Obsession #1: One Call

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.

“I’m uh, I’m gonna go,” Bucky grit out. “Sorry for wakin’ ya.”

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.”

TWO

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang @sunriserose1023 @feelmyroarrrr @moderapoppins @nomadstevergxrs @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @fatalcrossbow @phoenixwench @cattfeine @jbarnes87 @shynara51 @kanupps06 @girl-next-door-writes @palaiasaurus64 @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos @mcdanno71 @female-accountant @badassbaker @mittenskittie @icysquares @jobean12-blog @bella-ca @brieannakeogh @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @speakinvain @diinofayce @pebblesz892 @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @prettybubblesintheair @unlikelygalaxygiver @andiyholly @everythingisoverrated @akamaiden @glitterquadricorn @carls1022 @marvelellie @neeadinghugs @minahraven @gigistorm @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl @tinyfistwarrior @coal000 @brastrangled @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @roonyxx @doewhisper-of-windclan

Steve: @mjdoc90 @hides-in-the-shadows @cherrysfandom @lxdyred @phoenix21love @xingareum @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @patzammit @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall @slytherincoven

Unexpected (4)

sunriserose1023:

I am officially in fluff heaven.

Prolouge

littlemarvelfics:

Such a fluffy start. I can’t wait to read more.

Double Entendre: One

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.

Author’s Note: GIF Credit [X]

Series Master List

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.

TWO

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang @sunriserose1023 @feelmyroarrrr @moderapoppins @nomadstevergxrs @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @fatalcrossbow @phoenixwench @cattfeine @jbarnes87 @shynara51 @kanupps06 @girl-next-door-writes @palaiasaurus64 @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos @mcdanno71 @female-accountant @badassbaker @mittenskittie @icysquares @jobean12-blog @bella-ca @brieannakeogh @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @speakinvain @diinofayce @pebblesz892 @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @prettybubblesintheair @unlikelygalaxygiver @andiyholly @everythingisoverrated @akamaiden @glitterquadricorn @carls1022 @marvelellie @neeadinghugs @minahraven @gigistorm @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl @tinyfistwarrior @brastrangled @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @roonyxx @doewhisper-of-windclan

Bucky: @inumorph @angryschnauzerwrites @me-a-hopeless-romantic @thinkwritexpress-official @sarahp879 @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @wecanburntogether @britty443 @barnesbestgirl @demonspawn2468 @nuvoleincielo @bexboo616 @prospathww @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall @slytherincoven @mysterysiria

Double Entendre: @thebunkerofatlas @anamcg317 @lizfawn @captainradicalpassion @seabasstiantrash @whiskeybucky @nycktmcginn @antisteller @linnyrero7-blog @nolongermcu-peterparker-readbio @inhyoung @sebashtiansatan @bookscoffeeandracoons @directionerfae @little-big-mac @lookwhatyoumademequeue @missrandomista @readsalot73 @jasmindaughteroftheworld

Promise Me…: Two

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.

THREE

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang @sunriserose1023 @feelmyroarrrr @moderapoppins @nomadstevergxrs @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @fatalcrossbow @phoenixwench @cattfeine @jbarnes87 @shynara51 @kanupps06 @girl-next-door-writes @palaiasaurus64 @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos @mcdanno71 @female-accountant @badassbaker @mittenskittie @icysquares @jobean12-blog @bella-ca @brieannakeogh @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @speakinvain @diinofayce @pebblesz892 @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @prettybubblesintheair @unlikelygalaxygiver @andiyholly @everythingisoverrated @akamaiden @glitterquadricorn @carls1022 @marvelellie @neeadinghugs @minahraven @gigistorm @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl @tinyfistwarrior @brastrangled @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @roonyxx @doewhisper-of-windclan

Clint: @yavanna80 @bookscoffeeandracoons @whisperingwillows @lovelyladylilac @thricethechrises @proudhufflepuff77 @mysterysiria

Promise Me…: @dean-in-the-devils-trap @chook007 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect

Double Entendre: Prologue

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: 907
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.

Blood. It had a tendency to get into the nooks and crannies; under his nails and cuticles, deep into the wrinkles of his knuckles. There was one time he even got some behind his ear; one lone drop of the crimson liquid. Despite all of the annoyances, he loved the way it felt on his skin; all slick and warm, like a bubble bath.

His fascination for it started at a young age, younger than most sociopaths in society; he was just four years old when he found out just how much pressure to apply to watch the family’s cat’s eyes burst out of its head. His mother had fainted, his brother had cried, and his father had screamed at him until he was red in the face.

Red. The color of blood. A color he was now completely enamored with. It was a color that he wanted to dive into head first. He wanted to take it apart, break it down to the last molecule to truly understand his newfound fascination.

Blood. It was spilling out of the gash in the orderly’s neck like a river that had broken the dam. Nothing could stop it, not even the hand that was clamped to the wound; the blood just rushed through the man’s fingers. His mouth was open, ragged gasps of protests coming out in the form of bloodied bubbles where they popped on the edge of his chapped lips.

The orderly tried to go back the way he had came, but his patient had already closed the door and was standing guard, a murderous gleam in his eyes and a paring knife gripped in his hand. How he had gotten it, the orderly didn’t know. All objects such as that were kept under lock and key, twenty-four hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year.

“P… ple… please,” the orderly rasped as he fell to his knees.

He didn’t move from his spot, just stared at the man whose throat he had just slashed. He had picked this orderly specifically; they were roughly the same height and weight, same color eyes, even had similar bone structure. If he hadn’t know better, he would have thought they were related.

The orderly was on his back now, all color drained from his face, his eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. Gargled gasps were the only thing that broke the eerie silence. That was, until the last drop of the orderly’s blood left his body.

Blood. It was everywhere; thick, pungent, black. Like small waves upon the shore, the pool of it spread toward the patient. He bent down, head cocked to the side, a smirk on his lips. He didn’t touch it, didn’t want to taint the scene. It needed to be perfect.

He stepped around the orderly and undressed him, careful not to disturb the blood too much. After removing his clothes, he put on the orderly’s sweat-stained uniform, dressed the orderly in the clothes he had been wearing, and swapped out the socks and shoes. Once that was done, he dropped to his knees next to the orderly, placing the blade in the orderly’s hand

“Help me,” he shouted, covering the no-longer-leaking wound. “Somebody please! Code black. We have a code black.”

When the alarms went off, he couldn’t help but smile. His plan was working, he just needed an extra touch. He covered part of his face with blood.

Multiple sets of feet pounded down the hall, bursting into the room a moment later.

“Jesus Christ.”

He looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. “Don’t just fuckin’ stand there, Rumlow,” he ordered. “Get your ass over here and help me.”

It was two hours later by the time he was free.

After telling the head of the facility that he quit, that what had just happened was too much for him to handle, he drove away from the institution in a car that wasn’t his, wearing clothes that smelled like week-old whiskey and stale cigars. The radio was playing some shitty country music, but not for long.

With a groan, he changed the station, stopping cold when he heard a familiar voice.

“Senator Barnes,” the reporter started, the smile evident in her voice. “You’ve said that you hope a cure for cancer and AIDS is found in your lifetime.”

“I have,” James confirmed. “While deaths related to HIV/AIDS has declined due to improved HIV therapies, people with AIDS remain at elevated risk for cancer and cancer deaths. Then there’s cancer. It In 2018, an estimated 1,735,350 new cases of cancer will be diagnosed in the United States and 609,640 people will die from the disease. The number of cancer deaths is 163.5 per 100,000 men and women per year, based on 2011–2015 deaths.”

“That’s terrible,” she lamented.

The driver shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Just fuckin’ terrible.”

James gave a hum of agreement. “Amazing strides have been made in the last decade alone, but there is so much more that can be done. And I want to be a part of that.”

“Jesus,” he groaned and flipped off the radio. “Self-righteous asshole.”

Blood. God, he loved the stuff. He loved the way it slicked over his skin, got under his nails and cuticles, the thick and almost overpowering smell of it. He couldn’t wait to get his revenge, to bathe in the blood of James Buchanan Barnes.

ONE

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang @sunriserose1023 @feelmyroarrrr @moderapoppins @nomadstevergxrs @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @fatalcrossbow @phoenixwench @cattfeine @jbarnes87 @shynara51 @kanupps06 @girl-next-door-writes @palaiasaurus64 @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos @mcdanno71 @female-accountant @badassbaker @mittenskittie @icysquares @jobean12-blog @bella-ca @brieannakeogh @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @speakinvain @diinofayce @pebblesz892 @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @prettybubblesintheair @unlikelygalaxygiver @andiyholly @everythingisoverrated @akamaiden @glitterquadricorn @carls1022 @marvelellie @neeadinghugs @minahraven @gigistorm @sea040561 @brastrangled @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @roonyxx @doewhisper-of-windclan

Double Entendre: @thebunkerofatlas @anamcg317 @lizfawn @captainradicalpassion @seabasstiantrash @whiskeybucky @nycktmcginn @antisteller

Closing the Loop: Four

Summary: Imagine, from the time you’re born having a clock that counts down to the time you meet your soulmate. One day you meet Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and the clock stops. Now, you have to figure out which one it is.
Word Count: 2,003
Warnings: Language, talk of soulmates, possible smut, trying for a long burn.
Author’s Note: Thank you @captain-rogers-beard for your invaluable help with this. GIF Credit [X]

My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.

Never had you met two men that were as different as Steve and Bucky. While your date with Steve had been dinner, wine, a starlit walk, and a heavy makeout session, Bucky’s idea of a date was completely different.

You emerged from your apartment to find Bucky, wearing a white tank top, red and black swim trunks, a pair of dark sunglasses, and sitting on top of a cooler. He stood and watched you approach, whistling low in appreciation.

“Stop it,” you laughed, smacking him in the chest.

Bucky pushed his glasses up into his hair. “I will not,” he exclaimed with a wink. “Where’s your suit?”

“Under my clothes,” you answered, lifting up the hem of your shirt so he could see your spandex-covered stomach. “I take it we’re going to the beach.”

With a wink, Bucky’s glasses fell into place. He grabbed your hand and started walking, dragging the cooler behind him. “You… are on a need to know basis,” he chuckled.

“And I don’t need to know, apparently,” you sassed, squeezing his hand.

“Nope,” he was quick to agree. “Besides, how much fun will it be if you already know what’s going to happen?”

You did tell him you wanted him to surprise you, so you couldn’t exactly be mad at him. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t play with him, either. Narrowing your eyes at him, you bumped his shoulder with yours.

“Not even a little clue?” you fake begged, pushing your bottom lip out and batting your eyelashes over the top of your glasses.

His voice was thick with desire when he said, “Do that one more time, and we ain’t making it to the beach, doll.”

The raw need that blossomed in your belly made you squeeze your thighs together. “Promise?” you teased before you ripped your hand out of his and tore off down the sidewalk. The beach was just around the corner, and since he was pulling the cooler, you knew you could beat him; even wearing sandals.

Bucky had wanted to take you wakeboarding, but the guy behind the counter said, “Everybody already reserved ‘em.”

“What about the jet skis?” you asked, pointing to the end of the dock.

“Good idea,” Bucky purred, his arm tight around your waist, fingers under your shirt, lips close to your ear.

The attendant clicked the mouse a couple of times. “There’s one available at four.”

“When does it need to be back?” Bucky asked as he dug for his wallet.

“We close at eight,” the attendant answered.

“Sold,” Bucky cheered as he slapped some cash into the outstretched hand.

You turned in his grip. “What should we do until then?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” he grinned and slapped your ass.

“Volleyball,” you deadpanned. “You want to kill time by playing volleyball.”

Bucky kicked off his sandals. “What’s wrong with volleyball?”

“Absolutely nothing,” you replied as you tied your hair into a high knot. “If you wanna get your ass kicked.”

“Me?” he chortled, hand on his chest. “Get my ass kicked?”

“I don’t see anyone else standing there.” You kicked off your sandals and started stretching; your arms first, pulling one arm across your chest, relishing in the pleasant burning in your shoulders.

Bucky stood there and watched appreciatively while you stretched. “I don’t think you know who you’re talkin’ to, Y/N. You’re lookin’ at -”

“Oh, Bucky,” you purred, strolling over to him. “I know exactly who I’m talking to.”

The man in front of you swallowed loudly, his eyes roving over your exposed skin. “You uh, you do?”

“I’m talking to the man whose ass I’m going to kick,” you mused, leaning in close and yanking the ball from his grip.

“Game on, doll,” Bucky grit out, yanking off his shirt before taking his place across from you on the volleyball court.

It was difficult not to notice the way his muscles moved under his tan skin; the sight of it made your fingers itch and your mouth water. You wanted to touch every single inch of his gloriously thick body, but that would have to wait for another time. Right then, you wanted to wipe that cocky grin off his face.

Less than two minutes later, you had accomplished just that.

He was on his ass and elbows, glaring at you. “Goddamn, woman.”

“You’re quitting already?” you teased, bouncing the ball from hand to hand. “Come on, Buck. You said you wanted to play.”

“Oh, I want to play, doll,” he purred as he pushed himself up. “You’ve got no idea just how much.”

You made sure he noticed the way your eyes raked over him, how they settled on his stomach, on the muscles in the shape of a v that disappeared beneath his swimming trunks. “I think I have an idea.”

A wicked grin lit up Bucky’s face at the implication. “No, doll. You really don’t.”

Your mouth went dry at the weight of his words. This was going to be more difficult than you thought it would be. Giving yourself a firm mental shake, you put your head back in the game, and without warning, you served the ball, sending it to the far left corner of the court.

“Two – nothing,” you sassed.

“You cheated,” he pointed out before jogging after the ball.

“All’s fair in love and war,” you mused.

The ball came flying your way. It skimmed the net on its way over, making it a lot easier to catch than Bucky intended.

“Good thing it wasn’t your play,” you teased him, getting yourself ready to serve it again. The ball spun on your palm as you swayed back and forth.

“Just serve the damn ball, Y/N,” Bucky growled playfully, taking a defensive stance.

“You got it,” you chuckled before tossing the ball into the air and launching it over the net.

Bucky watched the ball like a hawk and, to your surprise, caught the ball on his forearms. It didn’t go over the net, not until after he was directly under the ball where he set it up for a spike. Despite your best attempt, you didn’t make it in time.

He gave a bellowing cheer, his arms over his head as he fell to his knees. “What is it you were saying about kicking my ass?”

“Good of you to finally show up to the game,” you shot back with a wink. You shoved yourself up and out of the sand, wiping it from your sweaty skin. “Your ball, hot shot.”

And that’s how the game continued; both of you teasing the other, sassing back and forth. Bucky would score against you, but not as many as you. He’d get close, but you were always two or three ahead of him, and that only fueled his competitive nature.

By the time the attendant came to let you know the jetski was available, the score was an unbelievable forty-two to thirty-nine.

Bucky was practically seething, his chest heaving, his nostrils flaring. “You wanna finish this game?”

“Buck, as much as I would love to finish schooling you in the game of volleyball,” you started, ducking under the net to stand in front of him. “There is a jetski with our name on it and, I don’t know about you, I’m dying to get into the water.”

His eyes flashed when you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, when you stood well within his personal space. “Let’s do this,” he gruffed and grabbed your hand.

The spray of water felt amazing against your overheated skin and Bucky, well, his tapered waist fit perfectly between your legs, the thick corded muscles of his thighs felt like heaven. Even though the pair of you were wearing life vests, you had a hand on his taut stomach, the other against his chest, the zipper shifting against your palm.

You were so lost in everything that was Bucky, that when he slowed down and pulled up to a cove, you were completely surprised.

“What is this?” you gasped.

Bucky chuckled and dismounted the ski. “This,” he said with a grand gesture of his arm, “is dinner.”

There was a blanket spread out and a basket sitting in the middle.

“When did you have time to do this? I’ve been kicking your ass for hours,” you teased lightly.

Once the life vests were removed and set on the now stable jetski, Bucky led you over to the picnic, his fingers tangled with yours.

“I have this friend -”

“You have a friend?” you deadpanned.

“Ha ha,” he mocked dryly. “Yes, I have a friend.”

You sat down with a playful scowl and, without waiting for him, opened the basket. It was full of everything you loved, including a bottle of expensive wine. You went to tell him that it was too much money for only one bottle of wine, but he shook his head.

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it,” Bucky said. He took it from you and made quick work of opening it. “Besides, it’s too late now. The bottle’s open.”

Hours later, after the sun had set and stars twinkled in the night sky, you and Bucky stood outside of your apartment building. There were a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach. The numerous hours of shameless flirting and inappropriate comments only feuling the knot of desire you were barely able to contain.

Bucky had you in his arms, a hand tangled in your hair, the other on the small of your back, long fingers gripping your ass. You were pressed to his chest, arms circled around him, fingers digging into and gripping the thin cotton shirt he wore. The kiss was intense; ragged breaths sucked in desperately in an attempt to make the kiss last that much longer.

Before too long, you pulled back and sucked at the cool air. Bucky’s mouth moved along your jawline and down your neck, pulling moans of his name from you. You carded a hand through his hair and tugged on the strands.

“Bucky, please,” you huffed.

“Please what, doll?” Bucky nipped at your pulsepoint, sending a shudder down your spine.

“Just… wait.”

Bucky groaned as he pulled back, hands heavy on your waist. “Are you okay?”

The conversation with Steve played back in your head, how you said you had wanted to wait until both dates had happened, until you had some time to process everything.

“I just need a minute,” you rasped. Whatever air you had remaining in your lungs was sucked out the moment you looked into Bucky’s icy eyes.

One of his hands cupped your face. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m not just a piece of arm candy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Okay, so talk to me, doll,” he requested. “Something’s rattling around in that pretty brain of yours.”

Before you said anything, you pulled in several deep breaths. “I want to wait to uh, to have sex with you.”

You didn’t know what to expect, but a soft smile wasn’t it. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah? You’re not… mad or anything?”

“Doll,” he literally purred, a finger curled under your chin. “This soulmate thing, what’s between us, it isn’t about sex.”

When you rolled your eyes and scoffed, he clarified, “It’s not only about sex. Look, I’m crazy about you, Y/N.”

“I’m crazy about you, too,” you assured him. “I really am.”

“Good,” Bucky hummed against your lips.

You repeated his sentiment, unable to stop a burst of giggles when he picked you up, arms around your waist, lifting your feet from the ground.

“What are you doing?” you asked, laughter still coating your voice.

“Giving you one hell of a goodnight kiss,” was his answer.

FIVE

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @badassbaker @fatalcrossbow @sunriserose1023 @alyssaj23 @ssweet-empowerment @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie @palaiasaurus64 @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @nyxveracity @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @melaninmarvel @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @wildefire @capsheadquaters @saharzek @speakinvain @diinofayce @mizzzpink @pebblesz892 @stevieang @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @lea—-b @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @moisttoas-t @nuggsmumreads @jobean12-blog @fireismysaftey @msshadowboxer @vechkinfan @prettybubblesintheair @kanupps06 @rainbowkisses31 @janeyboo @banlaochranda @ellie-bee242 @shieldsandsunsets @evanstandream @punkrockhufflefluff @winters-beauty @unlikelygalaxygiver @thirtiethnovember @sexyvixen7 @whope123 @mscaptainjones @awkward-walking-potato @memory-of-a-goldfish @somethingwitty-somethingsweet @minarawr @xserenax-13 @andiyholly @bionic-buckyb @princess76179 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @female-accountant @whitemoonstag @xxashy999xx @coffeewithjake @nerdgirljen @everythingisoverrated @angelsofalliteration @walkingtravesty97 @jbarnes87 @akamaiden @part-time-patronus @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @emmawatsonbelle @joannie95 @jamesbbbarnes-blog @buckysothiccbarnes @paintballkid711 @teafocus @cxptain-bxcky @letsdisneythings @gonnadiereading @nomadstevergxrs @kaliforniacoastalteens @marvelcomicsz @tutis24 @i-speak-sarcasmmm @thebiggestmarvelnerd @attemptsatliving @thisismysecrethappyplace @glitterquadricorn @carls1022 @marvelellie @feelmyroarrrr @neeadinghugs @minahraven @gigistorm @sea040561 @brastrangled @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @xtina2191 @roonyxx @doewhisper-of-windclan

Closing the Loop: @kristenallison04 @margxrxtcarter @1-fighting-dreamer @supermoonpanda @making-the-most-0f-it @thefanficfaerie @twentyjuanpancakes @robecca-le-blog-des-citations @lupine-princess @vialuciferscage @harkness-trenchcoat @hufflepuffle97 @patzammit @shynara51 @kimskew @kimberlydyan @whisperingwillows @seragrime @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @deep-space-llama-kid @super-complicated @heartbreaker6995 @the-sunshine-in-the-dark @markusstraya @bookscoffeeandracoons @grimmlytimelord @phoenixwench @benditlikegumby @fashiondiva88 @moonstar86 @superpaperclip @purple-snowfox @the-whitewolfie @purpledragon88

Steve: @mjdoc90 @hides-in-the-shadows @cherrysfandom @lxdyred @phoenix21love @xingareum @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @patzammit @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall @slytherincoven

Promise Me…: One

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: 1,596
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.

It really wasn’t that difficult, getting the bare minimum to pass Professor Fury’s class. Yet, Clint Barton managed to do just that.

Fury said that Clint was, “Partying too much, coming to class drunk, hungover, smelling like an ashtray. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

Clint couldn’t deny it; he had done all of that, and so much more. Although, he didn’t smoke, it was his friends that enjoyed the sting of tobacco in their lungs. Clint had tried it once, but ended up coughing so hard that he threw up. He was twelve, and had gotten a hell of an ass whooping from his dad when Clint came home smelling of Marlboro Menthols.

Then at fifteen, he snuck one of his dad’s beers from the fridge in the garage. At sixteen, he tested the boundaries of his newfound freedom in the form of his freshly-acquired driver’s license. He stayed out late, got pulled over, then arrested; seemingly doing anything he could to defy his parent’s wishes.

And then, on his eighteenth birthday, his parents died. Some drunk asshole had run a red light and plowed through the car, passenger side. Edith, his mother, died on impact. His father, Harold, wasn’t so lucky. He was a twisted and bloody mess of a man that didn’t die until the firemen began peeling away the layers of the metal that surrounded him.

Understandably, Clint was a mess. He drank all the time, dropped out of high school, became that kid in the neighborhood. Whereas other people might go to the gym, or find someone’s ass to kick at a dive bar; Clint took out his rage on the targets in the backyard with his bow and arrow. The set had been a gift from his parents on his sixth birthday, and he had taken to the sport extremely well, earning himself the nickname Hawkeye.

When he was nineteen, he got sober and went back to high school. He knew that if his parents had been alive, the way he had been behaving would have sent them into a fit. He worked hard and graduated the following spring, even earning himself a scholarship from the state’s college.

He had done well for his freshman year, kept his nose in the books and had a healthy relationship with his professors. But then, he got bored, started slacking off every now and again. Those times grew closer together, until he was only making it to class once a week, and cheating off of several people. Sometimes he got a good grade, other times he didn’t, but he managed to skate his way through sophomore and junior year.

And then, at the start of senior year, he found the perfect person to cheat off of; Y/N Coulson. She was quiet, kept mostly to herself, and she was insanely smart. She’s also part of the reason Fury was red in the face, yelling at Clint as if he had been the one to poke out his eye.

“Relax, Fury,” Clint said. “It’s not that big ‘a deal.”

The woman to his right scoffed loudly as she glared at him. “Not that big of a deal? You cheated.”

“To be fair, sweetheart,” he sniggered, turning to face the drably dressed Y/N. “It isn’t the first time.”

“Why do you think I wrote all the wrong answers, jerk?” she spat out. “Now, Professor Fury, if you don’t mind, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

Fury gave her a small smile. “Sure thing, Miss Coulson. And say hi to your old man for me, yeah?”

Y/N assured Fury that she would do exactly that before sending a scowl straight at Clint. She hurried out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.

“What’s got her panties in a twist?” Clint joked.

“Look, Mister Barton,” Fury said after pulling in several deep and relaxing breaths. “I know you haven’t had it easy the last handful of years -”

Clint was out of his seat and glaring at his professor. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“But let me be crystal clear on this,” he stated calmly. “Due to your… repetitive cheating and your behavior in class, you are hereby put on academic probation. In order to graduate, you need to maintain an average of a 3.5 GPA.”

“But I have a 3.5,” Clint protested.

“You had a 3.5,” Fury clarified. “You have a 2.3.”

Feeling absolutely defeated before he had even begun to formulate a recovery plan, Clint rolled his eyes. “Might as well just fail me now.”

Wearing a smirk, Fury began to gather up his files. “You could always ask Miss Coulson, she’s an amazing tutor.”

“No, no fuckin’ way,” Clint argued. “First of all, she hates me.”

“With good reason.”

“Whatever,” he murmured. “Secondly, I can do this on my own.”

With the files in his bag, Fury rounded the table and came to a stop in front of his student. “Clint, there are less than four months until the end of the school year. You don’t have time to do it on your own.”

As soon as you were inside the small apartment you had been renting, you made a beeline for the couch, slipping off your shoes and setting your books on the table before dropping onto the ratted piece of furniture. God, you were so tired you could feel it in the marrow of your bones. If you could, you’d probably try and sleep for a month straight, but there was the small matter of the make-up exam the following morning.

In the twenty-two years of your life, you had somehow managed to never hate a single person. That was until you met Clint Barton. He was arrogant, boisterous, and rude, bringing it upon himself to always comment on the second-hand clothes you wore. And then, if that weren’t bad enough, he had the audacity to cheat off of you!

The first time you knew it happened, you were seeing red. You wanted to tell your professor, an old friend of your father’s, but you knew that it could be difficult to prove. After all, you weren’t the only person he sat behind, and several other students had provided the same answers.

Then it hit you; the only way to prove that Clint was cheating off of you was to give the most ridiculous and asinine answers you could think of. You hadn’t actually thought he would fall for it, but he did; hook, line, and sinker. God, what an asshole.

Rather than taking the opportunity to sleep in, to semi-recover from the hellacious week you’d experienced, you were going to spend your entire Saturday morning taking the exam. You couldn’t even have a glass of wine tonight; talk about a buzzkill.

With a protesting groan, you pushed yourself up, got a large glass of water, and went about studying the material once again. Sure, you could quote it verbatim, with your eyes closed, while twirling around in a circle, but you couldn’t be too careful, right?

Clint, the last person you wanted to see at that very moment, was leaning against the wall when you emerged from Fury’s classroom. You shook your head and stormed away.

“Y/N,” he called out as he gave chase.

Without slowing down, you looked over your shoulder and gave a heaving sigh. “What do you want, Clint?”

“I need your help to pass Fury’s class,” he explained quickly.

That got your attention. You turned around to face him. “Clint Baron’s asking me for help?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a shy smile.

You pretended to give it some thought before saying, “Okay, I’ll pray for you.” Without waiting for his reaction, you spun around and resumed walking across the quad.

“Y/N, no, look,” Clint called out.

“You’ve obviously never asked anybody for help before, right?” you inquired, glancing over your shoulder.

Clint was scratching the back of his neck as he muttered, “No.”

You couldn’t help but feel slightly amused at the sight of him; campus hottie – or so you had been told – all flushed and shy because he was out of his comfort zone. There were a million micro-expressions flashing across his face, sparkling in his mischievous eyes, and you were most definitely enjoying watching him squirm.

“A request like yours requires flattery and groveling. It can’t be all about you. It has to be for the common good of everybody,” you went on to explain.

“It is for the common good,” he argued. “Please, Y/N. I’m… I’m not going to graduate if you don’t help me.”

Damn it. How did he know exactly what to say to get you to give it even a second thought? You couldn’t do it, could you, help him, not only study but, graduate? Your plate was already full, threatening to spill over. So, why were finding it easy to agree?

Pulling in the cool air deep into your lungs, you turned to face Clint. “Okay. One condition though.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” Why you had said that, you hadn’t a clue, but once the words were out of your mouth, you couldn’t take them back.

Clint chuckled low in his throat. “That’s not a problem.”

“Okay. Meet me tomorrow morning in the library,” you instructed coolly. “Not a minute after six.”

He went to argue, but the words died on his lips the minute you arched your brow at him. “Okay, okay. Six on the nose.”

TWO

Clint: @yavanna80 @bookscoffeeandracoons @whisperingwillows @lovelyladylilac @thricethechrises @proudhufflepuff77 @mysterysiria

Promise Me…: @dean-in-the-devils-trap @chook007

Closing the Loop: Three

Summary: Imagine, from the time you’re born having a clock that counts down to the time you meet your soulmate. One day you meet Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and the clock stops. Now, you have to figure out which one it is.
Word Count: 1,542
Warnings: Language, talk of soulmates, possible smut, trying for a long burn.
Author’s Note: Thank you @captain-rogers-beard for your invaluable help with this. GIF Credit [X]

My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.

For your date with Steve, you splurged a little by dipping into your savings and bought a dark blue – the sales clerk called it prussian – and shoulderless cocktail dress. It was the first dress you saw when you stepped into the store, and you knew you had to have it. There was one left in stock, and as luck would have it, it was a perfect fit; it was tight in all the right places, showcasing your curves.

With your hair pulled back and tied into a low bun, you applied a dusting of makeup. Once your desired look was achieved, a pair of earrings, rose gold strappy heels, and a small clutch completed the ensemble.

“Shit,” you mumbled, catching the time as you tucked your phone into the clutch. If you didn’t leave now and catch a cab, you were going to be late. Not exactly what you wanted to have happen on the first date with your potential soulmate.

Steve was standing outside, checking his watch, and bouncing on the balls of his feet; it was only a couple minutes after the agreed upon time.

“She’s just running behind,” he muttered under his breath.

His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, worried that Y/N had changed her mind about wanting to date him, his brain doing its best to try and convince him that she had already chosen Bucky. It was stupid to think that way, the rational part of his brain knew that, but fear had a way of taking the smallest seed of doubt and watering it until it overshadowed everything else; including logic. He had just shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from looking at his watch when a cab pulled up.

Y/N stepped out and the sight of her stole the breath from Steve’s lungs. The blue material swished around her legs as she walked toward him, the tap, tap, tap, tap of her heels on the concrete, the way her lips quirked, how she tipped her head as she said… something; Y/N was stunning.

“Steve,” she giggled, her hand on his elbow as she shook him gently. “Are you alright?”

“You look incredible,” Steve rasped. He held out the arm she still had a grip on and sighed as she slid the hand from his elbow to the inside of his forearm.

A blush colored her collarbones and chest, and she dipped her head down as she murmured, “Thank you, you too.” Y/N traced her nails over the subtle pattern of his suit absentmindedly as they walked toward the restaurant.

Once inside, Y/N looked up and gasped. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

The restaurant was bathed in ambient light, provided mostly by the chandelier above. There were also candles on each table, flickering in their holders, reflecting off the various glasses, creating small shadows that danced over the cutlery. The tables were the perfect size for couples on a date; plenty of room for plates and glasses of wine, but small enough that it wouldn’t be impossible to reach across the table and hold your partner’s hand.

Steve couldn’t help himself. “Not as beautiful as you,” tumbled from his lips, pulling another giggle from Y/N. He wanted her, then and there, not sexually, but as a partner in life. He wanted to drop to one knee and propose, then kiss her breathless when she accepted.

The maître d’ showed them to their table, which was next to a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a field of flowers. There was a path through the flowers that they could walk down if they chose.

Once they were seated, Y/N looked at the menu and started to shake her head. “Steve, this is all too much.”

Steve, who chose to sit next to her rather than across the table, grabbed her hand and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s really not,” he argued gently.

“Are you sure? We could go someplace else,” she offered.

“Do you want to?” he wondered. He’d go wherever she wanted, all she had to do was say where.

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Not really.”

“Okay then,” Steve chuckled, his hand tangling with hers. .

The stroll through the gardens had been peaceful and beautiful; the flowers’ gentle perfume was carried on the breeze, filling your nose with their aroma.

You and Steve had been walking for over an hour; palms pressed together, fingers intertwined, thumbs caressing pulse points. At one point, you had shivered, and Steve draped his jacket around your shoulders, laughing at how long the cuffs hung past your hands. After that, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. You looped your arm around his waist, tucking a finger in his belt loop, sighing in contentment at just how… right it felt to be with him.

You had gotten so lost in Steve, that you were surprised when you ended up at your apartment. “My feet are going to be sore tomorrow,” you chuckled, suddenly nervous for some reason.

“I could stay and massage them if you like,” Steve all but purred. He was looking down at you, his normal azure eyes were swirling with need, and it made your stomach twist lazily.

Standing in front of him, you ran your hand along the buttons of his waistcoat before settling on his hip. “You’d do that?”

“I would do whatever you wanted me to,” he admitted breathlessly. Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he caressed your jaw with his thumb before snagging your chin in his thumb and forefinger.

“And if I asked you to kiss me?” you rasped, throat thick with need.

Hot breath blasted against your lips when he answered. “I would be a fool to say no.”

With your other hand resting on his chest, directly over his hammering heart, you pushed up until your lips were a whisper away. “Kiss me, Steve.”

It was the farthest thing from a question, but Steve didn’t object. Steve pressed his lips to yours and sighed at the contact. Melting into him, you answered his sigh with one of your own, sliding your hand up to grab the back of his neck, scraping your nails through the short hairs.

Steve might have been a gentleman on the date and while the pair of you walked, but he sure didn’t kiss like one. He kissed you as if he were conquering you, dominating you, stealing the breath from your lungs, swallowing your moans. Steve’s hands were on your back and ass, pulling you against him and holding you there, not leaving an inch between you. Every squeeze of his strong hands, every moan that made his chest vibrate, the way his arousal pressed and twitched against your belly… all of it only threw gasoline on the roaring fire. The ache between your legs was unbearable when you pulled back, your lungs stinging as you sucked in the crisp night air around you.

“Steve,” you choked. Your hands were lost under his waistcoat, tugging at his dress shirt. “We shouldn’t.”

Steve pressed his forehead to yours as he struggled to breathe, his chest heaving, straining the buttons. “Do you… not want to?”

You huffed thickly. “I want to, Steve,” you assured him. “My God, do I want to. I just… I don’t think it would be fair.”

Dark eyelashes fanned across his skin when his eyes fluttered closed. “Bucky,” he rasped.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

When he didn’t, you kissed him, just a press of your lips to his. “You said you’d do whatever I wanted, so… look at me.” His lust-blown irises had almost completely taken over, leaving a strip of stormy blue, and if he hadn’t been holding you up, you’d be on your ass.

“I want you,” you repeated through clenched teeth. “But if I’m going to do this, try to figure all of this out, I need to do it on my terms.”

Steve gave a lopsided smile after kissing you as sweetly as you had just kissed him. “I know, Y/N.”

You untangled yourself from Steve, groaning at the loss of contact and body heat. “I should get in,” you murmured as you shrugged out of his jacket and handed it back.

After draping his jacket over his arm, Steve grabbed you around the waist and kissed you fiercely, making you second guess your previous statement about waiting. Just when the last bit of your resolve was about to crumble, he pulled back, growled something you couldn’t understand, and strode away.

Thankfully, Bucky was asleep when Steve got home. The two might be best friends, but the last person Steve wanted to see right then was the man Y/N might choose over him. Steve wanted Y/N, and he wanted her bad. It took everything he had to walk away from her tonight. She was so soft and smooth, tasted and sounded incredible. It didn’t take much to get completely wound up again.

Growling low in his throat, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, and finished it in three swallows. This whole ‘sharing’ thing was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

FOUR

Steve: @mjdoc90 @hides-in-the-shadows @cherrysfandom @lxdyred @phoenix21love @xingareum @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @patzammit @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall @slytherincoven

Closing the Loop: Two: Deleted Scene

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