra tub of cream cheese for your fridge as if you had announced your love of the café on a megaphone.

When he set the bag casually on the counter, you had looked at him in awe, wondering how he could be so thoughtful and observant, but Bucky just shrugged it off. Told you it wasn’t much trouble at all. He had an in with the owner that let him skip the long lines, apparently. And you supposed it was true, that he probably didn’t think much of it at all, didn’t realize how meaningful it was to you that he listened so intently to everything you said.

This man – who wore silver rings on his fingers and coated himself in black denim, fraying flannel, and old army jackets, who could easily intimidate just about anyone on the street – and here he was surrounded by flowers and bringing you bagels and smiling at you even when you hadn’t said a thing at all. Rough edges surrounded by such intricate delicacy.

“So, the Lilac Festival is today,” you said suddenly, trying to keep your voice even as Bucky raised a brow at you. He popped a bite of blueberry bagel in his mouth, a stray spec of cream cheese at the corner of his lips. His tongue darted out and brushed it away. You own bagel remained largely untouched on nerves alone.

“I’m familiar,” Bucky grinned, waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed, hands fidgeting in your lap as your gaze shifted to just about every corner of the shop to avoid meeting his eyes. "I was... um... wondering if you’d want to go? I was planning on closing soon because half the town will be there anyway so it’s not like the shop will see much business while it’s going on, and it’s always so beautiful with the flowers in bloom and the kettle corn is to die for, and I’m sure it’s probably not your thing with the whole rugged barkeep look you’ve got going but I—”

“You’ve already sold me, doll,” Bucky laughed, interrupting what had started as a well-rehearsed speech before you got distracted by the tattoo peaking carefully out from under his sleeve. You’d thought it would take him until the fried Oreos part of the pitch before he gave in, but something about the way he was looking at you made you wonder if he would have agreed without any persuasion at all. He’d been smiling from the moment you started talking.

“Oh, well... good.” You pressed a hand to your cheeks, trying to stifle the warmth there before he noticed. But damn this man – he seemed to notice every little thing about you.

“Come on.” Bucky swallowed the last bite of his bagel and offered his hand. “Let’s go see some lilacs.”

You stared at him for a moment – studying the callouses on his palms; evidence of a lifetime of labor and still, an impossible tenderness within it. You’d fantasized about those hands and what they might feel like – only had glimpses of spare touches that didn’t last nearly long enough to memorize.

Bucky waited patiently for you to take his hand. He didn’t so much as say a single word until you made the next move, giving you the time you needed to grant yourself a moment's worth of courage.

You swallowed and slowly placed your hand into his. His fingers melded easily against yours, his touch grounding with every light squeeze, his thumb gently coaxing down yours in comforting sweeps. He tugged you to your feet and to your surprise, he did not release your hand as he guided you to the door.

Before you locked up, you dared a single glance back at the register, allowing the feeling of Bucky’s hand to keep you centered, to remind you that no soul would show face in your shop with the Lilac Festival just down the street, to let go of the dread and panic Hydra instilled in you for just a moment.

The single hour at your lunch break you spent with Bucky was the best part of your day. In those moments, you could actually let yourself forget about the debt and the dwindling cash in the register. You could live in a world where Hydra wasn’t looming around the corner, waiting for you to slip so they could burn your livelihood to the ground.

With Bucky – you were safe; far away from the biker clubs and the monstrous men who ran them.

***

By the time you made it to the festival, the streets were lined with people. Shoulder to shoulder, parading down the open roads along concession stands. On the open field to your left, a local band was playing on the center stage to a crowd lined along the grass with picnic blankets and coolers of beer. A smile curved up at your cheeks as you felt the bass reverberate into your chest.

The air smelled of kettle corn and funnel cake – coaxing old memories to the surface of sticky fingers and powdered sugar on the front of your dress, your parents strolling hand in hand as you rushed ahead in Velcro sneakers to the lilac bushes along the park. You wondered if the same family was still running the kettle corn stand by the stage. They used to have plastic bags larger than your six-year-old body, stuffed to the brim with sticky, sweet popcorn.

“Busier than I expected,” Bucky raised his voice by your ear in an effort to be heard over the rush of people. His hand was still laced into yours, his fingers flexing and gripping against your own and you glanced up at him curiously. He tugged his baseball cap lower over his eyes, keeping his gaze on the ground.

“Why don’t we go to the park first?” you offered, wondering if perhaps he was the sort to get nervous in crowds. He seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, to avoid the curious glances of strangers, to make himself invisible the further you slipped into the crowd.

The sea of guests veered towards the concession stands, games, and live music, with little breakaway to the festival’s namesake. You knew it would be quiet in the gardens and Bucky seemed to relax a bit at the prospect. He nodded at you, squeezing your hand in response; in gratitude, perhaps. You tugged on his hand, leading him through the flooded streets until you met the park gates.

You paused at the edge, slowing your pace as you stepped inside. It was easy to be taken back by such a sight, you’d almost forgotten what it was like to be enveloped in such beauty. It had been years since you’d attended the festival. You hadn’t had the strength to try after your parents passed – drowning under your grief and the reminders of the love you shared on bright, colorful display.

But as you stepped forward with Bucky’s hand gripped tight in your own – the paralyzing grief hadn’t taken you as you thought it would. Instead, a warm fondness spread through your chest, a smile gently rising upon your lips. Happy, kind memories dancing around you.

Rows full of pink, purple, and white lilacs covered most of the garden. Some standing taller than even Bucky’s height and creating an arch over the walkway. Honeybees gently landed on the petals, going about their business as they jumped from flower to flower undisturbed.

When you looked over at Bucky again, he was watching you with a sort of amusement in his eyes, his body relaxed now that he was away from the swarm of people in the street. He must have noticed you observing the bees and the smile that had crept upon your lips in the process.

“You really love this stuff,” Bucky said casually, a simple observation thought it felt as though it was inscribed into your bones.

You nodded, fixated by the abundance of purples mixed into a single brand of lilac – fading from a deep, royal shade to the softest pastel. Such complex, beautiful things. You sighed, chewing on the inside of your lip. “Do you think it’s silly?”

Bucky only shook his head. “I don’t think anything you’re passionate about could be silly. You’re wonderful at what you do. You should be proud of that.”

You blinked, studying the sincerity upon his features. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Bucky furrowed his brow because, of course, he meant that. Why would he tell you anything different?

Perhaps you were used to men thinking your shop was a simple pastime – that it was little more than obligation to your parents that kept the shop alive and a hobby born of feminine intuition. But even if Hydra wasn’t holding you to a mountain worth of debt and chaining you to the flower shop until your ankles bled, you would still love May Flowers with everything you had, you’d still adore the colors and the arrangements and the smiles when a customer bent down to smell the bed of roses.

May Flowers was the last remaining tie you had to your parents. You'd grown up in that shop. And maybe there was something to be said for the girl who spent her life feeling powerless, who cared for such beautiful things even as they wilted and died; lost from the very moment the stem was cut but still alive, still giving. Biding time. Made to be beautiful in the face of a clear and present end.

You felt Bucky’s hand slide along your arm, moving to cup gently at the side of your face. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, his chest rising a little higher with every breath as his gaze flickered to your mouth. You watched the way his tongue darted over his lower lip, how pink and plump and desperate to be touched they were. They were lips that deserved to be kissed. A man who deserved to be kissed.

With your heart racing and giving no time for the shadowed thoughts in the back of your mind, you closed the space between you. Bucky’s breath hitched in surprise the moment your lips touched his own but you could feel the way they curved up into a smile, how his hands made their way to your lower back and tugged you closer against him.

Surrounded in a sea of lilacs, you kissed a man you’d sworn you’d known your whole life, a man you’d only met just a few weeks earlier when he chased off a drunk on the east side after sunset. This wonderful, charming man who gave excuse after excuse to show up at your shop and buy flowers just for the sake of seeing you again. And here he was, kissing you as if his only air was that of your lungs.

He nipped at your lower lip, his hands coaxing along your spine. It took nearly all your restraint to not jump straight into his arms – to feel the full press of his body against yours, the hard scrape of a tree on your back. You kissed him until your lungs were burning, and then, you kissed him some more.

Bucky pulled back for only a moment – lips all swollen and red, his cheeks flushed, gasping for air and laughter on his breath, eager for more. But then, his eyes flickered beyond your shoulder and everything stilled.

His gaze narrowed in what appeared to be recognition; his body rigid. The smile slowly faded from his swollen lips, stealing the warmth he carried just moments prior. You felt him turn to stone under your palms.

***

“Bucky?”

He could only vaguely hear your voice over the rush of blood in his ears. Palms sweating. Heart pounding. Numb.

How could he have allowed himself to forget his own nature? His own history and the boundaries he had drawn? How had he gotten so wrapped up in you? How could he not – when you looked at him like he might carry the entire sky in his eyes?

Standing at the edge of the street, just beyond the entrance to the park – still within eyesight, still with earshot – was the woman that had once handed Bucky over for slaughter.

She still had the same dark hair, still tied up away from her face without a single strand out of place. Heels clicking against the pavement in rhythm with the racing pulse inside his chest. Red lipstick painted over her pointed mouth, a leather jacket hanging off her shoulders twice her size. On its back – the emblem of a single skull, six tentacles. Bucky could hardly tell whether his heart was beating too quickly or not at all.

Dot had her hands wrapped around the bicep of a man Bucky didn’t recognize, but he could tell by his size that the jacket she wore belonged to him. She was laughing at something he said, a little too hard – always over compensating— and the man looked rather pleased with himself.

Bucky’s lungs started to burn. He hadn’t seen her since that night. He wasn’t supposed to ever run into her again. He’d known she’d shacked up with Hydra after what happened, but to see it with his own eyes was something else entirely. His knees felt weak, his stomach in knots. Just looking at her brought back the terrible pain in his ribs – hot as flame – and he let his hand brush over the scar; the raised edges exposed under his shirt. It ached worse than it had since the blade broke his skin.

If Dot saw him, she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d sell him out. She’d done it before.

“What’s wrong?” you called again; worry etched in your voice. Your gaze roamed over him as if he’d been injured, searching for something tangible that could have shifted him to panic so rapidly. He could feel your hands sliding over his arms, up to his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you again. He was breathing too quickly – dizziness was rushing to his head.

“Bucky, what is it?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, wincing at his tone. “I just— I—”

I saw the woman who betrayed me to Hydra and if she recognizes me, I’m dead.

But Bucky didn’t tell you that. He couldn’t. Doing so would expose his status in the 107. And because he was selfish and a coward, Bucky wasn’t ready for you to know just yet. He wanted to hold onto this a little longer before he risked ruining it under the burden of rumors and violence. He wanted to keep you for himself – to have something beautiful and kind, something that Hydra and the mess he’d created could not touch.

He didn’t allow himself to consider the implications should Dot see him with you, what it could mean for Hydra to plant a target on your back for the sake of manipulating him. It would work. He knew with absolute certainty that it would. He’d bend and break to whatever they demanded if it meant keeping you safe. It wasn’t a risk he could take.

“I... I have to go,” Bucky stammered, his voice aching as if every word caused him pain. It did. He felt the burn of it deep into his lungs, melting like steel into his stomach. The hurt that flashed over your features was enough to cripple him entirely.

“... go?” you repeated quietly, taking a step back as you let your hands fall away from him. A chill rushed to his skin into their place and he desperately craved their return.

This was all wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t ever supposed to run into Hydra. But he knew now that was a foolish fantasy. He was treading on their turf, pretending as if he could live a normal life outside of the rumors he’d created, outside of the biker gangs and clubs and the crime he was known for and hadn’t committed.

The first time he kissed you... it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He wasn’t supposed to run.

“I’m sorry, doll. I want to stay, believe me, I want to stay with you, but I—” Bucky racked his brain for excuses, but couldn’t find a single one. He hadn’t dared to look over his shoulder again to see if Dot had spotted him yet. He started inching his way backward, putting space between you that physically ached. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I have to go.”

“Was it the kiss?” you murmured, hands wringing in front of you as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. Bucky’s stomach dropped, plummeted twenty feet down until it was coated in dirt and sand and shredded on the edges. Embarrassment clung to your cheeks, shame burning hot as you avoided his eyes. “Should I not have—”

“No,” Bucky rushed back to you, his hands pressed to the sides of your face. He kissed your forehead, then your temples – gingerly, desperately, because he needed you to understand how badly he wanted to stay. “I promise that’s not it, honey. It was wonderful. You’re wonderful. I want as many of your kisses as you can possibly give me but I... I have to go. I have... a... uh... a shift... at the bar. I just realized.”

It was a lie. You both knew it was, but it was all he could offer.

Slowly, you nodded, gaze sinking to the floor. He couldn’t stand that he’d taken some of the light from your eyes, the joy you’d had just moments earlier, but the idea of risking your safety just to spend a few more moments by your side wasn’t enough. Bucky pressed a final kiss to your cheek, lingering there just a moment longer, hoping to convey how badly he wished he were anywhere else, wished he were anyone else, just to have this moment with you.

“I’ll call you tonight,” Bucky promised. He stepped back, his hold on you slipping through the tips of his fingers. You made no effort to stop him, barely even looked at him. Bucky’s heart cleaved down the center. “Y/n, please...”

“Go, Bucky. It’s... It’s fine,” you shrugged, looking back to the crowd longingly. You couldn’t mask the hurt upon your face, though you tried. ��I shouldn’t have left the shop anyway. I’ll just go back.”

“No, stay,” Bucky tried to urge, knowing he was running low on time. “Please, stay. For me? I know how much you wanted to see the lilacs. Twenty minutes, okay? You can tell me all about it tonight, doll. Please.”

He didn’t want to ruin another thing for you today. God—he just wanted you to be happy and his past was out here mucking it up, stealing away the smile he adored so much. He’d seen the way you looked at the lilacs, understood they held more meaning than you let on, and hated himself for coming between that. He reached a hand towards you but stopped himself. He couldn’t let himself touch you again, not if he wanted to leave before Dot saw him.

Slowly, you nodded. It was hardly a relief, but Bucky didn’t have the time to make this right – at least, not yet. He’d find a way to make it up to you tomorrow. He’d do whatever it took because he knew how bad this must look to you – to panic and made up a bullshit excuse to leave just moments after you’d kiss him, after you’d so clearly been nervous to even ask him to come to the festival with you.

He’d tell you everything, he decided. But not here. Not now. Not like this.

He had to go.

Bucky stepped back, daring a look over his shoulder to make sure Dot was out of view, and he disappeared into the crowd. He wouldn’t allow himself to turn back for you. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to again.

***

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you know that?” Sam grumbled, slamming a glass of beer on the bar in front of Bucky hard enough that some of it splashed up over the sides and spilled down the glass.

“Are you sure it was Dot?” Steve asked slowly.

Bucky nodded, his jaw aching from how tight it had been clenched. “Don’t know who she was with but he was definitely Hydra. She didn’t see me as far as I could tell. The fact that the Hydra club hasn’t shown up at our door in retaliation proves as much.”

Steve exhaled a tense breath, his hand curling to a fist against the bar. It took a lot to break Steve from his carefully constructed exterior but nothing seemed to do so better than the woman that managed to break Bucky’s heart and nearly get him killed in the same night.

“This is reckless,” Steve warned, “even for you.”

“I think the solution is pretty clear.” Tony shrugged from his position at the end of the bar. His phone was in his hand, a game of Tetris lit up on the screen – always pretending as though he was half paying attention. “You need to stop seeing the flower girl.”

“Her name is Y/n and that’s not gonna happen,” Bucky bit back sharply. The flimsy off-handedness with which Tony referred to you made Bucky’s blood boil. He had no idea what you were to Bucky. You weren’t just some girl he was busying his time with – making games of risking his life by walking through the west side where Hydra could spot him at any second. He knew the consequences. Hell – he'd been the one to negotiate them. He knew what Hydra would do to him if they caught him on the west.

You were simply worth the risk.

“Does she know about the 107?” Peter asked, propping himself up against the bar. He grabbed a french fry from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. Then, he wordlessly handed on to Clint, the two of them sharing a short nod.

“Kid has a good point,” Natasha said. “If Y/n knew the risk you were taking by showing your face on the west side, she might be more understanding about going out in public and potential run-ins with your psycho ex-girlfriend and her new Hydra buddies.”

Bucky shot her a pointed look, though Nat gave him no ground.

“She doesn’t know,” Bucky admitted, guilt weighing in his stomach. “What am I supposed to tell her? You've heard the rumors about us. Hell, we fuel half those rumors ourselves. Things have been going so well and I—I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“You’ll have to tell her eventually,” Steve agreed, exchanging a short glance with Natasha. The whole damn club was conspiring against him – even if they were all entirely right.

Bucky sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I just thought I’d have more time.”

Steve patted Bucky lightly on the back, taking his leave from the bar stool to give him space. He grabbed the back of Peter’s apron on his way and tugged the kid to back to the table of dirty dishes in the corner of the bar. Clint and Natasha made their way to the dart board and Tony turned in for the night, going home to the family. Bucky could hear the low purr of the bike as it roared to life outside the bar. Only Sam was left behind the counter, his arms crossed as he watched Bucky carefully.

“Don’t fuck this up, Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you been after me to end this since the beginning?”

“I’ve been after you to stop being so careless with your damn life,” Sam huffed. “Otherwise, what the hell did I save your ass for, huh? Shoulda let you bleed out in the middle of the west side.”

Bucky exhaled. He could still feel the pricks of stones in his back, the sticky wet soak of blood against his clothes. His knuckles aching, split open and exposing bone. Out of breath, barely conscious. Swollen. He’d been staring up at the stars when Sam found him – the unconscious bodies of four men laid around him. He hardly remembered the fight at all

“How long are you going to hold that over me?”

“Until you die,” Sam replied simply.

“I was still arrested, Sam. Lotta good you did.”

“You beat four Hydra goons into the hospital and the cops are in their pocket. Of course, you were arrested.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I survived at all.”

“You’re lucky I found you and dragged your sorry ass back to this bar!”

Bucky clenched his glass so tightly he was sure it might crack beneath his grip.

He nearly bled out on the floor only a few feet away from where he was sitting now. Natasha had hovered over him on her knees, hands expertly steady as she threaded a needle through his torso. Alcohol washed over the wound and he’d barely felt it at all. If he looked hard enough, the faint outline of a bloodstain still remained on the old wood floors.

“You know... this woman might actually be good for you, Buck,” Sam said, his voice quieter as he leaned against the counter. “Not that I notice this shit, but... you’ve been happier since you started going ‘round her place. Smiling more. Haven’t seen you like that in a long time.”

Bucky raised a brow. It was a rare moment when Sam Wilson offered up a compliment. “You going soft on me, Wilson?”

Sam scoffed as if he were offended by such a suggestion. “See, this is why I don’t say nice things to you.”

Bucky laughed, punching Sam in the shoulder until he let go of his frown in favor of a toothy grin. Sam was a pain in Bucky’s ass but he would bleed for him the same way he would any other member of the 107. They were brothers. Fighting, bickering brothers, but still brothers.

“I’m going to clear my head,” Bucky said, setting the untouched glass of beer back on the counter. Sam gave him a pointed look and swiftly finished the pint himself before Bucky could make it to the door.

There was little else that could clear Bucky’s mind when the churn of anxiety rushed into his body, but he knew the moment he stepped out into the cool night air he’d find a glimpse of relief.

His bike was parked just beyond the sidewalk, beckoning him, gingerly calling his name. He ran his hand along the engine, smoothing over the black paint and metal framing. It grounded him unlike anything else.

This was his security – his stability. Just him on the open road.

Bucky climbed on the back, sighing as the engine purred to life. Loud in his ears, blocking out the racing thoughts he struggled to contain. He tugged the helmet over his head, adjusting the visor to block the rays of the setting sun in the distance. Before he pulled out, Bucky stole a longing glimpse to the west side, wondering whether you might ever climb on the back with him - your arms wrapped snug around his middle, chest pressed to his back, your voice ringing of laughter in his ear.

A sad smile tugged at his lips as he turned to the east. He’d give himself an hour on the road before he called you. Another twelve before he’d tell you the truth.

The familiar hum of the engine and the rush of wind would have to be enough to ease him until then.

***

“You’ve been acting strange lately.” Wanda set her cup on the edge of the counter, her eyes narrowing on you suspiciously. She tucked one of the pillows from your couch onto her lap, turning to face you as if she was preparing for an interrogation. “Spill.”

You shrugged, heat flushing into your cheeks. “There’s nothing to talk about, Wanda.”

“You’re holding out on me.” She pointed to a bouquet sitting on your mantle; one you brought down to the shop in the mornings and carried back to your apartment at night. The flowers were starting to wilt with age but you’d been hoping against the odds that they might live forever for the sheer sake of the man who strung them together. Wanda rolled her eyes. “I know for a fact you didn’t put that monstrosity together. Someone important to you did it. A man, I presume. Otherwise, you wouldn’t put that mess on display.”

“You presume a lot, Wanda.”

“Am I wrong?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

You sighed, glancing over to the flowers. A smile crept up on your lips despite yourself at the memory of Bucky carefully sliding the stems into the vase with a surprising tenderness. Wanda seemed rather pleased with herself because of it.

But then, the image was quickly replaced with Bucky disappearing into the crowded streets – his back to you, eager and desperate to get as quickly away from you as he could manage. You pressed your mouth into a frown, biting your lip hard enough to string.

“It doesn’t matter anyway” you replied tensely. “I don’t know if he’s coming around anymore after today.”

A flash of surprise crossed Wanda’s features. “Why? What happened?”

Bucky was never a secret, but perhaps you’d enjoyed having something for yourself – unclouded by the weight of neighborhood gossip and expectations. You hadn’t avoided the subject, but you also hadn’t gone out of your way to tell your friend of the man who taught you how to smile again. So, you started at the beginning.

You told her of the first day Bucky had shown up in your store, when he’d wandered in to make sure you’d gotten home safe after your run in with the drunk outside his bar. How it quickly developed in a needless excuse to check in on you, to see you and spend time with you. How his bar had become flooded in flowers by the end of the week and he'd been responsible for a sizable percentage of your profits in the past month.

You told her that he brought you food on your lunch breaks and made you laugh until your eyes watered. You told her about the ridiculous arrangement of flowers he’d made and the kiss he left behind on your cheek you swore you could feel for hours after he’d left. You told her that he was your favorite part of each day and you found yourself missing him when he was gone.

Wanda listened quietly, her curiosity molding into something unreadable as she nodded along. She didn’t interrupt you once, not even to tease you for your obvious affection as she normally would. Her expression was stoic, her grip on her mug firm.

You finished your story by recalling the events at the Lilac Festival; how you had tried to work up the courage to ask him every day in the week leading up to the festival, but chickened out at the last minute each time. It was different than just sitting around in your shop and eating takeout. This would be something different entirely – to go out in public together, to do something purposeful. A date, maybe. Your cheeks burned at the thought.

Then, you told Wanda about the kiss and how quickly he’d run off afterward. Shame and humiliation flamed on your skin. You still couldn’t figure an explanation for it. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he’d actually had a shift at the Centenarian but he’d seemed genuine in his reluctance to leave. The only logical explanation you could imagine was that he’d changed his mind about you and because he was a decent man, he felt guilty about leading you on. He had to get out before you fell in too deep.

“I think it might be over,” you shrugged, trying to downplay the disappointment in your voice. “Supposedly he’s going to call tonight but I’m not holding my breath.”

Wanda tapped her fingers against the edge of her mug. There was a heaviness in her eyes, a hesitation as she waited for you to finish. “You said his name was Bucky? Bucky... Barnes?”

You narrowed your eyes, confused as to why she was caught up on his name given everything you’d told her. “I don’t know his last name but—”

“You need to see this.”

Wanda set the mug on the coffee table and pulled out her phone. The light illuminated against her face, soaking into the worry lines upon her forehead, the nervous twitch in her nose. The faint clicks of her nails against the glass filled the silence of the apartment, allowing room for your heart to race in response. She glanced up at you apologetically before she extended the phone to you.

You glanced down at it reluctantly, catching a glimpse of the screen for only a second before your breath caught— pulled straight from your lungs, lead building in your stomach. Weighing. Suffocating.

Bucky’s image was displayed at the center of the article, his face bloodied and bruised, left eye swollen shut. In front of his chest, he held a series of numbers on a blackboard, the bright lights of a flash reflecting in his one good eye. Even the blue you’d come to know so well seemed muddled – tainted by the blood dripping from his brow.

“What is this?” you gasped, horrified by the very thought of Bucky ever having been beaten so badly. He looked as though he was barely conscious, struggling to stand on his own. The second image contained his side profile and you recognized the scar along his jawline – though here, it was opened and bloody. Fresh. You blinked away tears. “What... What happened to him? Why are you showing me this?”

Wanda’s gaze flickered to the screen; her jaw clenched tightly. “He put four men in the hospital that night. Beat them within an inch of their lives.”

You blinked, stunned by the mere thought of Bucky being capable of such violence. “What? No, that’s... that’s ridiculous.”

The phone was shaking in your hand as Wanda struggled to find the right words to respond. You forced yourself to read the article under his mugshot, your vision blurring with every new line.

It had happened in what looked like a turf war struggle between Hydra and the 107 a year earlier. Bucky was the only one to flee the scene, the rest brought to the hospital in stretchers. The police had tracked him down on the east side and arrested him on the floor of the Centenarian. He was in the middle of being treated for a stab wound – the needle and thread still hanging from his torso as they cuffed him.

He was charged with four counts of assault for the attack against the Hydra club. It didn’t stick, but only because Hydra didn’t press charges. They preferred to settle their grudges on the streets.

You shook your head, blood pooling into your mouth. You barely felt the sting in the inside of your cheek as you bit through the flesh. This couldn’t be right. It wasn’t possible. Because that would make him... Bucky would have to be...

“He’s in the 107...?” You barely recognized your own voice. You clamped your hand over the loose chain of your father’s watch – the metal digging into your palm. You squeezed it – desperate to find something to cling to, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t draw out your panic – not this time.

Wanda steadied her hand against your knee, digging her fingers into your thigh to ground you. “He’s not just in the 107, Y/n. He’s their leader. He's the Brock Rumlow of the east.”

Your heart came to an agonizing stop. Silence inside your chest. Blood stilling in your veins.

“No,” you managed to choke out, the lump building in the back of your throat suffocating you. “No. That’s not—that's not possible. I know Bucky. He’s not— He wouldn’t—”

You looked to the bouquet on the mantle – the cluttered mess of bright colors stuffed haphazardly inside the vase. Bucky wasn’t vindictive or cruel. He wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t be. He’d been nothing but sweet and charming and kind from the day you met him – a startling contrast to his dark layers of clothing and the tattoo peering out under his sleeve. Bucky was a good man. You were sure of it but—

You’d heard the rumors of the 107. You knew they were just as vicious, just as violent as Hydra was. They’d only drawn the lines through the center of town and you so helplessly fell within their enemy’s territory. Hydra was the demon you knew— the one that lingered over your shoulder, its breath made of fire against your skin, its claws sinking into your skin. It dragged you under the surface beyond where oxygen could touch your lips. Suffocating you. Claiming you.

The 107 was simply a beast of a different name.

And if Bucky was not only a member of the 107 club, but the leader... the man who orchestrated the extortion of decent men and woman down on their luck, who would have taken advantage of men like your father who desperately sought the help of a monster to save his wife, who beat those who challenged his reign into submission...

You didn’t know a thing about Bucky at all.

He was playing you from the start. Some sort of twisted mind game or a mindless pastime to fuel his ego – pretending to care for the pathetic flower girl on the west side. Probably some ploy to get under Hydra’s skin.

Tears fell wet along the sides of your face, your body numb to the pressure of your nails as they dug into your palms. An image of Bucky lingering in the shadows flooded your vision; a cruel, twisted smirk unsettling against lips you’d kissed just hours earlier – holding debt like a noose over the businesses under his control in the east. He was merely Brock Rumlow of another shade.

Your phone buzzed inside the couch and you flinched hard enough to cut your cheek against your teeth. Wanda gently tugged the phone from between the cushion where it fell, a heavy look upon her face as she set it quietly on the counter. Upon the screen was an image of Bucky – dozens of flowers in his arms, drowning amongst the colors, a smile brightening his face and wrinkling by bright, blue eyes. You choked back a sob and turned the phone over so you did not have to look as his face as it continued to ring.

Wanda grabbed your hand in hers, holding it tightly as you sat in the silence together – allowing the call to go unanswered.

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Okay so this was absolutely beautiful!! But I read the warnings wrong and sobbed while reading this!!!

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨

summary ─ ten days later, james barnes got a call from the police.

pairing ─ bucky barnes & reader (platonic, one sided) [bucky barnes x natasha romanoff]

warnings ─ ANGST, implied major character death, i love me those apparently, soulmate au, i love that one too apparently, unrequited love, suicide mention, implied suicide

a/n ─ i swear this just wrote itself. i was supposed to be writing filth but ended up spitting 2.5k words of angst. hope you like it! all mistakes are my own. please leave a comment! thank you <3

What’s a soulmate?

Well, it’s like a best friend… but more.

It’s the one person in the world who know you better than anyone else.

____________

You’ve met Bucky Barnes when you were in high school, and from the second your eyes found each other, you knew he was your soulmate. You remembered the very first time you’ve seen him; it was across the field where he and his team were playing baseball. He was joking and laughing around with his friends when his warm, blue-grey eyes found yours. You remembered feeling warm and soft all around, like you were being hugged, and remembered the way your heart flipped and let out a joyous scream that meant one thing: He was your soulmate.

You didn’t tell him.

Keep reading

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Everyone MUST read this series!! I have never started something and devoured it so fast!!

It has the perfect mix of angst, fluff, Bucky being an emotional idiot, and a strong reader! I freaking love this story! It might be my newest favorite comfort fic!! @sweetascanbee has the most beautiful writing style and I literally cannot praise her enough! 🥰🥰🥰

Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader (Soulmate AU) originally posted on ao3

Summary: When you're sixteen years old, you get a soul mark with the letters 'JBB' emblazoned on your left wrist. The only problem is, soulmates pairings have basically gone extinct, and the man you've been paired with has been dead for seven decades.

Warnings: Canon-Divergence, Angst (like, kind of a lot of it, oops), Mild TFATWS spoilers (but very mild, not even significant)

(I'll post here every few days or so, but the whole thing is on ao3 in case you're impatience loll)

Chapter One: JBB

Chapter Two: Gloved Hands

Chapter Three: Sixteen Again

Chapter Four: The Stark Internship

Chapter Five: Hope Is A Four-Lettered Word

Chapter Six: That Missing Piece

Chapter Seven: Cold

Chapter Eight: Three Days In June, Part I

Chapter Nine: Three Days In June, Part II

Chapter Ten: Three Days In June, Part III

Chapter Eleven: Des Moines

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Oh man! This was JUST the thing I needed to come home to after the week I’ve had!!

I love this rough on the outside soft with his friends Bucky. Also that flower arrangement was ADORABLE!!

But really, BUCKY IS SO SMOOTH!!! Kissing her as if it wasn’t even a big deal! I’m dead!!

Loved it!!

Delicate Edges (4)

series summary: Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, it is only in moments when Bucky walks into your flower shop that you forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe. (Biker!AU) pairing: Bucky x reader chapter word count: 5k chapter warnings: sweet sweet floof, that lingering feeling of dread because you know the fluff can't last forever

series masterlist / series playlist

“I’m sorry about this, dear,” Mr. Jacobson sighed as he scratched the sparse grey hairs on his scalp. “I know it’s a smaller order than last time but business has been tight lately. I’m sure you understand.”

A lump formed at the back of your throat – threatening to withhold the last breath from your lungs. Mr. Jacobson was one of your biggest clients. He had placed biweekly orders at your shop for years; his loyalty to your parents extending long after their passing. But today, the flowers laid upon the counter were only half of his usual purchase. He was going to split the arrangements to cover the excess tables, he told you. He didn’t have the funds to spend on décor that would only wilt and die within the week.

Such beauty was a luxury he could no longer afford.

In the broad of daylight, the ghost of Rollin’s hands slid over your arms. Invisible, no more threatening than a memory, and yet, you felt his nose draw line along your neck, his breath hot as flame against your skin. Goosebumps prickled in its wake. The outline of a cold, looming shadow hung heavy in the corner of your shop, waiting patiently amongst the darkness before it took its shape. A monster bore the shape of a man as Brock Rumlow materialized from the painted night.

So real. So impossibly real, that you were certain the sun had fallen over the horizon in a matter of seconds, that the first Tuesday of the month had broken time itself to drown you under its weight.

A bell chimed at the front of the store.

The swift clutch of darkness faded in favor of the gentle streams of sunlight through the windows, the soft clicking of the clock as the hand inched along the morning hours. Reality swept back in as you handed Mr. Jacobson his change. He closed his grip around the money, a cautious glance in his eyes has he watched you. Your throat burned of sandpaper as you swallowed.

Just over Mr. Jacobson’s shoulder, a familiar figure hung in the doorway of your shop. Wearing the same baseball hat settled low over his eyes, hands shoved tightly into jacket pockets, Bucky leaned against the frame of the door, waiting patiently for you to notice him. He carried such a lightness to him – a levity you could not dare to touch as he pulled one hand from his jacket and waved at you. A smile crinkled up by ocean blue.

You waited for the dread to dissipate. For the anxiety to wash away at the mere sight of him. For the lightness to return to your body.

But the panic would not release you from its chains.

It had burrowed too deeply into your mind, into your body. It weighed heavier on your shoulders than what you could hope to carry – cracking your bones and crippling your spine; the imprint of a boot stamped to the center of your chest, your head underwater, your lungs drowning in the shallow end of the pool.

Mr. Jacobson offered you an apologetic grimace, his pity evident in his gaze, though he only meant to be kind. He couldn’t have known of your father’s deal with the devil, nor the contract inked in blood he’d unwittingly passed to you upon his death. Your parents had held their shame deep into their hearts; the secret of the Hydra club’s grip around their throats an unspoken threat. Pride was just as responsible for their suffering as the Hydra club was.

From the edge of the shop, Bucky was watching you with a soft furrow in his brow. His gaze raked over yours, searching for a smile you could not give in return, not with such a terrible ache nestled into your bones. His mouth fell into a frown, a wash of clouds shifting over the blue in his eyes.

For the last two weeks, you had waited eagerly for Bucky to return each day to your shop with a ridiculous new order. You spent hours looking through the windows for the striking blue of his eyes of his amongst the crowd of pedestrians, your heart pounding in your chest each time the bell chimed over the front door in hopes that he might be the one strolling underneath.

He had come nearly every day. Each time in search of flowers. And you hoped, in search of you.

Despite the worry nestled into the lines on Bucky’s face, he kept his distance while Mr. Jacobson gathered his flowers at the register. Bucky began to browse through the aisles, pretending as though he was just another customer, as if you didn’t anxiously wait for him to stroll through the front door, as if your heart didn’t threaten to burst at the sight of him.

But in the kindness of his stolen, cautious glances over his shoulder, dread began to swell and churn in your stomach. There was too much he didn't know about you. Too much he could never know. And this—this flirtation you shared was too fragile, too delicate to shatter under the weight of Hydra’s crimes. You could not soil this one bright spot of your day with the darkest parts of you.

Your hands began to shake, a boulder sitting square on the center of your chest. Mr. Jacobson’s lips were moving as if he were speaking. He wore lines by his eyes, a laugh on his chest. You could hardly hear a word he spoke over the ringing in your ears.

Across the shop, Bucky had stopped bothering to busy himself with the flowers. Instead, his shoulders were squared toward you, his steps inching closer – restraint colored into the tension of his hands as if it were a struggle to keep himself from lunging across the counter and drawing you into his arms.

You looked up at the ceiling, quickly counting the cracks in the panels as you desperately held back tears. Something hitched in the distance – a breath. Bucky’s. As if witnessing your distress had broken something in him. And you knew that if he only asked, you would have told him everything.

But you feared for the steeled boot that would crush his lungs in the water beside you. You feared for the open wounds on his face drawn by the sharp sting of skull coated rings. You feared the obligation that would eat away at him, the burden you’d become, the pity in his eyes.

He couldn’t know.

“You all right there, missy?”

You blinked, forgetting Mr. Jacobson was waiting for his receipt. Your heart was pounding so violently, you were sure he could hear it even without his hearing aids. Bucky looked up from the pot of hydrangeas, his gentle gaze searching for yours, though you could not meet his eye. You forced out a smile to your customer, nodding quickly.

“Yes. My apologies. Have a good day, sir,” you told him as he gathered his bouquets. Before he even made it halfway to the door, you rushed to the back of the shop, quickly busying yourself with paperwork for a valid excuse to hide from the one man you longed to run toward.

You could feel the shaking in your hands as you clenched them to fists, the short gasps of breath as you tried to stifle your tears. You’d never make enough for the payment at the end of the month, even with all of Bucky’s purchases. It had been foolish to think he could single handedly make up for the lack of business you’d had. It didn’t help that you felt dirty for even agreeing to take his money at all, but you so desperately needed it and Bucky was only flirting with you, wasn’t he? What harm could it do?

You closed your eyes, your right-hand clasping over your father’s watch as the doubt began to sink in. You knew Bucky wasn’t the kind to play with hearts, to tread lightly only to pull away at the last second. He cared. He cared perhaps a little too much. And if you were to allow yourself to care for him in return, you couldn’t keep taking advantage of his money.

“Y/n?” Bucky called from across the store after Mr. Jacobson disappeared out the front door. “Are you okay?”

You brushed at your eyes, trying to wipe away the evidence of unshed tears before you faced him. As you made your way over to him, pressing a smile against your lips that barely touched your eyes, you could feel his gaze studying you. He lingered a little longer on the indent in your lip, an imprint of your teeth as you'd tried to bite away the urge to cry.

He swallowed, though he didn’t say anything about the clear reflective streaks under your eyes. “Hey... So... I was hoping I could get something to plant outside the bar. Something a bit more sustainable that could bloom again after the winter?”

You were grateful for the change in subject, but even the mention of spending more of his money in your shop made you nauseous— caught in this terrible crossroad of needing the money more than you cared to admit and not wanting to take advantage of the man who so clearly used it as an excuse to see you. Somehow, despite all of your fears, you valued his presence over the weight of the register.

Against your better instincts, you shook your head. “You don’t have to keep wasting your money here just so I’ll spend time with you.”

Bucky frowned, a flash of surprise over his features. “Hey, come on now, I’m not wasting anything. The bar looks immaculate, I’ll have you know. Sure, the place is drowning in flowers, but maybe I like that. The regulars don't need a place to sit anyway.”

He smiled at you then and you tried to return it. Honestly, you did. You even let yourself picture the dingy dive bar you’ve never once stepped foot in that could quite possibly be home to the dangerous 107 club – a group just as deadly and despicable as Hydra – decorated in your flower arrangements. Tables and countertops, offices and chairs - covered in your flowers. A trail of tulips outside the bar would seem out of place even by your standards and yet, here he was asking for more.

“I can’t keep taking your money,” you stressed as you clenched your jaw, gaze trailing up to the ceiling to avoid the burning in your eyes.

“Are you going to refuse my business, doll?” Bucky chuckled, though his smile fell rather quickly when you looked at him again.

“Have you been keeping track of how much you’ve spent here?” you asked carefully, trying to stand your ground, though your voice trembled. “It’s a lot, Bucky. Please, don’t get me wrong – I’m incredibly grateful for your support and it—it means more than you can know, but I don’t want you to think you need to buy my time. I like spending time with you, Bucky. You don’t need to do this.”

Bucky nodded slowly; his hands shoved into his pockets as he glanced to the door.

Panic surged in your chest and you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that maybe he’d only ever seen this as a game, that now that you were offering yourself without the need for the roundabout flirting, he’d lose interest. The possibility hurt more than you cared to admit, aching worse than the dread Hydra left behind.

“What if we make a deal?” Bucky offered, smiling sweetly at you as your eyes flashed to him in surprise. “I’ll stop buying out half your shop and...” he paused, looking around the store, “you’ll let me come by on your lunch breaks. No transactions necessary. Though, you can’t fault me if I bring you something to eat, okay? I’m a little old fashioned at heart and I can't be showing up empty handed.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. Was he... was he talking about dates?

You pictured the two of you cramped up in the small table in the back of the shop, leaning towards one another as you shared a pizza from the joint down the street that favored the value of a decadent sauce over the cheese. Maybe he’d get a little tomato sauce in the corner of his mouth and maybe you’d lean over and brush it away with the corner of your thumb. His eyes might meet yours, slowly. Your fingers lingering against his cheek. He’d lean in and—

“What do you think, doll?” Bucky asked, nervously awaiting your response as he started to sway on his heels.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds... that sounds nice,” you nodded, the smile returning to your face and this time – it was genuine. Bucky seemed to have picked up on the differences quicker than he should have and he grinned at the sight.

He reached into his coat pocket then and pulled out his phone – scratches on the screen, a simple black case protecting the back. He handed it to you. “In case something comes up?”

On his home screen, there was an image of seven people huddled around the bar in what you assumed to be the Centenarian. Bucky was standing on the outskirts, looking rather reluctant to be in the photo at all, though he still managed a smile in time for the camera to go off; his hand around the shoulders of the blonde man on his left. The group was huddled around each other – a single red headed woman amongst six men. All dressed in dark colored jeans and holding beers in hand.

“These your friends?” you asked, gesturing to the photo. The one at the center looked much younger than the rest, almost giddy with excitement for just being there at all. He barely looked old enough to drink.

Bucky smirked. “Surprised I got ‘em?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving Bucky playfully in the arm. As he feigned terrible injury, you opened his contacts and added your number. At the top of the page, alongside your name, you added an emoji of a colorful bouquet. You handed the phone back to Bucky and when he smiled at it, your stomach lit up in knots.

“So,” he started, looking around the shop, “if I’m banned from making orders now, what if I helped out around here? What do you need done?”

“I never said you were banned from buying flowers again,” you argued, grinning wildly through the redness in your eyes. “I just don’t want you spending ridiculous amounts just to see me, is all."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, still awaiting orders.

You huffed, setting your hands on your hips in response. “I’m not going to put you to work, Bucky!”

He pursed his lips, taking a good, long minute to look at you. His eyes trailed down along your frame, sweeping over the edges of your face and the fabric of your dress, but it wasn’t in the same hungry, demeaning way you’d grown used to with Rollins. Instead, Bucky only seemed to be admiring you, taking his time to preserve a moment before he lost it. A shiver slipped up your spine under his gaze, finding that you wished his hands might follow the same pattern. He let out a careful sigh, hanging his head.

“You know I'd buy up the whole store if it meant you'd give me the time of day, don’t you?”

You swallowed, a little taken back by the sincerity in his voice. Slowly, you nodded.

“Good,” Bucky said. “So, tell me what I can do to help, doll.”

***

He ended up staying until closing. You made it very clear that this was a one-time thing and he’d be restricted to lunch breaks without manual labor in the future, but that only seemed to make him laugh more. The man was insistent, you’d give him that.

He swept the fallen leaves from the floor. Carried the heavy bags of soil from the basement and lined them up along the back wall. He watered the plants outside and washed the windows by the displays. He wasn’t exactly taking no for an answer, finding your resistance to his labor amusing as he trailed along the shop with the hose in hand and a smirk upon his lips.

After he’d managed to make his way through the entirety of your list, you’d resorted with challenging him to make an arrangement of his own. You were finishing up the last few bouquets for the window display in the morning and suddenly the thought of him leaving was unbearable. Surely, he wouldn’t mind just one more chore, right?

Bucky had gotten straight to work without a single complaint. You didn’t tell him you’d planned on keeping the bouquet for yourself, but you were curious as to what he would do if given free rein. There would inevitably be flowers that wilted before they could be sold and you supposed this was simply making use of them before they fell to waste. No harm done.

“Did I do it right?” Bucky called from the back of the shop.

He’d picked a group of flowers you never would have chosen to place together – a wide variety of colors and shapes, the stems a little all over the place and cut sporadically, but he was studying his work like he’d just created the next exhibit in the Louvre. Thumb stroking along his chin as he examined it, wondering if he should add the extra white rose he held in his hand to an already stuffed vase.

He narrowed his eyes as if seeing the flowers under a blurred vision might make it more presentable. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“A little,” you laughed, nudging him in the side as he feigned offense.

“Okay, well what if I...” Bucky started moving some of the flowers around, knocking some of the petals to the counter in his haste. It looked no different as he stepped back and turned to you for approval.

“Oh, well now it’s perfect,” you said and Bucky’s eyes just about lit up with joy. He grinned, smirking at the flowers as if he’d pulled something over on them, bested them at their own game. Competitive with a bunch of plants. You couldn't help the laughter as it echoed into the empty shop.

Bucky sighed, looking down at his watch. His gaze shifted to the setting sun outside the windows, a reluctant sinking in his shoulders. “It’s getting late. I should probably head back.”

The rush of laughter quickly died down, your smile faltering. Of course, he had to go home. Part of you had hoped you could stay in this moment forever – that you might not have to walk up the stairs to your empty apartment and he wouldn’t disappear over the horizon to the east side.

Bucky picked up his baseball cap from the counter and tugged it over his head, positioning the brim low on his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? No flower orders. No manual labor, even though I’m incredibly good at it. Just lunch, okay?”

You nodded eagerly, wondering if he could tell just how fast your heart was racing.

Before you could realize what he was doing, Bucky casually pressed a hand tenderly to the small of your back and kissed your cheek. Breath caught in your lungs as the warmth touched your skin, lingering for only a moment after he pulled away, giving you that sweet smile of his before he headed for the door.

“Goodnight, doll,” he called from the open doorway and then, you watched as he passed by the windows and disappeared down the sidewalk.

Heart still pounding, you touched your fingertips to your cheek where his lips had been. It was still tingling.

***

Bucky grinned the whole walk back to the east side. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, a little sticky from the sap of flower stems, and he couldn’t get your image out of his mind. Not with your nose all scrunched up as you pretended not to find his arrangement an insult to the craft, the flash of surprise over your features when he’d dared to lean in and brush his lips to your cheek before he left.

A dangerous move, certainly. Risky. But he’d been tempted since the first day he wandered into your shop and found you standing behind the counter, calling him Blue-eyes and making his heart race. It had been foolish of him at the time, because now he only wanted more.

He let his mind drift as he walked, wondering how you might feel if he pressed the full of his body against you, what you might taste like against his tongue. It hadn’t slipped his notice how intently you watched him, how your gaze sometimes flickered down to his lips while he was talking, how your teeth tugged on your lip to draw back your attention. There was no doubting it now – the fact that you saw something human in him most of this town had forgotten. You saw him and you wanted more.

Bucky hadn’t expected to know that feeling again. Not after Dot. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, given what she did, but now that it was you – you, with your pastel-colored, floral print dresses and hands full of flowers and the brightest damn smile he’d ever seen – he didn’t think he could ever go back. He wanted to live in this feeling forever – pretend that he didn’t carry the weight of half the town on his shoulders and a war with the neighboring club on the horizon.

As he passed into the east side, Bucky had nearly forgotten his reputation – too wrapped up in the normalcy you gave him – and he waved to a group of kids playing soccer on the open field to his left. They paused, staring blankly at him. Frozen, as if they were spooked deer paralyzed under the high beam of headlights at night. One kid smacked his friend on the arm and they all rushed off in different directions, leaving behind the ball rolling in the grass.

Bucky gritted his teeth, stopping the ball under his boot as it jetting out onto the sidewalk. He looked around for the kids to return it, but they were long gone. Their parents had drilled it into their heads at a young age to run at any sight of the 107, to avoid the danger that followed in their wake. There was little threat greater in the east than the monster who headed the 107 club. And well, Bucky supposed the rumors were his own damn fault.

He had fed into those claims for years, embellishing stories of his cruelty and the limitless ends of his vengeance, pitting the 107 on par with that of Hydra. He had to. He didn’t have much of a choice. The 107 was little more than a group of wayward orphans who spent most of their time huddled around some old beat-up bar, with a halfway decent affinity for the motorcycles parked on the street outside. They weren’t the criminals the town was made to believe – they didn’t put out hits or extort money from the local businesses. They didn’t go around seeking trouble and wanting to expand a territory they wanted nothing to do with in the first place.

The rumors started after Steve noticed the bikes parked outside Mrs. Marcovaldo’s café a few years back. He’d recognized the emblem on the back of the motorcycle jackets as they sauntered into the store and tossed the displays of baked goods to the floor; frightened customers fleeing out onto the streets.

It had only been three of them at the time – Steve, Sam, and Bucky – but they’d rushed across the street without thinking twice about what it meant to get tangled up in a war with a biker gang that was slowly taking over the town. They’d made a show of it – staking claim to the east side and putting the café under their control. Hydra wasn’t easily convinced and it took several less-than-cordial encounters and an influx of exaggerated rumors before Hydra started recognizing the 107 as a threat.

Hydra had tried to extort three more businesses on the east before the line was drawn. Bucky knew he couldn’t protect the whole city, but he could save half of it. The 107 was small – smaller than the rumors suggested – and they needed the town thinking they were just as vile as Hydra. It was the only way to get the Hydra club to respect the border.

Bucky had gone back the next morning to assure the businesses they wouldn’t be taking their money and Mrs. Marcovaldo had all but cried in Bucky’s arms of relief. Turned out the Hydra club had been harassing her family ever since the days Pierce was in charge before the old bastard finally turned in his keys. She tried to offer the 107 payments for protection, but Bucky wouldn’t take it. She settled for free coffee instead and agreed, despite her protests, to not challenge the rumors about the 107, to let the town believe Bucky and his club collected from her shop and drained her of cash.

It was a messy system – one that was certainly going to break one of these days – but it worked. It fooled the Hydra club and kept half the town out of the grimy clutches of men like Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins. There was a level of satisfaction in that – even when the kids went running at the first sight of him. It had been enough.

He was fine playing the villain of the east. It was a burden he had learned to bare for the sake of the town he grew up in, for the sake of the town he loved. He had learned to deal with the consequences.

Until you.

Because what would you do if you knew who he was? Would you hate him? Would you believe the rumors he worked so hard to maintain? Would you give him a chance to explain?

He couldn’t answer any of those questions himself and he was too much of a coward to find out. He’d find a way to tell you eventually. He knew he had to – that it wasn’t fair to drag the target on his back into your shop – but he couldn’t help himself. You were impossible to stay away from.

“Evenin’, sweetheart!” Mrs. Marcovaldo called as Bucky stepped inside the café.

It was unusual for her to be open this late and Bucky only hoped she hadn't been waiting on him. He often tried to stop by in the evenings before she closed to grab a cup of decaf and let her catch him up on the latest drama in her soap operas since her husband passed last year. She was a kind woman, kinder than he deserved.

Bucky carefully looked around the interior of the café, thankful no one else seemed to be inside.

“We talked about this, Mrs. Marcovaldo,” Bucky stressed, though a smile curved on the left side of his mouth. “Can’t be going around calling me ‘sweetheart.’ I’ve got a reputation to maintain. You’re supposed to be scared of me.”

“Ha!” She smirked, setting his cup on the counter, already prepared the way he took it. “You, sweetheart, couldn’t hurt a damn fly.”

Bucky clenched his jaw as he took the paper cup. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Self-defense don’t count,” she replied with a shrug, “nor the defense of this town. You’re better than you let these folks believe of you.”

Bucky sank his shoulders. “You know why I do it, ma’am.”

“Yes,” she nodded, her hand settling against his, wrinkled and warm and full of the kindness he so often didn’t see from this town, “but that don’t mean it don’t hurt.”

Bucky pressed out a tired smile and gave her a short nod. She pulled her hand back, brushing it over her apron.

“You know,” she started, that sing-songy tone in her voice that usually indicated she was able to start prying into his business, “I see you when you walk to the west side. Been doing that a lot lately. Any particular reason?” She batted her lashes, brushing her shoulder against his. “A female reason, perhaps?”

Bucky laughed. “You spend too much time people watching.”

“Oh, I’m right, aren’t I!” Mrs. Marcovaldo beamed; her hands curled up by her chest. “You deserve some happiness, my dear. Don’t let this biking business get in the way of that, you hear me?”

Bucky grinned, amused by her phrasing though he let it slide. “Loud and clear, ma’am.”

“Good!” She scurried her hands, shoving him towards the door. “Now get on home, okay? I need to close up so I can get home to my soaps!”

Bucky made a show of digging his heels in, resisting with all his effort, and somehow – the sweet old woman still managed to shoo him to the door. “Will you ever let me pay for the coffee, Mrs. Marcovaldo?”

Only when Bucky was out on the sidewalk, she winked, replied, “not a chance, sweetheart,” and closed the door behind him.

Bucky laughed under his breath, taking a minute to look up at the stars as they coated over the east side of town. He took a sip of the coffee, sighing as the warmth spread down his chest. It was a strange new feeling – being happy. He wondered how long it might last.

1K notes · View notes

superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Well this was just freaking cute!!

(i just wanna live under) the weight of your love

steve rogers x gn!reader (fluff)

summary: you turn the pages.

word count: 500 exactly!

a/n: title from amber run’s triumph of a love song: the weight. and of course inspired by a certain celebrity’s instagram posts from december

“You’re distracting me,” he says, a light, affectionate warning. He doesn’t look at you, reading the music on the stand.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rogers.” You smile as you follow him, your eyes moving down and across the page.

Keep reading

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Note

ALRIGHT, Listen here you, PUNK! (Rolls up sleeves).

Kas is one of the most beautiful, thoughtful, intelligent, and articulate writers on this app! Writing is HARD! Making art is HARD! Being vulnerable enough to share said art takes a level of courage that is beyond hard!!

I’d like to see you try!

It’s too early in the morning for this but you made me angry when you tried to knock someone down! 😡

Kas, you keep making beautiful things and know that you’ve got people to lift you up even when others try to be stupid and tear you down! ❤️❤️

Your writing is embarrassing

sending anon hate is embarrassing hun

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

It’s my birthday!! Who has fluffy fun fics to share?? (Smutty options are also acceptable)

#bucky fluff #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic recs

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Oh man! This is already got me so hooked!!

I love a soft biker trope! Bucky is so sweet!! You really created such a lovely world here! So full and fleshed out and it’s only the second chapter!! You’re so talented!!

Delicate Edges (2)

series summary: Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, it is only in moments when Bucky walks into your flower shop that you forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe. (Biker!AU) pairing: Bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.4k chapter warnings: meet the gang!, Bucky is a charming little shit, fluff city baby!!, (no legitimate warnings this chapter) a/n: Thank you so much for all the love and support on part 1!! Please enjoy some complementary fluff as a little treat 😘

series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky leaned over the edge of the bar, swirling his last sip of bottom shelf whiskey around the glass. He watched as the amber liquid slid up along the sides, chasing its own shape in an endless loop as a few droplets coaxed over the edge and touched his fingers. Slowly, he stilled his hand and the whiskey sank back to the bottom. Alcohol was usually a pretty efficient method to take his mind from his troubles. The comfort of a warm burn down the back of his throat and through his chest, the lingering buzz in his head as he swallowed the last drops.

Only this time, his troubles came in the form of a woman. Stronger than you’d given yourself credit for, the ability to smile and laugh even with the ghosted imprint of a hand on your wrist. Charming and lovely and certainly the opposite of the sort of trouble Bucky was used to.

Perhaps, that was the problem. Because Bucky couldn’t get you off his mind.

He knew the flower shop you lived above. His mother was once a frequent patron of May Flowers back when Bucky was a kid. Every Sunday like clockwork, she’d take him by the hand and lead him inside the shop. He’d tug and twist at the suit she’d dressed him in because no eight-year-old kid wanted to be constricted by that much fabric, but it was important to show respect, she’d told him. He distinctly remembered thinking that where they were going, no one was going to notice or care whether he was in a suit or basketball shorts. Cemetaries were quiet that like.

Regardless of what Bucky wanted, he showed up with his mother and stood in the corner of the shop staring at the rows of poppies until she finished chatting with the owners. They were a nice sort of people, Bucky remembered. Always kind enough to ask how he was doing and smile in his direction when most adults barely acknowledged the kid shuffling behind his mother’s legs. The woman gave him a hard candy most Sundays and that was usually enough to shut him up about the suit.

Those must have been your parents. He remembered seeing a little girl running around behind the counter, picking up stray petals and imperfect flowers to make a bouquet of her own. Red bow in her hair and the echo of giggling carrying over the low hum of Simon & Garfunkel on the radio.

He didn’t remember exactly when he stopped going around. It happened slow, over time. Sometimes things came up on a Sunday here and there, and soon they were going once a month, until they weren’t going at all.

It was harder for his mother to see the headstone, Bucky realized years later when he found her crying quietly to herself over a picture she’d found tucked away in a drawer. He hadn’t known his father well, having spent most of Bucky’s life stationed overseas, so he didn’t know what to feel when the man passed. His mother did her best, but she crumbled every so often. Bucky didn’t mind helping her pick up the pieces when she did.

As a teenager, he’d often swing by May Flowers to bring his mother a bouquet of lilies on the days he knew would be harder for her.

His father’s birthday. Their wedding anniversary. The day the men in suits showed up at the front door and made his mother cry.

He offered polite smiles to the kind woman behind the counter and the man huddled in the back making new arrangements for the windows. You, then a teenager yourself, were laid upon the floor, making a flower crown of the discarded stems your father tossed aside.

After Bucky enlisted in his early twenties, he had a standing order with the shop to keep up his usual deliveries for his mother. Every so often, he’d ask they have some sent to the cemetery for his father. He never told his mother that he did that, but he knew it would make her happy. Even from the desert, that flower shop still kept a hold on him.

May Flowers had been such a significant piece of his life for so long, he wasn’t sure what to make of its return. Part of him longed to walk by again, see the rows of blue flowers along the curb and the scent of florals in the air as he stepped inside. He even wondered if perhaps he might see you behind the counter – the little girl with stray petals and unwanted stems now running the business herself.

But Bucky knew better than to risk stepping foot into the west side.

He brushed his hand over the tattoo on his bicep, tracing over the lines hidden between the delicate art, folded carefully along the design; the name he’d given his chosen family – this rough, lost group of people who found themselves drawn into the ragged old bar he’d called the Centenarian and never had the good sense about them to leave.

The 107.

Named after his grandfather’s infantry in the second world war – the men who had been taken prisoner behind enemy lines and had the gull to survive. His mother once told him that his father had the numbers tattooed over his heart in roman numerals. Perhaps giving the number to the name of his club was a way of keeping both of them alive. The 107 lived on through the mess of strangers in a bar with a trail of bikes out on the street that had become something more than family.

“You’re looking awfully pensive.”

Bucky looked up from his empty glass to find Steve pulling up a chair on his left. He wore a line etched above his brow that made it evident he knew something was on Bucky’s mind – something more than the drunk he’d chased down the previous night and locked up in county jail. The cops were useless and barley said a word as Bucky escorted the man into the cell himself and threw the keys in the donut box on the front desk on his way out.

Steve knew Bucky better than most. Growing up fighting in alleys together would do that to a pair of kids. Especially if one had a painfully stupid habit of provoking fights he couldn’t win in the name of moral superiority. Steve wasn’t always the wide shouldered, All-American Adonis he was now. He used to be a hell of a lot smaller. And sicker. And less of a nosy asshole.

“You’re thinking of crossing the border, aren’t you?” the low, sultry voice of Natasha Romanoff carried from across the bar. She was watching from her place in the corner, nursing a glass of vodka neat as she raised a single eyebrow in his direction.

The thing about Natasha was that she noticed everything; including the moment he’d spotted two shadowed figures under a streetlamp from the window of the bar and sprinted out the front door in the middle of a Billy Joel chorus. She hadn’t said a word, but she’d noticed how his keys were a little lighter when he returned, how his cheeks had been flushed, and a lingering smile tugged at his lips.

He wondered how it was possible she noticed such things about him. Hell – part of him wondered if she had developed some way to read minds. He wouldn’t put it past her, considering she was entirely correct in her assumption. Bucky couldn’t shake the thought of someone crossing your path after you disappeared from view. He knew exactly where May Flowers was set up – only a few blocks past the border.

The 107 and Hydra were barred from crossing into the other’s territory, but that didn’t always stop them. It often came with trouble. And it seemed as though Bucky was already contemplating risking a bit of that trouble to see you again.

“No way in hell Barnes is that stupid,” Sam rolled his eyes as he stepped up from behind the bar. A towel was draped over his shoulder, a clean glass in his hand as he stocked it back on the shelf. It was his shift to run the bar and he wasn’t entirely thrilled with it as he refilled Bucky’s glass an ounce short. Bucky reached over the bar and swiped the bottle from Sam’s hand, giving him a look as if to say ‘watch yourself’ as he tapped off his glass.

Sam Wilson was a grade A pain in Bucky’s ass but Steve had been the one to vouch for him early on. They were buddies from their time at the VA, apparently. Bucky had yet to see any of this supposed empathetic counselor shit Sam preached, but perhaps it was because the two of them butted heads constantly. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t take a beating for the guy. He’d just hold it over his head for an eternity after the fact.

Peter Parker jumped up to the bar next, a tray of empty glasses sliding onto the counter. The kid was the last one to come around, barely old enough himself to drink but he was eager for community after he lost his uncle to a Hydra mugging and ended up with the family bike. Sam thought getting Peter to work as the bus boy in the bar would be a fun initiation prank, but it turned out the kid didn’t mind it at all. His apron was usually filled with fries from the kitchen and he liked to talk to himself while he worked. Seemed he just like being around, even if his handle on the throttle was sporadic on the best of days.

“Wait--” Peter leaned on the counter. “What’s so important on the west side anyway?”

“Nothing worth getting stabbed over,” Sam huffed, setting down the glass a little harder than needed for the sake of dramatic emphasis. “Right, Barnes?”

Bucky’s silence must have lingered too long because Natasha lips curved into a knowing smirk. Sam threw his arms in the air. He looked as though he were a disgruntled parent attempting to scold a rebellious teenager – a comparison he would certainly not find as entertaining as Bucky did.

“Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you—”

“No, I’m well aware. Thank you, Sam,” Bucky bit back roughly. Any trace of amusement wiped from his features. He could still feel the dull ache between his ribs where a blade had once pierced his skin, how quick the blood as spilled down the side of his stomach and soaked into his shirt. The rush of adrenaline barely masking the desolation, the betrayal, the—

“Oh,” Peter nodded, feigning understanding. “This is about the Dot thing, right?”

The glass might have shattered under Bucky’s grip if he had the strength. Even Sam had enough sense about him to not mention that woman’s name around Bucky, but Peter – Peter was a kid and he’d only started coming around in the last few months. He was just getting a hang of riding the damn bike, he shouldn’t be expected to know the whole history of the 107 and the part Dot played in it.

Thankfully, Barton finally sauntered over from his perch in the corner of the room and set a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “A word of advice, kid. Don’t say that name again unless you want to be on bathroom duty for the foreseeable future.”

Peter swallowed, his gaze awkwardly shifting to Bucky. “But...I’m already on bathroom duty.”

A laugh echoed from where Tony had been sitting at a table in the left side of the bar; lounging back with his legs propped up on the table, a tray of fries on his lap and a full beer in his right hand. It was enough to break the tension, and soon, even Bucky cracked a smile as laughter touched every spare inch of the wood. Frames and floorboards he’d once hammered in with his own bare hands. The place deserved a little laughter every once in a while.

Bucky threw back the rest of his bourbon and set the empty glass on the counter. “I’m heading out. I’ll see you guys later.”

Natasha gave him a pointed look from across the room, one that warned him to resist the allure of a woman on the west side he barely knew. It wasn’t worth the risk – you weren’t worth the risk. You were a stranger to him and he had family he had to take care of, people to protect – and he damn well couldn’t do that if Brock Rumlow and his goons caught him in their territory.

But Bucky reasoned he knew better. He could keep a low enough profile, keep his head down. Hydra had no reason to suspect he’d dare show face on the west side after what happened the last time he’d been lured across the border. Theoretically, he wouldn’t be that stupid. Or reckless. He was the damn leader of the only club who managed to stand up to Hydra’s schemes and keep their rotten ass out of his side of town.

Yes, Natasha was right – you were a stranger and it was a foolish risk to take, but he couldn’t get you off his mind. Not with the way you had looked at him under the glow of the streetlamp behind you, the starlight gently coaxing down over your skin and touching against the full rise of your chest where your labored breathes swelled. Breaths that slowly eased, fear subsiding almost instantly in his presence. He wasn’t used to that these days.

He'd heard the rumors of the 107 and to be looked at as a place of safety, of security – he'd almost forgotten what that felt like. It took time most days to remind himself he was not the monster the children of this town told stories of; especially when they scattered in the streets, leaving behind footballs in their haste when they heard the low purr of an engine approaching.

But you – you'd made him feel like he could be more than the head of a biker club half the town feared. You'd made him feel human. And Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to let that go just yet.

He pushed his way outside, taking a final glance over his shoulder to the Centenarian. His home in more ways than one. Tony was at the jukebox again, swiping through the songs as if he were considering anything different than his usual selection of AC/DC top hits. Sam and Steve were laughing at the bar, seemingly teasing Natasha as she glared back at them, only for the guys to promptly shut their mouths and pretend to busy themselves with the dust on the counter. Peter and Barton were huddled in the corner, sharing the fries the kid had nabbed from the kitchen.

Bucky smiled, hanging his head.

The feared biker club of the east.

He stepped outside into the afternoon sun. His bike was parted near the sidewalk, but he knew better than to drive the thing into the west. It would be a dead giveaway – not to mention the few ounces of bourbon in his system. He’d walk it off by the time he made it to May Flowers. Hell, he barely felt it the effects of the alcohol after years of tolerance, but his mother had drilled it early enough in his head to not even swing a leg over the side of his bike with a single drop of the stuff in him. Even years after she moved out of the town that carried too many painful memories, her words never left him.

The damn thing was dangerous enough as it was, she’d tell him. With only a helmet protecting him from collision, he was giving her a damn heart attack every time she heard the engine buzzing from down the street. He’d made a promise to her to never cross that line and he was intent on keeping it. Made sure the rest of his club followed the same, too.

Bucky turned to the west side of the sidewalk; hands shoved down into his pockets. Just over the hill on the crest of the horizon, he spotted Jay's diner as it sat on the edge of the border. The same place where Sam had gotten jumped by Hydra a few years back. There had been casualties on both sides – with the interior of the diner taking the brunt of it. Bullet holes in the walls and knife marks on the upholstery. These days a closed sign turned in the window any time a bike approaching in the distance.

Bucky tugged his cap lower over his eyes, stilling himself behind the red X marked on the sidewalk. He’d sworn he would never set foot in the west again after what happened – the ache in his side an unpleasant reminder of his own foolish trust in a woman who did not deserve it.

Was he about to make the same mistake now? Was he walking straight into a trap in search of a woman he’d only met the night before – with relief in her eyes and the sweetest damn smile he’d ever seen? Was he a damn fool for thinking he could seek out even a resemblance of normalcy – to believe he might be able to chase the burning feeling inside his chest and know what it was like to truly be wanted?

He supposed he’d find out.

***

You pricked your finger on a thorn as you attempted to squeeze the stubborn rose into the bouquet. Once it was secured, you sank back into your chair and pushed against the desk. The wheels swiveled unevenly as it carried you a few feet back to get a better look at the flowers. It was always easier to see their shape from a distance – how the colors blended and interspaced together. Pinks and reds and oranges gently peppered with Baby’s Breath and Bells of Ireland.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, waiting for an ounce of satisfaction to ease the churning anxiety in your stomach, but it never came. The shop had been empty all day and you’d hoped making new arrangements to hang in the windows might attract some customers or at least keep you busy enough to avoid checking the register to find you hadn’t magically gained enough to make a full payment the next time Hydra showed up.

But no such luck. It seemed the universe was not as keen with you today.

The low rumble of your phone began buzzing inside the desk. You groaned, sliding your chair back across the tile until you slammed rather harshly into the drawers. When you pulled your phone from its hiding space, Wanda’s image appeared bright against the screen – nose scrunched up as she looked at the camera, lips pursed. Face paint from the summer festival bright upon her skin.

You tapped the green button and held the phone to your ear.

“Are you alright?” Wanda’s voice demanded through the speaker before you could so much as take in a breath. Her accent was usually thicker when she was worked up, her words blurring into one, and it was unusually heavy on her tongue.

“Hello to you, too, Wanda,” you chuckled, spinning in your chair as you stared up at the ceiling.

“Pietro heard you were accosted last night,” Wanda pressed and the smile fell from your face. You sat up on the edge of the chair. Damn Pietro and his neighborhood gossip.

“Accosted is a strong word...” you replied cautiously, wincing when you heard Wanda scoff in return. “It was nothing, Wan. Just some drunk moron. He was too out of it to actually do anything, honestly.”

Wanda huffed. “Well, Pietro heard that some random man wandered into county lock up dragging around a drunk by his collar and tossed him into the cell himself! Cops didn’t say a word, of course – bunch of useless fools. Know anything about that?”

You shook your head, stunned. You hadn’t seen where the drunk had run off to after Blue-eyes chased him away. Hell – you couldn’t remember much of anything else after you saw Blue-eyes. A fireworks display could have been set off behind the Centenarian and you wouldn’t have noticed.

“No, I— A man helped me. I don’t even know his name but he sort of came to my rescue... I guess.” The keychain was sitting in the drawer where your phone had been; the black plastic shiny under the reflection on the overhanging lights. You slid a finger down the side, a smile twitching at the edge of your mouth.

“But the drunk... you're sure he wasn’t Hydra?” Wanda asked warily.

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to remember the man’s face. “Yes, I’m certain. Besides, I thought you were the one who said they wouldn’t cross the border.”

“It’s dangerous for them to do so – reckless, really – but it doesn’t mean they won’t,” Wanda warned, her voice low. You could vaguely make out Pietro’s voice as he called the order of a customer in the background. “There are consequences if they’re caught. I’m sure you remember the fight that nearly took out the diner by the border. Sent a bunch of guys on each side to the hospital. There’s a reason those men have so many scars, Y/n. You’ve seen Rumlow’s face.”

You swallowed. The vivid image of the mountains and craters on the side of his face drawing shivers down your spine. It was the same face that haunted you at night, peering in through the window amongst the shadows – taunting you. You ran your fingers over the glass face of your father’s watch, drawing on its stability to ground you.

“They don’t do it often,” she tried to ease you, “but it happens. The 107 have restricted the east to their control so Hydra can’t go around extorting people over here the way they did your dad. But... unless the 107 catches them... I imagine they could do as they pleased.”

You hadn’t considered that before. You’d always considered the east side to be a safe haven from Hydra. The 107 – despite the rumors of their violence on par with what Rumlow was capable of – scared you less than Hydra did. They didn’t show up in your shop the first Tuesday of every month and threaten you in your own home. It was like picking the worse of two evils. You’d rather chose the devil you didn’t know because the one lingering over your shoulder was vile enough.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Wanda said softly. “I just want you to be safe. The Hydra club is dangerous, Y/n. They already think they can control you; I’m just scared of what else they feel entitled to.”

You didn’t tell her the words sinking like metal into your stomach – that Hydra did control you, that they held your dignity and your life within the palm of their leather gloved hands. You owed them a debt and until it was paid, they owned you. But Wanda was only trying to help and there was no sense worrying her over what she could not change.

“I’ll be all right,” you said, absentmindedly picking up the keychain in your grip and the anxiety began to melt from your chest. “I can handle the Hydra club. I’ve done it for long enough. As long as I keep making payments, they’re not going to do anything. Wouldn’t make a very good business model of they did.”

You tried to laugh, but it was humorless and forced. Wanda didn’t so much as make an attempt. Business had been slow lately and you both knew it. The twins put all of their money into their tea shop and still – they never failed to offer you help, but you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t drag them into this with you. You'd figure it out. Your father had always prided himself on your instincts – you'd find a way through this. You didn’t have much else of a choice.

The bell rang at the front of the shop.

“Sorry Wan, I have to go,” you mumbled into the phone and hung up before she could reply. You’d text her later, let her know that you were doing okay even if you weren’t. Sometimes pretending made it a little easier. It allowed you to believe for just a moment that it was true.

You shoved the keys and your phone back into the drawer. The shop hadn’t had a single customer all morning so you brushed a hand down the front of your wrinkled apron and attempted to fix the flyaway strands in your hair. You rushed back up to the front, pressing on a smile though it felt unnatural against your cheeks.

“Welcome to May Flowers! Please let me know if there’s anything I can—”

You froze, watching the man stroll around the shop. His footsteps impossibly quiet, his fingertips gently touching the ends of open petals with a whispered smile. Hidden under a layered jacket and a baseball cap, it took a moment before you recognized him.

Blue-eyes.

***

“What did you call me?” Bucky chuckled as you appeared behind the counter. You must not have realized you’d said the name aloud as your gaze quicky dropped nervously to the floor, an anxious smile peering up on your lips.

There were flowers on your dress. Tiny, little printed bouquets of blue and purple flowing along the soft cream fabric; like you couldn’t get enough of the things when they surrounded you in this shop, you had to have them on your sundresses, too. Bucky felt his gaze trailing over every single one; at the ends of the seams by your thighs, along your hips, the fluttering sleeves on your shoulder. He only tore his gaze away before it could linger over your chest in a desperate attempt at chivalry.

“Sorry, I didn’t-- You never told me your name,” you replied, slightly flustered, and damn – if it wasn’t the most endearing thing Bucky had ever seen. Hiding behind whisps of fallen hair and the curve of your palm against your cheeks as if you could disappear from him entirely.

You were just as he’d remembered from the night before. Just as lovely and as beautiful – though this time, he could see you in the full light of the shop, surrounded by flowers and greenery. Ethereal, if he had to put a name to it, and he most certainly did. He’d never seen someone so full of light and levity and he wondered if you could bring life to everything you touched. From the smallest of rose buds to the heart beating frantically inside his chest.

He could already feel it beating a bit faster as you smiled nervously at him.

Bucky tried not to take stock in the fact that you’d been thinking about him enough to give him a name of your own – a nickname given from the color of his eyes— but it was damn near impossible to ignore the jolt fluttering in his chest at the thought.

You'd been thinking about him.

“My name’s Bucky,” he offered, slowly making his way up to the counter. He picked up a loose stem of a lily from the floor that had fallen from its display and slipped it behind his back. He twisted it between his fingers, waiting until he was close enough and then slowly, he extended the flower to you.

Your eyes jumped to the lily, your lips parting slightly as if you couldn’t quite control the small gasp that pulled in your lungs. Slowly, your lips curved brightly into a smile as you pinched your fingers around the delicate stem, your fingers grazing his touch for only a moment, but it was enough to send jolts of electricity through his body.

It was a simple gesture, one that barely required any effort at all, and Bucky was suddenly desperate to do something more – something the required planning and effort and time, just to see what you’d do, to see if your smile could grow any wider. Anything to make you smile like that again.

He'd pick you a garden worth of lilies if you wanted. He’d plant you a garden if you’d smile for him once more and he didn’t even know your name.

“Y/n,” you finally replied, bringing up the lily to your nose and taking in a full breath. The petals touched your cheeks, delicate and fragile. The smile pressed higher on your face and it left Bucky’s stomach in knots.

“It is a pleasure, Y/n,” Bucky said, leaning his elbows against the counter. He tasted the syllables of your name on his tongue, let them slide over his lips, tremble in his voice. He quite liked the way it felt, how you seemed to shiver under its tone.

You slid the lily in a vase with a neck small enough to accompany only a single stem. Then, you set it on the counter beside the register, adjusting the petals until they laid how you liked them. You took such tender care with it – such a fragile, breakable thing. He studied your movements, the gingered touch of your fingertips over the leaves, feathered light as if you’d barely made contact at all.

Was he a fool for wishing you might touch him the same way? Possibly. Almost definitely. The 107 would have his head for thinking such thoughts of a woman on the west side, but damn if he couldn’t help the ache instead his chest at the very thought.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here, Bucky.”

He shrugged, taking a step back and pretended as though he hadn’t been trying to get you off his mind for the last eighteen hours. “Wanted to make sure you got home safe. And clearly...”

Bucky gestured to the shop and the evidence that you were alive and well as you stood before him in your floral printed dress, the ends flowing against your thighs, obstructed only by the white apron draped over your front. Hand stitched embroidery of the shop’s name, May Flowers, was woven into the pocket. The apron looked a few decades old – with fraying edges and stains on the front, but it fit you perfectly. It must have held meaning for you given the way your hand brushed over the stitching in the pocket in comforting traces along the lettering.

Suddenly, you perked up and rushed back to the desk in the corner of the shop without a single word. Bucky grinned, watching from the distance as you dug your hand into the drawers, pushing aside papers and old condiment packets, muttering under your breath, until you pulled out your keyring. On the end, was the self-defense keychain Bucky had given you the night before.

Sam had given it to him as a gag gift a few years back – making some joke about how Bucky couldn’t swing hard enough to bring down an opponent and needed the extra help. Didn’t matter whether it was true or whether Bucky’s fingers could even fit through the loops, but he kept it anyway. He was glad he did as you held it up in your hand, closing your fist around the grip. You made your way back to him, still holding the keyring, admiring the sharp edges of the plastic.

“I didn’t end up seeing anyone else last night but I felt safer holding this. Reminded me I’m not as defenseless as I feel sometimes... so... thank you, again.” Your voice was quieter, almost reserved. Your gaze shifted to the register as you ran a finer along the sharpest edge of the keychain, thought pondering through your mind you did not give words to. It pressed a frown onto your lips and Bucky felt something terrible lurch in his stomach.

“I hope you never have to use it,” Bucky said, gently breaking through the silence.

You looked up at him, a heavy weight on your shoulders as you nodded. “Me, too."

Just as quickly as the storm clouds had rolled in over the horizon, you pushed them away with the soft brush of a smile – albeit momentarily forced – but soon enough it began to touch your eyes as you set the keys on the counter. It seemed as though you might have had practice with engineering your own emotions into something kinder.

“I’m glad you came by, Bucky,” you said quietly, as if the words were ones you’d intended to keep hidden inside your thoughts, the evident relief aching within your voice.

Something inside his chest swelled as you smiled at him and Bucky was determined to chase that feeling until he was suffocated under it.

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superfics-forone · 3 years

Text

Oh my gosh! You just made my whole day!! Thank you so much! I hope you can breathe again! ❤️❤️

Just Friends

SUMMARY: Sam asks the group who they think are the “hottest” members of the team. You don’t make the cute for Bucky’s top five.

Bucky x TALL!Reader

W/C: 5,800

WARNINGS: angst, swearing (like two f bombs), cannon level violence, Bucky being an idiot (it’s a warning), physical insecurities, fake science

A/N: I wrote this because the top 5 situation actually happened to me IRL and when you don’t make someone you like’s list, it sucks. Also, this is in no way meant as being against people who are smaller! I am just a tall/plus size woman and sometimes that really makes you feel like you’re unattractive to people because you don’t fit the gender norm. Let me know what you think! I’m pretty new at this so I’d appreciate the feedback!

Also, HUGE shout out to @princessmisery666 for being so patient and supportive! Thank you for being my beta! Your comments were so incredibly helpful!

The best part about working with Bucky was that you got to see him everyday. The worst part was that you were constantly reminded that he wasn’t attracted to you.

You knew you were a good looking woman, people would often tell you that. It usually happened when you weren’t necessarily feeling your prettiest. Somehow that made it worse. Others would compliment you but he never would. Even when you knew you looked good- like you had put in extra effort and actually tried that day- still he would give you nothing.

You sat across from him in the common room looking at all the other Avengers wondering why he didn’t feel the same when you finally got your answer.

“Alright man,” Sam called out to the group. “Top five, let’s go.”

“Top five?” asked Clint, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. “Top five what?”

Everyone looked back to Sam, - “Top five on who you think is lookin’ most fine”.

“You want us to rate each other?” You asked incredulously.

“Naw, man!” Sam replied. “I want to know who you think are the top five most attractive! Male and female!”

You slunk back into the sofa, both curious and terrified of the conversation to come.

You heard huffs from the others but no one objected. Vision went first and of course he could only answer with; “I believe all of you are inherently lovely. I couldn’t possibly pick a top five of those who I find to be most attractive.” As soon as he finished and the room was no longer focused on him though he leaned over to Wanda and said something in her ear that made her blush.

You brought your cup up to your lips to hide your smile. You loved how happy they were after having been through so much heartbreak.

Sam went next, “Imma say, Wanda, Nat, Gamora’s got it goin’ on…for an alien…Hill - don’t tell her I said that- and…Y/N,” he said throwing you a wink.

You smiled but shook your head with a roll of your eyes. You knew the only reason he said your name was because you were in the room. He was trying to be kind. Men didn’t seem to be actively lining up to be with you…it might have something to do with them being intimidated by you being an Avenger but who could possibly know

“Sam you would think anything with legs that gave you the time of day was hot,” Bucky shot.

The others laughed but Sam shot back, “alright, Tin Man, who’s on your list? Okoye?”

“Yeah for one! I would be dead before I could make a move but sure! She’s dangerous and stunning!” He took a swig of bourbon as if he was done.

“Alright then who else?” Wanda leaned forward winking at you.

You shot her a warning look. You had only told her how you felt about Bucky once on a drunken night after finding out he had gone on date with another recruit. Jealousy had reared its ugly head and she could feel your angst that night. You had asked Wanda how; “A tiny little thing that would barely hold her own in the ring,” could possibly catch his eye. It was as if the only thing he saw you as was an ear to listen to his problems and a soldier he could rely on in the field. You had seen them together multiple times since then and every time it pained you more.

She was everything you weren’t. Barely five foot, two inches tall with a skinny frame to match, and a nicely formed backside. In reality you couldn’t be mad at Bucky. He deserved to be happy. He was your friend and you wanted that for him. You just wanted that particular happiness too.

“Okay, okay!” Bucky’s hands came up in surrender as he finished his drink and leaned back to think, He sat so close to you his left bicep of his folded arms brushed yours with every breath he took.“Okoye? Sure…uh… in no particular order…Wanda, Nat, Darcy, and the little woman, Kris, from reception.”

“It seems, Mr. Barnes”, said Vision, “that you prefer mates who are significantly smaller than you. I do believe that of that group, Wanda is the tallest one.”

“Which isn’t really saying much because I’m only five, six”, she complained.

“The perfect height my dear.” Wanda smiled at that and kissed Vision’s cheek .

You took another long sip of your drink as you registered what had been said. Your stomach soured as you finished the glass. Not so much from the alcohol as from the realization that the man who you had secretly been pinning over didn’t even list you as attractive enough to make his top five.

You felt like you knew why. It was just too much. You weren’t small and dainty like those on his list. You had big bones and a can do attitude. You wouldn’t take crap from people. And because you were so tall you could come off as intimidating…or so some men had told you.

“I’m going to get another drink,” You whispered to no one in particular.

But Sam really couldn’t read a room and he called you out. “No, no! Who’s on your list Y/N?”

“Oh no!” You said dryly. “I’d have to be much drunker for that conversation. For now, I'll keep my opinions to myself.”

You spotted Bucky’s surprised face before you made your way over to the bar. The conversation carried on behind you as you refilled your glass. Thoughts of Bucky’s revelation clouding your mind. You were never going to be good enough for him because you were just too big. Too tall. Too much. He liked the smallest, most petite women in the compound. Feeling your emotions swelling,you decided to grab the bottle and made your way quietly out of the room while the ruckus continued.

Once on your floor you closed the door behind you with a forceful slam, “FRIDAY!! Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone!!”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N.”

The rest of the night was spent on the floor in your sweats drinking from your bottle of whiskey and feeling sorry for yourself and all the things you couldn’t be because of biology.

You weren’t sure if it was a drunken stupor or your imagination but at one point you could have sworn you heard a knock only for it to go away just as quickly.

…

The next day you had an awful hangover and didn’t get out of bed. Bucky came to your door for your normal morning run.

“Tell him I’m not going, Friday.”

“He would like to know why, Miss.”

“Tell him it’s my time of the month.”

“Your time of the month was last week, Miss.”

“Who’s side are you on, Friday? Just tell him I’m sick.”

“Very well, Miss.”

It was silent for a few moments and you had thought that would be enough to get Bucky off your back for now.

“Mr. Barnes would like to know if you’d like to see Dr. Cho, Miss.”

“Uuuugggghhhh,” you rolled out of bed and marched over, irritated that the one person you didn’t want to see was at your door.Pulling it open with a huff you practically screamed. “What?!?”

“Woah!” Bucky jumped back startled at your disheveled appearance and puffy eyes. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, doll. You didn’t come back last night and you never answered the door when I came to check on you.”

So there was a knock last night.

You couldn’t look him in the eye as your eyes filled with tears again, this time with shame. “I’m fine, Bucky.” You started shutting the door quickly and he stuck his hand on it preventing you from closing it again.

“Y/N…what’s…”

“Bucky, I just need some rest okay?” You cut him off, “I’m fine. I promise I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.” You smiled weakly.

Bucky searched your face as if trying to find what you weren’t telling him in your eyes. But you were an Avenger and you knew how to school your features to show nothing.

Bucky sighed and shook his head, “alright, doll. I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

“Yes, fine,” you said pushing him out the door. Your eyes had flooded with tears again. You didn’t look up to see Bucky’s hurt and concerned face as you closed the door again and put your back to it.

You held your breath listening for his footsteps to retreat before sinking to the floor and crying.

…

The next day was an all out avoid Bucky day. You weren’t sure you could take the questions and worried looks he was sure to give you. Instead, you decided that what you needed was time away from such temptation. And so, you went in to ask Steve for an overseas long assignment.

“You sure about this one, Y/N. It’s a 9 month solo mission. It’s going to be long and it’s going to be lonely.”

“Yes. I’m sure. I need some time to myself.”

Steve looked at you with understanding and pity. He could see how you felt about Bucky even if he couldn’t get his best friend to see it as well.

“Alright,” he said, “suit up. You leave in 2 hours.”

South Africa wasn’t the worst assignment. It wouldn’t take long for you to get the information you needed. And the separation from Bucky would be good for you.

You finished checking your last weapon and loaded it as well as a pair of throwing knives, a gift from Bucky, into your duffle before looking around your room one more time.

You headed to the door and almost made it out until the picture of you and Bucky on your dresser made you stop. Picking it up you smiled at the memory of the minor league baseball game you’d attended together. You had won tickets and no one else was available that night. When you’d offered the tickets to Bucky you couldn’t believe that he said yes! It was the true start of your friendship, talking about life and how much it had changed for him but also how little it had changed for you. He couldn’t believe it when you started singing all the words to “I’ll never smile again”.

“You think I don’t know music? I’m quite cultured, Mr. Barnes!” You had said with a laugh.

“I never said you weren’t, sweetheart!”

Coming back out of your revelry with a start you put the picture back down on the dresser and turned to the door. You were going to get over this infatuation, even if it killed you. Supposedly time heals all wounds. Well you weren’t sure if there was ever going to be enough time but you could get distance.

…

Hours later Bucky came in to tell you about the relationship problems he was having with the girl from reception. She just didn’t seem to understand him and kept picking fights. You had become his confidant and had saved his relationship once before so would most likely be able to do it again.

He was almost to your room when he noticed your door was ajar. Slowing he moved closer and pushed it in silently. The room was neat and quiet. Your bed folded nicely as though it was always that way.

Bucky knew that you never made your bed until you were right about to get in it. Or unless you were going on a trip.

Checking carefully he started to notice things missing. Your favorite slippers were gone. Your tooth brush and favorite stuffed animal turtle were also missing. All of the things that you felt you had to have with you were gone.

Then he saw the picture frame on the dresser. Picking it up he too smiled at the memory, then frowned. It was still here. You almost always took this with you. Why was it still here but everything else you held of value was gone.

“Friday, where is Y/N?”

“Miss Y/L/N has volunteered for a mission, sir.”

“Where?”

“That information is classified.”

“Okay, when will she be back?”

“That information is classified.”

“Alright, who else went on the mission,” he asked hoping whoever it was would have your back.

“All other Avengers are currently in the compound.”

“So she went by herself?” Bucky fumed.

“That information is classified.”

“Damn robots!”

Bucky stormed out and found Steve in the kitchen.

“Where did you send her, punk!

Steve didn’t even look up from his newspaper, knowing exactly what his best friend was talking about.

“She’ll be fine, Buck. She just needs some time to herself.”

“So send her to Fiji! Not a solo mission!!”

“This is her call Bucky. You’ve got to trust her.”

Bucky spun on his heel and headed to the computer lab. He knew he was being irrational but if no one else was going to look after your well-being then he was going to have to do it himself.

It took him all day but he finally unencrypted the files for your mission. You were to carry out a recon mission in Port Elizabeth on a supposed Hydra base. It was a far cry from Fiji but you wouldn’t be in immediate danger.

Still he came in everyday to check in on your reports and find out how the events in the country were progressing. He had even convinced Torres to help him set up notifications to his phone if something were to go wrong. He had, very nicely, threatened him with knives if he didn’t set up Stark’s satellite to keep an eye on you.

After three weeks he was really starting to miss your company. Every time he went out with Kris from reception he realized that she just wasn’t as interesting as you. They didn’t have the same camaraderie and chemistry as the two of you did.

So when his phone dinged at 2:30am he looked at the notification. It was a satellite image of you on your apartment porch drinking coffee. You seemed at ease and calm at your small table. Your hair down and wearing a long red dress. He went to the live feed of the satellite but when he did you weren’t there.

Bucky refreshed the page again thinking it may be just an error. But his rising heartbeat made him think differently. When the screen came back he noticed the upturned coffee mug and the newspapers on the ground.

Bucky flew from his bed and raced down the hall to the command room. Steve and Tony were already there, still in their pajamas.

“…it’s not as if she has a tracker in her, Stark!”

“Well maybe she should! Maybe we should make it a standard issue! Everyone gets a tracker! Friday! Make a note!”

“Yes sir.” replied the AI.

“Tony, we need to focus on the…”

“Where is she?!” Bucky growled.

Both men turned around in surprise. Steve recovered first, his eyes sympathetic for his friend’s worry. “We’re not sure, Buck. These images were only taken 4 hours ago.” He clicked to zoom in closer, “but we did get this.”

He zoomed all the way into the kitchen window behind where you’d sat drinking coffee, where a face reflected in the glass. Bucky looked on in rage, hands in tight fists, as the image became clearer and Zemo came into focus.

…

You awoke with a start, unaware of your surroundings. You sat on a bed in a bare room with a single one way mirror. A metal chair sat by the wall and you noticed no handle on the door. Trying to piece together what had happened you recalled your last memory.

A beautiful morning, the sun shining on the water, a freshly brewed cup of coffee. You sat in your apartment in Port Elizabeth, a pain in your neck…

“Zemo,” you whispered.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said the speaker above you. “I’m sorry about the dramatics but it was necessary. You’re a very important piece of the puzzle.”

“Let me guess,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “You don’t like the way the world is being saved by the Avengers and you think you could do better.”

“Actually I want something else, мой дорогой. I need you.”

“What?” you cried befuddled. “Why on earth would you need me?”

“Do you know what TX-39 is?”

“Yes, I have an entire codex of arbitrary numbers logged away in my brain,” you retorted.

Zemo didn’t pause at your sarcasm. “TX-39 is the compound used to create nucleotides that bond onto nerve endings. By doing so they suspend brain signals stopping all neuro function and rendering the subject immoble. Something you have experienced first hand. By combining a nanotech inhibitor with this nerve ending your subject’s direct motor function is now open to...suggestions.”

You sat astounded as you registered what he had told you. You looked down at your hands but you didn’t feel different. There was no way something like this could work.

“What better way to get rid of a super soldier than to create your own?” Zemo said. You felt a slight buzz in your spine as you stood up quickly trying to resist. Running to the mirror you pulled back your arm, ready to punch your way out, but an inch from the glass your arm stopped. “Ironic that the Soldat will come to save you, only to be the one who needs to be saved.” With that you felt the electricity in your spine disappear and your body was your own again.

Frustration built within you as you sat back on the bed for a moment processing his statement. Your face became more and more incredulous until finally you burst out laughing. You continued laughing harder and harder at the absurdity of Zemo’s reasoning.

“You think I’m the one he is going to come after,” you laughed. “You think you picked the right mouse for your trap? You’re going to wait a long time if you think he’s going to come and get me.”

During your first few weeks away you had missed Bucky fiercely. Leaving him behind so abruptly had felt like severing a part of yourself, but the last few weeks had been good for you. You had forgotten what it was like to rely on yourself. You had grown into yourself again and had realized how little Bucky had actually cared for you when he never came to find you. He hadn’t so much as picked up the phone after you had left. It was as if you had never existed in the first place.

“Bucky doesn’t care about me,” you said sardonically. “He never has. We are barely even friends.You picked the wrong mouse, Zemo. ”

“We’ll see, дорогой,” and with a click he was gone.

Your brain shifted in and out of the conversation with Zemo. Looking down at your hands, you prayed it wasn’t true. You knew that what had happened at the window was real but you didn’t want to believe it. You had been turned into a weapon to hurt your friends. To hurt Bucky.

Crossing your arms over your chest you laid down on the bed, rolled over to face the wall, and cried.

…

Avengers Compound

“There is a five mile radius around Agent Y/L/N last known location,” said Fury. “Two man teams will sweep the area in a grid formation while the drones scan for energy signatures. Any questions?”

All those around the table sat silent, but nodded confirmation of their understanding of the objective. Fury looked around the room, “This mother fucker took one of ours and I wanna know why. Let’s get going.”

Bucky stood up from the table and made his way out of the room to the Quinjet hangar. Steve pulled on his arm before entering the plane. “I know what’s going through your mind right now Buck, but we are going to get her back”.

Bucky looked at the ground before raising his eyes to his friend. “He knew how to get to me, Steve. He always knows where to hurt me. He couldn’t use you. You’re too difficult to overpower. So he had to pick her. I just,” Bucky wasn’t sure how to finish his thought. Words never came easily to him and he wasn’t sure he could really express what he was feeling. “I just want her safe.”

After you had left Bucky felt hollow inside. He hadn’t realized how much joy you brought to his day with your smiles and jokes. Always knowing what to say, or at least, what he needed to hear. Your departure made him realize he needed you. Boarding the jet Bucky knew that no matter what happened he was going to tell you how he felt.

…

The team had been sweeping through the city for what felt like hours and there still hadn’t been any developments. Walking through another alleyway Bucky scanned the cobblestone streets. He was beginning to lose hope at ever finding you at all when he saw an uneven line in between two buildings.

Pressing his comm link he called out, “Steve, I’ve got something. I’m going to check it out.”

“Bucky, wait for backup. We’ll come to you.”

Feeling along the wall Bucky felt a draft between the cracks. Unholstering the gun at his hip he pushed against the wall feeling it give way.

“I’m going in. Follow my location.”

“Bucky, wait!” Steve called.

Bucky ignored his calls and continued down the dimly lit hall. The walls opened up to a staircase leading down to a command room. The musky scent of decay and scotch filled Bucky’s nostrils.

“Privet, Soldat,” Zemo called from the darkness.

Bucky whirled around to find nothing.

“Have you come for your little mouse?”

Still searching, Bucky said nothing as the sound came from a different corner of the room.

“Have you realized how much you miss her?”

Bucky circled again, coming up to a window.

“I wonder what it is? Is it her sweetness that draws you? Or her willingness to see you for more than the killer you are?”

Bucky frowned. Zemo was playing with him.

“Or have you realized that her fire is what draws you to her? She does have a talented tongue. I’ve seen her put it to good use,” Zemo provoked. “I have enjoyed having her in my company, but it seems you really never appreciated her spirit, did you?”

Bucky continued searching the room as Zemo continued his monologue. Coming up to the computer he saw a paused video feed. It played as soon as he stepped forward.

Bucky saw you in a room, still in your red sundress. Your hair was matted and you had the look in your eye of anger and exasperation. When you spoke, Bucky felt the wind rush out of his lungs.

“Bucky doesn’t care about me,” you said sardonically. “He never has. We are barely even friends.”

“A pity she never saw you care, but I suppose it’s only fair that you tell her now.”

The door beside the window clicked open with a beep. You came out of the cell with a look of wary surprise on your face. “Bucky?”

“Now is your moment, Sergeant Barnes. Why not tell her how you feel before it's too late,” called Zemo.

Bucky holstered his gun and walked toward you. “Y/N? Are you okay? Come on, let's get out of here.”

He grabbed your hand and turned to go but you were rooted to the spot. Your breathing became heavy as you felt the tingling sensation in your spine again.

“Bucky, I need you to leave,” you cried, dread dripping from your voice.

“What? No,sweetheart, come on! I’m not leaving you.”

“Bucky, I…” you started.

“Last chance to declare yourself, Soldat.”

Looking up in anger, Bucky yelled. “Shut up, Zemo. I’m not performing for you-” Bucky’s head turned in surprise as you punched him across the face. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“It wasn’t me!” you cried as you dropped and kicked his legs out from under him.

Bucky rolled over quickly to pick himself up as you followed him swinging punches at his head and kicks to his stomach. Your moves were both erratic and efficient as they landed multiple times. It was all Bucky could do to block your assault and move out of the way.

“This isn’t me!” you cried again between punches. “Zemo is controlling me with nanotech!”

Bucky threw up an arm to block your punch before flipping you around by your arm and pressing you to the wall. He didn’t want to hurt you but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t the most comfortable position.

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re going to get you out of this.”

Your foot kicked his leg and you pushed yourself over and around his head and away from the wall. Grabbing the knife at his hip as you slipped out of his grip, you threw it into his thigh.

Bucky looked at you in surprise and annoyance. “Sorry!” you winced. Pulling the knife from his leg he tossed it to the floor.

“Look, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere, but try not to kill me, okay?”

“It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose Bucky!” you huffed as you charged at him.

“Well I’m just trying to get you out of the problem you put yourself in!” You had grabbed another knife and went to stab him. Bucky caught the knife and twisted your hand but the knife snagged your dress and tore the skirt as you fought to wrestle it away.

Your eyes flared with anger and the next punch you threw had a little extra heft in it.

“That I put myself in? How about you, Mr. Barge-into-a-room-with-no-back-up!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you liked being saved! Although you’re one to talk! You came on a mission without backup!” Bucky rolled across the computer console out of the way of your next kick, getting agitated at your attitude.

“Because I needed space!” you yelled as you followed him around the computer desk.

“Space? Space from what?” Bucky yelled back, actually throwing a punch that you easily evaded.

“You! You idiot!” it burst out of you as you came up swinging before pushing him to the ground.

Bucky looked up at you with his eyes wide. You had him straddled under your legs. Bucky brought his arms up to block your punches while he tried to talk to you.

“Why would you need space from me? I don’t understand. You left without warning, without saying goodbye! Your mission was classified so I had to hack F.R.I.D.A.Y to even find out where you were!”

Your body was starting to fatigue from the strain of the fight as you continued to land blow after blow. You were fit and well trained but because your body was not your own you were blowing through energy rapidly. Your breaths were coming in short gasps as your chest heaved at each punch. If you kept this up, you weren’t sure how much time you would have before your body gave out entirely.

“Y/N, you left a huge gap! You were my best friend and then you were gone! You wouldn’t even talk to me before you left! You didn’t tell me you were leaving. I couldn’t even call you because the mission was supposed to be classified!”

Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe the hopelessness you felt, but you gave him everything you had left as you pummeled into him. Frustration over your situation, frustration at him, frustration at yourself built up inside you.

“I WILL NOT BE YOUR STAND IN! I will not be second best. I can’t look on anymore as you find someone smaller, cuter, littler to fit perfectly into your life! I deserve to be wanted! I deserve to be desired!” you screamed at the man beneath you as tears streamed down your cheeks.

Bucky finally bucked his hips and flipped you under him, pinning your hands to the ground next to your head.

“Get off of me! Let me go!” you had finally had enough. The damn had broken and your emotions and insecurities raged inside you. Your body pulled and twisted to break free from his grip.

“You do deserve to be desired,” Bucky said calmly as he caged you beneath him. “You are nobody's stand in. You’re perfect just as you are.” He wanted to say more but it was all he could do to keep you pinned under him.

The team burst down into the control room to see you openly weeping and Bucky on top of you.

“Nat, I need you to put an electric burst in my arm.” Bucky said looking up.

“I’m sorry, you what?” asked Nat.

“Just do it!” he said as you fought harder against him.

With a nod from Steve, Nat waved her baton and zapped Bucky’s arm causing both of you to scream in pain. When your body finally stopped seizing, the lack of adrenaline and the pain and fatigue caught up to you and you passed out in Bucky’s arms.

“You want to explain why I just pushed fifty thousand volts through you two?”

“Zemo infected her with some kind of nano tech. She hasn’t been in control this entire time.”

Steve scanned around the room. “Alright team, fan out. See if you can find out where Zemo went. I want teams down here with sat links up in 30 minutes.”

Bucky circled the gears around in his arm to get it up and running again before scooping you carefully off the ground.

“Buck, get her on the next jet out. Dr. Cho and Banner will be waiting for you to get back.”

…

For the second time you woke up in an unfamiliar place, and struggled to get your bearings. You felt like you’d been run over by a pick up truck and tumbled through a dryer.

Feeling slowly returned to your hands as your eyes opened and your vision cleared. You were in one of the medical rooms at the compound you realized.

“Look who decided to wake up,” said a gruff voice.

Turning your head you saw Bucky sitting in the chair beside you. He looked fresh and his eyes twinkled at you.

“Bucky,” you croaked as you tried to sit up.

“Woah there. You just relax. Your body is still trying to catch up from Zemo’s nanites.”

You slumped back down in the bed as Bucky leaned forward to take your hand.

“You had me worried there for a minute, doll. You’ve been sleeping for days. Wasn’t sure when you were going to pull through.”

“You doubt me, Barnes?”

“Not for a second, sweetheart, but I sure as hell missed you.” Bucky smiled, then looked down for a moment as if trying to find the right words. “We need to talk about why you left, Y/N.”

“No, Bucky, I...it doesn’t matter.” You say looking away. “It’s not important.”

“I don’t know, I’d say you thinking you don’t matter to me is pretty important.” You turned to look at him sharply, mouth open in a small gasp. “And I’d also say that you thinking I don’t find you desirable is pretty important too.”

You sat in shock as he spoke, not wanting to break the way you had during your fight.

“Y/N, you are perfect. You knew me before I even knew myself. You light up the whole room just by being in it. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You are strong, independent, kind, and gentle. You’re like a tall Asgardian goddess. Every inch of you is beautiful. I thought back to the last time we talked...before you left, and I realized why you did. I know why you thought I wasn’t attracted to you. That night, Sam’s list,” he paused as if pained at the memory, “I didn’t add you because...well, because I was so confused at how I was feeling. You were my friend. I didn’t realize till it was too late that I was already falling in love with you. And I most definitely didn’t want to give Sam anymore ammunition.”

You looked up at him sharply when he dropped the L word.

Bucky stood to reposition himself on the edge of your bed. Taking your face in his hands he leans forward until your foreheads barely touch. “I didn’t want to ruin things with you. You were my friend. You were perfect and I thought you deserved better so I ran to find something that was everything you weren’t. You are my perfect fit. You are just right. You are the only person I want. Please tell me you’re mine. Please tell me I haven’t lost you.”

You brought your hand up to rest over his as you let his words wash over you.

He wanted you. He thought you were beautiful. All of you. All of the parts people had told you were too much: your height, your attitude, your independence - he wanted it all.

You did something that you wanted to do for months, you brought your lips up to his softly and gave him a chaste kiss. “I was always yours Bucky,” You pulled his hands down and pushed him away to look into his eyes, “but I won’t be taken for granted anymore. I shouldn’t have to leave for you to want me. I shouldn’t have to be gone for you to realize what you had. I left for a reason. It was to find peace with myself. I realized that I didn’t need your approval. I didn’t need your desire to be whole. I won’t settle for someone who can’t see what’s right in front of them. I know my worth.”

Bucky looked at you sorrowfully as he held onto your fingers, memorizing their shape. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

“I know, but it happened. I don’t need you to be happy, Bucky...” Bucky hung his head in dejection. “...But I do want you.”

Bucky looked up at you sharply to find your eyes full of love and warmth. You wanted him. Even after all that happened - how he forced you away, how he made you feel like you weren’t good enough, you were still willing to forgive him. You wanted him even with all his faults.

You brought him closer for another kiss and savored the way his lips fell across yours. Breaking away to look up at him you said what you had been holding in for months, “And I love you too.”

Tags: @princessmisery666 @dreamwritesimagines

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