Summary: Annabelle Shaw (reader) trains at the Avengers compound. While remembering her troubled past, she injures herself and recieves help from the last person she expected.
Word Count: 2,246
Author’s Note: Hi everyone! So this is my first story on here, so bear with me! I am open to requests, so if anyone ever wants to request fics, feel free to message me! Thanks for reading!
Sunlight seeps through the curtains, filling the dark room with golden hues. My eyes open slowly, a low groan emanating from my throat as I roll over in the plush bed. I throw the sheets over my head, exhaling deeply as I settle back in contently.
“Good morning, Miss Shaw,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. croons. “It is six a.m. and Captain Rogers is awaiting your training session in the sparring room.”
“Ugh,” I drawl. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., tell Steve I’m not training today because I’m exhausted from the mission last night,” I mumble sleepily. “Goddamn old men and their early mornings.”
“As you wish.”
“Oh, and F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”
I smile and say, “Close the curtains and don’t wake me up unless it’s an emergency.”
“Of course, Miss Shaw.”
Just as my eyes flutter shut, a hand bangs on the door in quick succession. “Annabelle! Rise and shine!” Steve yells.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., keep him out.”
“Yes, Miss Shaw.”
I turn over and sigh happily, knowing F.R.I.D.A.Y. would never go against my wishes. Steve continues to pound against the door, yelling about our training session, but I stay completely silent. I hear the AI say something to Steve, probably telling him I’ve restricted all contact with me to emergencies only. The incessant knocking stops and I’m finally at peace.
“Miss Shaw,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, confused, “I’m afraid Captain Rogers is overriding my security protocol. He will have access to you in approximately twenty seconds.”
With that, my eyes fly open and I begin to panic. “Shit,” I chant. Rushing around the room, I shuck off my pajamas and throw on a sports bra, tank top and capri spandex bottoms, knowing Steve will drag me out in whatever I’m in, regardless of how I look. Just as I’m throwing my hair into a high ponytail, the door whisks open and Steve barges in, a creased brow and shit-eating grin on his face.
“Annabelle, I told you what would happen if you did this again,” he boomed, advancing quickly.
My heart leaps to my throat. “Steve, I’m so tired from last night, please don’t do th-”
I’m cut off as the super-soldier tosses me over his shoulder, laughing gleefully as I yelp in surprise. “Too little too late, Shaw.”
His grip is completely constricting, forcing my hand. I plant a hard slap on his right butt cheek, which surprises him, causing him to squeal “shit!” and his hands to slightly falter. I take the opportunity to slip away and sprint down the hallway of the Avenger’s compound, heart pounding. He pursues me with heavy footfalls that resonate throughout the otherwise silent building, shouting empty threats at me while laughing.
I spin around and throw up the middle finger, chortling, only to slam into a solid, warm surface.
I topple over and slam into the floor, taking the body with me. We groan in unison and a flash of silver catches my eye. I stiffen and shoot up in panic. “Sorry, I didn’t see you th-”
He cuts you off with a growl, standing up slowly. “Watch where you’re going next time.” Bucky stalks away quietly, seething.
I turn to Steve and he laughs nervously, leading me to the sparring room.
After a long day of training, I fall onto my bed, completely wore down. Steve, ever so merciless and in excellent shape, always expected me to keep up with him when we trained together, which seemed like a stretch. When we sparred, I could knock him down and keep him down easily, but when it came to physical endurance and strength training, it seemed like the super-soldier enjoyed pushing me past my breaking point every day. Every session introduced a new form of torture that reigned hell on my body, and every night prolonged my misery with every single movement.
We frequently came across the others training for missions, but had never once seen Bucky in the training rooms. I didn’t know if that was because he didn’t need training, or if he just didn’t care enough to make an effort, but it annoyed the hell out of me every day because of how effortless he made missions seem. There I always was, busting my ass, and he would simply throw people into walls with his metal arm with what seemed like little to no effort. It infuriated me.
There is a mission tonight that Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda had to go on, leaving me, Bucky, and Tony at the compound. After the falling out of the Avengers about a year and a half ago, the Sokovia Accords had been abolished, leaving the group to have free reign with the supervision of the World Security Council. Amnesty was granted to Steve, Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Scott, so they returned to the States. Tony, having realized what a dick he had been, formally apologized to everyone for his behavior and overall jackassery during their “civil war.” Since then, everything has been running smoothly, with most of the team back at the compound. Clint and Scott returned to their families, T’Challa remained in Wakanda to serve his duty as both king and Black Panther warrior, Banner’s been MIA since the battle for Sokovia, and Tony spends most of his time in New York and Queens to keep an eye on the new kid, Peter, and help Rhodey adjust to life. I’d never met the Spider-Man himself, but from what Sam and Steve’s told me, he seems like an overzealous teenager who’s eager to please, like I was.
I head to the gym, F.R.I.D.A.Y. playing my workout playlist through the PA system. I twirl a knife in my hand, slightly dancing to the rhythm while walking down the corridor. Once I reach the gym, I ditch my knife on a table in exchange for tape and head for a punching bag, carefully wrapping my knuckles as I go. Clenching my fist, I roll my neck to loosen up before striking the sand-filled bag. I smile, savoring the sweet sting from the punch, and throw three more in quick succession. After I’m warmed up, I begin to throw punches and kicks like Steve taught me, exerting all of the strength I could muster.
Startling awake, I gasp for breath, fighting against the restraints. The metal table is cold beneath me, save for the small pools of blood that seeped through the fabric of my shirt. I glance down at my exposed midriff, crying out at the pain of the gunshot wounds. I scream in agony, concentrating on the lodged bullets, and pull the fragments out. This is what they want. They want to see you break, to unleash your power, and you finally did. As soon as the bullets land on the floor, a team of doctors rush in, grinning like they’d won the lottery. I scream, light bulbs shattering above and the table shaking with every breath I take.
“Yes,” they say, one amorphous, sinister voice. “Now we can begin.”
I lose track of how long I spend at the bag, so when I see blood seeping through the white tape encasing my tender knuckles, I slow to a stop. My tank top is completely soaked through, so I discard it on the floor, leaving me in my sports bra and yoga capris. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., stop the music please.” I carefully unwrap my hands, wincing at the agonizing burn of split knuckles. I walk to the table and grab a knife to sever the cage of white engulfing my scarlet fingers. Once the tape is gone and my knuckles can bleed freely, I sit against a wall, clutching my head in my hands, struggling to control the erratic heaves of my chest.
A noise from the door startles me out of my stupor and my guard is up immediately. Without looking, I stand and hurl the knife to the frame of the door, the glinting metal striking its mark inches from the intruder’s head.
“Shit,” Bucky breathes. “It’s just me.”
Exhaling shakily, I shake my head and scoff. “What, need to train?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, stepping into the room. He glances around curiously, as if experiencing it for the first time. I scoff again, concluding that this actually is his first time here. Bucky isn’t one to initiate conversation, and neither am I, so I put him out of my mind as I grab a towel to wipe my hands. Biting my lip to conceal my pain from my metal-armed spectator, I gently dab my knuckles, blood soaking into the towel quickly. The whimper I mistakenly let out results in Bucky coming over to me in a flash, slowly circling his fingers, flesh and metal, around my wrists. I avoid his eyes shamefully, frowning. What is he doing?
“Come with me,” he says. He grazes his metal fingers up my arm and down my back in one swift motion, goosebumps raising in their wake. My breathing falters for a second, barely a hitch, but he notices. He hides his grin by pretending to scratch his scruff-covered jaw. I try not to stare when Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, holding back his smile. He splays his cool fingers on the small of my back, gently leading me out of the gym.
The only thing I can concentrate on is his hand on my skin. The smooth and cool surface of the metal tingles on the sweaty, exposed surface. While he’s touching me, my body is suddenly hyperaware of every move he makes, so I can feel when he adjusts his arm slightly to curl his fingers around my waist nonchalantly. I try not to gasp when he tugs me into his room and slams the door behind him.
He shakes his head and smiles softly. “I just want to help clean you up,” he says quietly. My heart practically slams out of my chest as he takes in my shocked expression and grins boyishly, dimples forming in his cheeks. “C’mon B.”
“B?” I question. He takes me to his en-suite and lifts me onto the vanity, which makes me squeak in surprise. Who the hell is this guy?
He smiles, and again I’m transported to another place. I’ve never seen him smile so often and so freely. It’s confusing. “Just thought I’d try it out. Everyone calls you a cute nickname, and I thought I would try out B.”
Bucky digs around a drawer, fishing out antibacterial cream, gauze, and medical tape. His hair falls into his face as he washes my knuckles with warm water and soap tenderly. I study him: his sharp, strong jawline; his strong cheekbones; his long lashes lightly dusting his cheeks when he blinks; the soft curve of his plump lips and how he bites the lower one in concentration; his broad shoulders and bulging biceps straining against his plain black shirt; his everything.
“Why B? What does it stand for? Bells?”
He pauses, holding my cut hands. Blush dusts his cheeks and he looks up at me with the same heart-stopping, boyish grin he gave me earlier. “No.”
I crease my eyebrows. “What then?”
My heart hammers in my chest. What? He places my hands in my lap, stepping between my parted legs. “Bucky, what-”
“Shh, just let me, let me try something.” He leans in closer, firmly gripping my hips, pulling me closer to him. I squeak in surprise, my whole body burning with an emotion I can’t decipher. We are so close, closer than I’ve been with anyone in a while. I feel like I can’t breathe, but in the best possible way, when he leans in, brushing his lips against mine. I gasp and he sucks in a breath through his nose. Everything is tingling and nothing feels real, but the warm pressure of his hands on my hips reminds me that this is reality. Bucky pulls me impossibly closer, fully pressing his lips against mine. I sigh, my heart pounding with excitement, and bring him closer to me by holding his face in my shaking hands. I can feel the pulse on his neck, whimpering when it’s as fast and hard as mine. He groans and deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth, much to my surprise. He feels and tastes amazing, like the peppermint gum he always chews. His body is solid and warm between my parted thighs, and my mind is buzzing.
Time ceases to exist when his lips are on mine, and everything feels like a dream. After what feels like a blissful eternity yet only a second, I reluctantly break the connection, breathing hard and fast like the beautiful man in front of me. He lays his forehead on mine, struggling to catch his breath. I laugh nervously and lace our fingers together, leaning against the wall behind me.
“What was that?” I ask breathlessly. He grins.
“Can’t stop thinking about those lips,” he tells me. I blush scarlet, which makes him laugh. He finishes bandaging my hands and I feel helpless against the assault of light kisses he gives each knuckle once it’s cleaned and wrapped.
Once he’s finished, he pulls me off the counter and leads me back to the gym. I stare at him, still giddy, and ask, “What are we doing?”
He grabs a handful of knives off of the table and turns to you, grinning. “I want you to teach me how to throw knives.”
I blanch. “Are you kidding me? You don’t know how to throw a knife?”
He shrugs. “I do. I just want you to teach me how you throw knives. I see you playing with one all the time.”
My eyes widen in shock and yet again, I blush. “You watch me?”
His metal arm glints in the sun as he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Um, yeah. For a while now.”
I can’t hide the smile that lights up my face; much to my displeasure, I also can’t hide the girly giggle that escapes. “What else do you think about?”
He drops the knives and rushes to me, grabbing me by the thighs and hoisting me up. I squeal, which seems to be a recurring, annoying sound I make, and wrap my arms around his neck. He traces my lips with a finger, looks up at me with a soft smile and bright eyes before saying, “Trust me, babydoll, this is only the beginning.”