honeyglee

[honeyglee]

GHOST who always struggled to show you affection whenever he wore his mask, the one that only uncovered his warm, brown eyes. Holding your hand or saying things wasn’t enough, but pulling down his mask all the way down to his chin was also unpractical.

That’s when he thought of it — nose kisses.

He doesn’t have to worry about his identity being discovered in public when he only pulls his mask down to his nose, so he can gently rub it against yours, making you giggle every single time.

Not only that become a way of showing off his affection in public, somehow it also started to become a habit to do it every single time. Even when his lips are on display and it is so easy to just kiss him properly, you always go first to softly rub your nose against his. Now every time he goes to work, you have to rub the tips of your noses gently together, it also became a great way of waking you up in the morning without straddling you with his harsh mouth kisses.

That became almost a label of your relationship, of the way that it is easy to be gentle in love.

[honeyglee]

Invisible | Part 17

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU 🥰🥰

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Sad steve, a little angst, fluff 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

A/N: ugh finally is all i gotta say

Masterpost

Steve stepped into the apartment quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. The living room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow. Sam was sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, the TV playing a muted rerun of an old sitcom. He looked up as Steve entered, his brows knitting together in concern.

“Did you find her?” Sam asked, sitting up and setting the popcorn aside.

Steve nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. She was sitting on a park bench not too far from here.”

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And? She okay?”

Steve hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before walking over to the couch. He sank down beside Sam, exhaling deeply. “She knows,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation.

Sam froze, his jaw tightening. “Knows what?”

Steve looked down at his hands, clasping them tightly as if trying to hold himself together. “That I’m in love with her.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sam sat back, his expression unreadable as he processed the weight of Steve’s words. Finally, he cleared his throat. “And what did she say?”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “She said she doesn’t love me back. I asked her if she thinks she ever could, and…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “She said at one point, maybe. She believes she could have. But now, with everything going on with Bucky…”

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes softening with sympathy. “Man, I’m sorry.”

Steve leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes as the ache in his chest deepened. “It’s eating me alive, Sam. Knowing that if I’d just made a move sooner, she could’ve been with me. Maybe she wouldn’t be so hung up on Bucky. Maybe we could’ve been happy.”

Sam let out a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “Steve… you can’t do that to yourself, man. You can’t sit here and play the what-if game. Trust me, it doesn’t help. And honestly? If I’m being real with you, this was always going to happen.”

Steve frowned, his eyes opening to meet Sam’s. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a sad smile, his tone gentle but firm. “The universe was always gonna have it be her and Bucky. You’ve gotta know that. They’ve got that messy, complicated, meant-to-be kind of thing. And yeah, it sucks for you��it sucks for anyone standing on the outside looking in—but some things just… are.”

Steve looked away, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Sam nodded, understanding the weight in Steve’s voice. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared at the muted TV. “No, it doesn’t. And it’s not gonna for a while. But you’ve gotta find a way to live with it, man. Letting it eat at you? That’s not gonna do you any good.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I thought… I thought maybe if I just held on, if I waited long enough, she’d see me. But she never has, not like I see her.”

Sam leaned forward again, his tone firm but not unkind. “Steve, you can’t do that to yourself. I know it hurts, but you’re stuck in a shitty situation. The universe has always been rigged for her and Bucky. That’s not on you.”

Steve’s lips twitched in a faint, bitter smile. “You think so?”

Sam nodded. “Oh, I know so. Hell, I figured it out back in college.”

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Remember when I asked her out that one time?”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, the memory rushing back. “Of course, I remember. You came back, said it wasn’t gonna work, and then you two were best friends from then on.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s because thirty minutes into the date, I realized she wasn’t just talking about Bucky—she was glowing every time his name came up. I sat there thinking, ‘How the hell did I not see this before?’” He paused, his voice softening. “Doesn’t matter what she says or doesn’t say about him. She’s always been his, Steve. And I think he’s always been hers too. They’re just too damn stupid to admit it.”

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. “You’re probably right.”

Sam smirked, shaking his head. “Oh, I know I am. You should’ve seen Bucky that night I took her out. He didn’t say anything, but the guy didn’t sit still for hours. He kept pacing around our dorm like he was waiting for her to come back. And once I started hanging out with you and Bucky more, it was even clearer. Bucky looked at her like she hung the stars, and she was over there looking at him like he was her entire world. You couldn’t miss it.”

Steve leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face. “So why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t she?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s just who they are. Stubborn as hell, both of them. And I think part of it is fear, you know? They’re both so scared of losing what they have that they’ve been too chicken to reach for more. But, Steve, that’s not on you. It’s not your fault they’ve been stuck in this endless loop.”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. “Doesn’t make it easier to watch.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam agreed. “But here’s the thing—you’re not second best, Steve. You’re not just a fallback option, and you shouldn’t let yourself feel like one. If it wasn’t meant to be with her, that’s on the universe, not you.”

Steve let out a small, bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Not as easy as you think. But I’ll tell you this—there’s a world of people out there who would give anything to have someone like you in their corner. Someone who sees them the way you see her. And maybe one day, you’ll find someone who looks at you the way she looks at Bucky. She may be closer than you think….You deserve that, Steve. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Steve’s chest tightened at Sam’s words, but he nodded slowly, the truth of them settling in. “Thanks, man.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a warm, reassuring smile. “Anytime. And hey, remember—there’s plenty of fish in the sea. You just gotta let yourself cast the line.”

Steve let out a weak laugh, but there was a hint of hope in it. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Sam said firmly. “Now, ill grab us a beer and lets figure out what the hell we’re doing tomorrow because I’m pretty sure the group’s about to implode.”

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Sounds about right.”

The two friends settled back into the couch, the weight of the conversation still lingering but lighter now. And as Steve stared at the muted TV, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Sam was right.

College First year

It was a crisp fall evening, the kind where the air had just enough of a chill to make you wish you’d brought a scarf. The campus was alive with chatter and laughter, students hurrying to and from the dining halls or bundling up for late-night study sessions. You’d agreed to go on a date with Sam, mostly because Wanda and Natasha had been relentless about it.

“Come on,” Natasha had said, practically throwing your coat at you. “He’s great. He’s charming. And let’s be honest, he’s got arms that could carry you out of a burning building.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed. Sam had always been easy to talk to, Steve said he was the better roommate out of him and Bucky, so that was a good sign and you figured if nothing else, it would be a fun night.

When he showed up to pick you up, he greeted you with his signature warm smile, a casual button-up, and a bouquet of flowers that was just the right mix of thoughtful and not overly formal. “Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

The two of you ended up at a cozy Italian restaurant just off campus. It was charming, with string lights and the soft hum of an acoustic guitar playing in the background. The warm glow of the string lights outside the building made it feel like a scene straight out of a rom-com. Sam opened the door for you with a playful bow.

“After you, milady,” he said, flashing that signature grin that had most girls on campus swooning.

You rolled your eyes but smiled back. “Don’t push your luck, Wilson.”

Sam was, as expected, funny and kind, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. You laughed about your classes, swapped embarrassing stories about your friends, and commiserated over the sheer insanity of trying to balance everything college threw at you. He was cracking jokes and telling stories that had you laughing so hard you nearly spilled your water more than once.

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, trying to keep a straight face as Sam recounted an embarrassing story from his freshman year. “You really thought sneaking a chicken into your dorm room was a good idea?”

Sam held up his hands defensively. “In my defense, it was my chicken. His name was Nugget, and he was a gift from my uncle. You don’t just abandon family.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I don’t think a chicken counts as family, Sam.”

“Clearly, you’ve never owned a chicken,” he quipped, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

As the food arrived, the conversation shifted to classes, mutual friends, and campus gossip. Everything felt easy—until Sam tilted his head, his playful smile fading slightly.

But somewhere between the second course and dessert, Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know, I’ve noticed something about you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh no. What? Is it the way I hold my fork? Natasha said it’s weird.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just… you talk about Bucky a lot.”

Your fork froze mid-twirl, and you blinked at him. “I do not,” you said quickly, your voice a little too defensive. “Do I?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart skipped a beat.

Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. I mean, I get it—you’ve been friends forever. But it’s not just that. It’s the way you talk about him. And the way your eyes kinda… linger when you bring him up.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you quickly looked down at your plate, twirling spaghetti around your fork. “It’s not… I mean, Bucky and I, we’re just friends. Best friends, that’s all we’ve ever been.”

Sam gave you a look, one that was both knowing and a little amused. “I'm sensing that maybe someone, not naming names, is feeling a little more than just friends?” He paused, his smile fading into something more serious “Does he know?”

Your stomach twisted, and you set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “No,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And please don’t tell him. I don’t even know what I want, and the last thing I need is for him to know that I’m…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “In love with him?”

Your head shot up, and you glared at him, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sam said gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know how I didn’t put two and two together before, but it’s written all over you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your temples. “Well, great. Now you know my secret. Are you gonna tell him?"

Sam laughed, reaching across the table to gently tap your hand. “Hey, I won’t. But… you should probably figure out what you want. For your sake, not his. I don’t think I’m the guy you’re supposed to be out with tonight.”

You felt a pang of guilt, but Sam’s easy grin quickly soothed it. “Sam, I’m sorry—” You sighed, your fingers gripping your fork tightly. “It’s not that simple, Sam. Bucky and I… we’re complicated. And I’m not even sure he thinks of me like that.”

Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re both blind as hell. But hey, that’s not my business.” He reached across the table giving your hand a squeeze “Don’t be, I’m glad we did this. I mean, it’s not every day you go on a date and realize the person you’re with is completely hung up on their best friend. But hey,” he added, his smile widening, “I can already tell we’re gonna be the best of friends.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said with confidence. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Now, if you’re done breaking my heart with all this Bucky talk, I have an important question for you.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What question?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked, completely serious.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Ghosts,” Sam repeated, his grin widening. “It’s a make-or-break question for me. We can’t be friends if you’re one of those ‘ghosts aren’t real’ people.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier easing slightly. “I don’t know, Sam. I’ve never seen one.”

“Classic ghost-denier response,” he said with mock disappointment. “But it’s okay. I’ll convert you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “What are you, the Ghost Whisperer?”

“Exactly,” he said, winking. “And by the end of the semester, you’ll be a believer too.”

The rest of the evening was spent walking around campus, talking about everything and nothing. Sam made you laugh so hard your sides hurt, and by the end of the night, you felt lighter—like you’d gained not just a friend, but someone who truly understood you.

As he walked you back to your dorm, he gave you a warm hug, whispering, “Don’t wait too long to figure out what you want, alright?”

You nodded, feeling both grateful and a little overwhelmed. “Thanks, Sam. For everything.”

“Anytime, Ghost Denier,” he teased, pulling back and giving you a mock salute. “Now go figure out your complicated Bucky situation before I have to knock some sense into both of you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you opened your door. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Y/N” he said , turning and walking down the hall. “And remember—ghosts are real!”

As you closed the door, his words echoed in your mind. Figure out your Bucky situation. If only it were that simple.

The city was quieter now, the usual hum of nightlife softened as you made your way back to your apartment. It was late, the chill in the air biting at your skin as you wrapped your coat tighter around you. Natasha’s words echoed in your head, their weight pressing heavily on your chest. Stop wasting time.

When you reached your building, your hands were shaking—not from the cold but from the uncertainty of what waited for you inside. You hesitated for a moment, staring at the door, before finally gripping the handle and pushing it open.

The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of the lamp in the living room. Bucky was still there, sitting on the couch in the same spot you’d left him hours ago. His posture was slouched, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. But now, his eyes were red and puffy, the streaks on his cheeks betraying the tears he’d shed.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as you tried to steady your breathing.

You swallowed hard and turned back toward the door, pressing your back against it as you shut your eyes tightly for a moment. You inhaled deeply, gathering the courage you needed, and when you finally opened your eyes again, you faced him.

“Do you mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

Bucky blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He stood slowly, his hands hanging at his sides, and took a tentative step closer. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, raw with emotion.

Bucky’s voice cracked as he answered, “It’s the only thing I’ve ever meant.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them wrapping around you like a second skin. You stared at him, your breath hitching as every wall, every defense you’d built, threatened to crumble under the sincerity in his voice.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, like he was afraid any sudden motion would shatter the fragile moment between you. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’ve loved you since the day you tied your shoe in kindergarten and told me you’d be my best friend forever.” A hollow, broken laugh escaped him. “I think I loved you even before I understood what love was.”

Your lip quivered as tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Bucky…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I mean it, doll,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “Every girl, every date, every time I tried to move on—I couldn’t. Because none of it felt right. None of them were you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the sheer honesty in his gaze cutting through every doubt, every fear.

Your voice broke as you finally said, “You can’t just say this now, Bucky. Not after everything.” You wiped at the tears streaming down your face, frustration mixing with the flood of emotions. “Do you know how hard it’s been? To watch you with other girls, to convince myself that what I felt didn’t matter because you didn’t feel the same?”

He winced like your words physically hurt him. “I know,” he said softly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been such a coward. I’ve spent years too scared to say it, too scared to ruin what we had, and instead, I ruined it anyway.”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as you looked away, your voice rising. “You didn’t just ruin it. You hurt me, Buck! You let me believe I was just your backup, your best friend who didn’t measure up to everyone else.”

His voice cracked as he took another step forward. “You were never my backup. You’ve always been my first choice—always. I’m just an idiot who didn’t know how to show it.”

You let out a sharp laugh, the kind born from heartbreak and exhaustion. “And Steve?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Did you ever think about what telling me about him would do? How I’m supposed to face him now, knowing what I know?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I know I shouldn’t have said it. I know it wasn’t my place, but I was desperate. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—to Dean, to Steve, to anyone.”

“Steve doesn’t deserve this,” you said, your voice softening, your heart aching for the friend who had loved you quietly and selflessly for years. “He’s been nothing but good to me.”

“I know,” Bucky said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why I hate myself for saying anything. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I couldn’t watch you slip away again.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling the frantic beat of your heart as his words washed over you. “You don’t understand what this does, Bucky. To us. To all of us. What if this destroys everything, friendships...”

He closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out but stopping short, hovering near yours. His voice was low, desperate. “Maybe it will. Maybe we’ll burn everything to the ground. But I can’t lie to you anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this—don’t feel you—like a part of me I can’t live without.”

The dam finally broke. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I love you too,” you cried, the words spilling out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “I’ve loved you for so long it hurts. But I don’t know how to trust this, Bucky. How do I know you won’t hurt me again?”

“You love me” He breathed out like it was his last breath, he blinked away the tears of relief his hands finally found yours, his touch warm and grounding. “You don’t,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life proving I won’t.”

The tears were falling freely now, both yours and his, as the weight of everything settled between you. His hands tightened around yours, and he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I’m all in, sweetheart,” he whispered. “No more games. No more running. Just us.”

The room felt like it was spinning, your heart pounding so hard it hurt, but when your eyes locked with his, everything else disappeared. In those piercing blue depths, you saw it. The truth. The love. The promise. The years of unspoken feelings and tangled emotions were laid bare between you, and for the first time in so long, you let yourself believe it—believe him.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, surging forward, your lips crashing into his with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release, a culmination of years of pain, longing, and unsaid words. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline, while his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in so tightly it felt like he was trying to meld you into him.

The kiss was messy, frantic, and raw. His lips were warm, firm yet trembling with emotion as they moved against yours. His hands roamed, one tangling in your hair while the other settled on your waist, holding you steady against him. You could feel the desperation in the way he kissed you, the silent plea for you to believe him, to stay, to never leave again.

You broke the kiss for a second, gasping for air, but Bucky didn’t let you go. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both stood there, trembling. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You and me… we can make this work. We have to.”

The intensity in his voice, the sheer vulnerability in his gaze, made your chest tighten painfully. You nodded, your tears blurring your vision, but a soft laugh escaped you—shaky, but real. “You and me, Buck. Always.”

A flicker of a smile broke across his face, small but genuine, as if he could barely believe this moment was real. His arms tightened around you, pulling you so close that you could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your chest.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. His lips brushed yours again, this time slower, softer. It was as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you, the taste of you, as if he couldn’t quite trust that you were truly his.

Your hands slid up to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the faint stubble on his cheeks. You deepened the kiss, letting it linger this time, savoring every second. His lips were gentle yet unyielding, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way he kissed you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise.

When you finally pulled away again, your breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against yours once more. His voice was soft but resolute, every word laced with a quiet, unshakable certainty. “We’ll be okay. We’ll always be okay. It’s us.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, and for the first time in years, you felt truly whole. “It’s us,” you repeated, your voice a whispered vow.

[honeyglee]

"don't mass reblog/like :/" coward. fool. somebody just went through and liked and reblogged 64 things from my blog in the span of half an hour at most. and i've never felt more alive in my life

[honeyglee]

Invisible | Part 16

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: ANGSTTYYYYY, swearing

A/N: here we areeee sorta lmao

Masterpost

Steve walked you up the steps to your apartment, the silence between you both heavy but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered faintly in the distance, casting a soft glow on the quiet street. You paused at the door, fumbling with your keys, when Steve broke the silence.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm. His blue eyes searched yours, filled with concern. “I mean, Bucky’s bound to come back sooner or later.”

You offered him a small, tired smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay, Steve. You’ve done enough for me tonight. This… this is something I need to figure out with him. Just the two of us.”

Steve hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’m a big girl, remember? I can handle it.”

Steve sighed, then pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His warmth was grounding, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just exist in that safe space he always seemed to provide.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet promise. “No matter what.”

You squeezed him back, your heart aching with gratitude. “I’ll always be here for you too, Stevie. And… I’m sorry.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders, and gave you a small, sad smile. “You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a second, you couldn’t find the right response. You just nodded, your throat tightening. Steve leaned down and pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to your forehead before stepping back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

With one last lingering glance, Steve turned and made his way down the steps, disappearing into the night. You watched until he was out of sight, the ache in your chest deepening. Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the door, bracing yourself for what was to come.

As you closed the door behind you, you felt it—the subtle shift in the air, the unmistakable presence of someone else. Your heart jumped, and when you looked up, there he was.

Bucky was sitting on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together tightly. His head snapped up the moment you walked in, his blue eyes locking onto yours. The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, staring at each other, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down like a suffocating blanket.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence, his voice low and rough, tinged with something that sounded dangerously close to desperation. “Can we talk?”

Your throat tightened, your hand gripping the strap of your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Part of you screamed to say no, to protect what was left of your shattered heart. But another part—the one that had clung to him for so long, even when you shouldn’t have—was too tired to keep running.

You nodded stiffly, your voice barely audible. “Yeah. We can talk.”

The tension in the room was unbearable, the silence crackling with unspoken truths and jagged edges. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“You wanna sit?” he asked hesitantly, his voice soft, almost careful.

You shook your head, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “No. I’d rather stand.”

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he looked back up at you, his eyes stormy and unsteady. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost raw.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and humorless. “Well, there’s a lot to unpack, Buck,” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

He flinched, but nodded again. “I know,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all was finally dragging him down.

The silence between you stretched out, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the words bubbling up, the frustration, the hurt—it was too much to hold in any longer.

“You had no right,” you said suddenly, your voice slicing through the stillness.

His head snapped up, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

“You had no right to tell me about Steve,” you snapped, your tone biting. “That wasn’t yours to share! I can’t believe you’d do that to him—to me! He’s your best friend too Bucky!”

He recoiled, his jaw tightening as his face crumpled in guilt. “I—”

But you weren’t done. “And you had no right to punch Dean, no matter how you felt about him. Or to make those snarky little comments about me not being able to handle a real date. What the hell is wrong with you, Bucky? And for what? Why?”

Bucky looked at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. He opened his mouth, but it was clear he was struggling to find the words. Finally, his shoulders sagged, and he exhaled a shaky breath.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “You’re absolutely right.”

You blinked, not expecting his immediate agreement. The anger bubbling in your chest faltered, leaving behind a hollow ache.

“I had no right to any of it,” he continued, his voice rough and remorseful. “Not to tell you about Steve, not to hit Dean, not to say those things to you. I—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I’ve been an asshole to you, and I know it. I know that. And I’m sorry.”

The words sounded genuine, but they weren’t enough to soothe the pain in your chest. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Bucky,” you said, your voice trembling. “Sorry doesn’t undo everything you’ve done.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking again. “I know it doesn’t. And I know it probably never will be enough. But I don’t know why I do it. I don’t know why I say the things I say, why I push you away and pull you back, over and over again. I don’t know why I—” His voice broke, and he took a deep, unsteady breath. “I just know that I can’t lose you. I can’t. Not as a friend. Not as anything. I can’t, I won’t live a life without you in it… a part of it.”

Your heart clenched at the desperation in his voice, but it only fueled your frustration. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the victim here, Bucky!” you snapped, your tears finally spilling over. “You’ve hurt me so many times—more times than I can count. Do you even realize what you’ve done? How much you’ve hurt me?”

“I do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I realize it every fucking day.” Bucky’s voice is low, rough, as he takes a step closer, his fists clenching at his sides. His blue eyes blaze with frustration, pain, and something deeper—something raw and unfiltered. “But, what about me?” he snaps, his voice trembling. “What did you think those moments meant to me? When I would try and try and try to break through those walls you had up? You think that was easy? It wasn’t.”

Your breath catches, and you take a step back, but he follows, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting. “Every time I tried to get close, every time I put myself out there, you’d shut me down. You’d give me that look, and then you’d fuck off like none of it mattered. Do you think it was easy for me? It wasn’t.” His voice cracks slightly, but he powers through. “You’re acting like this is all my fault, but it’s not. This is a two-way street, sweetheart.”

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the walls pressing tighter with every word, the air thick and suffocating. Bucky’s voice reverberates in the charged silence, raw with an intensity that shakes you to your core.

Your voice trembles as you finally manage to speak, your words slipping out, shaky and sharp. “Do you blame me? That night in college—we dove headfirst into it! Y-you never even tried to talk to me about it after. What was I supposed to think? To feel?!” You pause, your voice breaking. “You had a reputation, Bucky! What was I supposed to believe?”

His face twists, a mixture of frustration and pain that spills over in his words. “We’re going back to that night again, huh?” he growls, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal, his movements restless, his fists clenching at his sides. “Fine. Let’s remember.”

He turns to you suddenly, his voice rising, cracking under the weight of the emotions he’s been carrying for years. “You left me that night! I never left you! You walked out on us, on the possibility of something real, and you didn’t even look back. You assumed!” His voice breaks on the word, loud and desperate as it ricochets off the walls. “Because you always fucking assume! You never stopped to think about what it meant for me—what it actually meant for me—that night. You leaving…”

His pacing stops abruptly as he runs both hands down his face, dragging his palms over his stubble like he’s trying to hold himself together. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his breathing ragged. “What about me?” he asks, his voice cracking, and for the first time, he looks at you like he’s completely unraveling. “What about me?”

Your breath hitches, and the tears that have been burning at the corners of your eyes finally spill over. You don’t even try to stop them as you glare at him through the blur of your tears. “You never clarified anything to me, Bucky!” Your voice is trembling but sharp, slicing through the tension. “You just let those rumors float around! And even after we had sex, you never stopped them! You still went out with girls, you still slept with them! And you wanted me to just… somehow know that it actually meant something to you?!”

Bucky’s jaw tightens as your words hit him like a physical blow. His hands drop to his sides, clenching into fists. “Of course you should have known!” he yells, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s YOU! For god’s sake, it’s you! You’re not just anyone, and after all these years, all this time, how could you think of me like that? How could you not see it?”

His breathing is erratic, his blue eyes boring into yours, raw and pleading. “And for the record,” he says, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost broken tone, “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

You shake your head, your disbelief immediate and sharp. “That’s bullshit. I don’t believe you.”

Bucky lets out a bitter, humorless laugh that slices through you. “Of course you don’t. You never do apparently! But you believe everybody else, don’t you?” He takes a step closer, his voice rising again, full of pain and accusation. “Everyone except your best friend. You’ve known me since we were five, and you still think I’m lying?”

Your voice shakes, your anger breaking through your tears. “Fuck you,” you snap, your words trembling with both fury and heartbreak. “That was over two years ago! Don’t stand here and tell me you haven’t slept with anyone in two years, Bucky!”

He lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head as he lifts his right hand, his fingers splaying out. “I’ve got a hand, don’t I?”

The bluntness of his words stuns you into silence for a moment. The room feels impossibly small as his voice drops, quiet but raw with emotion. He takes a hesitant step closer, his blue eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t think I’ve tried?” he asks, his voice breaking on the words. “I’ve tried! I tried with Kate. I’ve tried with others. But I just can’t.” His hands fall to his sides, his voice rising with desperation. “Because it feels wrong without you. Everything feels wrong without you.”

His confession hangs in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating, and you’re left standing there, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to burst. The vulnerability in his voice, in his posture, is devastating. You’ve never seen him like this—so unguarded, so exposed—and it cuts deeper than you thought possible.

And for a moment, the world seems to stand still.

Summer before senior year

The sun was casting a soft, golden glow over the quiet neighborhood as Bucky finally reached your house. His chest heaved with exertion, and his knuckles were bruised and bleeding, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was finding you.

The house was eerily silent as he approached. He pounded on the door, his heart in his throat. He called your name, his voice cracking with desperation. “It’s me. Please… are you here?”

No answer.

Bucky clenched his fists, the pain in his knuckles grounding him as panic threatened to take over. He stepped back, his eyes scanning the windows, the driveway, any sign that you might be home. He was about to start circling the house when he noticed movement down the street.

It was you.

You were walking slowly, your arms wrapped around yourself, your head down. Even from a distance, Bucky could see the way your shoulders were hunched, like you were carrying the weight of the world. His heart broke at the sight.

He called your name, jogging toward you. The sound of his voice made you stop in your tracks, but you didn’t look up. He reached you within seconds, skidding to a halt a few feet away. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice trembling.

You lifted your head, your tear-streaked face cutting him like a knife. “Bucky,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He took a cautious step closer, his hands raised slightly as if approaching a wounded animal. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said softly. “Steve told me… he told me what happened.”

Your lip quivered, and you quickly looked away. “You didn’t have to come, i didn't ask you too…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, I did,” Bucky said firmly. “I did because…” He trailed off, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because I care about you, You’re my best friend. And I’m sorry for telling you that you couldn't come to me, for making you feel that way, I’m sorry for everything.”

Your eyes finally met his, and he saw the anger and hurt swirling within them. “You were right, though,” you said, your voice breaking. “Mike didn’t care about me. He didn’t even want to stay.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I feel like this is my fault. Like… like maybe if I’d told you about Carley, if I’d been honest with you from the start, you wouldn’t have felt like you had something to prove.”

You blinked, startled. “What does Carley have to do with this?”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never told you about her because I was ashamed. I wasn’t ready for… any of it, but I did it anyway because I felt like I had to. Everyone else was moving on, and I thought I should too.”

He paused, his eyes filled with a vulnerability you rarely saw. “But it wasn’t what I thought it would be. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it thought it should’ve. And I hate that you had to go through that with Mike. That it wasn’t… that it wasn’t what it should’ve been for you either.”

You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you deserve to know,” Bucky said quietly. “And because I never want you to feel like you have to settle for less than you deserve.”

The two of you stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. Finally, Bucky took a deep breath, his voice trembling as he asked, “Can you forgive me?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. Bucky froze for a moment before his arms came around you, holding you tightly as if he could somehow piece you back together.

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered into his chest. “For everything, i never wanna lose you Buck”

Bucky rested his chin on top of your head, his eyes closing as he held you. “We’ll be okay, we’ll always be okay, its us”

“I have loved you since we were kids,” Bucky’s voice broke, his words raw and desperate, the kind that claw their way out of a person when they’ve been buried too long. He stepped closer, his hands trembling at his sides, his blue eyes blazing with emotion. “How could you not see it? How could you not feel it?”

His voice rose, cracking under the weight of his emotions, and his fists clenched as if trying to hold himself together. “I love you. I have always loved you. I LOVE YOU!” The words ripped from him like they’d been burning a hole in his chest for years, finally too powerful to contain.

His shoulders sagged, and his breath hitched as he continued, his voice softer now but no less intense. “Every time, every single time—you needed something, you called me, and I came running. I dropped everything for you. Everything. Even when you didn’t ask, I was there. I chose you, over and over again. And every damn time, you never saw it.”

His gaze locked onto yours, his anguish laid bare. “I’ve spent years waiting, hoping you’d notice. Hoping you’d see me—not just as your friend, but as the guy who would do anything, be anything, just to make you happy. But you didn’t. Or maybe you did, and you didn’t care. Either way, it’s been tearing me apart.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the silence crackling with tension as he stood there, breathing hard, his raw confession filling the space between you. For the first time, Bucky Barnes wasn’t just your best friend—he was a man who had reached his breaking point, stripped of every defense, standing exposed in front of you, waiting for you to either put him back together or shatter him completely.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as tears streaked down your face. “No. No, you don’t get to say that now. You can’t just say that now.” Your voice cracked, raw with the weight of everything you’d held inside for years. You wiped at your tears with trembling hands, frustration bubbling over. “It wasn’t obvious, Bucky! Maybe in your goddamn head it was, but not to me!”

Your voice rose, trembling with anger and heartbreak. “How could it have been? You were always with someone else, or talking about another girl. Every time I started to think, maybe—maybe—this isn’t just in my head, you’d do something to prove me wrong. You’d flirt with someone else. You’d talk about someone else.” You gesture wildly, your emotions spilling out uncontrollably now. “And you expect me to believe that this—that we—was obvious?”

Bucky flinched, his eyes wide, but you pushed forward, unable to stop yourself. “We had moments, Bucky. God, so many moments where I thought maybe… maybe. But you never did anything. You never said anything. You just left me sitting there, waiting—wondering if I was crazy for even hoping.” Your voice cracked, and your hands fell limply to your sides. “You never tried. You never did a damn thing. And now you stand here, years later, telling me this? Now?”

You could see the pain etched across his face, the regret in his eyes, but it didn’t dull the ache in your chest. “It’s been years, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Years of me wondering if I was imagining it all. And you just… let me.”

The air between you and Bucky was suffocating, heavy with years of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, every word exchanged cutting deeper than the last. The living room, once a safe space, now felt like a battleground where the ghosts of your past circled, waiting for the final blow.

Bucky’s chest heaved as he stared at you, his blue eyes glassy, his face etched with frustration and heartbreak. “You think I didn’t try?” he said, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. “You think I didn’t want to make a move? I didn’t do it because I was scared! Scared of ruining the one good thing in my life! I couldn’t risk losing you, so yeah, I kept my mouth shut and buried how I felt.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as if it could shield you from the weight of his words. “You didn’t just bury it, Bucky. You locked it away and threw the key at my feet. You made me feel like I was imagining everything! And all the while, you were running off with other girls like it didn’t mean a damn thing.”

He flinched at your words but didn’t back down. “You think it was easy for me? Watching you look at me like I was just another guy, like I didn’t matter? God, every time you’d laugh with Steve or go on about some asshole, it killed me! And yet, I stayed. I stayed because you needed me, and I thought that was enough. But it wasn’t.” His voice cracked again, and he wiped a hand down his face. “I needed you, too.”

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, hot and stinging as they trailed down your cheeks. “If you needed me so badly, then why did you let me walk away? Why didn’t you come after me, Bucky? I gave you every chance, and you still—” Your voice broke, and you turned away, unable to face him.

Bucky’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his voice hoarse. “Because you looked at me like I was nothing that night. Like everything we’d built, everything we could’ve had, didn’t matter to you. Do you know what that did to me? You left me, and I—I didn’t know how to fight for you when you didn’t want to be fought for.”

You spun back around, your eyes blazing. “You don’t get to put this all on me! You broke my heart before I even knew what it meant to love someone! You made me feel like I was never enough, like I was some backup plan while you figured out your life. And now, now you want to stand here and tell me you’ve loved me all along? No. That’s not fair, Bucky.”

He took a step closer, his voice trembling. “I’m not asking for fair. I’m asking for real. I’m telling you now because I can’t hold it in anymore. I’ve carried this for years, and it’s tearing me apart.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread, stretched to its limit. Bucky’s face was a canvas of raw emotion—anger, sadness, longing. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, I will always love you” he whispered, his voice cracking. “And I’m sorry if I didn’t show it the way you needed. But don’t you dare stand there and tell me I didn’t love you with everything I had, with everything I could”

You shook your head, your body trembling. “And what am I supposed to do with that now, Bucky? After everything? After all the pain, all the missed chances?”

He stepped closer again, his voice quieter but no less intense. “You say I never made a move? Well, here it is. I’m laying it all out. I love you, im so in love with you! and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. But if you don’t feel the same—if you can’t—then tell me, and I’ll walk away. I’ll leave, for good this time.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the weight of his confession crushing you. You looked into his eyes, searching for answers, for clarity, but all you found was the same broken boy you’d loved for years. The one you’d always loved.

But love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

“I don’t know, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged, his face falling as if the weight of your words had physically struck him. He nodded slowly, the fight draining out of him. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice hollow. “Okay.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, leaving you suspended in a free fall with no end in sight.

Finally, you turned away, your voice breaking as you said, “I need time, I just need a minute..”

Bucky didn’t stop you. He didn’t call after you or try to pull you back. He simply stood there, watching as you walked out of the room, his heart shattering with every step you took.

The streets felt endless as you walked, the cool night air biting at your skin but doing nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. The echoes of Bucky’s voice still rang in your ears, his confession, his anger—it all felt too big to hold. You didn’t know where else to go, so your feet carried you to the one place that always felt like a refuge.

Natasha and Wanda’s apartment.

You didn’t knock. Your hands were shaking too much to even try. Instead, you turned the handle and stepped inside, your breath hitching as you fought to hold yourself together.

Wanda was the first to notice you. She stood in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket, her fingers curled around a mug of tea. Her face softened the moment she saw you, her expression filled with concern. “Oh, babe,” she said gently, setting the mug down and crossing the room to you. “Come here.”

You nodded wordlessly, letting her guide you inside. Your coat hung limp in your hand, and your shoes scraped against the floor as you kicked them off.

Natasha appeared from the kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand. Her sharp green eyes flicked over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the uneven breaths, and the raw emotion clinging to you like a second skin. She didn’t say anything right away, just gestured toward the couch.

You sank into the cushions, your heart hammering. The silence was heavy, and when the words finally came, they spilled out of you like a broken dam.

“I talked to Bucky,” you choked out, your voice unsteady. “We fought. He told me he loves me. That he’s always loved me.”

Wanda perched beside you, her hand gently squeezing your knee. She didn’t say anything, just offered silent support. Natasha, however, stood in front of you, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her silence was unnerving, her face unreadable.

“And now?” Natasha asked, her tone quiet but carrying an edge. “Why are you here crying?”

Her question hit like a slap, cutting through the haze of your thoughts. You blinked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

Natasha took a deliberate sip of her wine, her gaze steady and unnerving. “I mean, why are you here? Why aren’t you there? With him?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. “Because…” you stammered, shaking your head. “After everything? After everything he’s done, you’ve always told me not to run back to him.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she set her glass down with a sharp clink. “Yes. After everything.”

You stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, frustration bubbled up. “Why aren’t you on my side right now?” you demanded, your voice cracking.

Natasha sighed, rubbing her temple as if this conversation was physically draining her. “Because, for once, he finally said it. He said what you’ve been waiting to hear for years.”

Wanda’s hand stayed steady on your knee, but she looked at Natasha with quiet curiosity. Natasha’s tone wasn’t just sharp—it was laced with something else, something deeper.

“If this is what you’ve always wanted,” Natasha continued, her voice rising slightly, “and he’s there, telling you he loves you, why the hell are you here? Why are you sitting on my couch crying about it?”

The words felt like they knocked the wind out of you. You tried to speak, to justify your actions, but nothing came.

“Let me make this clear,” Natasha pressed on, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “At least the person you love actually loves you back.”

Your heart stopped. “Nat…” you started, your voice weak. “What are you talking about?”

Natasha’s eyes flashed, her carefully constructed walls beginning to crack. “God, you’re so blind,” she snapped, the words biting. “I’ve been in love with Steve for years.”

The air left the room. “What?” you whispered, the disbelief in your voice evident.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah. And Steve’s been in love with you for just as long. And while you’ve been chasing after Bucky, Steve’s been stuck watching it all, pining after someone he’ll never have. It’s a fucking circle of misery, and I’m tired of watching it.”

Her words felt like daggers. “I didn’t know,” you said, your voice cracking. “I didn’t know, Nat.”

“Of course you didn’t!” Natasha snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Because you’ve always been so wrapped up in your own little world. I’m not saying you’re a bad friend—you’re not. You’re one of my best friends. But God, you’re such an idiot sometimes.”

You swallowed hard, tears welling in your eyes again. “I’m so sorry.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly, the anger giving way to exhaustion. She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t need your apology. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. I’m telling you this because you need to get your shit together. You need to stop wasting time. Steve, he needs to let you go and Bucky…”

Her eyes bore into yours, the weight of her words impossible to ignore. “He loves you,” she said softly, her tone shifting. “And you love him. So what the hell are you doing here?”

The silence hung heavy between you, the gravity of everything sinking in. Finally, Natasha sighed and gestured toward the door. “Get out of my house. Go back to yours. Go see Bucky.”

You hesitated, glancing at Wanda for reassurance. Wanda gave you a small, supportive smile. “She’s right,” Wanda said softly. “You know she is.”

Natasha crossed her arms again, her expression softening just slightly. “Go,” she repeated. “Before I lose my patience and drag you out myself.”

You nodded slowly, standing and grabbing your coat. As you reached the door, you turned back, your voice trembling. “Thank you…”

Natasha gave you a small, tight smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Just… go fix it. Go be together, finally… please.”

You stepped out into the cold night air, your heart pounding as you walked back toward your apartment, Natasha’s words echoing in your head.

He loves you. You love him. So what the hell are you doing here?

[honeyglee]

i never want to read the words "live action remake" ever AGAIN!!!!

[honeyglee]

To all of you out there writing long ass...carefully cultivated...painstakingly characterized...thoughtfully written fanfictions...I see you and I appreciate the everliving shit outta you.

[honeyglee]

big pharma will try to sell u $20 cold medicine like spicy ramen doesnt cost like a dollar a pack and orgasms are free

[honeyglee]

[honeyglee]

if you're worried about the new ToS for AO3, please remember that you are primed to distrust because of the way politics are intertwining with the internet right now. remember to look into definitions yourself, fact check, and look through the logic lense before jumping to conclusions.

AFAIK right now, the update clarifies terms that have already existed. it's not changing as much as it is clarity-rewriting. i'm still looking through the legalese (law student, i'm learning as I go) and I will be checking in again later, but don't despair.

however, don't get lax. download fics, connect with the authors, build out your communities. comment and bookmark and save, and please don't stop writing.

[honeyglee]

Do Bee and Frankie always stay friends? 🥺

If Bee and Frankie have their way, they'll always be best friends. And Bucky did tell Bee that she can have whatever she wants. Of course he had no idea that would backfire on him one day.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee.

WC: 1K

CW: Fluff, implied future smut.

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Bee leans over Bucky and takes Frankie’s outstretched hand. “You pwomise to be my bestest friend forevers and evers?”

Bucky inhales his groan, lips pressed together to contain the absolutely not threatening to spill out. Why him? Why is he being punished? Is this his karmic retribution for having a little fun while getting rid of Blackwood? It’s not his fault for taking enjoyment in his work.

“I pwomise. Forevers!” Frankie answers earnestly.

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitches and he forces a smile across his face, aware that you’re watching from across the room. Your warning still lingering in his ear. Be nice James. Be nice to shifty little bastards wearing shifty little bluey t-shirts.

Bucky took some creative liberties with that last part, since he’s the only one in this house that sees through this interloper's ruse.

Frankie gazes up at the formidable pakhan, grinning widely as Bee crawls over Bucky to sit beside him. “Mr. Bucky, you gonna be our bestest friends when we grows ups?"

You let out a faint aw, drawing Bucky's attention to your face. A single glance at your soft expression is enough to have his heart beating faster in his chest. Always does.

It’s that sweet, pretty smile of yours that got him into this mess. That sweet, pretty smile is one of his biggest weakness and you know it.

He has no defenses against you. If he had any, any at all, he would have been able to muster up a no when you told him about this playdate.

But he doesn’t.

And now he’s suffering. All because he can’t deny his gorgeous wife anything. He catches your eyes—another weakness of his—his brow raising. You owe me Malyshka.

He knows you can read his unspoken message loud and clear. A smug sense of satisfaction flickers across his face when you shift slightly in your seat, unable to hold his intense stare any longer, teeth raking over your bottom lip.

He’s not the only one that’s defenseless here.

His eyes shift back to Bee, gaze warming as he brushes his hand over her hair. He sincerely vows, “I promise I’ll always be your best friend. Forever and ever.”

That’s all they need to hear. Their excitement is immediate, so bright and enthusiastic, it’s almost palpable. Frankie is the first to jump up and throw his arms around him. “Tank you Mr. Bucky.”

Bee is close behind, resting her head on his chest. They miss your incredulous inhale, too busy chattering to each other about everything they’re going to do with their best friend.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you start with a huff, unable to fully disguise the note of laughter in your voice. Book tossed on the cushion, arms folding across your chest. “Did you just—”

Your words trail off as his smirk melts into a genuine grin. He’ll be nice, but he’s not a liar, Malyshka.

You swallow your laugh and make your voice stern. Just because Frankie missed that slight doesn’t mean you’ll let it go. Especially not with the toddler holding his hand. “Tell both of them that you’re—”

“Did you hear that?” Bucky interrupts, his hushed tone laced with enough urgency to have all three of you sitting up. “Listen!” His face tilts up to the ceiling. “There it is again.”

The living room goes quiet. There’s only the soft tick, tick of the grandfather clock. Little hands clutch his, Bee and Frankie snuggle closer. Concern billows through the room. Tick. Tick.

“Sounds like a dragon just broke in.”

What? Your worry gives way to disbelief. You know he better not be trying to get out of this.

Yes. Yes he is.

Amusement floods his veins when you level a glare at him as he continues. “Who wants to help me defeat it before it finds your mama and takes her away?”

“Me! I gonna gets it before it gets mommy.”

“Mrs. Bucky, we gonna ‘tects you.”

Before you know it, Bucky is strolling out of the living room, his distraction tactic a success. He winks at you as the toddlers hang off each arm, already plotting their attack.

Leaving you to laugh quietly at your man’s audacity even as your heart melts at the sight of him being an amazing father.

You’ll talk to him later about giving Frankie a chance because you have a feeling that he’s going to be around for a long time. Bucky will get used to him.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

In the meantime, you’re going to make the trio some lemon blueberry cupcakes. As a thank you for keeping you safe. And to give you time to come up with a good way to break the news to Bucky that you invited Frankie and his sister to join you on your upcoming trip to the Alps.

Bucky won’t mind. It’s only a week. You’ll be perfectly fine. There’s more than enough space in the cabin. It’ll be fun. He won’t mind at all. A shiver rolls down your spine, a combination of heady exhilaration and nerves. Maybe you’ll have Bee tell him. You imagine having her break the news and then tossing her at him so you can flee to safety. Then you picture her chubby face, crestfallen and betrayed. Or worse. Blissfully unaware and beaming at you.

Damn it.

Plan B it is.

You prop your phone on the counter next to your mixing bowl, scrolling through your playlist, and quickly finding what you’re looking for. Oh, this is perfect, it'll help you get ready to convince your husband. You can start it while you let the dough rest for your cupcakes. Grabbing a few eggs from the fridge, you listen as the video begins.

“Hello, friends and welcome back to my channel! Let’s get ready for another full-body yoga stretch to help you increase your endurance and flexibility."

[honeyglee]

Invisible | Part 15

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: unrequited love, angst, heartache...

A/N: A lot is said in this one lol not between bucky and her yet but you'll see lol. Also the flashbacks kinda tie into the chapters! The mike flashback will finish in the next chapter when her and bucky finally hash it out lmao

The city buzzed around you, but it all felt distant—like you were moving through a world that didn’t quite belong to you. Your feet carried you aimlessly, dodging crowds and cars, your mind swirling with everything you’d just said to Bucky. Everything he’d done. Everything you’d felt for so long but couldn’t say out loud until tonight.

Eventually, you found yourself in a quieter part of the city. The hum of traffic and voices softened, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the occasional bark of a distant dog. You spotted a park bench under a flickering streetlight and sank onto it, your body heavy, your heart even heavier.

You sat there for a while, trying to steady your breathing, focusing on the cool air filling your lungs. In and out. In and out. But no matter how hard you tried, the tears wouldn’t stop. You wiped at them furiously, frustrated at how raw and exposed you felt.

You just don’t understand. Your brain can’t even begin to piece together how Bucky could do this. How have you been hurting him? You’ve been nothing but a great friend—loving him from the sidelines for so long. And now, when you finally have a chance at something outside of him, he crushes it.

A dark thought creeps in, twisting the knife further. Maybe, deep down, Bucky never truly was your friend. Maybe he secretly resents you because you could never do to him what he’s done to you. Maybe he hates you for making him feel something he can’t figure out how to handle.

But then another realization crashes over you, colder than the first. Have you been doing this to Steve the whole time? All these years, if what Bucky said is true—if Steve really is in love with you—oh god. Have you been breaking his heart, too?

The thought hits you like a freight train, leaving you breathless. Steve. You’ve been so consumed by your feelings for Bucky, by the endless cycle of longing and heartbreak, that you never stopped to consider the weight of your own actions. If what Bucky said was true, if Steve really had been in love with you all these years…

Your chest tightens as you think back to every lingering glance, every reassuring touch, every moment when Steve was there, steady and unwavering. He had always been your rock, the one person who could ground you when everything else fell apart. How many times had you leaned on him, venting about Bucky, crying on his shoulder, seeking comfort without a second thought?

And all the while, he was—what? Silently pining for you? Loving you in a way you never noticed because you were too busy looking at someone else?

The guilt settles in your stomach like a lead weight. What have I done to him?

You run a hand through your hair, your fingers trembling. Have I been doing to Steve exactly what Bucky’s doing to me? Leading him on, even if unintentionally? Letting him love you while you poured all your love into someone else?

It’s too much. Your thoughts spiral, memories flashing like scenes from a movie. Steve’s quiet smiles, the way he always showed up when you needed him, the way he seemed to know you better than anyone else. How could you have been so blind?

But then your mind snaps back to Bucky. Bucky. The thought of him twists the knife in your chest all over again. His words, his actions—they’re like a tangled web, one you can’t seem to escape. You replay the fight in your head, the way his blue eyes burned with frustration, with something deeper and more vulnerable hidden beneath the surface.

He said you hurt him. That you hurt Steve. That you think you’re the only one who’s been in pain. How could he say that to you?

But the worst part is, he wasn’t entirely wrong. You’ve been so consumed by your own heartbreak, by the years of loving Bucky in silence, that maybe you didn’t see the ways you’ve hurt the people around you. Maybe you were so focused on surviving your own pain that you ignored theirs.

Your tears blur your vision as you stare at the empty park in front of you. What if Bucky’s right? What if you’ve been selfish this whole time? What if, despite everything, you’ve been blind to the way your actions ripple through the lives of the people you care about most?

You lean forward, elbows on your knees, and bury your face in your hands. The city feels impossibly big around you, like it could swallow you whole. The weight of your thoughts presses down on you, suffocating in its intensity.

But there’s one thought that refuses to let go: Why does it feel like everything you touch falls apart?

You’ve spent so many years loving Bucky, holding onto a hope that maybe, someday, he’d see you the way you see him. And now? Now you’re not even sure what any of it means anymore. The fight, the hurt, the years of unspoken feelings—they’re all crashing down around you, and you don’t know how to make sense of it.

And Steve. Sweet, dependable Steve. You think about the way he looked at you earlier, his eyes filled with something you now recognize as quiet resignation. How long has he been carrying that? How long has he been holding onto a love he knew you couldn’t return?

A fresh wave of tears threatens to spill over, but you blink them back, your hands clenching into fists. You’ve been selfish. Blind. And now it’s all unraveling.

The night stretches on, cold and unyielding, as you sit there, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your relationships. You feel like a puzzle with missing pieces, and you’re not sure how to put yourself back together. Or if you even can.

You didn’t even flinch when someone sat beside you. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Because of course, it was Steve.

It was always Steve.

He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his broad frame a steady, comforting presence. You could feel his eyes on you, filled with quiet concern, but he didn’t push you to speak. He just waited.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally wiped at your cheeks one last time, sniffling softly as you turned to face him. The weight of everything Bucky had said still lingered, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“Is it true?”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly. “What?”

You held his gaze, searching his face for any sign of denial. But he only looked confused until you asked again, this time without words. Just a look, one that carried all the weight of Bucky’s earlier confession.

Steve’s face softened, his shoulders sagging slightly as he let out a quiet sigh. He didn’t look away, didn’t try to deflect or change the subject. He just nodded, his voice low and steady.

“Yes.”

The world seemed to tilt for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You blinked at him, trying to process what that single word meant, what it changed.

“How long?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave you a sad, almost apologetic smile. “Since high school,” he admitted. “Maybe even longer.”

Your heart ached, the weight of his words settling over you. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Steve looked down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting slightly. “Because I saw how you looked at him. And as much as it hurt, I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.” He paused, his voice softening further. “You’ve always been happiest when you’re with him.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. All the moments you’d shared with Steve over the years—the lingering glances, the quiet support, the unwavering presence—it all made sense now. “Steve…”

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I’m not telling you this to make things harder. I just… I wanted you to know the truth. You deserve that much.”

The tears threatened to fall again, but you swallowed them back. “You’re such a good friend, Steve,” you whispered.

He nodded, his smile bittersweet. “Yeah. I’ll always be that, no matter what.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of the conversation settling between you. But despite the heaviness, there was a sense of clarity—a new understanding of the bond you shared.

Steve sat quietly beside you, the weight of your conversation pressing heavily between you. The hum of the city seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets. After a long stretch of silence, he took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I ask you something?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his cautious gaze. “Yeah, of course” you said softly.

Steve hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was bracing himself. “Do you think… you could ever love me? More than a friend, I mean?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. You froze, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. It wasn’t unexpected, not after everything Bucky had said and the way Steve had just confessed his feelings. But hearing it out loud was different. It made it real.

For a moment, you didn’t answer, your mind racing. You thought back to all the times Steve had been there for you, all the quiet moments you’d shared, the safety and comfort he provided. You thought about how easy it would be to fall for him—to love someone as steady and kind as Steve.

And maybe… maybe you could have. Before the last couple of weeks, before everything with Bucky had come to a head. There was a time when things weren’t so complicated, and you might have let yourself feel more for Steve. But now?

Now your heart was a tangled mess of longing and pain, and you couldn’t see past Bucky.

You exhaled shakily, your voice breaking. “I don’t think I can,” you admitted, tears pricking at your eyes. “Not now. Maybe… maybe once, I could have. But everything’s different now.”

Steve’s face didn’t change much, but the way his shoulders sagged slightly told you he’d braced himself for this. “I see,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with sadness.

Your chest tightened painfully. “I’m sorry, Steve. You have no idea how much I wish I could. It would make everything so much easier.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you buried your face in your hands. “You deserve so much better than this, better than me,” you choked out. “You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart.”

Steve reached out instinctively, his hand hovering near your shoulder. “Hey, don’t—”

But you pulled away, shaking your head. “Please don’t, Steve. I can’t let you do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t let you be the one to pick me up when I’m falling apart. Not like this.”

His hand dropped, and he swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “Okay,” he said, his voice low. “I get it.”

You both sat in silence again, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you. Steve was always the one who stayed, the one who tried to make everything okay. But now, you’d drawn a line, and it felt like a small piece of your heart broke just from doing it.

“I’ll still be here,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “Whenever you’re ready, however you need me. That doesn’t change.”

You nodded, the tears still falling. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For everything. You’ve always been too good to me, i've never deserved this, i never deserved you”

Steve gave you a small, bittersweet smile, “You deserve the world” and you could see the depth of his love in his eyes. Even now, even when it hurt, he was still there. And that was what made it all so much harder.

Steve sat beside you, silent, the weight of your shared history and unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the cool night air. You’d both said so much, yet there was still an ache between you, a lingering sense that this moment wasn’t finished.

After a few moments, Steve reached into his jacket pocket, his hand hesitating before he pulled out a small, familiar object. The soft glow of the nearby street lights reflected off the delicate gold of the locket, the one you’d seen weeks ago at the farmers market, the one that reminded you so much of the one your mother gave you, and hers before that, the one you carelessly lost at that stupid party. He turned it over in his fingers for a moment, his expression unreadable, before holding it out to you.

Your breath hitched as you recognized it immediately. “Steve…”

He gave you a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve been holding onto this for a while,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure when the right time would be, or if there even would be a right time.”

You stared at the locket, your heart twisting painfully. “You bought it?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded. “I saw how much it reminded you of what you loss, when i brought it home to exam in i opened it up” he paused opening it up and your heart stopped, your grandma's note “The lady said her daughter found it at some party and thought she could make some money at the market”

Steve’s words lingered in the cool night air as he handed the locket to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a second. The warmth of his touch, so brief yet grounding, contrasted sharply with the whirlwind of emotions surging through you.

You took the locket gingerly, your eyes wide, the gold chain glinting in the soft glow of the streetlights. Your fingers traced the familiar curves and edges as though to confirm it was real. You opened it carefully, your breath catching when you saw the tiny, worn note tucked inside—the same one your grandmother had written years ago. You traced the intricate design, your mind flashing back to the day you’d first seen it, the quiet hope you’d felt, and the weight of everything that had happened since.

Tears blurred your vision. “Steve… I can’t believe this.” Your voice wavered, thick with emotion. “You didnt even know if was the one i lost, i didnt even, why would you—”

He shrugged, his smile soft, tinged with the kind of quiet understanding that only Steve could give. “I saw the way you looked at it and even i knew it was the one you lost, i just figured it could help give you a little piece of what the original one meant to you. I got lucky, when i opened it and saw that" He's gestured to your great grandma's note, "I thought, maybe—just maybe—it was meant to find its way back to you.”

You shook your head, overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do this,” you whispered, clutching the locket tightly. “I was so careless, and I thought I lost this forever.”

Steve leaned back slightly, his hands now resting on his knees as he looked at you with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. “You didn’t lose it forever,” he said gently. “It found its way back. Just like it was suppose to. I just… I wanted to make sure it did.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of everything—your fight with Bucky, your complicated feelings for Steve, the memories of your mother—all pressing down on you at once. “Steve…” you started, but your words faltered as you searched for the right thing to say, the gratitude and guilt tangling inside you.

He seemed to sense your struggle, his eyes softening even further. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I wanted you to have it back.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that allowed you to think, to breathe, to feel. You closed the locket carefully, holding it against your chest. The cool metal pressed against your skin, a small but powerful reminder of everything you’d lost and found.

Steve’s voice broke the silence, low and full of emotion. “I know it’s not my place to fix things or to make things easier for you. But… I wanted you to know that I see you. I always have.”

“Steve,” you said again, your voice a broken whisper. “You’re… you’re too good.”

He shook his head, his eyes glistening. “No. I’m just someone who loves you, in whatever way you’ll let me.”

That broke you. A sob escaped your lips, and you covered your mouth, trying to hold yourself together. But the tears kept coming, and Steve just watched, his own eyes brimming with unshed emotion.

After a moment, you managed to look up at him, your voice barely audible. “I wish I could love you the way you deserve.”

Steve smiled gently, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly. “And it’s okay.”

You held the locket to your chest, as if it could somehow steady the storm inside you. “You’ve always been there for me,” you whispered. “Always. And I’ve never deserved it.”

Steve reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to deserve love,” he said softly. “You just have to let yourself feel it.”

You both sat there for a while longer, the world around you blurring into the background. Finally, Steve stood, offering you a hand to help you up.

“Come on,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s get you home.”

You nodded, slipping the locket around your neck, feeling its weight settle against your heart. It was a piece of him, a piece of everything you shared, and it would stay with you, no matter where life took you next.

As you walked beside him, the silence between you was full of understanding. It wasn’t the ending either of you had imagined, but it was a moment of truth, a quiet acknowledgment of what had always been there and what might never be.

Summer

The sun was high, casting its golden rays over the park as laughter echoed through the wide-open fields. It was one of those rare Saturdays where everyone’s schedules aligned, and the entire group had decided to spend the day outside.

Sam had commandeered the grill, expertly flipping burgers with a pair of tongs in one hand and a beer in the other. “I’m telling you, my secret seasoning is gonna blow your minds,” he bragged, tossing a wink over his shoulder.

Natasha smirked from her spot on a picnic blanket, her sunglasses perched on her nose. “Your secret seasoning better be more than just salt and pepper, Wilson,” she shot back, taking a sip from her drink.

Wanda giggled, her legs stretched out in front of her as she picked at a bag of chips. “Sam’s been talking about his ‘grilling skills’ all week. It better be good, or we’re ordering pizza.”

“You wound me,” Sam said dramatically, clutching his chest.

Steve stood nearby, setting up a game of cornhole with Bucky. “Alright, who’s teaming up?” Steve asked, holding up the bean bags. His eyes flicked to you for a second longer than necessary before he quickly looked away.

“I’m with Nat,” Wanda chimed in, grinning as she elbowed Natasha. “We’re unbeatable.”

Natasha nodded confidently. “Damn right we are.”

Steve turned to you and Bucky. “Guess it’s us versus you two.”

You raised an eyebrow at Bucky, who was leaning lazily against a tree, sipping from his bottle of beer. “Think you can keep up, Barnes?”

He smirked, pushing off the tree to stand beside you. “I think the real question is, can you?”

The game started off competitive, with Sam and Steve shouting exaggerated encouragement from the sidelines. “Aim for the hole, Buck!” Steve yelled, laughing when Bucky glared at him after missing.

“Oh, brilliant advice, Captain Obvious,” Bucky muttered, his cheeks tinged pink. He turned to you, leaning in. “You got this, right? Show ‘em how it’s done.”

You laughed, tossing your bean bag and landing a perfect shot. “Boom,” you said, giving Bucky a playful nudge. “That’s how it’s done.”

Bucky grinned, holding up his hand for a high five. “We make a good team,” he said, his voice softer, his blue eyes twinkling.

Natasha, ever observant, raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses but said nothing, nudging Wanda when Bucky wasn’t looking.

By the time lunch rolled around, everyone was sprawled out on the blankets, full of Sam’s surprisingly good burgers and Wanda’s homemade cookies. Steve sat cross-legged next to you, while Bucky leaned back on his elbows on your other side.

Natasha watched the scene unfold, a small smile playing on her lips. She caught Steve stealing a glance at you when you weren’t looking, and her smile faltered slightly, her fingers toying with the edge of her cup. Wanda noticed and gave her a reassuring nudge, mouthing, You okay?

Natasha nodded, brushing it off. She wasn’t about to ruin the moment.

“Alright,” Sam said, clapping his hands together. “Who’s up for some frisbee?”

Steve stood immediately. “I’m in.”

“Same,” you said, hopping up and pulling Bucky along with you. “Come on, let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

Bucky groaned but let you drag him to his feet. “I’ll show you sweetheart.’”

Natasha and Wanda stayed behind on the blanket, content to watch as you all ran around like kids. Wanda sighed happily. “This is nice,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “Feels like we haven’t done this in forever.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes following Steve as he ran after the frisbee. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice a little distant. “It’s perfect.”

Wanda glanced at her, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re still not gonna tell him?”

Natasha shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s not the right time.”

Wanda sighed but didn’t push. Instead, she watched as Steve tossed the frisbee to you, his face lighting up when you caught it with ease, your laughter ringing out. Bucky cheered you on, his arm slinging around your shoulders for a brief moment, and Wanda couldn’t help but notice the way Steve’s smile faltered, just for a second.

Despite the complicated dynamics, the love and friendship within the group were undeniable. It was in the way Sam teased everyone mercilessly but was the first to help when needed. In the way Natasha always had a sarcastic quip but fiercely defended her friends. In the way Wanda’s quiet warmth balanced out everyone’s chaos. And in the way Steve and Bucky—despite everything—always had each other’s backs. And in the way you were the glue always keeping everything and everyone together.

The afternoon faded into a golden sunset, and as you all sat together, sharing stories and laughs, it felt like nothing could break the bond you all shared.

For now, at least.

The alley was dimly lit, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp. Bucky stormed out of the bar, his jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. The cool night air did little to calm the fire raging inside him. He barely made it a block before he heard the familiar sound of heels clicking rapidly behind him.

“Bucky Barnes, stop right there!” Natasha’s voice was sharp, cutting through the noise of the city.

He barely had time to turn before she grabbed his arm and shoved him against the rough brick wall of the alley, her hands pressing firmly against his chest.

“What the hell, Nat?!” Bucky snapped, but she wasn’t having it.

“No, you don’t get to talk right now!” she shot back, her green eyes blazing. “I am so sick of this, Bucky! So sick of you and her dancing around each other like you’ve got all the time in the world!”

Bucky’s mouth opened, but Natasha cut him off with a furious glare.

“You love her,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’ve always loved her. And she’s loved you since before any of us even knew what love was! But you’re both so goddamn stubborn, so scared, that you’re wasting your lives.”

“Natasha, you don’t—” Bucky tried, but she jabbed a finger into his chest, stopping him cold.

“Shut up, Bucky! Just shut up and listen for once!” She stepped back, running a hand through her hair. “We’re all in our mid-twenties now. We’re not kids anymore. You and her? You were supposed to set the tone for love. You were supposed to show the rest of us that it’s worth it, that it’s real. But instead, you’re both stuck in this endless loop of fear and self-sabotage.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, his eyes flickering with guilt. “Nat, it’s not that simple…”

“Bullshit!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the narrow alley. “It is that simple! You’re scared. You’ve always been scared. But guess what? So is she! And you know what else? You’re not just hurting yourselves—you’re hurting everyone around you.”

She took a shaky breath, her voice lowering but no less intense. “Steve’s been in love with her for years, and it’s killing him. And me?” She laughed bitterly. “I’ve been in love with Steve since high school, Bucky. But do you think he’ll even look at me the way he looks at her? No. Because he’s stuck, just like you.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in shock, but Natasha wasn’t done.

“I’ve been waiting, Bucky. Waiting for Steve to see me, to love me the way he loves her. But he can’t, because you and her keep dragging this out, making it impossible for any of us to move on! And god if i told her..”

Her voice cracked, and for the first time, her anger gave way to raw vulnerability. “I can’t do it anymore, Bucky. I can’t keep watching the two people I love most in the world destroy themselves and everyone else around them.”

Bucky looked down, his heart pounding. The weight of Natasha’s words hit him like a freight train. “Natasha, I…”

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “You need to tell her, Bucky. Tell her you love her. Stop running, stop hiding, and stop making excuses. She deserves to be happy. You deserve to be happy. And if you can’t do it for yourselves, then do it for the rest of us, do it for me Bucky” she pleaded

Bucky swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his sides. “What if… what if I’m too late?”

Natasha sighed, her anger softening as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then at least you’ll know you tried. But you won’t be too late, Bucky. She’s been waiting for you her whole life.”

She pulled back, her eyes searching his. “But this? This has to end, tonight. Go to her. Fix this. And maybe, just maybe, the rest of us can start to heal too.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his chest tight. “I’ll try.”

“You’ll do more than try,” Natasha said firmly, stepping back and crossing her arms. “Now go. Before I change my mind and punch you again.”

Bucky gave her a small, appreciative nod before he opened his mouth “Does anyone else know?” He asked, referring to her confession about Steve.

Natasha smiled sadly and said “Wanda”

College

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the campus was bathed in soft, honeyed light, and the air carried the faintest chill. You sat cross-legged on the quad, a pile of books spread out in front of you. The vibrant reds and oranges of the trees framed you like a painting, the wind occasionally tugging at your hair and making it dance in the sunlight.

Steve watched from a distance, leaning against a tree with a sketchbook balanced on his lap. His pencil hovered over the page, but he hadn’t drawn a single line in minutes. Instead, his eyes were fixed on you.

You were laughing, your head thrown back as Bucky said something undoubtedly ridiculous. Steve couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He could see the way your eyes lit up, how you leaned in closer to Bucky as if the rest of the world had melted away. The way Bucky looked at you—grinning, but with an ease that Steve envied—made Steve’s chest tighten.

“You’re staring again,” Natasha’s voice broke through his thoughts, jolting him back to reality. She plopped down beside him, her sharp gaze cutting right through his defenses. “Not a good look, Rogers.”

Steve sighed, lowering his pencil. “I’m just—”

“Sketching,” she interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

He didn’t argue. There was no point. Natasha had known for a long time—probably since the day the three of you met her. She was good at reading people, and Steve was an open book when it came to you.

“She doesn’t see it, you know,” Natasha said after a beat, her tone softer now.

Steve glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “Doesn’t see what?”

Natasha gave him a look, one that said she wasn’t going to let him play dumb. “You. The way you look at her like she’s the only thing that matters.”

Steve let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter, does it? She only has eyes for Bucky.”

Natasha sighed, leaning back on her hands. “And Bucky… Bucky’s too blind to realize what he’s got right in front of him.”

Steve’s eyes flicked back to you. You had your hand on Bucky’s arm now, laughing at whatever joke he’d just made. Bucky, for his part, seemed blissfully unaware of the way your touch lingered just a second too long, the way your eyes softened when they met his.

Steve felt a pang of something between longing and resignation. “I just want her to be happy.”

“And what about your happiness?” Natasha asked, her voice low.

Steve didn’t answer. Instead, he flipped the page of his sketchbook, finally putting pencil to paper. He didn’t need to look up to draw you; your image was already burned into his memory. Every line of your face, every curve of your smile, every glint in your eyes.

“Maybe some people aren’t meant to have that kind of happiness,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Natasha.

Natasha sighed, her expression softening. She reached out, giving his arm a light squeeze. “You’re a good guy, Steve. But you deserve more than being someone’s second choice.”

Steve didn’t respond, his focus locked on the sketch forming beneath his hand. But deep down, he knew she was right. He deserved more. He just wasn’t sure he could ever want anyone else the way he wanted you.

Natasha’s gaze lingered on Steve for a moment longer, her hand still resting on his arm. Her heart ached, not just for him, but for herself. She’d seen the way Steve looked at you for years, and every time, it chipped away at the small sliver of hope she held onto. Steve was kind, strong, and everything she wanted, but his heart belonged to you. It always had.

“Steve,” she said softly, almost hesitant. When he didn’t respond, she pulled her hand back, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the tree beside him. “You deserve someone who sees you.”

Steve’s pencil paused, his hand hovering over the sketch. He glanced at her, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between them. But then his gaze shifted back to you, and Natasha felt her chest tighten.

The sound of your laugh carried across the quad again, pulling both their attention back to you. You looked so radiant, so alive, and so hopelessly, irretrievably in love with Bucky.

And Steve? Steve would keep loving you silently, from the sidelines, even if it tore him apart.

Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a small smile. She’d keep loving Steve the same way, even if he never looked at her the way he looked at you.

[honeyglee]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[honeyglee]

I Cant Lose You | One Shot

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: Angst, happy ending

A/N: So i decided not to post the next part to invisible buuut i found this in my docs so ENJOY! Next part to invisible will be tomorroooooow 🫶🏻

------

The mission had been tense from the start, the kind where every breath feels weighted, every sound sharper and more hostile. You were deep in the enemy’s territory, with Bucky and Steve moving in coordinated silence beside you. The plan was simple, clean: get in, retrieve the intel, and get out without raising an alarm. But simplicity has a way of unraveling in the field.

It happened as you were crossing a narrow bridge suspended over a steep drop in the facility. Bucky was a few steps ahead, his steps purposeful and focused, eyes scanning for movement in the dimly lit corridors. You were behind him, keeping an eye on your surroundings, and that’s when you saw it—the faint red dot creeping along Bucky’s shoulder, inching its way toward his head.

In a split-second, adrenaline took over. You didn’t have time to shout or warn him; instinct propelled you forward, reaching out to shove him out of the path of the sniper’s aim. Your hands collided with Bucky’s shoulder, and he stumbled to the side, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the laser at the last moment.

The bullet whizzed past, so close that you felt the heat of it graze the top of your head, ruffling your hair and leaving your skin tingling. Everything blurred into chaos after that.

“Sniper!” Steve’s voice rang out, his shield already up, glancing off another shot that was fired from a different direction. Bucky, having steadied himself, immediately spun back toward you, his face stricken with shock and anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice raw with a mixture of fear, panic and fury. But there was no time for a response.

You, Steve, and Bucky sprang into action, Steve moving to cover you both as more gunfire erupted. Bucky’s eyes kept darting back to you, though, his brows knitted in frustration and worry, even as he returned fire at the enemy agents now pouring in.

After a series of quick movements—ducking, dodging, and retaliating against your attackers—you finally managed to escape the sniper’s line of sight, though the firefight was far from over. Bucky was on edge, barely speaking, his glances sharp and laced with anger, even as he fought to keep you both alive.

The three of you pressed forward, securing the intel and making your way back toward the extraction point with the enemies hot on your heels. When you finally boarded the jet and the door sealed shut behind you, the adrenaline drained, leaving silence and the weight of what had just happened between you and Bucky.

As soon as you sat down, Bucky whirled around to face you, his eyes dark with a storm of emotions he’d kept at bay during the fight.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped. “You could’ve been killed! Do you even understand that?”

His voice was loud, filled with a mix of anger and hurt, and all you could do was stare back, breathless, still reeling from everything that had happened. You wanted to tell him you’d do it again in a heartbeat, that protecting him was worth any risk to yourself. But your words fell silent, swallowed by the guilt and fear lingering between you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but he cut you off. “Do you know how reckless that was? Running headfirst into a line of fire? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

You flinched, both from his tone and from the truth in his words, but all you could think about was the image of him out there, narrowly avoiding enemy fire, and the fact that you would have done anything to make sure he was safe—even if it meant putting yourself in danger. The silence that followed throughout the jet, the rest of the way home was antagonizing. Bucky steered clear of you the entire time, keeping myself stationed at the front of the jet while you were at the back. Steve made is way over to you, handing you a water before double checking you werent injured and the top of tour head really was okay, he sighed "You got lucky" before he stepped away taking a seat by Bucky. 

Your mind was blank the rest of the flight till you landed and he got up, surely the 3 hour flight of pure silence was enough for him to have calmed down, right? “Bucky, I—”

“No!" He shot back instantly whipping around "You don’t get to justify it, We’re a team, and you don’t get to put yourself at risk like that. Not for me, not for anyone!” He screamed

“Enough,” Steve interjected, his tone sharp but even. He glanced between the two of you, then fixed his gaze on Bucky. “You need to cool off.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, fists clenching as he looked away, clearly fighting to hold back words he’d regret. Without another word, he stormed off the jet, the sound of his boots heavy against the metal floor.

You sat back, the sting of his words lingering. Steve watched Bucky disappear down the ramp, then sighed, glancing back at you. “Give him some time. He’s… he’s not wrong, though. What you did was reckless, it was stupid…Bucky could have taken that bullet, you couldn't have. Were going to have to talk about it in the morning”

The knot in your stomach tightened, a mixture of anger and guilt settling there. “Are you telling me this as a friend or as my captain?” you asked, looking at Steve with a heavy heart.

His shoulders fell slightly, and he let out a long sigh. “As both.”

You nodded, the weight of his words hitting you hard. Steve gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he exited, leaving you alone in the silence of the jet.

The reality of what happened started to replay in your mind, each moment sharper than the last. The risks you took, the decisions you made—they all came rushing back with a clarity that made your heart pound faster.

You weren’t reckless, you told yourself. You’d do it all over again if it meant protecting Bucky. His life, his safety… it felt like they mattered more than your own. And yet, you couldn’t shake the memory of the anger in his eyes, the frustration in his voice.

The thoughts spiralled, it had to be you, it could never be him. You couldn't possibly live your life without him, he could hate you all he wanted but as long as he was still breathing you would do it again Oh god what if he hated you? What if he requested for you to no longer be on missions with you? What if….your chest tightened as the weight of everything sank in. Your breathing hitched as the fear you’d pushed aside for the mission came crashing down on you all at once. It was too much, too fast. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t escape the feeling that you’d done something irreparably wrong.

Your hands began to tremble, and the walls of the jet seemed to close in around you. Panic clawed its way up your throat, your heart hammering as you struggled to ground yourself, to calm down, but the storm in your mind only grew louder.

It was as if all the emotions you’d held back—fear, guilt, anger—were suffocating you. The jet felt smaller and smaller, and you pressed a hand to your chest, desperate to find some relief, some way to breathe again.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, caught in the throes of panic, your mind racing in an endless loop of fear and self-doubt. But the thought that kept resurfacing, the one that hurt the most, was that maybe Bucky was right.

Maybe you had been reckless. And maybe, just maybe, you deserved the anger he’d shown.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the jet. The silence around you felt thick, pressing down, wrapping around you like a weight you couldn’t shake. You stood up, needing movement, air, something to break through the crushing feeling in your chest.

As soon as you were on your feet, your legs felt unsteady, but you started pacing, hoping the movement would help you breathe. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart pounding faster with every loop around the narrow space. Your breaths came quicker, shorter, until you could barely catch them at all.

A cold sweat broke out across your skin as the room seemed to close in, the walls shifting, blurring at the edges. You tried to take a deep breath, but it was like swallowing glass. Your chest tightened, clenching inwards with each failed attempt to fill your lungs. Panic clawed up your throat, relentless and raw, choking you with every passing second.

Your hands began to shake, fingers tingling with numbness. You pressed them to your sides, hoping the pressure would help, but it only made the sensation sharper, like a warning that something inside was breaking.

You leaned against the wall, your forehead pressed to the cool metal as you fought to ground yourself. But every thought spun out of control, everything a mess in your mind. Bucky’s anger, Steve’s disappointment, the mission replaying in fragments—each one tearing through you, louder and more chaotic.

A small sound escaped your lips, half a gasp, half a whimper, and you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle it, but it only made you feel more trapped. You couldn’t stop the spiral, the way every breath was too shallow, too desperate, your vision tunnelling as the edges went dark.

Your legs gave out, and you slumped down to the floor, your back against the cold wall. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rocking slightly, trying to find something steady to hold on to. The air in your lungs felt thin, useless, and every inhale felt like it barely reached your throat.

You were unravelling, losing control, and you couldn’t stop it. The realisation made the panic surge all over again, until you could barely see, barely hear, barely feel anything but the racing of your own heart and the suffocating silence surrounding you.

Each passing second seemed to stretch out, leaving you alone with your spiralling thoughts and the overwhelming weight pressing down on your chest. You’d never felt so trapped in your own body, fighting for breath, for calm, for anything that felt real.

-------

Bucky paced furiously across his room, the soles of his boots nearly grinding into the floor as he replayed the mission in his mind. He was still in his tactical gear, smeared with dust and the faint marks of their close call. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he thought of you—sweet, kind, beautiful you—throwing yourself in harm’s way to shield him, risking everything in an instant. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why would you do that? Why would you ever take that risk for him?

A knock at the door broke him from his spiraling thoughts. It was Steve, fresh out of the shower, no longer in his gear, looking calm and collected—everything Bucky wasn’t. Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s uniform. “You’re still in your gear?”

Bucky shrugged, jaw tightening. He wasn’t ready to let it go, still too on edge, too frustrated. Steve watched him with a steady gaze. “You didn’t have to yell at her.”

Bucky turned, exasperation clear in his expression. “You were there, Steve. You saw what she did. She pushed me out of the goddamn way when that sniper had his sight on me!”

Steve sighed, leaning against the doorway. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor pacing like that. And you know, you would’ve done the same for her.”

“Yes, so?” Bucky snapped, his voice sharp and defensive.

“Come on, pal,” Steve said, his voice softening as he looked at Bucky knowingly. “You would’ve done the same for her.” His eyes lingered on Bucky, an unspoken understanding passing between them, the implication of his words sinking in.

Bucky’s eyes glistened “Stevie it barely missed her head” Bucky took in a shaky breath “She was almost gone, I almost lost her, that bullet would have hit me in the shoulder i could have taken it, but one hair lower it would have….”

Steve uncrossed his arms, sighing he reached out squeezing Bucky’s shoulder “I know”

Bucky faltered, his chest tightening, his anger softening for a moment as both hope and doubt flickered across his mind. His voice was barely a whisper. “Where is she?”

Steve’s face softened further. “Probably in her room. She was the last one off the jet.” Steve turned his head up slightly to speak to the A.I. “Friday? Where’s Y/N?”

The AI’s calm voice filled the room. “Agent Y/N is still aboard the jet.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a confused look. It had been over an hour since they’d returned. Without a word, they both headed toward the hangar, quickening their pace as unease filled the air.

“She didn’t get hurt, did she?” Bucky asked, worry clear in his voice.

“No,” Steve assured him, “I checked her over myself.” He paused, noticing Bucky’s skeptical look. “Thoroughly.”

They picked up the pace, concern edging into panic as they approached the jet. When they entered, they found you there, huddled in the corner of the seating area, arms wrapped around yourself, breathing fast and shallow, eyes unfocused and filled with panic. Bucky’s heart clenched at the sight.

“Doll?,” he called softly, rushing to your side, dropping down to his knees in front of you. His hands found their way to your face, cupping it gently, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Your eyes met his, wide and tearful, and a soft, choked gasp escaped your lips as you gripped onto his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Steve’s voice broke through the silence. “Friday, what’s going on?”

Friday’s response was calm, but the words made Bucky’s stomach drop. “It appears Agent Y/N is experiencing a panic attack.”

Bucky’s face softened with worry, his hands steady as he stroked your cheeks, trying to draw you back to him. “It’s okay. I’m here. Breathe with me, alright?” His voice was soft, a gentle anchor in the chaos of your mind.

He inhaled deeply, exaggerating each breath, trying to guide you with him. His fingers ran through your hair, his touch steady, comforting. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re here with me. Just breathe.”

Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt as you tried to match his breaths, each one a struggle, but his presence steadied you, grounding you little by little. He held you close, whispering soft reassurances, repeating, “I got you…..you’re safe….I’m right here.”

Slowly, the panic began to ebb, your breaths evening out, the warmth of his voice and touch anchoring you in the present.

When you finally manage to catch your breath, it’s still jagged, still shaky, but enough to force words out.

“I can’t lose you,” you say, voice barely a whisper, each word choked and strained. “I couldn’t lose you. I can’t live without you.” Your hand clenches tighter in Bucky’s shirt as you stammer, “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”

Steve glances between you two, understanding dawning on his face. With a quiet nod, he steps back, offering you both a moment of privacy. “I’m gonna get you some water,” he murmurs, but you barely register his voice. All your focus is on Bucky, who’s still kneeling in front of you, his gaze locked on yours.

“You’ll never lose me,” he says softly, his hands holding your face with a gentleness that tugs at your heart. His voice is steady, but there’s an underlying tremor, his eyes dark with something that goes deeper than fear, deeper than anger.

“I almost did, I could have” you murmur, and his face shifts, guilt flashing across his features.

Bucky’s thumb sweeps over your cheek. “I can’t lose you either, i could have lost you, I -I, You… you can’t be doing that. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His voice cracks, his own vulnerability laid bare. “I know that’s not saying a lot, but my life… it’s been hell. And you—you’re everything to me.”

Your heart pounds as his words sink in, the warmth of his hands on your face grounding you, drawing you closer. You reach for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him in until there’s barely any space between you.

And then, as if pulled by an unbreakable force, his lips find yours, a soft, tender kiss that feels like the culmination of everything unsaid between you. His hands slide from your cheeks to cradle you closer, his touch delicate, reverent, as if you’re something precious—something he’s finally allowed to hold.

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. He looks at you with a softness that makes you ache, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “I love you.”

In that moment, nothing else exists. Just you and him, finally admitting the truth you’ve both known all along.

[honeyglee]

Invisible | Part 14

Pairings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 8.8k 👀

Warnings: ANGST, Mentions of brief virg!nty loss

A/N: I was gonna make this 2 parts cuz its long but it just didnt flow nice soooo your welcome 🫶🏻

Summer before senior year

“You’re not going with him!” Bucky said, standing in front of you with his arms crossed, his tone more commanding than concerned.

You frowned, crossing your arms in defiance. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“He’s no good for you,” Bucky shot back, his voice rising. “Mike doesn’t care about anything but himself.”

“Oh, and you’re suddenly the expert on who’s good for me?” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “I’ve known Mike as long as you have, Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. “Trust me, he’s bad enough. And you’re not going.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” you yelled, stepping closer to him. “I’m not a child, and you’re not the boss of me!”

“I’m trying to protect you!” Bucky shouted back, his voice breaking slightly with desperation. “Fine, go! But don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart, because he will. He only wants one thing.”

You glared at him, the words stinging more than you wanted to admit. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Bucky scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Your virginity,” he said, his voice bitter. “That’s all he cares about.”

You froze, his words hitting like a slap. “And how would you know if I’m a virgin, Bucky?” you spat, your voice trembling with anger. “Maybe I’m ready to lose it. Maybe I’m tired of being the only one who hasn’t.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, so now you’re in a rush to keep up with everyone else? What, just because I lost mine, you suddenly want to lose yours?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your breath caught in your throat as his words settled. “You… you lost yours?” you asked quietly, your anger briefly replaced by shock.

Bucky’s defensive posture faltered, and he exhaled deeply, his annoyance still evident. “Yeah,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “With Carley.”

Your heart sank, a strange mix of emotions washing over you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky shrugged, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface. “Because you’re not one of the guys. I didn��t think it mattered.”

You nodded slowly, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Noted,” you said curtly, turning on your heel and walking away before the tears could fall.

Bucky called after you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

"Don't come crying to me, i mean it!"

The date with Mike started fine. He picked you up in his car, flashing his usual charming grin. But as he drove you to the cliffside—a spot where half the school went to make out or hook up—your mind kept replaying the fight with Bucky. His words echoed in your head, cutting deeper with each repetition.

Mike was sweet enough, but his intentions were clear. When he leaned in to kiss you, you let him. His hands roamed, his kisses became more insistent, and when he whispered, “Are you sure?” you barely hesitated.

“Yeah,” you murmured, the numbness creeping in as you tried to push all thoughts of Bucky out of your mind.

The act itself was quick, mechanical. It didn’t feel like the magical, life-changing moment you’d once fantasized about—especially not the one where Bucky was somehow involved, as stupid and childish as that fantasy had been. Instead, it was awkward and empty.

When it was over, Mike leaned back, pulling his clothes on casually. “You good?” he asked, his tone light but distant.

You nodded, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Mike stretched, glancing at his watch. “Do you want a ride home?”

You shook your head, staring out at the horizon where the first hints of dawn were starting to creep in. “No, I think I’ll stay here for a bit.”

Mike didn’t argue. “Alright. See you around,” he said with a grin, getting into his car and driving off without a second glance.

As his taillights disappeared, the weight of what you’d just done hit you. You pulled your knees to your chest, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. You stayed there, alone on the cliffside, as the sun began to rise, crying for everything you’d lost and everything that could never be.

You cried for the stupid fantasy you’d had, for the connection you and Bucky had once shared, and for the gaping hole that now seemed impossible to fill.

You sat on the edge of the cliff, the cold morning air biting at your skin as the sun’s first light painted the horizon in soft pinks and oranges. Your tears had finally stopped, but the hollow ache in your chest remained, a constant reminder of the choices you’d made and the moment you couldn’t take back.

You pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling as you scrolled through your contacts. Bucky’s name was right there, familiar and taunting. Your thumb hovered over it for a moment, but then you shook your head, blinking away the fresh sting of tears.

You couldn’t call Bucky—not after everything. Not after the fight, not after what he’d said, not after tonight.

Instead, your thumb slid down to another name.

Steve.

Your heart pounded as you pressed the call button. The line rang twice before his voice came through, groggy but instantly alert.

“Hello? Y/N?” Steve’s voice softened, concern lacing every word. “Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Hearing his voice felt like a lifeline, and for a moment, all the emotions you’d been holding in threatened to spill over again. You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “Steve… can you come get me?” you asked, your voice small and broken. “I’m at the cliff.”

There was a brief pause, then the sound of rustling sheets as Steve sat up. “Yeah, of course. Stay put, alright? I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a blanket.

Fifteen minutes later, the familiar rumble of Steve’s car pulled you from your daze. He parked and quickly got out, his worried eyes finding you immediately. His hair was messy, and he was still in sweatpants and a hoodie, clearly having rushed out of bed to get to you.

“Y/N…” he said softly, walking over to where you sat. Without another word, he shrugged off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders, kneeling down in front of you. “What happened?”

You shook your head, biting your lip as fresh tears threatened to fall. “I… I messed up, Stevie.”

He reached out, gently placing a hand on your knee. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But Steve’s patient, steady gaze gave you the courage to speak. “I… I was with Mike tonight....last night i guess now"

Steve’s jaw tensed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“And… and I let him… we…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, but the way Steve’s eyes softened told you he understood.

“Oh, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet sympathy. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head, wiping at your eyes. “It was supposed to mean something,” you whispered. “But it didn’t. It didn’t mean anything. I just… I just wanted to feel like everyone else for once. Like I wasn’t being left behind.”

Steve’s grip on your knee tightened slightly, his brows drawing together. “You’re not being left behind. You don’t need to rush into anything just because other people are.”

You let out a shaky laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. “Too late for that now.”

Steve sighed, shifting to sit beside you on the edge of the cliff. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You’re not defined by one moment, Y/N,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t change who you are or what you’re worth. You’re still you, and you’re still amazing.”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his body grounding you as the cool breeze swept past.

Friday Morning

You were running late, your thoughts a tangled mess as you walked briskly toward work. The looming reality of tonight’s bar meet-up gnawed at your nerves. Dean meeting your friends, meeting Bucky—it felt like a line you weren’t ready to cross, even though you knew you had to eventually.

Your phone buzzed against your ear as Natasha’s voice filled the silence, grounding you slightly. “Are you even listening to me?” she asked, her tone bordering on impatient.

You muttered a distracted, “Yeah, sorry,” as you pushed open the door to your favorite coffee shop. The familiar smell of roasted beans and baked goods hit you, but it did little to calm the storm in your chest. You glanced at the line, groaning softly when you saw how long it was.

Natasha sighed on the other end of the line. “Something about coffee, right? Let me guess, you’re about to be late again.”

“Yeah, the line’s too long,” you grumbled, stepping to the side to avoid blocking the doorway. “I’ll just skip it.”

Before she could reply, your eyes landed on someone by the counter, waiting for his drink. He was wearing a fitted black jacket over a plain white tee, his hair a little messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Bucky.

He must have felt your gaze because, in that moment, he turned. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and everything else—the bustling café, the noise, even Natasha’s voice in your ear—faded into the background.

You both froze, caught in a stare that felt like it lasted far too long and not long enough. His expression shifted, something soft flickering in his eyes before he masked it with a neutral look.

“Hello? Y/N? Are you even there?” Natasha’s voice snapped you back to reality.

You blinked, your heart pounding as you quickly looked away. “Sorry, Nat. Yeah, I’m here,” you said, forcing your voice to sound normal. “I was just… distracted.”

Natasha groaned on the other end. “Look, relax about tonight, okay? Everyone’s going to love Dean because we all love you. And Wanda’s super excited to meet him, so you’ve got her vote.”

You swallowed, your eyes flickering back toward Bucky. He was picking up his drink, his jaw tense, but he hadn’t looked away from you. You could feel the weight of his gaze even as you tried to focus on Natasha’s words.

“Yeah, okay,” you murmured, not really sure if you were trying to convince her or yourself.

Natasha exhaled, her tone softening. “I mean it, babe. Stop overthinking. You’ve got this, alright? I’ll even send coffee to your office so you’re not a grumpy mess when Dean picks you up later.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Anytime, babe,” she said, her voice warm. “Now, go crush your day. I’ll see you tonight.”

You ended the call, slipping your phone back into your pocket. Bucky was still there, sipping his coffee, his eyes lingering on you like he was waiting for you to say something.

But you didn’t. Instead, you turned and walked out of the café, the knot in your stomach tightening. The truth was, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, tonight wasn’t just about Dean meeting your friends.

It was about seeing Bucky again—about facing whatever was still left unsaid between you.

The hours ticked by painfully slow. You’d spent the morning buried in paperwork, but your mind was far from focused. Every time you tried to concentrate, your thoughts drifted to tonight—Dean, your friends, and most of all, Bucky.

By lunchtime, you were more than ready for a break. You pulled out your phone and opened the group chat with Wanda and Natasha.

Natasha: How’s work?

You: Dragging. Can’t believe it’s only lunchtime.

Wanda: That bad, huh?

You: Yeah, but at least I have tonight to look forward to… right?

Natasha: Exactly! You’ve got this, babe. Everyone’s gonna love Dean.

Wanda: Especially after we interrogate him, obviously.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your shoulders relaxing slightly.

You: Please be gentle. He’s nice, I promise.

Natasha: Nice doesn’t cut it. He’s gotta be great if he’s dating you ;)

Wanda: Agreed!!! <3But don’t worry, we’ll be on our best behavior. Sort of....

You rolled your eyes and switched over to your chat with Sam and Steve.

You: How’s the day going for you guys?

Sam: Busy as hell. Just got out of a meeting and I’m already over it.

Steve: Same here. But at least it’s Friday.

You: True. You both coming tonight, right?

Sam: Wouldn’t miss it. Ive been thinking about hot wings all damn day.

Steve: Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss meeting Dean…

You paused for a moment, then typed:

You: Thanks, guys. I know it’s weird with everything going on, but I appreciate it.

Sam: Hey, we’re family. No matter what, we’ve got your back.

Steve: Exactly. You’re stuck with us :)

The warm reassurance from your friends eased some of the anxiety that had been building all morning. You set your phone down, took a deep breath, and tried to refocus on your work.

But even as you typed away at your computer, your mind kept circling back to one thing: how tonight would change everything.

You were about to set your phone down when a familiar name caught your eye in the messages list: Bucky.

Your heart stopped. Beside his name, a small gray bubble appeared, the telltale sign that he was typing.

You stared at the screen, your breath hitching. He was going to say something. Maybe something important. Maybe—finally.

The bubble lingered for a moment, and you held your breath, waiting. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.

No message.

Your heart stuttered, a sharp pang in your chest as you watched the screen, hoping the bubble would return. But it didn’t.

You blinked, trying to shake the feeling. Why now? Why would he start typing and not send anything? You bit your lip, your mind racing. Was he going to apologize? Say something about tonight? Or was it just another reminder of the messy, tangled connection between you two?

You let out a shaky breath, locking your phone and setting it down on your desk. But the damage was done. The small flicker of hope—unwelcome but undeniable—had lodged itself firmly in your chest, refusing to be ignored.

Even when you forced yourself to get back to work, your mind kept drifting to that empty chat bubble.

The end of the workday couldn’t have come fast enough. By the time you got home, Natasha and Wanda were already at your apartment, rifling through your closet and chattering like old times. It was grounding in a way—familiar, comforting, a temporary balm for your nerves.

“Okay,” Wanda said, holding up a soft cream sweater. “This. It’s casual but still shows you put in effort.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. “Pair it with those high-waisted jeans and your ankle boots. Perfect mix of cozy and hot.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Cozy and hot? Is that what we’re going for?”

“Yes,” Natasha said firmly. “You’re seeing Dean, but you’re also seeing Bucky for the first time since… everything. You want to feel confident.”

You sighed, letting them guide you. Once you were dressed, Wanda pulled out a simple necklace while Natasha fixed your hair into loose waves. The whole process was lighthearted, filled with little jokes and the kind of banter that made you forget, even for a moment, about the knot in your stomach.

When you were finally ready, Natasha gave you an approving nod. “Okay, you’re perfect. Wanda and I are gonna head to the bar now, give you and Dean a little entrance moment.”

“Thanks,” you said, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “You said the guys are already there?”

Natasha hesitated for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. Bucky’s there too. That okay?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your expression neutral. “That’s fine. I mean, he’s part of the group, right? And I said I want things to be normal again.”

Natasha gave you a searching look. “If you change your mind, say the word, and I’ll drag him out so fast his head will spin.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s fine. Really. Better to see him with everyone else around. He’s part of us, part of me. Gotta get it over with, right?”

Natasha’s eyes softened, and she pulled you into a hug. “You’re stronger than you think, you know that?”

Wanda joined in, squeezing you tight. “We’ve got you,” she said with a warm smile. “Always.”

“See you in a minute,” Natasha said with a wink before they left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The quiet settled over the apartment as you paced for a moment, nerves bubbling to the surface. Your phone buzzed, and you grabbed it eagerly.

Dean: Hey :-) I’m downstairs whenever you’re ready.

You checked yourself one last time in the mirror, smoothing your sweater and adjusting your necklace. Then you grabbed your bag and headed out. As you stepped into the elevator, another message came through.

Natasha: He seems to be in good spirits. Gave me a hug and everything. It’s gonna be okay… Oh, by the way, he doesn’t know about you bringing Dean. Sam pulled me aside when I got here.

You stared at the message, your stomach twisting.

You: Great.

Shoving your phone into your bag, you took a deep breath as the elevator doors opened. Time to face the night.

As you stepped out of your apartment building, you spotted Dean leaning casually against his car, his hands in his pockets. He looked effortlessly handsome in a dark denim jacket and a simple black shirt. When his eyes met yours, his face lit up with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but laced with excitement. “You look amazing.”

You felt your cheeks flush slightly. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckled, opening the passenger door for you before you had a chance to protest. “Ready for this?”

You took a deep breath, glancing at him as you got in. “Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be.”

The ride to the bar was short, filled with light conversation and the kind of laughter that made you momentarily forget your nerves. But as you neared your destination, Dean’s tone shifted, becoming more thoughtful.

“So,” he began, glancing over at you at a red light, “anything I should know? You know, to make a killer first impression with your friends?”

You laughed softly, appreciating his effort. “Well, they’re all pretty easygoing… but they’re also insanely protective.”

“Noted,” Dean said, smirking. “Who should I be most worried about?”

You hesitated, your mind immediately going to Bucky. But you didn’t want to say his name just yet. “Natasha,” you said instead, half-joking. “She can be… intense. But it comes from a good place but im sure you already know that”

Dean nodded, clearly taking mental notes. “Got it. Be charming but not too charming.”

“Exactly,” you said, smiling. “Wanda’s super sweet, so you’re safe there. Sam’s a joker, so if he starts teasing you, it’s a good sign. And Steve… well, Steve’s like the group’s moral compass. If he likes you, you’re golden.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a solid group.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Something like that.”

As you pulled up to the bar, the knot in your stomach tightened again. Dean must have sensed it because he reached over, his hand resting lightly on yours. “Hey,” he said softly. “Relax. It’ll be fine. And if it’s not, we’ll just make a run for it.”

You chuckled despite yourself, squeezing his hand. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink as he parked the car.

The two of you stepped out, and as you approached the bar’s entrance, your heart started to pound. The familiar sounds of laughter and music spilled out onto the street, and you could already see your friends gathered at your usual corner table. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what was to come.

Dean held the door open for you, his expression calm and confident. “Let’s do this.”

The moment you and Dean walked into the bar, your eyes immediately found your usual booth. Sam, facing the door, was the first to notice you. His grin widened, and he nudged Steve beside him. Both men stood as Sam made his way toward you.

“Hey! Look who’s finally here,” Sam called out, pulling you into a warm, familiar hug. “You didn’t get lost, did you?”

You laughed. “You wish, Wilson.”

As Sam stepped back, Steve was right there, his soft smile as steady as ever. “You look great,” he said, pulling you in for a quick, friendly hug.

“Thanks, Stevie.” You tried to keep your voice light, but his comforting presence was already easing your nerves.

Dean extended his hand to Sam, his posture relaxed but confident. “Sam, right? It’s great to meet you. Y/N’s told me all about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Sam said, shaking Dean’s hand with a grin. “Sam Wilson, resident funnyman.”

Dean chuckled. “Only the best things. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“And I’m Steve,” Steve chimed in, extending his hand after Sam stepped aside. “Glad you could join us.”

“Likewise,” Dean replied, shaking Steve’s hand firmly. “Y/N’s been hyping this place up.”

After Dean waved at Natasha, who gave him a knowing smirk, and shook hands with Wanda, your focus inevitably drifted to the end of the booth. Bucky sat there, his back to you, his head slightly down as he sipped his drink. The sight of him made your chest tighten, and you hesitated for a split second before Dean spoke again.

“Hey,” Dean said, extending his hand toward Bucky. “You must be Bucky.”

Slowly, Bucky turned, his blue eyes locking onto yours for a brief, intense moment before shifting to Dean. His jaw clenched, and after a pause, he stood and shook Dean’s hand. His grip was firm, deliberate.

“Bucky,” he said, his voice low and measured.

Dean smiled, unfazed. “Nice to meet you. Y/N’s told me you two go way back.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, then back to Dean. “Yeah. Something like that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze even after he sat back down. Dean slid into the booth beside you as everyone shuffled to make room. Now, it was Natasha next to Wanda, then Steve, Sam, and finally you and Dean, directly across from Bucky.

The waiter came by to take your drink orders, and the usual buzz of conversation began. Sam, ever the storyteller, launched into a tale about his latest misadventure at the VA, complete with exaggerated gestures and dramatic pauses. Laughter erupted around the table, even from Dean, who seemed to be settling in easily.

Everyone, that is, except Bucky.

He sat back in his seat, his drink in hand, his gaze sharp but distant. Every so often, you felt his eyes on you, a heavy, unspoken tension lingering between the two of you. It wasn’t lost on Dean, who kept glancing between you and Bucky, his curiosity evident but unspoken.

“So, Dean,” Sam said, leaning forward. “What’s it like working with Nat?”

Dean grinned. “It’s great. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Keeps everyone on their toes.”

Natasha raised her glass with a smirk. “Damn right I do.”

“And what exactly do you do again?” Steve asked, his interest genuine.

“Security consulting,” Dean replied. “Risk assessment, crisis management, stuff like that.”

Sam nodded appreciatively. “Sounds badass.”

Dean chuckled. “It can be. Keeps me on my toes, for sure.”

Dean then turned to Bucky, clearly making an effort to include him. “And you, Bucky? Y/N mentioned you both work in publishing.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his glass as he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Reviewing manuscripts, editing, making sure everything’s ready for print.”

Dean nodded, his tone still friendly. “That’s awesome. Must be great working alongside your best friend.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, and his eyes briefly met yours again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s… something.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and you felt your stomach twist. Dean, sensing the tension, tried to steer the conversation back on track, but before he could, Bucky abruptly stood, grabbing his empty glass.

“Be right back,” he muttered, heading toward the bar without another word.

You watched him go, your heart pounding in your chest. The knot in your stomach tightened, and you forced yourself to focus on the laughter and conversation around you, even as your thoughts remained with Bucky.

The laughter at the table was infectious, the kind that made your cheeks hurt. Sam was recounting some ridiculous story about a mishap at work, complete with exaggerated impressions of his coworkers. Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop giggling, and even Wanda had to wipe away a tear from laughing so hard.

You tried to stay present, chiming in here and there, but your eyes kept drifting toward the bar. Bucky was leaning against it, nursing another drink, his back to the room. His shoulders were tense, and you could tell—even from this distance—that he was deep in thought.

Steve, ever perceptive, caught your glance. He gave you a subtle look, raising an eyebrow as if to say Want me to check on him?

You hesitated, then gave him a small, grateful smile. Steve nodded, sliding out of the booth with ease.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he said casually, patting Sam on the shoulder as he passed. “Don’t let them order wings without me.”

“Not making any promises,” Sam called after him, grinning.

Steve made his way to the bar, his presence steady as always. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he approached Bucky, leaning on the bar beside him. Their conversation started low, and Bucky glanced over his shoulder briefly, his expression unreadable.

Natasha leaned over, nudging you playfully. “You okay, babe? You seem a little… distracted.”

You blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… you know, first time bringing someone into the group. Kinda nerve-wracking.”

Dean, catching the tail end of your comment, smiled warmly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Everyone’s been great so far. I mean, Sam’s a riot.”

Sam raised his glass. “Damn right I am.”

“And Wanda,” Dean continued, gesturing toward her, “she’s been keeping me on my toes with all her quick-witted remarks.”

Wanda smirked. “Gotta make sure you can keep up, Dean.”

The table laughed, and for a moment, you felt a little lighter. But your eyes drifted back toward the bar. Steve was saying something to Bucky, his tone calm but firm. Bucky looked down at his drink, his jaw clenched.

Natasha followed your gaze, her smile fading slightly. “They’ll be fine,” she said quietly, her voice just for you. “Bucky needs to cool off, and Steve knows how to handle him.”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink to steady yourself. “Yeah. I know.”

At the bar, Steve leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Alright, Buck. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Bucky sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Nothing. Just needed a breather.”

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing,” Steve said, his tone gentle but probing. “You’ve been brooding since they walked in.”

Bucky scoffed, shooting him a sideways glance. “Didn’t know you were the feelings police, Rogers.”

Steve chuckled softly. “You know me, always looking out for my friends.”

Bucky didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the counter. After a moment, he muttered, “It’s weird seeing her with him.”

Steve nodded, keeping his tone neutral. “Yeah, I figured. But she seems happy.”

Bucky’s grip on his glass tightened slightly. “I know. That’s the problem.”

Steve tilted his head. “You want her to be happy, right?”

“Of course I do,” Bucky said quickly, his voice a little too sharp. “It’s just… he’s not one of us. He doesn’t get her the way we do.”

Steve studied him for a moment, then said, “Buck, if you’ve got something to say to her, you can’t keep waiting for the perfect moment. Life doesn’t work like that. Trust me i know" He smiled sadly.

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward the table, where you were laughing with Sam and Natasha. His expression softened, but there was still a weight behind his gaze. “Yeah… maybe.”

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “Just think about it, alright? And if you need to vent, you know where to find me.”

Bucky nodded, finishing the last of his drink. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Anytime,” Steve replied, standing upright. “Now, come back to the table before Sam eats all the wings.”

Bucky let out a small chuckle, setting his glass down. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

As the two of them returned, the dynamic shifted slightly. Bucky slid back into his spot next to Wanda, his demeanor a little more relaxed. You caught his eye briefly, and though neither of you said anything, the tension seemed to ease just a bit.

Steve slid in next to Sam, who immediately started teasing him about missing the best part of the story. Dean, oblivious to the undercurrents, leaned in toward you, his hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the table. “See?” he whispered. “Told you this would go well.”

You smiled, hoping he couldn’t sense the turmoil still swirling beneath the surface. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It’s going great.”

The table was a flurry of activity as the wings arrived, piled high on multiple platters. Everyone dove in with gusto, the smell of tangy barbecue and spicy buffalo sauce filling the air. Drinks were refilled, and the conversation flowed easily.

Sam leaned back, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Man, I’ve been waiting all week for this.”

Natasha smirked. “Yeah, well, don’t eat too fast. We’ve got plenty of time to enjoy it.”

Dean chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “I can see why this is a regular thing for you guys. It’s nice.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of the familiar setting, even with the subtle tension still lingering under the surface. Everyone seemed to be making an effort to keep things light, and for the most part, it was working.

A few drinks later, as the laughter died down for a moment, Dean glanced around the table, his curiosity piqued. “So,” he began, his tone casual, “is anyone else seeing anyone? Or is this the final group count?”

The question lingered in the air, and you noticed a subtle shift in energy. Wanda raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as she reached for her drink.

“Well,” Sam said, grinning, “I’m playing the field. Gotta keep my options open, you know?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “By ‘playing the field,’ he means he’s been flirting with the bartender at our usual spot for months and hasn’t made a move.”

Sam held up a finger. “Hey, I’m working on it.”

Everyone chuckled, and Dean turned his attention to Wanda. “What about you, Wanda? Anyone special?”

Wanda shook her head, a soft smile on her face. “Nope. Too busy trying to keep my plants alive.”

Dean laughed. “Fair enough.”

He looked over at Steve next. “And you, Steve? Got someone in your life?”

Steve, who had been quietly nursing his drink, looked up, his expression calm but unreadable. “Not at the moment, got some stuff to sort through” he said simply, his eyes flicking briefly to you before he focused back on his glass. “Just focusing on work.”

Dean nodded, clearly not picking up on the subtext. “Makes sense. You seem like the kind of guy who’s got his priorities straight.”

Steve gave a small smile, but he didn’t respond, his fingers tapping lightly against the side of his glass.

Finally, Dean’s gaze landed on Bucky, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, mostly focusing on his food. “What about you, Bucky? Anyone special?”

The table fell silent for a beat too long. Bucky set down his wing, wiping his hands deliberately as he leaned back in his seat. His expression was neutral, but his jaw tightened slightly. “Nope,” he said, his voice clipped. “No one.”

Dean, oblivious to the tension, smiled. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours for the briefest moment before he shrugged. “Guess I’m just picky.”

Natasha snorted into her drink, and Sam quickly covered a laugh with a cough. You felt your cheeks heat up and reached for your own drink to hide your reaction.

“Well,” Dean said, clearly trying to keep the conversation light, “picky’s not a bad thing. Just means you know what you want.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze fixed firmly on his plate. The silence stretched, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Sensing the awkwardness, Sam jumped in, raising his glass. “Alright, enough about our love lives. Let’s toast to Friday nights, good food, and even better company.”

Everyone raised their glasses, and the moment passed, but you couldn’t help the way your heart raced every time Bucky’s eyes drifted in your direction, even if only for a second.

The bar was bustling, the low hum of music and chatter creating a comforting buzz as you waited for the bartender to line up the shots. You were trying to focus on the drinks, the simple act of getting them back to your friends, but your thoughts kept drifting—Dean’s question about relationships, the tense exchange between Bucky and him, and now, the weight of Bucky’s silence.

You felt him before you saw him, his presence unmistakable as he slid up beside you, leaning on the bar. His scent—faint cologne mixed with something distinctly him—sent a rush of memories flooding back. You glanced up, but he didn’t say anything at first, just watched as you picked up the first tray of shots.

“Need help?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You gave him a small smile, trying to keep things light. “No, it’s okay. I got it. Thanks, though, Buck.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly as he shifted his weight. But then, after a beat of silence, he spoke again, his tone more serious. “He’s not right for you.”

The words hit you like a jolt, and you froze, your hand hovering over the next tray. Slowly, you turned to face him, your brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief. “What?”

Bucky’s blue eyes locked onto yours, intense and pleading. “Dean. He’s not right for you.”

You let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking your head. “And how exactly would you know what’s right for me, Bucky?”

“I just… I know,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “You think he gets you? Think he knows you?”

Your chest tightened, the familiar ache surfacing. “That’s not fair, its new-- im trying,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

Bucky’s hand clenched on the bar, his knuckles whitening. “You think I don’t see it? The way he looks at you? Like he’s just waiting for the right moment to get what he wants, its like Mike all over again…But it’s not real. Not like—”

You froze “Don’t you bring that up James.." Your voice low "And not like what?” you shot back, your voice sharper now. “Not like us? Newsflash, Bucky: there is no ‘us.’ You made damn sure of that.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he was struggling to find the right words. “You act like you’re the only one hurting,” he finally said, his voice low but cutting. “But you’re not. You hurt people too!”

Your heart sank, your throat tightening. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered, his frustration giving way to something rawer. “You hurt me, you have been for years! You just dont see it...” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “And you hurt Steve.”

“Steve?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper. “What about Steve?” You mind reeled back to how off he’s been lately.

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You can’t tell me you’ve never noticed. He’s been madly in love with you for years, and you just… what? Pretend not to see it? You think that doesn’t hurt him?”

The weight of his words hit you like a freight train, and your eyes instinctively darted across the bar. Natasha and Steve were standing together, both of them looking your way. Natasha’s gaze was sharp, assessing, while Steve’s was softer, a mix of concern and something deeper. Your stomach twisted as you saw the truth written plainly on his face, a truth you’d somehow managed to ignore until now.

You turned back to Bucky, your voice trembling. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

His face fell, a flicker of pain crossing his features, but he didn’t say anything. You grabbed the tray of shots, your hands shaking as you carried it back to the table. Natasha’s eyes followed you the whole way, and Steve’s expression shifted into something unreadable as you set the tray down in front of them.

Dean grinned, oblivious to the storm brewing. “Finally! Thought you got lost at the bar.”

You forced a smile, sliding into the booth beside him as you handed out the drinks. “Just took a little longer than expected.”

Natasha shot you a questioning look, but you shook your head subtly, letting her know now wasn’t the time. As the group raised their glasses in a toast, your eyes flickered back to the bar, where Bucky still stood, watching you with a look that sent a fresh wave of heartache crashing over you.

Summer before Senior year

The summer heat clung to the air, thick and stifling, as Bucky sat on the porch steps of Steve's house, bouncing his leg anxiously. He'd been quiet for most of the afternoon, his thoughts circling like a storm, the tension building with every passing minute.

Steve leaned against the railing, arms crossed as he watched his best friend brood. Finally, he sighed, breaking the silence. "Come on, Buck. When are you gonna go talk to her?"

Bucky's jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "Why does it have to be me first? She's the one who walked away."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, you didn't exactly give her a reason to stay. You basically pushed her away"

Bucky's head snapped up, his blue eyes filled with frustration. "I told her the truth, Steve. I warned her about Mike, and she didn't listen, if he breaks her heart thats her problem not mine."

Steve pushed off the railing, stepping closer. "You think this is just about Mike? Buck, she's hurting. And trust me....she needs you."

Bucky scoffed, his tone defensive. "If she needed me so bad, she'd be here."

Steve exhaled sharply, clearly losing patience. "She's not here because she's scared, because she feels alone, and because she thinks you don't care anymore."

Bucky's throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze falling to the ground. "I can't believe she went out with him," he muttered, more to himself than to Steve. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "That guy's a piece of shit."

Steve stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "Bucky...She...they..."

Bucky's head shot up, his eyes wide with realization. "She..?"

Steve nodded, his expression grim. "Yeah. And he just left her there."

The weight of Steve's words hit Bucky like a punch to the gut. His mind raced, his chest tightened as anger and guilt warred within him.

"Where?" Bucky asked, his voice low, almost a growl. "Where did he leave her?"

Steve hesitated, then said, "The cliff."

Bucky didn't wait for another word. He bolted from the porch, his heart pounding as he made a beeline for your house. His feet pounded against the pavement, but before he reached your street, something caught his eye in the open field nearby. A group of guys were playing flag football, laughing and shouting-and among them was Mike.

Bucky's blood boiled as he altered his course, heading straight for the field. The laughter died down when the players noticed him, their gazes shifting uneasily.

"Hey, Buck," one of them called, wary. "What's up, man?"

Bucky ignored him, his focus solely on Mike, who stood in the middle of the group, smirking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"What do you want, Barnes?" Mike asked, cocky as ever.

Bucky didn't answer. He just strode forward and, without hesitation, drove his fist directly into Mike's face. The sickening crunch of bone and cartilage echoed as Mike stumbled back, blood immediately streaming from his nose.

"Stay the fuck away from her," Bucky growled, his voice dangerously low.

Mike wiped the blood from his face, grinning like a maniac despite the pain. "What's the matter, Barnes? Mad I deflowered your girl? Because you were too pussy to do it yourself?"

Bucky's vision went red. He punched Mike again, harder this time, sending him sprawling to the ground. The other guys started to step in, but one glare from Bucky had them backing off.

Mike groaned, but he still laughed, his teeth stained red. "She tasted so sweet," he sneered, his voice taunting. "So tight. A perfect little notch on my belt. She was desperate for it, practically begging-"

Bucky didn't let him finish. He turned on his heel and sprinted toward your house, his heart thundering in his chest. His mind raced with fury and panic, the image of you sitting alone at the cliff, broken and hurting, driving him forward.

He had to get to you. He had to make this right.

The bar buzzed with laughter and music, the energy high as your group settled deeper into the booth. Drinks flowed, wings were shared, and the conversation had turned to teasing stories from the past. You felt the warmth of familiarity, even with the slight tension still lingering from earlier.

Dean excused himself to take a phone call, offering you a soft smile before stepping toward the back exit. You watched him go, feeling the comfort of his steady presence, even as your thoughts wandered to Bucky. He’d been quiet all night, his usual sharp wit dulled by whatever storm was brewing inside him..

Needing a moment, Bucky stood, stretching as he made his way toward the bathroom. He passed the back exit and froze when he heard Dean’s voice, low and smooth, just around the corner.

As he made his way toward the bathroom, Bucky caught sight of Dean. He hesitated, the urge to confront gnawing at him, but he kept walking—until Dean glanced up and caught his eye.

“Bucky,” Dean said with a slight smirk, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You following me now?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t realize I needed to. Just taking a walk.”

Dean leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. “You’ve been watching us all night. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean chuckled, his tone light but pointed. “It means you’re not exactly subtle, man. You’ve got this look every time she laughs at something I say, like you’re ready to tear me apart. Jealous much?”

Bucky took a step closer, his voice low. “Maybe I just don’t think you’re good enough for her.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. “That so? Funny, because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’m the one who’s actually here for her. You had your chance from what i’ve seen, and you blew it. That’s not on me.”

Bucky’s chest tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or her.”

Dean’s smirk faded slightly, his tone dropping. “I know you’re hung up on her. And I know she deserves someone who’s all in, not someone who’s just been dragging her through the mud for years because he’s too scared to step up.”

Bucky’s blood boiled. “You think you know what she needs?” he growled, stepping even closer. “You don’t know half of what we’ve been through.”

Dean shrugged, his expression calm but unyielding. “Maybe not. But I do know this: I’m here now, and you’re just a guy at the bar, staring like you’re waiting for permission to act.” He straightened, his gaze sharp. “She’s amazing. She deserves more than being someone’s regret.”

That did it.

Before Dean could react, Bucky’s fist connected with his jaw in a swift, hard punch. Dean stumbled back, holding his face, but his composure didn’t falter long. He let out a humourless laugh, wiping his mouth as he straightened.

“Well, that’s one way to admit you’re still in love with her,” Dean said, his tone sharp but surprisingly calm. “Too bad you’re a little late.”

Bucky took another step forward, but Dean held up a hand. “I’m not doing this,” he said firmly. “You’ve got your own demons to sort out, Bucky. Don’t make her collateral damage.”

With that, Dean turned and walked back toward the table, leaving Bucky seething in his wake.

Dean leaned against the table, his face composed but red blooming across his jaw. Natasha’s eyes narrowed immediately, her gaze darting between Dean and the direction of the bar. “What the hell happened?”

Dean exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if trying to shake off the impact. “Your buddy hit me.”

You choked on your drink, eyes wide in disbelief as Sam quickly leaned over, patting your back. “What?” you managed to get out, your voice hoarse with shock.

Dean nodded, glancing around the table, his eyes lingering on Natasha before meeting yours. “Yeah. He’s got a hell of a right hook.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “That idiot,” she muttered, already pushing to get out of the booth.

Dean raised a hand to stop her. “No need to escalate. It’s handled.” He looked at you, his expression softening. “Can we talk for a second?”

You blinked, still processing what just happened, but you nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The others watched as you slid out of the booth, your gaze flicking toward the bar. Bucky stood there now with Sam and Steve, both of whom were leaning in, their expressions serious as they talked to him. Bucky’s shoulders were tense, his head tilted down like he was bracing himself.

You turned away and followed Dean outside.

The cool night air hit you, a stark contrast to the warmth and chaos inside. Dean led you a few steps away from the entrance, giving you both a semblance of privacy. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes soft but resolute as he turned to face you.

“Look,” he began, his tone gentle. “You’re incredible. You’re smart, funny, beautiful—everything any guy could want.”

Your heart sank at the way his voice carried a finality you weren’t ready for. “Dean—”

He shook his head, giving you a small, sad smile. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want drama. I don’t want fights and complications. And as much as I like you, I can’t ignore what I saw tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, though deep down, you already knew.

Dean’s eyes searched yours, his voice soft but firm. “You and Bucky. Whatever it is between you two… it’s not going away. I can see it in the way he looks at you. Hell, I can see it in the way you look at him, even if you don’t realize it.”

Your breath hitched, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to surface. “Dean, I—”

He shook his head again, this time with a sad chuckle. “It’s okay. I get it. But I can’t be someone’s second choice—not when I’m putting them first.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and unyielding. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. What could you say? He was right, and deep down, you both knew it.

Dean reached out, his hand gentle as he cupped your cheek. “You deserve to figure out what you really want without me in the middle of it.”

You nodded, the tears finally spilling over. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled softly, leaning in to place a tender kiss on your forehead. “Don’t be. I’m glad we met.” He stepped back, his hand slipping away. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You nodded, unable to speak as he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing down the street.

You stood outside for a moment, trying to collect yourself. When you finally re-entered the bar, the weight of Dean’s words still lingered heavily on your heart. The noise hit you again, but all you could focus on was the booth where your friends sat. Natasha and Wanda were deep in conversation, their eyes occasionally darting toward you.

Sam and Steve were still by the bar with Bucky. Sam’s hands were on Bucky’s shoulders, clearly trying to talk him down, while Steve glanced toward you, his expression unreadable.

Your legs felt like lead as you walked back toward the booth, the reality of the night sinking in.

This wasn’t just about Dean leaving. This was about everything that had been building for years. And now, it was all unraveling.

You returned to the table with heavy steps, the weight of the night pressing down on you. Everyone’s conversation fell silent as you approached. Without a word, you sat down, grabbing your nearly empty glass and downing the last of it. Then, you reached for the shot in front of you and knocked it back too, the burn barely registering.

The table was tense, eyes flicking between you and Bucky, who had just returned from the bar. His jaw was set, his arms crossed as he leaned against the booth, avoiding your gaze.

But you weren’t done. You grabbed Steve’s half-finished drink and swallowed it in one go, slamming the empty glass on the table. The tears started to well up, and you didn’t care who saw anymore.

Finally, you turned to Bucky, your voice shaking but steady. “How could you do this to me?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to yours, wide with sadness and guilt, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Your voice rose, breaking slightly as the tears began to stream down your face. “Why do you keep hurting me? For what, Bucky?! What do you get out of it?”

“Doll, I—” Bucky started, his voice low, but you cut him off.

“No! Don’t ‘doll’ me. I don’t get it! I don’t get you! You’re supposed to be my best friend, the person I can trust, but all you do is make me feel like this!” You gestured at your tear-streaked face, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions. “And I can’t do this anymore. I can’t feel like this anymore!”

Bucky’s face was a mixture of hurt and panic, his mouth opening as if to say something, but the words seemed to get caught in his throat.

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’m done, Bucky.” Your voice dropped to a near whisper, broken and raw. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Without giving him the chance to respond, you turned and stormed out of the bar, ignoring the concerned voices of your friends behind you. Natasha called your name, and you heard Sam mutter a curse under his breath, but none of it mattered. You pushed past the door and into the cool night air, the weight of everything crashing down on you as you kept walking, your tears blurring the city lights around you

[honeyglee]

Invisible | Part 13

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU (soon-ish????)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: None yet lol

A/N: Yall we have bucky meeting dean next 👀👀👀👀

Masterpost

Bucky tossed his keys onto the counter, the familiar metallic clink echoing through the silent apartment. The quiet settled over him like a heavy blanket, oppressive and suffocating. The faint hum of the fridge and the soft ticking of the wall clock were the only sounds, filling the space where your laughter or the shuffle of your footsteps used to be. His eyes instinctively flicked to the small ceramic bowl by the door—the one he’d made you for your birthday last year, glazed in your favorite colors.

Empty.

His chest tightened. You’d been home.

He let out a slow, uneven breath, running a hand through his hair, the motion doing little to ease the tension coiled in his shoulders. Of course, you’d come back at some point. You lived here too. And yet, seeing the empty bowl still sent a pang of something sharp through his chest.

He knew your shifts had been just out of sync with his, making it easy to avoid each other. And while the rational part of him told him this was a good thing—that you both needed space to cool off— but the last time you and him went this long without communicating or seeing each other was the first 5 years of your lives when you hadn't met yet, even your first big fight in high school only lasted 48 hours, yet another part of him, the part that constantly replayed the fight in his head, hated it.

God, he hated it.

He hated himself.

The weight of your absence was everywhere: in the way your bedroom door remained firmly closed, where it was usually freely open, in the lingering smell of your favorite shampoo that still clung to the bathroom, in the faint indent your slippers left by the couch. You were avoiding him, and he couldn’t blame you. Hell, he was avoiding you too.

He sighed deeply, pulling his phone from his pocket when it buzzed. He lingered on his home screen of the photo of him and you. His thumb swiped across the screen, his heart sinking slightly when he saw the message from Sam.

Sam: Still no word from Nat?

Bucky: Not since that Friday. She’s still pissed, I guess.

Sam: Yeah, well… you’re lucky Y/N didn’t tell her to throw your stuff out the window.

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he typed his reply.

Bucky: Wouldn’t blame her if she did.

He stared at the screen, the soft glow illuminating his tired features. He could practically hear Natasha’s voice in his head, ripping into him with every creative insult she could muster. And, honestly? She’d be right. He was a dick. An asshole. Every name in the book and that was being kind.

But what hurt more was knowing that even now, even after everything, you were probably still defending him. You always did. You always had his back, no matter how much he screwed up. It was one of the things he both loved and hated about you—your loyalty, your unwavering faith in him. And that only made him feel worse.

Because this time? He didn’t deserve it.

With a frustrated sigh, he pocketed his phone and trudged toward his room, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. The night stretched ahead of him, and all he could think about was the looming “great date” with Kate.

He should feel something—excitement, anticipation, maybe even relief at the prospect of a distraction. But all he felt was dread, a gnawing pit in his stomach that only seemed to grow the closer it got to 5 p.m.

Kate deserved better than this.

So did you.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed his face with his hands. His mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts, each one louder than the last. He knew what he had to do, what he should’ve done weeks ago. He shouldn't even have gotten more involved with someone else while his feelings were all over the place and his heart always was with you. But every time he thought about it, about ending things with Kate, his thoughts circled back to you.

What would you think? Would you even care? You never did before, did you? There was times in high school when he would see a slight sadness in your eyes when he was another girl and because of that he never let things get too serious with any of them, and it wasn't your fault directly he knew that, he was the one making the decision because in the end he would always chose you over them, and they eventually always gave him a 'You cant have a girl as your best friend!' 'Look at the way she looks at you!' 'Its her or me Bucky!'

Bucky leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him. He had to get his shit together, had to figure out how to fix this mess he’d made. But first, he had to get through tonight.

--

The restaurant was warm, the low buzz of conversation filling the air as Bucky sat across from Kate. She looked beautiful, her dark hair falling in soft waves, a kind smile on her face. She’d dressed up for the occasion, wearing a sleek black dress that made her look effortlessly elegant.

“Glad we could finally make this work,” Kate said, her voice light as she sipped her wine. “We’ve both been so busy.”

Bucky forced a smile. “Yeah, me too. It’s nice to… slow down for a bit.”

Kate smiled, leaning on her hand as she studied him. “You seem distracted, though. Long day?”

“Something like that,” Bucky muttered, swirling his own glass of wine.

The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Wondering if you were still upset, replaying every moment of the fight in his head, the look on your face when you left. And then there was the matter of Kate.

Kate was kind. She was sweet, funny, and easy to be around. But she wasn’t you. God, no one would ever be you.

She didn’t make his heart race with just a glance. She didn’t know every little quirk about him, like how he always needed coffee first thing in the morning before uttering a single syllable or how he secretly loved old noir films. How he had a secret vendetta against green m&m's because he almost choked on one as a kid and hasn't touched one since, how he preferred Hockey over Football but he would never tell Steve or Sam that. She wasn’t the one he imagined sharing his life with, that had always been you, even when things were messy, it was still you.

“Bucky?” Kate’s voice brought him back to the present, her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said quickly, straightening up. “Just… a lot on my mind.”

Kate gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’ve been off since you picked me up. If something’s going on, you can tell me.”

Bucky hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He knew he couldn’t keep stringing her along—it wasn’t fair to either of them.

He leaned forward, setting his glass down. “Kate… I need to be honest with you.”

Her smile faltered slightly, but she nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“You’re great,” Bucky started, his voice soft but firm. “You’re smart, funny, your beautiful, perfect really and anyone would be lucky to be with you. But… my heart’s not in this.”

Kate’s expression softened, a hint of sadness in her eyes, but she didn’t look surprised. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Bucky’s stomach twisted. He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Kate took a deep breath, her lips pressing into a thin line before she gave him a small, bittersweet smile. “I figured as much. You’ve been… somewhere else this whole time.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, his voice low. “You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. And that’s not me.”

Kate reached across the table, placing a gentle hand on his. “Thank you for being honest. It sucks, but… I get it. I think I knew deep down this was coming.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Kate…”

She shook her head, a soft smile on her face despite the tears threatening to spill. “No, it’s okay. Really. It hurts don't get me wrong, but I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Bucky. You’ve always been kind, even if you’ve been distracted.”

Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on. “Honestly, I’m glad this happened now, before I got in too deep. I could see it from the start, you know? The way you look at her… and the way she looks at you.”

Bucky blinked, his heart clenching. “Kate—”

“I hope it works out between you two,” she interrupted gently. “You clearly care about each other. And even though it’s not what I wanted for us, I’m glad you told me now instead of dragging it out.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them. Finally, Kate withdrew her hand, giving him a nod. “Take care of yourself, Bucky. And… I hope she knows how lucky she is.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, but he managed to say, “Thanks, Kate.”

As she stood to leave, Bucky watched her go, a mix of relief and guilt washing over him. He had ended things with her, but now he was left with the harder task: facing you.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his messages until he found Sam’s text thread again.

Bucky: It’s done. I ended it.

Sam: Finally. Now, what’s your plan with Y/N?

Bucky stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. What was his plan? All he knew was that he couldn’t avoid you any longer.

High school - Junior Year

The bleachers creaked beneath you as you shifted, pulling your hoodie tighter around you against the crisp autumn air. The Friday night lights cast a golden glow over the football field, illuminating the players as they huddled together, the crowd buzzing with energy. But your attention wasn’t on the game—it was on the boy sitting next to you.

Bucky, with his ever-present leather jacket slung over his hoodie, was leaning back against the bleachers, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were soft tonight, lazily following the movement on the field.

“You’re not even watching the game,” you teased, nudging his arm with your elbow.

Bucky smirked, tilting his head to look at you. “And you are?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I’m here for moral support. Steve’s playing, remember?”

“Ah, right,” Bucky said, nodding solemnly. “Go team.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and he grinned, clearly pleased with himself. For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the noise of the game fading into the background as the chilly breeze swept through the bleachers.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You cold?”

You shrugged, even though you were. “I’m fine.”

Without a word, Bucky shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you protested, but you didn’t make a move to take it off. The warmth and the familiar scent of leather and something distinctly him were too comforting.

“Just take it,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I’ve got a built-in heater.” He flexed his arms, grinning. “These guns.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” he shot back, his voice teasing but soft.

Your heart did a little flip, and you ducked your head, hoping he didn’t notice the heat rising to your cheeks.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement as Steve jogged past the bleachers, heading toward the sideline. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes flicking between you and Bucky. He offered a quick wave before disappearing back into the game.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, smirking as he nudged your shoulder. “You see that?”

“See what?” you asked, confused.

“The way Steve was looking over here,” Bucky said, his smirk widening as he leaned back against the bleachers. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s got a little crush.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Steve? Please.”

But Bucky wasn’t done. When Steve came jogging back after the next play, Bucky waved him over, his grin turning mischievous. “Hey, Rogers!”

Steve looked slightly hesitant but made his way over, catching his breath. “What’s up?”

Bucky nudged him playfully. “You’ve been sneaking glances over here all night. Something you wanna share with the class?”

Steve’s face turned a little red, and he quickly shook his head. “Yeah, right, Buck,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Bucky laughed, giving him a light shove. “Relax, man. Just saying, if you’ve got a crush, you’ve got good taste.”

Steve shot him a look, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “You’re impossible,” he muttered before heading back to the field.

You watched him go, feeling a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You’re such a troublemaker.”

“Hey, it’s my job,” Bucky said, leaning in close, his voice low. “Besides, he totally does.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened as Bucky’s arm brushed yours. “You’re imagining things.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. “Maybe not.”

The air between you felt charged again, like it had earlier. But before you could say anything, the crowd erupted in cheers, breaking the moment. Steve had scored, and the entire crowd was on its feet, clapping and shouting.

“Atta boy, Steve!” Bucky cheered, clapping lazily.

You joined in, your heart still racing, but the spell was broken. The unspoken tension hung in the air, unacknowledged but palpable.

As the night wore on, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Bucky, wondering what might have happened if the game hadn’t interrupted.

Thursday Night

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of your playlist as you sat at your vanity, carefully applying the final touches of makeup for your date with Dean. It had been a whirlwind week—four dates in five days—and each one had been incredible. Dean was sweet, funny, and attentive. Every moment with him felt easy, light.

But even as you smiled at the thought of him, a familiar ache tugged at your chest. You missed Bucky. You missed Natasha. Sure, you’d been talking to Wanda, Sam, and especially Steve, but it wasn’t the same. Natasha was your person, your closest confidante. And Bucky? Well, Bucky was Bucky.

Steve had been your rock through everything lately, always ready with a kind word or a listening ear. But even with his unwavering support, you’d noticed something different in him recently—a lingering sadness in his eyes, or maybe it was just weariness. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were burdening him with all your baggage. So, you’d started keeping things to yourself.

Like the kiss.

Your first kiss with Dean had been sweet, gentle, and everything a first kiss should be. But even in that perfect moment, your mind had wandered back to Bucky’s kiss in college—deep, passionate, and all-consuming. You shook your head, trying to push the thought away.

You were determined to move on.

Your heart skipped a beat. Before you could decide how to feel, there was a knock at the door.

Your phone buzzed with a message, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen:

Natasha: It’s me.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over and opened it. Natasha stood there, her usual confidence softened by something more vulnerable. Without a word, she stepped inside, her eyes locking onto yours.

“I love you,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “I miss you. And I hate having to hear about your dates from Dean at work, pretending like i know already. I can’t stand it. I want to hear about them from you.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha continued, pacing slightly. “But I just hate seeing you sad. And yes, I’ve been mad at Bucky, but I know he’s not some horrible person. I understand his side too. Please, let’s just forget about it all, okay?”

Her words hit you like a wave, and you felt the weight of the past few days lift slightly. A small smile crept onto your face.

“Dean and I kissed,” you said, your voice light.

Natasha’s eyes widened, and she gasped dramatically. “Wait, what? No way, your kidding?" She paused looking you up and down, her eyes widening further "Are you seeing him again tonight?!”

You laughed, nodding "This will be 5 times this week.”

“Oh my god!! I’m so proud of you!” Natasha squealed, grabbing your hands.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m trying.”

Natasha grinned but then paused, her expression growing serious. “I heard you haven’t seen or talked to Bucky yet, this has been the longest since--"

Your smile faded "High School" You finished nodding. “No. I’ve been… avoiding him.”

She bit her lip, then hesitated before speaking again. “He broke up with Kate.”

You froze. “What?”

Natasha nodded, her voice gentle. “I just think you need all the information. Whatever you want to do with it is up to you. But I’ll always support you, no matter what.”

You stared at her, your thoughts spinning. Bucky had ended things with Kate? You’d spent the past few days convincing yourself that moving on with Dean was the right path, but now… everything felt complicated again.

Natasha squeezed your hand. “Take your time. Figure out what you want. Ill be here for anything and everything, okay?”

You nodded slowly, her words sinking in as you tried to steady your racing heart.

The elevator ride down to the lobby was a blur, your heart still racing from Natasha’s revelation. By the time you stepped out onto the street, you’d pushed the thought of Bucky breaking up with Kate to the back of your mind. Tonight wasn’t about him; it was about Dean.

You spotted him immediately, leaning casually against his car, dressed in a dark button-down that hugged his frame perfectly. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he pushed off the car, meeting you halfway.

“Wow,” he said, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look incredible, you always do"

You smiled, feeling a slight heat creep up your neck. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Dean grinned, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You linked your arm with his, and he led you to the car, opening the door with a flourish. “Such a gentleman,” you teased as you slid into the passenger seat.

“Only the best for you,” he replied with a wink before closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

The restaurant he chose was cozy, dimly lit with soft jazz playing in the background. The warm ambiance wrapped around you like a comforting hug as a host led you to a small table near the back, tucked away just enough to feel intimate.

Dean pulled out your chair, and you laughed softly. “Still keeping up the gentleman act, huh?”

“Always,” he said, leaning in slightly as he took his seat across from you. “Gotta keep you impressed.”

“Mission accomplished,” you replied, taking the menu from him. “So, what’s good here?”

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he watched you with an easy smile. “Everything, but you can’t go wrong with the lobster ravioli.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re getting?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a nod. “But if you want to try something else, we can share. I’m a generous guy.”

You smirked. “Good to know.”

As the evening went on, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Dean had a way of making you feel at ease, his charm disarming and his humor sharp. He told stories about his travels, painting vivid pictures of cities and adventures that made you laugh and lean in closer.

“So there I was,” Dean said, his hands animated as he recounted a tale of narrowly avoiding disaster on a hiking trip. “One wrong step, and I would’ve been headfirst into the river. My buddy still doesn’t let me live it down.”

You giggled, sipping your wine. “You seem like you get into a lot of near-death situations.”

“What can I say? I live life on the edge,” he teased, his voice dropping slightly as his foot nudged yours under the table. “But don’t worry, I’m always careful when it counts.”

Your stomach fluttered at the subtle contact, and you found yourself leaning forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Is that so?”

Dean’s eyes darkened slightly, his gaze flickering to your lips. “It is,” he said softly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Like right now. Sitting here with you… I want to make sure every moment counts.”

You felt your breath hitch, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. His hand reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch was light but deliberate, sending a spark up your arm.

“I’m glad you gave me a chance,” he said, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone like you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Someone like me?”

Dean nodded, his gaze steady. “Smart, funny, beautiful… someone who knows what they want but doesn’t take themselves too seriously. You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you laughed softly, trying to deflect. “You’ve got a pretty smooth way with words, Dean.”

He grinned. “They're not just words. I mean it.”

The waiter arrived then, breaking the moment as he set your plates down with a polite smile. You and Dean pulled back slightly, but the air between you remained charged.

As you both dug into your meals, the conversation picked up again, filled with laughter and shared bites of food. Dean’s foot found yours again under the table, and this time you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed back slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

When the check arrived, Dean insisted on paying, waving off your protests. “You can get the next one,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“Next one, huh?” you teased as you stood.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, offering his hand as you walked out of the restaurant. “I’m already planning it in my head.”

The night air was cool as you stepped outside, and Dean turned to you, his hand still holding yours. “Walk with me?” he asked.

You nodded, and the two of you strolled down the quiet street, the city lights casting a soft glow. Dean’s arm brushed against yours occasionally, each touch sending a warm pulse through you.

Finally, he stopped, turning to face you. His hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb gently grazing your skin. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmured before leaning in.

His lips met yours in a gentle, tender kiss, his other hand settling on your waist. The kiss was slow and sweet, filled with a quiet intensity that made your heart race. You leaned into him, your hands resting on his chest as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

When you finally pulled back, Dean rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

You smiled, feeling a mix of warmth and a lingering ache. “Yeah… perfect.”

As you and Dean walked hand in hand through the city streets, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, filled with easy laughter. The warmth between you was undeniable, but there was still a small knot of tension in your chest, one you couldn’t quite shake.

Dean glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “So, Natasha mentioned something interesting the other day.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, curious but wary of what Nat might’ve said.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone light. “She told me about this tradition you and your friends have. Every Friday night, you all meet up at your favorite bar?”

You smiled softly. “That’s true. It’s kind of a ritual for us. We’ve been doing it for years.��

Dean nodded, his eyes warm. “She also mentioned that people you’re seeing are allowed to come along.”

You froze for a second, your heart skipping a beat. “She did, huh?”

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Look, I know we haven’t put a label on anything yet, and I get that you want to take things slow. I respect that, completely. But I just want you to know that I’m in this if you are. And if you’re comfortable, I’d love to meet your friends. Natasha always talks about how close you all are, and honestly… it sounds amazing.”

You hesitated, your thoughts immediately drifting to Bucky. Things with Natasha had started to smooth over, but the idea of bringing Dean into the fold brought a new wave of uncertainty. Would Bucky even be there? And if he was, how would he react?

But then again… Bucky or no Bucky, you couldn’t avoid him forever. You literally lived together, and at some point, you’d have to face him. Maybe doing it with your friends around, with Dean by your side, would make it easier. Maybe it was time to stop letting Bucky’s presence dictate your decisions.

You took a deep breath, forcing the knot in your chest to loosen. “Okay,” you said finally, your voice steady. “Yeah, I’d love for you to meet my family.”

Dean’s eyes lit up, his smile widening. “Family, huh? That close?”

You nodded, a fond smile tugging at your lips. “Yup. They’ve been my rock through everything. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he said, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze. “And hey, no pressure. If it gets too much, we’ll leave. I’m there for you, no matter what.”

You smiled, grateful for his understanding. “Thank you, Dean. That means a lot.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that?”

"You said that already" Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned into him as the two of you continued your walk, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

[honeyglee]

thinking of a new steddie fic/au hmmm.

It’s just the classic, Steve buys weed from Eddie in season 1 era, he and Tommy meet him at the bench in the woods behind school. Steve and Eddie have some playful banter and clearly get along, but it’s dismissed as just a drug deal and they go on about their lives.

Next time they meet is when a frantic Steve comes and finds Eddie after he’s just fought off the demogorgon for the first time. He’s rattled, and skittish, wearing a nasty black bruise on his eye, and just overall not acting like himself. He snaps at Eddie multiple times to just ‘hurry up’ and ‘get him his stuff’, and sure he’s being an asshole, but more than anything Eddie is just concerned. He has never seen The King Steve Harrington lose his cool like this. So Eddie cautiously gives him the weed, making sure not to give too much, and lets him go about his day, but not before asking if he’s alright. Steve clearly wasn’t expecting this and brushes it off defensively, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it for the rest of his week. How the hell did Eddie Munson notice something was wrong, when his own parents didn’t? Nor his “friends”?

They cross paths again a year later, the beginning of season two. Steve is still with Nancy and has freshly dumped his old douchebag crew of superficial friends. He is still sitting quite comfortably on the higher ranks of popularity, but there is no denying his status is not what it used to be. He comes to buy weed from Eddie in the first week back at school, and it’s a casual interaction. He’s still as charmingly stuck up as he ever was, but now without Tommy there to judge his every move, he seems a little more at ease when making casual conversation with Eddie. Eddie doesn’t mention the year before and Steve is so glad for it, secretly very embarrassed that he went to Eddie for some refuge after arguably his most traumatic experience to date. He gets his stuff, giving Eddie a smirk when he notices he’s dropped the price significantly for Steve when it’s just him alone. Eddie gives him a challenging smile back, almost daring him to call it out, but he doesn’t. They both just laugh and part ways.

The next run in is tina’s halloween party. They notice eachother when Steve first arrives, making eye contact and giving a polite nod. Maybe Eddie lifts his drink up to Steve in a silly salute. They don’t speak at all or make any effort to hang around eachother. That is, until Steve storms down the stairs in a rage after he’d gone up there with Nancy Wheeler. But then are those- tears? Eddie was standing on the front porch smoking a cigarette, trying to discreetly hide from one Billy Hargrove to avoid having to sell him anything, but staying visible enough that he won’t lose all chances of making any money tonight. Steve storms right past him and hits his shoulder. Eddie whips around and is about to call him a dick before he sees who it is.

Steve tries to quickly wipe his face, he won’t make eye contact with Eddie, and he’s clearly trying to get out as fast as he can. Eddie doesn’t let him, though, since he’s obviously not thinking very clearly and is most likely about to do something emotional and stupid. He asks if Steve’s alright, and his answers are all short and rushed, so he’s definitely not. They’re not really friends, but Eddie’s not an asshole.

— “Did you drive?” Eddie asks

“Yeah”

“Well, you’re drunk, Steve. You can’t get behind a wheel right now. And if I knowingly let you, then that makes me an accomplice. I’ll take you home.”

Steve tries to protest, attempting to push past him, but Eddie interjects. “Yeah, yeah, alright! Don’t thank me yet, Steve’o. This is not for you, see, I’m not trying to get a criminal record, here. I cant go to prison, Steve. Do you know what they’d do to a pretty guy like me in prison? Nope, let’s go hot stuff.” —

Eddie takes Steve home. They don’t talk much. By the time they reach Steve’s drive way and Eddie has put his van in park, Steve is making no attempt to exit the vehicle just yet. Eddie doesn’t know what to do, he didn’t really plan this far, so he’s just tapping away awkwardly at his steering wheel while Harrington stares down the dashboard so clearly lost in thought Eddie fears his head might explode. Steve tells Eddie what happened, says it’s ‘relationship troubles’, and he’s not quite sure what compelled him into being so honest with Eddie Munson, but he’s blaming the alcohol. Eddie wasn’t expecting that. They chat for a bit, Eddie makes Steve laugh and considers the whole night a success after that. Then they start cracking jokes about their shared hatred for Hargrove, and Steve looks and sounds a bit more ok to go inside. He thanks Eddie, quite sincerely actually, and it throws him a bit. He stutters a ‘yeah, for sure. It’s no problem.’ And Steve goes home.

After that, it’s a little different. Steve, doesn’t actually really have anyone, anymore. When they go back to school he’s now greeting Eddie here and there in the hallways, making conversation when they find themselves alone together, in the lunch line or at the bathroom sink. He doesn’t approach Eddie when there’s too many people around, though. As much as he’s grown, Steve Harrington still carry’s some prejudice in him about how certain things may make him look. But it doesn’t bother Eddie too much. It’s not like they are really friends, they’re just like, strange acquaintances. And Steve would never deny that they get along, that really Eddie’s ‘not so bad’. So that’s a win.

Steve finds Eddie again not long after the party to buy some more weed, a plan that sparked purely out of boredom. Eddie says yes, of course, but tells him if he wants it today he will need to wait till after school and meet Eddie at his place, since he was busy. So Steve takes a trip to the Munson trailer to make his deal. Eddie invites him inside and they sit together on the couch as he gets Steve’s bag ready. They end up making quite pleasant conversation, joking around and ultimately finding they are really enjoying each other’s company. They enjoy it so much so, that Steve ends up smoking there, with Eddie. So now they are kind of like, hanging out? And it’s fun, so they do it again. Still they’re not, friends friends, they just get along. Eddie just sells Steve weed sometimes and they keep it civil.

He doesn’t hear from Steve for a while, and the next time he sees him it’s from a distance, in passing. The man has the most roughed up face Eddie has ever seen, bruised and swollen in multiple areas, stitches and bandages all over. It’s really, concerning? completely metal, but alarming. This is the second time Eddie has seen the guy all beaten up like that. He knew that boys fight, but surely not that bad? As worried as he was, Eddie doesn’t approach him to ask questions, because they don’t know eachother like that. So he goes on about his day, and he doesn’t see Steve again after that for quite some time.

Then it’s summer, Eddie isn’t graduating again, and he’s not really sure what to do with himself over the break. The new mall has just opened up, and there’s a cool music store up on the second floor that he likes to visit sometimes with his band friends. And wouldn’t you know, working at the Scoops Ahoy located directly across from his favourite store, is Steve Harrington. The guy hasn’t come to Eddie for any weed since last year, and then there was that sighting where he looked like he’d just fallen face first into a flying fist or two, so it’s been a minute since Eddie’s seen him. And he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a nice surprise. He only goes into scoops once. He’s curious, okay? Sue him. And, he knows the girl who works with him, Robin. So he plays it off like he had no idea he’d see Steve there. And to his surprise, Steve actually acknowledges him. He doesn’t act like Eddie is a total stranger just because they’re not in school anymore. The interaction is quick, they make very casual conversation, Eddie says hi to Robin, grabs his milkshake and goes home. That’s all. He doesn’t go back, and he doesn’t really plan to. Steve’s nice, and he knows Eddie’s around if he needs to buy from him again, and that’s really as far as their relationship goes. That’s all it ever was. It’s been fun getting to know Steve Harrington a little bit better, even if it was just for a short time. Eddie liked having the chance to see in past the quaffed hair and pressed polo shirts to learn that Steve was really just a person under it all. He never thought he’d say it, but Harrington wasn’t so bad. It was a nice little eye opening experience for Eddie.

Eddie was ready to write off his little blips of interaction with Steve Harrington as a thing of the past, no hard feelings, and move on with his life. That is, until he gets a knock at his front door in the middle of the night afew days after the big mall fire. And it’s Steve on the other side. And he looks awful, his face is the worst Eddie’s ever seen it. And he wasn’t really knocking, more like pounding. He says he needs Eddie’s help.

What the fuck?

[honeyglee]

eddie: well, if you ever want to talk or anything, i’ll always be inside you.

steve: uhh?

eddie: *screams* i mean, beside you! not— not that! beside you!

steve: ……well, if you’re offering….