#Bucky Barnes Angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rentenier3148 · 5 days ago

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I Tried Not to Love You

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: You're an ex Avenger turned legislative assistant at the same time your ex boyfriend turned congressman. After avoiding him for years, Bucky calls you one night and asks for help. When a black void threat plunges the team, not only are you fighting the world—but also the versions of yourself you tried to forget.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warning: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, So... so much angst, ex boyfriend and congressman Bucky (yes, it needs it's own warning), PTSD with a dark past, mentions of violence but nothing graphic, no use of y/n, not proofread

A.N: I did say I want to write something for Loki which is in the works! But I had to get this out of my head after watching Thunderbolts. Requests are open! I'll gladly make more!

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“Are you kidding me, Barnes?” You tell him frustrated over the phone pinching your nose bridge.

You’re sitting at home munching on some grapes you had in a bowl while you reviewed some pending bills waiting to be signed on your lap. The TV is on with a movie playing that you stopped paying attention to. It’s just some background noise to disturb the silence.

“I need someone who won’t flinch.” He said on the other line.

You haven’t talked to Bucky in years, you tried avoiding him after your break up. Until you found out he was running for congress at the same time you became a legislative assistant. Then the gala came that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine hosted is where you—unfortunately, but quite amusingly—encountered him again.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

The tux he wore made you gasp slightly and stand still for a good few seconds. He saw you eye him down and a small softness glazed over his face that nobody else would notice but you. Then you both looked away at the same time.

When you stood before the big ‘A’ he walked beside you. Quite frankly you didn’t notice him while you were reminiscing of your past as an Avenger. Maybe your keen assassin senses were starting to lack, or maybe his super soldier stealth was too good for you to catch up. You two were always butting heads about that.

“Didn’t think I would see you here.” He told you softly, he glanced my way but I stayed looking at the ‘A’. He pulled you out of whatever memory was playing in your head, and now you’re back to reality.

“Only here for the hors d’oeuvres and also my boss wanted me to gather information on others for an impeachment of someone.” You said with a sigh, like you were exhausted.

Bucky’s ears perked up. “Impeachment of who?” He asked but quieter this time. Hiding the fact he already knows who the suspected person is.

“It’s none of your business. Besides, why are you talking to me, congressman Barnes?” I say finally looking at him. I furrow my eyebrows at him, hoping it would scare him off but to no avail.

“I can’t compliment you and your outfit tonight, sweetheart?” He smiles the smile that makes you cause a flutter in your stomach. You hated it.

“No.”

“Well, you look absolutely beautiful tonight.”

You stayed quiet with the scowl on your face that’s contradicting with the blush slowly coming up your cheeks.

“Look, I know we ended things on bad terms back then. But since we’re in the same job now—why not at least be a bit friendly?” Bucky asks gently this time. That smile is still plastered on his face.

“I'd be more friendly if I was your assistant, but I’m not—aren't I? Plus if I was, one of us would've been dead by now.”

“I would love to be killed by you, doll.” He says playfully. I’ve had enough of his smile and petnames already.

“You’re infuriating.” You say as you quickly turn around and walk away. You didn’t notice the biggest breath of air he let out and his smile faltering as he remembers how much he loved you.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“So… his name is Bob?” You ask. It almost sounds like a joke. On the other side of the line you hear a faint ‘Yeah, Bob.’ and a sigh from Bucky.

“... I’ll go.” You said after a moment. Bucky on the other side sort of hoped you didn’t agree so that you could stay safe. But he has no other option and really needed you to help him out.

“I’ll send you the coordinates so be prepared to leave soon,” he says until he goes softer, “thanks, by the way.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You both stayed on the line until you finally tell him that you’ll be on the way. You hang up on him and stare off at the TV huffing a big sigh. You cannot believe that you got yourself roped into this. But you needed a bit of excitement anyway.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You are currently sitting in the back of a van on the way to the old Avengers tower—now called the Watchtower—where it held many fond and sad memories. You feel an ache in your stomach the closer you get.

Bucky and a bigger and older—though probably not as old as Bucky—man who you met named Alexei sit in the front while Bucky drives. You can slightly overhear them talking about being super soldiers and what kind of ‘super serum’ each one got.

“I don't know. Regular? Hydra.”

It’s an awkward silence between everyone else that you briefly met. You try to look anywhere else but at the others, but you guess the ceiling is quite appealing.

“How do you know Bucky?” Asks the blonde short haired girl. Yelena you faintly remember. You were best friends with her sister, Natasha. Yelena sought comfort in you after she died trying to find some type of closure. But you don’t think you helped her out much with that, and you get the sense she still feels the same way.

“We fought together when we were in the Avengers.” You intentionally kept it short and sweet. Yelena slightly squints her eyes at you—probably sensing I’m hiding more. A lot more.

The man with an odd copycat uniform of Steve’s Captain America suit—John—barks a short chuckle with a small shake to his head. You’re confused by his reaction.

A soft hum of acknowledgement from the other girl in the much cooler uniform comes out of her—Ava you think—until you crash into the tower.

You all get out of the van and start fighting the OXE group soldiers.

Then someone’s voice overhead speaks. It’s Valentina. She says that she intentionally left the doors unlocked and was expecting us. You watch Bucky headbutt a soldier as they hit the ground, making you slightly jump at the sight.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

Bucky’s arm is broken off as he is hauled to the wall. Bob—or Sentry as he is referred to now—sees you and comes towards you. You don’t know if it’s because of how terrified you are or because he is too quick, but he seemingly appears behind you and grabs your neck. Cutting off your oxygen supply and throws you hard against the wall making everything in your vision a bit blurry and feeling lightheaded.

You lift your head and see Bucky’s metal arm being picked up at the same time you are lifted by your feet and stumbling quickly to the elevator. The lights in the elevator are so bright that you don’t notice that Bucky was holding your side, gripping hard enough to not let you fall but supple enough to not hurt you further.

You all stumble out of the elevator and into the streets. The heated arguments commence between each other while you try your best to catch your breath. With your eyebrows knitted together, you take a look at Bucky as he reattaches his arm and does that swing thing to get it working again.

How it still makes your stomach flutter, but your emotions are so strong that you don’t notice.

“Are you okay?” He says to me with concern.

“James, what the hell was that?” You scold. “I didn’t agree to this, I agreed to help you get Bob and take down Valentina. Not almost die.”

“I… didn’t think this would happen.” he looks at me solemnly, a hint of regret behind that sentence.

“Yeah, like how you didn’t think I would be hurt after what you said that night.” You are full on angry and seeing red at this point.

It was bound to happen that you and him were to eventually work together. But not like this. You expected an office, writing memos and debate about the tax increase on produce. Quick, simple, and nothing more. This was more than that, and you were livid. Along with the past starting to resurface.

“What does that have to do with what’s going on now?” His eyebrows are now furrowed. By this point, everyone else had already walked away, you both were the only ones left in front of the tower.

“Oh, it has everything to do with what’s going on now. I really didn’t want to be part of this at all. And I really didn’t want to see you at the gala, much less have you talk to me. I wanted to never see you again because you let me go that night and I wanted so badly for you to come chasing after me… and yet you didn’t.”

A beat.

“I want to hate you so bad… but I can’t bring myself to do that sometimes…” you grew quieter with your head starting to hang low and your eyes staring at the concrete.

Bucky stood there listening to me. His eyebrows slowly unfurrowing and a sigh comes out of his mouth.

“I didn’t want to let you go that night. I couldn’t chase after you either, I thought that you didn’t want me around anymore. At the gala, you looked so stunning that I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t resist how beautiful you looked. I thought things were okay and that maybe I could fix things.” He spoke softly, as if he slightly raised his voice that you would disappear.

“Well obviously they aren’t okay. Especially now.” You huffed out, you looked up at him to fully see his sorrowful expression.

A quiet wave came over the both of you.

“I’m sorry, doll.”

“A bit late for that.”

Then suddenly a suspicious overcast started looming over you. You both look up with a squint and see a floating black figure, It’s hard to recognize who it is at all. Even the outfit and cape the figure wore was pitch black.

You see the figure stretch out their arm and slowly a black starts emerging from the ground. The moment it touched a person, it was just a shadow.

A panic crashes into you as you see people running, cars are crashing into each other, and a helicopter crashes into a building. The rubble starts falling, you and Bucky immediately run to rescue any standbyers who were about to be crushed.

Bucky saves an elderly couple by a car flying towards them with his metal arm sending the car flying over. I speed over to a little girl to grab her away from the falling rubble.

The blackness is starting to creep closer and closer.

From the corner of your eye, you see John trying to hold up a large piece of rubble from a mother and baby. You go over and try to hold it up as well, then everyone who had swarmed off came to help. Bucky was the last to join, you sensed his reluctance.

After saving the mother and baby, the six of you head over to find cover under an alcove in a building.

The blackness is quickly spreading, turning more and more people into shadows. You lean against the wall looking down at the ground, wondering what can be done. This is basically impossible, there’s no way to fight a thing that can turn people into shadows.

You’re taken out of your trance to see Yelena step out to confront the being. You stare off in shock when she's turned into a shadow. Something hits you on the inside which makes you realize what needs to be done—or perhaps a guess at trying to fix it.

You step out and follow Yelena’s footsteps immediately turning into a shadow.

You didn’t hear when Bucky cried out your name thinking that you had just made a suicidal decision.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You jolt awake, looking around your surroundings. You recognize it too well.

You’re standing in the warehouse of your first mission during your youth.

The organization was a hybrid between the Red Room and Hydra, it essentially was the worst of the worst. Training you and rehabilitating you to become their most perfect assassin. Potentially becoming better than their Winter Soldier program and the girls who were trained in the Red Room.

You stood with a pistol in your hand that’s aimed at the temple of your older sister. You remember that your age didn’t hit double digits yet while your sister just turned ten. Your sister is on her knees with her hands tied behind your back. Your job was to execute your family to prevent you from being held back and expressing empathy.

Your sister pleaded your name and cried to let her go. You did not want to remember anything else so you merely closed your eyes as you heard the ‘bang’ that little you produced from the pistol. Your breathing staggers, then you open your eyes.

The same scene is repeated. You go over and grab hold of the gun to stop little you from doing anything else.

“Don’t do this, please.”

“You’re in my way, you need to leave!” Little you squeaks, quickly positioning the gun to your face and pulling the trigger.

You seemingly open your eyes again to turn and see the same scene repeat again. Before doing anything else, you see an open door with a white light emitting from the other side. You run towards it and step through.

As you step through, you open another door. You looked back and it looks like you stepped out of a small storage closet with the warehouse completely gone. You look around and it’s your room back at the Avengers compound.

You see ahead of you the scene play out. Past you and past Bucky in the most heated argument you’ve ever had. You look outside the large panned windows of your room and recognize it’s night time.

It’s that night.

“I can’t believe you did that shit! Are you too stuck in your Winter Soldier ways? Is that why you turned on me?” Past you scolded.

“You know I had no choice, you would do the same if you were in my position. I know how blood thirsty you can be…” He says with a scowl. You notice the blood stained knuckles past Bucky has and past you’s hair was slightly damp from sweat and stress.

“I’m not as bloody thirsty as you, Winter Soldier.” Past you leaned closer with her finger pointing into his chest.

“Winter Soldier or not, I would’ve murdered you on the spot if I wanted to… And I really did.” Past Bucky said with no remorse. Not even a change of expression, from your perspective you could see a hint of Winter Soldier peeking through his pupils.

Past you was mortified at his emotionless retort. With a small breath in, she looked deep into his eyes and said those words that you—and possibly her—never thought you would ever say in your life.

“I’m done with you.”

With that, past you storm out of your room slamming the door. You watch past Bucky bury his face in his and a long breath comes out of his mouth.

He didn’t go chasing after past you.

A single tear also falls from your face. You feel a presence slightly behind you. You quickly turn around and see it’s Bucky.

Your Bucky.

You can’t contain it anymore and the flood gates open. A hitch escapes from you from the sight of him. Bucky comes over and holds you so tight as if the entire world depended on it.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky whispers so gently. You cry into his chest, unable to produce any other word. But you feel like Bucky understood what you wanted to say.

The scene starts repeating itself. Neither of us could help to look at it again. It was already too painful to experience it a second time.

“I found a way outta here.” He tells you once you started to calm down. You look up at him and see a few tears falling from his eyes as he wipes yours away. His hand stays there a bit longer cupping your cheek and you both give in to a kiss.

It was deep and emotional that it almost made you cry again. You missed this so much, you’re certain that he does as well since his hands didn’t leave your face. Cradling you so soft and so warm, despite his cold vibranium hand and his flesh one.

It feels like eternity when you both finally separate. Bucky’s hands graces down your neck to your shoulders, however the vibranium hand is the one that holds one of yours to guide you to the supposed exit out of this nightmarish memory.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You wake up on the ground all sprawled out. Your head is pounding with a fading memory. The last thing you remember was holding back Bob from beating up his ‘Void’ with everyone else holding on as well.

Also when we all reunited within the ‘Void’ someone asked about how our pasts were and Bucky said a sarcastic comment. “Oh I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.” or something along those lines with that stupid smirk he sometimes gives.

You slowly gather yourself up and push your hair out of your face. You notice everyone else is getting up as well, then you see Bucky. You both embrace and lips crash. The moment was shortened when you overhear the others checking in on Bob who’s no longer the other ‘him’.

Turns out, he doesn’t remember a thing and is just happy to know that he’s back with his friends.

You all spot Valentina Allegra de Fontaine getting up from the rubble. We walk up towards her as she tries to defend herself and walks behind a plastic sheet. From behind it, we are encountered with the press. The flashing lights and shuttering noise of the cameras overwhelm you that you don’t even hear Valentina introducing the lot of you as the ‘New Avengers’.

But you do see Yelena going up to Valentina and whisper something in her ear—a potential threat—as she falters slightly.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“I don’t think Avengers with a ‘Z’ is gonna cut it…” You say concerningly to Alexei.

“It’s so soft too! It feels like the bottom of a baby seal. ‘Lena touch it.” Alexei proclaims in his new ‘Avengerz’ jumpsuit as he walks to Yelena and stretches out his arm inviting her to feel the… softness.

“No. I don’t want to touch the bottom of a baby seal.” Yelena sternly says without looking up at him.

You sigh and lay back on the couch. You never would have thought that Sam—of all people—would have a lawsuit against us. He is Bucky’s closest confidant and someone he considers as family. You’re sure that Bucky feels a little backstabbed by all this.

You glance up at Bucky, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks down in deep thought. You place your hand on his lower back and draw circles of comfort on them. Bucky looks back at you and gives you a small kiss. This—unfortunately—catches the attention of Alexei.

“Wait, since when did you and him become… a thing?” He points between us trying to connect the pieces together.

“Since last year right? Our anniversary was a few months ago.” You say calmly while Bucky tries to—very poorly—hide his gentle smile.

“Months?!” Everyone says in unison.

You draw an awkward smile at everyone with a prolonged “Yeah…” and a giggle right after.

“So there was more of a history between you two, huh?” Yelena confidently says. Her suspicions a year ago were proven correct.

“A lot more history.” Bucky quietly says looking back at you confirming his statement. You just softly nod back with a hum.

“Wonder when we’ll know the rest…” Ava says quietly.

Silence hits the room, until the suction of Bob’s milkshake ignites a lightbulb in your brain. You stand up immediately.

“You know, if Sam is going to file a lawsuit against us he’s gonna have a good lawyer with him.”

Everyone chimes in, intrigued but confused at what you’re trying to say.

You start pacing the room with a finger on your chin, Bucky could probably see the gears turning extra hard.

“That means we’re gonna need a lawyer.”

“Well duh, how else is this supposed to go down? We represent ourselves?” John retorts to you while fiddling with the unlabeled buttons of his chair.

“I think that wouldn’t go well if we did, you know… since my other ‘me’ did that last year… um, yeah.” Bob says out loud from his secluded spot, then returns to drinking his milkshake.

Your pacing stops as you look at everyone in the room, a devious smirk spreads your cheeks. Bucky also smirks, but you don’t think he has the same idea as you do.

“I know a lawyer… a really good lawyer…”

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

I really love all the engagement on my series so far! I promise I'll return to it soon. If you want to be tagged, just comment or pm me and I'll add you. Thanks for reading!! <3

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outoftheseine · 26 days ago

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- BUCKY BARNES FIC RECS 4 -

i’m so obsessed with catws!bucky you have no idea | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. torture and ptsd. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part one | part two | part three | main masterlist | also check my latest list: matt murdock pt 2

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the blade and the crown • knight!bucky barnes x queen!reader

↳ by @fandoms-writings (smut, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, secret relationship)

avoidance | chaos | strangers | power • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @ultralightpoe (angst, hurt/comfort, tw: ptsd)

illicit affairs • biker!bucky barnes x stark!reader

↳ by @auroralwriting (enemies to lovers, age gap, angst, gangs)

between a dream | part two | part three • tws!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bcksbarnes (angst, comfort, fluff)

before i could say it • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @fawniswriting (angst, fluff, insecure!bucky)

lessons in lovemaking • bucky barnes x blackwidow!reader

↳ by @artficlly (smut, touch starved!bucky, fluff, angst, bickering, tw: trauma, sa)

foundations • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @vunblr (dad!bucky, fluff, a little angsty, smut)

not in that way • bucky barnes x fwb!gn!reader

↳ by @jaggedamethyst (smut, mutual pining, miscommunication, angst, fluff)

say don’t go • college!hockey!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @the-winter-spider (angst, mean!bucky, pining, smut)

wake up | part two | part three • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @marvelstoriesepic (very angsty)

the falcon, the winter soldier and static • bucky barnes x stark!reader

↳ by @theconstantsidekick

quiet down | stay quiet • roommate!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @adrinktostopyourthirst (smut)

the soldier’s keeper • bucky barnes x doctor!reader | soldat (part of the universe)

by @pome-seed (angst, kidnapping)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

be(tter) in reality with me • bucky barnes x pregnant!fem!reader

↳ by @t-lostinworlds (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

dear lover • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @johnkrrasinski (very fluffy, slight angst)

my girl • domestic!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucket-barnes (very fluffy)

the cure • bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @/bucky-bucket-barnes (very angsty, hurt/comfort, slowburn, fluff)

fast track • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @sidmakestuff (angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, insecure!bucky, little explicit)

the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (angst, tw: harassment)

for as long as you need me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @whatthetumblfck (fluff, hurt/comfort)

worthy • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @duuhrayliegh (fluff)

softened by time • bucky barnes x gn!reader

↳ by @heyitsme1040 (domestic fluff)

his girl • bucky barnes x enchanced!reader

↳ by @roguerogerss (fluff)

enemies • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @ro-is-struggling (angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to friends, tw: trauma)

the same thing • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @appocalipse (angst with happy ending)

rest had seemed the sweetest thing • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @violentdelightsandviolentends (sooo fluffy)

i know you • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @oneofstarkskids (angst, fluff)

road trip • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @munsster (fluff, a little angst)

come find me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (angst, hurt/comfort)

mercy kill • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (very angsty)

unspoken • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @maevedoodle (comfort, nightmares, fluff)

sweet like plums • cw!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @mandoalorian (smut)

summer breeze • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @orithyia-eriphyle (very fluffy, hurt/comfort)

safe space • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @helaintoloki (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, tw: ptsd, trauma, torture)

echos • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @brokenbarnes (very angsty but fluffy end, hurt/comfort)

trouble • bucky barnes x fem!reader /

↳ by @marvelwitchergilmore (enemies to lovers, fluff, fake dating)

a place to land • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @cheekybarnes (angst, comfort, tw: sexual violence, ptsd)

lost for words • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @daxisyzz (fluff)

his girls • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @artficlly (very fluffy, secret dating)

lovesick • bucky barnes x maximoff!reader

↳ by @ang3ltine (fluff, little angsty, tw: torture)

sparing you • beefy!bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader

↳ by @sergeantbarnessdoll (fluff, slight angst)

love bruises • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @multiversediaries (very soft, fluffy, domestic!buck, a little smutty)

hole in the earth• bucky barnes x mutant!fem!reader

↳ by @em1i2a3 (smut, angst, age gap, hurt/comfort, tw: panic attacks)

only you, doll • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @billionairebratenergy (fluff, kind of possessive!bucky)

home with you • roommate!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @marvelstoriesepic (oh so fluffy, lots of pining)

creamy or crunchy • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @marvelstoriesepic (so so so fluffy, protective!bucky)

mission mishap • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader

↳ by @mugglebornmarvelite (hurt/comfort, fluff)

bruised shadows • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @happy74827 (slight angst, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine)

what you do to him • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @xxthelovelyopossumiixx (domestic, smut)

scars to your beautiful • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @buckybarnesandmarvel (insecure!bucky, comfort)

blurred lines • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @ellemj (smut, angst, enemies to lovers, jealous,possessive!bucky, one bed trope)

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wbellab · 6 days ago

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Therapy session | J. Bucky Barnes

this could be read as a standalone or a part 2 of Busy Woman.

summary: after a chaotic mission, you end up attending a therapy session with bucky trying to mend up your relationship. this seems to have worsen up everything.

pairing: tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

cw: angsssst, therapy session, inspired by sambucky session in tfatws, graphic violence, some fluff (crumbles and bits)

3.1 k words

"Alright, Dr Raynor." You stated, more like a question and she nodded. "I get why you want me to talk to freaky magoo over here. But I’m a hundred per cent fine."

You definitely were not fine.

After the failed mission, Sam had dragged both you and Bucky to Baltimore in a failed attempt to get information from a former super soldier. That went about as well as expected. Meaning not at all. And to top it off, Bucky got arrested for skipping therapy.

But the real question was: why were you sitting there with him now?

There’s a high chance that Sam had conveniently brought up the fact that your relationship with Bucky had become a bit rocky— not that you ever really got along. Either that, or the tension between you had been so thick it practically walked into the room before you did.

"It is my job to make sure you both are okay. Sam told me what happened, so yeah." Oh so you were right. "This may be slightly unprofessional but it’s the only way that I can see you getting over whatever’s eating at you."

"This is ridiculous." You muttered.

"Yeah i agree."

"Okay we’re going to do an exercise. It’s something I use with couples when they’re trying to figure what kind of life they’re trying to build together." You let out a snort, not out of amusement but irony. Bucky just rolled his eyes.

"Are you familiar with the miracle question ?"

"I don’t think it’s necessar-" Bucky started but you cut him off.

"No I’m not. What is it ?"

"Okay it goes like this. Suppose that while you are sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up what is something you would like to see that would make your life better ?"

With no surprise, Bucky was the first to answer the question.

"In my miracle, she would talk less."

"Is that why you threw me out of a moving truck asshole?"

"See what i mean." He turned to the therapist, which made you send a glare towards him.

"You both are leaving me with no choice. It’s time for the soul gazing exercise."

"I like this one."

"Oh thank you I love this."

"Oh you should really enjoy this." You told him, moving your chair so that you would be facing him.

"I’m going to."

"I know you are."

"Okay you both face each other." The therapist instructed.

"Let’s do it let’s stare."

"We get close this is a good exercise."

"Thanks doc." You muttered.

"Alright, good get close. Come on closer."

"Well which way you want to go, right or left ?"

"Why do you have your legs wide open. You want me to sit on your lap or what ? You know what, fine." You scooted forward, legs angling inward until your knee pressed between his—and his was between yours.

The position was awkward. Too awkward. You could feel the brush of his knee against your inner thigh, too high, too warm. And though you hated to admit it, you could’ve almost been aroused by it. If your anger toward him didn’t burn hotter than the tension.

"You happy now ?" You huffed, successfully concealing your flustered state—which Bucky hasn’t been able to hide.

He sat stiffly, visibly uncomfortable, like even the slightest movement might set something off. He hadn’t moved an inch since you got close. Shoulders tense, jaw tight, clearly unsure where to look. It would’ve been satisfying if you weren’t equally rattled beneath the surface.

"All right, good. That’s fine." The therapist tried to stop your banter.

"It’s a little close." He muttered.

"It’s very close that’s what you wanted right ?" You retorted aggressively.

"Guys,"you both stopped. "Now look at each other. You need to look at each other in the eyes," you stared right at his blue eyes, a frown on your face similar to his. "There you see that wasn’t so hard."

You just continued staring right in them. Your eyes squinted trying hard not to blink as he did the same back.

You were still mad, furious actually, that he tossed you out of the damn truck without a single word. Like you were just some reckless burden he couldn’t deal with a second longer. And now, you wanted him to feel that. Every ounce of your anger.

So you weren’t about to blink. Not once. Not until he squirmed. Not until he realized you weren’t going to let him off easy.

Probably childish but effective.

"Wait what are you doing ? Are you having a staring contest ?" When none of you responded she snapped her fingers, making you close your teary eyes. Dammit.

"Just blink. Sweet Jesus."

Bucky’s frown was still on his face as he stared at the doctor.

"All right, Bucky, why does she aggravate you ?" A smirk started forming on his lips. He could definitely think of a bunch of reasons why you aggravated him. And when he was about to mention your current interest to his ass, Doctor Raynor cut him off. "And don’t say something childish."

Bucky’s smirk faltered and he let out a frustrated breathe. His jaw clenched as he started thinking, the muscle twitching like he was holding something back. For a second, he looked like he might drop it entirely. But then he sighed, tired of carrying the question around in silence.

"Why are you always flirting with me?" he asked quietly, almost too quietly. It wasn’t sarcastic. It wasn’t bitter. It was genuine, and that made it worse. There was a flicker of something raw behind his eyes, like he hated that he even had to ask. He sounded insecure and he hated it.

 "Oh my god is this what it is all about?" You dryly chuckle. "Why are you making such a big deal out of something so insignificant ?"

"Do you flirt with Bucky to push his buttons ?" The therapist chimed in, a bit more interested in the direction the conversation was flowing.

You rolled your eyes. What is it with all these weird questions ?

"I flirt with him because I like him. The button pushing is just a bonus."

"Yeah. Of course you would." His voice was cold. Harsh and condescending. Every hint of amusement disappeared from your face. "Do you get a kick out of messing with people just for fun? You don’t get to flirt with people and then act like none of this matters. Like I’m just something to pass the time until you get bored. It’s fucking disgraceful. And I’m–"

He couldn’t bring himself to say more. You were staring right at him, a frown on your face. How could he bring himself to explain what he was feeling out loud?

Bucky couldn’t believe you. He wouldn’t believe that you simply liked him. This was too simple of an explanation for someone like him. Someone that did horrible things couldn’t be wanted in the first place.

And it wasn’t just his own insecurities getting through him.

No. This was anchored in his brain, as if a small cognitive part of it told him this wasn’t possible. That every small moment of kindness was a lie he wasn’t allowed to believe in. Someone like him don’t get the girl, not really. Not without her regretting it later.

Another part of his brain told him your boldness and playfulness were just a reflection of the value you had of him, insignificant. You were messing with him, knowing Bucky would fall for you.

And how could he not ? You did everything to make him. When you were so insistent with him, bold, charismatic and funny. Clingy and affectionate. You were everything he had been craving since he came back from Hydra. There was absolutely no universe in which James Buchanan Barnes wouldn’t have fallen for you.

"Don’t act like this is real. It’s unfair." He said more softly.

You couldn’t believe what you just heard. It wasn’t mean, not exactly but this was as if. You couldn’t believe you ever let yourself fall for someone like him. He never really understood you.

What you felt in that moment was a deep, gut-punch kind of hurt.

Being told it all meant nothing. That your affection was careless or meaningless. This all shattered something fragile inside you. Everything you ever said or did, thinking it was sweet or meaningful felt exposed, misunderstood. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place, something you’d been too oblivious to see or too hopeful to admit.

He would never like, never reciprocate the feelings.

This wasn’t just romantic rejection. It was emotional rejection. He hadn’t just dismissed your feelings, he’d rejected the way you showed your love to him. And that hit harder than anything else. It was humiliating to care so much, and be accused of the exact opposite.

With a final sigh, you told yourself this would be all over. You were done being taken for a fool.

"You know what’s really unfair? You dismissing my fucking feelings when I have been displaying them so obviously." You bit back, scooting your chair away from him, when you noticed the proximity you still had. "Maybe this is something you would never understand and I’m so done making a fool out of myself just for you to not get the signals." You snapped. Breathe in, breathe out. You turned to the doctor, glaring at her like she'd personally orchestrated this mess. She did nothing wrong but she was the reason why you were here, trapped in this room, sitting across from him. And right now, that was enough.

You didn’t even have the sense to feel guilty for it. Not with the way your chest burned. Not after everything that had gone unsaid.

"You know what Doc I don’t have time for this. We have some real serious shit going on. So how about this, I will squash it, right now. We’re gonna deal with this and when we’re done we’ll go on long separate vacations. And never see each other again."

"Yeah." He sighed, he did not want you to squash it. He wanted to talk, to understand. "I like that." He lied.

"Great then let’s get to work." You turned to the therapist. "Thanks doc for making it weird. I feel so much better. See you outside." You rolled your eyes, stomping to the door. This was a total mess.

"Thank you." She answered, but you were already gone. She turned to Bucky. "That was really great. You’re doing better at expressing your emotions. Maybe next time, we’ll work on the dating part." He completely ignored her, standing up to leave before being interrupted by her. "I know that look." She stared at him as if she would see right through him. "You’re pushing her away."

He ignored what she said once again. "What was rule number two again ?"

"Don’t hurt anyone." She simply answered.

"Goodbye doc."

This session did not help your case. It was worse and Sam noticed.

"So how did it go ?" He asked you once you were out.

"Get lost." You muttered, going through the door to leave the police station.

Sam turned to Bucky who left the room a few seconds after you, noticing the gloomy stare on his face.

"I get that it did not go as well as expected."

"Oh fuck off."

"Ok guys I don’t know what happened in this room but you need to deal with it like right now before we enter Madripoor."

"There’s nothing wrong. I’m totally fine, let’s deal with the more important matters." You scoffed

"If I may say–"

"Shut up."

"Please don’t."

You and Bucky said at the same time. Zemo raised an eyebrow but wisely chose silence, folding his hands behind his back. It had barely been three hours since Bucky busted him out of prison, and those three hours had already been filled with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The fallout of that decision had led to a heated argument between you and Bucky, and the aftermath still lingered, electric and unspoken, hovering just beneath the surface.

And this tension would linger for days.

"You should fuck the tension off. Worked well with my wife." Zemo mentioned once in the jet.

"That’s what I told them." Sam grumbled, it seemed like it was the only thing he agreed about with Zemo.

You and Bucky both turned to glare at him in unison.

This was hard. The comments, all the underlying tension. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, let alone to anyone else but you hadn’t moved on. Not really. It still hurt to think about it. Not in a loud, obvious way but in a slow, aching kind that sat in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

 It was over before it ever began. That was the part that stung the most.

You kept your eyes off him. Avoided looking. You didn’t know if he was watching you, and you didn’t care anymore. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The mission was done. You had stopped the Flash Smaggers’ attack on New York. You’d won.

And yet.

You noticed how close Sam and Bucky had become. You also noticed how far you’d drifted, not just from Sam, but from everyone. Two months. No calls returned. No contact. Just silence. You were alone again. Like before. And somehow, that felt almost familiar. Pathetic, but familiar.

Your boots hit the pavement in steady, silent steps. You were walking nowhere. Just moving.

And then you felt it, the presence behind you. Subtle, careful. But not careful enough. You’d clocked them almost thirty minutes ago. You were trained for this. So you led them here in a dark alley, bad angles.

You pressed your back to the cold brick wall, waited. As soon as the figure passed the corner, you struck. Knife in hand, aiming for the throat.

But they were faster. The blade never made it.

 You felt cold metal clamp around your wrist, stopping you mid-motion. Bucky. Of course.

You didn’t hesitate. If anything, that just made you angrier.

You slammed your heel into his solar plexus. He faltered, loosened his grip, and your wrist slipped free. In one fluid motion, you ducked low, sweeping for his legs. But he was already moving.

Instead, he grabbed your jacket, yanked you forward, and slammed you against the wall with a thud that echoed.

You retaliated immediately, headbutting him hard bone cracking against bone. He staggered, blood running from his nose, and you used the opening to punch him in the stomach.

But before it could collide, he grabbed your wrist, and twisted it back. But you twisted with him, using the momentum to slam your elbow into his ribs again and shove him into the wall.

He gripped your waist, lifted you, and threw you to the ground. Hard.

You hit the concrete with a grunt, For a second, something flickered in his expression, concern, hesitation. And that split-second lapse was all you needed. You kicked upward, catching him in the thigh, rolling to your feet before he could pin you.

You were breathing hard now, both of you bruised, dirt and blood smeared across your clothes, faces cut and scraped from the pavement.

"Stop following me. You think you can just toss me out of a truck, dismiss my feelings and then follow me like nothing happened?" you snarled, your leg connected with the back of his knee to destabilize him. "You don’t get to throw me away literally and come running when you feel like it."

He stumbled back, but he caught himself. "You’re the one who disappeared."

You didn’t even wait. You slammed your elbow to his throat, driving him into the alley wall with a loud thud.

"Because you made it clear I meant nothing to you!"

"I did not mean to hurt you." he spat back, shoving you off him roughly. "You think any of this is easy for me?"

"I don’t care if it’s easy!" You shoved again, fists pounding at his chest now. "You said I toyed with you. You said I didn’t care. You made me feel like I was some stupid little girl who couldn’t take this seriously—"

"You think I don’t feel anything?" His voice cracked, but not out of emotion. Out of sheer frustration. "I was lost and I couldn’t understand you. I was trying to protect you!"

"By humiliating me? By making me feel like shit? You don't get to act like some noble idiot now, Bucky. You’re not the victim."

He lunged again, catching your wrists, holding them against the wall this time. Not gently.

"You think I’m not aware of that?" his voice was low in your ear. "I know I’m screwed up. I know what people see when they look at me. So forgive me if I don’t believe it when someone like you pretends to give a damn."

Your breathing was ragged. The tension between you was suffocating.

"Get your hands off me," you whispered.

He didn’t move. "Say you didn’t mean it."

"What?"

"All the flirting. The drunk night. The things you said. Say you didn’t mean any of it."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. But you didn’t say a word.

That silence was enough.

He let go of you like your skin burned him, and took two steps back.

The distance felt a hell of a lot colder than the fight.

"I was cruel," he said quietly.

"You were," you answered, not softening it for him.

And he nodded, like he knew you would say that. Like he needed to hear it.

“It wasn’t about you,” he said. "But I made it about you. I made you pay for the shit in my head, and that’s on me."

"I no longer care." You lied.

"Please come back." His hand grabbed you arm, softly now. You let him guide you towards him. Although you stayed impassive.

"No. James don’t."

He ignored you and caressed the bruise that was forming on your forehead.

"I’m sorry." He muttered. You couldn’t tell if he meant the bruise or everything else—but your throat tightened anyway.

You frowned, eyes stinging, and before you could stop yourself, everything that you’ve been bottling up had exploded. Tears spilled over and he saw it.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he could keep the world out.

"It’s okay. I’ve got you." He muttered, his hand stroking your hair.

You sank into him, both of you slowly lowering to the ground. He followed without letting go, holding you as tightly as he could while you cried against his chest.

"You deserve better, doll."

"I don’t–" Your choked on a sob. And he only pulled you tighter.

"We’ll figure it out. I’m not letting you go again."

Dirtied, bloodied, bruised. You both looked wrecked. And somehow, in the thick of it all, you decided to believe him. To start over.

Not with promises. Not with pretty words. But with this—his arms around you, your tears on his shirt, and the silence that didn’t need to be filled.

That was how it would begin: in the comfort of the chaos. Not clean, not easy. But real.

a/n: i was about to separate this one and make a part 3 but i m on my exam period so it was either binge writing it or never finishing it. Thank you for everyone all of you I truly appreciate that you liked the first part !

@vxllys @seventeen-x @softpia @just-a-little-awkward @am-3-thyst @freshfreakoaftrash @awinchester83 @stars4birdie @ladyliloslife @starstruckfirecat @hannahbanannax @genlovesdcb @fandomsearcherforcuntymen

@astermwah @spaceunicorn293 @inloveallthetime @bigteefsmallbrain @oceanaroma @winchestert101 @thatgirljas13

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barns imagine #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel one shot #the winter soldier #tfatws #tfatws fanfiction #the falcon and the winter soldier #thunderbolts*#sebastian stan

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ama3003 · 6 days ago

Text

Everything's Just Perfect

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“So…” John groaned, slumping against a cracked brick wall. Blood trickled from a cut near his hairline, and ash streaked his jaw like war paint. He held up what was left of his shield — warped, twisted, folded . “What now? Because we just got annihilated.”

“No shit,” Ava muttered, spitting dust from her mouth and flicking a burned scrap of fabric from her sleeve. Her split lip had swollen, and she could feel bruises blooming across her ribs. “I say every man for themselves. Bob’s gone full horror movie. This was fun — goodbye.”

She turned into the lingering smoke, already half-vanished — until Yelena’s voice cut through like a knife.

“We can’t leave him.”

Ava stopped, shoulders stiff. “Leave who? That wasn’t Bob back there. That was... I don’t even know what that was.” She turned, folding her arms. “Definitely not the guy who saved us.”

“No,” Yelena said, voice tight. “But he’s still in there. Somewhere.”

“Unless one of you has a secret anti-god laser in your back pocket,” Ava snapped, “what exactly is your plan?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Yelena admitted, stepping forward anyway. “But we’re not leaving him. Not like this.”

Alexei groaned and collapsed dramatically onto a half-shattered bench, which cracked under his weight. “If we go back in there, I need... at least ten minutes. And a cortisone shot. Maybe a priest.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Let me stretch, drink some water, and then we finish him.”

“We’re not finishing him,” Yelena snapped, rounding on him. “We’re going to help him.”

“Oh sure,” Ava muttered. “We’ll just hug the powers out of him.”

“He ripped Bucky’s arm off like it was a doll’s toy,” Alexei added. “We go in like this, we die.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered as he calmly snapped the vibranium prosthetic back into place with a click. “Happens more than you think.”

John held up his bent shield, his face still a mix of shock and mild heartbreak. “He folded it. I mean—folded it. Like paper. Do you know what kind of force it takes to bend this thing?”

Ava raised a brow. “So… not vibranium?”

“It’s vibranium-adjacent,” John muttered defensively.

Yelena didn’t even look at him. “Maybe if it was actual vibranium, it wouldn’t look like a gas station burrito.”

Alexei lit up. “I could go for a burrito. Or a taco. The ones with the cheese in the middle. Mmm. I want that now.”

John groaned. “Focus! We got curb-stomped by Bob! Bob! The shy nerdy one!"

“Yeah,” Ava said quietly, brushing ash from her arm. “He’s not shy or nerdy anymore.”

That shut them all up.

Bucky exhaled. They were beat to hell, and morale was tanking fast. But more than that, they were scared. And for good reason.

He looked at them — bruised, dirty, half-limping, yet still bickering like middle schoolers on a broken field trip — and made a decision he was definitely going to regret.

“There’s a place we can crash. It’s not far. We lay low, regroup. Heal. Then we figure out what the hell to do.”

Yelena eyed him suspiciously. “Where?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and started walking.

The group hesitated, then followed — slow and shuffling.

A few blocks in, Ava broke the silence again, jabbing a thumb at John’s mangled shield. “So… can’t you, like, unfold it? You’ve got super strength, right?”

“I have super strength,” John snapped. “Not unfold-a-shield-bent-by-a-living-deity strength. It’s toast.”

Alexei squinted. “Is that, like… covered under warranty? Or do you have to mail it back?”

John gave him a deadpan look. “Do I look like I kept a receipt?”

“And you—” he pointed at Ava “—Ghost. Can you even do anything right now or are you just brooding professionally?”

Ava raised her brow. “I walked through a wall and saved your sorry ass five hours ago.”

“She literally did,” Yelena added, smirking.

“I-oh. Right. I forgot,” John said, flustered. “In my defense, I was the one who cut the power so she could walk through the wall.”

“How convenient,” Ava said flatly.

Their argument began escalating again — nonsense mixed with sarcasm, interrupted only by Alexei trying to convince someone to buy him tacos — until Bucky turned sharply on his heel.

“Enough.” His voice was low, tired, and just sharp enough to cut through the noise. “We’re almost there. If you keep yelling, she’s not going to open the door.”

They all stopped short.

“She?” they echoed, suspicious in unison.

“Yes. She. No more questions.” He resumed walking, jaw clenched.

Yelena sidled up next to him, grinning like a cat. “Is this a she-she, or a capital-She situation?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Alexei leaned toward John with a conspiratorial whisper. “Is she a friend-friend or a friendly friend?”

John nodded sagely. “I bet she’s way out of his league.”

“Maybe she's his girlfriend,” Yelena offered with a shrug.

“Highly doubtful,” Ava muttered.

“She’s not my—” Bucky stopped mid-sentence, face twitching. “Just... shut up. All of you. Or I will let Bob use you as a jump rope.”

They finally quieted.

The townhouse appeared as they turned the corner. It was small, tucked between a dry cleaner and an old record shop. String lights framed the little balcony, and a warm golden glow spilled from the upstairs window. Too calm. Too normal. It looked like the kind of place where people had tea and talked about their feelings — not where half-dead super-soldiers crawled in to sleep off a cosmic ass-kicking.

Bucky stopped in front of the door, hesitating. His jaw tightened as he raised his fist, his metal fist hovering before he knocked.

He hated this.

He hated that he’d brought them here — hated the pit growing in his stomach — hated that this was the only safe place he could think of. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Not since they separated. And now he was dragging a human dumpster fire of a team to her doorstep.

Behind him, the others bickered in hushed tones.

“Does she cook?” “I hope she has a comfy couch.” “If she has tea, I’ll marry her.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Just for a second.

He almost turned around — almost told them it was a bad idea and they should just sleep in a sewer.

But then he heard footsteps approaching the door.

Too late.

The door creaked open slowly, and there you were.

Your eyes landed on Bucky first — bruised, dirt-streaked, arm slightly disjointed, and he was holding his ribs with one hand.

“Bucky,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Your gaze swept across him, and the flicker of worry that crossed your face was brief, but real.

Then it was gone.

“What do you want?” you asked. Not cold exactly, but not welcoming either. Just guarded.

Bucky looked down for a moment. His voice, when it came, was low. Worn. “I know I’m the last person you wanna see right now. But we need your help.”

“I don’t play superhero anymore,” you replied, arms folding as you leaned slightly against the doorframe.

“I know,” he said quickly, “I’m not asking you to suit up or anything. We just need a place to lay low. For a night. Maybe two. We got our asses handed to us like ten minutes ago.” He gestured to the group behind him, and your eyes drifted over the chaos on your porch.

“Please, doll,” he added, quieter now. “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

The silence stretched between you. He held your gaze, waiting — wounded pride barely masked beneath the plea.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders softening. Without a word, you stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Come in before the neighbors start watching.”

The team shuffled in, dragging in a trail of soot, broken egos, and exhaustion. Bucky paused as he stepped through, eyes flicking to the living room. It looked exactly like he remembered — warm, soft lighting, a shelf cluttered with books and candles. Homey. Safe.

Except the framed photos of you two were gone. Replaced by art. Abstract pieces. Beautiful, distant things.

Then something soft brushed against his leg.

He glanced down and froze.

A pristine white cat was weaving through his boots, its tail flicking with recognition. His expression shifted—stunned, tender.

“Hey, Alpine,” he murmured, crouching carefully. “Hi, pretty girl. I missed you.”

She meowed softly and launched into his arms, immediately purring as she burrowed into his chest. He cradled her like porcelain, one hand smoothing over her fur.

You watched from the kitchen threshold. You and Bucky had agreed Alpine would stay with you — your life was stable, his wasn’t. It had made sense. But it hadn’t been easy.

Behind Bucky, the team just… stared.

“Are you seeing this?” John whispered to Yelena.

Ava elbowed him without even looking. “Shut up.”

It was a surreal image: The Winter Soldier, dusty and battle-worn, cuddling a white fluffball like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You took in the rest of them. They were strangers, mostly. Strangers who looked like they'd crawled out of a battlefield and onto your rug.

The blonde woman leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing. The woman in the sleek suit by the door looked cool and dangerous in equal measure. Then there was the massive man in red. He smiled and gave a little wave when your eyes met. And then there was the guy with the folded shield and the “punch-me” face.

Bucky nodded toward the group. “Uh, yeah. That’s Yelena, Ava, Alexei, and... that’s John.”

They all gave awkward waves. Alexei’s was the most enthusiastic.

You nodded politely. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

They all looked like they were one nudge away from collapsing.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you offered.

“Water, please,” Yelena said quickly, her voice scratchy.

John raised his hand like a kid in class. “Same.”

Ava glanced at you, almost apologetic. “Do you have tea?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Anything.”

You turned to Alexei.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” he asked, hopeful.

“How strong?”

“Very strong.”

You smirked. “Got it.” Then disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment you were out of sight, all heads turned to Bucky — still petting Alpine, who had zero plans to move.

“So…” Yelena drawled. “You and her?”

Bucky tensed like someone lit a fuse in his spine.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

John leaned closer to Ava. “There’s definitely history here. Did you see the way she looked at him?”

“She also looked like she wanted to slam the door,” Ava replied.

“She likes him,” Alexei declared confidently. “There is affection. And the cat approved. Cats never lie.”

Bucky glared at all of them. “If you value your limbs, you’ll stop talking.”

Yelena held up both hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. No shipping the grumpy soldier. Got it.”

A few moments later, you returned balancing a tray with glasses, a mug of tea, and a tumbler of something amber.

“Bucky, seriously?” you said, seeing them all still hovering like awkward ghosts. “You could’ve told them to sit down.”

He shrugged, still holding the cat like a teddy bear. “Didn’t want to break anything.”

You waved the team toward the couches. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”

John and Yelena nearly collapsed into opposite ends of the same couch. Ava leaned against a windowsill, blowing gently on her tea. Alexei sniffed his drink, took a sip, then sat upright.

“You, my dear, are an angel,” he declared reverently. “Is this whiskey?”

“Only the best for unexpected guests,” you replied dryly. “I was meal-prepping earlier,” you added, glancing over your shoulder. “I’ve got a big pot of soup if anyone’s hungry. Showers are down the hall. Towels are in the closet. Clean shirts in the basket.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Soup would be heavenly,” John mumbled, eyes already closing.

You gave a small smile and turned toward the kitchen again.

Bucky hesitated, gently placing Alpine down as she curled onto a throw pillow. Then he followed you, slow and quiet.

You were setting down a basket of warm dinner rolls on the table when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Still, you glanced over your shoulder. Bucky stood quietly near the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim kitchen light, his hands shoved in his pockets, posture stiff like he hadn’t quite decided if he should be there.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. The soup was already simmering; your hands moved automatically to the ladle.

He offered a faint smile — the kind that didn't reach his eyes. “Thanks for letting us crash here.”

You nodded, focusing on the steam rising from the pot instead of the way your chest clenched. “You all looked like hell. Someone had to be decent.”

“Look, Y/N—”

“Bucky, don’t,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant to. You turned to face him fully, hands still holding the ladle. “You don’t have to say anything. I know why you're here. Nearest safe house. Not personal. It’s fine. Really.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening before giving a slow nod. “We’ll be out of your hair soon. Just need some rest.”

“That's fine.” You turned back to fill the bowls. “Alpine misses you.”

His voice was softer this time. “I miss her too.”

You didn't answer right away. But when the bowls were full and the bread was out, you called out toward the hallway.

“Lunch.”

A few thuds and grunts later, the rest of the group shuffled in like survivors of a disaster movie. Everyone looked slightly cleaner than when they arrived — but still bruised, bandaged, and about ten seconds from passing out.

Everyone except Bucky, who instinctively sat down in the seat next to yours.

Yelena took a spot across the table, her hands wrapped around her water. Ava perched at the end, still sipping her tea slowly. Alexei helped himself to three rolls before anyone else had time to blink.

John hovered awkwardly before finally taking a seat beside Alexei, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near Yelena again after their last round of bickering.

“And then—oh! Oh! Bob folded his shield like a freakin’ taco,” Alexei said mid-chew, nearly choking from laughter. “Just snapped it like paper!”

Yelena chuckled. Even Ava cracked a smirk.

John looked personally offended. “It’s not that funny.”

“And then—wait for it—he ripped off Bucky’s arm.” Alexei nearly doubled over at the memory.

Your spoon paused halfway to your mouth. You turned your head so fast toward Bucky, it made your hair sway.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Alexei, but when he caught your expression — real concern flickering beneath practiced calm — his demeanor softened.

“It’s fine,” he said gently, lifting the vibranium arm a little. “Reattached it without a problem.”

“Are you sure?” You were already reaching out, ignoring the way your hand trembled just slightly. You turned his arm gently, inspecting the seam where metal met flesh, eyes scanning for dents or stress damage. “Did you check everything out?”

“I’m okay,” he said, holding your gaze. You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He squeezed your hand. “I promise. I’m okay.”

His eyes looked at your hand, and something flickered behind them — something like a punch to the gut. It was bare. There was no ring on her finger.

Automatically, he reached up to his chest, fingers ghosting over where the chain should’ve been.

It wasn’t there.

His stomach dropped.

Bucky’s fingers frantically searched under his collar, pulling at his shirt, then dipping into his jacket pocket. Nothing.

No. No no no.

He never took it off. Ever.

His pulse spiked as he started checking every pocket.

“Bucky?” you asked, watching him unravel. “What’s wrong?”

“The chain,” he said hoarsely. “My chain. It’s gone.”

Panic etched across his face.

At the end of the table, Yelena blinked, frowning as she slipped a hand into her coat pocket. She felt the cool weight of something metallic there — something she had shoved away mid-battle and forgotten about.

When she pulled it out, her heart skipped.

It was a chain.

And dangling from it — a simple gold wedding band.

“Holy f—” she whispered, catching herself before the full curse slipped. “Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to look.

Bucky’s head snapped up.

She held the chain in her open palm like it was glowing. “This is yours.”

He surged forward before she could say another word and plucked it from her hand like it was oxygen. His breath shuddered as he slipped it back over his neck, the ring resting once again near his heart.

Relief washed over his features — raw and unfiltered.

Your eyes locked with his.

“You still have it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand brushed your ring finger again, almost absentmindedly.

“I—I…” Bucky swallowed hard, words failing. His throat felt too tight.

Alexei broke the silence like a sledgehammer. “Wait—you’re married?! Congratulations!” he bellowed, raising his glass. “That’s adorable.”

Bucky flinched like he'd been shot.

The silence that followed was very loud.

He looked at you again — the weight of everything unspoken between you crashing back in all at once — then abruptly stood.

He didn’t say anything.

He just left the room, Alpine trailing after him as the others watched, stunned.

“Did I…” Alexei frowned. “Did I say something wrong? Is that not a wedding ring?”

Yelena sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’re gonna need way more soup.”

“Uh… we’re not married anymore,” you whispered, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

Everyone went quiet. You could feel the weight of their stares settle on you like a spotlight, but you didn’t look back. You just stood, heart pounding, and walked out of the room — your feet already knowing where to go.

Of course you knew where he was.

You and Bucky had lived in this house together for two years before everything fell apart. The bones of the place hadn’t changed — not the layout, not the memories buried in each room. And especially not the basement.

You made your way downstairs, the air cooler, quieter. The moment your foot hit the last step, he spoke.

“You kept everything the same,” Bucky said, his voice low but clear. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was you.

You crossed the room and slowly sat next to him on the old couch, the one you both used to fall asleep on watching bad movies. The cushions were still slightly sunken on his side.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice gentle. “It was our home. It felt wrong moving your things…changing your designs.”

Silence filled the space between you. Not heavy — just full. The muffled sound of the team arguing upstairs drifted down: something about dishes, someone calling someone a jackass.

“They’re a good bunch,” you murmured. “Very entertaining, too.”

Bucky let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

Your eyes drifted to the chain around his neck — barely visible, but there.

“You kept the ring,” you said softly, watching him tense just slightly.

He nodded slowly, the admission coming with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

He finally turned to face you, eyes tired but sincere. “It helps me. Grounds me. I didn’t have much left to fight for after Steve left. But then there was you. And that ring… it gave me comfort. Protection, in a weird way. It became my good luck charm. I couldn’t get rid of it after the divorce. I didn’t want to.”

You felt your chest tighten, but you gave him a small, sad smile. “So you’ve been wearing it around your neck this whole time?”

He nodded again, this time more slowly. “Every damn day,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t take it off. It’s stupid, I know. Makes me look like a fool.”

You shook your head and stood up, walking to the cabinet on the far wall. He watched you with guarded curiosity as you pulled out a small, velvet box and returned to the couch.

“You’re not a fool,” you said gently. You opened the box and held it out to him. “I couldn’t get rid of mine either. Every time I tried, it felt wrong, like throwing away something sacred."

His gaze dropped to the ring in your fingers, and his throat tightened. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“I really wanted our marriage to work,” he said, the words coming out like a confession.

“I know you did.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“I know you are.” You reached for his hand and held it. It still felt the same — steady, calloused, familiar. “You needed to find yourself, Buck. I should’ve understood. Everything was changing so fast. Steve died. Sam had the shield. Walker was Captain America for a minute. And then… you got into politics. You’re actually a congressman now.”

He let out a breath that was half-scoff, half-laugh.

“I couldn’t keep up,” you continued. “And that was on me.”

“No. It was on me,” he said firmly. “I didn’t prioritize your feelings. I kept shutting you out — thinking I was protecting you. You were right to divorce me. I wasn’t a good husband.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and shook your head.

“Bucky, no. You were an amazing husband. You just had things to work through. And I pushed myself aside instead of speaking up.”

You leaned in and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace felt effortless. Like no time had passed.

His arms went around you instantly, like they never forgot how.

“I’m also sorry,” you whispered.

Bucky’s laugh was soft and bitter. “What the hell happened to us?”

“I don’t really know,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “But I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” He pressed his face into your shoulder, inhaling like he needed the scent of you to survive. Alpine purred softly at your feet, curling between your legs.

And for a while, it was enough.

Peaceful. Quiet. Just the two of you and the cat you shared, back in a place that still remembered love.

And then—

CRASH.

You both jumped slightly at the loud clatter upstairs.

“Did you seriously just break their bowl?” John’s voice rang out, horrified.

“Well, if you think you can do better, then help me wash the dishes, Walker!” Ava snapped back.

You giggled, forehead still resting against Bucky’s shoulder. “We should go before they break more of our dishes.”

He smiled — a real one, one that reached his eyes. It lit up something in him when you said our. He tightened his hold. “A few more minutes. They’ll survive.”

You didn’t argue.

And without meaning to, both of you drifted off, curled into each other like no time had passed at all.

********

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up, Alexei. You’re being too loud.”

“We should wake him up, though. We haven’t even talked strategy.”

“We can’t. Look at them.”

“They look like a cute, happy family.”

“We should take a picture.”

The shutter sound was loud in the quiet room, with the flash blinding all of them.

Bucky blinked awake, eyes adjusting slowly. There was warmth on his lap — Alpine, purring softly. And in his arms, still tucked close, was you.

For a second, he didn’t move.

This was what peace felt like. This was home.

“You woke him up,” Yelena hissed. “Seriously, Dad, turn off the flash and the sound!”

Bucky looked at them — bleary-eyed and still half-asleep — and his expression dropped into something flat and dangerous.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to leave,” he said calmly, voice low and sharp as a blade. “And if you don’t… Bob will be the least of your problems.”

The team scrambled out of the room like they’d seen a ghost.

He sighed, then looked back down at you — just as you stirred.

You blinked yourself awake slowly, eyes meeting his. He braced himself, just for a second, wondering if you’d pull away. Regret it. Pretend none of it happened.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled sleepily, and snuggled closer.

“Is everything okay?” you murmured, reaching over to pat Alpine, who purred louder.

“Everything’s just perfect,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And for once, maybe for the first time in forever, Bucky believed that was true.

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satanzayoru25341 · 2 days ago

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The Endless Alpine Barnes Supremacy never stops!

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daisybvck · 2 months ago

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Bucky: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Y/N a little bit.

Bucky’s therapist, holding Bucky’s notebook: You doodled your wedding invitation’s

Bucky: No, that's our joint tombstone.

Bucky’s therapist: My mistake.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #joel miller x reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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shortnspidey · 5 days ago

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THE VOID

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 5.4K

SUMMARY: What was supposed to be a quiet family weekend getaway at the Stark cabin is quickly interrupted by New York City being terrorized once more!

WARNINGS: Thunderbolts* spoilers! Angst, slight fluff, hurt-comfort, non-sexual nudity, talks of past trauma & HYDRA PTSD

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! This was meant to be a short drabble but I couldn't help myself! It's safe to say Thunderbolts* is my new Marvel comfort movie! I hope I did this one-shot justice since we didn't get to see much of Bucky during the movie! 🫶🏻

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

As the soft glow of morning sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting warm streaks across the hardwood floor. Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the familiar surroundings, the soft lavender hue of the walls, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air, and the peaceful silence broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird outside.

A small sleepy smile tugged at your lips as your gaze settled on the delightful chaos around you, a mountain of stuffed animals piled high near the window, polaroid pictures taped to the dresser mirror, each one a tiny fragment of a life well-lived and well-loved. Shifting to your side with a sleepy sigh, you expected to find the comforting bulk of your super-soldier fiancé beside you. His warmth, his steady breathing, maybe even the soft snore he always denied having.

But instead, a mop of tousled brown hair and a small frame tucked under a fortress of blankets greeted you. Morgan. Your not-so-little sister, who had clearly claimed the entire bed as her own sometime during the night. You let out a quiet chuckle, realizing you were perched on the very edge of the mattress, less than an inch from tumbling onto the floor. The covers had all migrated to her side, cocooned around her. She was somehow an even worse bed hog than Bucky, and that was saying something.

Even Alpine, with all her feline entitlement, hadn't managed to steal this much space. Your thoughts were interrupted as Morgan stirred, her little nose wrinkling adorably in protest against the invading daylight. She nestled even closer into your side, seeking warmth and refuge. "Morning, sunshine!" You chirped with faux cheeriness, knowing exactly what kind of reaction you'd get. Predictably, the nine-year-old groaned, burying her face deeper into your ribs with a dramatic sigh that made you smile even wider.

Definitely not a morning person, another undeniable Stark trait. "Morgan," You sing-songed, dragging her name out teasingly. “Time to wake up!” She grumbled in protest, clearly trying to lull herself back to sleep or at least tune you out. A soft giggle escaped you as you gently poked her side. “The only way I’m waking up is if you make me breakfast.” Morgan grumbled, her voice muffled against your side. You gave a mock gasp, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Demanding.” You teased, though your tone was soft as you reached out, brushing a few strands of her tangled hair away from her face. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary. Her skin was still warm from sleep, and for a moment, you just took in how small she still was, despite her growing stubborn streak and increasingly bold opinions. “How about I make you breakfast,” You offered, lifting your brows with a knowing smile, “and I’ll even let you sneak a juice pop before Mom makes us lunch?”

Her face twitched, trying to stay serious, trying not to give in to your irresistible offer, but you saw the small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “Promise?” She asked, lifting her head slightly and giving you those big, brown, soul-piercing eyes that always reminded you a little too much of your dad. You nodded, solemnly holding out your pinky. “Pinky promise,” You declared, your voice dropping to a whisper like it was sacred and in a way, it was.

Morgan didn’t hand out trust easily, but a pinky promise? That was ironclad. She hooked her little finger around yours, her smile breaking fully now. “Deal!” You grinned and pressed another kiss to her forehead, this one quick and full of affection, before leaning over to grab your phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a flurry of notifications, texts, emails, a missed call from Harley, but your thumb moved instinctively to the one name that always made your chest tighten in the best way. The most recent message read:

Bucky 🖤: Made it to the Capitol in one piece. Miss you already, doll. Tell Morgan I’m bringing her that thing we talked about.

You smiled at the screen, thumbs flying across the keyboard as you typed back a quick “I love you, stay safe.” Before you could even lock your phone, Morgan was peering over your shoulder. “Why couldn’t Bucky come?” She asked, her voice softer now, her fingers still tangled in the edge of your sleep shirt. You arched a brow, turning to face her with a mock pout. “Am I not enough for you anymore?” Morgan rolled her eyes with a giggle, but her cheeks flushed pink.

“You know what I mean.” She grinned. It always amazed you how quickly Bucky had wormed his way into her heart, how naturally he’d settled into the role of her protector, bedtime storyteller, and co-conspirator in every bit mischief she could dream up. And truthfully, you loved watching the two of them together, even when you pretended to be jealous. “Believe me, sweetheart, he wanted to,” You reassured brushing her hair back again as she snuggled close once more. “But he’s just a little busy now that he has Congressman duties.” Morgan huffed.

“You should’ve brought Alpine at least.” You laughed, ruffling her hair. “If we let that spoiled cat in this bed, there wouldn’t be room for either of us. Plus, she’d steal your juice pop.” That earned a giggle from her. “C’mon,” You coaxed, stretching your arms and sitting up fully. “Let’s go make some waffles. With chocolate chips. Maybe even whipped cream, if you swear not to tell Mom.” She perked up instantly, eyes gleaming. “You got yourself a deal!” This kid was definitely going to be the death of you.

After scarfing down at least a dozen waffles between you and Morgan, each one stacked precariously with whipped cream, chocolate chips, and just a hint of syrup for good measure you both made sure to clean the flour battlefield you’d left behind. The kitchen still smelled like vanilla and melted chocolate, but the counters were wiped, dishes stacked, and evidence buried, for the most part. Just in time too, as Pepper raised an eyebrow when she entered but said nothing.

Only offering a suspicious glance toward the empty whipped cream can in the trash. With the scent of breakfast still clinging to your pajamas and Morgan cradling a warm cup of cocoa, the three of you curled up on the couch for your weekend ritual. Blankets, mismatched socks, and the faint crackle of old movie magic filled the living room. The familiar sounds of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone played in the background, Morgan mouthing lines under her breath, completely absorbed in the scene.

And then, it happened.

The screen glitched, colors flickering unnaturally before the film feed abruptly cut to a flashing Breaking News banner. Static crackled. Then came the footage. A live aerial shot of Manhattan, swallowed by what looked like a creeping black fog, only it wasn’t fog. It slithered like it was alive, climbing buildings, flooding streets, consuming everything in its path. Helicopters struggled to keep up with the growing shadow that rolled through downtown like a tidal wave of nightmares.

Your blood ran cold. A surge of déjà vu punched through your gut, memories of Thanos, of the Snap, of losing everything for a single moment in time. But this wasn’t dust. This was something else, something darker. Morgan leaned forward, her cocoa forgotten, and even Pepper tensed, lips pressed into a thin, worried line. The footage zoomed in closer. Through the billowing obsidian mass, faint shapes flickered, terrified civilians, abandoned cars and buildings.

The once-iconic Avengers Tower, half-swallowed and collapsing in on itself, like some monument to forgotten glory. And at the center of it, looming like a shadow torn from nightmares, stood a shadowy figure. He wasn’t entirely solid, more like a dark silhouette. With every movement, people vanished. Your hand trembled as you reached for your phone, a cold sweat already forming at the back of your neck. You didn’t even remember dialing, your thumb working on autopilot.

“Pick up. Pick up.” You whispered, heart hammering against your ribs, anxiety rising like bile. One ring. Two. Three, then static. Faint, fragmented screams filtered through. Car alarms. Crumbling stone. You heard staggering breath, sharp and uneven. “Bucky? Are you there?” You asked, voice cracking, eyes fixed on the chaos on the screen. A ragged exhale echoed on the line. Then voices, quick, panicked. Civilians? You couldn’t tell. “Bucky, please tell me you’re not in that mess.” You begged, voice fraying at the edges.

You weren’t even sure if he could hear you. A pause. Then finally, his voice, raw and distant. “I wish I could, doll.” Your breath hitched. “I’m sorry.” He added. Those two words carried more weight than you could bear. Every instinct in you screamed to fight, to argue, but your voice didn’t come. Not even a whisper. “Doll, I—” And then, the call dropped. Your phone slid from your hand and landed on the couch cushion beside you with a thud. Your chest was tight, lungs refusing to work properly. Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Morgan instantly wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Is Bucky okay?” She whispered, burying her face into your side. You pulled her close, holding her like she was the only anchor in the storm. “I’m sure he is, sweetheart,” You reassured softly, kissing the top of her head. “He’s strong and brave.” But even you couldn’t tell if you were trying to reassure her or convince yourself. You looked up. Pepper had already stood, face pale but composed. She met your eyes, her strength unwavering even now. “Mom—”

“I know,” She mumbled quickly, cutting you off. Her voice was gentle, but there was an iron edge beneath it, a quiet strength born from too many nights spent watching the man she loved walk into war zones with nothing but conviction and an arc reactor. Pepper Potts wasn’t a stranger to sacrifice, and now, neither were you. “Go.” You hesitated, guilt gnawing at your gut. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.” She added, her hand closing tightly around yours.

You nodded, trying to keep your face neutral even as your stomach churned. You turned toward Morgan, who stood silently by the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest like it was a lifeline. “Morgie,” You called softly, crouching down to her level as her tear-filled eyes locked on yours. “He’ll be okay. We both will. Stay here with Mom, alright? I’ll call you as soon as I find Bucky. I promise.” You extended your pinky once more. This promise felt heavier than all the others.

“Okay.” She whispered, her voice cracking as she surrendered to your embrace, small arms wrapping tightly around your neck. You held her close, kissed her temple, then leaned into her ear. “I love you, kiddo.” You breathed, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat. You felt her nod against your shoulder, and it shattered something inside you. With that, you quickly got dressed, grabbed your car keys and drove as fast as the speed limit allowed you into the void that was now New York City.

As you made your way into the city, weaving recklessly through the traffic, your hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Horns blared, lights flashed, but none of it registered fully, you were running on instinct and adrenaline. You fumbled for your phone at a red light, trying once again to ping Bucky’s location. Nothing. The screen flashed back the same message, unable to locate device.

You swore under your breath, the sickening realization hitting you like a punch to the gut, his phone must’ve been destroyed during all the chaos. There was no other choice. Without any clue where he might be, you had to go back to the apartment. Your chest ached with the weight of uncertainty, but through it all, a stubborn flicker of belief remained, he’d make it home to you. He had to. The moment your key turned in the lock and the door creaked open, the silence inside greeted you.

You didn’t need to call out to know, he wasn’t there. The emptiness clung to the walls, thick and oppressive, and did absolutely nothing to soothe the storm of fear brewing inside you. You closed the door quietly behind you, letting your forehead rest against it for a beat too long, before turning to scan the room with hopeful eyes. Then, a soft meow echoed from around the corner. “Alpine,” You breathed out, your voice cracking slightly with relief. The snowy white cat padded into view, her tail high as she trotted toward you, clearly happy to see you home.

You knelt down immediately, scooping her into your arms and pressing her warm body close to your chest. She purred against you, a soft, steady vibration that grounded you just enough to keep from unraveling completely. “Hi, sweet girl.” You murmured, your voice gentle as you carried her to the couch. You sank into the cushions, Alpine nestled securely in your lap, and stared out the window at the glowing city beyond. Every instinct in you screamed to go back out there.

To search every alley, every rooftop, every shadow, but instead, you sat still. Holding on to hope like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. After what felt like an eternity of pacing in the kitchen, organizing things that didn’t need organizing, and switching between news broadcasts that offered very little comfort and a phone that refused to light up with his name, you were unraveling thread by thread. Each second stretched, heavy and tense, your breath shallow. And then, you heard it. The familiar jangle of the doorknob.

Your heart skipped a beat, then thundered, and as the door creaked open, you let out a breath that felt like it came from somewhere deep in your soul. Your muscles, locked in anxious tension, began to loosen as you rose quickly from the couch. But the moment you turned the corner and saw him, really saw him all of that fragile relief shattered and the fear came crashing back in. There he was. Dressed in his signature all-black, the fabric of his clothes torn in various places.

Revealing angry red gashes and violet bruises beneath. His broad shoulders were pulled back in a rigid posture. His long hair was disheveled, sticking to his forehead and brushing his jawline, and his face, God, his handsome face was a map of pain. Scratches lined his cheekbones, one temple split and still weeping. His knuckles were bruised, skin split. And still, he didn’t bother to close the door behind him. His cerulean blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, time stood still. He closed them slowly, like the sight of you was too much to bear all at once.

Relief, exhaustion, maybe even guilt, it passed across his face like clouds across a stormy sky. “James.” The name left your lips sharp and clipped, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest. There was frustration in your voice, more than that, there was hurt. At the sound of his given name, his eyes opened again, more alert, more present. He knew exactly what it meant when you used it like that. But he also knew this wasn’t about being in trouble. Not really. Cautiously, he took a step forward, hand raised, vibranium fingers trembling just enough to betray the storm inside him.

He reached for your arm, bracing for the rejection he was sure he deserved. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. When his palm met your sleeve and you stayed rooted to the spot, something in him broke loose. He took another step, his other hand rising to gently uncross your arms, and you let him. You didn’t meet his eyes, not yet, but you didn’t resist his touch either. He pulled your body into his slowly, grounding you with the firm steadiness of both flesh and metal, his touch familiar, grounding. You looked away, jaw tight, holding back tears or words, you weren’t even sure which.

He exhaled slowly, then lifted a hand to your face, calloused fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tilted your head up. You didn’t want to look at him because if you did, you’d lose what little composure you had left. Still, you let him tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your temple as he searched your face like it held the only truth left in the world. Your eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you was louder than anything either of you could say. Then finally, you broke it, your voice low and rough around the edges.

“You’re still in trouble.” You grumbled, trying for stern but falling short, the corners of your mouth betraying you with the tiniest quiver. “I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice gravelly and soft in that way only reserved for you. “I know.” He rested his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as it ghosted over your skin. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness yet. He just needed this. You. “Just let me hold you.” He whispered, more of a plea than command.

And without another word, you let him.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, each breath shaky, uneven. His arms were tight around you now, no longer tentative. Flesh and vibranium wrapped fully around your waist, holding on like if he let go, everything would collapse. And maybe it would. You didn’t want to test that theory. He smelled like smoke and the faintest trace of blood, but underneath all that, you still found him. That scent you’d come to associate with home.

“Hey,” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, lips brushing your hair as he spoke. “I’m here. I’m okay.” You pulled back slightly at that, brows furrowing. “You’re not okay, Buck,” you scoffed softly, your hands coming up to cradle his scruffy cheeks. “You’re clearly hurt and you’re bleeding.” You swallowed hard as your thumbs traced the edges of a fresh cut along his jaw. “You scared the hell out of me.” His eyes closed again, jaw clenching as he leaned into your touch. You blinked quickly, fighting the sting in your eyes, but he saw it anyway.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, this time more firmly, grounding himself in the contact. Then, slowly, deliberately his lips brushed yours. It wasn’t a kiss full of hunger or urgency. It was soft yet purposeful. You melted into it instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. His lips trembled against yours, not from fear but from sheer, overwhelming feeling. He kissed you like he’d been afraid he wouldn’t get the chance.

Like this kiss was a thank you, an apology, and a promise all in one. When you finally parted, he lingered, his nose brushing against yours, eyes searching yours with that soft, open ache that always made you want to protect him, even when strongly believed that he was the one built to protect you. You exhaled shakily, resting your hands over his heart. In that moment, no words needed to be shared. You simply pulled him close, this time wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder.

After a beat, your voice now more steadier broke the silence. "I hope you know you owe Morgan a call, she was pretty shaken after what she saw on the news." Bucky let out a long breath, one hand ghosting up your back in an absent, soothing motion. "Hopefully the bear plush I brought all the way back from DC will be enough for her to forgive me." Your brow lifted, eyes narrowing slightly as amusement flickered in your voice. "Seriously, Bucky. Morgan has enough stuffed animals to fill an entire daycare."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop spoiling her," He offered a small shrug, the corner of his mouth quirking just enough to chase away some of the tension. "We should call." You nodded slowly, lifting your head from his shoulder without pulling away completely, your arms still draped around him in a gentle tether. "We should," You murmured in agreement. Your gaze swept over him, taking in the grime, the torn edges of his clothes, and the blood smeared along his jaw. "Might want to clean yourself up first."

Your fingers reached up, brushing lightly over the blood smeared on his cheekbone. The touch wasn’t firm, just the barest sweep of skin against skin, but it carried so much more than it seemed to. In that single gesture, you offered reassurance, a silent apology for whatever pain he endured, and the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone. He leaned into the touch with a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh, his eyes fluttering closed for just a beat too long. Like the warmth of your hand was more healing than anything could ever be.

His lashes lifted slowly, gaze locking with yours. The blue of his eyes, normally sharp and vigilant, had softened into something almost vulnerable. “Join me?” Just two words. So simple, but they cracked something open inside you. The sheer vulnerability behind them wrapped in a quiet plea and a need for closeness he rarely voiced ever made your throat tighten. You didn’t trust your voice to hold steady, so you simply nodded, the motion small but immediate.

His expression didn’t shift much, but you saw the way his shoulders eased, just slightly. He leaned in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead. He stayed there for a moment, his lips resting against your skin like he was afraid letting go too soon might shatter whatever peace had settled between you. Then, he stepped back, not far, just enough to reach for your hand. His fingers found yours with an easy familiarity, holding on like you were his lifeline. And without a word, he turned, guiding you slowly toward the bathroom down the hall the space you shared.

As you stepped into the space, a wave of protectiveness surged through you, catching you off guard with its intensity. It was more than just concern, it was an aching need to reassure him, to make it unmistakably clear that he was safe and loved. He stood quietly, as if waiting for something he didn’t quite know how to ask for. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of his t-shirt, eyes flicking up to meet his, searching for any flicker of hesitation. The fabric was worn, soft beneath your touch, and you tugged gently, more a question than a motion.

His response was wordless but immediate, lifting his arms and granting you silent permission. You peeled the shirt upward, revealing inch by inch of scarred, bruised skin that made your heart twist. A sharp, quiet gasp escaped your lips as the damage came into view faint scrapes, livid bruises blossoming in purples and yellows, and the ever-present, jarring contrast where metal fused into flesh. You knew the serum would eventually do its work, knitting tissue and dulling pain, but logic didn’t stop the worry that clawed its way up your throat.

You leaned in, unable to keep the distance between you. Your hand wrapped around his warm, solid bicep, drawing him gently closer. He didn’t resist. Your lips brushed against the harsh line where his metal shoulder met skin, a place that too often bore the weight of his guilt and silence. You pressed a soft kiss there, then another, scattering them along his shoulder blade, the curve of his jaw, and finally to the corner of his mouth. Each kiss was a silent whisper: I love you. You’re not alone.

His breath caught, chest rising sharply, and in the next heartbeat, his lips found yours. The kiss was deep, unhurried, the kind that said everything neither of you could quite put into words. When he finally pulled away, it was only to mirror your earlier gesture, his hands slipping under your oversized knit sweater and lifting it with reverent care. It joined his shirt in a quiet heap on the floor. “I love you so much, Y/N.” He murmured against your mouth, the words rough and tender all at once.

What followed felt timeless, a slow shedding of barriers, both cloth and emotional, until you were stripped bare, wrapped in warmth and each other. Garments fell away between stolen kisses and whispered reassurances. Hands traced the map of each other’s bodies like a prayer, gentle and certain, until there was nothing between you but skin and steam. At one point, his fingers intertwined with yours, he brought your left hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Then pausing, kissing the delicate glint of the engagement ring that rested there. His eyes met yours, soft and unguarded, and it said more than any vow ever could. Under the cascade of the shower, he held you close. You could feel the tension leaving his frame as your fingers threaded through his damp hair, massaging the soap in gentle circles. You washed away the remnants of blood and sweat, each pass of your hands careful not to press too hard against his bruises. Then it was his turn. He touched you as though you were made of glass.

His hands were hesitant and unsure, but so achingly tender it brought tears to your eyes. Every swipe of the washcloth, every stroke of his palm was deliberate, a silent apology for all the times he’d believed he didn’t deserve softness. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, surrounded by heat and steam and the quiet hum of water. Time didn’t matter. All that did was this, the slow melting of tension, the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the comfort of knowing that here, in this moment, you both had found something worth holding onto.

After drying off and pulling on soft, comfortable clothes, you settled into the rhythm of familiarity. Bucky perched at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, as he FaceTimed Morgan. You watched as the tired lines around his eyes softened at the sight of her excited face, his voice lifting just enough to sound like himself. “I promise I’m in one piece, kiddo,” He reassured her, holding the camera up so she could see the both of you. “Got a surprise for you next time I visit. I just know you’re gonna love it!” Morgan giggled, already speculating what said “surprise” was.

As the call continued, he had her and you laughing in no time, making goofy faces, promising to teach her how to do a proper left hook (with Pepper's reluctant permission), and patiently answering every curious question she had about what she had seen on the news. You noticed how his shoulders dropped, tension easing the longer he talked to her. Even Pepper smiled, though her eyes flicked across the screen with a mother's worry, lingering on the faint bruises still visible on his face.

When the call ended and the familiar dial tone hummed into silence, the weight of the night returned. The room felt heavier, quieter. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, phone dangling forgotten in one hand. The other scrubbed across his face as though trying to rub away everything he’d just relived. You straddled his lap slowly, grounding him with your presence, settling so your chest was against his, your arms around his shoulders.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, something you knew calmed him. “You want to tell me what happened?” You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His throat bobbed with the effort of swallowing. “Yeah,” He rasped. “Yeah, I do.” And so he did. He spoke in starts and stops, piecing what had happened in fragments. He told you about flying to D.C. to expose Valentina de Fontaine. How he’d manage to convince force Yelena and her father, John Walker, Ava Starr, reluctantly, to gather enough evidence to bring Valentina down. But as usual, she was always ten steps ahead.

“She was manipulating this innocent man, Robert Reynolds, Bob, to somehow become the world’s New Avenger under her control, yet her plan had a horrible flaw,” He explained, eyes distant. “Bob, he had another side of him. This drug trail, it wasn’t anything like what happened to Steve or Banner. There was a darkness, a void.” Your hand moved from his hair to his chest, palm flat over his heartbeat. “Go on.” You coaxed softly, watching as his breathing grew more labored.

“The worst part,” He muttered after a long pause shutting his eyes, bracing himself. “Was that this alter ego, he could get inside our heads. All of us. It wasn’t just telepathy. It was like he peeled something back. Like he could reach into the rot of the trauma we’d buried and drag it into the light.” His voice cracked on the last word. Your arms tightened instinctively around his back, rubbing in slow reassuring circles. “He saw inside my worst nightmare,” Bucky continued, each word weighted and raw.

“And then he made me live it again. It felt so real, Y/N. The cold steel of the restraints. The stench of antiseptic. I was strapped down at that H.Y.D.R.A. base again. My body was fighting, but my mind—” His jaw clenched hard. “They were erasing me. Again and again. Every time I’d start to remember who I was, they’d wipe it clean. My name. My face. You.” A pained breath escaped him. “You were fading. I couldn’t hold on to you.” You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “But I’m right here,” You whispered.

“You held on enough to help your friends. To come home to me.” He swallowed back a whimper, blinking back tears. “I didn’t think I’d make it out,” He admitted, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think I deserved to.” You tilted his chin gently until his eyes met yours. “You always deserve to come home.” For a long time, he didn’t say anything, just let himself breathe against you, his arms wrapping around your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he lifted your left hand and brought it to his lips again. He kissed the engagement ring slowly, reverently, holding your hand against his chest. “This,” He murmured, voice barely audible, “is the only thing that kept me from breaking.” You felt your own tears gather against your lash line as you processed his words. “Bucky, sweetheart, while I'm not thrilled you jumped into danger," You began, your tone soft but laced with honest concern. His arms wrapped around you tighter, keeping you anchored against him.

“I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice low against your lips. “I’m so sorry I scared you.” You pressed your index finger to his mouth before he could say anything else. “But I am so proud of you,” You declared firmly, your words laced with admiration, leaving no room for protest. That brought a real smile to his face, that rare kind of smile that lit up his features and made the years of pain and burden momentarily vanish. The kind of smile that always made you swoon just a little, no matter how many times you saw it.

“Besides,” You added with a dry scoff, “Let H.Y.D.R.A try to get close to you again and see what happens.” He raised an eyebrow, half amused and half confused. “What, you gonna fight 'em with your sarcasm?” You rolled your eyes, but your voice was calm and certain as you lifted your left hand between you. The ring glinted in the low lamplight. “No. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere.” Understanding dawned in his expression, and something unspoken passed between you.

You had seen each other at your best and worst, through blood and bruises and sleepless nights. And still, here you were. That was all he needed. And that was more than enough.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

Remember you are NEVER alone! Do not hesitate to ask for help if you are struggling with your mental health, reach out to your loved ones, check in on people who have been too quiet, and always remember to be kind because you never know what other people may be dealing with! 🤍

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anonymityisfunwriter · 3 days ago

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You're so sweet! Thank you so much! 💛

Every Part of You

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader A.N. - Alright, I've been asked to write about Bucky and Sunshine's first time many, many times. And the thing is, like sure, I could write that, but also I want us to take a moment to consider trying to build up to that. There's so many firsts buried in there that I think need to be navigated through before they even get there. This is one of those firsts. Like the first time you see Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series

"You're just- " You stop speaking, searching for his lips again. Though you're breathless, you can't bring yourself to pull away from him, "You're so pretty."

You shudder as you feel his hand slip under your sweater. The occasional graze of the cool metal on your skin enough to send shivers down your spine.

His lips trail down, nipping at your jaw, "I'm not pretty."

Your hands, winded in the hair at the nape of his neck, glide down his neck, to clutch the fabric of his henley. The moment he feels your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, his heart hammers against his ribcage. Not in the sort of way that he usually feels in these moments with you. He feels a sense of dread, of panic. It wraps around his spine like a python. It feels like he can't breathe.

"You're so -"

He wrenches away from you, his chest heaving, "Stop, stop, stop."

You freeze, immediately dropping your hands. Panic starts creeping up your throat, coating your words. "Did I - did I do something wrong?"

He gulps, silently shaking his head. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, to regain the ability to speak clearly, "No, no, you're - you're perfect."

Guilt starts to eat at him. He can see you doing your very best to keep your own feelings off your face. He can see the sting of his rejection in the way your lips press together in a tight line. The embarrassment in the pallor of your once flushed cheeks.

You two have worked so hard to overcome your own personal issues and traumas, to build trust in each other, moments like these hadn't come easy. And he so callously pushed you away, it makes him feel worse. And what makes his heart ache even more, he sees nothing but concern for him shining in your eyes. You just look so worried for him.

Your hands rest in your lap. You twist and untwist your fingers. "If you don't want to, we don't - we don't have to do anything. I'm really sorry -"

"No, no, please don't be sorry." He reaches for you, gently squeezing your hand. It soothes him as much as it does you. "I want to. You don't know how much I want to."

"But?"

His eyes squeeze shut. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes. "You haven't seen it before - my arm, my shoulder."

"Oh."

He drops your hand. That feeling takes over him again. It feels like there's not enough air in the room. He slides away from you, closer to the edge of the tiny couch in your apartment. "It's - I am not pretty."

It breaks your heart, watching him pull away from you. You can only imagine how many people have turned away from him before. "James..."

He fervently shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes, "No, no, I know what you're gonna say, but it's bad. A lot worse than you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"It's bad," he insists. "I see it every day and I can barely - it's just bad, okay?"

You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's okay if you don't want me to see it. I understand."

He finally opens his eyes again as his eyebrows pull together. He still doesn't meet your eye. "No, no, I want to - I trust you with this, I do. I just - I want you to be prepared."

In that moment, you realize that it's not really about preparing you. Not at all.

He thinks you're going to react badly. He thinks that this will make you turn away from him for the first time ever. He's worried that the love and adoration in your eyes will turn to disgust and repulsion.

It's less about preparing you for the scarred flesh, and more about warning you that he couldn't take a bad reaction. He's not sure he could take it if you turned away from him too.

"I love you," you promise him. "There's nothing that you could show me that would change that. I hope you know that."

There is no response to that. And you know that he won't believe it until he sees it. It takes him a moment. His hand toys with the hem of his shirt. His hand grips the hem, only to let it go.

"I love you," you remind him.

He takes a large gulp of air, pulling off his shirt with one quick movement.

You weren't really sure what you were expecting. You knew the story. You knew how Bucky lost his arm. He even confided the bits and pieces he remembered from getting his vibranium arm.

Your eyes trail over his skin. The shoulder is scarred, scars jut in every direction. Each scar is etched into his skin. It's clear it was a painful, violent experience for him. The metal plate protrudes from the scar tissue in a way that you're sure was painful when first placed. You look on with curiosity, you're not really sure how this, a sign of survival, a badge of resilience, could ever make anyone turn away from him.

He's as breathtaking as you could ever imagine.

Your eyes flicker up at him. He looks at the blank wall of your apartment, scared to watch your facial expressions as you take it in. "Can I?"

He nods, barely able to look you in the eyes. He sucks in a breath when your fingers make contact with the scar tissue surrounding the metal plate.

You immediately pull your fingers back, worried you've accidentally hurt him. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he answers reflexively.

You know he's lying. "I've seen you holding your shoulder before - holding it like it hurts."

"Sometimes," he amends. "The doctor said there's a lot of nerve damage. Things they can't fix."

"Does it hurt now?"

"No."

You run your hand over the plate, over his scars, down to his shoulder blade.

"Still think I'm pretty?" he sarcastically remarks.

You press a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. "I'll always think you're pretty. Every part of you."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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writing-for-marvel · 7 hours ago

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The One That Got Away

Thunderbolts!Ex!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Bucky enters the void, he expects his memories as The Winter Soldier to haunt him, or perhaps even death itself, instead, he finds himself face to face with you the night you broke up.

Warnings: SPOILERS for Thunderbolts*, strictly 18+, talk of death & suicidal ideation, mentions of Bucky’s trauma related to Hydra/The Winter Soldier, angst, canon typical violence, reenactment of a breakup, Bucky being a sad boi™️

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: so I saw Thunderbolts, can you tell I’m obsessed?? Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

Stepping into the dark, cavernous void of nothingness, Bucky’s heart thumps rapidly, almost painfully, against his ribcage.

It’s not that he’s afraid of dying, in fact, during his seventy years as a captive, there were many times he prayed for the dark depths of death to swallow him whole, a sweet relief from the torture. He observed helplessly as crucial parts of himself were assassinated every time he was strapped to that memory suppression machine until after decades he was a fraction of the man who fought against Nazis.

Bucky Barnes knows all too well there are worse fates than death.

So no, he’s not scared that entering this void will be the last breath he takes. Instead, he’s more frightened of what entering it will entail if it doesn’t end his life. What kind of purgatory awaits him on the other side.

But Bucky Barnes is also the type of person who would do anything to help a friend. So with a deep, steadying breath, he plants his foot in oblivion.

In the blink of an eye, Bucky’s in familiar surroundings, though the air feels thick and stale, like it hasn’t been disturbed in a while. It’s an environment that brings both a comforting nostalgia that makes him long for a happier time, but also a heavy guilt at the reminder of the events that transpired the last time he was here, believing he would never return.

Has he died? Is this what heaven looks like? The place that felt most like home to him?

Who is he kidding, if there is an afterlife, James Barnes most certainly will be sent straight to hell for all the lives he’s ended, even under mind control.

For the span of a breath nothing changes - no movement, no sounds. Everything is perfectly still, as if he were living in a photograph.

Bucky takes slow steps around the room, observing all the small details of the home that he once shared with the person he valued as being the embodiment of the word safety. It’s exactly as he remembers when he left three months ago, as if he’s been taken back in time, even though he knows deep down that he isn’t physically in this space.

Steve took the infinity stones back to their respective timelines - this can’t be a trick with the time stone.

He smooths his hand over the counter in the kitchen he finds himself in, in attempts to ground himself in this new reality. The cool feeling of the marble reminds him vividly of the many nights the two of you shared right here together.

There’s a sharp, clenching pang in his stomach as all the memories he had worked so hard to suppress, locked away in the deepest corners of his mind where they couldn’t continue to hurt him, come flooding back like a monsoon.

Regret, guilt, sorrow, but most of all love.

There were good ones that were filled with pure happiness, smiles and laughter, tenderness and vulnerability with the one person he knew wouldn’t judge his past, first ‘I love you’s’, so much devotion that Bucky could barely keep his hands off you, pleasure beyond what he even imagined was possible.

But also the terrible ones, the arguments, raised voices, cold shoulders, nights on the couch, the slow descent into not recognising each other anymore, all which lead to a messy separation which Bucky didn’t even want. He wanted to fight for you. He should have fought harder for you.

Then, as if someone had pressed play on a remote, a scene Bucky is intimately familiar with roars to life in front of him and he instantly knows where he is.

Or more precisely when he is.

The night it all ended.

His stomach drops through the floor.

Bucky observes in an out of body experience as his own body unlocks the front door to the apartment as quietly as possible and gently shuts it behind himself. It’s such a strange sensation seeing himself perform actions he can remember from a different perspective, recalling his motives for every action.

He was sure by the time he got home from Capitol Hill you’d be snuggled in bed. Bucky had been consistently working late nights with the rest of congress, busy since President Ross’ resignation and dealing with the international fallout of the US President waging war against Japan.

Memory Bucky gently places his suitcase and keys by the front door, not wanting to wake you, but it’s at that exact moment you trudge into the room, seemingly having heard him arrive home.

Bucky steps in front of you, close enough that he could reach out and touch you, but you look through him as though he doesn’t exist. He tries to remind himself that’s probably just how the void works, submerging you in your most painful memory, cursed to watch on without effect. At least that’s what he tells himself because the alternative would be too painful.

He hadn’t appreciated it in the moment, but you look so exhausted. Not just physically, but as if you’re tired of always having this same conversation with Bucky.

And you had.

“You’re late.”

Hearing your voice again, after so long and believing he wouldn’t have the privilege again feels like a gift, but your exasperated tone slashes at Bucky’s chest like a knife.

“You know we’ve been slammed.”

Fuck, of all the things he could have said, he had to go and say that, putting the blame back on your expectations rather than just taking accountability. He hadn’t even apologised.

Bucky notices for the first time you rolled your eyes at his comment, and he can’t say he blames you. He was such a dickhead, treating the light of his life like you didn’t matter, taking for granted that you’d always be there.

“I didn’t mean it! I’m a fucking idiot, okay? You are my everything and you deserve so much better than this.” The real Bucky yells to drown out whatever memory Bucky continues to remark. Your eyes are vacant of any recognition that you’ve absorbed his words, in fact, they lack any kind of affection at all considering you’re looking at someone you had at one time described as your soulmate.

That more than anything is what brings tears to Bucky's own eyes.

Before he gets another second to study your features he has sorely missed, Bucky feels a strong hand on his shoulder that spins him around. He comes face to face with his twin, taken aback that the memory form of himself can actually physically interact with him and deviate from the events of the night in question.

With super soldier reflexes Bucky usually benefits from, but is now being used against him, his twin lunges towards Bucky, a blank stare that he recognises as the dead look in the eyes he gets when he became The Winter Soldier.

Bucky barely has time to block the attack as his double closes both hands around his throat. This memory version of James Barnes is somehow much stronger than the real him, or perhaps it’s Bucky’s inability to harm a figure that looks identical to him that prevents from being able to fight back effectively against the corporeal manifestation of his subconscious.

You stand by emotionless as Bucky splatters and chokes, trying to punish away his clone to no avail and which only becomes more difficult with a lack of oxygen in his brain. He wants to die if this is the existence he’s forced to watch for eternity.

The last sound he remembers is his windpipe being crushed.

All of a sudden he’s back standing next to the front door, the scene serene and still as it had been when he first stepped into the void, as if nothing had happened. The tape rewound to the start.

But with a sore throat.

The kitchen is empty, other than the plates of a delicious meal you prepared covered in foil, going cold in Bucky’s absence. Nothing is out of place.

He hears the front door open but he doesn’t look to where he knows he’s entering the apartment. Instead it’s you he keeps an eye out for, emerging from the bedroom with an aggrieved expression. Before you can even say a word, Bucky’s rushing to you, voice pleasing as he speaks.

“I’m sorry I was such a dick. I’ve always loved you, you did nothing but love me and take my shit and you deserve so much better than anything I’ve ever been able to give you. If I could go back in time and change it, I would in a heartbeat!” His mind is working a thousand miles an hour, trying to communicate how sorry he was he let it get to this stage, the words he should have said this night if he had any ounce of sense that you were so close to your breaking point.

Was this what he needed to provide the void? Working to amends for his wrongdoings? But it’s actions that show your true intentions, not frivolous words.

With a tilt of your head you step up to him, breaking out of the memory. For a prolonged moment you look up at him, gaze soft and loving as he remembered from the countless glorious days you had together, that little smirk curving on your lips which makes him completely weak in the knees.

God, he could never hurt you, at least more than he already has, not physically. If you attack him as the memory version of him had, he wouldn’t lay a finger on you, he’d rather perish.

Just when he thinks you might kiss him rather than strike him, Bucky involuntarily leaning closer, you plunge your hand deep in his chest. He can feel your cold fingers feeling around the cavity before they close over his heart and pull it forcefully from his body.

Uncontrollable dizziness overcomes him and he must collapse to the floor for his perspective looking at you changes drastically, your feet coming into view. Red confetti like splotches drip on the hardwood between you, and he realises before everything goes black that you’ve literally squashed his heart to a pulp.

Bucky’s panting breath fills the room.

The memory has reset again, but he wastes no time in searching for an escape, even though it feels like an anvil has just been dropped on his chest. There was one way into this void, so there’s most likely only one way out. He just needs to find it.

He can’t sit by and watch this play out when he knows exactly how this night concludes. He simply refuses to be witness to that again. But something in his gut knows that he can’t interfere with the memory. The void, whether sentient or not he hasn’t worked out yet, wants him to relive this wretched, miserable memory in full.

He tries exiting through the front door when his clone comes home at the start of the memory, however, he slams head first into what feels like a brick wall constructed purely to keep him contained in this hell.

“You’re late.”

“You know we’ve been slammed.”

Rubbing his nose, Bucky continues his frantic search, his heart beating in his throat which still throbs from earlier. He has to get out of here. He hasn’t even reached the worst part of the memory and he already wants to rip his ears off to prevent him having to process the hurt in your voice.

“I can't help that they need us working overtime after what happened with Ross.”

He sounds so indifferent to having clearly hurt your feelings that Bucky would punch his own head in if he didn’t know that would result in a painful death and needing to replay this memory over again.

Perhaps this is the eternity he deserves after how he treated you.

“Do you know what it feels like to not be seen as a priority by the person who claims to love you?”

“I do love you.”

The doorway to the bedroom that you emerged from also leads to a solid barrier and in all his frustration Bucky slams a vibranium fist into it. It doesn't crack, but instead the force travels through his arm and up to his shoulder and he recoils from the piercing pain.

“Well I don’t feel loved by you.”

But nothing could be more painful than that.

The words still sting like a knife puncturing his heart even though Bucky knew this time around they were coming. They’re the words that replay in his mind every night before he goes to sleep. No defences he could ever prepare would be sufficient to save him from the torment that he had not only broken your heart, but he had disappointed you, and betrayed your trust when he promised he would never be the cause of your pain.

“You could have texted, just to let me know you’d be this late, that you’d miss dinner. But instead I’m just supposed to sit around waiting, always doing things on your time, wasting my own. I feel like I’m forever making allowances for you, but you never do the same for me. A relationship is meant to be give and take from both parties, compromising for each other, yet it feels like I’m the only one sacrificing anything for this relationship.”

“You know I hate texting.”

Bucky slides down the barrier and covers his ears with his hands as salty tears flow steadily from the corners of his eyes. Back in reality he could pretend this night didn’t happen, place blocks in his mind to stop himself recalling these events, delude himself into believing he hadn’t used weak excuses and a lack of effort when you were so close to being done with him completely.

Imagine that you were still his.

Time had helped him forget the exact words used to implode your relationship, but this front row seat reminds him not only how dumb his responses sounded, but brings back the heavy sadness in his chest it took him months to learn to live with and the raw emotion he can feel tightening his trachea, making it hard to breathe.

“Is that really all you have to say?”

“No of course not - it’s just been a long day, can’t we talk about this in the morning?”

Bucky knew in the moment instantly he had said the wrong thing, but it’s even more obvious watching on from the sidelines. You’ve got tears brimming in your eyes as you attempt not to completely break down in front of him and all he did was dismiss the very valid concerns you had about the relationship.

He felt like a fool back then. Now, it’s shame and despair which fight for dominance in the pit of his stomach.

The volume of voices gets louder and he can’t bear to listen to anymore. But he knows he can’t interfere if he doesn’t want the memory to restart.

If the purpose of the void is to make you no longer want to exist anymore, it has certainly achieved its objective with Bucky.

“No James, for once I want to do something in my timeframe, and I want to talk about this now.”

“Fine. It’s not like we haven’t had this conversation before. I work too much. You don’t get to see me. I thought you were going to be supportive of me being in congress? Knew I wanted to help the same American people I fought Nazis to protect and provide freedoms.”

With a sniffle, and exercising a great deal of restraint to not bash the back of his head repeatedly against the barrier, Bucky stands with a quivering lower lip. He needs to stop feeling sorry for himself when his own actions led him to this situation and find a way out of here.

If there is anything worse than reliving this memory, it would be watching it on replay till the end of time. But it’s easier said than done when he also has to contend with overcoming the most horrible memory in his arsenal.

“Don’t you dare say I haven’t been supportive Bucky, you don’t realise what I’ve sacrificed so you can continue to pursue your career and we can stay together. You speak like you don’t even want to be with me. If I’m that unsupportive then why are you still with me?”

The silence is deafening.

Bucky wipes tears from his cheeks and tries his best to tune out what he knows are the exact words that come from your mouth as he looks around for any trace of a trigger to allow him to leave this moment in time.

“That’s all I need to hear.”

“No, darling please. I love you. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“If you can’t come up with any reasons why you actually want to be with me Bucky, then I think we need to admit that this isn’t working. We aren’t working.”

Bucky sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Knowing there should be nothing over by the other side of the room to where past him and you are fighting, he takes large strides over only to find nothing out of the ordinary, not a single item out of place. No clues as to how to get out of here - it was probably just a result of his eyes being filled with tears.

His fists slam down against the hall table, rattling a small vase holding flowers Bucky doesn’t recall buying for you, which tips on its side and tumbles to the floor, breaking into shards with a resounding crash.

But it doesn’t reset the memory.

“Not working?”

“You heard me James.”

“No… this can’t be it. This can’t be the end. I love you. You love me.”

Just as he’s about to give up hope, wanting to crash his head against the mirror rather than be forced to experience the worst day of his life yet again, he notices someone rocking themselves in the fetal position within the mirror who doesn’t belong in this memory.

Bucky hastily turns back to the room where memory you and him are still arguing to confirm he’s not just seeing things, and to his utter delight this person, who looks like Bob from the back, only exists in the mirror dimension.

He first attempts with a pointer finger, and where the mirror should be, solid and firm, instead his digit disappears inside, rippling like the surface of water. His heart skips a beat.

This is the way out.

“This is one of those times where love isn’t enough.”

For just a split second Bucky looks back, to get one last glimpse of you in the flesh before he makes his exit, even if you are visibly distressed, and it confounds him to see not one but two of you in the scene. He barely has a second to shake the confusion from his mind for the next moment he’s stepping into the mirror and the memory instantly changes into a room that appears to be an attic that Yelena and Bob have already made it to.

He could have sworn there was an additional version of you in that memory, but how could there have been? The two of you were alone the night you broke up. Bucky quickly comes to the conclusion it must have been the mirror playing tricks on him.

Even if he doesn’t fully believe it.

* * *

Once his newfound friends help rescue Bob from the void, it’s the brightness of the real world that strikes him first.

Bucky hadn’t realised how dim and void of light the memory he stepped into had become. He supposed there was meaning behind that if he tried hard enough to think about it, but he didn’t want to contemplate it at all.

There was still a hole burning in his sternum from having to relive his most painful memory.

Bucky Barnes had committed some truly heinous crimes while under the influence of Hydra. But the difference this time was he had been in full control of his actions. Him failing you, breaking your heart and your trust, that was all him.

There was no one else to blame this time.

Everyone else appears relieved, the darkness dissipated and where it had been, rays of golden sunshine and the camaraderie of being around those who have survived something otherworldly together in its place.

But Bucky’s pain doesn’t feel alleviated, not in the slightest. You still consume his thoughts, and clearly plague his memories. After three months of pretending to be fine, this was a severe reminder that he has been walking around with a fragmented heart, shards of which make each beat agony, since the moment he left your apartment three months ago.

Bucky can’t believe he let a job come between him and the only person who has ever made him feel truly seen and loved, but especially one in which bureaucracy and corrupt politicians prevent him from actually effecting change that makes a difference to the lives of the most vulnerable.

If today has taught him anything, it’s that the people you surround yourself with are what makes the biggest difference in your life. You came into his life when all he wanted was to be alone, isolated in his own despair, but you showed him how beautiful and vibrant this existence can truly be, even with mental demons laying dormant in his shadows. Much like how his band of misfits can hopefully now show Bob.

You are the one who got away.

And he’ll have to live with those choices for the rest of his life.

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shurisneakers · 1 day ago

Note

“i can’t seem to understand you” with bucket bucky - hello i love you!!!

um hello i love you mORE

am i going back to my roots?? yes. i never left. here's an avengers 2012 style fic with my new forced family morons.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: mild thunderbolts spoilers, swearing, breaking and entering, mr avoidant over here

my masterlist over here and my silly little inbox for more requests, should you please

"First he leads us into the ass-kicking of our lives, now he's got us breaking into a random flat," Ava snipes, trailing behind the group. "What's the plan now, Bucky?"

"It is not his fault we got our asses kicked," Yelena squints as she looks up the brick wall.

"I don't need you defending me," he grumbles, jumping to catch hold of the fire escape.

"I'm not defending you," she says. "I'm calling all of us useless."

"We will break into tiny, New York apartment, and recover before we fight again," Alexei says. "Take nap, small lunch, then crush our enemies."

Bucky drags the fire escape ladder down to the ground, before wiping off his hands.

"No lunch," Bucky replies. "We're not staying that long. We just need a place to come up with a plan."

"Oh, we're taking the ladder? I figured you had another U-Haul around here to crash," John looks at the rackety old thing. "Can this thing even hold all of us?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, beginning the ascent. "Climb. Or don't. I don't care."

"Move." Ava shoves past him, following behind Bucky.

They crept up the side of the building, quiet enough for trained fugitives, loud enough to be annoying.

By the time they reached the third floor, Bucky was already prying open a window with enough force to snap the lock.

The window behind them hasn’t even clicked shut when a voice cuts through the room like a blade.

"You've got to be joking," your voice snapped from the doorway, sharp enough to stop all movement.

They all freeze.

You’re standing in the hallway, barefoot, holding a bat high up.

Yelena raises a tentative hand. “Uh-- hello?”

“Don’t.”

She puts her hand back down.

"What the hell Bucky?" you grit. "What the fuck are you doing here? And who are these people?"

"You guys know each other?"

"Hi," Bucky grunts, ignoring Walker and also the redness creeping up his neck. "These are--"

"The Thunderbolts."

"No." He glares. "They're helping me take down Val."

"Val? Congress Val? We're against her now?" you ask exasperatedly. "Last time we talked, you just got elected. Are you still in Congress?"

"You're in Congress?" Ava pipes up. "Didn't you kill JFK?"

"Not the point," Bucky groans.

"And they still elected you?"

"I'm not in Congress anymore."

"Oh goodie. Since when?" you ask.

"This morning." He rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't get time to call."

"Sure. You had time to break into my apartment, though."

"About that--" He glances back at the group who were standing around, clearly enjoying the beat-down he was facing. "We just need a place while we regrouped."

"To be clear, he did not tell us that he knew you. We thought we were going somewhere random," Walker juts in again.

"Oh, he's here too. Hello Craptain America. Which sewer did you crawl out of to be here?"

"I didn't even do anything," he mumbles stepping back.

"You've done enough."

"We'll leave if you just say the word," Bucky cuts in. "Swear. But we just need a few hours, and we'll be out of your life."

You stare at him for a few seconds. "Is someone gonna come break down my door looking for you?"

"No," he says.

“A door would not stop him anyway,” Alexei added, sounding entirely too cheerful. “But we will protect you. Not well. But we will try.”

You glance between all of them for a few seconds.

"Fine," you say at last. "If anyone comes looking for you guys, you're replacing anything they break."

Bucky lets out an exhale, as they all walk past him to sink down into various seats.

You turned without saying anything and walked down the hallway to the bedroom.

A minute passes.

Then footsteps.

He sees you leaning against the dresser, arms folded, phone still in hand.

Bucky stands in the doorway for a second, hesitant.

You look at him. “You gonna say something, or are you just here to breathe loud and feel sorry for yourself?”

He blinks. “Hi?”

“Try again.”

He sighs. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

"No way, really?" you drawl. "But this is everything I've ever dreamed of."

"I don't get it. I can't seem to understand you." You shake your head. "You bring me flowers, disappear for three months, we kiss, you raincheck every dinner I cook for you and now you show up here with four assassins."

"You're mad," he says, observant as ever.

You stare at him. Bucky dutifully matches your gaze, forcing himself not to fidget.

"Bucky, why are you here?" you ask, voice deflated.

"I told you."

"You wanted a place to lay low. Is that all?"

He doesn't say anything. You search his face for anything, any sign.

He shifts on his feet. “I just needed somewhere safe.”

“And I’m what? A checkpoint?”

“No,” he says, too quickly, before adding in something more quieter, “You’re the first place I thought of.”

You sigh, folding your arms. “Are you in or are you out, Barnes?

His mouth is pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over his chest.

"Because if you are, and this is how it's going to be, I'm not interested. You're cute. I like you. But this isn't enough for me."

"'M sorry," He looks at you, softer now. "Things haven't been good. Didn't want to get you caught up in it."

"Yet here I am."

"I'm sorry about that too," he adds. "

You look at him for a long moment. At the cut above his brow. The dust on his jacket. The way his hands are clenched..

"You kept the bat." The corner of his lips quirk up into a smile.

“You should be grateful I didn’t swing it.”

“It’s got good balance,” he admitted.

He looks different up close. Same face, same eyes but worn thinner. Like he hadn’t slept properly in days. Maybe weeks.

You sigh. "Should I order pizza?"

"Yes," they all chorus from the living room. It catches you by surprise.

"Stop listening in," he barks.

"The walls are like, paper thin, man," Yelena says. "You should have thought of that before you brought us to your situationship's house."

“What the hell is a situationship?” he muttered, directing it toward you now. “Actually scratch that. I don’t care. Whatever it is, that’s not what we are.”

You raised an eyebrow, arms still folded. “No?”

"But there is a 'we', yes?" Alexei calls.

You look at Bucky. He looks back sheepishly, somewhat even helpless.

"Nope," you reply, moving past him to go to the band of morons out there. "There is no 'we'."

"I mean--" he mumbles.

"Classic lover's quarrel," he hears Alexei continues, like he's explaining this to someone. "Melina and I had them many times."

You roll your eyes. "How long do you have? Pizza's gonna take a while."

“You don’t have to feed us.”

"If you're gonna fight against this guy--"

"Bob," someone calls.

"Bob. If you're going to fight against Bob, you're gonna need more than a granola bar. When’s the last time any of you had a vegetable?"

You're met with a series of shrugs.

"Grown adults," you exhale, shaking your head before walking back into the bedroom to find your phone.

You thumb through the menu.

Something soft brushes against your hand. You swallow the thickness in your throat, refusing to tear your gaze away from the phone.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s almost too soft. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t move.

“I mean it. I’ll make it up to you.”

You glance at him.

"Look, I'm not trying to guilt you into--"

"It's not that. I've been meaning to." He swallows.

"Bucky--"

“I missed you,” he said, not quite looking at you. “I wish I could say I’ll get everything right from now on. I just… I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”

You swallow. Slowly.

“And it didn’t feel good. Not talking to you. Everything was happening, and the nightmares were back, and I kept thinking 'I should tell you this.' But then I didn’t. And it got worse.”

“You don’t get to drop that on me if you're gonna fuck off again.”

“I won’t.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then you tilt your head. “You know you owe me, like, three dinners.”

He gives you a small smile. "I'll buy you dinner for the rest of your life."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Congressman."

His eyes drifted toward the bat, still propped against the wall.

“You really were ready to clock me, huh?”

“I was aiming for Walker, but yeah. You were next.”

He smiles, and it's probably the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Are these your friends now?" you ask finally.

"They're not even my co-workers."

"Didn’t think you had co-workers anymore. As of, you know. This morning."

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “new job. No salary. No benefits at all, really.”

"You're gonna buy me dinner like this?"

"I'll figure it out."

You snort despite yourself. “You're gonna get someone killed.”

He shrugs again. “Probably me.”

He reaches out. Just lightly. Two fingers brushing against your pinky where your hand hangs.

Without thinking, he shifts just slightly closer. Not enough to close the space, but... there. He's back up in your space, and he fills it like he never left at all.

“I think about you,” he says, voice quiet like it's the one thing he wants to keep only for you both, "All the time."

"Sap," you say, but it feels airy. "Your 100 year old charm won't work on me. This doesn't fix anything."

"I know."

His fingers twitch like he’s about to pull away.

You catch them before he does.

“You disappear again like that,” you say, “I swing the bat next time.”

He smiles, head tilted. “Sure thing.”

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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user-888888888 · 2 days ago

Text

FIRST FIC REBLOG ON MY OWN (not from my old blog) i've read this one during quarantine and definitely an ultimate fic rec!!!!!!!!! also check out this blog. the author never fails tbh

Eye For An Eye - COMPLETED.

CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader AU.

!! THIS IS A STORY ABOUT POINTLESS REVENGE. AND IF YOU ARE NOT INTO THAT, KINDLY, CLICK AWAY !!

Run-through: Battered and bruising, Y/N is out to seek sweet revenge from a man, James Buchanan Barnes, who tore her family apart 10 years ago. Y/N’s plan was simple; infiltrate his life, mess with his head, toy with his heart and leave him broken. Headstrong, she will stop at nothing, not even when it comes down to her being the villain in her own story…

Themes throughout the series: CEO! Bucky, smut, angst, fluff?

COMPLETED.

Eye For An Eye - Part 1

Eye For An Eye - Part 2

Eye For An Eye - Part 3

Eye For An Eye - Part 4

Eye For An Eye - Part 5

Eye For An Eye - Part 6

#ceo!bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #boss!bucky barnes #bucky fic rec

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the-winter-spider · 2 days ago

Text

Pink Skies | Bucky Barnes

Word count: 17k

Warnings: Death, Angst, sadness idk

A/N: Working on the next couple parts of Yours, Always. Found this fully finished One Shot i forgot to post i guess lol Not proofreading, enjoy!

He left, and the world didn’t end but something in you did. What followed wasn’t healing, not at first, just presence, patience, and hands that never let go.

-----

You met Steve Rogers long before you knew what it meant to be the man on the posters.

Before you knew what his name meant, before you saw they built statues in his honor, before you noticed what that shield truly meant and the silence and the burden of everyone else’s expectations. You knew him when his shoulders still carried guilt heavier than any battlefield. You knew him when his hands shook, when his voice cracked, when he sat in the dark listening to jazz records because the world had moved too fast and he couldn’t quite catch up and he knew you when you were still afraid of your own power, when the wind howled because your heartbeat did, when the ground trembled under your feet without you meaning it to.

Steve found you in the middle of a mission gone wrong young, scared, half-buried beneath the wreckage of a burning compound in the middle of the mountains, your fingertips lit with sparks of a storm that hadn’t learned how to rain gently. You were a weapon. You were a ghost. But he didn’t look at you like that. He looked at you like someone worth saving and from that day on, he never stopped saving you.

You were never just another mission report to him. You became the one he trusted to watch his six, the one who could calm his breathing when the air got too thin, the one who sat beside him after long battles when he didn’t have words for what he was feeling. You called him Cap for years, but eventually it softened into Steve and eventually, Steve became family.

So when the world broke apart, when the Accords tore the team in half and the sky stopped pretending to be safe you didn’t hesitate. You stood by him. Even when it meant running. Even when it meant losing everything else. Because you trusted him. Always, and when he told you Bucky Barnes was worth saving, you didn’t question that either. You helped him bring Bucky home. You helped him heal. Even if Bucky was a stranger to you, the kind with quiet eyes and decades of pain stitched into his silences. You didn’t need to know Bucky to believe in him.

You only needed to know Steve.

And then you were gone.

Dusted away in an instant that rewrote the sky and for what felt like seconds to turn out to be five years, there was nothing. No air, no sound, no time. Just nothing. But when you came back, when your feet hit solid ground again and your body remembered how to breathe it was Steve who was there waiting. He held you like you weren’t real, like you would slip away all over again. Like something he couldn’t believe had come back to him.

You didn’t realize then it would be the last time he ever looked at you like that.

The night before he returned the stones, you found him sitting on the porch of the cabin, the shield at his feet and the sky bleeding gold into the lake.

You hesitated in the doorway. Watched the way the light touched his profile, how tired he looked. How much older than the last time you’d really seen him. The silence between the three of you felt like something sacred, or maybe like something already ending. Bucky was leaned against the railing, arms folded, eyes locked on the horizon, like he was trying not to look at either of you.

You stepped forward, slow and careful, like your presence might crack whatever this moment was and you already knew. Before Steve said a word. You knew.

“You’re not coming back,” you said, your voice quiet, but steady. It wasn’t a question. It was already the truth.

Steve turned toward you. Met your eyes. “No,” he said softly. “I’m not.”

The air changed. The wind stilled. The world held its breath, just like you held yours.

You stared at him, blinking slow, as if the weight of his words hadn’t fully landed yet. But then they did and the storm started building in your chest, hot and tight and shaking.

“You told me we’d be okay,” you whispered. “You promised me. After everything, we lost five years. Five years, Steve. And you brought us back. You brought me back. Just to leave?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away.

“Why?” you asked. Your voice was cracking now, because your heart was. “Why now? Why her?”

Steve exhaled, like the answer hurt him too. “Because I owe it to myself. To the man I used to be. I owe him a life.”

You shook your head. “And what about the life you built here? What about the people who needed you, who still need you?”

His voice was gentler now. “You’re strong. You always have been. You and Bucky—”

“Don’t!” you snapped, stepping back. “Don’t put this on him. Don’t act like we’re just going to pick up the pieces together because you decided to disappear.”

Steve swallowed hard. “I’m not disappearing.”

“Yes, you are,” you said. “You’re choosing to walk away. From all of this. From me.”

The look in his eyes nearly undid you. Regret and guilt. But no change of heart.

“You were the first person who ever made me feel safe,” you whispered. “You were the first one who didn’t look at me like I was dangerous or broken or too much. You were my family. You are my family and now you’re leaving. Just like everybody else.”

His voice was quiet. “You’re not alone.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You turned before your hands started to shake. Before the tears made it to your throat. Before Bucky, silent and still as stone could say anything at all.

You walked back into the cabin, the storm at your heels and you didn’t come out the next morning.

Didn’t watch him step onto the platform. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t see him pass the shield to Sam. You stayed inside, staring at the walls like they might give you answers he wouldn’t.

Because the truth is, you didn’t lose Steve the day he went back. You lost him the moment he decided that his future didn’t include you.

He was never a maybe. Never a second guess. He was home. The closest thing to unconditional you ever had and losing that, losing him wasn’t just grief.

It was abandonment.

And nothing you could summon, not fire, not wind, not thunder could protect you from that kind of hurt.

Steve did technically come back, but not the way you needed him to.

Not as the man who used to sit across from you on long missions and fall asleep mid-sentence, head tilted back, shield leaning against his chair like it was just another piece of luggage. Not as the one who made you feel like you belonged in your own skin. He didn’t come back as the person who knew how to help you breathe when your powers spun out or how to stand close without making you feel small. He didn’t come back with his sleeves rolled up and worry in his voice and that firm, steady certainty that used to hold you up when you couldn’t hold yourself. No. He came back as something else. Someone else. An old man with a soft smile and the kind of peace in his eyes that made you ache, because it meant he wasn’t carrying you anymore. Because it meant he had set it all down. Including you.

You weren’t beside Bucky like Steve always said you would be. You had been long gone by then disappeared the way you always feared you might, turned invisible by grief and disbelief and something sharp that lived deep in your gut where your loyalty used to sit. And when Sam looked around after taking that shield, his hands heavier for it, his heart unsure, he didn’t see you. He glanced toward Bucky, quiet and tense, like the silence had finally gotten too loud.

“Is that why she’s not here?” Sam asked quietly, his voice dipped low. “Because of this? Because he left? Did you both know?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes on the trees on the exact spot where Steve had once stood, his hand on both their shoulders, telling them they’d always have each other. Like that promise hadn’t splintered the moment Steve chose the past over everything they were still trying to hold onto. After a long, brittle silence, Bucky exhaled. “Yeah,” he said. “We knew.”

Sam didn’t respond at first. Just nodded once. Like it hurts to understand. Like it hurt more than he thought it would. “Do you know where she is?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

Because whatever had tethered the three of them had come undone the second Steve walked away and the only person who might’ve helped knot it back together was gone, because he chose to be.

The messages started a few days later.

Sam’s voice, softer than usual. Hesitant, like he didn’t want to push. Like he was knocking on a door he wasn’t sure he had the right to open anymore.

“Hey,” he said the first time. Just that. A beat of silence. “I don’t know where you are. Or what you’re feeling. But I hope you’re safe.”

The second voicemail came the next day. “I know you think nobody gets it. But I do. He was my family too.”

The third. “You didn’t lose everyone. Not this time. You still have me.”

The fourth. “You don’t have to call me back. I just want you to know I’m here. That you’re not alone.”

You never deleted them.

You listened in the dark, sitting with your knees drawn up to your chest, your phone pressed to your shoulder, eyes blank as the world went quiet around you. You didn’t answer. You didn’t speak. You just let the words sit there. Familiar, kind and unbearably gentle.

You didn’t know how to let them in.

Because something in you had cracked the day Steve came back and handed his shield to someone else. Something had broken when he smiled that soft, faraway smile and told you nothing was wrong. When he looked at you like a memory. Like something from a life he’d already closed the book on. He didn’t die. But he was gone. And he had left without looking back.

You made it to the hills two days later. Some forgotten stretch of land just outside a nameless town, where the grass grew high and the wind came easy. You didn’t pick the spot for any reason. You just kept driving until the road gave up and your body said enough. You climbed, slowly, barefoot and quiet, until you reached the highest point of the hill and sat down hard in the dirt. Your powers buzzed just beneath your skin, restless, raw, aching. But you didn’t call to them.

They came anyway.

A single dark cloud unfurled overhead, silent and heavy, pressing close enough to almost touch. The sky everywhere else was clear, soft and distant. But right above you, it mourned. The wind stopped moving. The trees stilled. The world held its breath, and then the rain came…thin, steady, cold.

It rolled down your spine, soaked through your shirt, pooled at your ankles. You didn’t move. You didn’t shield yourself from it. You let it fall. Because for once, it wasn’t your powers you couldn’t control.

It was your grief.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t crack the earth open or summon lightning or tear the clouds apart. You didn’t have it in you. You just sat there, completely still, and let the water blur your vision and the sky sob in your place.

Because this was what abandonment felt like. This was what it meant when the only person who ever truly saw you decided not to stay and no storm, no matter how loud or how bright or how wide could drown that out.

------

Steve’s house was quiet when they arrived. It always was these days. Tucked away on the edge of a field in Maryland, a one-level farmhouse with white siding, wide porches, and curtains that never seemed to change. It wasn’t the kind of place that called attention to itself. It wasn’t built for legends or gods or war heroes. It was built for a man who had done all that and just wanted to sit in a chair with the breeze in his hair and the weight of a life finally laid down. The nurse, Marisol qhad called earlier that morning. Said she didn’t think he had long now. That his breathing had changed. That he was asking for people who weren’t there. So Bucky and Sam got in the car and didn’t say much on the drive, just passed the time in silence, knowing what it meant. Knowing what they were walking into.

Steve was already out back in his favorite chair, a blanket over his lap and a book open in one hand that he wasn’t really reading. His eyes were tired, red-rimmed, but the second he saw them, something in his face shifted. The same soft warmth that had never quite left him, even when the rest of the world had. Sam walked over first, crouched beside him, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Cap,” he said, voice low. “You’re looking old.” Steve huffed a laugh that broke halfway through and turned into a cough.

Bucky stepped forward after, just stood next to him, eyes on the book, not really knowing how to start. “You’re still reading The Old Man and the Sea?” he asked, mouth twitching. “Fitting.”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “It’s the only one I don’t get tired of.”

They sat with him like that for a while, not saying much, just letting the breeze move through the trees and the light shift across the porch like it always had. It was quiet in a way the world hadn’t been for a long time. Peaceful, almost. Like a page was turning in slow motion. Sam sat back on the step and asked about the old team, if Steve remembered the first time they all trained together in the Tower. Steve laughed again, wheezed, and nodded. “You mean when y/n knocked the power out because Tony said she couldn’t hit him?” Sam grinned.

“Exactly that one.” Steve’s expression softened. He leaned his head back.

“Haven’t seen her in a while,” he said, eyes drifting. “She missed coming by this week.”

That made Sam glance up. “Y/N?” he asked carefully. “She’s come by?”

Steve’s mouth pulled into a tired smile. “Every week,” he said, almost like it was a dream. “Tuesday mornings. She comes around for the day. We sit, we talk. She never stays the night, but she always leaves tea in the cabinet when she goes.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re serious?” He looked at Bucky, then back at Steve. “She’s been here? I haven’t heard from her in months. I thought—” He cut himself off. “You sure this ain’t old age Cap?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Are you sure, Steve?” he asked. “You’re not just… thinking about her?”

Steve turned his head slowly and looked over toward the sliding door, where Marisol was just stepping out with water. “You can ask her,” he said, voice thinner now. “She’ll tell you.”

Sam stood and met Marisol halfway. “Sorry—uh, quick question. Has Y/N actually been coming by here?”

Marisol smiled softly, nodding. “Oh, yes. Once a week, just like clockwork. Comes with a bag full of books and those little pastries from that bakery in town. Doesn’t talk much, but she always comes.”

Sam blinked. “Huh,” he said, almost to himself. “I thought she was still… out there.”

“She is,” Steve muttered, amusement filling his tone. “She just comes back to haunt me.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “So… you two made up?”

That made Steve laugh again, short and wheezing. It rattled in his chest. Sam reached for the glass of water, handed it to him without a word. Steve drank, coughed, then set it down on the arm of the chair and leaned back with a small shake of his head.

“She can hold a grudge better than anyone I’ve ever met,” he said with affection. “We didn’t make up but said she just couldn't leave me.”

Sam looked out over the yard. “How’s she doing? Should I be worried?”

Steve’s smile faded. His eyes didn’t lift from the trees. “You should be worried,” he said simply. “She doesn’t look well. She talks less. She’s smaller somehow. Like she’s still carrying everything and doesn’t have the strength to hide it anymore.”

He turned, not to Sam, but to Bucky.

“She won’t let Sam in. He’s been trying. But she alway used to answer you.”

Bucky shifted slightly, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t heard from her either.”

“I know,” Steve said. “That’s why I’ve got one last order for you, Captain's orders and all.” He raised a hand, a faint ghost of his old grin tugging at his mouth. “You need to look out for her. No matter how hard she makes it. Promise me that.”

Bucky stared at him, nodded once and reached for his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “I can do that for you.”

“Not for me Buck, but for her, for you.” Steve’s fingers gripped his just tight enough to feel. His voice was barely above a whisper. “‘Til the end of the line.”

Bucky held on. “‘Til the end of the line.”

The funeral was small, quiet. No cameras, no press. No flags or horns or long speeches. Just the people who mattered. The ones who knew him, not the symbol, not the legacy, but the man. Sam wore a dark suit, hands clasped in front of him, staring down at the casket with a tight jaw and tired eyes. Bucky stood beside him, still, arms crossed, the weight of the years between them showing in the lines on his face. There were a few others, Wanda, leaning quietly against a tree; Bruce and Clint, both with bowed heads; even Rhodey, who said little but nodded at every word spoken like he was hearing them for someone else, too.

The chair next to Sam was empty, until it wasn’t. The moment was quiet just before the minister began speaking. The wind had picked up, shifting through the grass and lifting the edges of the canopy. And then footsteps. Soft, slow and deliberate, you stepped into the clearing like a storm walking on two legs.

You weren’t dressed for the occasion, not really. A dark coat clung to your frame, too big, sleeves hiding your hands. Your boots were caked in dirt. Your hair was pulled back, but loose strands clung to your damp cheeks. The sky above you had gone darker than before, not enough to rain, not yet, but heavy with the threat of it.

Bucky turned first. Then Sam and when Sam saw you, his breath caught. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. Just walked to the edge of the gathering and stopped. Eyes fixed on the casket. Shoulders trembling. One hand pressed over your ribs like you were physically holding yourself together.

Sam took a step forward like he might say something, but Bucky caught his arm gently and shook his head. Not yet.

Because whatever was happening in your chest, whatever storm you’d brought with you, it wasn’t finished breaking, it just started brewing and the sky above you, loyal as ever, waited for your permission to fall.

You left before the dirt hit the coffin.

Before the sound of it could settle in your chest. Before you had to hear the final thud of goodbye. You didn’t wait for the eulogies to end. Didn’t linger for the handshakes or hugs or the sympathetic looks that would’ve made you crack. The second they stepped forward to lower the casket, you turned. You walked away from the field and into the woods, taking the long path around the house, boots sinking into the wet soil. You didn’t care. You just walked and when you reached the back porch, hand on the screen door, you paused only once just long enough to breathe in the air like it might still smell like him.

The house hadn’t changed. Everything was still there. His books you brought him are still stacked on the little side table near the fireplace. The same old wool blanket folded across the back of the armchair he always sat in. The fireplace was cold, but you could still feel the warmth of all the hours you spent there, long afternoons, Tuesday mornings, those quiet visits where nothing got resolved but everything hurt a little less. You stepped inside slowly, letting the screen door creak behind you, and moved toward the chair like it might move too if you didn’t walk carefully enough.

And then you stopped, you just stood there, frozen, staring at it.

The chair was empty and still…undisturbed. It felt wrong, seeing it like that. It had always looked the same but now it looked abandoned. The way a home looks after everyone’s gone and only the ghosts are left to sit in silence. You didn’t reach for it. You didn’t touch the blanket. You just stared, eyes fixed on the curve of the armrest where he used to drum his fingers when he was thinking, where his hand had rested the last time he said goodbye without saying it.

You didn’t hear them coming.

Bucky and Sam were still walking up the gravel path, their voices low, footsteps crunching in the quiet. They didn’t expect to see you there. Sam had just said your name, softly, like it might summon you from thin air.

“She’s still not answering,” he muttered. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“She was here,” Bucky said. “She showed up.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, stopping just before the steps. “But that wasn’t her. That was… something else. You saw her face.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I did…I know.”

He opened the door first, letting it swing inward. The two of them stepped into the front room and stopped short at the sight of you.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t even flinch. Just stood there like you had been standing there for hours. A statue made of rain and memory. Sam’s breath hitched when he saw you. The way your shoulders had folded in, like you were barely holding your own weight. The way your hands were at your sides, clenched into fists so tight your knuckles had gone white.

“Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

That’s when you spun around and they both felt it in their chests.

You didn’t speak. Your mouth opened, then closed. Once. Twice. Your lips trembled. But nothing came out. No words. Just tears, thick and fast, carving tracks down your cheeks. Your eyes didn’t blink. They were wide and wet and shattered, and Sam swore later he had never seen someone look so completely broken and then the wind picked up. Not through the door, not through the trees….from you.

The air in the room shifted like it had a heartbeat. Like it was alive with the sound of grief. A low groan in the walls. A pressure building beneath the floorboards. Bucky stepped forward carefully, like the wrong movement might tip the whole house sideways.

“Hey,” he said, soft. “Hey, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Because then the thunder cracked. Not overhead, not in the distance, right outside.

It ripped through the air like the sky couldn’t take it anymore, and then came the rain, fast and hard and angry. It beat down on the roof with enough force to rattle the windows. Water streamed down the glass like the house was crying, and still, you didn’t move.

Sam moved toward you slowly, palm up, helpless. “You don’t have to say anything. Just—just let us in. Let us be here, okay? Please.”

Your chest rose sharply and then your knees gave out.

The storm didn’t stop.

It just followed you down as you collapsed to the floor, shaking, silent, gasping for air between sobs that didn’t make a sound. Sam dropped to his knees next to you. Bucky was right behind. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them touched you. They just sat with you. In it. As the rain came down. As the house held all of it…the love, the pain, the pieces left behind.

Because grief like this doesn’t ask for permission. It just comes and it doesn’t stop until it’s done with you and Steve… he wasn’t done with you yet.

The rain was still coming down when Sam finally stood. He didn’t say much just reached over, rested a gentle hand on your shoulder for a beat, and said, “I’m gonna run into town. Get some food. Something warm.” His voice was quiet, the kind of quiet people use in hospital rooms and front porches after funerals, like sound itself might break something if it’s not handled carefully. You didn’t answer. You didn’t nod. You just stayed curled on the floor where your legs had folded beneath you, one hand braced against the old wood, the other limp at your side, fingertips barely twitching from the storm still humming in your bones. Sam’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer before shifting to Bucky. That look between them wasn’t loud, but it said enough. I trust you. Be gentle. Bucky gave him the smallest nod, and Sam pulled the door shut behind him.

The house went quiet again, except for the sound of rain on the roof and the storm moving in slow waves outside. You didn’t lift your head. You could feel Bucky sit down a few feet away, just far enough not to crowd you, just close enough that the space between you could hold something. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was thick. Dense with all the things neither of you had ever said. You kept your eyes on the chair by the fireplace….Steve’s chair. You remembered the way he used to sit there, worn cardigan sleeves rolled up to the elbows, book open, mug steaming beside him. You remembered the way he’d glance up at you mid-sentence when you’d arrive on Tuesdays, like he’d been waiting for you all day and now the room was whole. But now it was just a chair. Just fabric and wood and memory. It looked smaller without him in it and you couldn’t stop staring.

Minutes passed, maybe more. The storm didn’t ease, it just shifted, like it was waiting. Waiting for something to give. You didn’t speak until your throat ached from holding it all in and even then, your voice sounded foreign.

“I hated him for leaving.”

You didn’t turn to look at Bucky. You didn’t need to. The words fell out like water finally overflowing the edge of a cup.

“I hated him for choosing a life that didn’t include me. I know he earned it…I know he deserved peace. But I still hated him. Not for the dance. Not for the ring. But for how easy it was for him to say goodbye. Like I was never going to be part of the rest of his story. Like I was something he could set down….” You paused, inhaled, dug your nails into your palm until your hand started to shake. “I loved him. Not like that, not like the world thought. I loved him like he was the only person who ever made me feel like I belonged somewhere. Like I wasn’t just power and damage and the worst thing that ever happened to anyone. He was my family, he made my world quiet and then…. he left, then he sat in that chair every week like everything was okay, like still being here made up for leaving in the first place.”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you. You could feel the weight of it. But he didn’t move, he didn’t interrupt. He let you breathe through the thick of it.

“I know he gave you ‘orders’,” you whispered, voice bitter at the edges. “Told you to look after me like I’m a mission. Like I’m some wounded thing to babysit.”

Bucky’s voice came quiet but steady. “He didn’t think you needed pity.”

You finally turned your head to face him. Your eyes were swollen and rimmed in red, and your mouth trembled as you said, “I needed him to stay.”

“I know.”

Your throat worked like you were going to cry again, but you didn’t. You were already wrung dry. You looked back toward the fireplace, where the air felt heavier than the rest of the room. The storm outside had gentled a little, the thunder further off now, but the rain was still coming. It was always coming. You pulled your knees tighter into your chest.

“I’ve been angry for so long,” you murmured. “Angry at him. At myself. At the way people just… slip away and I know I made it hard for everyone to reach me. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see what was left after he walked away, I don’t even wanna see…me.”

Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them, his fingers brushing the floor. “You don’t have to explain it,” he said. “I’ve been mad too, I am mad…I get it.”

Your voice barely came out. “Do you?”

He looked at you then, not just a glance, but full-on and he nodded once.

“I do.”

It was quiet again. You stayed beside him, knees drawn to your chest, head tilted slightly toward the fireplace, but your gaze lingered on Bucky now, he shifted his weight slightly and exhaled like it cost him something.

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Bucky said, voice low, gravel-thick. “Not really. I mean…I knew. He told me, he told us. We talked about it. Said he was thinking about going back. Said it like it was some hypothetical, like he just wanted to see her again, maybe tell her what could’ve been. I thought it was just one of those things we say when we’re tired and full of ghosts. I didn’t think he’d actually go.”

You didn’t move, just listened.

“He told me, before he stepped onto the platform. Told me it was my job now. Told me Sam would take the shield, that I’d look after the two of you and I nodded like I understood.” Bucky’s mouth twitched slightly. Not a smile. Something sadder. “But I didn’t, not really, I still don’t. I stood there, and I watched him go, and part of me kept thinking he’d come back. That he’d walk out of the trees with that dumb expression like, ‘Did you miss me?’ You know the one.”

You did and it cracked something deep in your ribs.

“But then he didn’t… and when he did show up again… he was old, happy and I couldn’t get a read on whether I wanted to hug him or hit him.” Bucky rubbed his palm against his thigh like he could scrape the emotion off it. “I spent seventy years getting ripped apart and put back together. All I ever wanted was to get back to the man who knew who I used to be. The only one who remembered me before I was a weapon and when I finally got him back… he left.”

You turned toward him more now, slow and quiet. His eyes weren’t wet, but they were red at the edges, raw.

“I know he deserved peace,” Bucky said, voice softer now, more broken around the edges. “And I know I should’ve been happy for him, but I wasn’t….I was pissed. I was so fucking pissed. Not because he went back but because he didn’t say goodbye like he should have. Because he made that choice without thinking about what it would do to the people still here.” He looked down at his metal hand, turned it slowly in his lap like it might tell him something. “He said he believed in me. Said he trusted me to keep going. But he also knew how fragile I still was. He knew how hard I was hanging on and he still left, after everything, he still left me…”

The confession hung there between the two of you, and your breathing picked up at the vulnerability filling the room.

“I didn’t even know who I was without him,” Bucky whispered. “He was always the one constant. The one person who didn’t look at me like a monster. Who never stopped seeing the kid from Brooklyn, even when I didn’t see him anymore.”

He finally lifted his gaze, met yours fully now, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you. “And now he’s gone…and I don’t know what to do with that.”

You inhaled slowly, sat with it, with him. With the wreckage he had so carefully hidden behind quiet strength and soldier training and all those years of not breaking. You reached out, not to fix it, not to make it better, but just to touch his hand. Real to real. Warm to cold.

“I don’t either,” you said quietly.

And that was the truth, you didn’t know what to do with Steve’s absence. You didn’t know what to do with the anger or the ache or the way the world felt tilted now, off-balance without his presence holding it steady. But at least you weren’t the only one who felt that way. At least in this house, in this quiet, in this storm, there was someone else who still understood what it meant to love him so much that his absence felt like a betrayal.

You sat with Bucky in that silence, your knees touching now, your hands close and let the storm pass outside, letting it cry for you both.

The rain had settled into something quiet by the time Bucky stood. You didn’t ask why at first. You were still curled in on yourself, breath moving slower, throat raw, but your body no longer shaking. You watched him move toward the fireplace, toward that chair, his chair and kneel down beside it, brushing a hand beneath the cushion like he was reaching for something he wasn’t even sure was there. You heard the soft sound of paper, faint and dry. The rustle of something old and deliberate. He pulled out a small, black journal bound with string and tucked beneath it and three envelopes. Each one marked with a name. Yours. His. Sam’s.

He held them for a second, just staring down at the ink. His name in Steve’s handwriting, the familiar curves. The weight of it, like seeing a voice he’d thought he’d never hear again. You watched him swallow, then move back toward you slowly. He didn’t say anything when he sat down. He just extended his hand toward you…your name on the envelope facing up.

You stared at it like it might burn you, like it might make it worse. But you took it anyway, your fingers trembled as you turned it over and slid your thumb beneath the flap. And when you opened it, you smelled him faintly. Cedar…..paper…..dust. Like memory, like home.

You unfolded the letter, you didn’t read it out loud but the words filled the room.

Y/N,

I never figured out how to thank you, not really. You gave me back parts of myself I thought I’d lost for good. When I brought you in, when I found you I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew you didn’t need saving. You needed someone to stay and I did, for as long as I could. But I realize now, that maybe staying any longer would’ve made you smaller. Not because you needed me. But because I made it easy for you to stay where you were.

After I found Bucky again, after we had time, real time and I understood something I didn’t before. I wasn’t meant to stay. Not because I didn’t love this life. But because this life wasn’t mine to keep. It belonged to you. To Bucky. To Sam. To people who had years left to shape it into something new.

I’ve always believed people come into our lives for a reason and I know now that you weren’t brought to me so I could save you. You were brought to me so I could make sure you survived long enough to find the person who could.

Don’t close off the world, please..not now. Not when it’s just beginning to know who you are without me. You’re fire and rain and everything in between. You’ve got the kind of strength that doesn’t need a shield, it is one. Don’t be afraid to love again, any kind of love you find. Don’t be afraid to let someone love all of it. Even the parts you still flinch at.

And if you’re reading this, it means I didn’t come back. I’m sorry. I hope you never doubt that I loved you like my own. And I hope you’ll let him love you in the way I never could.

Your big brother forever,

Steve

You didn’t realize you were crying until your hands blurred. Until your fingers curled around the letter so tightly the paper crinkled. You didn’t sob, you didn’t collapse. But the tears came quiet and slow, tracking down your cheeks like the rain on the windows. You stared at the words, reread them, then lowered the paper into your lap like your chest had just opened all over again.

Bucky didn’t speak.

But when you finally looked at him, his letter still unopened in his hand, he nodded like he already knew what Steve had said. Maybe not the words but the meaning, then he opened his.

Bucky,

I don’t know how to write this to you without getting it wrong. I don’t think I ever really knew how to say the things you needed to hear when we were younger. Back then, I just tried to be loud enough for the both of us, hoping you’d never have to carry more than you already did. And when I couldn’t follow you into the dark, when they took you from me, I kept telling myself I’d find a way to fix it. That if I could just bring you home, everything we lost would somehow return with you. But it didn’t, it couldn’t.

I know I let you down more than once. I know there were times when you needed me to understand something I just… couldn’t. And still, you stayed. You let me believe in you. You let me call you mine, my brother, my better half, my reason. Even when the world tried to take that from you, you never stopped being the man I grew up with in Brooklyn. Not to me.

And I know how heavy it’s been, all of it. The blood on your hands. The years they stole. The weight of survival when you didn’t ask for it. But Bucky, none of that was ever your fault. You hear me? None of it. You were used. Hurt. Rewritten and rewritten and still, still, you came back with a heart that hadn’t hardened. A soul that still looked for light. I don’t know anyone stronger than that. Not even me.

I chose to leave. I chose to walk away from the fight. And I need you to know, I didn’t do that because I stopped needing you. I did it because I finally believed you didn’t need me to keep going. For the first time, I looked at you and saw a man who could build something without me in the picture. Not because I wasn’t proud of you. But because I was. More than I ever said out loud.

You spent so long in someone else’s shadow, carrying orders that were never yours. I wanted to hand you something that couldn’t be taken away. I wanted to give you space. The kind of space you needed to figure out who you are when no one’s telling you what to be. You don’t owe anyone anything anymore. You never did. What you choose to do now..it’s yours. That life, that future… it belongs to you.

Look after her. You know who I mean. Not because I said so, but because I know you will. Because you already do. You always did. Even when you kept your distance, even when you thought you were the wrong person for the job you saw her. Like you saw me.

You were never the weapon they made you. You were never a broken man. You’re the one who survived and I hope to hell you finally believe that.

Until the end of the line,

Steve

“He always saw more than he said,” Bucky murmured.

You nodded, tried to answer…couldn’t. And then you whispered, “He knew.”

Bucky’s voice was rough. “Yeah.”

“He knew that if he stayed, I would’ve kept hiding behind him.”

“And if he stayed,” Bucky said quietly, “I never would’ve stepped forward.”

The two of you sat there with the letters in your laps, the fireplace cold, the storm nearly gone. And in that moment, you understood. Steve hadn’t left because he didn’t love you. He left because he did. Enough to let you go. Enough to give you back to yourself. To give you to Bucky. To make space for the life that could only begin once he stepped away from the center of it.

The screen door creaked open just as the last echo of thunder rolled out over the fields. Sam stepped inside with two brown paper bags tucked under his arm, the scent of something warm trailing in with him. Fried chicken, cornbread. Something soft and southern, the kind of food that didn’t ask for conversation. His boots thudded gently against the floor as he stepped further into the living room and took one look at the two of you, your back leaned against the wall, Bucky sitting on the floor beside you, both of you holding the weight of something that no longer felt completely unbearable.

He paused, not saying anything right away. His gaze flicked to the letters in your laps, the open envelopes, the soft, wrecked look in your eyes and then Bucky stood, walked over, and without a word, handed Sam his.

Sam looked down at the envelope for a long moment. It was lighter than he expected, but somehow heavier in meaning. He sat the bags down on the kitchen table before opening it. He didn’t speak as he read. He just stood by the window, the letter held in one steady hand, the other braced lightly against the sill like he needed to feel something real beneath his fingers. You watched him silently, your stomach turning slow, heavy from more than just hunger.

Sam,

There were a lot of things I got wrong in my time. A lot of things I fought for before I understood what they really meant and a lot of things I held onto for longer than I should’ve. But you weren’t one of them. You were one of the few things I got right. From the moment I met you, I saw it, you were already doing the work. Already carrying people. Already making sure someone else got to live. You were never in it for the glory. You never needed the spotlight. You just needed to be in the fight, because it mattered. Because people mattered.

I know the weight of the shield isn’t easy. I felt it every day. Sometimes more than others. Sometimes it felt like a promise. Sometimes it felt like a grave. But I gave it to you not because I was tired, and not because I wanted to be done. I gave it to you because it was always meant to be yours. You’re the kind of man this world needs…especially now. Not just a soldier. Not just a leader. But someone who sees the cracks in people and doesn’t turn away. Someone who understands that strength isn’t measured in how hard you hit, it’s in how many times you get back up. How many people you bring with you when you do.

You didn’t ask for any of this. You never wanted to be Captain America. But you’ve always been the best of us and when I looked at you that day, when I placed it in your hands, I saw the future. Not my future. Yours. One that would belong to the people who never got a voice in mine. I knew there’d be questions. I knew some people would say you didn’t fit the mold. But Sam….you were never supposed to fit the mold. You were supposed to break it.

You’ve carried so much, and I know there’ve been times you’ve felt alone in it. But I was always with you. I still am. In every choice. Every fight. Every moment you stand tall when it would be easier to walk away. You honored me just by believing I could be something worth following. And now I’m asking you to lead. Not for me. But for them. For her. For Bucky. For the kids who’ll never know our names but will still live in a world you helped shape.

You don’t need permission to carry the shield. You never did. You just needed to believe you were already enough.

And you are.

Thank you, Sam. For everything.

Your friend always,

Steve

When he finished, Sam exhaled through his nose, long, deep, almost like it had to travel through years to reach the surface. His jaw was tight, his eyes wet, but he nodded. Once. Folded the letter back into thirds and slid it into his jacket pocket.

He didn’t say what it said.

He didn’t need to.

He turned back toward the kitchen, unwrapped the takeout, and placed it gently in the center of the table. Cornbread, mashed potatoes and chicken still hot in the foil. He pulled out plastic forks, napkins, nothing fancy. Just enough for the three of you to sit down and eat like people do when there’s nothing left to fix but everything left to feel.

You moved to the table slowly, shoulders still stiff, but lighter somehow. Bucky sat beside you. Sam across. The plates passed without question. Food taken without much thought. The kind of silence that used to stretch in cemeteries now sat at your table like a guest, but it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t suffocating. It was just… still.

No one said a word until the last bite was done. Until Sam leaned back in his chair and looked out the window, eyes half-lidded like he was watching ghosts pass through the trees. Bucky was quiet, his fingers resting near yours on the table, not touching but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. You hadn’t cried since reading your letter. The grief hadn’t disappeared but it had settled. Had folded into your spine like something you could finally stand upright with.

You pushed your plate forward, wiped your hands on a napkin, and looked up at them both.

“So,” you said, your voice still a little raw, but clear. “What’s our plan?”

Sam turned to look at you. Slowly. The smallest shift in his expression, then he blinked, sat forward a little.

“Our?” he echoed, like he wasn’t sure he heard it right.

You gave him a tired, crooked smile just enough to be real.

He smiled back, wide and warm and aching with something like relief. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t need to.

He stood up and walked around the table. Pulled you into a hug before you could overthink it. His arms wrapped around you with all the softness of a promise that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. You let yourself lean into it.

Bucky didn’t interrupt. He just watched, eyes steady, the corner of his mouth barely lifting.

-----

Grief didn’t stop, it just changed shape.

Time didn’t heal it. You didn’t wake up one morning lighter. You didn’t stand in Steve’s house and suddenly feel whole again. You just… kept moving. Kept breathing, kept waking up and doing the things you promised him you’d do, because that’s what people like you and Sam and Bucky do. You keep going. Even when everything aches.

The weeks after the funeral passed in a haze. You stayed in Maryland for a while, cleaning out drawers, folding blankets, rereading old notebooks you weren’t sure were meant for you to find. Sam took the couch most nights. Bucky would leave at sunset and return before the coffee finished brewing. You didn’t ask where he went. He didn’t ask why your room stayed lit until morning. There were no questions. Just routine, quiet survival and then the missions started again.

Not the end-of-the-world kind. Not the ones with exploding helicarriers or world-ending stakes. Smaller ones. Messy, complicated, real ones. People falling through the cracks. Power shifting hands. Shadow organizations still crawling out of the ruins of what was. You didn’t join back right away. You told Sam you weren’t ready. He said, “Okay. But when you are, you have a place.”

It took two months before you called him. Said, “Where’s the next one?” like it was nothing. But it wasn’t and you both knew it.

The first mission back was in Latvia. You flew with Sam and Bucky, shoulder-to-shoulder on a cramped jet that smelled like sweat and old metal. No one said much on the flight. You spent most of it staring at the clouds outside the window, your fingers unconsciously tracing patterns in the condensation. Bucky sat across from you, arms crossed, eyes closed, but you could feel him watching you every now and then. Not in a protective way. Just… checking. Like he didn’t quite know what to say yet.

That’s how it started.

No declarations, no epiphanies. Just you, Sam, and Bucky working side by side again. Rooming in rundown safehouses, passing intel across cracked kitchen tables, whispering strategy in back alleys and rooftops at two in the morning. You didn’t talk about Steve. Not out loud. But he was everywhere. In the way Sam barked orders with more authority now. In the way Bucky took corners with his body half-shielded in front of you, even when he didn’t have to. In the way you stayed up long after the others fell asleep, sitting with your back to the wall, wondering if Steve would’ve made the same call you did. If he’d be proud of who you were now. Of who you were becoming.

You started to trust your instincts again. Started to believe in your powers again. The first time you let the wind rise mid-mission, Sam gave you a look across the rooftop like there you are. The first time your lightning dropped a rooftop gang like dominoes, Bucky grinned as he cuffed the last guy and said, “Remind me not to piss you off.”

It was subtle at first, but things shifted.

Bucky started walking beside you more often, matching your pace. Started bringing you your coffee the way you like it, black with honey, without asking. Started leaning in during debriefs, his knee brushing yours beneath the table, neither of you moving away.

He still didn’t talk much. But when he did, it wasn’t sharp like it used to be, it was softer. Dry humor, honest observation and quiet concern. He was learning you. Watching how you worked. How you flinched when your powers got too loud in your chest. How your fingers trembled before a fight and stilled afterward.

You caught him once, standing outside a motel door after a long mission in Jakarta. He was staring out at the rain, face lit by the low hum of a streetlamp, his hands stuffed in his pockets like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. You didn’t speak. You just stood beside him, both of you watching the water slide down the glass.

And he said, “You sleep better on the left side of the bed.”

You blinked, looked at him. “What?”

He nodded toward the other room. “The night we had to share a room. You stayed on the left. You slept through the night for once.”

You hadn’t realized he noticed and well, you started noticing too.

How he rubbed his thumb over the inside of his palm when he was nervous. How he always offered to take night watch but fell asleep sitting up with a book open in his lap. How he laughed louder when Sam was around, but watched you longer when it was just the two of you.

It was never loud.

It was never sudden.

It was… a slow unbreaking.

The kind of thing that grows in the quiet, in the aftermath, in the moments that don’t look like anything until you string them together and realize you’ve been building something without meaning to.

You weren’t falling in love…not yet.

But you were falling into something.

------

You were both bleeding, but neither of you would admit it.

The motel room smelled like sweat, smoke, and rust like too many fights and not enough sleep. The lights were dim, one bulb flickering in the corner near the peeling wallpaper. You were sitting on the edge of the tub with your sleeve rolled up, a long gash running along your bicep, crusted with dried blood. Bucky knelt in front of you, silently dabbing at it with a damp towel. His brow was furrowed, eyes sharp but soft, like he was focusing hard to keep his hands steady. You’d seen those hands snap necks, crush weapons and catch you mid-fall with barely a grunt. But now, they moved with the kind of care that made your heart pull in your chest. Not fragile…just deliberate.

“You don’t have to be that gentle,” you said, your voice low, amused.

He didn’t look up. “You flinched the last time.”

“That was because you dumped alcohol straight into an open wound.”

He paused, glanced up through his lashes, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You passed out. It wasn’t that bad.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you. Smiling small and quiet. The kind of smile that only ever showed up around him now.

He pressed the towel once more to your skin, then leaned back on his heels. “You’re good. Just needs wrapping.”

You didn’t move. Just looked at him, chest rising slowly. “You gonna do that too?”

His gaze met yours, unflinching. “Yeah.”

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve joked. Should’ve said something snarky to break the tension crawling up between your ribs. But you didn’t. You just watched him tear the edge of the gauze with his teeth, metal fingers catching the edge as he leaned in again, brushing the skin of your arm with the backs of his knuckles as he worked. His face was close now. Closer than it needed to be. You could smell the sweat in his shirt, the iron in the blood on your own and still, he didn’t pull back.

You swallowed. “You always this gentle with your partners?”

He looked up, his hands still on your arm, and smiled slowly, tired, something darker behind it. “Just the ones I like…so, only you.”

You blinked, heart tripping.

Before you could answer, the door creaked open and Sam stepped in, wiping his hands with a takeout napkin. “I swear if you two are flirting while actively bleeding out—”

You both froze.

Sam looked between you, eyebrows raised. “Oh God, you are.”

Bucky stood, not flustered, but definitely caught. He leaned back against the sink, arms crossed like it would hide the pink warming his ears. You slid your arm down to your lap, suddenly very interested in your shoelace.

Bucky had just wrapped gauze around your arm with hands too gentle for what they’d done hours before. You hadn’t said much since then. Neither had he. The energy between you was taut, not urgent, but pulled, like something invisible had been slowly tightening between you since that first mission in Latvia. Since the first time his hand found your lower back after a fight. Since the first time your name sounded different coming out of his mouth. There had been a moment in the bathroom his fingers brushing your wrist, his head bowed over the wound he was tending and you had to look away because if you hadn’t, something in you might’ve cracked. Something in you already had.

Now you were out on the balcony, breathing in the night air, the motel’s rusty railing cold against your palms. The world was quiet and soft mist curling under the parking lot lights, a radio playing low from a nearby room. You could still feel the echo of Bucky’s hands, the way his gaze had lingered on you for just a second longer than it needed to. You hadn’t spoken since. You didn’t trust your voice not to give something away.

The door creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn to know it was Sam.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stepped up beside you, leaned his forearms on the railing, mirroring your posture. The silence stretched for a few long seconds. He glanced at you once, then back at the street.

“I saw the way he looks at you,” he said finally, voice low, not teasing just matter-of-fact.

You blinked, didn’t answer.

“I’ve seen it for a while,” he continued, softer this time. “But tonight? It was different.”

You exhaled, slow. “I don’t know what it is.”

Sam nodded once. “That’s the thing about good things. You don’t have to know. You just have to let yourself have it.”

You turned your head slightly, looked at him through the corner of your eye. “You sound like him.”

Sam smiled small, bittersweet. “I think he saw it coming.”

You stiffened. “What?”

He shook his head, that smile widening just a little, like it held a secret you weren’t ready for yet. “Nothing,” he said. “You’ll see.”

He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before pushing off the railing, walking back inside and letting the screen door creak closed behind him and that’s when you looked.

Bucky was standing inside the room, leaning in the doorway between the bathroom and the beds, still in his undershirt, hair damp, arms crossed loosely like he was trying not to make the moment too heavy. But his eyes were on you, something swirling softly in the deep blues of them like he’d been watching, not waiting. Not expecting anything, just seeing you like Steve said he would.

You looked away first but not because you wanted to.

Because it was too much to hold all at once the way he looked at you like he already knew what this was and maybe he did, but what scared you worse was maybe you were starting to know too.

Later, when Sam was out cold in the other bed, snoring softly, limbs spread wide like his body hadn’t been through a firefight just hours before you and Bucky sat shoulder to shoulder on your bed, the television on mute, both of you staring blankly at the soft flicker of some late-night infomercial neither of you were actually watching. Your arm brushed his once… then again… then didn’t move. And after a long, unbroken silence, you turned to look at him.

He was already looking at you.

Neither of you said a word. You just stayed there, breathing the same quiet air, like even the space between your ribs had finally stopped trying to keep you apart.

----

It started with the small things.

You weren’t even sure when the flirting truly began, or if it had always been there, tucked into the way he called you trouble under his breath after a mission, the way you said his name with a grin that made him shake his head but smile anyway. Sam noticed it first, of course. He’d arch a brow when Bucky handed you your coffee without asking how you take it. He’d clear his throat dramatically when the two of you got just a little too close in the middle of strategy briefings, eyes narrowed, amused. But he never said anything out loud. Not yet.

On one mission in Cairo, the safe house was too small for all three of you. One bathroom, one kitchen, two beds, and a broken AC unit humming in the window like it was barely holding on. Sam went to bed early that night and said something about needing to be up for recon before dawn. You and Bucky ended up eating dinner at the tiny kitchen table alone, your knees brushing beneath it more often than they needed to. He passed you the last piece of flatbread without being asked. You poured him tea without looking. Every time you glanced at each other, one of you smiled like it couldn’t be helped. You didn’t talk about the mission or Steve or anything big. Just little things, places you wanted to see, foods you missed, the one time he accidentally fell asleep in a tree on a stakeout. You laughed so hard you had to cover your face with your hands. He didn’t stop looking at you for the rest of the night.

A few weeks later, after a long, bruising extraction in Munich, you both ended up back at a borrowed apartment Sam had secured through a favor. He knocked out early, still sore from the landing. You and Bucky collapsed onto the old couch, bodies aching, muscles spent. It was quiet. Not heavy, just worn-in and that’s when you talked about Steve.

You asked him what it was like. Not the war, not the headlines just him. What it was like to know him before the shield. Before the serum. What it was like to grow up with someone who ended up becoming a symbol to the world. Bucky’s voice was softer then. He told you about how Steve used to get in fights he couldn’t win. How he used to draw comic strips in his notebook. How he used to worry about everyone else before himself, even back then. You listened with your legs pulled up beside you, a pillow in your lap, heart full and sore in a way that didn’t feel painful anymore.

You teased him after, nudging his shoulder. “He said you were a ladies’ man. Said you could twirl anyone around a dance floor.”

Bucky groaned, dropped his head back against the couch. “Oh God. He would bring that up.”

You grinned. “Is it true?”

He smirked, eyes on the ceiling. “I haven’t danced in ages.”

You tilted your head. “I’ve never danced, not once.”

That made him look at you. Really look.

“Never?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Why are you so shocked? I spent most of my life being trained like an animal. Dance lessons weren’t high on Hydra’s priority list.”

He didn’t laugh, not at that. His smile faded into something softer and sad, then it got quiet.

He stood up slowly, walked to the corner where Sam had left his old speaker, connected his phone, scrolled for a second and then the first notes of something old, something warm, began to float through the room. He turned back to you, the lighting dim, the edges of him gold with city glow, and held out his hand.

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing?”

His smile tilted. “Being your first.”

Your chest clenched. You tried to laugh it off, but your palms were already sweating.

“I don’t—Bucky, I don’t know how.”

He stepped closer. “You don’t have to.” His voice was low now, gentle. “It’s just me.”

The wind outside shifted, not violently. Just enough to nudge the curtains, he felt it.

And he whispered, “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

You looked at his hand and then you took it.

His fingers curled around yours like they’d been waiting their whole life to. He pulled you in slowly, one hand at your back, the other holding yours steady, and you moved. Clumsy at first, stiff. Then warmer, smoother. Your eyes never left his face, not once. He watched you like he couldn’t believe you were real. You watched him like you’d finally stopped being afraid of letting someone else in.

The first song ended, another started and still, you didn’t stop.

You danced through five, maybe six songs, moving slowly around the living room like the world had shrunk to just this. Just the way his thumb moved at your back. Just the way your breath stuttered every time he smiled. You didn’t speak, you didn’t laugh, you just stayed in it.

At some point, Sam woke up, probably from the music. He padded out to the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and paused when he saw you. His hand on the fridge door, his mouth quirked up at the edges.

You didn’t see him.

You were too busy leaning your head against Bucky’s chest. Too busy letting yourself rest.

Sam watched for another few seconds. Then walked back to his room without saying a word. On the way, he stopped by the window. Looked up at the sky and whispered, “Damn, Cap. You really were right about everything.”

----

Things changed more after the dance, not in any obvious way. No sweeping changes or whispered confessions. Just something quieter, steadier, slipping beneath the surface of everything. Bucky wasn’t just your partner anymore. He wasn’t just your shadow on missions or your quiet at night. He became something more without either of you saying it out loud. He was the reason your coffee was already waiting on the table when you came downstairs. The reason your ribs were wrapped tighter than you asked for after every fight. The reason your hand started brushing his a little more often, staying there a little longer, until the gap between you became the most natural place to be. You hadn’t kissed or anything, not even a hug but the air between you changed. Every time he looked at you now, it lingered and you let it.

There was a mission just outside Prague, bad intel, sharp turns, too much smoke, and not enough backup. You came back with a bruised rib and a busted shoulder, and Bucky hadn’t stopped pacing the room since they pulled you out. He hadn’t even taken off his jacket. Rain streaked the back of his neck, his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides like he didn’t know how to be still. You watched him from the edge of the couch, blood still drying down your forearm, and when you tried to joke “You should see the other guy” he didn’t smile.

He turned and said, voice tight, “You could’ve died.”

You tried to deflect. “It wasn’t that bad.”

And he came apart. “You don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything, not after what we’ve already lost.” He sat down hard beside you then, eyes dark, hand hovering above your leg like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. “I thought I was going to lose you too,” he whispered. And for once, you didn’t have anything clever to say. You leaned in, slowly, rested your forehead against his, and whispered, “I’m still here.” His hand found yours, gripped it without asking. You didn’t pull away.

In Romania, it was the fire. A temporary base, the kind of safe house with mismatched furniture and a fireplace that actually worked. The power had gone out mid-dinner and Sam had gone off to make a satellite call, leaving you and Bucky in the flicker of orange light. You sat on the floor near the hearth, the flames dancing against the curve of his cheek, and he told you he used to be afraid of silence. That after everything, after Hydra, after Wakanda, after losing Steve it was the stillness that scared him most. That in the quiet, he didn’t know who he was supposed to be. You didn’t say anything. Just watched him talk, watched the lines in his face ease as your hand found his without either of you thinking about it. That night, you lay side by side on the rug, an old record spinning low in the background, and Bucky read from some old book he found on the shelf in a voice that made the world feel soft again. You didn’t fall asleep, but you stayed still long enough that when you opened your eyes, he was already watching you.

In Greece, it was the ocean. Sam had gone off chasing a lead, and the two of you stayed behind to clean up the last of the mess. You walked the beach at dusk, wind in your hair, salt on your skin, and Bucky found you with his hands in his pockets, his jacket open, that look in his eye that meant he’d been thinking too much again. You asked him what was wrong, and he said, “I think I like who I am when I’m with you.” The words hit like a wave. Not heavy, just deep and real. You tried to make it lighter, asked if that meant he liked when you made him do recon reports and he smiled. But when you looked at him again something pulled in your chest. Something that whispered, this is the kind of love you grow into, not the kind that burns hot and quick. But the kind that roots into the soil and stays. You reached for his hand without thinking and when he held it, it felt like you’d done it a thousand times before and you knew that a thousand times more wouldn't be enough either.

Now, when you walk into a room, his eyes find you first. When you laugh, it’s often because he said something under his breath just for you. Now, when you come back from a mission with bruises, it’s his hands that hold your face and check for cuts before he even sits down. You haven’t called it anything. You haven’t needed to. But you’ve started to feel it like a rhythm, one that hums through everything now. Through the space between your fingers. Through the look he gives you before you fall asleep. Through the way he breathes a little easier when you’re in the room.

You haven’t said I love you, but it’s there.

In the way he presses a kiss to the crown of your head after a hard day.

In the way you squeeze his hand twice when he’s lost in thought.

In the way you both stay, quietly, deliberately, always.

----

It wasn’t supposed to go sideways, that's what they all say but the mission had been clean on paper, tight formation, mapped exits, predictable resistance. You had your roles, your zones, your escape plan. You’d all done this before. Dozens of times. Sam had cleared the perimeter and was stationed at the upper south tower. You and Bucky were inside, splitting off to cover more ground, his route taking him to the data terminal, yours to the locked archive room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth worrying about. Until the moment the gunfire cracked like thunder two floors above you and your heart stopped mid-beat.

You froze at first, just long enough to register the sound, too close, too rapid. Your comm buzzed in your ear, but it wasn’t his voice. It was static. Then it cut to nothing. You didn’t think, you ran.

“Bucky, come in.” You took the stairs two at a time, voice sharp in your throat. “Bucky, status report.” No answer. “Bucky, talk to me.” The static didn’t even hiss back. You rounded the next landing with your lungs clawing at your ribs, boots slamming concrete, your pulse thundering louder than the sound of the fight you couldn’t see. Every corner you turned felt too quiet. Every hallway too long. “Goddammit, Bucky, please respond.” You were screaming by the last word, the panic twisting around your voice like wire.

Still nothing.

You turned into another hallway and stopped dead. Blood, not a lot, not a puddle. But enough to make your knees buckle. A splatter across the far wall, fresh and red and human, and the kind of silence that only comes after something irreversible. Your grip tightened on your weapon, but your hands were trembling so badly the metal knocked against your vest. Your chest constricted like your own body was trying to suffocate itself. It wasn’t just fear, it was grief. Premature, bone-deep. A world cracking in half inside your chest. You whispered his name once, then again, then louder. You didn’t hear yourself anymore. Only your heartbeat, only your footsteps. Only the sound of something breaking behind your ribs as you whispered, “No. No, not him. Not him.”

And then, he came around the corner.

Hair plastered to his forehead, breathing hard, his shirt torn, his knuckles scraped. But alive, whole. There was a shallow cut over his temple, but he was walking…walking toward you like nothing had happened. And when he saw your face, the terror still carved into your expression, he stopped cold.

“My goddamn comms died,” he said, panting. “I—I tried to fix it. It wouldn’t come back.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. The blood was rushing too loud in your ears. Your limbs had gone numb. You took one step toward him, and then another, until your hands found his arm and clamped down like he might disappear if you didn’t hold him still.

He looked down at your fingers wrapped tight around his sleeve, then back up at your face and something shifted in his eyes.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low, steady. “Let’s get to the roof. We need extraction.”

He took your hand. Without asking, without explaining. Just laced your fingers through his like it had always been meant to happen. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Your breath was coming faster again, but you followed him up the stairwell anyway, your boots echoing off the walls, his hand not letting go once. Not even when you tripped a step. Not even when your free hand gripped the railing like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

By the time you reached the roof, the wind had changed. The sky above had turned metallic, the kind of gray that made the air feel electric. You let go of his hand the second your boots hit the top landing and walked out into the open, the cold air slapping your cheeks, your lungs too tight to function. Your pacing started before you even realized it…back and forth, back and forth, arms crossed, nails digging into your sides. You heard Bucky’s voice faintly behind you, radioing in for extraction. Sam’s voice came back over the line, saying five minutes out. But if a storm rolled in…..and you were the storm.

You were the reason the wind was climbing. The reason the clouds were swirling like bruises over the skyline. Your fear had nowhere to go but out, and the rooftop air was trembling with it. Then his voice broke through the noise, calm but weighted.

“You need to calm down, sweetheart.”

You stopped pacing.

“The wind’s getting worse,” he said, taking a step toward you. “If a storm rolls in, we lose our window.”

“I know,” you whispered, chest rising too fast.

“Then talk to me.” he said gently. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You turned around like your body couldn’t hold it in any longer. And it all came crashing out.

You didn’t turn. You couldn’t. Your arms were crossed over your chest so tightly it hurt, your shoulder aching from where you’d landed hard earlier, your mouth full of the copper tang of fear, but not from the mission. Not from the fight, from something deeper, from what came after.

You finally turned around so fast it made you dizzy. The wind shoved your hair into your face, your clothes clinging to your damp skin, and Bucky was just standing there, rain beginning to speckle across his shoulders, worry etched so deeply into the lines of his face it hurt to look at. You stepped back, voice shaking before you even opened your mouth, and then everything just came out at once.

“I’m scared,” you said, the word leaving your body like it had claws. “I’m scared because I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve never felt like this before. Not like this. With Steve…it was different. I loved him like family, it was safe. It was different then…. It was… it didn’t undo me. This—” you waved toward him, toward yourself, toward the wind that was rising around your feet, “you…you terrify me. You make me feel like I’ve opened up something I don’t know how to close again. I can’t stop thinking about what happens when I lose you and I will. I always do. People always go. People leave, Steve was never supposed to leave and he did and I don’t know what I’m going to do when you do, because it won’t be like when Steve left. It won’t be like losing anyone else. It’ll be worse. Because this thing between us…whatever it is, it’s in my blood now. I feel it every time you look at me. Every time you don’t. Every time I think I’m fine and then I realize I’m only okay because you’re in the room.”

Your hands were trembling now. The wind whipped harder, tugging at the edge of your jacket, the clouds overhead shifting darker, lower. You took another step back like you could outrun it, outrun him, outrun the truth that had just spilled out of your chest, but he moved with you. One slow step forward. Then another.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” Bucky asked, his voice low and rough, cracking like it hurt him to say it. “You think I haven’t been waking up every morning wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with this feeling? You scare me too. You scare the hell out of me. Because I’ve never had something like this before. Something I don’t want to lose more than I want to protect myself.”

Your throat clenched. You turned your face away, but he reached for you. Slowly, his hand touched your jaw with a trembling tenderness you weren’t ready for, and he wiped the tear from your cheek with his thumb before you even realized you were crying. His other hand reached down, found yours, and pressed it flat against his chest, right over his heart.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s yours. All of it. I’m not going anywhere.”

You blinked hard, rain catching in your lashes now, your breath still ragged but beginning to slow. His heart beat steady under your hand, thudding like it had always been meant to sync with yours. Your voice came out as a whisper, broken, wet. “You promise?”

He nodded, lips twitching into the softest smile. “I promise.”

You pulled your hand back slightly, lifted your pinky between you. A little laugh broke through your panic as you said, “I need it. The pinky swear. I need it to be real.”

His smile grew, eyes bright despite the storm. He hooked his pinky through yours, held it like it was sacred.

“It’s real,” he said. “I swear.”

And then you surged forward, couldn’t help it, didn’t want to and kissed him. Not with urgency, not with desperation. But with everything you’d been too afraid to name. His arms came around you fast, holding you like the sky might take you if he let go, his lips soft against yours, sure. The rain came harder. The wind blew wild. But the storm inside you broke like glass.

Because you believed him.

The wind had slowed.

Not entirely, not all at once, but enough. The clouds above held steady, thick but no longer swirling, the air cool instead of electric. The tension that had knotted itself around your ribs had started to loosen, bit by bit, thread by thread as your forehead rested against his, both of you still clutching the aftermath of what had nearly torn you apart. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. It wasn’t a silence that asked for distance. It was the kind that only exists when you’ve been through hell with someone and finally know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they’re not going to leave you in the ashes.

The sound of the rotor blades came next, faint at first, then rising. The extraction team cutting through the fog like it had all been cleared just for you. Bucky didn’t move until you exhaled. He felt it, your breath finally steady against his chest, your heartbeat no longer racing like a runaway train. When you leaned back just enough to look at him, his eyes were already there. The kind of look that didn’t demand anything from you, he wasn’t asking for a decision. He wasn’t pushing for more. He was just there.

The chopper descended slowly, blades whipping the air in loud, rhythmic pulses, the open hatch facing the far end of the roof. Bucky reached down and gently laced your fingers together again. You followed him toward the edge without a word. Your boots moved on instinct. Your hand never left his.

When the crew waved you over and dropped the ladder, Bucky turned to you like he wanted to say something, maybe thank you, maybe I love you, maybe I’m still here. But he didn’t need to. He just helped you up first, his hand pressed steady at your back as you climbed, the warmth of him staying even after you reached the cabin. And when he pulled himself up behind you, settling beside you on the bench with the door open to the night air, he didn’t let go of your hand.

The ride was quiet.

The kind of quiet that says, we made it through.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, the fatigue crashing down on you like a slow, gentle wave. He didn’t shift. Didn’t breathe too loud. He just rested his chin lightly on your head, his hand tightening just a little on yours every time the chopper jolted. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Not even when the lights of the city began to blink below, and you knew you were almost home.

And you didn’t need to because everything that mattered had already been said in the way he held your hand, the way you leaned into him, the way neither of you let go.

The room was quiet when you stepped inside. Dim light from a single bedside lamp spilled gold across the floor, brushing over the edge of the bed like a hush. The air smelled like rain, clean, wet cotton, the faint trace of soap on your skin. You’d showered first. Bucky had insisted. Said you needed to feel warm again, said he’d go after. He hadn’t left your side once since the rooftop, but there was no fear in the distance now. Just room…room to breathe. Room to feel and you had. The moment the water hit your shoulders, your chest cracked open, and you let it. Let yourself cry, silently, under the pressure of the showerhead like it was safe to fall apart for once. Not because he wasn’t there but because you knew he was.

Now, you were curled in one corner of the bed, knees tucked under you, one of Bucky’s long-sleeve shirts clinging to your damp skin, your legs bare, the blanket piled around you but untouched. You watched the door without really meaning to. Your eyes had softened now. Your shoulders were loose. But part of you still wasn’t sure any of this was real.

The door clicked open softly.

He stepped inside slowly, hair damp, a fresh shirt hanging loose over his frame, his expression open and tired but still watching you like you were something precious he couldn’t stop checking on. He didn’t speak. Just closed the door behind him and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t ask if he could lie beside you. He didn’t have to.

When he eased onto the bed, sitting first, then turning to stretch beside you, the space between you felt small. Your knees touched. Then your hand brushed his and then you shifted, just slightly and lay down on your side, facing him. He lifted his arm, just enough for you to nestle into the space beside him, and you fit there like you always had, like it had been waiting for you.

Your hand came to rest over his chest again, just like it had on the roof. The beat beneath your palm was slow now and he looked down at you barely a breath between your faces and murmured, “Still yours.”

------

The next motel was one of those quiet ones off the side of the highway, the kind that still used real keys and had chipped paint on the doorframes. You’d stopped in Maryland to rest, just a night between the last mission and the next. Sam had gone ahead to scout, and Bucky had said, “Let’s just stay close for a night, get some air.” You hadn’t argued. The room was small, two beds, even though you only need one, one flickering lamp, a little table with a stained coffee pot that neither of you trusted. The rain had started sometime after dinner, soft and steady against the window, and the whole world felt hushed. Like it knew what was coming.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, legs curled under you, hair still damp from your own shower earlier. Bucky was in the bathroom, the sound of water running slowly fading as the door creaked open. He stepped out barefoot, towel slung low around his hips, steam clinging to his shoulders, and for a second, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you. His expression unreadable. Something in his eyes caught hesitation. He grabbed the shirt he’d dropped near his duffel, pulled it over his head, slow and wordless.

Then he spoke, softly. “I was thinking… we’re close. If you wanted to—” He paused, rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. “We’re not far from where we buried him.”

You froze. You didn’t look at him. Just stared at the threadbare blanket under your hands, your knuckles curling slightly. Your breath caught in your throat and quieter than you meant to, you said, “Okay.”

He stepped closer, not all the way. Just enough that you could feel the shift in the air. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice gentler now. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready. I just thought—”

“No,” you said. Firmer now. Still not loud. But certain. “I want to, I need to.”

He nodded, said nothing more. Just crossed the room and pulled the covers down on the bed you shared, he laid back against the pillows in silence. He didn’t press, didn’t look at you. But he didn’t close his eyes either. He just stayed there, breathing steady, waiting.

You stayed seated, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes on the window where the rain had started to blur the world outside into streaks of light and water. You could feel it rising in your chest, the ache you’d been carrying like another rib, the thing you never said out loud because saying it would make it real. Steve was gone and you never told him the things that mattered. You never said goodbye. You never said I forgive you. You never said I understand.

It was well after midnight when Bucky finally drifted off. You watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand still lay open beside him like he’d been reaching for you in sleep. You didn’t lie down. You pulled the motel notepad from the drawer between the beds and the pen that barely worked from your bag. Sat at the little table by the window. The lamp buzzed faintly, the storm rolled on and you started to write.

The words you’d been holding inside since the day Steve left, the one you needed to say more than anything else.

------

The headstone was simple. Nothing flashy. No shield engraved in marble, no list of accomplishments. Just his name, clean serif lettering, the years that never felt like enough, and a line you were sure he didn’t pick himself: A soldier. A friend. A good man. You stood there with your hands in your jacket pockets, wind curling around your ankles, boots damp from the early spring thaw. It was quiet out here. Not empty, not forgotten. Just still. Like the earth knew better than to be loud around someone like him. Bucky stood to your left, his hand brushing yours once in a while when the wind caught his coat. Neither of you had spoken in a while. The walk from the car to the hill was long, and your silence stretched comfortably between you, full of memory. When you reached the grave, you stopped and looked down at it like it might answer back. The sun was low, the air still cold, but the sky was soft. Like it had heard your prayers and was finally listening.

You looked over at Bucky. He didn’t look at you. His eyes were on the stone, the lines in his face deeper in the quiet. You could see the way his jaw ticked, the way his breath slowed, the way he stood like he was still bracing for orders that would never come. Now here you both were, standing over the resting place of the man who made you both whole once, and then broke you in the same breath when he left.

You hadn’t planned to say anything, not when Bucky first had the idea. You planned to come just to stand here, maybe leave the letter, maybe not. But when you looked down at the name carved into the stone, at the years that felt both too short and too full, your chest caught. Not in pain this time, in recognition. Because everything he left behind..this hill, this silence, he had brought you exactly where you were meant to be.

“I wrote him back,” you said, quietly. Bucky turned to look at you, eyes soft, and you pulled the letter from your coat pocket, creased and weathered from being touched too many times over the last few hours.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped slightly back, then, “Do you want me to go?” he asked, voice low.

You turned to look at him, his face lined with worry, with knowing. With all the quiet kindness he gave you without asking for anything in return.

“No,” you said. “I want you to stay.”

So he did, like he said he always would.

You stepped forward and unfolded the letter. The wind stilled, the moment held. You started to read, your voice was quiet. Not gentle, just tired.

Steve,

I was angry. For a long time. Longer than I admitted. Longer than I even realized. I wasn’t just grieving when you left, I was furious. You promised me we’d keep going. You promised you wouldn’t leave and I know you didn’t say the words. I know you didn’t look me in the eye and make some big speech about forever. But you didn’t have to. You made me believe in something again. And then you left me with it.

And it wasn’t just the leaving. It was how you smiled like it would be okay. Like we’d all understand. Like it was a simple thing to walk away from the life we bled for together. Like it didn’t matter that you were everything I had left, the only real thing I ever had. And I hated you for that. I hated you for thinking I’d be fine. For not looking back. For not choosing me, even just for a little while longer. And when you came back as someone older, someone finished, it felt like a betrayal I couldn’t explain.

I know now that it wasn’t meant to hurt. That you were chasing a kind of peace none of us could give you. And maybe you were right to take it. But it cost something. It left cracks in me I didn’t know how to fill. I disappeared for a long time. Shut down. Closed off. Because without you, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be. You were my center. My family. The only place I felt safe enough to be all of me. And when you left, I didn’t just lose a friend Steve, I lost the one person who made the noise in my head go quiet.

But something happened after you left. Something you probably saw coming before I did.

He didn’t walk in and save me. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no moment where everything changed. He just… kept showing up. Without asking anything from me. He fought beside me. Sat in silence beside me. Watched me fall apart and didn’t try to piece me back together, he just waited until I started to do it on my own.

And then one day I realized I was reaching for him without thinking. Listening for his voice in the dark. Watching his back and knowing he was already watching mine. I didn’t fall for him all at once. It wasn’t a wave. It was a slow tide pulling me back toward something I didn’t know I still had the strength to believe in. And it wasn’t because he reminded me of you. It was because he didn’t. He let me become someone new. Someone who didn’t need you to stay in order to become whole.

And I think you knew. I think that’s why you left when you did. Because you knew if you stayed, I would’ve kept looking to you for every answer. And Bucky never gave me answers, he gave me space. He let me choose.

I don’t know what we are yet. I’m not even sure it matters. What I know is that he’s home in the way I always thought you were. But this time, it’s different.

You were right, Steve. You were meant to find me. So that I could find him.

I don’t forgive you for leaving, not completely, not yet. But I understand now. And I think… I think that’s enough.

Thank you for everything. For finding me when I didn’t know how to be found. For trusting me. For loving me in your way. And for knowing when to let go.

I’ll always carry you with me, but I’m not lost anymore and I’m not alone.

Love your little sister,

Y/N

You folded the letter carefully, fingers trembling just a little now, and leaned down to tuck it beneath the smooth stone at the base of his marker. It didn’t feel like letting go. It felt like placing something down. Something you’d carried too long and when you stood again, your throat tight but your lungs full, Bucky was still there, watching you. His hand reached gently for yours, no words exchanged. Just pressure, just presence.

“I think he knew,” Bucky said quietly, his voice barely more than breath. “Even before we did.”

You nodded, looked at the hill one last time.

“I think he always did.”

And this time, when you walked away, the ache in your chest didn’t drag you down. It stayed behind, with the letter, with the stone, with the man who gave you back to yourself by stepping away.

Time didn’t stop for you. Not after the grave. Not after the letter. It didn’t shift in some poetic way either, it just kept moving forward. One day into the next. One foot in front of the other. But something inside you did change. Something in the way the weight in your chest settled. The ache didn’t disappear, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. It dulled into something manageable. Like scar tissue you’d grown used to tracing. Saying goodbye to Steve didn’t close a door, it opened your favourite one and in the weeks that followed, you started walking through it.

The three of you settled into something that almost looked like peace. Sam had found a rhythm with the shield, more confident now, less hesitant, like he finally understood that Steve didn’t choose him out of pressure, but because he believed no one else could carry it better. You saw it in the way Sam stood taller in briefings, in how people listened when he spoke, not because he barked orders, but because he always asked first. Always saw the human before the hero. Sam never tried to be Steve. He didn’t need to. He was already exactly who the world needed.

And Bucky, God, Bucky he changed, too. It wasn’t drastic. It wasn’t even visible, really. But you could feel it. In how he didn’t flinch at kindness anymore. In how he let himself laugh, not just under his breath, but full and unguarded. In how he touched you now, without hesitation. His hand on your back. His shoulder brushing yours. His lips against your temple when you passed him the report in the morning. You saw it in how he reached for you before he fell asleep. In how he waited for you to take the first sip of your coffee before taking his. In how he called you “darlin’” under his breath like it slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention.

You were a team now, a family. The three of you, not just operationally but emotionally. The kind of bond that didn’t ask for loyalty because it had already been proven. You’d been through the worst together and you’d come out the other side, bruised and stitched up, but still standing. Missions came and went, so did the cities, the languages, the names on the files. But every time you came back to the little apartment you shared in D.C. the one with the creaky stairs and the view of the river, it felt like coming home.

You cooked together now or tried to. Sam was the only one who could make rice without burning it, and Bucky pretended to hate your taste in music, but still let you play your records in the mornings. Sometimes you all ate dinner in silence. Sometimes you argued about who got to pick the movie. Sometimes Bucky fell asleep on the couch and you curled up next to him, Sam throwing a blanket over both of you with a muttered, “Pathetic,” before smiling and grabbing another beer. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

And one night, after a mission that went smoother than expected, you sat on the roof with Bucky, legs tangled, his arm around your waist. The city buzzed below, lights blinking in the distance. And without turning his head, without making it into a moment, he said, “I think I was always meant to find you.”

You turned your head at that. Slowly, like if you moved too fast, the moment would disappear. The words hung between you, not fragile, not uncertain, just real. His eyes were still on the skyline, but you could see it the slight tension in his jaw, the way his thumb twitched against your hip like his body was bracing for something, even now. You stared at him for a long time, studying the curve of his mouth, the scar that tugged just slightly at his temple, the steadiness he’d grown into. Not just as a soldier, not as the man Steve had left behind. But as himself, as the man who stayed. The one who didn’t run when it got too quiet. The one who learned to be soft with his hands even after a lifetime of them being used to break things. The man who looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got to keep you.

And then, still not looking at you, his voice dropped, barely a whisper, like he didn’t need it to carry far, just to you.

“I love you.”

You didn’t breathe, not for a moment. Not because you hadn’t been waiting for it but because somewhere deep down, you hadn’t believed he’d ever say it first. That maybe he’d carry it in the way he touched you, the way he stood between you and the worst of the world, the way he kissed your shoulder before missions and held your hand in sleep but never in words. But now here they were, raw and naked in the cool night air, and he wasn’t rushing to cover them up. He let them sit, let them breathe, let them be true and you smiled.

Not the practiced one you gave reporters, not the sharp one you wore in combat but the one that only ever belonged to him.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his jaw, your voice softer than anything you’d spoken all week.

“I love you too.”

His shoulders eased. His head dropped against yours. He didn’t speak again, and didn't have to. The words were out. Finally, after everything, they didn’t need an explanation.

You sat there a little longer, just like that, legs tangled, fingers woven, his heartbeat slow against yours. The city below kept moving. Cars passed, planes crossed overhead. Someone in the next building laughed too loud. Somewhere far away, trouble would come again. But for now, for this, you stayed still.

Maybe….just maybe, this was what Steve had seen before either of you could.

Not an ending, not even a beginning. Just the place where you’d finally stopped surviving and started to live.

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ultralightpoe · 3 days ago

Text

I'm Confessin' That I Love You - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: This has many parts already written but I was always scared to release it. Now or never y'all.. Next part queued up soon. -Ultralightpoe

Word Count: Over 5k

Warnings: Mind control.

Description: Bucky and You find yourself trapped in the hex. 50s start.

Main Masterlist Here - - Marvel Masterlist Here

[Thank You For The Gif @whimsicalrogers ]

Enjoy!

“You don’t understand-” The words are rushed out between sobs, your throat squeezing in on itself as you push to speak. Pushing the rain out of your eyes is no easy task, with the way your hands were shaking and the wind was making the weather beat down harder. It was even more of a struggle to see through it all, and yet the eyes you stared into were magnetic enough that you’d probably be able to find them in even the darkest nights. “I n-need Steve. Something is wrong.”

“I get that.” His voice soothes you, reaching a hand out before something shudders across his face and he draws a hand back with a flinch. “But he’s not here. And he left you my information for a reason….”

He was right, you knew he was right. But a part of you was breaking, something in your chest caving in. Thunder cracked behind you loud enough to make you shudder as the ground beneath you shook, and you could see the man before you move as if he was preparing to block you from whatever threat was coming.

“You can trust me here….”

“Something is wrong and I think-” Another sob racked through your body, making your ribs ache a bit. “Steve would know how to talk to her.”

“We can go together, just take a look.” He offers, bending a little to catch your eye. “Once we see where the problem is we can come up with a plan. Yeah?”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother to me.” Bucky whispers, shaking his head. “And if you think something is wrong then something is wrong.”

The clock at the bottom of the stairs rang out just as the sun was beginning to climb its way up the sky, stretching the light across half the bedroom in a villainous motion that had Bucky Barnes turning for cover, using the pillow to cover his eyes before he reached his hand across the bed in effort to grab you, only to feel the chill of your side empty. With a betrayed sort of look he manages to hoist himself into sitting up, eyes still closed and leaning all his weight on his left arm as he calls out, “Doll?”

He waits a moment, then another, and once he realizes there would be no answer a small groan escapes him knowing there was no way he’d get back to sleep if you weren’t there with him. So he shifts his weight, hauling himself out of the bed and finally managing to crack his eyes open to the new light of the day.

Your bed sits untouched in the side of the room, not surprising since the second you both moved in here it became useless. Two newlyweds who refused to sleep apart, many said it would pass, and yet you were still going strong. Instead you both slept in his, and he took care to at least somewhat make his side so you would have less to do today before he shuffles his feet down the hall and down the steps, breathing in the smell of your cooking.

“Please tell me you did not abandon me to make breakfast.” He whines, leaning on the doorway of the kitchen as he takes you in, chest tightening at the way the early morning sunlight seems to wrap around you like a glow.

“Of course I did.” You huff back, a smile cracking across your face that makes one slide across his own in response as you move gracefully to his side of the room to try and kiss his cheek in a greeting. Ever the greedy husband he moves until your lips land on his, and it doesn’t take you long to melt into it.

And just like that, all his dreams came true. The way your body seemed to melt into his own as his arms wrapped around you to pull you in as close as possible, lips glued together as if both think if you separated now you would never be able to kiss again. And Bucky just wasn’t willing to risk that.

Ever since your first kiss, which was…..

As if you could hear how fast his head was moving you pulled back, pulling a slight whine from him until you looked up at him with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen and all worries seemed to vanish from him immediately.

“I've been dreamin’ about you since the moment I met ya.” He drawls out, leaning his forehead to touch yours, and nothing could fight off the smile that spreads across his face when he feels you hug him.

That was before the smell of burning filled the kitchen and you gasped out, pushing away from him with enough force he let out an “oomph” before you dash to the stove and try to pull the bacon off the stove.

“Damn you and your magnetic eyes.” You huff, whirling around with an accusatory look. “You better shake a leg, dreamboat. Or else you’re gonna be late again.”

“Or we can turn everything off and head up for another couple hours of sleep?” He counters, attempting to grab you into his arms again before you stop him with a shake of your head. “You have work. Now go.”

He does what you tell him, rushing up the stairs to find something to wear only to see that you had already laid out clothes for him on the bed….. Only…. Had they been there when he woke up? Why would you have laid them on the bed and not hanging on the wardrobe door if he was still in the bed earlier? And he swore he hadn’t seen the suit…..

A pulsing fills his ears as he stares down at the fabric before moving to slide a finger over the left sleeve, until his gaze rips from the jacket to his arm where flesh now sat.

Something felt odd.

There was a feeling sitting on the back of his spine as he whirled to take in the room, but he recognized everything. Your hairbrush on the dresser, his dog tags hanging on your lamp where you insisted you keep them. Your honeymoon photos decorating any open space he could find when you moved in…. Only….

This didn’t feel right.

Where had you both gone for your honeymoon? Sure the photos showed you both in some suits at a beach, you on his shoulders posing with the sun behind you both, but he couldn’t remember the day at all.

And when he wracked his brain he couldn’t remember your wedding, or your first date or first kiss.

“James!” Your voice calls up the stairs, snapping his attention to the door. He hadn’t even realized it but he had walked until he was right in front of the pictures on the nightstand, and his heart was thundering.

“Be right down.” He calls back, casting one more look to the photo before rushing to get dressed as he had promised you.

His chest felt tight, and he kept casting paranoid looks around the room until he was back down the stairs with you waiting for him with a plate, and when you kissed him all his worries vanished. “You took too long. It’s a little cold.”

“And I’m sure it will still be delicious, Doll.”

“Come sit, let me get you some orange juice.” You boss him around, leading him to the table before moving to grab the glass pitcher.

“Hey Doll, you remember our honeymoon?” He blurts, eyes watching you with nothing but adoration as you cross the room to sit by him at the table.

“Of course! We had the best time in……” Your smile remains wide but he notes something flashing in your eyes as your eyebrows pinch in.

“But not as much fun as our first date I’m sure.” He supplies, watching your face pinch up even more.

“Oh, our first date… when we…”

A moment of silence hits the table, both of you staring at each other with round eyes before a laugh escapes you. “I’m having such a frazzled morning. Please ignore me darling.”

“Me? Ignore you?” He laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t think I could if I tried, Angel.”

And just like that the morning was fixed, you made sure he ate, and he put up a fit until ate with him, before grabbing the lunch you packed and walking him to his car.

“Have a wonderful day.”

And it feels like heaven when he gets to lean in and kiss you goodbye before getting into his car and heading off to work, but the second you vanish from his sight that tight feeling in his chest returns once more.

He was being absurd, and a terrible husband. Oh how his Ma’ would kill him if she found out he had forgotten these things.

The wedding had been in…

“Watch out!” Someone calls out, a moment too late for the metal arm that had already wrapped the hand around the agents neck, squeezing tightly as panic filled her eyes, her nails clawing in a desperate attempt to get some air.

You had forgotten to pack a swimsuit and you dragged him to go buy a new one when you were on your honeymoon out in…..

The Soldat was so intent on watching the woman choke that he missed the shield thrown at him, the metal throwing him back, and since he had a firm grip the agent came with him. Only he let go at the last second to try and catch himself. And once he had his footing he moved to reach her only to realize she was already gone.

Oh golly, he was being a terrible husband. He should know these things. And frustration was beginning to claim him as he tried to think of anything at all.

Tension rose on the back of the Soldats neck, and he turned just in time for the agent to attack him, her legs wrapping around his shoulders as she used the momentum and her own body weight to lay them both out. Both of you managed to catch yourselves at the same time and he was quick to try and punch you only for you to block once more. A field hits him, and it takes a moment to realize the agent had shielded themselves with an energy barrier he had never seen before, and the second her hand touches his now exposed cheek he collapses with exhaustion.

“James? Are you alright?” Someone asks, snapping Bucky out of his…. Dream? Drawing his attention to where his coworker now stood.

“How…. When did I get to work?”

“You parked a couple minutes ago pal. You have been standing here since.”

“Right…. “ He nods, clearing his throat before a calm ease overtakes him. “Let’s get a move on. The quicker I get this day over the quicker I get back to my best gal.”

“No need to rub it in hotshot.”

The conversation between you and Bucky from the morning had stuck with you for some reason, and it was all you could think about as you watched him drive down the street on his way to work.

Oh what a terrible wife you were.

What kind of wife forgot her wedding?! Or her honeymoon?! Even the first kiss!

“Is everything all right?” Someone asks, pulling your attention to a woman with black hair and an oddly knowing smile, her plaid dress swishing at her calves as she took you in. “You look like you’ve lost the plot of this whole show!”

“I…. I’m sorry?”

“Agatha. Friends call me Aggy, you can call me Agatha.” She teases, holding out her hand for you to shake, only the second your skin touches hers she jumps a bit in surprise. “Oh golly, aren’t you just a ball of energy? Even I could feel it.”

“The study is showing great signs, no one has fed off the energy the way this subject has.” Your father explains, not quite managing to look at where you stood behind him, his entire body tense. “The mutant blood mixed with the dna from the-”

“I understand, but it doesn’t make a difference. Hydra does not want…. Energy… they want super soldiers.”

“She can supply or take energy in just a second with just a simple touch, Ray. She can make plants grow without so much as breaking a sweat. You have to show them. I wouldn’t have put my own daughter down as a subject if I didn’t believe it.”

“Your daughter is the only one to come out alive. And you’re lucky she had. I recommend you grab her and get as far away from here as possible. They are sending…..” The words muffle out for a moment as you look around the room but you pay attention once more when your father grabs your arm.

“The Winter Soldier is a myth.”

“You need to run. There is no way out. Hydra does not forgive easily.”

“Hellooooo?” Polished nails snap in front of your face, pulling your attention back to Agatha. “I was asking you questions, dear. Where are you from? Are you married? Are you single? Not for me of course, maybe for my husband if it gets him out of my hair.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.” You laugh, casting your eyes down to the empty garden plot behind her before looking back at her, or more specifically the broach on the collar of her dress. “Isn’t that nice? Family heirloom?”

For some reason you could feel nothing but energy coming off of it, almost like if you touched it then you’d see something, and without even fully knowing what you were doing you reached a hand out to try.

The woman in front of you stepped back sharply, eyes slashing a moment of fury before her face fixed back to the smiling happy look she started with. “Look at the time, I gotta run. And I don’t want to be a wet rag on your morning now. Have a good day!”

And with that she is off, walking down the street in a hurry before you look down to the garden plot once more and lean forward. You really should plant something, it would be perfect weather for it.

You allow your hands to get a feel of the dirt, breathing in the smell before looking up at the house with narrowed eyes as you try to decide. Maybe roses, though you wanted something with a bit more of a pop. And Bucky worked so hard to find a house you wanted to make it look good. Bushes were boring, maybe some poppies? But those were so closely related to the military you didn’t want them to upset your husband.

Maybe Catmint or Azaleas? Both of those had a brilliant color and you were sure Bucky would-

You felt the shift in the air, and the moment a zing passed through your ribs in a way that made your breath hitch, looking down just in time to see both Catmint and Azaleas begin to grow at a rapid pace from the once barron dirt.

Panic claws through you as you jump away, landing in the grass beneath you as you continue to stare at the flowers with wild eyes.

“What are your seduction techniques?” A familiar voice calls out and you turn to find Wanda standing by your fence- Wanda!

“Oh Wanda! I was looking for you!” You exclaim, jumping up to rush and hug her.

“Whatever for?”

“I….. well I have no…..” Why had you been looking for Wanda? “Oh enough about me. Why are you asking about seduction techniques?”

“Oh you will never believe the mess I’m in.” She begins, and you link arms with her to lead her inside, casting one last look at the flower bed before shutting the door behind you.

The screen flickers to life in black and white, framed with soft static. A cheerful jingle trills in the background, all xylophones and harmony that you could hum along to. The camera pans over a pristine kitchen: floral curtains, sparkling countertops, and a smiling housewife. Her hair is curled to perfection and her dress moves at her calves with every slight move she makes. She’s humming as she waters a potted plant, which droops sadly.

The narrator's voice is chipper and crisp, unmistakably male:

“Feeling a little wilted, darling? Has your energy been drained by the day-to-day grind?”

The housewife pauses, a perfect housewife smile frozen in place as she glances at the drooping leaves. Her brows pinch together, just a touch. Then she reaches out. As her fingers brush the plant, something pulses. The leaves twitch. Then swell. The entire flower perks up, too fast, too bright, glowing faintly at the edges.

She smiles again, but the corners of her eyes don't join in.

“Introducing VitaRays! The only household tonic that gives and takes, with just a touch!”

Cut to animated line art of a flower smiling wide, then cut again to the same flower draining the sun dry like a straw.

“Infused with the latest in scientific innovation, and thoroughly family-tested!”

A black-and-white photo fades in: the housewife as a young girl, standing beside a man in a lab coat. Her smile is small. His hand rests heavy on her shoulder. Behind his glasses, his eyes are unreadable.

“Why, with VitaRays, you’ll be the brightest bloom on the block! Whether you’re tending your garden, keeping your husband happy, or bringing back what ought to stay gone…”

The audio warps the slightest notch, pausing on the word gone before stopping. A breath of static follows, ringing in your ears. But before anyone could realize a jingle takes its place, the harmony once again keeping beat. But there is something there…. A voice under the jingle, too low to make out but almost familiar. The screen skips.

The housewife stares into the camera now. Just for a second. Too long. Her smile doesn't change, but her eyes are pleading.

Then the screen cuts to a bright, spinning logo: “VitaRays It’s not magic. It’s inheritance.”

A final chime plays. High-pitched and grating, like the ringing in your ears after a bomb.

Then black.

“She was found by shield as a kid, in the laboratory her father worked in. Hydra owned, they were paying for everything in his experiments. Intel says that they… “ Natasha starts, a look of guilt passing over her face as she takes in Steve’s angry face.

“Got tired of waiting?”

“No one ever saw him go in and out, it just fed into the Winter Soldier myth all the more. But he was definitely there. Killed them all.”

“Then who is that standing over Fury?”

“The lead scientist was…… using his daughter as a trial. She was found in the lab, unharmed but a bit confused. Fury said that she didn’t have a scratch on her but she swore she had been shot. And her father had been shot as well but he was walking around the lab with her.”

“She brought him back?”

“Not fully. He was like a walking zombie.”

“And we are bringing her in to heal him?”

“He’s not dead and she’s not a scared five year old. He was shot and she can help.”

“I figure there are more important things for you both to be doing than hiding in this snack room gossiping about me.” You sigh, leaning on the doorframe as they both whip around to spot you. “Aren’t you both supposed to have heightened senses? Couldn’t hear me standing here the whole time?”

“What do you know about the winter soldier?” Steve asks, something a lot more gentle in his voice than he had a minute ago.

“I know he’s dangerous, and broken.” You shrug. “But we all have been at some point, right?”

You leave them there, walking back to Fury’s room as you try to forget everything.

“Oh honey,” Bucky trills as he swings in at the door, a large smile plastered on his face as he takes you in. “I’m home.”

“You’re late.” You huff, turning your chin just the slightest bit to perform a fake dramatic moment that has him chuckling. “I have been waiting far too long.”

“Oh don’t I know it. Every moment from you feels like torture.” He moves closer with an easy stride until he is kneeling in front of where you sit, pulling your chin until you look at him. “How about we make up for lost time with some backseat bingo?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are fast!”

“Can you be fast when you’re married? Or is it just following your vows?”

“Yes! Our….Vows…..” You nod, a fog in your eyes making his chest ache with nerves.

“Which…. Were….” He continues, leaning up a bit to press his nose into yours as his brain racks.

“Absolutely wonderful!” You rush, leaning forward to press your lips into his before he can object, allowing a small moan to slip out when he immediately kisses back which just makes his arms wrap a little tighter around you as your legs wrap around him to pull him in.

It deepens more and more, almost like both of you are desperate for this, like you need it to breathe. But just your luck the phone shrills out, making you both jump and pull apart before he moves to answer it.

“Barnes residence.” He sighs, wiggling his eyebrows at you as you giggle. “Well ain’t that a bite….. Uh huh…. Alright now, easy…. No need to flip your lid now. You know the Mrs. and I will be right over.”

He hangs up quickly before standing up and extending a hand to you, which you gladly accept. “Wanda needs us.”

“Something is wrong with Wanda.” You gasp out the second Bucky Barnes opens his door, the rain pelting on you as he took in your appearance with wild eyes. “S-Steve promised and he’s not here and I can’t find Sam or Clint or- And Steve told me where to find you when I saw him at the home- I don’t-”

“Easy now.” He tries, reaching his arms out to try and touch you only for you to flinch away. He feels like he has just been stabbed as he watches you, but it’s not entirely surprising considering everything he has done. “Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know anything. That’s the problem! I can’t feel her! All I feel is this odd shifted energy but none of Wandas…. It’s just….. Chaos.”

“Alright goose it.” You laugh, watching Bucky dramatically hit the gas before guiding the car down the street in the direction Wanda lives. “Remind me again why we drove?”

“To make it seem like we are not last minute invites, Doll.”

“But we are?”

“Optical illusion I believe.”

“I won’t question your judgement.”

“And yet I think you will.” He laughs, hopping out of the car before dashing to open your door. “Milady’.”

“Oh what a gentlemen.” You laugh, allowing him to help you out before grabbing the bowl of fruit you had rushed to cut.

“Say, Doll, where’d you get all this fruit anyways?” “I…. went to the garden?” The garden in the backyard, that had been empty before you touched it.

“You’ve really been working hard while I’m at work.” He smiles, grabbing your hand and letting you lead him up to the door. “Is that a lobster?”

“It’s Wanda and Visions home, are you surprised?” He shrugs at your words, reaching to use the lobster as a door knock before Vision opens the door with a wild look.

“Oh! Look dear, another couple!” An older woman yells, pushing past Vision to greet you both at the door.

“Aren’t you two just the apple of ones eye. Oh my.”

“I’m James and this is my wife.” Bucky greets, allowing her to pull him but not before giving you a helpless look.

“I do believe that Wanda might need a bit of help if you would.” Vision mumbles under his breath, pushing you to the door gently. You reach up to pat his hand in comfort, and the second your skin touches his something feels funky.

The energy is not…. Human? It feels…. Like a machine.

“Are you alright dear?” The older woman calls and you place a smile on your face before exclaiming some excuse about hating running late before pushing into the kitchen to find Wanda.

“Oh don’t you look dolly!” You smile, rushing to hug her tightly. “I brought fruit!”

“You are my saviour. Let’s get to work.”

Bucky was placed besides Mrs. Hart at the table, across from you which he could not complain about. Who could complain when they were staring at an angel? No matter how weird the night had been so far.

A weird night indeed. Between Vision breaking out into the song yakety yak, and Mrs. Hart claimed she was beginning to feel woozy due to lack of food.

But it was all done, and they were seated at a the dinner table in front of a brilliant spread of breakfast for dinner.

“Very european.” Mrs. Hart compliments, giving Bucky a little giggle as he smiles at her.

“So where did both of you couples move from? What brought you here? How long have you been married? Why don’t you have any ankle biters yet?” She asks, her cheeks tinted with a blush that could be seen through the black and white film.

“Oh! We moved from….” Wanda starts, fixing up her napkin nervously.

“Yes! We moved from….” Vision continues for her.

“We got married in…..” Bucky starts, his head spinning a little as he looks to you for an answer.

“Yes! Way back in…..”

“Well?” Mr. Hart asks, his voice layered in aggravation. “Moved from where? Married when?”

“Oh easy now, they are just building up the story for us!” Mrs. Hart defends, reaching forward to pat your hand across the table before moving to pat Vis’ arm right next to her.

But when no one could think of a thing to say Mr. Hart could only get more aggravated, looking at Wanda as he began to ask. “Why did you come here? Why?”

Wanda was frozen, her eyes holding a glassy look that had you freezing as well as that feeling of Deja Vu pushed in a bit.

Mr. Hart slams his hands on the table, and Bucky snaps straight with a firm look in his eyes as he assesses any threat and how quickly he could get to you. He notes the exits and anything he can use as a weapon before looking at you.

“Damn it, why?! Why did you…” And just like that Mr. Hart begins to huff for air, his eyes growing panicky.

“Oh Arthur, stop it!” Mrs. Hart giggles, but the energy coming off of her was nothing but fear as he continued to struggle for breath. “Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT. PLEASE STOP IT!”

Each time she said it the words turned more and more into a plea as she looked at Wanda, tears beginning to slip from her eyes while Arthur Hart continued to choke right beside you and yet you were frozen to your seat. You wanted to reach for him, but a red haze blocked your mind's decision as you merely watched it all.

Bucky was in the same boat, fighting to get any piece of his body to move but being stuck in the motion.

It isn’t until he collapses to the ground that the spell breaks and Wanda looks to Vision, finally ordering him to do something.

And he does, phasing his hand through to grab the sausage that had lodged in Mr. Harts throat.

And then the room shifts completely, no more clock chiming, nothing but a happy serene moment.

“Well, would you look at the time?” Mr. Hart chuckles, without a single hint that he had just been choking. “We best be off.”

“What?” Bucky asks, blinking at them as they both rush to leave, giggling and jolly once more.

He makes it to your side of the table, a hand on your back rubbing up and down to comfort you before you both head to grab your jackets.

“I’m glad you came.” Wanda hums, hugging you a bit before pulling back. Bucky moves to lead you away, face strung up in confusion before Wanda calls your name once more. His hand clenches where it sits on your back, gripping at your dress like he is afraid she’ll snatch you away and his energy looms over you like a comforting blanket.

“Do you mind?” She asks, using her finger to gesture around the room where each and every plant is wilted and dying.

“Oh….” You gape, blinking slowly at them before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in. You hear Bucky’s breath hitch and by the time you open your eyes the plants are blooming beautifully.

He pushes you out quickly, casting a quick goodnight before gripping his hand in yours.

“That was….”

“It was.” You agree, nodding blankly as he watches the sidewalk before you both as you walk home.

“I don’t remember seeing Mr. Hart take a bite of food.” You hum, head spinning a little.

“I don’t either.” Bucky nods before stopping in front of your shared home. “Do you remember when we moved in?”

A part of you wanted to rush out a lie, not ready to be caught for the terrible wife you were, but you were so tired. “Not a bit.”

“Odd.” He comments, leading you in. He stays close, a panicky feel to him and you can see him studying every angle, every door and window like he was waiting for a threat. But then a pulse of chaotic energy fills the air, and an easy smile fills his face as he turns to you.

“Come on snake, let’s rattle.” He offers out a hand, which you gladly accept as he leads you to the middle of the living room as music from your records begins to play.

“I’m confessin’ that I love you. One of my favorites.” He sighs, keeping his forehead pressed to yours as the song plays out.

“I must confess, Buck, I don’t seem to remember anything about our romance. The years must have gotten to me.” You mumble, eyes watering a bit as you wait for his reaction only for him to laugh out.

“Doll, I can’t remember a damn thing myself. We must be too stressed.”

“Then we need to make a deal to stop being so stressed. I waited too long for you not to remember.” You smile, gazing up at him as he gazes back down at you.

“I don’t remember, but I know that I have waited far too long for you as well.”

And when he leans down to kiss you it feels like home. If only you could figure out why it was wrong.

The next morning you wake up wrapped in your husband's arms, only something has shifted. The first thing you notice is his arm, the metal humming under your hand as you trace a finger up until you get to the shirt sleeve. The next thing you notice is that the room has shifted ever so slightly. A 60s look now.

And when you gaze out the window you see that a car is parked in the driveway, even though you were sure you and Bucky had walked home.

“What is going on here…..?”

You had met Bucky Barnes three times in your life.

The first being as a child, stuck in your fathers lab the night the winter soldier had been sent to kill you all. And he had. You remember the taste of iron, the way your throat burned from screaming so much, slipping in the blood spilling from your father as the Soldat followed you easily.

He completed his mission of course. But how was he supposed to know that the girl would come back to life after draining all the plants in the room? How was he supposed to know she would try to bring her dad back?

The next time you met him was right on the edge of Bucky and the soldat. Brought in to heal Fury, and Steve had thought that maybe you would be able to help heal his friend once it was confirmed that the soldat was his friend.

But you had felt so guilty, in a moment of panic you had drained the energy from him and made him pass out. It had been years since you had lost control so blindly and as you gazed down at him, sleeping at your feet, you will yourself not to get sick.

You were a monster. Your father had made a monster.

And you had promised to keep your distance from him at that point on, not willing to accept the look of fear that would surely meet his eyes when he saw you next. Only he never did.

The next time you saw him he was Bucky Barnes, not the winter soldier. And he was a broken man.

“We were hoping you could help him.” Steve mumbles, a guilty look in his eyes. You were friends now, after Ultron and the mess of that war. He hated asking this of you, but Bucky needed help.

Bucky refused to meet your eyes, caving in on himself a bit and flinching whenever someone came near.

“I can try….”

If only you had known it would all go wrong.

Next Part : Something [Out SOON]

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