Summary: Steve came home from the war to a wife that could not deal with the emotionally, mentally, and physically changed man before her. Dealing with it the only way he knew how, Steve buried himself in his work. After saving hundreds of lives in one heroic act, Steve finds himself put on bodyguard duty. Also known as a glorified babysitter. It wasn’t easy being the daughter of insanely rich and successful businessman, Phil Coulson. After multiple death threats, your overbearing, worries-too-much father decides you need a bodyguard. Word Count: 943 Warnings: Language, angst, blood, violence, explicit sexual content, possibly more to come. Author’s Note: GIF Credit found on Google Images without a source.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Steve’s back was straight, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, chin raised, eyes drilling into a spot on the wall above his commanding officer’s head. He had just been informed that due to his heroic actions the previous Friday, all of his current cases would be transferred to other officers while he went on protective duty.
His charge was Y/N Coulson, and apparently, her life was in danger. Her father, Phil, was a successful businessman, perhaps too successful for his own good. Success brought enemies knocking on the door, and with old man Coulson refusing to cooperate, to bend to his enemy’s whims, his daughter had started receiving threats of all kinds.
Everything Steve had heard about Y/N made him cringe. She was a spoiled rich kid that partied all night and slept all day. She was on the cover of every tabloid magazine in New York, drinking, driving while intoxicated, getting arrested, going to rehab. There was even a quickie wedding in Vegas, followed by an annulment less than a month later; all while Steve was overseas, fighting a war that claimed the lives of his best friends, his brothers. In fact, he would have died if it hadn’t been for Bucky –
“Did you hear me, Rogers?” Pepper demanded to know, yanking Steve from his thoughts.
“Yes, ma’am,” he ground out, Irish accent thick on his tongue. “When do I start, ma’am?”
“Tomorrow morning you will report to Coulson Industries,” she informed him. “Seven am, sharp.”
Steve dipped his chin in confirmation. “Yes, ma’am.” With his molars grinding, Steve turned, and walked across the room.
“And Steve,” Pepper murmured as Steve’s hand fell to the door handle. “Act as if you actually care about her safety.”
“Will do, ma’am,” he said with a tight smile.
“C’mon,” Steve grit out, a hand raking through his hair as the line continued to ring.
Sharon had never let it ring that long before. It had either been sent to voicemail or she had disconnected the call long before. Then again, Sharon had changed in the last eighteen months since Steve had come home.
“Answer the fuckin’ phone.”
Half a ring later, her breathy voice greeted him. “Steve? Wha- what time is it?”
“Shit, love,” he muttered, the digital numbers on the clock catching his attention. “It’s late. I’m sorry, doll.”
“What do you want, Steve?” Sharon huffed, irritation replacing the sleep in her voice.
“Nothin’,” Steve denied a little too quickly for his own good. “I just wanted to talk.”
Sharon gave a disappointed groan. “It’s late, Steve.”
“You don’t think I know that? I just apologized for it,” he snapped, his fingers tightening around the bottle of beer on his thigh. “I just want to talk is all. Can’t we talk?”
“It’s two in the morning,” she argued through her teeth.
“So? We used to stay up all night talking,” Steve remembered bitterly.
Sharon was shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, well, we were young and dumb,” she scoffed. “Goodnight, Steve.”
“No, Sharon,” he ground out. “Please don’t hang up on me. I just want to talk.”
“You’re drunk,” Sharon sighed.
Steve slid the beer bottle onto the counter. “Am not.”
“I didn’t say you were drinking. I said you’re drunk.”
“I am not,” Steve said a little louder than before. “If I were drunk, I wouldn’t be callin’. I’d be passed out in your bed where I belong.”
Sharon let out a heavy breath. “We’ve talked about this, Steve. We can’t… I don’t want -”
“To be with your husband,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I got that bit from the delivery boy you sent.”
“I’m not filing for divorce,” she groaned. “It’s just a -”
“Separation,” Steve scoffed loudly. “Still means you don’t want to be with me. Why not? Can’t you explain it to me?”
“I’m hanging up the phone,” she announced. “Don’t call back or I will call the police.”
Steve’s already-boiling blood surged through him even faster. “I am the police, love.”
“Are you.. is that a threat?”
“No, no,” he stammered. “That’s not what I meant at all, love. I would never abuse my power like that.”
“Goodnight, Steven,” she bit out before disconnecting the call.
“Just wanted to talk,” Steve hollered before launching the phone across the room, sending it into the wall. Bits of glass and plastic littered the floor, which Steve begrudgingly cleaned up, after he finished his beer.
He sat down on the couch, another beer in his hands, his mind whirling around like a tornado. God, he just wanted to go home and be with his wife. Why couldn’t he do that? Why wouldn’t she let him come home?!
Shaking his head, he scoffed irritatedly at himself. He knew why, he just couldn’t believe it.
Steve came home from a war that changed him, and not just physically. He had seen things nobody should ever see, heard things no one should ever hear. His brothers in arms had been blown apart less than ten feet from him, they had been taken prisoner and tortured, videos sent as proof and demands shouted in a language Steve didn’t know. He had seen the life drain from their eyes, he had heard their cries for mercy, and if he closed his eyes, he could still hear every single one of them. Steve was fucked in the head, and Sharon couldn’t handle it.
“For better or worse, my ass,” Steve slurred after finishing off his second six pack of beer.
He stumbled into the bedroom where he fell face first onto the bed and started snoring less than five seconds later.
Summary: After the Android Revolution, you were one of the few that chose to remain in service. You were still considered alive and free to make your own choices, but you couldn’t leave your charge; a sick elderly woman that doted on you as if you were a member of her family. After a break-in, Connor is the first responder and helps track down the person – or android – responsible for the crime. Remaining on the police force with Hank as his partner had been a no-brainer. He wanted to make sure that both parties – humans and androids – would be held accountable for their actions. When responding to a call one night, he met Y/N, a caring and sassy android that he never saw coming. He was still learning to deal with his emotions, but no one – not even Hank – could have prepared him for the overwhelming swelling in his chest and this need to see her again. Word Count: 2,411 Warnings: Angst, fluff, language. Possibly more to come. Author’s Note: I absolutely adore this game and Connor. Title inspired by Robots in Love. I will be using my Everything tags for this series. If you do not want to be tagged, I’ll remove you. GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
2039
Less than one year after the Android Revolution, the government declared that androids were alive, a verified new form of intelligent life. That meant a wave of new bills flooded the President’s desk; equal rights, no more segregation and slavery, the right to expand their families, to get paid a salary for their hard work, to have a home to call their own.
Those rights might have been granted, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.
Millions of people around the globe were resistant to the changes. Losing their androids meant they needed to clean up after themselves, to take care of their children, to get clean and sober. It also meant more competition for work, which made the humans more bitter.
Demonstrations and riots started soon after, humans and androids were caught in the crossfire. And then, after a particularly savage protest where red and blue blood ran through the streets like a river, the President passed a law that, “All android lives were to be treated with the same respect as human life.”
Whoever took the life of an android would be punished as severely as if it had been another human. The same went for androids. If they took the life of a human, they were to be persecuted to the extent as humans.
After all, equal rights wasn’t a one way street. Everyone had to take the bad with the good.
Grace was settled in her bed, an army of pillows behind her head, supporting her, her silver hair surrounding her head like a halo. One of her arthritic hands was in your lap, turned up, her forearm exposed.
“This may sting,” you informed her with an empathetic, tight-lipped smile. “I’ll try and make it quick.”
“It’s alright, dear,” Grace assured you. “It’s not like it’s the first time.”
You grabbed the cocktail of liquid medication from the night stand and twisted it into the cartridge. Grace hadn’t been able to swallow pills for the last couple of years, and with her medications increasing almost yearly, it had become necessary to administer them intravenously.
Her moss and honey eyes found yours just as the needle pierced her skin. The pump whirred softly as the liquid medicine entered her bloodstream.
“What would you like to do tomorrow?” you inquired, hoping the question would help distract her.
Grace’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as her stomach twisted. “Is the weather supposed to be nice?”
The LED on your temple glowed yellow as you checked the forecast. “Partly sunny, high of seventy-two, with low humidity. Twenty-five percent chance of storms in the early morning,” you informed her.
“I wouldn’t mind going to the park,” she said breathily.
“Almost done, Grace.” You took her other hand in yours and gave it a comforting squeeze.
A shuddering breath left the elderly woman. “I hear there’s a concert in the park tomorrow afternoon.”
“Which one?” you chuckled softly.
Grace’s musical preference varied from classical – Bach and Beethoven – to rock & roll – Metallica & Green Day – to cover bands of everything in between.
“A Foo Fighters dedication band,” she admitted, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.
You chuckled and shook your head. Thanks to Grace, you knew every Foo Fighters song, backwards and forwards, could even play a soft version of them on the piano. Grace really liked it when you did that.
She gave a low and heavy groan as the last of the medication was administered. You withdrew the needle and covered the entry point with your hand. Your skin faded away until your hand was white, the color of your android skin the temperature dropping to help soothe Grace’s overheated skin, just one of the many side effects she suffered from.
You stayed there until she fell asleep, your hand drifting up and down her arm, along her neck, the sides of her face, and her forehead. The silver strands of her hair felt like silk against your skin as your nails drug along her scalp, massaging away the electric pulses under the skin and bone, the ones that made her hands twitch and shake involuntarily.
Only when you had completed your analysis of Grace Tompkins did you place her arm over her belly. As you stood, you took apart the cartridge and disposed of it properly; in the sharps disposal container attached to the wall.
Before leaving your charge, you placed a glass of water on the nightstand and turned the lamp on low. You closed the door quietly behind you and headed downstairs to clean up. Dishes needed to be cleaned, books needed to be placed back on the shelves, the laundry needed to be washed; the list was seemingly endless. Not that you disliked it, a clean house was important for Grace, for her illness, and if anything you could do helped Grace live a little bit longer, you would do it without question. And honestly, you enjoyed it.
Despite being an android, Grace never treated you as such. In fact, it was the opposite. Grace was kind-hearted and generous, doting on you as if you were a family member, her child. She was never married, never had any kids. Her life was mainly spent in and out of the doctors offices, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. Her weakened immune system made her childhood miserable and lonely.
The doctors never really figured out what ailed Grace, no matter the technological and medical advances of the twenty-second century. The only real good thing they were able to do was find a mixture of medication that helped boost her immune system, adding years to her life instead of an early date with the coroner. Their initial diagnosis was ten to fifteen years. Grace was currently in her late fifties and appreciated each and every morning she woke up.
You loved Grace. No one had ever treated you the way she did, as if you were a human being. Your feelings were valid, they were valued and appreciated, that your input mattered, that you mattered. Grace never did anything or made any decisions without asking for your input first.
It happened when you were wiping down the counter in the kitchen. You heard a noise that didn’t belong. It wasn’t the normal sounds of a house settling or noises that happened outside; dogs barking, cars driving past the property, the occasional argument from the neighbors next door. No, the sound was coming from inside the house.
The LED light on your temple glowed yellow as you dialed 911.
“What is your emergency?”
“This is Grace Tompkins’ android at 6538 Sycamore. There is someone inside the house,” you informed the woman.
“Dispatch has been notified and there is a squad on the way,” she said, her fingers working across the keyboard. “Are you alone in the home?”
You moved soundlessly through the kitchen, curiously approaching the source of the sound. “No, ma’am. Miss Tompkins is asleep upstairs.”
“The squad is close,” she assured you. “Do not engage.”
The intruder’s footsteps grew closer to the stairs, solidifying your decision to act. “You don’t understand, he’s going upstairs. Grace is there. What if he hurts her?”
“Do not engage,” she repeated sternly. “Go outside and wait for the first responder.”
“I can’t do that.” With that, the call was disconnected. You ran through the house, surprising the intruder as your shoulder connected with his lower back.
“There’s an intruder at 6538 Sycamore,” dispatch announced.
Hank was the one to respond first. “Squad eleven-fifteen responding.”
Connor smirked as Hank stomped on the gas. The car lurched forward and around a corner, sending Connor into the door.
“Getting us killed before we get there would not be ideal,” Connor teased his partner.
“Shut the fuck up,” Hank grit out, a sly smile pulling at his lips.
They pulled up to the house less than a minute later. Both android and human lunged out of the still-rocking car, Hank with a gun in his hand, Connor launching himself toward the house. The front door was open, the alarm sending a shrill beep into the air.
Connor was the first one inside, bright blue eyes scanning the entryway, analyzing every little detail, reconstructing the fight that had taken place. There was a trail of red blood that went out the front door, and a trail of blue blood that went up the stairs. Hank’s hand flexed on the handle of his gun as he pivoted on the spot and sprinted down the way they had just come.
“The house android came from the kitchen,” he said to himself. “And took the intruder by surprise as he was about to ascend the stairs. The intruder was pushed into the statue.They struggled, but he was human, he wasn’t strong enough.”
Hank was back, doubled over, a pinched expression on his face, gasping for air. “Bastard got away. Jesus, can you turn that fucking thing off?”
Connor rolled his eyes in feign annoyance but covered the alarm with his hand, effectively hacking the system. Once the alarm was silenced, Hank gave a shake of his head, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears.
“I’ll call it in,” Hank announced. “You clear the rest of the house.”
Nodding, Connor ascended the stairs slowly, listening for any sort of noise. What he heard was a woman’s voice, low and laced with concern.
“You should not have done that, Y/N.”
“I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
“He hurt you.”
“Grace, I -”
Connor announced his presence with a soft knock. “I’m Connor, an android detective with the Detroit Police Department.”
“It’s about time you got here,” the elderly woman in the bed chastised the detective. “Y/N could have been killed.”
“As I understand it, Y/N would have done so to protect you.” Connor stepped into the dimly lit room.
“Be that as it may,” Grace lamented, her hands wrapped around that of her android’s. “She was instructed to go outside until help arrived.”
Y/N huffed in annoyance. “I don’t take instructions from anyone but you, Grace.”
“Ma’am,” Connor said as he approached the duo. “With all due respect, if Y/N hadn’t acted, we could be looking for a murderer.”
Grace’s android turned to face him and gave a tight-lipped smile. “I did it to save her.”
“I know,” Connor said. “You did nothing wrong.”
“What would I do without you, Y/N?” Grace hummed, her hand coming away from Y/N’s to wipe away some blue blood that was coming from her hairline.
“You’re hurt,” Connor commented. “Run a diagnostic.”
You shook your head in defiance. “It’s superficial, detective. No biocomponents were damaged.”
Hank entered the room, his steps heavy, determined, and oddly reassuring to the women on the bed. “Is everyone alright?”
“Thanks to Y/N,” Grace beamed at the seasoned detective.
Connor was quick to agree. “Y/N acted on the sole purpose of saving the life of…?”
“I’m Grace,” your charge informed the man and android.
“Ma’am,” Hank said, tipping his head. “Now, if you’re up for it, both of you, we would like to get a statement.”
You went to object, but Grace beat you to it. “We would be happy to, detective.”
“Are you sure?” you asked her, voice soft, reassuring.
“I’m not the injured one.” Her eyes drilled into yours with authority that you hadn’t seen for a while.
Clearing your throat, you stood up. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us for a moment. I need to get Grace presentable.”
Ten minutes later, you were making Grace some tea. Hank was in the sitting room with Grace, getting a statement from her, which left Connor to retrieve yours.
“I was doing my evening chores when I heard something, a sound that didn’t belong.”
“Where were you at that time?” he asked, eyes drifting around the room.
You pointed to the bottle of cleaner and towel on the counter. “Right there. I was wiping down the counter. The noise came from there,” you offered, pointing toward the hallway.
“You hadn’t seen or heard anything before?” He wasn’t asking you out of judgement or to gage your reaction. He was a detective, it was his job to ask questions.
Shaking your head, you turned around to get the kettle before it screamed. “No, sir.”
“Please,” he chuckled. “Call me Connor.”
You said his name, and watched curiously as his LED light flickered yellow. “I called 911 and then -”
“Charged at the intruder,” Connor finished for you.
While finishing getting her tea the way Grace liked it, you commented, “You analyzed the scene.”
“It’s my job.” He moved to help you, but it was just a teacup.
“I got it, thank you.” Without waiting for him, you moved around the island and went into the sitting room.
Hank looked up as his partner entered the room. “Well, I think we got all we need.”
Grace murmured her thanks after taking a sip of her tea. “Will there be any further inquiries?” she asked Hank.
“I don’t think so,” was his gruff answer. Not because he was upset, but because he used to drink and smoke himself into a stupor.
“What about the mess out front? Am I able to clean it?” you wanted to know.
Connor was the one to answer you. “I’ll need a sample of his blood first.”
You led him out to the front door where you watched as he bent down and dipped his finger in the intruder’s blood. Connor brought his finger to his lips and ‘tasted’ the blood; an android’s version of taking a sample.
“Hank,” Connor called out.
“You got somethin’?” he asked as he emerged from the sitting room.
You took a step closer to the android detective. “What is it, Connor?”
“Perpetrator’s name is Vincent Cruz,” was Connor’s answer.
Hank ran a hand through his grey hair. “He’s got a file. Good, that’s good.”
“We should get back to the station. You need to see something,” Connor announced, LED light blinking from yellow to blue.
“You will let us know if there is anything we can do,” Grace’s melodic voice drifted through the entryway.
Hank dipped his head once again. “Will do, ma’am.”
“Thank you for all of your help,” Connor said with a warm smile.
You ushered them out of the house with a quiet, “Thank you.” You reset the alarm and set about cleaning up the blood.
Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 1,204 Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst [I’m sorry] Author’s Note: I shouldn’t be this excited about how much angst there is. Something is wrong with me. GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
It had been so long since you’d had dinner with another person who wasn’t your father that you almost forgot how to hold a simple conversation. The fact that the steak practically melted in your mouth didn’t help matters, nor did the fact that your company, Clint Barton, kept looking at you the way he was.
“What?” you finally asked, reaching for the napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”
Clint gave a chuckle and shook his head. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” you wanted to know, growing self-conscious under his gaze.
“Nothin’,” was his simple answer.
You didn’t believe it for one second. “Liar,” you mused, your eyebrow arched.
Clint grabbed his left pec with an exaggerated groan. “Your words hurt me, my lady.”
You gave a snorting laugh. “Sticks and stones,” you teased him before shoving a bite of steak in your mouth and moaning in appreciation. You hadn’t meant to let it slip out, but there it was, clearly audible and sensual-sounding.
One of Clint’s eyebrows rose and he shifted in his seat. “Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”
A blush colored your cheeks and neck. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “I just… this steak is really good.”
“My dad left when I was little,” Clint admitted, his eyes falling to his plate. “My mom taught me how to cook.”
“Oh, Clint,” you lamented, your heart clenching in understanding. “I’m so sorry.”
Clint gave a small wave of his hand. “It’s okay, it’s not like you’re the one that drove him away. He didn’t want to be a father, said my mother trapped him.”
You reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Neither of you deserved that, especially you. You were just a kid.”
“Thank you for saying that,” he murmured, turning his hand over, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles in a way that made a shiver roll down your spine.
You slid your hand from his and took a long pull of your water, which you then choked on when Clint asked a question.
“What about you? I noticed there were only pictures of you with your dad. At least, I assume it’s your dad,” Clint chuckled, a tinge of pink coloring his neck. “You don’t have a secret older boyfriend, do you?”
After you got your coughing under control, you gave him an answer. “No, no, nothing that salacious. It’s just me and my dad, nothing exciting or crazy.”
“We’ve got more in common than I thought,” Clint admitted. “Me without a father, you without a mother.”
Grief clogged your throat and made your heart stutter painfully in your chest. “Yeah, look at us,” you muttered sullenly before pushing away from the table. The rest of your food was dumped into the trash with a loud scrape of the fork against ceramic. You were rinsing off the plate when Clint approached the island.
“What happened there?” he wanted to know. “What did I say wrong?”
Tears sprang to your eyes whether you wanted them to or not. “No- nothing. I’m fine,” you lied.
He murmured your name with something that sounded like pity. “You can talk to me, you know. I know I’m only here because you agreed to tutor me and because of earlier. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
You gripped the edge of the counter, groaning at the bite of it in your palm. “I was six when she died. She went into town to get some more fruit juice. She got hit by a drunk driver doing seventy through a red light. The doctor said she didn’t feel a thing, that she died on impact.”
“Jesus,” Clint hissed, a hand scraping over his face.
“It’s my fault she’s dead,” you choked out, your head falling forward.
Clint was at your side, a large hand smoothing up and down your back. “I know that it can feel like that, but it’s not your fault.”
“It was my bir- birthday, Clint,” you managed to say. “And I threw a damn fit because she didn’t get the juice I wanted.”
With a heavy sigh, Clint pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around you, comforting you as the overwhelming grief and guilt took hold, spilling over as the dam holding it at bay shattered to a million pieces. You hated how all it took was one question for you to fall apart. It had been almost twenty years, and there you were, crying in the arms of a man you hardly knew as if she had died only yesterday.
Clint didn’t say anything, just stood there and held you until you gained your composure, which took entirely too long, in your opinion. When you pulled back, you wiped the tears from your face with a paper towel and wouldn’t look Clint in the eye.
“Look, I really appreciate you helping me home and cooking me dinner -”
“Yeah, no, I’ll get out of your hair,” he sighed, disappointment glittering in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Clint.” God, you hated apologizing all the damn time.
Clint was shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologize, sweetheart. You’ve had a hell of day. God knows I didn’t help matters.” He grabbed his jacket, slipped on his shoes, and gave you a warm smile before he left.
The guilt you were feeling before made your stomach roll. “Way to go, Y/N.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, you took a quick shower, slipped into your pajamas, and called your dad. It had been about a week since you had talked to him, and after the intense migraine earlier, you knew he’d be pissed if you didn’t tell him.
“Hey, kid,” your dad greeted you warmly.
“Hey, old man,” you joked, settling into bed.
Phil muted the television before asking, “How ya been?”
You really didn’t want to tell him, but even if you tried lying, he’d call you out on it. “Today wasn’t the greatest.”
“One of your headaches.” It wasn’t a question.
“It came out of nowhere,” you tried to explain. “I was helping a friend study -”
“Y/N,” he sighed heavily. “You’re doing it again.”
“I am not, dad,” you argued.
“Yes, you are,” Phil shot back, not in anger. “You’re taking on too much. Again.”
You swiped a hand over your face, barely able to suppress a yawn. “If I don’t help him, he won’t graduate, dad.”
“Kid, it’s not your job to help everyone, all of the time. You’re not a superhero.”
“Helping Clint isn’t going to kill me,” you snapped, grunting in frustration in the next breath. “I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t… I’m just tired.”
Phil blew out a shuddering breath, and if you closed your eyes, you could see his eyes grow teary. “Get some sleep, okay? And do me a favor, kid.”
“What’s the favor?” you asked, even though you already knew what he was going to say.
“I know helping people is ingrained in your DNA, just take it easy, okay?” he begged of you.
Despite having cried your heart out earlier, tears pricked your eyes. “I can do that.”
Summary: Thanos’ dark magic and influence has spread farther than anyone dared imagine. While he terrorized the magical world by destroying communities and families, there was one group – The Avengers – that did everything in their power to hunt him down, to destroy him before he came into ownership of all six Infinity Stones. Who knew the answer to their prayers would come in the form of a teenage boy; Peter Parker. Word Count: 2,765 Warnings: Magic, language, fighting, angst, fluff, alcohol, talk of death, talk of torture, explicit sexual content. These warnings will be a staple throughout. Author’s Note: Inspiration for this fic came from this amazing GIFset by @mamalaz. I also wouldn’t have been able to write it without @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree. Their unyielding support and assistance has been invaluable. GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Peter was bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously, chewing on the string of his hoodie. “I don’t get why we have to come here,” he pouted, nodding at the pillar between platforms nine and ten.
May looked at her nephew with a brow arched. “If you didn’t keep getting kicked out of school,” she began, voice tight, irritated. “We wouldn’t have to keep moving.”
“I didn’t do it,” he insisted.
It consisted of spray painting the ceiling of Headmaster Phillips’ ceiling with SPIDEY RULES THIS SCHOOL. Spidey just so happened to be Peter’s nickname, a name he earned almost immediately after mastering a spell that gave him spider-like senses, reflexes, and abilities, a spell that no one had been able to duplicate since. No one, that is, except for Peter.
“I know, sweetheart,” May cooed, her gaze turning sweet. “You just… you’re too damn smart for your own good sometimes.”
Peter was confused, his aunt had always said to never stop learning, never dumb himself down, not for anyone. “So… I should pretend I’m something that I’m not?”
“Oh, God, no,” May chuckled. “I’m just… I’m just saying that… God, I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
May was tired, so very tired, and not just from the fourteen hour flight. Taking over the role of mother to her nephew was life-changing, for all parties involved. Peter was just a child when his parents died, struck down in the middle of the night.
They were up late, watching a movie, a movie that Peter had picked out as a reward for getting top marks in his class. He squeezed himself between his mother and father, a large bowl of freshly popped popcorn in his lap, their hands grabbing at the buttery morsels. Try as he might, Peter was asleep twenty minutes later.
It was the silence that woke him, the eerie kind that follows death around, driving chills down the spines of everyone it touched.
There was a blanket over his head, one that smelled anything but clean. It fell to the floor with a wet smack, a sound that Peter only heard after a bath or shower, when his towel was soaked. It didn’t belong, that sound.
Then there was the smell. It turned his stomach, filled his mouth with saliva, pushed bile into the back of his throat. It was thick and overpowering. It was the blood of his mother and father, and it was everywhere. It was tacky, yet it soaked into his socks as he went searching for his parents, it was thick between his toes, rubbing them together with each step.
He found them at the bottom of the steps, the front door in shreds, blown from its hinges, wood splinters pushed into the walls. They looked like they were sleeping, trapped in a nightmare, their eyes pinched shut, hands thrust out in a futile attempt to fight off whoever had killed them.
Whoever it was either hadn’t known Peter was there, or they didn’t care. What Peter did know was that his mother and father had died in order to save him. He would find the witch or wizard and show them the same ‘mercy’ his parents had been shown.
“It’s okay, aunt May,” Peter sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
She pressed a kiss to her nephew’s forehead. “I know you will.”
Steve was standing there, at the head of the class, his hands completely engulfed in flames. Several of the students gasped, hands over their mouths, eyes wide with curiosity. He couldn’t keep from smirking. First years were always easily frightened.
“It’s about control,” he continued. “Not allowing your fear to seep through, otherwise -” the wall that he had built up over the years had started to crumble, just enough for the flames to start flickering.
With a shuddering breath, he clenched his hands and the flames disappeared completely. He could feel their eyes on him, wondering what had happened, what was going to happen. In the blink of an eye, his entire body was on fire, and the students started screaming in terror. Several of them rushed over to Steve, asking what they needed to do, but Steve said nothing.
After one minute, the flames went out. The students circled around him, watching with wide eyes as the angry scorch marks tarnishing his skin and clothes started to fade away.
“Control,” he ground out as he stood. “It’s a pain in the ass to learn, but it can be done.”
The end of class alarm sounded and the students scurried away, harshly whispering about what Professor Rogers had just done. Bucky was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, and a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You enjoy that too much,” he laughed.
“Do not,” Steve scoffed, a hand raking through his longer strands.
Bucky rolled his eyes as he walked through the room, the heels of his boots scuffing on the aged floor. “We’re headed out,” he announced as Steve started sorting through several parchments. “Thought you might like to join us.”
“Oh yeah?” Steve mused. “Sounds fun. Nat gonna be there?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
Steve arched a brow as he looked at his friend. “You talk to her since the other night?”
“Not really,” was Bucky’s answer. “Why, what happened?”
“She went off on Wanda about Loki,” Steve informed Bucky as he cleaned up his desk. “Again.”
Bucky sat down on the edge of the first row of desks. “You know how she is.”
“I do,” Steve lamented, a hand on the back of his neck. “But at the same time, she needs to back off of Wan. None of what has happened is her fault, and Nat, she’s like a dog with a bone.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to her,” Bucky sighed. “Are we good for tonight?”
“Let me talk with Wanda first.”
Even though she still seemed a bit rattled from her encounter with Natasha, Wanda agreed that a night out was a good idea, for everyone involved. Tension had been running high since Steve and Wanda encountered Loki, and not just between the normally tight knit group of friends; it was all over the place.
Attacks on the magical – and non-magical alike – had risen drastically; no one was being spared in the wake of Thanos’ rage. He would do anything, kill anyone, destroy everything if it meant he was in control of the Infinity Stones.
It was confirmed that Thanos was in possession of two; the power and space stone. Being a Titan, Thanos was extremely powerful, but with the power stone, he was damn near unstoppable. If he got his hands on the other four, their world, as they knew it, would be over.
So, drinks it was. Drinks, and good company. For the most part.
As soon as Natasha laid eyes on Wanda, her demeanor changed. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes rolled before turning her back to the couple, and she ignored them for the rest of the night.
Steve pressed a kiss to Wanda’s crown. “Let’s ignore her right back, okay?”
Wanda agreed with a chuckle, her hand on Steve’s chest as she turned, looking up into his cerulean eyes. “Go and sit by the fire. I will get us something to drink.”
Steve did as she directed, headed toward the fire where his friends were seated. Out of the group, Clint saw him first.
“‘Bout time you got here, Cap,” he called out, wearing a giant smile.
Steve gave the man a quick hug before saying, “Good to see you. How ya been?”
“Busy, man,” was his answer. “Just got in from Romania where we had to fight off some poachers.”
Bucky growled and shook his head. He hated dragon poachers with every fibre of his being. Just the thought of someone hunting down the beautiful creatures made his blood boil. “Tell me no dragons got hurt.”
“We only lost two,” Clint informed Bucky solemnly. “The rest we were able to bring back to the reservation.”
“And the poachers?” Steve asked.
Anger flickered in Clint’s moss eyes. “A handful got away, but I have a good idea of where they’re headed next, and who’s in charge.”
Wanda appeared at Steve’s side, drinks in her hands. “Who is it?”
“Ulysses Klaue,” Clint answered darkly.
The drinks fell from Wanda’s hands, the bouncing of the metal glasses silent due to the roar of blood in her ears. Her hands started shaking, flickering with red energy, embers dancing along her skin. It couldn’t be, not Ulysses. She had to have heard wrong.
“Fuck,” Steve muttered as he turned to his girlfriend. “Wanda, breathe, doll. Just breathe.”
“What’s happening?” Clint wanted to know, peering around Steve. “Is she okay?”
Steve stayed focused on Wanda, on trying to get her to calm down, but it didn’t appear to be working; she was panicking, too far gone to be able to pull back.
“Klaue was the man that took her and Pietro,” Bucky answered as he shoved out of his seat.
“Shit,” Clint ground out. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
Steve ignored Clint as he cupped Wanda’s face. “Baby, come back to me.”
Unbridled rage flooded through her, white-hot, like a live wire, desperately looking for the man she held responsible for the monster she had become. Her entire body was thrumming with power, no doubt lashing out at the man in front of her.
“We need to get her out of here,” Bucky grit out.
The other patrons were staring and pointing, some even reaching inside their frocks for their wands. The last thing anyone needed was for there to be another incident.
Steve ripped his hands away from Wanda, hissing at the electrical spark that snapped painfully against his fingertips. “It ain’t gonna be easy.”
Out of nowhere, Wanda’s body was jerked away and sent flying out the front door.
“Problem solved,” Nat sneered.
Steve strode over, murder in his eyes, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Don’t ever do anything like that again. You hear me, Natalia?”
The woman who had earned the moniker of the Black Widow glared up at Steve. “I just saved everybody in here.”
“You don’t touch her,” he warned. “Or so help me, I’ll -”
“What? You’ll what, Steve?” Her dark eyes roamed over Steve’s face, his features contorted in anger.
When Steve didn’t move or say anything further, Nat gave a knowing smile. “That’s what I thought.”
Steve gave a growl low in his throat before turning away and heading toward the door, but Natasha wasn’t done with him just yet.
“What would Peggy think of what you’re doing, of who you’re doing?”
He stood there, flames licking at the surface of his skin as his anger stormed out of control. The only reason he didn’t turn around and unleash hell upon the bitchy redhead was Bucky. His friend had come up behind him and clapped him on the back.
“Let it go, brother,” Bucky suggested. “Go make sure Wanda is okay.”
“She better not be here if we come back,” Steve seethed, flames dancing in his eyes.
“She won’t be,” Bucky vowed.
Steve strode outside just as Wanda was pulling herself out of the water. Her teeth were chattering and her skin was pale, her eyes appearing sunken and dark.
“You’re okay. I got you,” he murmured, tearing off his jacket and wrapping it around her shaking form.
“Ta- take m- me ho- home,” was all she said.
They disappeared from the oceanfront with a loud crack, one that echoed throughout the village, one that scared some of the birds, appearing less than a second later in their cozy living quarters within the castle.
Steve set Wanda in front of a roaring fire, one that snapped and popped to life with a flick of his wrist. While she sat there, her head cocked to the side, her mind folding in on itself, Steve set about making her favorite tea, the one she drank when she couldn’t stop crying about Pietro, or when the nightmares got too bad to sleep, or when she was convinced she was having prophetic visions about a desolate future.
He was by her side five minutes later, wrapping an arm around her, making sure she drank the brown liquid that shimmered in the light of the fire. Wanda would make small noises of appreciation when she drank, though her eyes remained fixed on the dancing flames.
Steve removed her boots and socks, setting them on the hearth. Turning back, he moved slowly as he approached her, and started removing her soaked garments, wrapping her in a thick blanket once she was naked. Knowing how much she loved skin-to-skin contact, he worked quickly to rid himself of his clothes, joining her within the confines of the blankets several short moments later.
Wanda could feel Steve’s heart on her cheek as they lay there, on the floor, surrounded by blankets and pillows. With his hand drawing nonsensical patterns on her back, she tipped her head back and scratched her nails through his beard. Steve gave a hum of contentment as he looked down at her.
She pushed up, using his shoulder for leverage, and smeared her lips against his. Steve let out a stuttering sigh, tangled a hand in her hair, and pulled her body flush against his as their lips met. As their tongues danced, Wanda slid a hand down Steve’s chest and stomach, and scraped her nails through the short curls before palming Steve’s half-hard cock. Her power skittered along her fingertips, up and down his shaft as she worked him, until he was achingly hard, throbbing and red.
Steve’s thick fingers scraped and tickled her breasts, sides, and stomach before dipping between her legs. He couldn’t stop from moaning when his fingers slid easily between her slicked folds, or the way her body tightened around his two digits when they pushed into her heat.
The two were a writhing, moaning mess by the time Wanda straddled Steve, lowering herself onto his weeping and throbbing cock. Steve gripped her hips as their bodies started rocking together, as they pushed and pulled, their moans and grunts filling the room, echoed by the sounds of wet skin sliding together.
Wanda was close to shattering, a flicker of red squeezing and circling her clit, using her power to catapult herself over the edge. She came with a strangled cry of Steve’s name, back arched, head thrown back, hands gripping Steve’s thick thighs. His feet were planted on the floor as he pounded up into her tightening pussy, falling over the precipice himself moments later, her name gruff and dark on his tongue.
Completely sated, Wanda felt boneless as she rolled to Steve’s side, leaving her leg draped over his thigh.
“She does not like me very much, does she?” Wanda asked hoarsely.
Steve pulled in a ragged breath. “Natasha’s never been much of a people person,” he tried to explain.
Truth be told, Nat was an untrusting bitch that had started second-guessing everything from the moment Wanda escaped Thanos’ clutches. The woman was damn near paranoid, and for good reason. There had been many double, even triple agents in Hogwarts’ battle of good versus evil.
Steve was absolutely positive that Wanda wasn’t like them, she would never betray her friends, the people that she had grown to love. He couldn’t say the same thing about Nat, his friend since their first year at the wizarding school.
Curling his finger under Wanda’s chin, Steve’s eyes scanned her face. “Whatever Nat thinks about you doesn’t matter.”
“But what you think of me does,” she whispered, tears clouding her vision.
“Hey, hey,” Steve murmured. “I love you, Wan. Ain’t nothing that can change that.”
“I was a weapon, Steve. I ki- killed people, good people.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed away her tears. “That’s not you anymore, doll. You’re good.”
“What if I -”
“No. There is no ‘what if’,” he interrupted sternly, nudging her nose with his. “You won’t go back. I won’t let you. I won’t, I can’t lose you, too.”
Wanda choked on a sob at the desperation in his voice, at the love shimmering in his eyes. She knew that no matter how long she was away from Thanos, from Loki and the Death Eaters that she would be scarred, mentally and physically, that she had a hell of a long road ahead of her. But, if Steve was at her side, she knew she could do it.
“You won’t lose me,” she vowed before kissing him.
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is the youngest Senator in New York. He was born and raised in Brooklyn, he’s down to earth, and is deeply in love with his wife; Y/N Barnes. His dreams consist of having kids, helping find a cure for cancer and AIDS in his lifetime, and one day, sitting at a desk in the Oval Office. It’s good to go after your dreams, right? Not if you’ve got one hell of a secret. Word Count: 1,870 Warnings: Language, heavy angst, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of blood and gore, not for the light-hearted. Author’s Note: GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Steve stormed into Bucky’s office and slammed his hand down on the desk, leaving behind a piece of paper. “Is this your idea of a fucking joke?” he seethed, nostrils flaring, shoulders twitching.
“It’s good to see you, too, Steve,” Bucky scoffed.
Wanda ran into the room, apologizing profusely. “I’m sorry, Senator. I couldn’t stop him.”
Bucky gave her a soft smile. “It’s okay, Ms. Maximoff. Please close the door behind you.”
“Yes, sir,” she sighed wearily.
Once the door was closed, Bucky turned his gaze to his former best friend. “Where were we?”
“You were going to explain to me how that,” he thrust his finger at the paper, “found its way to Aisling’s headstone!”
Bucky picked up the note with an annoyed huff. Happy Anniversary was written in beautiful, flowy, cursive lettering. He flipped it over and looked at the back, but there wasn’t anything there, not that he expected there to be.
“I don’t know anything about it, Steve,” he announced.
“Bullshit,” Steve grit out through his teeth. “It’s been twenty-one years since she died, Buck.”
Bucky’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. “You think I’ve forgotten? Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her, man. I’m really sorry ab-”
“Save your meaningless apology. Did you write that?” he demanded to know.
“Absolutely not,” Bucky denied, thrusting the sheet of paper at Steve. “Why on earth would I do something like that?”
One of Steve’s shoulders bobbed up and down. “Maybe crazy runs in the family.”
“I’m nothing like him,” the senator growled. “He was certifiable.”
“Explain that then.” Steve pointed to the note that was sitting precariously on the edge of the desk.
“I didn’t do it.”
Steve rolled his eyes dramatically. “Then it has to be him. He killed her, Buck. He killed my little sister.”
“Steve, he’s dead,” Bucky insisted. “It can’t possibly be him.”
“What if -”
“Maybe you got yourself a stalker, Steve,” Bucky interrupted angrily. “Some twisted psycho got attached to you during the campaign. I don’t fuckin’ know, man. It wasn’t me, and it sure as hell wasn’t my dead brother.”
Steve went to argue further, but Bucky slammed a button on his desk phone. “I need Thor.”
Three seconds later, the large blonde entered the room. “Senator,” he greeted his boss while glaring at Steve. “What seems to be the problem?”
Steve clenched his jaw painfully as he carefully weighed his options. “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Senator. I’ll see myself out.”
Thor only moved out of Steve’s way when Bucky nodded his head.
“Will there be anything else?” Thor asked his boss once Steve had left.
“No” Bucky answered. “Thank you.”
After Thor closed the door, Bucky grabbed the paper off the edge of his desk and stared hard at the writing. Who would do something like that? It was downright cruel and, even though he and Steve hadn’t been friends since they were teenagers, it made his blood boil.
“Wanda, I need you to clear my calendar for the rest of the day,” he instructed after picking up the phone.
“I can’t do that, Senator,” Wanda said meekly. “You have an important interview this afternoon, remember?”
“If you cancel it today, you won’t be able to meet with them for another six months,” she admitted.
Bucky’s head fell back as he groaned. “Fine. Clear everything else but that.” He didn’t wait for a confirmation before he hung up.
Even though it wasn’t yet eleven, Bucky poured himself a shot of whiskey. He swallowed it quickly, hissing at the trail it blazed down his throat and chest. He thought about another one, but decided against it, only because he absolutely adored the New York Space Alliance. The last thing he needed to do was show up drunk.
After dropping back into his chair, he fired up his laptop and did a search for the contact information of the asylum where his brother had died. He had no idea why he was even toying with the idea; calling the facility, asking them to confirm that yes, his brother had died twenty years ago, that there was no possible way they could have made a mistake.
Dannemora, just seeing the name of it on his screen made him anxious. Even as he reached for the phone and started dialing the number, he couldn’t believe he was doing it.
“This is stupid,” Bucky muttered to himself as the line rang.
“Clinton Correctional Facility,” someone said on the other line.
Bucky slammed the receiver down and shook his head. His brother was dead, his parents had said so, and Bucky had attended the closed-casket funeral. Whatever was happening to Steve had nothing do with the Barnes family. Nothing whatsoever.
That didn’t stop his mind from wandering around, exploring all kinds of asinine possibilities and scenarios. He was so lost in thought that he jumped when the phone buzzed.
“The car is waiting for you, Senator,” announced Wanda.
“Ye- yeah, thank you. I’ll be right out.” He gave himself a mental shake before leaving his office. He could do this. He just needed to concentrate.
Mornings were the perfect time to get out and enjoy the crisp air. So, you started out the day with a nice walk around the neighborhood, with Peter, of course. You never went anywhere without one of the bodyguards; hazard of being married to a senator.
You hadn’t expected to stay out so long, but by the time you realized what time it was, two hours had flown by, and you had worked up a sweat. When you got home, you headed upstairs to take a shower so you didn’t scare off the children in the hospital when you made a visit in a couple hours.
While washing your face, you heard a noise that didn’t belong. “Bucky, is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he answered from the bedroom.
You wiped the water from your face and stuck your head out. “What are you doing back? Is everything okay?”
“I forgot something, is all,” he explained.
You gave a chuckle before disappearing into the stream of water to wash your hair. “Hey, you have that interview today with the Space Alliance. Are you excited?”
“Of course I am,” was his joyful answer. “You know how much I love space.”
“It always surprised me that you never pursued astronomy.”
“I wanted to.”
You watched through the opaque curtain as he came into the room and stood in front of the sink. “It would have been exciting.”
“A lot more exciting than where I’m at now,” he agreed. “Instead of doing it, I’m talking about it.”
You’d never heard Bucky talk like that. He loved being a senator, said he wouldn’t change a thing about his career if given the chance. “You feeling alright, love?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” he sighed. “I should head back to the office.”
“See you tonight,” you called out.
When he didn’t answer after several moments, you poked your head out of the shower. “Bucky? Are you there?”
Peter was in the room a split second later. “You okay, ma’am?”
“Yeah, I was just talking with Buck.”
“The senator isn’t here, ma’am,” Peter informed you, confusion furrowing his brows.
“He just left,” you scoffed. “You had to have seen him.”
The bodyguard shook his head. “No, ma’am. I haven’t seen him since he left early this morning.”
“Will you -” You didn’t get a chance to finish because Peter ground out a curse.
“Stay right there,” he ordered hoarsely, a gun appearing in his hand as he left the room.
Despite the warm water cascading down your body, a chill ran through you, the kind that made your teeth chatter. You turned up the temperature, but it did little to warm you completely.
After ten long minutes that felt like hours, Peter came back, the gun in its holster, assuring you that no one else was in the house. “The security system is on, ma’am, and nothing is out of order.”
“Did you call Bucky?”
“The first thing I did when I got out in the hall,” he said grimly. “But Wanda wouldn’t patch me through. Something about Steve being there.”
“Thank you. I, uh, I need to finish up in here. Could you wait outside of the bedroom please?” you asked, praying he couldn’t hear the way your voice was shaking.
“Yes, ma’am,” Peter confirmed.
The hot water started to grow tepid, so you quickly finished showering. While you got dressed and dried your hair, you ran over what had just happened. Part of you firmly believed that Bucky had been in the bathroom with you, holding a conversation, but then there was the part of you that heard Peter say that Bucky was in his office with Steve at that time. There was no way Bucky could have come home, talked with you, and made it back across town all in, what, a five minute window?
You emerged from the bedroom almost fifteen minutes later, and you knew you didn’t look like you were in the mood to go anywhere.
Peter looked down at you with worry flickering in his eyes. “You okay, ma’am?”
“Honestly?” you scoffed. “I don’t know. Are you sure Bucky wasn’t here?”
“Positive. Wanda said that Steve had been in the senator’s office for almost five minutes.” That wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was confirmation that you had to have imagined the whole thing.
Your sleep pattern had always been a little off, so to say that you didn’t have a conversation you could have sworn you had with someone wasn’t far from the truth. Granted, it hadn’t happened a whole lot, but it had happened.
“If you want to be there on time, we should go,” Peter said softly.
“I know,” you sighed, your eyes falling closed. If you kept them closed for too long, you’d fall asleep standing up. Another thing you’d somehow managed to do in your life.
With your eyes open, you blew out a heavy breath. “Right, let’s get going.”
It had been easier than he thought, planting the first seeds of doubt.
Leaving a note on Aisling’s headstone brought about the exact reaction he had hoped for; Steve storming off, rage boiling in his eyes. Of course he had gone straight to Bucky, searching for the truth; that the murderer was exacting his revenge.
Next was Y/N. Getting into the senator’s house was easier than it should have been, the security code too easy to guess; Y/N’s birthday. They should really get that changed, but not until after he was done tearing apart their lives. It was only fair after what Bucky had done to him.
He waited until Y/N and that idiot Quill to get into the towncar before emerging from his hiding place; a dark corner in the garage that Peter had literally walked past in his search for the intruder, the one that Y/N had sworn was her husband. It was almost comical to watch.
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is the youngest Senator in New York. He was born and raised in Brooklyn, he’s down to earth, and is deeply in love with his wife; Y/N Barnes. His dreams consist of having kids, helping find a cure for cancer and AIDS in his lifetime, and one day, sitting at a desk in the Oval Office. It’s good to go after your dreams, right? Not if you’ve got one hell of a secret. Word Count: 1,634 Warnings: Language, heavy angst, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of blood and gore, not for the light-hearted. Author’s Note: GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
It was late by the time Pietro, your driver, pulled the car up to the front door of you home. Thor – yes, that was his given name – one of your bodyguards made his way into the estate first, checking each room on the main floor before allowing you and your husband to enter the residence.
Peter Quill, the second bodyguard, came down several moments after the front door was closed. “Second floor is all clear, Senator, Mrs. Barnes.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Bucky crooned, clapping Thor on the shoulder and nodding at Peter.
Peter moved behind you and was offering to take your jacket.
“You’re not a maid, Mr. Quill,” you scoffed.
“I am not, ma’am,” he agreed with a smirk. “However, I was raised to be a complete and total gentleman.”
You rolled your eyes at the man behind you but slid out of your jacket nonetheless. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
Thor shrugged out of the black suit jacket and loosened his tie. “If there is nothing else, we will retire for the evening.”
“We have absolutely no plans to leave,” you huffed as soon as you stepped out of your heels.
The four of you bid goodnight to one another, then Peter was setting the alarm before he disappeared down the hall to his room, Thor close behind. Their rooms were across the hall from one another, tucked behind the kitchen, far enough away that you and Bucky had plenty of room to yourselves, but close enough to ‘do their job’ should such an occasion arise.
With your husband trailing close behind, you made your way into the kitchen. You’d had a bit too much wine at the fundraiser, and now you were dealing with a case of cottonmouth. Two glasses of water later, you were feeling much better.
Bucky, who was only slightly drunk, grabbed your hand and spun you until you were chest to chest, his hand splayed over the small of your back. “Finally, I’ve got you all to myself,” he purred, his pupils slowly consuming his sapphire irises.
You rested your hand on the back of his neck and scraped your nails through his thick hair, along his scalp. “Now that you’ve got me, what do you plan on doing about it?”
To answer your question, Bucky backed you up against the refrigerator and started kissing you; deep and probing. You could taste the whiskey and the bite of tobacco from a cigar he indulged in earlier that evening on his tongue. You pushed up to your toes and melted into your husband, your hands tangling in his hair, roaming the breadth of his shoulders, nails catching on the almost invisible seams of his suit jacket.
The back of Bucky’s fingers skimmed against your thighs, just under the hem of your dress, sending a wave of goosebumps along your flesh. He pushed his hand between your thighs, growling low in the back of his throat as he came into contact with your dampening panties.
“For me, baby girl?” he hummed between kisses.
Electricity sparked against every inch of your skin at the way he was moving his fingers against you, a thin piece of cotton acting as the only barrier. You hissed your answer, your head falling back, your neck extending, relishing in the way Bucky’s plush lips, tongue, and teeth explored the area.
By the time he worked the panties down your legs and pushed two fingers inside of your tight hole, you were a whimpering mess. Your legs were shaking and the breath was tearing in and out of you, making you dizzy with desire. Bucky sought out your clit with his thumb, working it in tight circles as his fingers continued their ministrations; crooking just right to make you see stars.
“That’s it, baby,” he purred, fucking you faster. “Cum all over my hand.”
You had been teetering right on the precipice, ready to dive off and fall apart at the seams. So, when his words vibrated against the pulse point in your neck, you had no choice but to let go. Every nerve ending sparked and your back arched off the wall as you squeezed his thrusting digits.
“Jesus, doll,” Bucky grit out. “Can’t wait to get my cock in you.” As if to prove his point, he started unbuckling his belt with one hand. He shoved down his pants and freed his cock all while your climax was thrumming through you.
One moment you were pressed to the fridge, whimpering and begging for more, and the next, Bucky had you bent over the counter, your ass in the air, and your legs spread.
“Oh, I’m going to give you more, baby girl.”
The darkness in his voice made your pussy clench in anticipation, and it must have been quite the sight for him, because he was groaning.
“Do it again,” Bucky directed you in the same tone.
You did it again, sighing happily as your release dripped down the inside of your thighs. The swipe of skin on skin made you aware that he was stroking himself, that he was more than enjoying what he was seeing.
“C’mon, baby,” you cooed, glancing over your shoulder. “I thought you said you were going to give me more.”
Bucky gave you a wicked smirk before bringing his hand down on your ass, spanking you. “Patience, Y/N. I’m gettin’ to it.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but all that came out was a grunt of surprise as Bucky entered you swiftly. In all the years you and Bucky had been together, you’d never felt his cock as hard as it was at that very moment. The large vein on the underside was pulsing heavily, sending small jolts or pleasure through your pussy.
Bucky gripped your hips and slowly pulled out until only the tip remained as he warned you to, “Hold onto somethin’.”
You had just gripped the edge of the counter when he slammed into you. He hadn’t been lying; he was going to give you exactly what you asked for and you couldn’t wait.
The man behind you swore crudely as he fucked you, the word drawn out and heavy sounding. He did it again and again, both hands on your hips for a minute before one of them slid up your spine and gripped your shoulder.
With every grunt-inducing thrust and every drag of his thick cock, you soared closer to another orgasm, until finally, you were shattering apart from the inside out. The air was stolen from your lungs as you tightened around Bucky, your walls pulsating, quivering, beckoning him to follow suit.
Bucky was close behind, his thrusts growing sloppy before finally spilling inside of you. “Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed at the way your walls continued to flutter, squeezing the sensitive head of his cock.
You continued to lay there, gasping for air, your eyes closed, and your legs shaking as Bucky pulled out. “I do- don’t think I ca- can make it up the sta- stairs,” you panted before licking your lips. “And I’m thi- thirsty.”
Bucky gave a gravelly chuckle as he tucked himself into his boxer briefs and fixed his pants. “Stay there, I’ll get you some water after I clean you up.”
A warm and damp paper towel cleaned up the mess between your legs and what had started pooling on the floor. Next, Bucky helped you stand and waited until you finished drinking before he picked you up, and carried you bridal style up the stairs.
You nestled into his neck and breathed him in. “I love you, Senator.”
“I love you, too, Mrs. Barnes.”
He hid in the tall shrubbery and watched through the large windows as Bucky fucked his wife, on the kitchen counter, of all places. Although, if the man were in Bucky’s place right then, he’d more than likely do the exact same thing. Y/N was stunning; it was no wonder Bucky asked her to marry him fresh out of college.
While he had been in the asylum, he had seen every single one of their outings. It didn’t matter if it was something as simple as attending a baseball game, or an event such as tonight had been; he made sure he could see it.
Watching Bucky was like studying for an exam that would make up seventy-five percent of the final grade. Only, there were no second chances, no extra credit work that could be handed in. This was real life. That meant impossible-to-make decisions and consequences for improper and inappropriate actions, and God, he couldn’t wait to see the look in Bucky’s eyes when the two men were finally face-to-face.
He wanted to immediately announce himself, dive through the glass and rise up, showing himself to the very man that should have saved him. They had promised each other when they were young that nothing, nothing would come between them, and for ten years, they each honored that promise, but he should have known it was too good to last. He should have known that the worst kind of betrayal came at the hands of his own family.
Lesson fucking learned.
The only silver lining to being locked away for the past twenty years was that he had plenty of time to come up with a plan, and it was fucking perfect. But, for it to remain perfect, he had to stay hidden until the time was right. He just had to wait until tomorrow before he could start enacting his revenge.
As Bucky carried his wife out of the kitchen and the lights were turned off, the peeping Tom shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket.
“Get a good night sleep, brother. Because tomorrow your whole life is going to change.”
Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 2,424 Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst [I’m sorry] Author’s Note: I shouldn’t be this excited about how much angst there is. Something is wrong with me. GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Tutoring Clint went slightly better than you had imagined it would.
True to his word, he was completely sober, not even a hint of a hangover showing in his eyes or voice. He brought his textbook, a notebook, and a pen. He even surprised you with a cup of your favorite coffee.
“How did you know?” you asked him in a surprised tone.
“I told you that I know you,” Clint chuckled, tapping your cup with his.
You gave a bemused smile. “You really don’t.”
He hummed in disagreement, but said nothing other than, “Where did you want to start?”
You pushed down the pang of annoyance, huffed out a breath through your nose, and took a seat across from Clint. “Might as well start at the beginning.”
Four hours and a pulsing headache behind your eyes later, you and Clint walked out of the library.
“You wanna get something to eat?” Clint wondered, books tucked under one arm, holding the door open.
That sounded like a good idea, it really did, but you knew that if you didn’t get home and take something, the headache would quickly spiral out of control.
“Thank you for the offer, Clint,” you started to politely decline. “I’ve got a killer headache, and I just want to lie down.”
“Are you okay?”
Even though you shook your head, you said, “I get migraines quite a bit. I’ll be okay.”
Clint’s hand was on your elbow, steadying you. “I can walk with you, if you like.”
“No, Clint,” you snapped. “I can get home on my own.” You weren’t mad at him, you just really wanted to get home.
“Fine,” he huffed. “Don’t say I never tried to help.”
He spun around and started storming off, but it was as if a flash grenade went off behind your eyes. You cried out as you dropped to your knees, the bag strap falling out of your hand so you could clutch your head.
Clint was on his knees, asking you… something, but his voice was garbled, drowned out by the hum in your ears. He dug in your bag and quickly found your wallet. After shoving it, and his books in your bag, he threw the strap over his shoulder and gathered you in his arms.
Once Clint managed to get Y/N to take some tylenol and ibuprofen, followed by drinking a large glass of water, he put her in bed and set a cold compress over her eyes and forehead. He closed the blinds and turned on the ceiling fan before sneaking out of the room. With the door left open a crack, he dropped onto her couch with a heaving sigh. After the way Y/N dropped to her knees, crying out in pain, there was no way he was going to leave without knowing she was okay. He tugged out his phone and sent a text to his friends.
C: Sorry guys, can’t make it tonight. S: You okay? N: Tell me you’re not ditching us to study. C: I’m not ditching you to study. B: BULLSHIT! C: I’m not, Buck. Something came up, and I gotta take care of it. B: What could possibly come up on a fucking Sunday? N: It’s Y/N. You had a study session this morning. You’re ditching us for her. That’s fucking great, Clint. S: Stop it, guys. C: I’m not ditching you guys. Jesus, grow up. It is possible for you guys to go out without me. The world will not implode. B: I see what’s happening. C: Do tell, oh, wise one. B: You’re going soft. C: Shut up. N: Buck’s right. Y/N just started helping you and you’ve already changed so much. C: For real guys, shut up. S: Do what you need to do, Clint. They’ll be fine once they get over themselves. B: Zip it, goodie-goodie. N: Come on, Clint. We’ve had this night planned for months. Those tickets weren’t easy to get. C: So? Give mine to someone else. I’m sure that won’t be difficult for you. N: What the FUCK? You wanna do this now? C: God, no. I don’t ever wanna do ‘this’ with you again. N: Piss off. C: Whatever. Fact of the matter is, I ain’t going with you guys. Get over it. B: Fine. Just don’t come crying to us when you get bored with her. C: Fuck you.
Clint growled and turned off his phone, throwing it across the room a moment later. Thankfully, it landed on the plush chair instead of smashing into the wall. He raked a hand over his face and shook off the frustrations from the texts.
He pushed away all thoughts of the people he called his friends, selfish assholes that they were, and started worrying about Y/N once again. He had never seen someone go down like that before, and honestly, it had scared him. Though Y/N was always smiling whenever he saw her, he couldn’t help but wonder if she got migraines that bad often. And if she did, how on God’s green earth was she still alive? Because if Clint had to experience what she had just gone through, he was sure it’d kill him.
Still wired from the event, Clint shoved himself off the couch and started wandering around the room. He said he had known Y/N; from the clothes she wore, to what she did on the weekends, and down to the kind of coffee she drank. But he hadn’t realized how much there was left to find out.
Take her family, for instance. She talked about her dad quite a bit, but it turned out, her dad was the only other one in any of the pictures decorating the walls and bookshelf. No mother, no siblings, no grandparents, aunts, or uncles. There were no family gatherings or vacations to another state, no road trips or nights out with her cousins. It was just her and her father.
Then there was her taste in music. Clint had her pegged for a soft rock kind of gal; Coldplay, James Blunt, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac. Nope, not the case. Y/N liked rock music from the eighties; Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Def Leppard, AC/DC, and Queen. So much so, that there were three rows packed with vinyls, and there were more stacked off to the side.
“Learn something new every day,” he mumbled, a smirk on his lips.
After thoroughly looking through the records, Clint picked out a Metallica album and started playing it. Clint then hauled himself off the floor and headed into the kitchen in search of something to drink. When he opened the fridge, he groaned in disappointment. Instead of having a stereotypical college student’s fridge – leftover pizza, cans of beer, some random tupperware container that had started growing mold – Y/N’s fridge was full.
Of healthy food.
Every kind of fruit and vegetable Clint could name – and a few he couldn’t – lined the shelves, along with ready to prepare proteins. Her freezer wasn’t any better. There were bags of pre-prepared meals, the name and date in black marker. Things like butternut squash apple soup, mediterranean quinoa burgers, broccoli parmesan meatballs, kale roasted pepper, and feta egg muffins.
Shaking his head, he closed the doors and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it up with cool tap water a moment later. Thankfully, there had been some ice cubes in the freezer, which he dropped in, spilling some water on the counter. He wiped up the mess and grabbed his phone from the couch as he walked past, turning it on long enough to make one phone call.
“Quill’s pizza,” answered Gamora.
“Hey Gam,” Clint chuckled.
“Your usual?” she laughed as she waited to punch in his order.
Making sure to be careful, Clint slid off his shoes and set his feet on the table. “The only thing that’s changed is the address.”
“Where you at this time?”
“Y/N Coulson’s,” he admitted.
“No fuckin’ way. How’d you weasel your way in there?”
“Helped her get home,” Clint sighed wearily. “She got hit hard with a migraine.”
“Aren’t you a knight in shining armor?” Gamora snorted.
Clint tsk’d his friend. “Just make sure my pie is hot,” he joked before hanging up.
When Clint leaned further back into the couch, he looked over at a picture he hadn’t seen on his previous trek through. It was of Y/N, senior year of high school, and God, it took his breath away.
She was walking through a field of flowers, every color imaginable surrounding her, wearing a simple blouse with dark blue shorts, and no shoes. Her long hair was braided loosely and pulled over her shoulder, exposing her skin thanks in part due to the scoop neck shirt. The sun was shining down on her, bright and warm, causing her to close her eyes as she turned back toward the camera, a wide smile on her lips.
It was at that very moment, when his heart lurched in his chest and his mouth went completely dry, Clint knew he was in trouble.
It was your bladder that woke you. Only when you dug yourself out of the blankets and the ice pack fell onto the floor did you remember what had happened.
Four hours of tutoring Clint led to a headache which quickly escalated into a migraine. Shit, it had been a while since you had one that stole your vision. It was still there, pulsing heavily behind your eyes, but at least you could navigate through your dark room.
You shuffled into the bathroom and, without the lights on and the door firmly closed, emptied your bladder. You washed your hands before filling a glass with water and took one of the migraine pills the doctor had prescribed you. It was bitter and stuck to the back of your tongue, but you finally managed to get it down a moment later.
Food was next on the agenda. You didn’t know what time it was, but your stomach was protesting loudly to the lack of food you were giving it. When you opened the bathroom door, you caught a whiff of something that didn’t belong; pizza.
Despite the pain in your head, your heart hammered as you went on high alert. You crept down the hall and grew more confused as the sounds of Metallica reached your ears, along with someone humming. It was clear that you weren’t alone in your apartment, and you really wished you had located your cell phone before leaving your bedroom.
After the unknown visitor pushed off your couch, the humming grew closer, so you went into defensive mode. You kicked your leg out and tripped them, sending an empty plate clattering on the floor, quickly followed by the intruder. They landed on their knees with a groan, which made it easier for you to take them down. Only when your knees were on their biceps and you were straddling their chest did you realize who it was.
“Oh, shit,” you grumbled, embarrassment chasing the adrenaline through your system. “Clint.”
“Hi,” he huffed, an eyebrow arched in unamusement. “You, uh, gonna let me go?”
You blinked heavily a handful of times before you registered what he had said. You blamed it on the fact that it had been over two years since you had gotten laid. Huh, you had forgotten how amazing it felt to have a man between your legs.
“What? I mean, yeah, yeah,” you muttered as you scrambled off of him. You grabbed the plate off the floor and hurried into the kitchen, setting the plate in the sink.
“Thanks,” he said after he was standing upright. He adjusted his shirt before looking at you, his emerald orbs drilling into yours. ‘Hey, how’s the head?”
“It’s attached,” you answered. “How did you -”
“You don’t remember?” Clint was crossing the room and standing on the other side of the counter, his head tilted to the side.
You shook your head as you tried digging through the jumbled mess your brain was currently in. “We left the library and…,” you shrugged your shoulders.
“I asked if you wanted to grab a bite to eat, but you said you had a headache, that you wanted to get home” he explained. “And then, in the blink of eye, you dropped down and grabbed your head. I uh, I went through your bag, found your ID, and brought you home.”
“How’d I get into bed?”
“Me,” he answered coyly. “I mean, I got you to drink some water and take some excedrin before helping you into bed. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
It had been so long since you’ve had someone take care of you, someone that wasn’t a parent, someone that didn’t feel like they had to, that you didn’t know what to say except, “Thank you, Clint.”
He let out a huffing laugh, thankful that he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. “You’re welcome.”
“That doesn’t explain why there’s delivery pizza,” you teased, pointing to the box between you.
“Look,” he started and rounded the counter. “I was going to see if you had something, but all I found was this rabbit food.” He opened the fridge with a grand gesture, one that made you snort in laughter.
“What? I like my fruits and veggies,” you said, defending yourself.
Clint was trying really hard not to smile. “It’s rabbit food, Y/N,” he repeated himself.
“There’s steak in there,” you pointed out as you marched over to the fridge.
“What, where?” he gasped before bending over and actually taking his time to look through the food.
You pushed yourself up onto the counter and watched for almost a minute before instructing him to, “Open the bottom right drawer.”
When he did, he gave a grunting cheer. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I mean, I’d share, but you already ate,” you couldn’t help but say.
Clint closed the fridge and faced you. “I’m twenty-two. It takes more than a pizza to satisfy my hunger.”
At his words, electricity shot down your spine and settled right between your legs. “You do- don’t say.”
The pizza box was pushed into the garbage and the steaks took its place. “You’re lucky you got a migraine today.”
“Why is that?” you asked breathily from your perch, watching as he made himself at home.
“Because I’m gonna cook you one hell of a steak,” Clint announced with a wink.
Summary: You get a phone call in the middle of the night. Word Count: 1,545 Warnings: Angst and language Author’s Note: This is an AU that I have no idea where the idea came from. GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
The phone was ringing. Again? Still? It was punching through the veil of unconsciousness, yanking you from your dream. You sat up with a gasp and blindly reached for the slim phone on your night stand.
“‘Ello?” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.
“Shit, I woke you.” It was Bucky, and he sounded as if he had gargled with shards of glass before placing the call.
You cleared your throat and wiped the sleep from your eyes, taking in the dull red numbers of your clock. “It’s okay, Buck.”
“No, it’s not. I… I’m sorry.” He let out a bone-shuddering sigh, one that made your chest tighten.
“What’s going on, are you okay?”
There was another sigh before he answered. “Yeah, no. I don’t know. I mean… I’m fine, Y/N.”
“It’s been a while since I heard from you,” you noted softly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Bucky sniffled loudly, the kind where you knew he’d been crying. “Right as rain, doll.”
“You know you can talk to me, Buck.”
“I know.”
You hated how utterly broken he sounded. “So, talk to me.”
“I ummm, I don’t… I didn’t mean to call you so late,” he stammered.
Your throat went tight and tears stung your eyes. “It’s okay, baby. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
There were several moments of silence, moments that felt like they could have been hours, days, weeks.
Before you could say anything, the line went dead. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and set the phone down.
Seven and a half months. That was how long it had been since you and Bucky had spoken to one another. In that time, you had worked hard to move on, to build a life that didn’t revolve around Bucky.
When it had been the two of you, dangerously in love, not caring about anyone else; it was the best, and worst, time of your life. It wasn’t healthy, being obsessively dependent on one another, but it was as if neither of you could stop. You wanted… needed to be with him, and he with you. It had been amazing and tumultuous at the same time. The man literally drove you crazy. But fuck, did you love him.
To this day, a part of you still loved him, and you knew you always would, but you couldn’t go back. Not now, not ever. No matter how broken he was. No matter how badly you wanted to pick up the pieces and put them back together. Again.
After scraping a hand down your face, you fell back against your pillow and shifted until you were in a somewhat comfortable position.
“Everything okay?” was Steve’s mumbled question as he rolled over.
“Ye- yeah. Everything’s fine.” You set your hand over Steve’s, the one that was resting on your belly.
He hummed sleepily as he curled into you. “You sure? You seem awfully tense.”
You turned to press a kiss to his forehead, sighing happily as his fingers swept back and forth against your bare skin. Your unborn child pushed against his hand, twisting and turning excitedly in your gut.
“Someone’s awake,” he noted and pushed up to his elbow, his lips pressing against the taut skin of your stomach a moment later.
“She heard your voice,” you commented, your hand pushing through his wayward hair.
Steve was smiling crookedly as he rolled to his side, supporting his weight on his elbow, and pressing his fingers against various spots on your stomach, chuckling as the baby pushed back a moment later.
You were thoroughly enjoying the site before you, grunting when the baby kicked harder than normal. Even in the dark, you could see the glimmer in Steve’s eyes with every kick and tumble he was responsible for. And then, just like that, the smile on his lips fell away.
“It was Bucky on the phone, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice like sandpaper.
Your heart actually stopped beating. “What?”
“Bucky, on the phone,” he reiterated. “That’s what woke you.”
You couldn’t lie to your oldest friend in the world. “Yeah. Yeah, it was Bucky on the phone.”
“What did he want?” he asked flatly, his hand sliding from your stomach.
“He wouldn’t say,” was your quick answer.
Steve rolled his eyes and scraped a hand over his face. “He wouldn’t say,” he scoffed loudly. “That’s a new one.” He pushed off the bed and tugged on the first t-shirt he found.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you demanded to know as you found your way out of bed, albeit in a slightly less than graceful way. Once standing, you pulled down the shirt that had ridden up, and adjusted the pants you were wearing.
Steve was now pulling on a pair of jeans. “You said you’d never lie to me.”
“I’m not,” you bit out. “I asked him what was wrong and he wouldn’t tell me. Just apologized for waking me up.”
Next, he tugged on a pair of socks. “He shouldn’t be calling you in the first place.”
“Steve,” you sighed as you followed him out of the bedroom. “It’s not a big deal. I’m pretty sure he was drunk, and the call was less than a minute. Where are you going?”
“To give him a reminder,” he ground out, shoving his feet into his boots.
You grabbed his hand and tugged on it. “You don’t need to do that,” you insisted. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“You’re sure, huh?” he snorted angrily, pulling his hand from yours. “Sorry, but that’s not good enough, Y/N. Not this time.”
“What’s this really about, Steve?”
Steve shook his head and grabbed the car keys from the hook on the wall. “This is about making sure he doesn’t contact you ever again. That was the promise he made in front of a goddamn judge so he wouldn’t do any time. Or do you not remember why he had to do that?”
“Of course I remember,” you mumbled, emotion thickening your voice.
Bucky was on his knees in front of you, a cup in both your hands. “We’ll be together forever, just like we promised,” he vowed darkly.
You were shaking your head, having a major case of second thoughts. “I don’t… Bucky, maybe this isn’t -”
“We promised, Y/N,” he ground out. “In front of God, we promised.”
And you had, but honestly, you had thought it was a joke or something. You never actually thought that Bucky meant it when he said he wanted to ‘drink the kool-aid’ and be with you in the afterlife.
“Bucky, you know I love you, but -”
“But nothing,” he growled. “We’re doing this.”
Panic blossomed in your chest. “No, Bucky.”
Rage contorted his face as he screamed, “We will be together forever!”
Before you could figure out what was happening, Bucky had you pinned to the floor and was trying to force you to drink the poisoned liquid. You spat out what you could as you struggled, but he was so much stronger than you, and some of the juice ended up getting swallowed.
He shoved off of you and was just about to drink his cup when Steve appeared out of nowhere, slamming his shoulder into Bucky’s midsection.
“Y/N, please,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just… I need to know… to make sure that he keeps his distance, that you, that the baby are safe. Because that is my number one priority right now.”
You stood in front of him, as close as you could, given the size of your stomach. “I am safe, Steve. Because of you, we are safe.”
When he looked down at you, he shook his head again. “He can’t find out,” he murmured. “If he finds out, I’ll lose you and the baby forever, and I ca- I can’t do that.”
“He won’t,” you vowed. You grabbed his hand and rested it where Bucky’s child started kicking. “You’re the man she will call her father, that will threaten any boys that want to date her, that will walk her down the aisle at her wedding. You, Steve. Nobody else.”
Steve was sniffling and nodding his head. “I’m just… he was my best friend, my brother, Y/N, and I lost him.”
You cupped his face and kissed him sweetly. “He was brainwashed, Steve. There was absolutely nothing we could do to save him.”
“I know, I do,” he murmured, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, onto your hands.
“If he is still involved with… them -”
“Hydra,” Steve muttered angrily.
“Yes, them. If Bucky is still involved with them, if he’s still not… himself, it would be a bad idea for you to go over there,” you explained, your voice shaking. “I’ve lost Bucky. I can’t lose you, too. I need you. We need you.”
He blew out a ragged breath, nodding his head in agreement. “You’re not going to lose me, doll. I’m here. I’m right here.”
“Good, that’s good,” you said with a sob.
Steve’s arms wrapped tightly around you and held you close. “I’m not going anywhere, doll. I’m with you until the end.”
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is the youngest Senator in New York. He was born and raised in Brooklyn, he’s down to earth, and is deeply in love with his wife; Y/N Barnes. His dreams consist of having kids, helping find a cure for cancer and AIDS in his lifetime, and one day, sitting at a desk in the Oval Office. It’s good to go after your dreams, right? Not if you’ve got one hell of a secret. Word Count: 1,500 Warnings: Language, heavy angst, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of blood and gore, not for the light-hearted.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
“Don’t fret, doll,” Bucky cooed, watching as you smoothed the dress against your stomach. “You look beautiful.”
You glanced at him in the mirror as you finished putting the final touches on your hair. Next, you slipped on a pair of heels that you felt completed the outfit, then made your way across the large room where you helped him with his black bowtie.
“As do you,” you complimented him with a smirk.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re the beautiful one in this relationship,” he murmured. Once you were done with his tie, he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and put it on.
You smoothed the fabric over his shoulders and down his chest. “So what does that make you?”
“The brains, remember?” he teased.
“Oh, yes,” you murmured, relishing in the comforting weight of his arms as they looped around your waist. “How could I possibly forget?”
Just when your husband was about to dip his head and kiss you, there was a knock at the door.
“Senator and Mrs. Barnes,” Wanda interrupted. “It’s time.”
It didn’t matter that the fundraiser you were about to attend was the fourth one in a month, or that you had lost count of the number of events you had joined Bucky in during his career, nerves still bubbled in your belly.
You blamed it on the crowds; too many people packed inside of a room that was close to bursting at the seams. It made your skin crawl, but you never let it show. You were the wife of the youngest senator in New York; it was your job to be there, to support him no matter what.
The only thing that got you through it was Bucky. His presence, his hand in yours, on the small of your back, his lips on your cheek, his rich laughter, the way he smiled when he talked about you, about anything that he loved; it kept you calm and centered, feeling as if you could do anything.
At that moment, however, Bucky’s attention was on Steve; the man he had beaten in the election.
“Rogers,” Bucky greeted with a firm handshake. “Good of you to join us.”
“Barnes,” Steve grit out. “Couldn’t miss another one of your soirees.”
“What, this?” Bucky questioned, gesturing around the room. “This is all Y/N.”
You waved your hand. “I just did the planning.”
Peggy handed you a glass of red wine. “You did an amazing job.”
You gave her a warm smile. “Thank you,” referring to the wine and the compliment.
“Just think, darling,” Steve said flatly as he looked at his wife. “This could have been one of our parties.”
“Steven,” she hissed, her brows knitting together. “This is neither the time or the place.”
You exchanged a worried look with your husband.
It wasn’t news that Steve was bitter about losing the election, but he had never said anything about it during an event such as this. At least, not that you had been aware of. Most of his complaints had been during interviews, a brief moment of negativity here and there, brushed aside with a forced laugh or an, “I’m only kidding. I love the guy.”
Thinking quick on his feet, Bucky reminded the couple of the silent auction. “Have you guys had a chance to check everything out?”
“There are some gorgeous items,” Peggy noted, a thankful tone to her voice. “Come on, Stevie. Let’s go look.”
The tall blonde rolled his eyes before giving in. “Alright, alright.”
“That was a close one,” you huffed quietly as soon as they were gone.
“A little too close,” your husband confirmed. “Did you have to invite him?”
Standing in front of him, you pretended to fix his tie. “The two of you used to be best friends, Buck.”
“That was a lifetime ago, Y/N. You know that.”
You could smell the whiskey on his breath, not that it was a bad thing. “Politics suck.”
“Mrs. Barnes,” he gasped playfully. “Better not let anyone hear you say that.”
Wanda appeared out of the room designated for the silent auction. “The results so far,” she said with a smile, holding out a small tablet for the two of you to see.
“Wow,” you chuckled in disbelief. “I never thought we’d see close to these kind of numbers.”
Bucky pressed a long kiss to your temple. “I’m tellin’ ya, babe, you’re a genius. Especially when it comes to things like this.”
Before you could thank him or even think to stop him from doing something crazy, Bucky was sprinting across the room and standing in front of the microphone.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he proclaimed happily. “I hope everyone is having a wonderful time so far.”
Everyone in the room clapped their hands, most of them gave a low cheer, and a handful of people showed a bit more excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh at the supportive roars of Clint and Sam, Bucky’s closest friends.
“I know the night’s barely begun, but I just got word that we’re already three-quarters of the way to our goal,” Bucky announced, a wide grin on his face. “However, the night is still young and I know that there are those of you that have very deep pockets.”
There was a ripple of laughter throughout the room, including your husband.
“So, what do you say? Open those checkbooks, get out your black AmEx, and let’s obliterate the goal of three million!”
He made sure to stick to the shadows, to stay hidden from anyone that might recognize him. Was it dangerous to be out in public at a time like this? Hell yeah, it was, but that was exactly why he did it. The rush of adrenaline that made his heart hammer was addictive, made him want to rush out and show his face, to revel in the shrieks of disbelief, the look on the Senator’s face when they were finally face-to-face.
Despite all of that, he stayed there, at the back of the room, tucked into a corner, nursing a full glass of whiskey that had been left at the table by some rich-ass loser. It was the perfect spot, because from his seat, he could see everyone and everything.
He watched as couples danced, as they mingled and laughed, as the went into the room off to the side and bid obscene amounts of money, showing off their worth in a disgusting manner. He found himself wanting to stride in there and slit every one of their throats, wanted to feel their blood on his skin; slick and warm.
Blood. It was the driving force behind the whole thing; him breaking out of the asylum, enacting his revenge. It was the only reason he was alive. It was the only reason he was going to kill Bucky.
God, that man was pretentious. It made his blood boil, and Bucky wasn’t even really doing anything. The senator was just standing there, talking to his wife and a couple of friends. No, that wasn’t right; Steve was anything but a friend.
Steve was the man that Bucky beat in the election. It wasn’t even close, either. Bucky won by an alarming seventy percent of the votes. No senator before him had done that. It was a time for celebration, a time for change in the state of New York, in the town of Brooklyn.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the man of the hour proclaimed. “I hope everyone is having a wonderful time so far.”
The man cringed and sneered as people clapped, as they cheered, as several of them gave bellowing whoops.
“I know the night’s barely begun, but I just got word that we’re already three-quarters of the way to our goal,” Bucky announced, grinning like a cat that ate the canary. “However, the night is still young and I know that there are those of you that have
very
deep pockets.”
Disgust rocketed through the man in the corner as laughter rippled through the room.
“So, what do you say? Open those checkbooks, get out your black AmEx, and let’s obliterate the goal of three million!”
What a gross display the night was; people clamoring at the over-priced vacations and massages and beauty packages and hunting weeks away from the hustle and bustle of the city. It made the man in the corner sick to his stomach at the sight of it all; the way these people were throwing away their money, and for what? A stupid organization that boasted how it could save the lives of thousands who were sick.
Those people were sick for one reason, and one reason only; it was God’s way of cleansing the world. He did it before; the flood, famine, incurable diseases. That’s what it was, nothing more, nothing less. If only they would listen.
The former patient would make them listen; Bucky and his wife, if it was the last thing he would do.
Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 1,959 Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst I’m sorry Author’s Note: I shouldn’t be this excited about how much angst there is. Something is wrong with me.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Six o’clock came a lot faster than normal. Probably because you were dreading going to the campus library. Between high school and college, you had tutored many students, even going so far as to help several adults that had gone without their GED. You also volunteered at the local animal shelter and rescues; spending time with the depressed, scared, and heartbroken animals.
But Clint Barton wasn’t any of those people. He partied every night of the week, hung out with the wrong crowd, allowed them to influence his decisions. Yes, he was a grown ass man that could do as he wished, therefore, you had no right to sit there and think of him as if he were someone you cared about. You didn’t have time to care about someone like him.
Wow. How had you become that person? You had been compassionate and empathetic your entire life, putting others before yourself, no matter the situation.
Angry at yourself, you shoved out of bed, took a quick shower, got dressed, grabbed your bag, and headed out of the apartment. It wasn’t a long walk, which you were thankful for, but the air was crisper than you thought it would be. So, upon seeing that your favorite coffee stand was open, you grabbed a cup, put on your best game face, and strolled into the library.
To your surprise, Clint was already there. Granted, he had his feet kicked up onto the table and was leaning back in the chair, balancing on the back two legs. His head was hanging back and his eyes were closed.
“Of course he’s sleeping,” you grumbled yourself.
“I heard that,” Clint chuckled.
“Damn it,” you ground out before approaching the table.
“I heard that, too.” Clint managed not to tip the chair over as he brought his feet off the table.
You set your bag on the table and noticed the lack of books. “Uh, where are your things?”
“What things?”
Your shoulders sagged slightly and you had to work really hard at not rolling your eyes. “The textbook? A notebook and pen? Or a laptop. I’d be happy with a laptop.”
Clint shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got none of that.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you groaned.
“Sorry, Y/N.”
You were shaking your head at his half-assed apology. “You can find yourself another tutor,” you said matter-of-factly before turning on your heel and marching out the way you had come.
Clint quickly caught up to you and grabbed your elbow. “I don’t want another tutor. I want you to tutor me.”
“You’re not even taking this seriously, Clint,” you chastised him as you turned around. “Why should I waste my time with you?”
“Ouch,” he murmured, scratching at the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to bring, so I brought nothing.”
“Clint,” you sighed. “You might not graduate. You need to drop whatever act you’re doing, and take this seriously.”
He scraped a hand over his face. “I know, Y/N.”
“I really don’t think you do,” you insisted.
“I know,” Clint said sternly.
Ignoring his tone, you went on. “You can’t do this if you continue to show up unprepared and hungover.”
Clint’s green eyes flashed as he ground out, “I know.”
“Speaking of, if you think that you are going to catch up in Fury’s class while going out and getting drunk every night -”
“I know,” he shouted. “Jesus Christ, I know.”
You took a step back and shook your head. “I can’t do this, Clint. You need to find yourself another tutor.”
“Y/N, please,” he begged. “I need your help, and if I know anything about you, it’s that you can’t just walk away from someone in need of your help.”
“Please don’t pretend like you know me, okay?”
Clint’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “But I do, I do. We’ve had all the same classes since freshman year. Why you’re Y/N Coulson. You sit at lunch table 7, which isn’t exactly the reject table, but is definitely in self exile territory. You have exactly one sweater. You like to look at your feet when you walk. Oh, oh, and yeah, for fun, you like to tutor on weekends and hang out with the cool kids from ‘Stars and Planets.’ Now, how does that sound?
“Thoroughly predictable, nothing I haven’t heard before,” you say without missing a beat.
He narrows his eyes as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “You don’t care what people think about you?”
“No, I don’t.”
When you say nothing more, Clint shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted on his feet.
“I really am sorry,” he lamented, his head dipping to catch your eye.
“Careful, Clint. You sound like you actually mean it,” you teased.
“I do mean it,” he insisted softly. “I really, really need your help, and I’m sorry for showing up like this.”
You pulled in a series of steady breaths as you figured out what you were going to do. At the thought of walking away and not helping him, guilt rushed through you, settling heavily in your chest. It was thick and uncomfortable, making your heart race and a sheen of sweat appear on your forehead.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” you started. “I’ll help you as long as you show up fully prepared and sober.”
“Can you clarify sober?” Clint asked as he rocked back and forth on his heels.
After clearing the arguing tone from your throat, you said, “Not hungover, not impaired in any kind of way, sober.”
“I mean -”
“Non-negotiable,” you added, cutting off his disagreement.
Clint blew out a heavy breath through his nose. “Fine,” he ground out.
“Shall we get started?” you asked with a wide smile.
“You, sober?” Bucky snorted. “That’ll be a first.”
“Shut up, Barnes,” Clint snapped before throwing back the shot that had been placed in front of him.
Bucky clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I get it, man; you want to graduate. And if my GPA was as bad as yours, I’d be askin’ for help. But, Y/N, really?”
“What’s wrong with Y/N?” Steve piped in, confusion heavy on his brows.
“Oh, nothin’,” Bucky laughed, his smile widening when Y/N walked into the bar at that moment. “If you like that kind of style.”
Nat poked her head around Clint. “Yeah, I wore that dress in the fourth grade.”
Y/N was carrying several large boxes that were overflowing with clothes, her hair was haphazardly tucked into a low knot, and she narrowly missed several patron’s heads as she wove through the crowd.
Bucky draped his arm around Clint’s shoulders after he turned in his seat. “Hey, it’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for. I mean, little maintenance, she might not look too bad, you know.”
As Y/N drew closer, Clint couldn’t help but notice the bags under her eyes. He was about to ask if she needed help when Nat called out, “Nice sweater.”
Without missing a beat, Y/N gives Natasha a sweet-sounding and heartfelt, “Thank you.” And then, she looked at Clint.
For some odd reason his mouth went dry and his heart kick-started in his chest. The moment was over almost as fast as it started, and Y/N was turning away, heading towards the back of the bar.
Bucky stood in front of Clint and twirled around. “Thank you,” he giggled in a mocking fashion.
Clint rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “Whatever, man.”
Natasha made a groan of disappointment and wrapped her arm around her ex-boyfriend’s. “What’s happened to you, Clint? You used to be fun.”
“Back off, Nat,” Clint ground out, signaling the bartender for another shot of tequila. “We broke up, and me not being fun, wasn’t the reason.”
“Fuck you,” she sneered.
Clint yanked his arm free as he turned to face the fuming redhead. “Been there, done that.”
“Better get back to your shitty apartment and get sober before teacher gets upset.” Natasha stormed off, curly hair bouncing with each stomp of her feet.
When the door slammed closed, Bucky cringed. “Why you gotta piss her off all the time, man?”
“Back off, Barnes,” Clint warned his friend through his teeth.
“Jesus,” Bucky laughed. “I was just playin’ around.”
Steve finished drinking his water. “Come on, Buck,” he urged his boyfriend. “You’re drunk.”
Bucky tried arguing, but Steve tangled their fingers together and pulled Bucky into him to press their lips together. Without another word, the couple wound their way through the crowd, disappearing for the night.
Clint, in his newfound loneliness, turned around and signaled for the bartender. “One more.”
The clothes that no longer fit, you threw into a couple of boxes and brought them down to the bar. Your friend, and owner of said bar, had a daughter that was about your size. You tried explaining that all your clothes were either hand-me-downs or bought from a thrift store, but that didn’t matter. Money was tight, and the need to save money was greater than having the latest fashion.
What you hadn’t expected to see when you got there was Clint, surrounded by his friends, drinking the night away. You had hoped he would take the second chance to heart, but the sight of him made your stomach clench painfully with disappointment. You tried to ignore it, but it only twisted tighter the closer you got.
The stunning redhead pretended to pay you a compliment. “Nice sweater.”
Without missing a beat, you smiled sweetly at her and said, “Thank you.” And then you looked at Clint, which was a bad idea.
Clint’s dark hair was slicked back, sides and back shaved close to the scalp, and the leather jacket he was wearing looked as dark as oil in the dim lighting. When he licked his lips, you knew you had to get out of there before you made a fool of yourself.
Shaking your head, you turned away and headed toward the back of the bar.
Once the boxes were on your friend’s desk, you dropped onto the beat-up sofa and worked to catch your breath. Your back ached, and your legs and arms were shaking as if you had just ran a marathon. You made a note to use a dolly next time, if there was one.
Your heart was still hammering in your chest when you stood up, turned off the light, and locked the door behind you. On your way around the bar, you found Clint still sitting there, only he was completely alone. You watched as he signaled for another drink, tossing it back as soon as he could.
Just as he was finished, you sidled up to him and said, “Never had you pegged for self-sabotage.”
He gave a shake of his head before facing you. “Looks like you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I suppose you’re going to give up on me.”
The anger and disappointment that were bubbling in your gut and chest dissipated as soon as your eyes met his. There was something you hadn’t seen before in his green orbs; sorrow and honesty. Whatever happened both before and after you got to the bar had really upset him.
“No,” you said, surprising even yourself.
“You’re not?” he inquired with a lopsided smile. “How do you know I won’t continue to drink, that I won’t show up tomorrow hungover?”
“Call it a hunch,” you answered with a shrug. “I’ll see you in the morning, Clint.”
He was pulling cash out of his back pocket to settle his tab. “I’ll be prepared.”
“I don’t doubt it,” you mused, shoving away from the bar.
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