#Bucky Barnes Imagine

[aquaticmercy]

Sleeper

Summary : When Bucky falls in love with the antihero he’s sleeping with, he offers her a place in the Thunderbolts*.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x antihero!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, sex (a prominent theme but not graphic), cursing. Borderline obsessive behaviour. Congressman Barnes as per the Thunderbolts teaser. Batman/Catwoman-like dynamic. (Let me know if I miss anything.)

Word count : 6.5k

Note : This fic was genuinely written because of the van scene in the Thunderbolts trailer. That’s it. That’s how down bad I am for Thunderbolts Bucky. Reader is an antihero called ‘Sleeper.’ The Thunderbolts are referred to as ‘the team.’ The reader and Bucky first met a little bit before FATWS. I also have a cap! Sam fic coming out soon because my god. I am drooling over these two. Enjoy!

Bucky first heard of your existence in whispers.

He had heard your codename in hushed tones when he got off the ice in Wakanda, after Shuri helped rid his brain of the trigger words that haunted him.

Several of the Dora Milaje had crossed paths with you in Ivory Coast, and they had told everyone in the palace about how terrifyingly efficient—and violent— you had been. They said you finished the job before they even got there.

Your codename was nothing but silent rumours by those on the fringes of the intelligence community. They called you ‘Sleeper’— it wasn't a name you chose for yourself, but you have chosen to embrace the fear that people associated with it. 

You were an antihero, a vigilante who left rivers of blood in your wake.

Four years ago, you started tracking down the same corrupt officials and Hydra remnants that Bucky was trying to arrest.

The difference: Bucky set out to turn them in, you had your heart set on killing them, fast and efficient, as you always have been.

The first time you crossed paths with the former Winter Soldier, it was in a crumbling KGB safehouse in Eastern Europe. Bucky had taken down most of the guards, ready to haul the high-ranking operative to a jail cell in DC where he can await his trial. He was tired, the strain of therapy and sleepless nights holding him down, but this mission kept him focused.

But when he reached the operative’s office, the target was already slumped over his desk, cold and lifeless. 

"Guess I beat you to it, soldier," you said, voice laced with a confidence that made his stomach twist. You let him process the sight of you—fitted black suit, gloved hands, and a smirk that told him you were not only dangerous, but damn well aware of it. A mask obscured your eyes, but even with half of your face covered, he could see how smug you looked.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said, voice low.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking for you permission.” You tilted your head, the ghost of a laugh in your voice. You were watching him, sizing him up with those sharp eyes that felt like they could through see every part of him he tried to keep hidden. 

“Sergeant James Barnes, right?” You said his name with a familiarity that sent a jolt through him. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Never thought I’d actually run into you, though. Lucky night for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, not trusting this mysterious stranger, though he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. “And you are…?”

“I have no name to claim for myself,” you shrugged, leaning back against the wall, “but people call me Sleeper.” You let the name linger, knowing he’d recognize it. 

His memory reeled back to Ayo and the Dora Milaje, who had warned him of you: ruthless, volatile. A ghost who disappeared without a trace, always a step ahead. He’d just never expected Sleeper to be… so easy on the eyes.

“I didn’t ask for your help.” He repeated with no conviction. He narrowed his eyes at the body. “Especially not like this.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall and strolling over. “Relax, soldier,” your gaze met his, “I only go after the ones who deserve it. Just because I do it my way doesn’t mean I’m the villain here.”

“Still doesn’t make it right,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of curiosity underneath his stormy blue eyes.

“Then stop me,” you challenged softly, leaning close enough to feel his breath. “If you can.”

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

You grinned, a spark of intrigue lighting up in your gaze. “I’ll be waiting, James.”

And before he could respond, you were gone.

He knew he should’ve stopped you— but some part of him was glad he hadn’t. 

As you disappeared, he felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time: excitement.

—

From that day on, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head. 

At first, it was frustrating. You were hard to track, ruthless—and yet there was a sickening righteous principle to your actions that he couldn’t deny.

As the weeks went by, something else rooted in his brain when he thought of you. Fascination. 

His mind often wandered about you during his quiet, sleepless nights, wondering who you were beneath the mask, beneath the mystery and the whispers.

Sam noticed, of course. He'd raise an eyebrow whenever Bucky lingered too long over case files where you'd been mentioned. He’d nudge if he seemed overly eager to volunteer for missions that involved your typical targets.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll show,” Sam teased once, nudging Bucky. “She’s dangerous, though. Is that your type?”

Bucky scoffed, but he knew Sam was right. And maybe that danger was part of what kept him intrigued.

—

The next time you crossed paths, it was in a dark alleyway, both of you dripping with sweat and breathing heavily after taking down an underground fighting ring. 

“You know,” he’d said, “killing them doesn’t make it justice.”

“You think turning them in is enough?” Your voice had cut through the air like a knife, but there was no malice behind it. You wanted him to understand your line of thinking, wanted him to know. “People like them are everywhere. They’ll get out. They’ll come back.”

“So you think you get to decide whether they live or die?” he challenged, jaw tight.

“No,” you said, readjusting your mask. “But I do it anyway.��� There was a flicker of sadness in your gaze that he noticed, even if you tried to hide it.

What had happened to you? He thought to himself. What have you been through?

In that moment, he noticed the pain behind your eyes, the kind of pain he knew intimately. You weren’t just someone who killed for vengeance; you must have had your reasons. You must have carried scars that ran deep, maybe deeper than his.

—

From that point on, Bucky made it a habit to look for you on every mission. It was like an unspoken game, this cat-and-mouse chase. Every time he saw you, the tension between you grew. 

Sometimes, he’d get there first, managing to intercept before you could execute the target. Other times, you’d arrive at the same time. He’d try to talk you out of it, to make you see things his way, but you’d laugh him off, the kind of laugh that hinted at more than your fair share of heartache. 

And sometimes, you’d tease him, push boundaries he wasn’t sure he should cross.

“You like this, don’t you, James?” You’d whisper it low, close enough for him to catch your scent, a faint hint of gunpowder and vanilla perfume. “The chase. Getting to play the hero while I get my hands dirty.”

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. 

—

Bucky grew obsessed, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Every encounter left him more and more drawn to you. He’d search for files on you for days on end without sleep, but all he found were reports with no concrete evidence. He found himself looking for excuses to track your movements, hoping he’d be there to stop you but not quite sure he wanted to succeed.

One night, after another close call, you leaned into him as he pushed you up against the wall. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the electricity charged in the space between you. You looked up at him, the smallest hint of vulnerability peeking through your mask.

“Why do you keep doing this, James?” you asked, voice softer this time. “You can’t save me.”

“Maybe not,” he replied, frowning as his eyes looked down to the edge of your lips, “but I can try.”

That night, he wondered just how long he could keep up this dance before one of you finally gave in.

—

One night, while you were on a caper in Prague, everything changed for the two of you. 

The mission had been bloody, chaotic, and a little too close to mayhem for Bucky’s liking. You had taken down an entire network of arms dealers, setting fire to one of their last remaining munitions blocks and leaving it to burn. 

Bucky had arrived too late, frantically trying to contain the chaos you’d left in your wake, alerting local authorities, making sure the flames didn’t spread to a nearby market.

When he caught up to you, adrenaline ran hot through his veins. 

He'd followed you through winding streets and up dark staircases, up to the hotel you were holed up in. He followed you into your room, locking you both in.

His voice was tight, anger simmering beneath. “You’re careless.” His blue eyes were striking underneath the european moonlight, “you could’ve taken out half the neighbourhood, and for what?”

“I got the job done, James.” You shrugged, trying to look unbothered. “It’s not pretty, but it works.”

He stepped closer, and you held his gaze, “You know, I’d turn you in if you weren’t so…” he paused, his voice faltering, as if the words were lodged in his throat, “Weren’t so…”

Your pulse quickened. “If I weren’t so what?” You snapped, daring him to finish, to admit what had been hanging between you two since the day you met.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into a fierce, bruising kiss.

You didn’t hesitate—you kissed him back with just as much fire, your hands tangling in his hair.

Bucky’s hands found your waist, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave marks. He pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall, lips moving down your jaw, then hot against your neck. His breaths were ragged, matching your own, and he was holding you as if letting go would mean losing control entirely. 

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as his mouth found a sensitive spot on the dip in your collarbone, his hands roaming possessively over your back, down your sides.

You pulled him back to your mouth, desperately needing that connection. 

When you finally broke apart for air, his forehead rested against yours. You untied your mask and threw it across the room.

Fuck. he thought as his eyes widened, taking in your full facial features for the first time. You were even more beautiful than I imagined you to be. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought to himself, I’m done for.

He was ready to throw you in jail cell. Instead, he ended up in your bed.

That night, in the dim light of your cheap hotel room, clothes were shed in hurried, frustrated movements, and all that pent-up tension finally found its release.

That first time had been desperate, raw. Both of you were driven by the need to let go, to feel something other than the weight of the cold blooded kills and the darkness you both carried.

Ever since then, every time you crossed paths, it was the same: adrenaline-fueled clashes and heated conversations about morality turned into hotel room rendezvous, hands grasping, lips colliding, both of you seeking the kind of solace you could only ever find in each other. 

—

You’d never admitted it out loud, but Bucky had an effect on you. When he was around, you found yourself hesitating just that split second longer before slicing your target’s arteries and leaving them to bleed.

You didn’t feel the need to wipe out every enemy anymore, and his disapproval of your methods had started haunting you in ways you’d never expected. Maybe that was why you’d started allowing him to find you more often, taking on jobs you knew he’d be there for. 

It was a dangerous game, but you kept playing it. He was obsessed with finding you, and you weren’t about to stop him.

He’d learned to read you better, your patterns, the places you tended to show up. By the time you landed in some city on the opposite end of the globe, he’d be there like clockwork, showing up right before you finished a job, confronting you before you could disappear into the night.

But the nights you spent together were… different. 

You never asked about each other’s pasts; you kept it in the here and now, keeping him at a safe distance even as you let him pull you under the covers time and again.

Every time he asked your real name, you’d smile and brush him off, deflecting his curiosity with a kiss or a teasing answer. He didn’t press, but you could see the questions in the way his brow furrowed, could feel the affection in the way he lingered in the mornings after, with a soft smile in his eyes that made your heart beat faster.

Each time, he told himself it was just catharsis, just a release of frustration for both of you, nothing more. But that excuse had worn thin over the years, and Bucky knew it as well as you did. 

He knew it wasn’t one sided either. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d look at him as he drifted to sleep next to you. Once, he caught a flicker of something vulnerable in your eyes before you put the walls back up. 

And God, was he drawn to you, to the side of you that fought so fiercely, that showed just enough vulnerability to keep him coming back. He was so fucking desperate to understand you better, to see more of the person underneath the mask.

—

One night, after a mission in Manila, you’d both ended up in a small, worn-down cheap hotel room overlooking the city lights. You were leaning against the headrest of the bed, a hint of sweat clinging to your skin, breathing still unsteady as you came down from the high you gave each other.

He watched you, his gaze lingering on the barely-perceptible rise and fall of your chest. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. There was a tremor in your tone, a flicker of something vulnerable that he wasn’t sure you meant for him to hear.

“Like what?” he asked, nuzzling closer to you. His now long hair was tied back in a low bun, your hair tie holding it together because he didn't have one of his own.

“Like you want something from me that I’m too broken to give,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes. But he reached for you, tipping your chin up until you had no choice but to look at him, and there it was—that flicker of affection he knew ran just as deep in you as it did in him.

“Maybe I want it anyway,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. “You ever think of that?”

“This is just a release, James.” Your gaze softened for just a second, long enough for him to catch it before you shook your head, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s just something we both need.”

Even as you said it, you weren't convinced. He reached for you again, pulling you close, and kissed you because that was the only thing you’d let him do.

You melted into him once more, you found yourself wondering just how much longer you could keep him at arm’s length.

—

The shift in Bucky’s life had been as dramatic as it was unexpected. You’d never pegged him for politics—neither had he, to be fair—but here he was, representing his district, looking sharp in a suit that cost more than the last few hotels you’d met in combined. 

He’s upgraded. Freshly elected, polished up, all suited and respectable as a congressman, fighting for reform from a marble office by day and for justice in dark alleys by night. 

But tonight, with that half-smile he only gets with you, he’s still the same— still carrying that simmering tension in his lips, his hair tousled from a long night of pursuing you through the shadows. 

After a mission that had you both knee-deep in an abandoned bunker hunting a rogue assassin, you found yourself together once again. Only this time, the hotel he’d booked was far from cheap. 

He brought you to a five-star suite. The bed was massive, the sheets soft, and the view from the window sprawled out over the city skyline, a stark contrast to the dingy rooms you’d gotten used to. 

Now, lying beside him in the rumpled silk sheets, you watched him catch his breath. You moved off of his lap to lay next to him, euphoric from the guilty pleasure you both indulged in. 

“You know, the second someone finds out Congressman Barnes has a relationship with a violent vigilante, you’re out of office.”

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. “Relationship?”

Fuck. He caught you slipping up. He caught you thinking about a relationship with him.

“Casual sex is still a relationship, James.” You shrugged, trying to save face. You turned to him, with a lazy, unconvinced smile, “Strings attached or not, it counts.”

He shifted, the corner of his mouth twitching as he watched your wall break, even if only one brick at a time. “Casual,” His fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Unless you’re pretending you don’t want it anymore.” You paused, leaning closer, “Or maybe you just like that I could ruin everything. That I could say one word to the press, post one picture online and your reputation is finished. You’d be back to square one.”

He chuckled, his fingers grazing down your arm. It was terrifying, how comfortable he’d become with you. “I trust that you wouldn’t,” he said softly, voice laced with that steady confidence, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

His declaration hung in the air, and you felt guilt striking in your chest.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of this arrangement. Trust was for partners, for couples, for people who wanted things that lasted. 

You shook it off, leaning back, a little smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted a brow. “You’re right. I do have a soft spot for you, Congressman Barnes,” you added, the title rolling off your tongue with a touch of sarcasm, “Consider it my gift to democracy.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His hand drifted down to catch yours, holding it in a way that felt too natural, too comfortable for what you were supposed to be. 

You both knew, despite the banter and the invisible boundaries, this thing between you was already past casual. It was the reason he keeps showing up where you showed up, the reason you’re letting him into your life in ways you never let anyone before. You were both just too stubborn to say it.

He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a way that feels almost… affectionate. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it, forgetting the consequences, the danger, the fact that this man might just unravel you completely and you would have no say in it whatsoever.

When you pulled back, his fingers trailed over your bare waist. “Maybe it’s more than just a soft spot,” he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow, heart beating out of your chest. “Let’s not get sentimental, James,” you brushed, letting your fingers graze his jaw as you murmured, “You’ve got an image to protect, after all.”

He lets out a sigh that’s part laughter, part frustration. He knew you were deflecting. “Right,” he said, brushing his lips against yours again. 

“You and your image,” you chuckled, “Out there, shaking hands and making speeches about justice while you sneak off to hotel rooms with someone like me.”

He grinned, not a trace of shame in his expression as he turned his gaze back to you. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line. Even if it takes…” His voice lowered, dropping into that deep, teasing tone that made your stomach knot. “…a hands-on approach.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the last person who’d ever get me in line, James.” You leaned closer, though you didn't believe a single word you said. 

There was a long silence for a while. He eventually reached out, brushing a lock of hair back from your face, his thumb tracing over your cheek.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”

As the city lights cast a faint glow over the room, you lay there in silence, limbs tangled together in a way that felt a little less no strings attached every time.

—

The next time you meet, you were on a late-night operation on the dark outskirts of the city. You’ve tracked down a group of mercenaries. They’re as ruthless as they were careless, leaving a trail of devastation across the criminal underworld. But tonight, their recklessness will end with you. 

You moved through in silence, precise, methodical. One by one, you took them down, not killing, but incapacitating them. Your fists were quick, your strikes precise. It’s what you’ve done for years, a grim pattern of efficiency that never required a second blow. Just as you reached the man who hired them with your knife drawn—a local crime lord—you felt his presence before you saw him.

“Think twice, Sleeper,” Bucky said from behind you.

You froze, heart pounding as you stood over the crime lord begging for mercy. It would be so easy to end this now, but with Bucky watching, you hesitated.

You lowered the knife.

Instead of killing him, you tied him up alongside the other mercenaries, ignoring the questions in their fearful eyes. Bucky made a call, alerting local authorities to pick up the mess you’ve left behind.

“What now?” you asked, walking away from the carnage. You were expecting the usual pattern: another hotel room, a brief reprieve from the violence, nothing more. 

But he surprised you, lacing his hand in between your fingers, warm and secure. 

He had never, ever, showed affection outside closed doors.

“Come with me.” 

—

You didn’t expect Bucky to take you back to his place, but soon you were standing outside a sleek high-rise in the heart of the city. You followed him up to his penthouse apartment. It’s almost disorienting— the polished floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You found yourself standing in the quiet entryway of his home. The walls were painted in light, earthy tones, and the furniture was clean, modern, yet warm.

You glanced around, taking in the small details that hinted at Bucky's life beyond the missions. There were bookshelves lined with novels and memoirs, some old and looked like first editions, others barely touched. A few black-and-white photographs decorated the walls—New York City at dusk, a forest path, a beach sunset. It was an oddly peaceful place for a man like him. Certainly too peaceful for someone as broken as you.

“This is risky, James,” you said, looking up at him as he closed the door behind him, “Showing me where you live.”

“No, it's not,” he replied, his conviction absolute. “I trust you.”

There it was again. That word. Trust. The thing you never quite knew what to do with, especially coming from him.

You studied the way his favourite leather jacket was tossed on a chair, a half-read book by the couch. It felt like stepping across an invisible line. You set your mask down on the table before he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

“This feels like crossing a boundary, James,” you admitted. You knew he should pull back, give you a chance to retreat. But you didn't want him to.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he cupped your face as he tilted your chin up gently. “What boundary?” he asked.

He knew that there were nothing separating you two. Not anymore.

The space between you vanished as his lips met yours. You kissed him back, losing yourself in the process of tasting him. His hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer. Kissing him felt like falling— like surrender.

You made your way to his bedroom, bodies tangled together, a blur of heated whispers and gasping breaths. Clothes fell away, discarded like old skin. The way he looked at you, it was like he was memorising every inch of you.

In that moment, you realised: the boundary had never been there. Not for him. Maybe not for you either.

—

The room was quiet as you lay tangled up in Bucky’s sheets. The duvet smelled like him, unlike the neutral, sterile scent of the usual hotel sheets. 

You’d never admit it, but it was intoxicating. 

The satisfied pulsing in your body had put a hazy filter over everything. 

Bucky smiled softly, kissing your forehead before reaching to his bedside drawer, pulling out a small glass box, placing it gently on your palm.

"Here," he murmured, almost shyly. He opened the box to reveal a hair tie inside. 

Oh. You recognised it. The ends were a bit frayed, the colour faded.

It was the hair tie you’d given him in Manila, a lifetime ago, a little piece of you that he’d tucked away in a corner of his home

You blinked, caught off guard. "You still have that?"

He shrugged, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. Was he… embarrassed? "I thought it was... worth keeping."

"Careful, James,” you couldn't help but tease him, nuzzling closer into his arms. “Keep this up and you might just start falling in love with me."

You felt his breath hitch.

He looked up, finally. Nervously.

Instead of denying it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, warm whisper. "Would that be so bad?"

His fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver through your spine. Your heart fluttered irregularly, your head spinning in a daze as you tried to keep your thoughts down.

No.

You couldn’t let him see that he was getting to you like this, so you did what you always did: you deflected, grinning forcefully and rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, right," you said, brushing off the moment. As much as it broke your heart to deny the truth, you were doing it for his sake and yours. "I'm not that easy to love, James."

He chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin as he pulled you closer, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Maybe that's why I do." 

You shifted away from him, wrapping yourself in the sheets as if they could shield you from what he was offering — and from the ache in his gaze. 

"We can’t…" you said, voice barely above a whisper. "We can’t do this."

Bucky's eyes darkened, but he would be alright. He expected this from you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his desire for you and something else… there was something bigger. 

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly. “I have… a team.”

That caught you off guard. 

Bucky? On a team? He’d always seemed like a lone wolf, just like you. 

“There’s a couple of former Widows, who you’d get along with. Two other super soldiers. And someone who can… phase. Quantum experiment gone wrong.” He paused, “We’re trying to make something real here. And it’s missing someone.” His fingers trailed down your forearm, eventually clasping your palm in his, “It’s missing you.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ears, trailing your jawline delicately with his metal hand, “I need you.”

The invitation went unanswered for a moment. You swallowed, caught off-guard by how badly he seemed to want this, how he wanted you to be part of it.

“I work alone, James,” you said, brushing off the offer with a small, bitter smile. “You know that.”

“But why not?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Why won’t you let someone else in for once?”

The frustration in his tone was raw, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of pain flash across his face from this rejection.

“This is your chance to do something good the right way,” he pressed, and there was a quiet urgency in his voice. “No more hunting down bad guys with no direction. No more living like you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

His words sank in, and your walls felt shakier than ever. The idea of leaving the past behind, of actually building something… you hadn’t let yourself imagine it in years.

“Just think about it,” he said softly, placing his forehead on yours. “You don't have to decide now. Just… consider it.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug, but the truth was that his offer echoed in your mind, louder than you wanted to admit. He smiled at your dismissiveness, recognizing the crack in your armour. He didn’t push further. 

You realised that for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to say no.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was in the middle of a mission neither of you had wanted. 

Just a week had passed since you’d spent the night in his apartment. Since then, you had told yourself you shouldn’t return. You couldn’t. You were getting too close, feeling too much.

It was getting dangerous.

But then Bucky had reached out to you, voice tight and desperate, the kind of desperation that stripped away all his pride. It was a vulnerability even you hadn't seen from him before. His team was in over their heads, he’d said. He needed you. 

You’d agreed to help, but you’d been careful to remind him that this was a one-time thing. One mission, and that was it.

But then everything went wrong.

It happened so fast, you barely understood how everything had gone wrong. 

You were with Bucky, fighting side-by-side, the two of you moving as if connected by some invisible thread. 

You had taken a blow, separating you from everyone else. You tried standing up but fuck! The impact had shattered your ankle, sending a searing pain through your leg. Your nerves were on fire in a way they had never been before.

You couldn't move. 

You couldn't get up. Couldn’t run.

And then the ground shifted, an explosion roared from behind, and the next thing you knew, a van was thrown across the road, hurtling straight toward you.

For a single, frozen heartbeat, you realised this was it. 

It was over.

You saw the faces of bystanders staring from the sidewalk, their eyes wide, too horrified to look away. You let go of the cold steel of your knife still gripped in your hand. The acrid taste of smoke on your tongue intensified. And the truck—a wall of twisted metal hurtling closer, closer, impossibly fast.

You’d spent so many years brushing so close to death that you always thought you’d be ready.

But now, all you felt was regret.

Regret that this was how you’d die: in the middle of a cold, empty street, surrounded by strangers who would never remember you, never know who you were or what you’d done. 

Alone. 

You thought of Bucky in those last seconds—his quiet smiles, the way he’d look at you like he could see through every wall you put up, the silent crutch he’d offered without expecting anything in return. Bucky, who’d trusted you, who’d somehow cared for you even after everything you’d done. 

For the first time, you felt regret for every life you’d taken, every person you’d left to die in your wake.

Your life had been nothing but survival and bloodshed. You had told yourself it was necessary, that it was the only way. But here, now, with your own death inches away, it all felt hollow.

You’d given up hope, abandoned the idea of redemption long ago—because you were too broken.

And yet, with Bucky, something had changed. He had looked at you and somehow seen past it all. He’d made you feel as if maybe, just maybe, you were something more than the ghost you’d become. Maybe, instead of running, you could have found a way to fight for something real, something that mattered. 

Maybe you could have been someone better. 

You would never know now.

The world narrowed, and you braced yourself for the inevitable, hoping it would be quick and painless. Your fingers tightened, clinging to the memory of him in those last, precious seconds as you waited to feel the impact—

But it never came.

Instead, there was a rush of air, a deafening crash, and then—silence. You blinked, dazed, your heart still hammering, and when you looked up, Bucky was standing there, his metal arm outstretched, braced against the van that he’d deflected away.

He turned to face you, his expression raw, worry carved deep into his features as he scanned you, checking for injuries. For a moment, he just stared, his breathing uneven, as if he’d been the one facing certain death.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice panicked.

You tried to answer, but the words tangled, caught in your throat. You managed a nod, barely able to process what had just happened. 

“Shit,” he kneeled next to you, “Is your ankle broken, can you walk?”

You stared at him, trembling as he tore a part of his shirt and wrapped it around your injury for support.

Bucky had saved you. He had thrown himself in front of a hurtling vehicle without a moment of hesitation, as if your life were worth that sacrifice. 

He had saved you.

You were alive because of him.

Alive, when you’d already accepted that you were going to die alone.

No one had ever done that for you. No one had ever saved you—not like this, not without asking anything in return. Hell, you never thought that you deserved to be saved.

“You’re okay, Sleeper,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was reassuring himself as much as you. “I’m here.”

His words settled into the cracks that had broken open inside you, filling them in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t realised how empty you’d felt until now, how long you’d carried the weight of loneliness, of believing that this life—this endless, solitary fight—was all you deserved. 

Bucky made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be alone. That maybe, even after all you’d done, there was a place for you outside the shadows.

“Don’t call me that,” your voice trembled, “I don’t want you to call me Sleeper anymore.”

Bucky stopped for a second, confused. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Something inside you broke, raw and vulnerable, and the name you’d hidden for years slipped from your lips before you even realised it. Your real name—your last, fragile piece of self you’d kept locked away, hoping one day you’d be able to reclaim it. 

It felt right with Bucky, like you could trust him with it, like you could let yourself be seen.

Bucky’s eyes widened, his face softening as he repeated it, almost reverent, like he wanted to remember how it felt to say it. 

Hearing him say your name, like a prayer, like it was sacred, like it mattered— tore down whatever walls you had left. He’d given you something you didn’t know you could have: the feeling of belonging to yourself again. The feeling of belonging to the world again.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers shaking. He moved, pulling you closer. His touch was grounding, steady—a lifeline that anchored you to the moment, to this fragile reality where you didn’t have to be alone anymore. 

You pressed your lips to his, but this kiss was different— it wasn't casual or sexual as it has always been. This time, it was gentle, carrying something other than desire, something precious and fragile. 

Something worth nurturing.

When you finally pulled away, he looked at you lovingly. 

“I’ll join you,” you said, the words coming from some deep part of you that had been waiting for someone to give you this chance, this choice.

Now you realised that this choice was yours all along. All you had to do was take it.

And you did, because maybe, instead of running from yourself, you could find a way to make things right. Maybe you could fight for something greater than yourself.

For the first time, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace, you believed that maybe you could be someone worth saving.

—

A month later, you were all gathered around a small campfire, tucked away in a quiet corner of nowhere. 

The night was cool, the fire warm, and laughter bubbled up from the group as you shared bits and pieces of each other's lives. 

“Team bonding,” John had said.

John passed around a nearly empty bag of marshmallows, Alexei poked at the fire, and Yelena and Ava exchanged eye rolls at everyone else’s antics, though they leaned closer together under the same blanket.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, as it often did, to you and Bucky. 

“So… how did the Winter Soldier and Sleeper even meet?” Yelena asked, raising an eyebrow as she threw another marshmallow into her mouth. 

The moniker you had adopted still twisted in your stomach every time you heard it, but it had lost its edge. This time, you felt in control. Like you owned it.

"I have theories,” Alexei nodded, crossing his arms, “but I have to know."

You shared a look with Bucky, a small smile creeping on both your faces. “There was a Hydra agent we were both after.” you began, biting back a frown. “And… well, I was angrier back then.” 

He placed his arm on yours, a comforting gesture.

“You wanted him alive,” you said. “I had… different ideas.”

“After that—” Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “—She was all I could think about. I kept showing up wherever she was, trying to figure her out.” 

“So basically,” John said, trying to hold back a laugh, “Bucky is a bit of a stalker.”

“A stalker?” Bucky echoed incredulously, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dedicated.’” 

“No, no,” Ava interjected, “you followed her everywhere did you not? ‘Stalker’ is the right word, Barnes.”

“Fine,” he admitted jokingly, “But what can I say? It was love at first sight.” 

Yelena gagged theatrically and John clutched his stomach in a fit of laughter.

Alexei just chuckled and muttered something about “American romance.” Ava made a face, disgusted but secretly amused.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, looking down at you with a quiet smile.

In some way, this still felt too good to be real.

For the first time, you realized you’d found exactly what you’d been missing all along. A home. Maybe even the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family.

A place where you belonged.

And you knew, looking at all of them—especially at Bucky—that this was just the beginning.

-end

[vintagebuckybarnes]

In Vino Veritas

Pairing → Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Lab Assistant! Female! Reader

Total Wordcount → 3.5K

Summary → It all started when you and the Avengers enjoyed drinks during the afterparty back at the Avengers Tower. There, Tony revealed one of your deepest secrets, and even though you wish it had never come to light at first, you’re glad it did when the man you love stands on your doorstep, ready to start the rest of your life together.

Tags & Warnings → Semi-canon compliant, Avenger! Bucky Barnes, Female! Reader, Tony’s Lab Assistant! Reader, Bucky’s past as TWS is mentioned, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, some cursing, and explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Grinding, begging, some dirty talk, praise, teasing Bucky, protected sex, cowgirl position.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author’s Note → This story is beta'd by the wonderful @late-to-the-party-81, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I hope you'll all enjoy my story, which is filled with some angst, lots of fluff, and some smut to top it all off! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandom-free-bingo Bug Edition → “There is no us.” | Riding | In vino veritas | “Touch me.” @fandom-free-bingo Medical Edition → Crush at first sight @julybreakbingo Post-JBB → Being confronted about their feelings for another

Tags List → If you’d like to be tagged in my stories, you can add yourself to my tag list here.

The evening starts fine, good, even. But it all takes an unexpected turn when the man you work for - Tony Stark - reveals your secret. A secret that you’d only recently revealed to him.

Earlier that day, you’d spotted Bucky as he was working out and from that moment on your mind has been with him instead of your usual work and tasks.

“Hello, Y/N? Anyone home in there?” Tony asks as he lays a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. You look up at him with a worried look while he smiles back at you with a kind expression. A soft sigh escapes your lips as the thoughts in your head wander off again, specifically how his back looked underneath the tank top he wore in the gym while doing squats. Not only that, but you also can’t stop thinking about the way his ass looked in the sweatpants he wore. In a word, magnificent.

“Is everything okay with you? You’ve been a bit off your game today.” As Tony sits next to you, you put down the screwdriver you were holding - the one he asked you three times to pass to him - before turning to face him, your gaze focusing somewhere on the wall behind him. For a moment, there’s a silence between you as you gather the courage to tell him what’s been on your mind.

“Well, uhm- There’s something, or someone, that I can’t stop thinking about, and it’s taking over my mind every second of every day. It- It’s Bucky,” you say almost in a whisper. For a few seconds, Tony is completely silent as he lets the thought of you having a crush on one of his fellow Avengers sit in his mind. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he reaches out for your hand and takes it between his warm ones.

“You know that I’ll always support you in everything, right? I supported you when you expressed your desire to halt your life as an Avenger and retrain as my lab technician, and I supported you when you moved out of Avengers Tower to have your own home with more peace. This is not going to be any different. All I’m hoping for is that he will make you the happiest and best version of you, as you deserve nothing less.”

Tears brim at your waterline as Tony tells you this, and even though you deeply appreciate him, his words, and everything he has done for you, you can’t help but still feel a bit… odd about the fact you told him you’re having a crush on Bucky. That you have a crush on the man who was once the most feared assassin in the world under the hands of HYDRA.

“Now, can you hand me that screwdriver before your thoughts wander off to him again?” your boss asks in a teasing tone, making you smile as you grab it and hand it to him. Somehow, he always seems to know the right thing to say, and it's exactly why you enjoy spending time by his side while learning everything there is to know about his lab and what's going on in there.

Just as you’re about to get comfortable with another drink in your hand, you meet the gaze of the man you’re crushing on, and you feel heat coursing through your veins. The lines around his deep blue eyes intensify as he smiles at you, his attention making every last thought in your brain disappear. You’re so captivated by how Bucky looks at you that you miss your seat as you sit down. However, before you fall, you’re caught by a pair of solid arms that prevent you from hitting the floor.

“Careful there, Little One,” Thor says in his deep voice, his accent always making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. Even though you’d known Thor since you were young, you couldn’t help but get a little flustered by the nickname, and he smiled at you as you were finally sitting on the chair you intended to use.

“Thank you, Thor,” you whisper before sipping your cocktail. Around you, the conversations are starting to become a little blurry as you focus on Bucky and everything he has to say, his lips forming around the words effortlessly. When you suddenly feel a little shove against your arm, you yelp, making everyone go silent as they look at you.

“What did you do that for?!” you ask Thor in a low voice, but all he does is point to Tony, who obviously has something to say as he’s waving for everyone’s attention. There are moments when you enjoy the fact that alcohol can bring out people’s true feelings or thoughts, also known as in vino veritas, but not now. Oh no, now you wish you could disappear as you listen to the words coming out of Tony’s mouth.

“Guys, you really shouldn’t say this to Bucky or Y/N, but they’re having a massive crush on one another!” Tony says in a loud whispering tone, but what he fails to notice in his inebriated state is that you two are sitting right across from one another, enjoying the afterparty just like everyone else. Or at least, you were enjoying the afterparty until your secret got out.

The glass you were holding falls out of your hand before shattering into pieces on the floor, and your feet carry you as fast as they can away from the party and away from your worst nightmare come true. The music behind you fades away as you turn one corner after another, tears burning in your eyes as the event repeatedly replays in your mind. Your lungs start to burn as you keep running, the stinging feeling in your side increasing as you run out of the Avengers Tower into the night.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s world feels like it has taken a 180-degree turn. Mere minutes ago, he could only fantasize that you could have feelings for him, but now? A wave of disbelief washes over the super soldier, his expression showing pure surprise as he takes the moment in. For him, it was a crush at first sight from the momentyou walked into the training room on your first day. Over the years, his feelings have intensified, although he has only told Steve about his crush - or rather his now deep-rooted love - for you.

And yet, now that the pair of you have been confronted about your feelings for one another, he doesn’t know what to do. He has replayed the moment he’d confess his feelings to you more times than he can count in his mind, and in none of those versions, this is one of the scenarios that had appeared. It’s only when Steve grabs his arm and pulls him away that he seemingly comes back to reality again.

“Bucky, how does Tony know about your crush on Y/N? I mean, I’m, of course, fine with you sharing it, but-”

“I don’t know, Steve, I don’t know, and it kills me,” Bucky says as he runs his fingers through his cropped hair.“Fuck- I was planning on telling her this week but… but now it’s ruined, and I didn’t even get the chance to talk to her, and-” It’s all Bucky can say as he fights the urge to punch the wall with his metal fist, both hands clenched by his side as he tries to regulate his breathing. Without warning, Steve pulls him into a hug, and Bucky’s arms snake around his best friend's waist as his fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Steve whispers, though he’s not entirely sure that’s true because he knows as well as anyone that things don’t always go back to how they were before. Still, Bucky decides to believe him as they stand there for a little while longer, and he soaks in every bit of comfort he can get for now. Lord knows he’s going to need it.

The past few days have been strange, to say the least. You haven’t been to the Avengers Tower since Tony revealed your now not-so-secret crush on the super soldier. You’re afraid of what will happen if you do. This also means you haven’t seen Bucky in a few days, and you miss him. You miss hearing his laugh, and you miss seeing how his mouth turns slightly upward as you hand him one of your baked goods, but most of all, you miss how his arms feel when he pulls you in for a hug.

Just as you’re about to make yourself a cup of tea, you get pulled from your thoughts by a soft but familiar knock on the door; only one thing can make that sound: Bucky’s metal hand knocking against the wood. For a moment, you contemplate your actions, but decide to give him at least a chance to talk, especially as it wasn’t him who laid out your feelings in front of everyone.

“Bucky, hi,” you say softly as you take in his appearance, your heart sinking as you do. It’s evident he hasn’t slept at all the past few days. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he doesn’t look as healthy as usual—more disheveled. The struggles he’s facing are apparent in his entire demeanor, and all you want to do is wrap him up in a warm blanket and cuddle him until the end of time.

“Hi,” he says hoarsely, and you step aside, allowing him to enter your apartment. He’s been here a few times already, and usually there’s a warmth radiating from you and every inch of the little place you call home, but ever since the party, it hasn’t been the same. It isn’t just the apartment, either. You feel different.

“Would you like some tea before we talk?” you ask to break the tension. “I was about to make some.”

He nods at you before wandering further into your apartment, and you head to the kitchen, picking out another mug for Bucky to use. Once he’s caught sight of your couch, he immediately takes a seat, a soft groan audible as he does. There aren’t many places more comfortable than the large couch that’s standing right here in your living room.

When you emerge a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies you baked fresh this morning, Bucky can’t help but smile at you. He gladly takes the tea with one of the cookies, as they’re his favorite, and when you sit down next to him, it feels just like it always has, as if nothing has changed. But you both know it has, and that’s why the super soldier’s now in your living room.

“So…” you start, unsure what to say now that he’s sitting on your couch. Bucky’s eyes are trained on the steaming tea in his hands, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he’s thinking about what he wants to say - other than confessing his love for you.

“So… uhm, we missed seeing you around the Tower,” Bucky starts, though you both know it’s mostly him who has missed seeing you there. You have always been a staple there during his mornings as you make him a cup of coffee, and during movie nights, you were always the one he could sit next to and enjoy the movie, but now that you’re not there, it’s like a piece of soul has left the Tower with you.

“I mean, yeah. It’s been a bit awkward for me to go back after what happened a few days ago,” you tell him, and a shudder of horror runs down your spine at the thought of having to face Tony again. A smile tugs at the corners of Bucky’s lips as he thinks back to what happened that night, a happy memory of your first meeting resurfacing in the back of his mind as he does.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve made some chocolate chip cookies, if you want some. However, I should warn you, Tony’s been on the prowl since I took them out of the oven, so I’ll advise you to be quick,” you say with a glare towards Tony, who has been eyeing them up since he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. For the first time in a long time, Bucky showed something akin to a smile, and everyone looked at each other to ensure they saw it, too.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, grabbing one of the smaller ones on the plate, followed by a cup of coffee, before swiftly leaving the kitchen to spend more time in his room. Before Bucky even left the kitchen, Tony was on the cookies as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and this time you let him.

“Can I- Is it okay if I tell you something? Because if I don’t say it now, I don’t know if I ever will,” Bucky says softly, and you nod before repositioning yourself so that you’re facing him. His gaze is still trained on his mug as he thinks carefully about his next words, afraid he might accidentally say the wrong thing.

“Tony was right. He is right, actually. When he said, we’re crushing on each other. I’ve been crushing on you since you offered me those chocolate chip cookies when Tony threatened to eat them all before anyone else had a chance to get them. It was like a switch flipped inside me back then, and I haven’t been the same since,” Bucky says, his mouth now in a line as he tells you about his feelings.

“Each time I look at you, it’s like I’m seeing an angel, and every time I hear your voice, it’s like a little piece of my soul is healing, too. I find myself drawn to you in every room and wonder what life has in store for us. But deep down inside, I know there is no ‘us’ yet. But I want there to be us. I want you, Y/N. I want you to be mine, in whatever capacity you’ll have me. If you want to stay friends, that’s okay with me, but if you want more, I’ll happily accept every bit of love you’re willing to offer me.”

Once Bucky’s done, you’re unsure what to say. What to think. What to do. You want to say that the feelings between you are mutual, that you’re in love with him and that you want nothing more than to be his, but something inside you is stopping you. So, instead of saying anything, you place your hand over his flesh limb, and his eyes slip shut at the feeling of your soft fingers against his rough hand.

“Bucky.” His name is a whisper on your lips, but it’s enough to make him look at you, to meet your gaze.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, Bucky carefully put his tea on the coffee table before hauling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your waist as your lips interlock in a passionate dance. He can’t get enough of your soft mouth slotting together with his and the way his tongue fights for dominance with yours as your fingers dig into his neck. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt a strong connection with someone, and you’re happy to explore it with Bucky.

Your hips grind over his growing length of their own volition,your body looking for any bit of friction it can get. Without warning, one of Bucky’s hands slides lower until he’s cupping your ass, making you gasp into his mouth as a result. Bucky can’t help but smile into the kiss as he pulls you impossibly closer, your legs spreading just a bit further as you sink against his muscular body.

“Hmm, I’ve been wanting this - you - for so long,” he says between the kisses trailing your jaw towards your ear, his teeth nipping on your earlobe as your head lolls to the side. With every passing second, your thoughts are melting away more and more, and all that’s left inside your mind is Bucky. Soon, his other hand joins the first as he helps you grind onto him, a groan falling from his lips as he sets a perfect pace for you both.

“B-Bucky—" his name sounds more like a whine than anything else. “I—I want you.”

“But you already have me, pretty girl, ‘m right here,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice, his hands continuing to help you grind until you’re a complete mess for him. Your shorts are ruined, your arousal soaking through them and onto the bulge in his black jeans, much to Bucky’s joy. He was wondering what it would take to get you to this point, and it turns out it won’t take much.

He smiles against the skin of your neck, where he’s taking his time to mark you with hickeys and small bitemarks, all of which leave you a bit more of a moaning, begging mess on his lap, much to his pride. When one of your hands moves away from his neck and down his torso, he quickly catches on to what you’re doing. “Someone’s a little impatient today, huh?”

“Yes, oh god, yes! I need you to touch me, Bucky. I want to feel you inside me as you make me fall apart on your cock, and I need you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow!” Your voice sounds more breathy than usual, but every care you thought you had has gone out the window. All you want is Bucky and his cock to ride, until you’re orgasming so hard and long you can’t remember your name.

“Okay, I will. Don’t you worry about anything, okay? Let me take care of you, and I’ll give you everything you need and more,” he reassures you in a shushing voice. You nod before kissing him again, which immediately deepens before he gently helps you get up, allowing you to take off your panties and shorts, and he can take off his pants and boxershorts, too. As soon as you’re both freed from your last pieces of clothing, you hand him a condom you retrieved from the side table drawer while he took the time to undress himself.

“Hmmm, looks so thick,” you tell him as you look at it with wide eyes, wondering how he’s going to fit inside you as you’re positioning yourself on his lap once more, your legs bracketing his thicks thighs as you get comfortable.

“I know, but I’m gonna go slow. Wouldn’t want to hurt you and your perfect, sweet little pussy.” He smiles as he holds his cock in place, your pliant body sinking onto him slowly as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. Your hiss of pleasure is audible and your face contorts at the slight sting of him stretching you, but just like he promised, Bucky is taking it slow to ensure you’ll both have the most amazing first time.

As soon as you’re fully seated on his lap, your body goes limp against him, your face tucked in the crook of his neck as you adjust to his girth, and Bucky places soft kisses on your head while praising you through it all. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. Such a good girl for me, letting me take the lead and giving you exactly what you need.”

A small smile appears on your face as you look up at him with big, doe-like eyes, and he can’t help but smile back as the back of his fingers gently caress your cheek. He may have thought you were beautiful before, but nothing compares to this moment. 

“I love you, Y/N, and I promise to take care of you with every fiber of my being,” he whispers, his lips sealing his promise against your cheek. Your eyes fall shut at his words, and his hand moves down your side until it’s on your hip again, ready for you to let him know when you’re good to go. Your bodies work in complete sync with one another with every rise and fall of your chest, and his hands guide you beautifully as you slowly sink and rise on his length.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, and it doesn’t take long for both of you to find your highs for the first time, and they’re serving as a promise of everything else that’s still to come in this lifetime. A few days ago, you and Bucky didn’t even know you felt the same about one another, but now you’re sharing the start of the rest of your lives, and it’s all thanks to Tony. Because without him, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the man of your dreams how much you love him.

Masterlist → Bucky Barnes

GIF: Source → All the other graphics you see are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

[ultralightpoe]

JUNO - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Gah, here we go again with the bucky fics since he looked so damn good in that trailer! Enjoy!

Word Count: 4215

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT.....and more smut.

Requests: OPEN

Main Masterlist ~ ~ Halloween 2024 Event

[Thank you for the gif @ayo-edebiri ]

Enjoy!

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

-

You were a terrible terrible person, this was a fact. It would be put on whatever wikipedia page they made for villains as soon as people figured it out, which considering the rage building in your body would be any moment now. Why were you a terrible person? That’s easy to explain. 

There was a time where everyone avoided your boyfriend like the plague, when the Winter Soldier cliche had been stuck to his image like a nail in a tire and everyone treated him like crap. And who stayed by his side? You. Not that it was ever about keeping score because you just wanted what was best for him. But now that people are all about kissing his ass since he had some new found fame? You wished things would go back to the way they were. And that made you a terrible person. 

Who would want things to go back when your love was treated terribly?

But then you see girls like Montana clinging to his side and that little green monster in the pit of your stomach begins growing and growing until it leads to moments like now, with you standing at the bar clutching your glass like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth. 

Yet another gala was being thrown, this time it was ‘Rockstars for Schooling Funds’ and Bucky was required to attend for PR. And attend your man did. The jacket, the tie, the pushed back hair and the hot ass glare. 

From the second you saw him ready for tonight you were ready to pull him into the bedroom and never leave, your skin grew hot just remembering the feeling of his hands roaming your body as you tried to lead him into the bedroom. He obviously didn’t fall for it and now you were here watching Montana hold onto his arm as she laughed at something he said. 

As if sensing your glare he turns to catch your eye, and you know that he was surveying your safety by the sharp look in his eyes and all you can think was ‘God bless your dads genetics’.  But you refuse to break for him, so you shrug and turn back to the bar ready to order yourself another drink. 

Best thing about wearing a dress like the one you were wearing tonight? Attention.  Within seconds the men at the bar were clamoring to buy you a drink, crooked smiles and lame pick up lines. The prized contender? The southern man with kind eyes wearing his very own black cowboy hat. 

This could be fun. 

“What’ll it be?” He drawls and you have to fight off the blush filling your cheeks just at the sound of it. 

“Hmm, I haven't decided yet.” You flirt, batting your lashes for a second. “Think you can help a girl out?”

“There’s the ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’.” He reads off the little menu, looking up to you from under his hat, giving a smooth wink and you huff out a small laugh. 

“Would it be worth my time?”

“It’s the best on the menu from what I can see.” As if on cue you both look out to the crowd around you at the gala, with loud music and cheesy rockstar costumes, and whilst he is trying to make a point your eyes roam for a familiar head of hair. But the group that Bucky had been sitting with for the past 30 minutes was now short a member, your man. “Who would want to waste time with any of these cruds when you could have a real drink sugar?”

But the words were lost on you as your eyes traced over the room in a hurried panic. Where did he go?

But then your nose fills with a familiar woodsy scent as a familiar arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip that has the cowboy standing straight up in his own panic. 

“Yeah Doll, how bout a real drink?”

-

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

-

That little green monster building in your stomach? Now she had a fire pal burning straight through your skin at the image of the icy glare Bucky managed to send in the cowboys direction, the fingers on your waist tightening and digging into your skin. 

“I was just talking to my friend here about drinks.” You hum out, watching his jaw tighten as he continues to glare. “What do you know about drinks?”

The cowboy, who you now knew to be a foolish man since he still stood in that spot, lets out a smooth chuckle. “Considering he’s holding an old fashioned I would say not much, Sugar.”

“Really? I always thought that the old fashioned ways worked in seduction. At least they did for me.” Bucky all but growls out, pulling you closer to him. “Now how bout we ask the gal. Do my old fashioned ways work?” 

As if to prove his point he presses his thigh between your legs just a notch and squeezed at your waist, you were lost. 

“No words? Hmm? Interesting.” He smiles, “Think you need a break from the crowd?”

He doesn’t waste time waiting for an answer, rather he keeps his grip on your waist as he leads you through the large gala, keeping the glare on his features that has people backing away to avoid his anger. You however basked in it, and as he lead you into the bathroom with the slam of the door and an easy movement to lock the door. 

You got right to work, hopping onto the counter and wiggling a bit as he turns back to you. 

You look up at him through you lashes, kicking one foot out a bit to expose your leg to him. “I mean not that I don’t love this vibe, we didn’t pack the handcuffs baby.” 

“Oh so the pretty girl thinks she’s funny.” He chuckles, stepping forward and moving his hands to the top of your thighs to squeeze before pulling you forward harshly. “In case you haven’t realized it, this is the moment where you start giving me reasons to give you what you so badly want.” 

Words failed you as his palms roamed your skin, rubbing soft circles to begin pushing up your dress. 

“Oh, I’m the one in trouble here?” You huff, leaning back as he pushed his way in between your thighs. “Funny, here I was thinking of granting you mercy.”

“Oh that’s how we are playing it, huh?” And just like that he is pressing the pad of his flesh thumb right onto your core, pulling a sharp gasp from you as you tried to close your legs out of instinct only for him to press you down with his metal hand. “You were saying, sugar?”

“Oh…” You moan, back arching as he circles his thumb with a smug smile, leaning into you to pull your lips into a fervent kiss. It draws your breath until your gasping into him for air, your hands woven into his hair to keep him there and save you all in the same go while he teases at pulling your panties down only to pull back in a matter of seconds leaving you there to try and catch your breath. 

Seconds away from achieving your high only to be left stranded leaves you whining and leaning forward to get him back into your arms. 

He tsks at you, pushing you back gently as you continue whining. 

“What will you give me?”

“Anything.” You gasp out, kissing at the wrist of the hand holding you back, nipping at the flesh of it as you reach for him metal arm to pull you back in. He gives in a little, allowing you to press your hips into his so release some of the pressure. “Please baby.”

“Then how about you behave for the last hour, and we’ll go home and get you sorted. Yeah?”

“Fine,” You snip out, tracing your hand up his metal arm before making it to his collarbone and pressing your hips further into his. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

-

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

-

And you feel like a fool for making that promise as he leads you through the crowd once more, this time with a pressure begging to be released in your lower belly as he keeps his metal hand on your lower back. The chill of the metal while your body is ablaze has you reeling, reaching a hand back to keep a hold on him. 

You think of all the things he can do to you as he talks with the Galas president, digging your nails into the sleeve of his tux as you push your thighs together a bit, leaning your nose into him to inhale his scent as he talks with a bold presence. 

When that Montana girl comes back you learn that she is an assistant for the program and that little green monster leads you to nip at his ear in front of her before kissing at his neck to leave a lipstick mark. 

He looks at you for a moment, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips before turning to talk to her some more but it’s too late, you’re already in a haze. The green monster and the red flame have mixed to make their very own monster. 

So you pull him in by his tie, pressing your lips to his ear and whispering the words you knew would break him. “Gimme me a baby.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

-

It was the one secret weapon you’ve never used, but have always known about. 

Back in the beginning of the relationship while you were learning the ins and outs of eachother you noticed how much he loved the pill since it hadn’t been too popular back in his day. He loved the freedom it gave him to mark you as his, but you also noticed the lingering gaze on your stomach and or the intent look he gave when you took the pill. 

But you had never been ready for a kid, you wanted to save that for that someone special who you could raise them with. But you knew that Bucky was it, you knew that he was your touch for life. Why not give in?

And the thrill of giving in the second his eyes meet yours makes it worth it, seeing the heat as he pulls you in so tight you might as well be one person. 

“Come on baby, one of me is cute but two though?” You whisper, leaning up to bite at his lip before his hands come up to pull you into a feral kiss as he begins to lead you out the doors. 

-

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself, hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

-

“Easy there.” He grunts out the second you press him into the seats of the limo, straddling him with ease as your nails rake down his chest to begin tracing the buttons of his shirt. “I might feel objectified.”

“I don’t give a shit,” You gasp, ripping his shirt open before attacking his chest with kisses. You take to kissing his chest, dragging your lips from spot to spot in order to mark him as much as you can as he pulls you down to move his hips into your with a groan. 

Your eyes flutter closed at the heat that crosses through your body at the sound, whining out a bit as he begins to grind into you, pulling you up from his chest with a swift pull to lock your lips together as the limo makes a turn. 

The kiss was feral, teeth gnashing, thigh clenching kiss that has you gripping his shoulders and pushing your hips into his a little quicker. Biting down onto his lip when he stills your hips with his hands before pulling back. 

“You gonna let me lock you down?” He whispers, rubbing your hip as he moves you with ease until your legs are splayed over his lap and he can reach between them to pull more moans from you. “Gonna let me keep you forever?”

“Yes….” You whine out the second he begins rubbing at your core once more, this time with the metal hand. The chill of the metal over the fabric is driving you crazy and you press your hips up for more pressure and as a sign you want the panties off. 

He is quick to oblige, pulling his hand to the waistband of them and ripping them off in one easy movement before pushing his fingers back to ease one into your center. “I’ll give you anything you want. But you already knew that when you said I could give you a baby. Didn’t you?”

And just like that he pushes two more fingers in, curling them in a fluid motion as his lips press into the pressure point of your throat. He works his fingers in a fast paced motion as you close your eyes and give into the feeling, letting him suck and bite at your neck as much as he wanted to. 

And once you reach your high he merely speeds up his movements until your shaking in his lap. 

“Atta girl.” He grunts, pulling his fingers up to suck on while you blink at him, still shaking from that orgasm. 

“I love you.” You murmur to him, leaning on for a gentle kiss. He laughs into it, rubbing at the back of your neck in a sweet gesture before putting your torn panties in his pocket and looking to see how close you are to home. 

-

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

-

The calm ease he had built up for the rest of the limo ride was quick to vanish the second the limo pulled up to the curb, pushing the door open and pulling you out so quickly your legs swing until he pulls you up so you can wrap them around his waist. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You giggle, letting him carry you inside until the front door closes and he can set you down to lock it. Even in the mix of all this he can never slack on your safety, and you were sure that once he spent all your energy he would come down here for one last safety check. 

You let him do what he needed to do, walking to the kitchen with a fleeting look to him before grabbing a glass of water to sip on while you waited, legs still a little shaky. But you don’t have much time since he comes around the corner into the kitchen, leaning on the fridge with a small smile as he watches you every movement. 

“Everything locked up and safe?” You ask, moving one step closer to him.

“Yes.” He responds, the deep voice causing a shiver to move down your spine as he takes a step similar to yours without taking his eyes off you. 

“I think it’s so hot you know.” One of his eyebrows raise at your words, the small smile turning into a smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone in this world as protective as you.”

He merely hums back, taking another step closer as his eyes roam over your body. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. And I was thinking that you deserved an award.” 

“I do?” You almost laugh at how innocent the question comes out, but you don’t have time since your already turning to press yourself into the counter, pushing your hips out and pulling your dress up to expose yourself to him as he audibly growls. “Have we every tried this before?”

-

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

-

His hands are upon you in an instant, rubbing at your hips as his body presses into yours to kiss at the back of your neck, and you realize that he is still wearing his undershirt and pants. The metal of the belt buckle digs into your back as you reach back to undo his belt. 

You hear him undo it and get ready, pressing your forehead into the tile of the counter as he grabs your hands and begins wrapping your hands together with the leather belt. And you should be embarrassed at the moan that fills the air once you realize what he is doing before he undoes his pants and you feel him press at your center. 

He’s quick to press in, and you both your moans fill the air as he presses his forehead into the exposed skin of your back before beginning to rut himself up into you. With every aggressive push of his hips into yours the doors of the cabinet on the counter shake, the cold tile of the counter hitting your hip over and over and over as he claims you for his own. 

With one hand holding the belt that is biting into the flesh of your wrists and the other holding the counter to keep you both stable he stands straight and lets free. Every harsh threat is followed by his grunts and your moans, the sound of skin slapping filling the room before the hand from the counter comes to hold your hair. 

It’s feral, and hot. And the feeling of his flesh hand pulling at your hair has you tightening around him enough that he can’t fight his own moan. 

And the second you hear it you are coming undone around him, shaking harshly as he keeps you held up before you collapse, continuing his thrusts until you reach the peak of the high once more and spasm around him. 

Once you come down, panting heavily and keeping your forehead pressed into the cold tile, he works on undoing his belt to release you as he pulls himself out of you and pulls his pants up. 

You are quick to turn on him, tears in your eyes partly due to the intense orgasm and the fact that you still haven’t gotten what you wanted. “Baby please….”

“Easy doll.” He whispers, pulling you into his arms to wrap himself around you, picking you up easily. “You’ll get it. Don’t you fret.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

-

He carries you into the bedroom bridal style, setting you down at the foot of the bed before leaning down to grab the end of your dress and pull it over your head, kissing his way up your body so slowly you feel like you might just die. By the time the fabric is over your head he throws it to the side, his gaze meeting yours in a tense blaze. 

You knew within an instant that he had gotten serious, and as you kept your gaze on his he let your hands roam until you begin pulling his undershirt off before you reach to undo his waistband. “What’s that look for?”

“Did you know….” He keeps his voice to a whisper as he kicks off his shoes and shucks off his pants, pulling off his socks and throwing everything to the side before moving his hands to either side of your cheeks. “That it’s not actually proven that the amount of orgasms a women has is connected to their ability to conceive.”

“Yeah?” You smile, waiting for him to get to the point 

“I did a lot of research.” He says proudly, “So though the amount of orgasms I give you don’t end up mattering in the end…..they sure are fun.”

And you can’t fight the loud laugh that escapes when he gently tackles you onto the bed, making it bounce a bit as he pushes your thighs open with his hands and pressing them into you by the backs of them. 

“You ready doll?”

“Always for you sergeant.”

-

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)”

-

He keeps the eye contact, soft and open, as he slides himself between your folds to use your past orgasms as his lubricant before pressing into your center and moaning a bit as he pushes himself in. Whereas the romp downstairs had been feral and fast this one started slow, allowing him to kiss at your face as you adjusted to his size this time. 

His weight presses you into the bed, and your hands find purchase at his back so he can pull himself back before pushing his hips back into yours. Slow and precise, every pull he left a kiss and every push has just enough friction on your core that has you arching your back. 

It had been years of him learning your body and by this point he knew how to play it like the back of his hand. It was his and he liked keeping what's his cared for. When you arched a little more he knew he should speed up, and when you closed your eyes he reached a hand down to grip at the fat of your ass, fingers digging in as he readjusted you both for more pleasure. 

And once you came around him, spasming and moaning loudly, all bets were off. 

-

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

-

His entire weight comes down, crushing you beneath him not that your complaining. Between the warmth of his skin and the mix of your sweat with his you both have traction to move as his thrusts turn wild. 

Over and over at a speed he hadn’t reached with you before, his eyes are clenched shut as he ruts into you, overstimulating you as you begin to sob from the pleasure. Your entire body shakes with every intense hump. 

Between his thrusts you meet your peak once more, screaming out as his own thrusts become erratic and harsher. 

By the time he finishes he leans down to your ear so you can hear the heavy moan that escapes him as he fills you to the brim, shaking and pinching you with his metal arm. And his release seems never ending as he continues to thrust, until you are both completely spent and collapse into the cool sheets. 

-

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)”

-

You had managed to fall asleep and only woke up at the realization that he wasn’t near you, vision blurry as you looked around. He had cleaned you up and tucked you in with a glass of water on the nightstand, but his side of the bed was  empty. 

So you sit up, ready to go check on him, until you realize how sore you were and stay on the bed to listen for him. You hear the sound of him shuffling around downstairs to check all the locks before he begins climbing up the stairs. 

You know he makes the noise for you, otherwise he would be as stealthy as an assassin. 

By the time he enters the doorway there is a small smile playing at his lips while you open your arms and pull him in to lay with you. 

“Goodnight.” You whisper. 

“Goodnight, Doll.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

-

The waiting was the most dreadful feeling. 

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub with the test sitting on the counter between where you sat and where your husband sat in the hallway with the back of his head laid against the door. 

It was silent but not in a malicious way, more of a calming way as his metal hand whirred before the alarm on your phone goes off and you both shoot up to look. 

“Is it…”

“I….”

And you both lean to look at the same time to see just how well those new positions took.

-

[bbypsyduck]

This is SUCH a good fic! Brb gonna stay up all night and read parts 2-5 now!

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[wolvietxt]

𝓕IRSTS 𝓦ITH 𝓨OU !

pairing : bucky barnes x implied fem!reader warnings : implied size diff, established relationship, tfatws!bucky, fluff,  wc : 2.6k summary : you introduce bucky to the things he’s missed out on, namely the office, theme parks, and emojis :3

bucky’s fingers hovered over the screen of his new phone, brow furrowed in concentration. you had been explaining how everything worked for the past half hour - apps, texts, even sending pictures - and while he was doing his best to keep up, you could tell he was still lost in the sea of modern technology. 

“so, this is how you send a text,” you said, pointing to the message box. “you just type what you want to say, then hit send.” you hit a few buttons on his phone and then pulled away to give him some space.

he nodded slowly, looking at the screen as if it were a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet. “okay. and... the emojis?” he asked after a pause, his tone unsure.

“they’re just little pictures to add to what you’re saying. makes it more fun, i guess.” you flashed him a quick smile before adding, “and, if you’re talking to me, you’re gonna use them, or else i’ll think you’re mad at me.”

bucky’s lips curved upward just a fraction at the playful challenge. “right,” he muttered, glancing back at the emojis, his expression turning serious again. “this one - ” he tapped an image of a smiley face, “ - this is good, right?”

you nodded with enthusiasm. “perfect. now try sending it to me.”

bucky hesitated for a moment before carefully typing out a message: “Hey. 🙂” 

he looked at you for approval, his blue eyes searching yours.

“well done,” you said softly, holding back a giggle. “you did it, buck.”

he grinned, a little relieved but still unsure. “guess ‘m getting the hang of this.”

“you are,” you replied, your voice filled with genuine encouragement. you could see him trying, and that was enough to make you proud.

“now,” you began, leaning in closer, “I’m going to teach you how to send a selfie. It’s easy.” you grabbed your phone and showed him how to take a picture, flipping the camera to face him. “like this.”

“a selfie?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, you’re going to love it,” you said, snapping a quick picture of him as he looked confused but willing to give it a try. “okay, now you do it. just - ” you stopped yourself, realising something. “don’t look so grumpy, though. smile a little.”

bucky rolled his eyes but played along, pulling a reluctant smirk before he tapped the button to take the picture. “this feels weird,” he muttered, but his gaze softened when he saw the result. he stared at the picture of himself for a moment, before looking at you. “it’s not bad.”

“not bad at all,” you said with a smile, grabbing your phone and sending the photo to him.

you watched him check his phone, his brow furrowing once more as he took in the photo, then back at the screen as you sent a quick text: “that smile is great, by the way.”

he read it, then quickly typed back: “you’re making fun of me.”

“no, i’m not,” you teased, tapping the keys with your fingers. “i think it’s cute.”

before he could respond, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw. his body went still at the contact, the soft touch of your lips drawing his attention away from the phone. without saying a word, he kissed you fully, his lips warm and steady against yours.

“you talk too much,” bucky murmured when he finally pulled away, his voice gruff but affectionate.

you couldn’t help but giggle, looking up at him. “sorry,” you said, smiling in that way that made his chest tighten. “but i’m trying to teach you how to use a phone.”

“teach me less,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. before you could answer, he kissed you again, this time slower, his lips lingering on yours longer than before. it was like he couldn’t help himself, needing to pull you close and forget about everything else. 

when he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes that was so different from the gruff exterior he usually put on. “you’re a distraction,” he admitted, though he didn’t sound bothered in the least. 

“only when i’m teaching you how to text?” you asked, your smile still wide.

“always,” he said with a grin, kissing you again, this time more gently, as if savouring the moment before pulling away and reaching for his phone. 

he looked at the screen again, tapping at it thoughtfully. “okay, what about this one?” he asked, tapping a face with hearts for eyes. “it seems like... the right one.”

you grinned, unable to resist the warmth that filled you at how cute he was, trying so hard to understand all this. “perfect,” you whispered. “now, send it.”

bucky hesitated for a beat, then pressed send. he turned to look at you, like he was asking for your approval.

“you did it,” you said softly, heart swelling with affection. “now, you’re a pro.”

he raised his eyebrows. “am i allowed to text you good morning now?”

“whenever you want,” you said with a grin, your hand finding his and squeezing it gently. “and i’ll send you emojis all day.”

bucky looked at his phone again, glancing up at you with a fond smile. “then i’m gonna need to figure out a lot more emojis.”

“take your time,” you teased, before your lips met his once more, this time without interruption.

the apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the tv screen where the office was playing. you had insisted that bucky give the show a try, promising him that it was the perfect mix of awkward humour and heartwarming moments. at first, he had grumbled about it, saying something about not needing to watch “a bunch of idiots in an office.” but here you were, four episodes deep, and you could see that little spark of amusement in his eyes.

bucky had his arm draped around your shoulders, his large frame practically swallowing you up as you nestled into his side. you were curled up against him, legs tucked under you, head resting on his chest. every now and then, you could feel the rumble of his low chuckle vibrating against you whenever something on-screen caught him off guard.

“i still don’t get how that jim guy hasn’t been fired yet,” he muttered, shaking his head as jim played yet another prank on dwight. “guy’s got a death wish or somethin’.”

you smiled, turning your face up to look at him. there was a light in his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he tried to hide how much he was actually enjoying the show. “maybe he reminds you of someone?” you teased, poking his side.

he shot you a look, all mock seriousness. “you callin’ me a troublemaker?” 

“if the shoe fits,” you replied with a grin, turning back to the screen.

as the episode continued, you found yourself more focused on him than the tv. you loved seeing bucky like this, relaxed, at ease, his defences down for once. there was something so endearing about the way he’d get lost in the episodes, brows furrowing when michael said something ridiculous, or the rare moments when he’d throw his head back and laugh - a real, deep laugh that you couldn’t help but adore.

during one of those moments, as pam and jim exchanged a look, you felt his chest rumble with laughter, and it was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle, too. he glanced down at you, catching you staring, and for a second, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.

“what?” he asked, his voice softening.

“nothing,” you said, a little shy under his gaze. “you’re just... cute when you laugh.”

his eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across his face before it softened into a shy smile. “yeah? well, don’t go tellin’ everyone.” 

you laughed, but before you could tease him more, he suddenly shifted, tugging you closer until you were practically in his lap. your breath hitched as he wrapped both arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth. 

you fit so easily against him, his hands splaying over your waist, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. the show kept playing in the background, but you were completely lost in the moment, the way he held you so gently despite his strength.

“you’re missing the best part,” you whispered, but your voice was soft, almost hesitant, like you didn’t really want to break the spell.

“nah,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “this is the best part.”

your cheeks warmed, and you couldn’t resist tilting your head back to steal a quick kiss. he met you halfway, his lips warm and surprisingly soft, his stubble scraping pleasantly against your skin. 

“hmm, you taste better than jim’s pranks,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips when he pulled away.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “careful, barnes, you might start liking sitcoms.”

“only if you’re watchin’ them with me,” he said, squeezing your waist gently. 

you settled back into his chest, letting the familiar sounds of dunder mifflin fill the room. with one hand idly playing with the hem of your shirt, bucky seemed content, occasionally making little comments about the show under his breath that made you giggle. 

as the theme song played for the next episode, you reached for your phone to check the time, but bucky’s hand covered yours, stopping you. “stay,” he murmured, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you glanced up at him, surprised by the hint of vulnerability in his eyes. it wasn’t often that he asked for things so openly, but when he did, it always tugged at your heart. 

“okay,” you whispered, setting your phone aside and snuggling closer, the two of you wrapped up in each other as the episodes played on, the world outside forgotten for just a little while.

the air was filled with the sounds of laughter, the occasional scream from the roller coasters, and the smell of funnel cakes and popcorn drifting through the breeze. the theme park was bustling with life, a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds that made your heart race with excitement. you could hardly contain your giddiness as you pulled bucky along by the hand, weaving through the crowd.

bucky, on the other hand, looked a little overwhelmed. his brows were furrowed as he glanced around, taking in everything like he was preparing for an ambush. it was endearing, really - the way his grip on your hand tightened every time someone bumped into you, his protective instincts kicking in.

“relax, buck, it’s just a theme park,” you teased, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

he grunted, still looking suspiciously at a guy in a giant mascot costume waving at children. “yeah, well, not sure i trust a place where people scream for fun.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, tugging him closer. “that’s the whole point! come on, let’s try a ride.”

you led him to the line for one of the tamer rides - a classic spinning teacup attraction. bucky eyed it warily, but he didn’t protest, letting you drag him into one of the pastel-coloured cups. once you were seated, you watched with a grin as he tried to figure out how the ride worked, his large hands gripping the metal wheel in the centre.

the ride started to spin, slowly at first, then picking up speed. you were laughing uncontrollably, the wind whipping through your hair, and when you glanced over at bucky, he had this look of pure concentration, like he was trying to out-spin everyone else.

“bucky, it’s not a competition!” you managed to gasp out between giggles.

he shot you a playful glare, a rare smile breaking through his usually stern expression. “everything’s a competition, doll.”

when the ride finally slowed to a stop, you were both a little dizzy, but you couldn’t stop smiling. you staggered out of the teacup, and bucky’s arm was instantly around your waist, steadying you. “you good?” he asked, his voice low and a little rough.

“never better,” you replied, leaning into his side.

next up was the game booths, where bucky’s competitive side really came out. you challenged him to one of those rigged carnival games where you had to knock down bottles with a baseball. he rolled his eyes at the way the game operator explained the rules, clearly unimpressed, but when it was his turn, he hit every target dead-on, not even breaking a sweat.

“show-off,” you teased, but you couldn’t hide the admiration in your voice.

“what can i say? i’m good with my hands,” he shot back with a wink, handing you the giant stuffed bear he won as a prize. your cheeks warmed, but before you could retort, he leaned down to steal a quick kiss, effectively shutting you up.

with your new teddy bear in tow, you wandered through the park, trying different snacks and taking in the sights. at one point, you insisted on getting a picture in one of those cheesy photo booths. bucky tried to protest, saying he wasn’t “photogenic,” but you dragged him in anyway.

the two of you squeezed into the tiny booth, your legs tangled together because of how little space there was. as the camera flashed, you made silly faces while bucky looked a little bewildered, but by the last frame, you managed to coax a smile out of him - a real one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

you couldn’t stop staring at the printed photos as they rolled out, your heart swelling at how happy he looked. he glanced over your shoulder, shaking his head with a chuckle. “gonna frame that, aren’t you?”

“damn right i am,” you said with a grin, tucking the strip of photos safely into your bag.

the sun was starting to set, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange, when you finally made your way to the roller coasters. bucky was skeptical at first, muttering something about not trusting “rusty death traps,” but you could see the way his eyes lit up with a mix of curiosity and adrenaline.

“just one ride,” you pleaded, giving him your best puppy eyes.

he sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “fine, but if we die, i’m haunting you.”

you laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the line. as the coaster climbed higher and higher, you could feel the tension in bucky’s shoulders. you reached over, lacing your fingers with his. “it’s gonna be fun, trust me.”

the drop was sudden and exhilarating, your screams mixing with the rush of wind, and when you dared to peek at bucky, he had this look of pure, wild joy on his face. it was rare to see him so carefree, and it took your breath away more than the ride itself.

when you finally stumbled off the coaster, legs like jelly, bucky was grinning like a little kid, his hair windswept. “okay, that wasn’t so bad,” he admitted, looking almost bashful.

“see? i told you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning up to kiss his cheek. he pulled you into a proper kiss instead, right there in the middle of the bustling crowd, not caring who was watching.

“thanks for dragging me out here,” he murmured against your lips, his voice soft in a way that made your heart flutter. 

“anytime, sarge,” you teased, smiling up at him.

he just shook his head, a fond look in his eyes as he pulled you closer. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

“yeah,” you said, resting your head against his chest, “but you love it.”

he just chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, and you knew he wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

🌀 bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially

🌀 one time tags : @pvndomi

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[espinosaurusrexex]

I am on my knees begging 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

[elixirfromthestars]

Thank you!! 🥰❤️ I promise there’s so much more sweetness coming from my Biker Bucky series 🌷🩷 And thank you for reading and reblogging!! 🫶🏼✨

Tulip

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: On a night when the past weighs heavy on Bucky, fate brings him to you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): established nickname -> tulip / fluff / mentions of grief

a/n: After seeing how much people loved Biker Bucky in Usual I decided to share more of their story with you all 💕 This is going to be a bigger collection of fics, so I will have an official taglist for it and there's more info on that here. That taglist in this fic is not related to the tags on here. The tags on here were for just for fun!! Hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

next in their story ♡ // the whole collection ♡

It was one of those nights where Bucky was irritated without reason. His face was etched into an intimidating scowl as he looked at nothing in particular in his bar. The laughter was too loud, the clinking of glasses irked his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, and his heart felt heavy. Almost as if one of the men in his bar were pressing down on it with their heavy boot. 

Bucky was getting tired of this. Of having these moments where his body thrummed with discomfort and his fingers found the familiar grooves in the wooden table he sat at—etching the oak with erratic lines until his nails were chipped and uneven. He could already hear the shit Sam would say as soon as he saw the added marks. 

Bucky was getting restless—reluctantly so.

“Hey, Buck, one of the—”

“‘m goin’ out for a ride.”

As soon as Steve came over to give Bucky an update on the business, Bucky stood up from the table and dismissed himself. Steve held back a sigh, his lips forming a tight line as his best friend blew him off. He didn’t take it personally, at least not tonight. More than anything Steve was worried for Bucky. It was never easy seeing him fall into this state once a year. 

Bucky always got like this around the anniversary of his father’s death. 

Steve and the rest of the crew exchanged wary glances as Bucky pushed through the bar in a rush. His hands at his sides flexed as he sought out the comfort of his bike. He took out his leather gloves from his jacket—dark and weathered from years of wear—and slipped them on before mounting his Harley. It thundered to life underneath him, the deep rumble easing the tension in his shoulders. 

He pulled out of his parking space, the blacked-out engine chrome gleaming under the streetlights. Bucky had no set destination, just a familiar path he had taken hundreds of times while on patrol. One that transgressed the entirety of the small town he lived in. 

The small town he and his gang protected. 

Bucky twisted the throttle, the Harley's roar echoing through the quiet streets as if warning the town of his presence. He drove down the roads at a steady speed, letting the breeze brush through his hair like a soothing balm. Hoping the night and his Harley would take away the hollow ache in his chest. 

He couldn’t keep thinking of his dad. Not right now. There was too much going on in his life. 

Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to be swept by the bittersweet memories. There were dozens of problems at the bar he needed to solve, rival gangs were stirring up trouble in neighboring towns so his people depended on him now more than ever, and his Ma and Becca relied on him as the sole provider.

Giving himself a moment to grieve—to feel—was a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

After a full loop around the town, Bucky decided to survey the downtown area once again. It was nearing ten at night and the majority of the businesses were closed, and yet he was still adamant about getting a good last look before he returned to the bar. 

He witnessed the usual: Yori and his son closing up their family-owned restaurant for the night, Mr. and Mrs. Fury bickering on their walk home, the savory aroma of Stark’s Pizzeria wafting through the air as he drove by, and a stack of wooden crates dancing in mid-air. 

Hold up. 

Wait a minute.

What?

Bucky had to do a double and then a triple take to make sure his eyes weren’t tricking him. He hadn’t had an ounce of alcohol tonight, and yet he began to gaslight himself into thinking maybe he had. 

That was until you appeared from behind the wooden crates. Huffing out in annoyance and setting them down on the bed of an old pickup truck. Glaring at them as if the fury behind your eyes would suddenly make them ten pounds lighter. 

Bucky stared at you from afar perplexed and yet with a ghost of a smile on his face. He had never seen you in town before, meaning you must have moved here not too long ago. A faint memory of Sam telling him a new shop owner was coming into town crosses his mind, but Bucky couldn’t remember all the details.

With a multitude of other things on his mind, he hadn’t been paying attention at the time. 

The Harley’s rumble softens until it comes to a still as Bucky parks it on the street opposite you. He sits on it for a moment watching you, searching his brain for the finer details of what Sam had mentioned, but nothing comes to him. He’s left to find out more about you in the here and now. 

Bucky suddenly catches the determined expression on your face as you go to pick up three of the wooden crates again. His eyes widen and before he even registers what he’s doing he swings off his bike and jogs over to you.

“Here let me help,” Bucky doesn’t ask or wait for a response as he easily takes the crates from your arms, lifting them as if they weighed nothing. You watch him in startled awe, wondering where this incredibly strong stranger had come from. Hand on your heart to calm yourself down from the sudden intrusion on your solitude. 

“Oh! Um…you really don’t have to—” 

“‘m already carrying ‘em, dollface. Jus’ tell me where to put ‘em.”

Bucky’s voice was calm and collected, but on the inside he wanted to ask you what the hell were in these crates. He’s used to carrying heavy boxes of supplies for his bar, but even then he’d use a hand truck to haul everything in. To think you were trying to carry all of this by yourself…he didn’t know whether to be impressed by your determination or laugh at your stubbornness. 

The wooden crates obstructed your view of each other—and he’d never admit it—but they covered enough of his eye sight to where he had to tilt his head to watch his step.

“Here, let me guide you,” you placed a tentative hand on his arm, trying to ignore the way his bicep flexed under it. There was fragile cargo in those crates and you needed to make sure they got into your shop safe and sound. Bucky showed no signs of rejecting your guidance. 

You carefully led him inside, sliding away any obstacles from his path with your feet. You were still adding the last touches to the decor so there were tools, supplies, and different sized cardboard boxes scattered across the floor. You were able to direct him to a spot in front of the main counter where he could put the crates down—the one area clear of anything.

He placed them down gently before turning to face you. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat the moment his eyes met yours. Your pretty irises glimmered with sincere appreciation coupled with a soft smile that caused an unfamiliar warmth to spread through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. His brain has gone fuzzy, words evading him. Almost like a part of him that had been dormant for far too long was yearning for him to not break this gentle moment with you.  

You on the other hand were enchanted by the color of his eyes. A rich blue you tried to pinpoint through the catalog of flowers in your mind. Could the color be matched to a morning glory? A harvestbell? A brunnera? Forget-me-nots? Delphiniums? Hydrangeas?

The longer you thought the more you concluded no flower seemed close enough to the particular shade of blue that was looking right at you.  

“Thank you,” your voice was far too quiet for your liking when you broke the silence. You brought Bucky back to the present, yet not from the trance you had him in. He was particularly invested in the curve of your lips when you spoke and the way your eyes held his like you had known him all your life. 

Bucky cleared his throat, propping his arm on the counter in a nonchalant manner, “Not a problem—looked like you could use the help.” He topped his cool reply with a casual shrug and smirk that made it seem like he did this all the time. 

“Was it that obvious?”

“For a second there I thought those things would crush you.” 

Your sheepishness melts away into a laugh. The sound leaving your lips before you could stop it. You imagine what you must have looked like struggling with those heavy crates. The mental image of it is enough to fill you with mortified mirth. 

Your laugh elicits a soft chuckle from him—the first proper laugh he’s had in about a week or two. 

“‘m gonna go get the rest for ya…” he pushes himself off from the counter, but his voice trails off by the end when he realizes he never asked for your name. A heartbeat passes and with one quick lookover your frame a nickname falls effortlessly from his lips. 

“Tulip.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. You know exactly why he called you that. You were wearing denim overalls self embroidered with a multitude of small tulips adorning it in a range of colors. As if that weren’t enough tulips, you had two small pink tulip hair clips on either side of your head, pinning your hair away from your face. 

“I-It’s Y/n, actually.”

“Pretty thing like you—Tulip suits ya.” 

The nickname already had your heart fluttering, but the wink that followed his compliment had you weak in the knees. This man was handsome—deadly handsome. You had sworn off men for a whole year and counting—and now this man presented himself into your life tempting you to throw that oath away until it was nonexistent. 

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to help with the rest um…”

“Bucky. The name's Bucky. And I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry ‘bout it, Tulip.”

With an emphasis on the nickname he’s chosen for you, he makes a smooth exit, the smirk never leaving his face as he saunters back and forth from the pickup truck and carries in crate after crate for you. You distract yourself with miscellaneous tasks around your shop. Yet, your eyes drift to his form here and there greedily taking in his display of strength. 

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky notices, and every time he does he unknowingly straightens up his posture. Trying to make it seem as though the crates were as light as a feather.

When’s he’s all done—after ten crates in total—you’re behind the main counter, arranging a small basket of goods as he approaches you. 

“That’s all of ‘em. Mind me askin’ what’s in ‘em?” Bucky motions over to the crates at his feet with a nod of his head. You present him with a basket of sweet spreads encased in decorated mason jars—the covers all distinctly patterned with different florals. 

“They’re my homemade jams and honeys. As a thank you for helping me carry all those crates in here, I’m giving you one of each,” you hand him the basket and his features soften. His fingers hovering over the rim of the basket like he doesn’t believe he deserved such kindness.  

“Tulip, ya really don’t have to thank me for helpin’.” 

“I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry about it, Bucky.”

When you echo his words from earlier and use them on him he lets out a breath of a laugh, a grin of disbelief on his face. He didn’t expect that. Having his words used against him in a good way.

He was used to the opposite of that.

You were something else and Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot. Especially the way you said his name, it sounded sweeter falling from your lips. As if his name were made out of the same sugary sweetness the goods in the basket were. It caused a stutter within his chest he wasn’t used to. 

No one’s ever given Bucky butterflies this quickly–or maybe ever like this in his life.

For the next twenty minutes you both dove into small talk to get to know each other better. It started off as a pretext of a friendly conversation between two business owners, but it quickly became something more. You confirmed Bucky’s assumptions about you being a florist when you chatted away about your shop. Your outfit and the floral mosaic that decorated one of the walls—the one you told him your aunt had hand painted—was enough for him to put the pieces together. You learned that Bucky owned a bar a few blocks down, one that he ran with his childhood friends. He had served the military with a lot of them and even knew some of them since he was a young boy.

As if the leather jacket, the leather gloves, and the motorcycle parked outside wasn’t enough to tell you—he clearly was a biker. You knew as much when he had this passionate look in his eyes as he went on and on about him and his bestfriend Steve fixing up motorcycles since their high school years. He saw the same passion in your eyes when you told him the story of how your aunt had awakened your love for gardening. The very catalyst of events that led you to move into town and end up on this night here with him.

Both of you offered a part of yourselves in that conversation. An exchange that might seem small to others, but that to the both of you meant so much more. For you both had closed a part of yourselves off for quite some time. 

For entirely different reasons, but with a similar outcome nonetheless.

“Let’s make a deal. I get to keep callin’ ya Tulip and you can call me for help anytime ya need it,” Bucky offers this after you explain to him that your aunt had only been visiting you and left a few days ago. Leaving you to finish up the preparations for the grand opening of your shop in a few days time.

“Tempting offer…” you start, pretending to think about it and hiding your delight at the thought. In reality, you could use the help, and seeing more of Bucky was an added bonus that was hard to refuse. You wanted to get to know him better—you couldn’t deny that—and this seemed like a perfect place to start. 

Plus who were you kidding, you enjoyed being called Tulip. 

“Alright deal,” your smile matches his when you agree. Bucky was in the same boat as you. Not knowing where this could go, not dwelling on what the future may hold, but certain that he wanted to spend more time with you. 

Reluctantly, Bucky pulled away from the counter,“Well I gotta hit the road, the guys’ll be wonderin’ where I’ve been.” The vibrations in his pocket from his phone notifications told him as much. 

You hid your disappointment behind a grateful expression,“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks again for the help, Bucky. Let me know what you think of the spreads!” 

Bucky grabbed a hold of the basket of sweets, and slowly walked backwards towards the exit as he wanted to keep his eyes on you for as long as he could. Every fiber of his being fighting to stay.

“Anytime, Tulip—and I’ll let ya know. Have a good night.”

“You too, Bucky. Drive safe!”

Bucky walked back to his Harley smiling like a teenager with a crush. His every step feeling lighter than earlier in the night. Whether he recognized it or not that day, it was all because of you. There was just something about you that was refreshing to Bucky, like the morning air after a night of heavy rain. The first rays of sunlight after a cold winter’s night. The cool breeze that brings you back to life on a hot summer’s day. 

That was you. 

You were the morning air, the sunlight, and the cool breeze. 

He didn’t know it yet, but in due time he would. 

In due time, you would be his Tulip. 

tagging some lovelies who asked to be tagged & others who seemed eager to read more ♡ ♡ ♡

@fanfictionreaderfan @nicksolemnlyswears @tilltheendofthelinebuckaroo @princessjellyfishlove @thewritergremlin-rae

(these tags were only for this fic and not for the full collection, so if you'd like to be tagged for the full thing let me know!!)

[azrielwingspan]

THE CYBORG WHO STOLE MY HEART (Bucky X F!reader)

A/N: I know I know, there's another Bucky fanfic that I'm already working on and yet here I am starting a whole new one. Why you ask? Because I'm a dumbass. The idea just popped up into my head and I HAD TO write it down. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1 :

Chapter summary: Bucky and Sam come across a woman who seems to have lost her mind. Literally. Using Bucky’s cyborg brain, they try to figure out who she is.

Chapter warnings: Mild swearing.

You know when you're having a great dream with a hot guy that could only possibly exist in dreams ? The happiness that breathing the same air as him brings you? That's what you were feeling right now.

Eyes as blue as the ocean, veins that were easy to put an IV in and that black shirt phew. Was it possible to drool in dreams? You were going to have a great day once you woke up. That was for sure.

Why was he looking at you like that though? Weren't they supposed to be flirting with you or puckering their lips in your dreams by now? Was this supposed to be a slow burn or enemies to lovers genre dream?

"Why is she staring at me like that?" the hot guy asks the air next to him.

"She's just coming into it, give her a second." it responds back to him.

Wait, what ?

"Are we sure she's alright and not having an absence seizure?" the air voice asks.

"She's alright. Probably in shock." another voice responds.

Shock? From seeing that beautiful man in front of me? Sure.

Okay, focus.

Wait, it's a dream. Why do you need to focus?

Eyes, the colour of piss , come into focus. "Cannn youuu hearrr meee?"

"Why are you speaking like that?" you manage to ask, still trying to figure out if you'd accidentally taken shrooms.

"Not a seizure then." the voice from earlier comments.

Piss eyes looks proud of himself. "I told you, she's in shock."

If this really was a dream, it would have to be the strangest one you have had in a while. What in the actual cockfuck was happening?

"Youu areee in theee hosp-ee-taalll. Weee---" piss eyes sounded like he was having the seizure.

"Stop talking like that." you say, blinking rapidly to clear the dark spots from your eyes. Things were starting to feel more...real. A heaviness settled over your head, every breath seemed to send a slight sliver of pain through your side and your arm felt numb.

Dreams weren't usually ultra-realistic, were they? Only one way to find out now.

"Is she...pinching herself?" hot guy asks, that strange look on his face.

A set of cold hands clamp your hands down.

"HEY." you say, the slight sting of your pinch confirming your doubts.

"Self hurt or mutilation can be a side effect. We need to restrain her for her own safety." Piss eyes speaks rapidly and you hear him muttering to himself.

"I'm not...is this not a dream?" you finally ask leaving the room in pin drop silence.

"I don't think so...unless Wanda is upto something again." air voice sounds a bit unsure himself.

"Wanda?" the name seemed familiar but in this state , you could barely remember your own name.

You try to get up only to be gently pushed back down by piss eyes. "You probably shouldn't be doing that. Bed rest for the next 10 days, I'm afraid." he says not sounding apologetic about it at all.

"What even happened? And---" you're cut off by air voice.

"Where are you? Well, the Avengers compound. Now, don't get too excited and all. We can make you sign a NDA , but we aren't going to because we're hoping you're trustworthy. Stark said you might be...useful. Now, if you're feeling upto it, how the hell did you end up in the middle of a cemetry half dead?"

You blinked once, twice, thrice.

"Who is Stark?"

"Listen, man. She's got to be living under a rock if she doesn't know who Stark is. That guy has been stuffed down everyone's fucking throat." Sam tells Bucky as he takes off he looks at their new visitor.

Bucky doesn't respond and instead stares at Sam with a poker face.

"What's going on in that cyborg brain of yours?" Sam isn't phased by Bucky and his staring anymore. He was however very sure that Bucky would not be bringing home any ladies with that serial killer look.

"What if she's lying?" Bucky finally says, turning to look at the CCTV recording of the room you were in. You were sleeping again, knocked out by the pain killers.

"Lying about not knowing Stark or not being able to remember what happened to her?"

"Both."

"What purpose does that serve her?"

"Well, that's what we're supposed to find out."

“How exactly are you planning on doing that?” Crossing his arms over his chest , Sam raised an eyebrow at his cyborg friend.

“I’ll think about it.” Bucky walked past him, grabbing his jacket on the way. “With my cyborg brain.”

“I understand that you want to get some answers” you said for what seemed like the 100th time, exasperation taking hold of you. “I honestly cannot remember what happened. I’ve thought myself into a headache. I’m sorry, okay?”

Sam looked defeated as he let he shook his head. “It’s been two whole days. Now, I don’t want to seem like a dick and question you in this state but we need some goddamn answers.”

“Too late for that I guess.” you muttered under your breath.

“Huh?”

“She said ‘too late for that I guess.’” The hot guy, Bucky, was his name chimed in.

How the hell did he hear that? As if reading the question on your face, he simply said “Advanced hearing.”

Okkayyyy.

Sam on the other hand was giving you a flat look. You gave him one back.

“I’m feeling much better now. Can I atleast get out of this damn bed?” you scratched near the iv line, wanting to just rip it out. “Piss eyes told me I shouldn’t but I cannot stay like this.”

“Piss eyes?” Sam was clearly running out of patience.

“The doc. Is he even a doctor? He’s very…”

“Sort of.”

That explains it.

“She’s right.” Bucky takes a step forward, looking at Sam. “Walking around will help her recover faster.”

“THANK YOU. See , I knew you were the smart one.” you give him a wide smile to which you get a poker face in return. Embarrassing. Not letting it deter you, you pull the iv out.

“Hey !!” Sam steps forward, surprised at your show of stupidity.

Before he can reach you to help you out of bed, you’ve already stood up. Which was another stupid move considering that the entire room was spinning around. Holding on to the wall next to you for support, you blinked rapidly.

“That’s another concussion waiting to happen.” Bucky commented dryly.

After regaining some semblance of direction, you managed to stand up straight ignoring the slight stab of pain in your chest.

“Much better.” you say, taking a step forward. The pastel pink tee and pants that had been given to you did not compliment your current condition, you knew. To be quite frank, you were a good looking woman too. Always have been. Then why the hell was Bucky looking at you like he was going to stab you right then and there?

“Uhhh…now what?” your suddenly felt extremely awkward in front of the two men.

“Don’t ask me, you were the one who wanted to do this.” Sam still had an arm out, ready to jump into action in case you cracked your head on the tiles again. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Bucky make a slight movement. Thank fuck you did because the next thing you knew , you were holding a dagger 2 inches away from your chest by the handle.

Silence engulfed the room for a good 20 seconds before it was broken by a very calm “What. The. Fuck.” from Sam.

You looked at Bucky who stood in the same spot like nothing shocking had even happened. Finally a crack of a smile appeared on his face.

“Told you she was lying.”

[buckysfaveplum]

doomsday

summary: missions don't always go according to plan, sometimes you lose people- that's the job. bucky told you that himself.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3k

warnings: violence, character death, um yea this one's sad. OH and Steve is dead in this (I mean he was like 90 something in endgame...)

a/n: GUYS omg i missed youuu i hope you remember me. its been like almost two years? i moved to ireland and started grad school! things are different. buttt here’s a new fic cause i’m back!!! ANGST omg im sorryyyy.... idk I wanted to right something that hurt okay okay bye (:

masterlist | send requests

You hated funerals. 

The suffocating smell of formaldehyde and roses wafted through the wake hall. The sounds of distant friends and relatives feigning grief, playing up small interactions with the deceased as more than just pleasantries while siblings and best friends' voices seem to be gone with a lack of words to express their suffering. The stale cookies and donuts in the hall, as if someone’s lover isn’t lying in a casket 50 feet away. All wrapped up in black dresses, suits, and handkerchiefs.

You hated funerals.

Today was no exception. An agent lost on a routine mission in Guam, taking out an arms dealer terrorizing a village. There were loose connections to Hydra, but just petty violence and shootouts for nothing. It shouldn’t have resulted in the loss of an agent. But sometimes things go wrong. A gun barrel stalls, someone trips, a civilian happens to be in the way. Sometimes people die. That’s how you ended up here.

Sarah was a good agent, a great one. She was top of her class at Westpoint, went straight to the FBI, and was recruited into SHIELD- all before 30. She was good- too good for a slip-up like this.

As speeches wrapped up, family and friends began to say their goodbyes. A line formed at the casket as people poured their hearts out for the redhead you once called a friend. You waited patiently at the back, making sure you were one of the last. You always did. Maybe out of respect, perhaps guilt? Who knows. You always felt guilt, even if there was nothing to be done. There was guilt.

Finally, as the small crowd left the room, flooding into the hall outside, you made your way to the front. Laid out before you, Sarah’s curly and wild hair was in two thick braids on each side of her head, a blue dress covering her as well as a soft cream cardigan. She looked beautiful and peaceful. But she was dead. Your friend was dead. No makeup or pretty clothes would lessen that blow. The plush velvet of the casket seemed to soften the prison that her body would rest in. At every funeral, you were reminded of how you wished to be cremated.

“I’ve never seen her hair so flat,” you turned to see Bucky standing beside you.

“You know, even wet her hair always seemed to spring up. Had a mind of its own,” you said, your gaze resting on him.

He was clad in a simple black suit, an older set you’d gotten him at a vintage shop. Something familiar. A simple cream button-down, no tie. It was simple, but that was him. What was most striking though was his serene demeanor. It never seemed to settle with you how unaffected by death he was. How easily he was able to gather himself and keep going. You couldn’t blame him though, 90 years of pain, death, torture, and violence will do that to you. You’d only seen him torn up once. And it was beyond devastating. Steve. “You okay, kid?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

He was your partner, in every sense of the word. In the field, as a friend, in life. He was everything. Your taut shoulders melted under the firm comfort of his vibranium arm. You could rest in its embrace a thousand times and never cease to crave its solace when away. He was your rock through every debriefing, call to family, black dress, and smeared mascara. Who knows what you would be without him?

You rested your head on his chest, breathing in the potent smell of his old cologne and something that was distinctly Bucky. 

“I hate funerals.”

——

“Do you ever think about dying?”

Bucky’s grip on you tightened slightly at your words. Wrapped in the soft linen of your duvet and the sunlight streaming in through your windows, his body lay around yours. His short choppy locks were tousled fresh from his slumber. The previous night’s sleep had yet to let go of his consciousness fully, still cozy and relaxed in your shared bed. His vibranium fingers continued to play with your hair as he considered your question.

“Not anymore,” he said.

Your face scrunched in confusion at his words. Your fingers traced gently over the thick scars on his left shoulder. They mangled and twisted, sprouting in angry red from the line where his skin met vibranium. Shuri had done her best to soften the tissue when replacing his arm, but only so much could be done.

“I did a lot when I was first drafted. I was scared of it then. And in those early days under Hydra. It was all-consuming. But at some point, I wasn’t scared of it, I embraced it- prayed for it,” your fingers froze at his words. It was nothing new to you, you had spent countless late nights and early mornings recounting the abuse of his days as the Winter Soldier. But hearing him say flat out how he wished to die. That was jarring. “After the Blip, I’ve just become a bit numb to it. I don’t really think about it if that makes sense. It could always happen.”

His hands danced down your spine as if his words were simple.

“You expect it?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“It’s the job, Y/N. It comes with the territory. Sometimes you lose people. And it could always be you,” he said, giving you a soft look. “You know that, doll”.

“I just, I don’t expect it in the field you know?” you relaxed a bit, regretting the subject you forced upon him.

“Hey, maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it,” he said, giving you a ginger smile as he leaned close and cupped your cheeks in his hands. “Death has just followed me for a long time, doll. I mean I’m a 106. I’m just not scared of it anymore.”

You tucked yourself into his chest, his words soothing the fears swirling in your mind. You knew the job was dangerous. That any mission could be the last. You just hoped it would never be him.

“Why do you always pick the heaviest topics of discussion early in the morning?” he asked, his voice still groggy from sleep. He smiled as you chuckled against his chest. 

“Probably cause I’m hungry, Plum,” you said, turning to lay on your back as you smiled up at him. 

“Yea? What could we do about that, huh?” that devilish smirk of his could stop your heart anytime and you’d be grateful. “Pancakes? Clinton St?” 

You nodded eagerly at his suggestion before taking his hand and slipping from the bed.

——

The rumbling of the quinjet shot up your spine. Sam and Bucky’s relentless bickering filled the steel jet as you came closer to your destination. Your gloved hands worked at strapping your knives to your thighs as they quarreled over how best to stain wooden beams in Sam’s living room during your and Bucky’s next trip down to Louisiana.

“No! NO! Buck, that stain doesn’t go with the accent wood in the kitchen! I already told you,” Sam said as he fixed his shield to his back. You chuckled as you walked over to them. Your backup squad, full of agents fresh from SWORD’s training academy, snickered at the two men as Bucky rolled his eyes.

“The beams are in your living room, what does it matter?” He said. 

“I wouldn’t take any interior design advice from him, he wanted a purple couch in our living room,” you said, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist. Sam laughed as he turned to grab the mission report. The jet was drawing close, entering stealth mode and preparing for landing.

“It was a plum color,” Bucky grumbled, nuzzling his face into your hair. 

“Okay team, huddle up!” Sam said. “This is just a simple in and out. We gotta get these hostages out safely so no risky moves- I’m lookin’ at you, Buck.”

Bucky threw his hand up in defeat, scoffing jokingly under his breath. 

“I’ll swoop through and scout entrances, Squad Two you’ll be with me for direct combat. We’re clearing out the building. Squad One, you’ll be with Y/N and Bucky, you’re getting those hostages out. You bring them straight back here, got it? There’s four so it shouldn’t be too strenuous,” he said, closing up his report before slipping on his cowl. “Alright team, let’s show ‘em what we got.”

——

Fluorescent red light filtered across your face as you slipped through the hallways. Half the squad led ahead of you, banging on doors in search of the hostages. Bucky hung close behind you, the rest of your squad keeping your entrance open for your escape. His hand rested on the gun strapped to his hip as he kept an eye on your blind spots.

Watching your back on the field was second nature to him. Protecting you, be it on the subway or in an active battle zone, was something he felt born to do. A reason to survive all those years under Hydra.

After several doors, your team stopped; having heard the pleas for help on the other end of the steel doors, they backed up to allow room for an agent to blast the lock. You stumbled back into Bucky, tripping on your own feet. His arms caught you before you could even glance at the floor. You felt his fingers gripping your hips and fidgeting with the straps on your thighs as you straighten.

“Some reflexes you got,” you whispered to him.

“Can’t let my babydoll fall,” he said, kissing the back of your head before his focus shifted back to the lock, now falling to the floor.

The agents flooded into the room, pulling hostages out and bringing them back into the hall. As they streamed out, you realized something was wrong. You only counted 3.

“Where’s the fourth hostage?” you asked. 

Bucky commed Sam, hoping he’d scanned the place and found a lead. As he spoke, you gathered the agents, giving them an order. Lead them through the building, get out to the other half of the squad, and get them into the jet. You’d meet them on the other side. You and Bucky would find the last hostage. The agents fled, leaving you and Bucky alone in the dark hallway. 

“Where are they?” you asked. Bucky sighed, as he grabbed a knife from his hip.

“In the lab in the basement, must’ve been the first to get taken,” he said.

The hostages weren’t nobodies. Prisoners were taken from SWORD on a mission to squash a newly established radical group. A group that seemed to resonate with the ideas of Hydra. This mission was all too familiar to Bucky, and all the more upsetting. You gave his free hand a firm squeeze before you turned and bolted to the lab.

You could feel the heaviness of the lab as soon as you entered the basement. The looming presence of the sterile room filled the hallways as you stalked toward it. Bucky was unusually quiet as he covered you from behind. You knew this was triggering, it had to be. He would always tell you he was beyond triggered episodes, having gotten a firm grasp on his PTSD. But you knew better. The subtle tremor in his brow told you so.

As you reached the eerie room, you stilled. Bucky came up behind you, resting a hand on your waist as you assessed the space. Metal shelves lined the walls full of jars, syringes, and test tubes. Sleek steel tables with rags soaked in blood, white grimy cabinets full of scalpels and needles, and an operating table at the center. The floors were coated in grot, each crack in the tile stained brown. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder if this condition was what Bucky was used to for all those decades.

Realizing the area was clear, you entered. Quickly, you spotted the hostage. Strapped to a chair in the corner with an IV jabbed into his arm. Bucky squeezed your arm as he headed over, slipping his knife back on his hip. 

You felt a pit growing in your stomach. You pulled your gun gently. This hostage didn’t look familiar, you thought Sam said he was a brunette, not blonde.

Bucky began to break the straps holding the man down. Slipping the IV gently from his arms, Bucky eased him up into a sitting position. He spoke to the man calmly, explaining to him who you were and that he was here to get him out. He seemed off, but Bucky just assumed it was the experimentation. He was wrong.

“Do you know who we are?” Bucky asked, helping the man up.

“I know who you are, Soldat,” the man said.

A chill ran through your legs, almost toppling you over. You reached for your gun, but the man was quicker. He was able to log four bullets into Bucky’s chest before you could get one in his skull. 

Shots rang out in the room, flooding your ears. As soon as you pulled the trigger, the man fell to the ground. Your bullet nestled into the side of his head. Your hands were shaky as the gun fell from your grasp, clattering across the floor and sending echoes through the rotting room. Of course it was a trap. The rubber of your boots squeaked as you sprinted your way over to your lover. He stumbled back against the filthy wall, his hands pressing firmly on the holes scattered across his chest.

As soon as you reached him, his legs seemed to give out. Everything in you tried to keep him up, your hands gripping the straps of his suit to keep him from surrendering to the floor. But he was too heavy. You followed him down, gathering him in your arms and holding him close. His breathing was labored and rough. Squeaks and coughs escaping from his punctured lungs haunted your ears, taunting you as you desperately tried to get him to stand.

“Baby, baby come on… you gotta get up, love,” you said, pulling him as you tried to get his attention.

His eyes were fixed on the mess in his chest. Blood bloomed across the fabric of his blue suit like a watercolor painting. His hands slipped from their place over the wounds and grasped yours. 

“Y/N…” he said. You froze at his voice. It was weak and unsteady. His grip on your hand was tight, too tight. He was always so gentle with you. As if you were glass under his hands and he was afraid you cracked. Now, he gripped you so hard you were afraid your bones would fracture.

“Bucky, you gotta get up. You’re gonna be okay,” you said as you tried to stay calm, but your voice failed you. You commed Sam, “Sam, Sam! Bucky’s down, I need help please!” 

You tried your best to stop the bleeding, tearing fabric from your pants to stuff the wound and slow the blood. But it didn’t seem to help. Bucky’s vibranium hand rose to your cheek, holding you steady. You mumbled to yourself, beginning to panic as blood spilled onto your hand; it stained the groves in your knuckles and cakes in your fingertips. Bucky’s coughing finally brought you out of your spiral. Blood began to trickle from his mouth.

“Doll…I can’t- I can’t breathe,” he said, his voice hoarse from the blood filling his throat.

“Bucky, hang on for me okay, please,” you said, your hands grasping his face and pulling yourself closer. You pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. When you pulled back, you could see it in his eyes.

“Y/N, I’m scared…” you felt bile rise in your throat at his words. The reality of the situation began to set in. Sam’s glitchy voice rang through your coms but you barely registered it.

“You’re okay, plum. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay,” you said. Your voice was frantic and distraught. The need to reassure him he would make it was overwhelming. But was it for him or you? Perhaps if you kept repeating it, doomsday would stay at bay.

His hands returned to yours, grabbing them and pulling you close as another cough racked his body. Blood speckled across your hands. You were white in the face, all the color drained.

“I…I love you, kid,” he said, his grip loosening. 

“No, baby, you’re gonna be okay. Sam’s on the way, it’s-”

“Y/N, I love you,” your hands gripped his tighter, wishing the firm hold he had minutes ago would return as his hands became limp in yours.

“… I love you, Buck,” you said softly, resting your forehead on his.

You pulled him close, kissing his lips one last time. You felt his breathing slow, his lips still. You didn’t pull back, you couldn’t. You knew what would await. A thick sob slipped through your chest. 

You tucked yourself further into his body, pulling him close and wrapping your arms around him. His head rested tucked into the crook of your neck, your hand tangled into his hair. You closed your eyes as you pressed your face into his hair, your free hand stroking his back and you rocked his now limp body. And you waited for Sam.

——

The smell of formaldehyde was the same, but no roses- Bucky preferred lilacs. You didn’t want the standard service, but SWORD insisted. No speeches, except for the pastor leading the service. You didn’t want any speeches, you knew Bucky would agree. 

You sat in the back, behind the small crowd of agents, friends, and the team you had come to consider family. Sam kept looking over his shoulder, keeping an arm behind him and resting on your knee. Perhaps he was trying to stop its shaking through the service or just to bring you comfort.

The service was simple, it was quiet. It was small. But it didn’t change anything. 

You hated funerals.

**taglist has been reset! let me know if you'd like to be added**

[loverslodge]

leading up to the date

You have been very unlucky in love. You were a thoroughbred romantic but that definitely wasn't a good thing when it came to actual experiences.

You had been in quite a lot of relationships, none of which lasted more than six months. Now, here you were, at the ripe age of 30, wanting to finally settle down and have a consistent lovelife. But when has your plans ever worked out for you? With no potential partner and an exhausting dating scene, you were worn out.

So you decided to do what you do best. Watch rom-coms, cry over how perfectly the couples fit each other and have wine and pizza.

You got tipsy, more on the drunken side and a thought popped in your head. So you opened your email and did the one thing only a drunken desperate idiot would do. Send emails to every famous crush of yours to ask them on a date for one night. You were feeling generous so you also added that you will pay them $10000 for their troubles. You wrote a few of your conditions and it was a surprise that for a tipsy person, your email was well written.

…………………..

Three months had gone by and you had completely forgotten about what you had done. Honestly, when you woke up the next morning, you thought that either the people you emailed to will either spam it, delete it or laugh at it. So you laughed at how ridiculous it was and just went on with your days.

You were working from home that day, luckily, and things were going just fine. You were on a lunch break when you heard two pings from your email box. Thinking it must be work, you popped open to see your personal email had received two replies. The subject line glaring at you and your breath quickened.

You had received responses, on your three month old desperate email. By one Steve Rogers and one James Buchanan Barnes. They both had agreed to every terms and conditions and were asking when it would be okay to meet for the date.

You spent two days contemplating. Should you even agree? Did your drunken thoughts even matter? Even if you do agree, whom will you choose? You liked them both. Of course you didn't know them personally but their public presence has always attracted you to them in a way. They were the two men about whom you've daydreamt, occasionally with a vibrator but also, respectfully.

On the third day, you decided that it would be best to leave this decision on both of them. Make them choose who wants to stay for the date. Because you were really using up a lot of your money to pay one person. Why try and lose sleep when you can throw the ball in their court?

You opened their emails and sent them the exact same reply saying that they can meet this Saturday at your usual cafe and then plan from there. Surprisingly, you received both their replies within an hour agreeing.

………………….

Life had been very unforgiving to Steve and Bucky. While they did have women fawn over them, they were having a hard time dealing with the female fanbase.

Bucky tried it once, one night stand with a fan. It did not end well. She had to be dragged away by security and Bucky started questioning what went wrong. He withdrew completely. He did flirt but that was the end of everything. He called it healthy flirting, good to practice just like training.

Steve, after witnessing this, drew back even more. He had been in love with Peggy, still. Seeing Sharon, he saw hints of Peggy in her and so developed a relationship with her. It didn't end well. After just two months of trying, Steve found the relationship exhausting which it shouldn't. He talked to Sharon about it and they both deemed it best to end things while they were ahead. They were just colleagues now.

But one fine day, in the middle of the night, both of them received the same email. A random woman had asked them out on a date and was willing to pay them $10000 for their efforts. Well, not them together but individually.

They were sitting together when this happened. They found it ridiculous and joked about it. Later, bidding each other goodnight, when they were in the comfort of their own room, they both actually started thinking about the proposition.

They both asked FRIDAY, separately, privately, to look into this email. They wanted to make sure they were not being lured into something unknown. All they received was a photo of yours and very clean data. They started thinking about this more.

Finally, they both mustered the courage to email you back saying they agree. Both Bucky and Steve wanted to add that they don't need money but thought they will refuse the money once the date is over.

Steve never actually wanted to date again. He had his chance to go back to Peggy but he didn't want that either. He saw her life flourish and he wanted her to rest now. He said yes to your email mostly because he found it interesting. Also, it was for one day. It was a no strings attached offer and it will help him get his mind off of his stagnant love life.

Bucky found this entire thing funny. But he said yes regardless because he wanted to talk to the brilliant mind that came up with this. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, Bucky also thought that this idea of one day romantic excursion without expectations was titillating.

Steve and Bucky were having dinner together when they both received your email confirming their email and set up the day and time. They both pretended that there was something very important in their phone and agreed to meet you.

The rest of the week was torture for both of them. They wanted to tell each other about this thing but also wanted to hide because who in their right mind would agree to something like this?

They spent the rest of the week separate. The rest of the team found it weird but did not question it. They didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was going on.

As Saturday rolled by, Steve left almost two hours early for the date. He didn't want Bucky to ask questions. He went to a local florist and bought three pink roses for you.

Bucky also wanted to be sneaky so he waited till he heard nothing but silence to leave the compound. He went to a local florist and bought three pink roses for you.

[haileygarciasunshine]

Back on my Bucky sh*t! Send me some requests!!🏳️

Prompt List

Created: 04/06/20

Last Updated: 03/19/24

A/N: It’s not necessary to send a request with any of these, however they’re just here to help add to your idea!

—

—

Who I write for:

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Actors:

Adam Driver

Sebastian Stan

Timothee Chalamet

–

Keep reading

[ultralightpoe]

Sticky - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Yeah the fandom is EATING with this song and that trailer so I figured I might as well feed into my own obsessions. -Ultralight

Song Inspo - Sticky from Tyler The Creator

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: Fighting, reference to smexy times

Requests: OPEN [working on the first round now]

MAIN MASTER LIST

[Thank you for the gif @unearthlydust ]

Enjoy!

It’s the bitter laugh that no one wants to hear, that’s the moment when the realization begins setting in. The chill down his spine, locking in the fear as the cold sweat begins to form, knuckles tightening around his glass of whiskey. 

The room wasn’t cold, with the fire crackling just a few feet away, so there wasn’t really a reason for him to be shivering. But that cold embrace of fear was wrapping Declan Morarie like a blanket. He was a man coming to the realization he was about to die. 

It was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sat at the end of the long table she hadn’t been invited to, in a home she hadn’t been welcome in but still sat in nevertheless. In the beginning of Declans career he always wondered how people remembered her full name, but watching the women now he understood. She was completely untouchable. 

“Oh come on now,” She teases, clapping her hands together in excitement as that same bitter laugh passes her lips. “I’m excited for the show.” 

“You think this is funny?” He bites out.

“Well from my seat I think it’s pretty great. I, however, would never want to be the one getting hunted down by Bucky Barnes and his fucking wife.” She chuckles, pulling a piece of lint off her dress. 

“And how….” He has to take a breath in to compose himself, slamming the glass on the table before him. “How did they get to me?”

“You tortured her for years, your very own project….. Well her and 20 others. Honestly it was only a matter of time before they tracked you down.” She explains, standing up and walking herself to the bartop. 

“And you didn’t happen to put my name in their ear?”

“Barnes will be my problem….. On another day.” She nods, pouring herself a shot and turning to him to cheers before downing it. “But today, he’s yours.” 

She slams the glass down until it splatters across the entire floor, her heels crunching into it as she waltzes to grab her coat. “I do apologize old friend, and I am….. Hopeful? Yes, that seems like a decent word, I’m hopeful you will succeed surviving.”

“I will.” He sneers, but even the words fall flat.

“Oh I’m sure you will.” She laughs, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Though I do hear things get a bit sticky when those two decide they want someone dead.”

- 

“Who would have thought that this… hunting down the bad guys of the world could be soooo… hmmm.” You tilt your chin up in a quiet contemplation as your husband frets over your suit. He busies himself with checking all the safety measures you both had designed for the suits when you decided they would be worn again. 

“Tiring.”

“Cathartic,” You hum back, sliding your hands down to snatch onto his own and bring them up so he can stop fretting. “You’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You are.” You argue, kissing the knuckles of his metal hand before doing the same to his flesh hand. “You didn’t get much sleep and now you’re tired and grumpy. I don’t like when you do this grumpy.”

“No more with the word grumpy. You have overused it.” He huffs, leaning to kiss your forehead. 

“Fine, ill-tempered.”

“Hardly,”

“Testy.” 

“Not even close.”

“Crotchety.”

“Really? We’re going that far?”

“Hmmmm. Waspish. How about that?”

“I….. will allow it if it means we can just get this over with.” He kisses around your face, using his metal hand to tilt your face for easier access while you fight off a smile and push him back. 

“You know what to do.”

“Straight to business then.” And though he turns his back to you he keeps you close while using the tech pad to monitor the halls of the building you both were about to enter. 

“He doubled up on guards. Someone warned him.” He analyzes, shifting a bit to show you the footage. “Valentina.”

“Hmmm.” You choose not to actually respond, allowing your husband to work through his own anger and suspicion while you watch the guards to begin learning the patterns. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.” You defend, passing the tech back. “But I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself. That is a hunt for another day.” 

“You ready?”

“Of course.” And it’s easy, the way you two fall to the plan so naturally, having worked together for years now. He lets you pass by him, his flesh hand catching a strand of your hair as you strut past, casting him one more glance before disappearing to find your entrance. 

Once you are at your mark you place the comm in, tapping it twice to make sure it works as you begin slicing the door with the silent laser. 

“Placed?” Bucky asks after a moment, meaning he had made it to his own mark. 

“You know it.” You mutter, pushing the door open in the small place you had cut before easily sliding in, your feet near silent on the ground as you watch the hall and begin trekking through. 

Moving like a shadow should never have been this easy, and yet it was, all thanks to the man you were here to kill. 

“будь в безопасности.” He mutters in your ear, his voice a soft caress in the first moment you hear steps approaching. ‘Be Safe’, his favorite thing to say since he knew you didn’t need luck. 

“être en sécurité,” You repeat his saying back to him, this time in french just to bother him since he could never speak it fluently. 

And then you finally meet the person walking closer, but before he can even prepare himself you are already sliding across the floor to kick out his legs before you swipe the overly large gun from his hip and knock him out with it, sliding on your knees to face forward with the stolen gun and raise yourself back to your feet. 

Each movement is a simple glide, one in front of the other as you trace the hall for movement. The plan was simple, meet in the middle and make your way up. You just had to shut down all the exits first. 

You started with the elevators, opening the first and shooting the controls until the light within it flickers and marking it useless and moving to the second one. When the doors slide open a guard moves to rush out, and you use his outstretched arm to heft him over your shoulder until you are throwing him to the floor and twisting until you hear a snap. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, kicking him away as you hear Bucky grunt within the comms as he finds his own issues. You mimic the movements you had used on the other elevator before rushing to the front entrance and using their own night time security gates against them. Locking anyone from leaving and keeping anyone from entering. 

And now that you were finished with that you began you started your way to meet your husband. 

It only took 15 minutes and by the time you do find him he’s leaning on the wall like nothing else mattered, tilting his metal hand under the light above him to admire the etching done for your wedding. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” You murmur, your tone seductive as you lean next to him. “What’s a place like this doing in a guy like you? …….Wait, don’t I have that backward?” 

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m sure we’ll find a lot of things backwards.”

“Oh,” You blink, staring at him. “I honestly can’t tell if that was sexual or a threat.”

“Then why can I practically hear your heart beating through your chest?”

“I never said I wouldn’t like it as either.” You huff, turning on your toes and signaling him to follow you. “You’re very beguiling.”

“Another big word. Should I be worried?”

“You got me the dictionary. Which I was slightly offended by.” You huff, twisting your body up the stairs as you see a figure in the corner of your vision, working with grace to pull him down and over the railing. “Stop flirting with me Barnes.”

“You stop flirting with me, Barnes.” He snaps back, making sure that guard stays down before using his gun and following you as back up. “Almost there.”

“Noted.” You murmur, shooting the tech pad to enter the door from the stairwell. The second the door swings open there are guards swarming you both, but it is lightwork when you both work together. 

The man that went to punch you met Bucky's metal fist before he could even make contact, the knife that almost hits Bucky’s mid section is easily lost the second you kick the wrist holding it. Like a bloody tango, every motion has a repercussion. 

“Любовь [love],” You huff, spinning to take out two men while facing Bucky. He reads your idea the second you make eye contact, allowing you to use his thigh as a stepping stool and throw one leg over his shoulder. 

He shoots the men in front of you both as he makes his way down the hall, you taking out the men coming up to flank you. 

By the time you reach the double doors holding the enemy within,  you swing off his shoulder with ease before an unknown figure rushes you both. 

You are thrown back, back meeting the floor as you slide while Bucky is thrown into the wall. 

“What the…..” He starts. 

“Fuck.” You finish, upon seeing who just hit you both. 

He was tall, with red eyes and a sneer on his face, yet another over drugged super soldier. 

Bucky is the first to regain himself, standing quickly and pushing himself into the soldier to knock the weight off and send him down. Only he pushes back, both men stuck in the hold, so you launch up. 

Your hands hit your husbands shoulders and you vault over him to lock your thighs around the neck of the soldier and twisting your body to send him flying back with you. 

Unlike you, however, he doesn’t manage to catch himself and falls on his back. Bucky is there, foot on his neck as you pull the gun and finish him off before moving to kick in the door and find Declan Morarie.

He doesn’t say anything, merely turning to the door with a bottle in hand as he staggers for balance. 

“Fuck.” 

“Fuck.” Bucky mocks, giving you a look before you both rush at him. 

-

“I think you need to go to bed.” You huff, watching your husband pull out the paperwork the second you both got home, after dropping your duffel bags by the doors. “No work.”

“I need to review her bills, she’s hiding something in plain sight-” His conspiracy theories about Valentina were interrupted by you slipping your shirt off and throwing it at him. 

“A hunt for another day then.” He amends, following you into the bedroom as quickly as he can.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 1: Oh Lights Go Down, In The Moment We're Lost And Found

Summary: After multiple failed attempts at retirement, you keep getting pulled back into action by Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant bickering and teasing, there’s an undeniable tension between you and Bucky—something everyone else sees except the two of you.

When a new threat involving stolen Inhuman tech emerges, you reluctantly join Bucky and Sam for one more mission. As the stakes rise, your playful banter with Bucky deepens into something more, and the emotional walls you’ve both built finally begin to crumble.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Smut.

It was one of those perfect days—the kind where the sun streamed in through the open kitchen window, warm and golden, making everything feel just a little bit softer. The faint hum of the city was distant but present, a reminder of the world outside your quiet little corner. The breeze carried in the scent of blooming jasmine, and you were happily chopping vegetables, pretending—for just a moment—that you were just an ordinary person, living an ordinary life.

But, of course, that illusion was shattered by the two men currently sitting at your kitchen table.

“You’ve been retired what? Three times now? Or is it four?” Sam Wilson asked, his voice full of teasing amusement.

“I think it’s three,” Bucky Barnes replied, deadpan, not even bothering to look up from where he was unceremoniously slouched in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips as you turned from the counter. Sam was lounging back in his chair, arms behind his head, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Bucky—ever the grump—was giving you that familiar raised eyebrow, though there was a glint of something in his blue eyes that suggested he was enjoying this more than he let on.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you cocked a hip and pointed your knife at them. “I’d still be happily retired after the first time if a certain bird brain and tin man would stop knocking on my door and learn how to handle their issues without me holding their hand every time.”

“Oof.” Sam put a hand to his chest and gave you a mock wounded look. “That’s cold.”

Bucky, unbothered, just smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to the cutting board, the rhythmic chop, chop, chop of the knife filling the brief silence. “It’s true though, isn’t it?” you called over your shoulder, not letting them off the hook just yet. “Let’s review, shall we?"

You held up a finger, turning slightly to glance at them. “The Flag Smashers. You two could’ve handled that without me. No problem.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. And who was it who saved your ass when you got blown off that truck?”

“I had it under control!” you shot back, but the grin on your face gave you away.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looked real ‘under control’ when you were flying face-first into traffic.”

You snorted but continued your list, holding up a second finger. “Then there was that terrorism thing in Cairo. Again, easy pickings. You didn’t really need me for that.”

Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I dunno, I seem to remember you saying something about ‘missing the thrill’ when you punched that guy through a brick wall.”

You paused, remembering the satisfying crunch of stone under your knuckles. “Okay, maybe I missed it a little,” you admitted with a shrug, “but that’s not the point.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, but he stayed silent, watching you with that same unreadable expression he always wore when you got into these conversations—half annoyed, half amused, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“And then,” you continued, holding up a third finger, “there was that mutant with the glowy cards and the cool accent who was doing all those heists in New Orleans.” You paused for dramatic effect, stabbing the knife into the cutting board. “Now, I’ll admit, that one was a bit... sticky.”

Bucky snorted softly. “A bit?”

Sam gave you a pointed look. ”He blew your ass to hell.”

You gave Sam a grin. “And I still managed to get his number afterwards,” you turned to look at both of them “But the point still stands—you two are perfectly capable without me.”

Sam shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Yeah, maybe. But things are more fun with you around.” He winked, leaning back in his chair again.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you turned back to the vegetables. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Sam. I’m retired. Retired,” you emphasized, as if you hadn’t had this exact argument before.

Bucky finally chimed in, his voice dry as ever. “You keep saying that, but here you are. Again. Inviting us inside.”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t feel obliged to if you two weren’t so damn persistent.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest with a smirk. “Persistent? Is that what we’re calling it now? I thought you liked the action.”

You pointed the knife at him, eyes narrowing. “I like peace and quiet, Wilson. Two things I seem to get a lot less of whenever you two show up at my door.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam quipped, grinning. “You light up every time we drag you back in.”

Before you could fire back, Bucky gave a small snort and muttered under his breath, “You love doing this.” Your eyes flicked to Bucky in surprise. There was something in his tone—something so confident, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. The bastard probably wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, you shot him a mock glare, trying to keep your voice as dry as possible.

“I love retirement, Barnes. You should try it sometime,” you retorted, pointing your knife at him for emphasis. “I even have an actual job now. You know, normal people stuff.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile—one of those rare, fleeting things you only caught when he wasn’t trying so hard to be the world’s grumpiest super-soldier. “Not my style,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Clearly.”

Sam, who had been watching the two of you with an amused smirk, cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the banter. “Anyway, we didn’t come here to talk about your third failed retirement,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye, “Anyway, I’m still waiting for my invitation to come over for dinner one night now that you have all this time on your hands.”

“You’re not getting one,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “And besides since when do you two just casually drop by my house on a perfectly good Saturday?” Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he gave you a pointed look. “Fury called me,” he said, his tone casual but carrying that undercurrent of ‘you know where this is going.’

You arched an eyebrow, glancing over your shoulder as you continued slicing vegetables. “Oh yeah?” you said, clearly unimpressed. “And what does  Ex- Director Fury want this time?”

Sam’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Apparently, you’re not picking up the phone. He’s been trying to get ahold of you.”

You scoffed, not even bothering to look at him as you tossed the chopped peppers into a bowl. “Yeah, because, again, I’m retired, Sam. Retired as in ‘not doing whatever he wants me to.’” You punctuated the sentence by slicing into a tomato with a little more force than necessary.

Sam chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “You might wanna reconsider picking up the phone this time.”

You paused, glancing at him with a skeptical look. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Sam exchanged a brief glance with Bucky before turning back to you. “Someone’s been stealing Inhuman tech—experimental stuff.” His usual lighthearted tone was gone, replaced by something serious. “It’s not just some minor operation either. Whoever’s behind this is organized. Big time.”

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, as if the weight of what Sam was saying wasn’t already sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach. “And what does that have to do with me?” you asked, your voice steady, though your mind was racing.

Bucky, who had been leaning back with his arms crossed, quietly watching the conversation unfold with his usual stoic expression, finally raised an eyebrow. That subtle shift in his demeanor said more than words ever could. He’d always been the silent type, but after everything you’d been through together, you could read his moods with almost unnerving precision. “You’re really gonna make me spell it out, huh?” His voice was low, carrying that familiar gravelly edge, but there was something else there too. A challenge.

You turned to him, already fighting the grin that was pulling at the corners of your mouth. There was always this tension between you two, a strange mix of camaraderie, banter, and something deeper that neither of you ever fully addressed. You leaned casually against the counter, crossing your arms, meeting his gaze with a wide-eyed, innocent look that you knew would get under his skin. “Uh huh,” you nodded slowly, clearly enjoying the moment. “Because you know what I’m going to say.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might actually smile—one of those rare, almost disarming smiles that made your stomach clench and your heart stutter. “You’re going to say you’re retired,” Bucky deadpanned, though you could hear the faintest edge of frustration in his voice. He knew you too well by now, knew the games you liked to play when you didn’t want to be dragged into something.

You pointed at him with the knife you’d been using, your grin widening in triumph. “Exactly,” you said, savoring the moment.

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright, we get it. You’re retired. But this isn’t just some random mess we’re asking you to clean up. This is big. And it’s gonna get worse if no one steps in.”

You tilted your head, still playing coy, the edge of mischievousness in your voice. “And you two can’t handle it? I mean, you’re Captain America and the Winter Soldier,” you said, gesturing lazily toward them with the knife, before going back to slicing. “Seems like you’ve got things under control.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could feel the shift in the air between you. His tone dropped, that low, no-nonsense voice he used when he wasn’t in the mood for games. “It’s not about whether we can handle it. It’s about what’s coming, and the fact that you’re in the crosshairs whether you like it or not.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the apple for a split second, the playful façade slipping just a little. The truth in his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You’d been out of the game for a while, sure, but that didn’t mean the game was done with you. And if Bucky was worried—really worried—then you knew this was serious. He didn’t show fear, not easily.

Your eyes met his again, and there it was—that unspoken connection. You trusted him with your life, had done so countless times before, from that first chaotic fight in Bucharest to every mission since. He’d saved you more times than you could count, and you’d done the same for him. But it was more than that. After every battle, every moment where it felt like the world might crumble, it was Bucky who sat beside you in the quiet, his presence a steady reminder that you weren’t alone in this “Crosshairs?” you repeated, your voice softening just a fraction, though the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter.

Sam nodded, his tone quieter now, but still sharp with purpose. “If they’re stealing Inhuman tech, it’s only a matter of time before they come for the source. People like you.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in slowly, wrapping around you like an uncomfortable blanket. You wanted to roll your eyes, to laugh it off, to tell them both you weren’t interested. But deep down, you already knew where this was headed. You always did. It was the same old tune, the same pull of inevitability. They came to you when things got bad, and this time, it sounded worse than usual.

Still, old habits died hard, and you weren’t about to make it easy for them. You never did.

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, raising a hand as if to clarify, the sarcasm dripping from your voice. “You two are here because someone’s stealing tech, and now you think I’m some kind of target?”

As you spoke, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Bucky leaned forward slightly, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place before you could look away. His eyes—usually so guarded, so stoic—held a flicker of something different. Something raw. Fear. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

“We don’t think,” Bucky said, his voice low, almost strained. “We know.”

For a second, the air seemed to shift as the room narrowed around just the two of you. That flicker of fear in Bucky’s eyes, so out of place on someone like him—someone who had seen more war, more blood, more death than you could ever imagine—hit you harder than you expected. You could handle your own fear, push it down, bury it deep where it couldn’t reach you. But seeing it in him? That was something else entirely.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to shake off the weight of his words. “Of course you do,” you muttered, dropping your hand and crossing your arms again, leaning back against the counter. You could feel the tension rolling off Bucky in waves, but you weren’t ready to let them drag you into this. Not yet. “And let me guess, Fury wants me to do something about it?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair, giving you a look that was a mix of apology and expectation. The kind of look that told you everything you needed to know, with just a hint of regret. “It’s not just Fury,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You know we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need you.”

You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped you, shaking your head in disbelief. “You two realize how ridiculous this is, right? I’ve been out of the game for how long now? And suddenly I’m supposed to jump back in because Fury says so?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest in that familiar, defensive posture. You knew that look. The one he used when things were getting serious—when he was drawing a line in the sand. “It’s not about Fury,” he said, his voice edged with a quiet intensity. “It’s about protecting people. And you know that.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the kitchen felt smaller, quieter. The intensity in his eyes was enough to make your stomach twist, the weight of his gaze settling over you like a storm cloud. Bucky wasn’t one to dance around the truth, and you knew that. He was right, of course. He always was when it came to this kind of thing, and it irritated you to no end. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

You wanted to argue, to push back, but the words caught in your throat. Because deep down, you knew what he was saying was true. You always did.

Sam stood up from the table, walking over to where you were standing. His expression softened as he spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Look, we’re not asking you to suit up and start playing hero again,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours with that maddening calm that always made him seem so reasonable. “But this is bigger than just a couple of stolen gadgets. If they’re after Inhumans, you’re not gonna be able to sit this one out.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, the familiar pull of responsibility growing heavier with every word, pressing down on your shoulders like it always did. Sam had this infuriating way of making things sound so logical, so reasonable, and yet utterly impossible to refuse. It was like he knew exactly which buttons to push, how to make you see the bigger picture.

Bucky didn’t even need to say a word. The fear you’d seen in his eyes earlier still lingered, a shadow that hadn’t quite gone away. It wasn’t something you were used to seeing from him—Bucky, who had stared down gods and monsters without flinching. But if he was worried, *really* worried, then this was far worse than they were letting on. You could feel it in the air, the way neither he nor Sam had cracked a joke, hadn’t tried to lighten the mood even once. This was serious. And if they were here, asking for your help, it meant they were out of options.

You let out a long, resigned breath, feeling the weight of their silent expectations pressing down on you. “I’m not un-retiring,” you finally said, holding up a hand in warning, preemptively stopping any celebrations before they even started. “This is just a favor.”

Bucky stood, his expression softening just a fraction. You could see it—how hard he was trying to hide the flicker of relief that crossed his face. But you caught it. He was too easy to read, at least for you. “Right,” he said, his voice quieter but steady. “Just a favor.”

You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly. A favor,” you repeated, making sure he knew where you stood on this.

Sam, clearly feeling the shift in the room, clapped you on the shoulder, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across his face. “See? We knew you couldn’t resist,” he said, his tone smug, as if he’d just won a bet.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you turned back to the counter, picking up your knife to finish chopping the vegetables you’d abandoned earlier. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. After this, I’m going back to my actual job. You know, the one that doesn’t involve me getting shot at.”

Sam snorted, leaning casually against the kitchen island, arms crossed, that damn smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah, sure. You keep telling yourself that. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, one that said, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, but Sam just grinned wider. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to retire, and he damn well knew it. He also knew how impossible it was for you to stay away whenever things went south.

Bucky, now standing with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, leaned back against the wall, giving you a sidelong glance. His voice was low, teasing, though there was an undercurrent of truth in it. “You won’t stay gone for too long. You never do.”

You paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board for a second longer than necessary, letting his words hang in the air. He wasn’t wrong, and you both knew it. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to step away from the chaos, and it wouldn’t be the first time you got pulled back in. But that didn’t mean you had to admit it aloud.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered under your breath, not looking up as you resumed chopping. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves.”

Sam chuckled, pushing off the counter to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. “Oh, we’re ahead of ourselves? You were ‘retired’ for what, two years before you got involved with S.W.O.R.D.?” He took a bite of the apple, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You shot him a dry look, not stopping your chopping. “Oh, that was a mistake and a half. Ever been mindfucked by a grieving woman who can rewrite reality on a whim? Not exactly on my Top Ten list of fun experiences,” you grumbled, the memory still a sore spot. “Definitely not a fan.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, still chewing, clearly enjoying the banter. “And how long did you swear off helping people after that? Because if I remember right, you said you were done—and then, what happened? I asked you to help with the Flag Smashers, and next thing I know, you’re right back in it. Then someone else came knocking, and BAM, there you go again.”

You glared at him, pointing the knife in his direction, the sharp edge glinting under the kitchen light. “All you’re proving to me,” you said, deadpan, “is that I’m a pushover who can’t set boundaries.”

Sam nearly choked on his apple as he laughed. “Pushover? Nah. You’re just bad at saying no when it counts.” You opened your mouth to argue, but Bucky cut in before you had the chance. His voice was calm, though you could hear the teasing edge in it. “Come on, Sam. Give her some credit. She lasted a whole eight months this time.”

You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, but he wasn’t looking at you. His attention was on Sam, the corner of his mouth twitching in that almost-smile he tried to hide. He was joking—he always did when things got tense—but there was something else in his eyes. That glint of worry he couldn’t quite mask, even behind the banter. It was subtle, but you’d learned how to read him, how to see the way his shoulders tightened when he was anxious, the way his brow furrowed when he was thinking too hard. And despite his attempt to keep things light, you could tell this mission wasn’t sitting right with him. He was worried—about you.

“Eight months is impressive,” Sam chimed in, nodding sagely, as if you weren’t standing right there. “I mean, that’s gotta be some kind of record, right? For someone who’s addicted to saving the world?”

You groaned, setting the knife down with a little more force than necessary. “You two are the worst,” you muttered, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. You couldn’t stay mad at them, not really. “I should never have let you in.”

Bucky gave you a knowing look, his voice soft but still teasing. “You didn’t really have a choice. We would’ve just broken in.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened around the edges when he was talking to you. It made your heart skip, just for a moment, a flicker of something more beneath the surface. You’d known Bucky for a long time now—long enough to understand the walls he kept up, the distance he tried to maintain. But lately, there had been cracks in those walls. Little moments where the tension between you wasn’t just about the mission, or the danger, or even the banter. It was something deeper, something you hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with.

“Exactly,” Sam said, grinning as he leaned casually against the counter. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to focus on anything but the way Bucky’s presence seemed to fill the room. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Bucky’s expression softened, just enough for you to notice. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you both ever so slightly. His voice dropped a little lower, and there was a quiet sincerity in his words that made your heart do that annoying little flip again. “It is a good thing. Because you know we’d do the same for you.”

The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, yet layered with meaning, made warmth spread through your chest. You knew he would. You didn’t doubt it for a second. Bucky wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and when it came to you, he always seemed to mean more than he actually said. You’d felt it in the way he looked at you after missions, the way his hand lingered on your arm just a little too long when he was checking to see if you were okay. The way his gaze would soften, as if he was seeing something in you that even you hadn’t fully grasped.

“Yeah, well,” you said, tearing your eyes away from his intense gaze and looking back down at the cutting board. You needed a distraction, something to ground you before you lost yourself in whatever was simmering between you and Bucky. “Just don’t expect me to make a habit of this.”

Sam chuckled from his spot by the counter. “Don’t worry. We’ll send you a postcard when we’re out saving the world.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into that almost-smile again, and for a brief second, the tension that had been weighing down the room seemed to lift. His eyes lingered on you, and you could feel the warmth of his gaze even with your back turned. It was like he was saying something without saying anything at all. And it made you wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like if you just stopped pretending there wasn’t something more between you.

“Sure,” you said, the sarcasm thick in your voice. “I’ll frame it.”

Sam grinned, tossing the apple core into the trash with a smirk. “Even better. You can hang it next to your retirement papers.”

You groaned, turning back to the vegetables, the familiar banter easing some of the tension in your chest. “I hate you both.”

But as you went back to chopping, the knife moving rhythmically over the cutting board, you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting back to Bucky. The way he’d looked at you just a moment ago, his expression soft, his voice low and full of unspoken promises. It was ridiculous, really. You were supposed to be retired, supposed to be out of this life. Yet here you were, roped back in by the same people who always pulled you under—and by the man who, despite all your best efforts, had found a way into your heart.

Because the truth was, you didn’t really hate them. Not even close.

And when it came to Bucky, you weren’t sure you could ever stay away. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself this was just another mission, another favor, something about him always pulled you back in. It was frustrating—but also undeniable.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the warm, fuzzy feelings creeping into your chest. The last thing you needed was to get all sentimental in front of them. “Alright, enough with the bromance,” you said, your voice cutting through the air, aiming to bring things back to the task at hand. “What’s the plan?”

Sam straightened up immediately, slipping back into his familiar role with ease. He was all business again, though the grin from your little exchange hadn’t quite left his face. “We’ll brief you on the way. Fury’s got intel, and we’ve already got a lead on where they’re keeping the stolen tech.”

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing between the two of them as if the absurdity of the situation had just dawned on you. “Oh, you’re ready to go right now?” There was a playful incredulity in your voice, as if the sheer audacity of them showing up at your doorstep and expecting you to drop everything hadn’t fully hit you until this moment.

Bucky shrugged, utterly unfazed, his tone casual. “No better time than the present.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, pointing to the food on the counter as you turned back toward the stove. “I’m cooking, Barnes. I’m not wasting this. Saving the world can wait until I’ve finished dinner.” You waved a hand dismissively, like the fate of the world was no bigger than an afternoon errand. “Pull up a chair,” you added, turning back to the chopping board, resuming your task as if you hadn’t just agreed to help them thwart a major global threat.

Behind you, Sam and Bucky exchanged a look. Sam’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he passed Bucky a knowing grin—the kind that said, See? Told you she’d come around. Bucky, for his part, gave Sam a small, soft smile in return, one of those rare, almost imperceptible expressions that only those really close to him would ever notice.

They missed you. And now that they were here, in your kitchen, it was more apparent than ever.

“Well, you heard the lady,” Sam said, pulling out a chair and plopping down at your kitchen table, clearly amused by the sudden shift in pace. “Guess saving the world can wait for dinner.”

Bucky, after a moment’s hesitation, followed suit, settling into the chair beside Sam. His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual, something unspoken passing between the three of you as the earlier tension faded into something warmer—something more familiar. “You always did have your priorities straight,” he muttered, his voice teasing, but with a hint of genuine admiration.

“Damn right,” you replied without missing a beat, not looking up from your task as you tossed some vegetables into the pan. The sizzle filled the quiet as you added, “I’m not about to burn a perfectly good meal just because Fury’s got his knickers in a twist.”

You could hear Sam chuckling behind you, and you imagined the way he was probably shaking his head—half-amused, half-impressed by your ability to turn life-threatening situations into something routine.

“So, what are we having?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair, clearly settling in for the long haul now that dinner was on the agenda.

You shrugged as you stirred the pan. “Stir-fry. Something simple.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’ve gone soft. I seem to remember you used to cook meals that could feed an army.”

You threw a look over your shoulder at him, your eyes narrowing playfully. “That was back when I was an army. Now I’m just a humble civilian, remember?”

Sam snorted, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, right. ‘Humble civilian’ my ass.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you turned back to the stove. “Believe what you want, Wilson. I’m retired. This is me living the quiet life. I even mowed my lawn the other week.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, giving you a long, considering look. His gaze was steady, unblinking, as if he were trying to read between the lines of your words. “You’re really gonna stick with that story, huh?”

You waved the spatula at him, eyes narrowing again, but this time there was a playful edge to it. “I told you already: this is just a favor. One time only.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into that almost-smile again, this one more visible than the last. He leaned forward slightly, casting a quick glance at Sam before turning back to you. “You know we don’t believe that for a second.”

Your eyes flicked up from the pan, meeting Bucky’s for a brief, charged moment. There was something about the way he looked at you—something that made your heart beat just a little faster. You hated how easily he could do that to you, how effortlessly he could make you feel like the world outside didn’t matter as much as the small, quiet moments like this.

But you couldn’t let him know that. Not yet.

“Believe what you want,” you said, turning back to the stove with a shrug that you hoped looked more nonchalant than you felt. “I’m not getting dragged back into this mess for good.”

Sam, ever the opportunist, jumped in with a grin. “Sure, sure. And next week, when one of your buddies call, I’m sure you’ll be… what? Mowing the lawn again?”

You shot him a look. “I’m serious, Sam.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced. “Just like you were serious when you said you were done after getting shot in Madripoor.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Bucky beat you to it, his voice cutting in with that same calm, steady reassurance. “Just a favor. We get it.” His tone was teasing, but there was something behind it—something softer, like he was trying to meet you halfway.

Your eyes met his again, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, more intimate. There was a warmth in his gaze that made you feel seen in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for. It was the kind of look that made you want to say more than you should, the kind of look that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something more than friendship between you two. Something you’d both been dancing around for far too long.

But before you could say anything, Sam’s voice broke the moment. “So, what’s for dessert?”

You blinked, the spell broken, and turned back to the stove with a sigh of exaggerated exasperation. “Dessert? I’m already feeding you dinner, Wilson. What more do you want?”

Sam grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Just checking. You know, in case we need to carbo-load for the world-saving we’re doing after this.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes still lingering on you for just a second longer before he leaned back in his chair as well, arms crossed. “If she’s making dessert, we’ll be here all night.”

You shot them both a look. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you both out yet.”

But the truth was, you liked having them here. You liked the way Sam’s laugh filled the room, bringing with it a familiar sense of ease, and the way Bucky’s quiet, steady presence grounded you, even when he wasn’t saying much. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, but comforting—a reminder that some bonds didn’t need words. You liked the way this felt—like home. And maybe that was the real reason you could never stay away.

Because when it came to Bucky—and Sam, too, if you were being honest—it wasn’t just about the missions, or the thrill of saving the world. They weren’t just your team. They were your family.

Even if you’d never admit that out loud.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, the only sound the soft sizzle of the food cooking and the rhythmic clinking of utensils against plates. The smell of stir-fry filled the kitchen, warm and inviting, and for a few minutes, it almost felt like the old days—back before everything got so complicated. Before you’d decided to walk away. The banter, the easy camaraderie, the way you fit together like puzzle pieces—it was all still there, just buried under layers of time and distance, waiting for moments like this to resurface.

As you plated the food and set it down in front of them, you couldn’t help but glance between Sam and Bucky, feeling that familiar, strange warmth again. There was something about seeing them here, sitting at your table, that stirred something deep inside you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d missed the thrill, too. The adrenaline, the missions, the way the world always seemed like it was on the brink of something big, and you were the one who could tip the scales. You had walked away from it all, but now, standing here with them, it didn’t seem quite as distant as it once had. It felt close, tangible, like it was pulling you back in before you even realized it.

Sam took a bite, nodding in approval. “Not bad. Definitely better than MREs.”

Bucky grunted his agreement, though he was already halfway through his plate, eating with the quiet efficiency of a man who’d spent too many years not knowing where his next meal would come from. You watched the two of them for a moment, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed, suddenly feeling like an outsider in your own kitchen. But it wasn’t a bad feeling—it was one of contentment, of seeing the people you care about in a rare moment of peace.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “are you two gonna brief me, or are you just here for the free food?”

Sam wiped his mouth, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Oh, we’ll brief you. But first…” He paused, his expression shifting slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something more genuine. “Thanks for this. For helping. We know it’s not easy being dragged back in.”

Bucky, who had been quiet as usual, nodded, his gaze meeting yours. His expression was softer than it usually was—unguarded, almost vulnerable, in that way he sometimes got when he was trying to say something he wasn’t quite sure how to put into words. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low but sincere. “We appreciate it.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal, though the warmth in your chest told a different story. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not un-retired, remember? This is just a one-time thing.”

Bucky caught your eye, and for a moment, something passed between you—something unspoken, something you weren’t ready to acknowledge just yet. His expression was unreadable, but there was a challenge in his gaze, a quiet understanding that made your heart skip a beat. “Sure,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “Whatever you say.”

There it was again—that invisible pull between the two of you, the one that had been there for as long as you could remember. It was subtle, but undeniable, like the gravity that kept you orbiting around each other, no matter how hard you tried to break free. You could tell yourself this was just a favor, just one mission, but deep down, you knew better. You knew that Bucky’s presence in your life was something you could never fully walk away from.

Sam chuckled, pushing his empty plate aside. “Alright, let’s get to it. Here’s what we know…”

As they began to lay out the details of the mission—Fury’s intel, the stolen tech, the possible locations—you listened intently, your brain shifting into tactical mode almost immediately. It was like slipping into an old, well-worn jacket. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—the strategizing, the planning, the feeling that you were part of something bigger than yourself.

But even as you focused on the details, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t going to be as ‘one-time only’ as you’d planned.

Because the truth was, you liked this. You liked the way Sam’s voice filled the space, the way Bucky’s quiet presence anchored you. You liked the sense of purpose that came with being part of something this important, and the way you felt like you belonged when you were with them.

Maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.

And as Bucky’s eyes flicked over to you again, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same. <><><><><><> The night air was crisp, the kind of cold that settled in your bones, made worse by the biting wind that whispered through the trees. The cabin where Nick Fury was staying loomed ahead, isolated and quiet, nestled deep in the woods. It was larger than you expected—more of a lodge than a cabin really—with dark wooden beams and wide windows that reflected the sliver of moonlight hanging overhead. The gravel driveway crunched beneath your feet as you stepped out of the car, the sound jarring in the otherwise still night.

“Four and a half hours I’ve just spent in that car with the two of you,” Bucky began, pulling your duffle bag out of the trunk with more force than necessary. His breath came out in misty puffs, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as he spoke. “I keep forgetting how much of a nightmare it is.”

You climbed out of the passenger seat, stretching your legs as the cold air hit your face. “What? You saying my singing’s bad?” There was a feigned offense in your voice, but Bucky’s expression didn’t soften.

“I’m saying in the kindest way possible to not quit your day job,” Bucky replied, slamming the trunk shut with a thud that echoed into the night.

Sam, ever the mediator, moved around to stand beside you, his boots crunching on the gravel as he grinned. “Hey, I think it was great.”

You smiled, grateful for the support. “Thank you.”

“Talent recognizes talent,” Sam continued, with a smugness that made you laugh out loud.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he slung your bag over his shoulder. “If you two are done patting each other on the back, Fury’s waiting.”

The three of you made your way toward the cabin, the soft glow of a light from inside spilling onto the porch. The door was solid, old wood, and the cabin itself had a rugged charm to it, like something out of a survivalist’s dream. It was the kind of place that felt cut off from the rest of the world—a perfect hideaway for someone like Fury. Away from prying eyes, away from the chaos of the world he spent so much time trying to control.

You hadn’t seen Nick Fury since Tony Stark’s funeral. That day had been a blur of pain, loss, and finality—a day that felt like the end of an era. The memory of it was still heavy in your chest, the weight of it never fully lifting. You’d slipped away after the service, disappearing into the background, telling yourself you were done. Done with the missions, the wars, the endless fighting. You deserved peace, you told yourself. You deserved to walk away.

But now, standing outside Fury’s door, that certainty felt like a distant memory.

You paused on the porch, your hand hovering just above the railing as you glanced back at Sam and Bucky. The two of them were already making their way up the steps, their shoulders brushing as they moved in sync, like they had done this a thousand times before. You, on the other hand, felt a strange tightness in your chest. This wasn’t just another mission. This was Fury. The man who always seemed to have a plan, who always saw the world through a lens of strategy and sacrifice. You respected him, sure, but you weren’t blind to the way he moved people like chess pieces, manipulating the board without ever asking for permission.

He hadn’t reached out after the funeral—not really. Maybe he’d respected your decision to step away, or maybe he’d just been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to pull you back in. That was how Fury worked. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries or emotional goodbyes; he played the long game. And now, after all the time you’d spent trying to convince yourself you were done, here you were, standing outside his door. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

As you stood there, the cold night air biting at your skin, you felt an old, familiar mix of emotions bubbling up inside you. Frustration, mostly. Guilt, too. You’d walked away from this life, from the constant chaos and danger, but now you were right back in it, like no time had passed at all. Part of you resented Fury for it—for always knowing exactly when to reel you back in. And maybe, in a way, you resented yourself for being so easy to pull.

“You good?” Sam’s voice broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with that easy, reassuring smile of his, but there was something softer in his eyes, something that told you he understood exactly what you were feeling.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you’d intended. “I’m good.”

Bucky, already at the door, glanced back at you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of concern, maybe. He wasn’t one for words, especially when it came to feelings, but you could tell he was watching you closely, waiting to see how you’d handle this. He understood the weight of what you were walking into, even if he wouldn’t say it.

Without hesitation, you followed him inside, choosing not to knock. The cabin’s wooden floors groaned beneath your boots, announcing your arrival in the otherwise still night. The air inside was heavy with the scent of aged wood, leather, and old books. It was familiar—too familiar. The smell brought you back to hours spent in briefing rooms, late-night strategy sessions, and the endless weight of responsibilities you’d once carried on your shoulders. This cabin—it wasn’t just a place; it was a reminder of the past you’d tried to leave behind, a past that seemed to have found you once again.

Fury was in the main room, hunched over a holographic display, the blue light of the projection casting eerie shadows across the room. The information was streaming in front of him, lines of text and maps flickering as he scanned them. You didn’t bother trying to make sense of it just yet. He hadn’t changed much—still the same black trench coat, same eyepatch, same imposing presence that seemed to fill the room without effort. His back was to you, but you knew from experience that he’d already clocked your presence the second you stepped over the threshold.

Without turning, Fury’s voice cut through the silence like a knife. “What? Did you lose your phone? I called.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pulled up a chair across from him and dropped into it, feigning a casualness you didn’t feel. “Didn’t you get the memo?” you shot back, leaning against the table, arms crossed.

Fury finally straightened, turning just enough to fix you with his one good eye, the intensity of his gaze sharp enough to cut steel. “What—retired, huh?” he scoffed, waving a hand as if to dismiss the very notion. “I threw that memo out. You know why? Because it’s bullshit.”

You couldn’t help the slight roll of your eyes, leaning back in the chair, crossing your arms. The knot in your stomach tightened, but you kept your voice steady, controlled. “You can’t just ignore something because you don’t like it, Fury.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, his expression as unyielding as ever. “Have you met me?”

The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. It was such a classic Fury response—blunt, relentless, and entirely too good at getting under your skin. No matter how much time passed, he had a way of cutting through the noise, making everything seem simpler, even when it wasn’t. And despite the frustration bubbling inside you, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. Fury didn’t care about your so-called ‘retirement.’ He cared about results, and he always got them.

“I told you, Fury,” you said, your voice sharpening like a blade. “I’m done. I’ve been doing this my entire adult life—hell, some of my teenage years, too. I’m tired of being dragged back in every time the world decides it’s falling apart.”

Fury didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He just sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his one good eye never leaving yours. His voice, calm but edged with steel, cut through the room, each word deliberate. “You think you’re the only one who’s tired?” he asked, his tone measured, calculated. “We’ve all been fighting for as long as we can remember. You don’t get to walk away just because you’re tired. The world doesn’t stop spinning because you want a break.”

Your jaw clenched, frustration bubbling up dangerously close to the surface. You glared at him, feeling the weight of every battle you’d fought, every sacrifice you’d made. “I’m not asking for a break, Fury! I’m asking to live my life without having to look over my shoulder every damn second. I’ve given enough—more than enough. I don’t owe this anymore.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Sam and Bucky hovering by the door. They’d clearly caught the tail end of your argument, their expressions a mix of understanding and resignation. Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky, who gave a small, resigned shrug, as if to say, Told you this would happen. You felt their eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to face them. This wasn’t their fight. Not this time.

Fury leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his intense gaze never wavering. His voice dropped lower, but it was no less firm. “You think you’re done just because you said so? You’ve been out of the game, sure. But that doesn’t mean the game’s done with you.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “People like us don’t get to retire, and you know it.”

You let out a harsh laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Is that it then? The rest of my life, I’m just some puppet you get to pull the strings on whenever it suits you?”

Fury’s expression darkened, his voice low but firm. “I never said you were a puppet. But you were a damn good Avenger. And you know better than anyone that once you’re in, you’re never really out.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You hated that he was right. You hated that deep down, you’d always known this was the truth. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. You’d spent years trying to convince yourself that you could walk away, that you could live a normal life. And yet, here you were, sitting across from Nick Fury, the man who had always been able to see through your excuses and drag you back into the fight. You felt a flicker of guilt at Fury’s words, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let him sway you. “I didn’t choose this, Nick. None of us did. We were thrown into it, and we did what we had to do. But that doesn’t mean I have to keep doing it forever.”

Fury’s gaze was as sharp as ever, unwavering and unrelenting. “There’s always a choice,” he said quietly. “You just don’t like the options.”

His words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You let out a long, weary breath, your gaze dropping to the floor as you tried to find something steady in this storm of uncertainty. The weight of what he said pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, thick and heavy, the truth of it undeniable. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. You were tired. So damn tired. The kind of exhaustion that sleep could never fix. Tired of the never-ending battles, of the responsibility that clung to you like a shadow, never fully letting you out of its grasp. Tired of the world always needing saving, and you being one of the few people left standing to do something about it.

But maybe that was the point, wasn’t it? Maybe there was no running from this life. Not really. No matter how far you tried to go, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you were done, every time the world started to fall apart, it found you. Dragged you back in. And deep down, you knew Fury was right. There was no staying out of it forever. People like you didn’t get to walk away. You could pretend, sure, but the game never stopped. It was always waiting in the wings, just out of sight, ready to pull you back when it needed you most.

The silence stretched between you all like an unspoken truth, thick with the weight of everything you weren’t saying. You could feel the eyes of Sam and Bucky on you, waiting for your response, for some kind of decision. But still, you stayed quiet, your mind spinning as you tried to piece together the right words—if there even were any. The air seemed to hum with tension, the quiet creak of the old cabin settling the only sound.

Fury’s one good eye locked onto yours, his expression hardening just slightly as he raised an eyebrow. He was waiting for something—a word, a nod, a sign that you were still in this, even though you didn’t want to admit it yet. The silence stretched uncomfortably, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. When you stayed quiet, lost in your thoughts, he let out a quiet, almost imperceptible huff of impatience. His patience, never his strongest quality, was wearing thin.

"Alright then," Fury said, his voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "If you're done with the brooding, can I get on with the reason I dragged your dumb ass out here?"

The bluntness of his words snapped you out of your internal spiral, and you couldn’t help the way your lips twisted into a mock frown. You leaned back in your chair, the wood creaking under your weight. “You know, I miss when Hill was around. You have zero tact.”

Fury’s expression didn’t shift much, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—the closest thing to a smile you ever got from him. If anyone else had said that, they’d probably be on the receiving end of a death glare, but you? You could get away with it. You always had.

"Hill had tact," Fury replied dryly, "and you still didn’t listen to her either."

From his spot by the door, Sam let out a quiet, amused chuckle. He was clearly enjoying the exchange, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. Bucky, on the other hand, shook his head, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He was watching the back-and-forth like it was a well-worn routine, a script he’d seen played out a hundred times before. He had, in a way.

You shrugged, trying to suppress the small, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips. “Yeah, but she didn’t drag me into things by insulting me first. She’d at least give me a coffee or something before dropping the bomb.”

Fury shot you a sharp look, the kind that would make most people shrink back, but you just smiled wider. It was a familiar dance by now—a rhythm you and Fury had fallen into over the years. You pushed. He pushed back. But there was always an understanding beneath the surface. You respected him, even when he drove you insane, and he… well, he tolerated you. Maybe even liked you, though he'd never admit it.

"Coffee?" Fury deadpanned. "Really? I didn’t know you needed a latte with your world-saving."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, locking eyes with him. “Just saying, if you want me to save the planet again, maybe don’t start with ‘dumb ass.’ It’s bad for morale.”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, but you could see that glint in his eye—the one that meant he was enjoying this more than he’d ever let on. “You need morale? You’re worse than I thought. Maybe I should’ve called Parker instead. At least he didn’t need a pep talk before doing his damn job.”

That earned him a real eye roll from you. “Oh, don’t play that card. You know damn well you’d miss me.” You leaned back again, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who else is gonna keep you from going completely gray?”

Fury’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “You think you’re doing me a favor by sticking around? You’ve been a pain in my ass since day one.”

“Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass,” you shot back, a grin breaking through your faux-serious expression. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

There was a pause. For a second, you thought maybe you’d gone too far, but then Fury let out a short, almost reluctant exhale that was dangerously close to a laugh. “Bored?” He shook his head slowly, his voice dropping into that familiar gravelly tone. “With you around? I’d have better luck finding peace in a war zone.”

Sam was clearly holding back laughter now, his hand covering his mouth, while Bucky just sighed, looking away like he’d seen enough of this pissing contest for one lifetime.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Fury didn’t reply, but the look he shot you said enough. He didn’t need to admit anything out loud. The truth was, beneath the gruff exterior and the constant scowling, there was a mutual respect that had been forged from years of fighting side by side, from making impossible choices and surviving the consequences. He knew you’d always show up, no matter how much you complained, and you knew he’d always have your back, even if he was a hard-ass about it.

But as quickly as the moment of banter had come, Fury’s expression shifted again, the brief levity evaporating as he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. His voice grew serious, more measured now. “Look, I didn’t drag you out here for a trip down memory lane,” he said, gesturing toward the holographic display in front of him. The soft blue light illuminated his face, casting shadows across his features. “There’s something you need to see.”

Fury’s hand cut through the soft blue light of the holographic display, casting eerie shadows across his face as he adjusted the projection. "Something big’s brewing," he said, his voice low and sharp. "And it’s not gonna wait for you to decide whether you’re ‘in’ or not."

You exhaled slowly, your eyes flicking toward the hologram, but resisting the urge to really see it. You already knew what was coming. You’d been down this road too many times before. Another crisis, another fire to put out, another reason you couldn’t just walk away. But you weren’t ready to admit it—not to him, not to yourself. Still, deep down, you knew there was no avoiding it. You couldn’t pretend this wasn’t your problem. Because, like it or not, it always ended up being your problem.

Letting out a final breath, you turned back to Fury, your shoulders tense, but your mind a little clearer. You could already feel the pull—the same pull that had dragged you into this life years ago, the same one that never really let you go, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

"Alright," you muttered, your voice steadier than before. "Let’s hear it. What’s so important that you couldn’t just leave me in peace?"

Fury didn’t hesitate. He turned fully toward the holographic display, swiping his hand through the air. The image shifted, revealing a global map with dozens of red markers scattered across it—clusters in major cities, others in more remote locations. It was a spread that sent a chill crawling up your spine before you even knew what it meant.

"This," Fury said, his voice like steel, "is what’s coming. And it’s not just some small-scale operation. We’re talking global destabilization. Coordinated attacks, high-level targets, and resources being pulled in ways we haven’t seen before. This isn’t a one-off threat—it’s the start of something bigger. Something we’ve been tracking for months. But it’s moving faster than we can keep up with."

You stared at the map, the red markers like pinpricks of danger scattered across the globe. Your stomach twisted, that familiar pit of dread settling in your chest. You didn’t need Fury to spell it out. You’d been here before. You knew how this worked. One crisis would bleed into another, spiraling until the whole world was on fire.

Fury’s eye gleamed with that familiar mix of determination and something harder to place—maybe it was relief, maybe calculation. Either way, he knew he was getting through to you. His fingers danced across the holographic display, and the image shifted once more, zooming in on clusters of red dots. They were centered around key locations—research labs, containment facilities, even old SHIELD outposts.

“These,” Fury began, his tone deliberate, “are the sites of a string of coordinated attacks. Small for now, but escalating. And trust me, they’re not random. Someone’s pulling the strings, and they’ve got their sights set on something big.”

You leaned forward, frowning as you studied the map more closely. The red dots were spread too far apart to be coincidence, but there was a pattern here. The more you stared, the more it started to emerge, like muscle memory kicking back in. You hated how quickly you could fall into this mindset—the one that was already calculating moves, analyzing angles. The part of you that had sworn you’d leave all this behind was screaming to turn away. But the other part—the part that had been doing this for so long—refused to let go.

Fury, ever the observer, watched you closely, his eye flickering with something like satisfaction. He could see the shift in your expression. He knew you too well. “I’m not asking you to pick up right where you left off,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was offering you an out. “But we need you on this. Hell, we all do.”

You bit your lip, still staring at the map. “The boys said Inhuman technology is getting stolen?”

Fury nodded, tapping the display again. The map zoomed in on specific locations—research labs, containment sites, all with ties to Inhuman tech. “It’s not just the tech,” he said, his voice growing more grim. “Weapons, artifacts, data—anything connected to Inhumans or their enhancements. And whatever they’re taking, they’re not leaving a trace behind. Whoever’s doing this knows exactly what they’re after.”

You exhaled slowly, your mind spinning through the endless possibilities. “So what? They’re building something? Or selling it off to the highest bidder?”

Fury’s gaze never wavered. “Maybe both,” he replied. “But we’re not gonna wait around to find out.”

You shook your head, still staring at the map. “Any idea who’s behind this?” You weren’t sure if you really wanted an answer. Part of you hoped this was small-time, something that could be handled by other agents. But the other part—the part that could already see the storm brewing—knew better.

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, and you could already tell he was about to drop the other shoe. "It’s not just tech and data that’s going missing," he said, his voice lower now, more serious. "Inhumans are disappearing too."

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, ‘disappearing’? How many?"

Sam, who had been standing by the door, stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell wasn’t this mentioned earlier?”

Fury turned to face you all, his expression grim, his voice steady. “At first, it wasn’t noticeable. A few here, a few there. We chalked it up to people going off the grid, fleeing persecution, whatever. But now..." He swiped his hand across the display, and the map zoomed out, revealing a shocking number of red dots scattered around the globe. “On a global scale, almost two thousand Inhumans have gone missing in the last four months."

Your stomach dropped. Two thousand? You pulled a face, confusion and disbelief crossing it. “How did no one pick up on that?”

Fury’s eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the strain there—this wasn’t something he wanted to admit. “On a global scale, it’s a blip,” he said. “Individual cases get lost in the noise. But I’ve got someone helping me now. Someone off the radar. They noticed the pattern.”

Sam crossed his arms, his expression darkening. “So, what? Someone’s hunting Inhumans?”

Fury didn’t answer immediately, his silence more telling than any word he could’ve spoken. “We don’t have all the pieces yet,” he said finally, his voice thick with tension. “But whoever’s behind this, they’re not just hunting. They’re stockpiling. And we need to find out why.”

You stared at the map, the weight of what Fury was saying settling over you like a lead blanket. Two thousand Inhumans. Missing. Taken. And whoever was behind it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

The room went quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. You felt the familiar stirrings of dread in your chest, the kind you’d spent years trying to suppress. This wasn’t just another mission. This was something bigger, something darker. And as much as you wanted to walk away, you knew there was no turning back now. “Who are we thinking?” you asked, still staring hard at the map. Almost two thousand Inhumans. Almost two thousand people whose only crime was having abilities. You swallowed, the weight of that number settling in your chest. Almost two thousand people like you.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. The world had always been on edge about people like you—people with powers. Some feared you, some wanted to control you, and others… well, they just wanted you gone. But the idea that nearly two thousand people had been taken, snatched from their lives, their families, because of something they couldn’t help—it hit too close to home. You could feel the anger bubbling beneath your skin, an old, familiar fire that you thought you’d managed to smother.

People like you had always been treated like a problem to be solved. The world never took kindly to those who didn’t fit neatly into the box of ‘normal.’ You’d learned that the hard way, time and time again. And now, those people were vanishing. No explanation. No trace. Just gone.

You shook your head, trying to focus, but the thought gnawed at you. How many of them fought back? How many didn’t even get the chance?

Fury’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back. He gave you a long, hard look before speaking. “We’ve got a couple of suspects. Old enemies crawling out of the woodwork. But nothing solid yet.”

Sam stepped forward, folding his arms across his chest as he studied the display. “Hydra’s always a safe bet,” he suggested, his tone almost casual, though his eyes were sharp. “They seem to have a habit of not staying dead.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh from across the room, shaking his head. “Yeah, they never really get the memo, do they?”

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “Hydra’s a possibility. But this feels too… surgical for them. They’re more of a ‘sledgehammer’ type of operation. They’d march in loud, make a mess, and leave their logo plastered all over the place for good measure. Whoever’s doing this? They’re moving in silence.”

Fury nodded, his mouth pulling into a thin line. “Exactly. Whoever it is, they’ve got resources and intel we haven’t seen in a long time. And they’re staying ahead of us at every turn.”

You looked up at him, eyes narrowing. “So, what? You’re telling me we’ve got nothing? No leads?”

Fury’s jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, you could see the frustration flicker across his face. It wasn’t often you saw cracks in his armor, but when you did, it usually meant the situation was worse than he was letting on. “We’ve got whispers. Names bouncing around the black market. But nothing concrete. Yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair again. “Whispers? You dragged me out here for whispers?”

Sam chimed in, his tone light, but pointed. “You know Fury doesn’t call unless it’s serious. He’s all about the mystery and the drama. Gotta keep us on our toes.”

Fury shot Sam a look, the kind that could make most people rethink their life choices, but Sam just shrugged it off with a grin, clearly unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying. A little more info up front would be helpful.”

Bucky, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirked. “Yeah, maybe next time you send out an actual briefing, Fury. You know, like the good old days.”

Fury didn’t miss a beat. “If you two clowns would spend less time cracking wise and more time reading the briefings I do send, maybe we’d be a little further ahead.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, shaking your head. “I missed this. Really, I did.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm, but your smirk betrayed just a hint of genuine amusement. “It’s like a dysfunctional family reunion.”

Fury’s face remained unreadable, but you could tell he was holding back a comment. Instead, he pulled the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Look, this isn’t just about the Inhuman tech. It’s about what they plan to do with it. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in waiting to find out.”

You leaned forward again, resting your elbows on your knees, eyes tracing the red dots on the map. Each one a potential target. Each one a potential victim. The weight of the situation was settling over you, heavier with every breath. “So, what’s the play?”

Fury’s eye glinted, and you could almost see the gears turning behind that steely gaze. The familiar spark of strategy came alive as he laid out the plan. “You, Wilson, and Barnes will hit one of the key locations we’ve flagged. Covert op. No noise, no trace. We need eyes on the ground to figure out who’s pulling the strings.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he glanced between you and Fury. “And you’re just sending the three of us? No backup?”

Fury didn’t miss a beat. “You’re the backup.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, his tone dry. “Of course we are.”

You exhaled sharply, feeling that all-too-familiar sense of dread creeping in. “What happened to the people you originally sent if we’re the backup?” you asked, not sure you really wanted to hear the answer.

Fury’s gaze didn’t falter, his voice steady but grim. “We lost communication.”

That was Fury’s way of saying, They’re probably dead. No need for sugarcoating, no false hope. It was a reality you’d gotten used to hearing over the years, but it never really got easier.

You popped your lips a few times, letting the weight of it settle over you, before muttering under your breath, “Well, this is gonna be a fucking blast, isn’t it?”

Sam snorted, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Always the optimist.”

Fury ignored the commentary, his expression tightening as he leaned in a bit closer, his tone more intense now. “Listen, I know you’re all used to dealing with heavy stuff, but this isn’t just another smash-and-grab. Whoever’s behind this has been stealing weapons designed specifically to take down Inhumans. If they’re stockpiling that kind of tech, it means they’re expecting to fight people like you—and they’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your face neutral. “Weapons designed to take down Inhumans?” you echoed, your voice carefully calm. That wasn’t news you wanted to hear. You’d faced enough threats over the years, but the idea of someone deliberately targeting your kind, with tools made to dismantle everything that made you who you were? That hit too close to home.

Fury nodded. “Yeah. So you especially need to be careful out there. This isn’t just some random group of thugs. These guys know what they’re doing, and they’ve got the means to take you down if you’re not careful.”

You couldn’t help but grin, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, adopting your most nonchalant look. “I’m always careful.”

The room went silent for just a beat—long enough for you to register the exaggerated snorts coming from Sam and Bucky behind you. You barely had time to process it before you heard the unmistakable sound of Sam trying—and failing—to stifle a laugh. You glanced over your shoulder and caught him biting his lip, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Bucky, on the other hand, was giving you that look—the one he reserved for moments when he was about to roast you alive and savor every second of it.

You groaned, rolling your eyes in exaggerated frustration. “Oh, come on.”

Sam was already chuckling, holding up his hands in mock surrender, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Hey, sorry, sorry. It’s just—you? Careful? You’ve got a reputation, you know.”

Bucky smirked, shaking his head slowly, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Yeah, careful… What about that little dance you had with Walker?”

You turned toward him, pointing a finger in his direction, your face scrunched up in mock indignation, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “Okay, fine, I’ll own that one. But, to be fair, Walker was mouthy. And he pissed me off.”

Sam snorted, clearly enjoying himself now. He leaned against the table, arms crossed, shaking his head as the memory came flooding back. “Pissed you off? You threw him through a damn window.”

You threw your hands up defensively, leaning back in your chair once more, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “He was lucky I didn’t go outside and throw him back through the window with that attitude.”

Bucky let out a low, amused chuckle, his smirk widening. “That would’ve been a sight.”

Sam, still grinning, chimed in, “Man, if you’re ‘careful,’ I don’t even want to know what reckless looks like.”

You shot Sam a playful glare, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “That was me being careful. If I’d really gone off, there wouldn’t have been a window left for anyone to throw anyone through.”

Bucky shook his head, his voice filled with mock disbelief. “I mean I guess he wasn’t hurt too badly.”

You leaned back further in your chair, arms still crossed, your grin widening. “Look, Walker was asking for it. And let’s be honest—after everything he pulled, I was doing the world a favor.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, his expression amused, clearly enjoying the banter far too much to let it go. “You know, you’ve got a real funny definition of ‘doing the world a favor.’”

You shrugged, putting on your best innocent face. “Honestly, he should be thanking me. I could’ve done worse, and I didn’t. I restrained myself.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “Yeah, ‘restraint,’ sure. You call throwing a grown man through a window ‘restrained’? I’d hate to see what happens when you don’t hold back.”

Before you could fire back with a witty retort, Fury cleared his throat, cutting through the banter like a knife. The room fell silent almost instantly, the lingering laughter evaporating as all eyes turned toward him. He stood at the head of the table, arms folded, his expression unreadable but carrying that familiar weight of authority that demanded attention.

Fury stepped forward, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade—sharp, no-nonsense, and to the point. “Alright,” he said, deadpan, “as much as I enjoy watching you three play ‘who’s the biggest pain in my ass,’ we’ve got work to do.”

The playful atmosphere between you, Sam, and Bucky deflated as quickly as it had started. You straightened your posture almost instinctively, the weight of Fury’s words settling in. He wasn’t one for idle chit-chat, and when he said it was time to focus, you knew things were about to get serious.

Fury took a few steps closer to the table, his lone eye sweeping over the three of you, assessing, calculating. That look he gave when he was lining up all the pieces on the chessboard. “You’re heading to Eastern Europe—remote location, off the grid. It’s a small facility buried in the mountains, not on any map you’ll find.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What kind of facility?”

Fury’s gaze remained steady. “One that’s been under the radar for too long. Intel says it’s being used to build weapons—specifically designed to neutralize Inhumans. Think of it as an experimental lab with a military-grade twist.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Neutralize how? Are we talking suppression, or...?”

“Termination,” Fury finished, not missing a beat. “These weapons are built to stop them dead in their tracks—literally. We’re talking tech that can disable powers and take down the ones who wield them. And it’s not just the weapons we’re worried about. The people behind this? They’re not amateurs. They’re smart, well-funded, and ruthless.”

Bucky glanced at you, then back to Fury. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “So, what’s the plan?”

Fury’s lips tightened. “You go in, retrieve the data on these weapons, and destroy anything that can’t be moved. We don’t leave any trace of this operation behind.”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And we’re doing this alone?”

Fury shook his head, a shadow of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “No. You’ll have help. Someone’s already on the ground, gathering intel.”

You raised an eyebrow, the curiosity deepening. “Who’s the help?”

Fury’s smirk widened just a fraction, his eye gleaming with an almost amused glint. “I’ve got a feeling you and her will get along pretty well.”

That caught your attention. “Her?”

Fury just stared at you, the smirk never quite leaving his face. He didn’t answer directly, letting the mystery hang in the air like a challenge. “Let’s just say she’s more than capable of holding her own. You’ll meet her when you land.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shot you a look. “You know, I’m starting to think he enjoys keeping us in the dark.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Oh, he definitely does.”

Fury ignored the side comments, his tone shifting back to business. “She’s been embedded in that facility for weeks. Knows the layout, the personnel, and the security protocols. She’s the reason you’re going to walk in and out without setting off a single alarm.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, “And we can trust her?”

Fury’s smirk faded, his expression becoming stone-cold serious. “If I didn’t trust her, she wouldn’t be on this op. That’s all you need to know.”

You exchanged a glance with Sam and Bucky, the tension between the three of you palpable. Whoever this mystery woman was, Fury had a lot of confidence in her. And if Fury trusted her, that meant she was no ordinary asset. But still, something about walking into an unknown situation with a stranger didn’t sit right.

You leaned forward, crossing your arms on the table. “Alright, Fury. We’ll play along. But if this goes sideways—”

Fury cut you off, his voice firm. “It won’t. She’s good at what she does. All you need to worry about is getting in, getting the data, and getting out.”

Sam gave you a sidelong glance, grinning slightly. “You hear that? Worry about getting in and out. No ‘improvising.’”

You snorted, shooting him a smirk. “I don’t improvise without good reason.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you don’t.”

Fury sighed, shaking his head. “I swear, if you three don’t get this done clean, I’m leaving you in Eastern Europe.”

You grinned wider, leaning back in your chair. “Relax, Fury. We’ll be in and out before they even know we’re there.”

Fury’s eye flicked between the three of you, clearly unconvinced but resigned to the fact that this was his team. “I know you have contacts. Make some calls." His gaze landed on you, his tone growing more pointed. "Get some rest. You leave in the morning.”

You nodded, standing up from your seat. As you gathered your things, Sam shot you a look, still grinning. “I’m curious who this mystery woman is. Fury’s got that look like he knows something we don’t.”

You shrugged, slinging your jacket over your shoulder. “Whoever she is, she’s gotta be something if Fury’s that confident. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Bucky stood as well, adjusting his jacket. “Let’s just hope she’s not another wildcard.”

You smirked, throwing Bucky a glance over your shoulder as you strode toward the door. “One wildcard’s enough for this team, don’t you think?”

Bucky snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and that wildcard is you.”

Sam chuckled in agreement, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “No argument here.”

You mock-pouted, shifting your gaze between Sam and Bucky, your tone exaggerated for effect. “Yeah, I feel like I’m being bullied here. You two beg me to come back, and all you do is roast me the whole time.”

Sam broke into a wide grin, clearly unbothered by the accusation. “Hey, we roast because we care.”

Bucky gave a half-shrug, his smirk barely hidden. “It’s a sign of affection. You should be flattered.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Sure, that’s what it is.”

Flashing them both a quick grin, you turned and stepped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the playful banter like a curtain falling between acts. The cheerful, easy atmosphere evaporated as you found yourself alone in the dimly lit hallway, the quiet settling in around you.

Her.

Fury’s cryptic comment about the mystery woman still echoed in your mind. Whoever she was, he seemed confident you two would hit it off. But that could mean anything coming from Fury. He wasn’t exactly known for his straightforwardness, and when he said you’d get along, it could be his way of saying you’d end up liking her—or that you’d butt heads until sparks flew. Either way, if she was half as good as Fury hinted, maybe this mission would go smoother than usual.

Maybe.

You pushed open the door leading outside, stepping into the cool evening air. The sky was a deep shade of blue, the stars just beginning to peek through the fading light. You reached into your back pocket, pulling out your phone as you leaned against the porch railing. You knew exactly who you could call—someone with the kind of connections that could keep an ear out for intel.

But did you want to call him? Absolutely not.

The last time you saw him… well, you’d made it perfectly clear that it was a one-time thing. No strings, no complications. Once you walked out of his hotel room, that was it. The only thing you’d heard about him since was the message telling you he made it to Charles Xavier’s school, which had been a relief. You never wanted him to think you cared too much, but a part of you was glad he had found his place—somewhere far away from you.

You scrolled through your contacts, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten as your finger hovered over his name: Remy LeBeau. You stared at the screen for a long moment, debating whether or not this was a good idea.

It’s just a phone call…

You muttered under your breath, “Alright then,” as you pressed the call button and switched the phone to speaker mode, setting it on your knee while you sat on the porch steps. The cool evening air brushed against your skin, a small reprieve from the pressure building in your chest. The phone rang once. Twice.

Then his voice—smooth, honeyed, and unmistakably Cajun—came through the line.

“Well, well, well… look who’s callin’ ol’ Remy. Thought you’d forgotten ‘bout me, chère.”

You rolled your eyes, despite the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying. I was just scrolling through my contacts and thought, ‘Hmm, who annoys me the most?’ And wouldn’t you know it? Your name popped up.”

There was a pause on the other end, but you could practically hear the grin spreading across his face. “Ahhh, so dat’s how it is, huh? Not even a ‘How you doin’, Remy? Missed ya, Remy?’”

Before you could answer, the door behind you creaked open, and you glanced back to see Bucky stepping out. He gave you a curious look before plopping down on the porch beside you. You cleared your throat, giving him a playful wag of your eyebrows.

“Alright, fine,” you said into the phone, your tone dry. “How are you, Remy? Last time we met, you blasted me to the other side of the state with a fucking Uno card.”

A rich chuckle echoed through the speaker, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Chère, you punched me through a brick wall first. I’d say dat makes us even.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, well, I’d say you deserved it.” You shot a glance at Bucky, who was shaking his head, smiling at your banter. It was clear he was enjoying the show.

Remy’s voice dropped a little, teasing, “Depends on what you think I deserved, ma belle. ‘Cause I remember a night where you thought I deserved a whole lot more.” The night with Remy had been a collision of chaos and inevitability—two forces that had been circling each other for far too long, finally crashing together in a moment of reckless abandon.

You hadn’t planned it. Hell, you hadn’t even wanted it, at least not consciously. Everything leading up to that moment was supposed to be purely professional—a job, a mission, a means to an end. But somewhere between chasing him through the narrow, twisting streets of New Orleans and that final standoff in the abandoned warehouse, something shifted. Something in the way he looked at you, the way he moved, the way he knew exactly how to push your buttons and get under your skin.

You were angry. Furious, actually. He’d always had this ability to infuriate you more than anyone else, to make your blood boil with a single smirk or a well-placed quip. He knew exactly how to play the game, and worse, he knew how to play you.

When you punched him through that wall, it was supposed to be the end of it. It was supposed to be over. But instead, when he came back at you, pinning you against the crumbling brick, there was something different in his eyes—something dangerous, yes, but also something raw and unspoken.

You could still feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he leaned in close, his voice low and teasing. “You sure you want me to stop, chère?”

You should have said yes. You should have shoved him off, thrown another punch, done anything but what you’d actually done.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you’d felt that pull—the same pull that had been simmering beneath the surface for years. That electric tension, that unspoken something that you’d both been ignoring, pretending didn’t exist. And in that moment, you’d let it take over. You’d let it win.

When his lips finally met yours, it was fire. It was reckless and impulsive and everything you knew you shouldn’t be doing, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Your hands were in his hair, his hands were on your waist, and it wasn’t long before the fight between you turned into something else entirely—something far more dangerous.

The room blurred after that. The world outside ceased to matter. It was just the two of you—two people who had been dancing around each other for too long, finally giving in.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. There was only the heat, the way his body pressed against yours, the way he somehow knew exactly where to touch, how to make you gasp, how to make you want more. It was messy and unrestrained, a rush of adrenaline and pent-up frustration that spilled out in ways neither of you had planned.

You groaned, running a hand over your face. “Oh, for the love of—Remy, can we not do this right now?”

“You brought it up, chère. Just followin’ your lead.”

Clearing your throat, you turned your attention back to the phone. “Anyway, as much as I love walking down memory lane with you, I actually need something.”

“Ahh, business, den?” Remy’s tone shifted slightly, though the playful undercurrent remained. “Alright, chérie, what you need?”

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at Bucky before speaking. “I need you to keep an ear out. You and the rest of your team. Inhumans are going missing.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and then you heard some muffled voices, like Remy was talking to someone else. You raised your eyebrows at Bucky, who gave you a nonchalant shrug, clearly waiting for the conversation to unfold.

Remy came back on the line. “Hold up. Got de team here. Can you explain it to dem?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sure, why the hell not?” You shifted the phone slightly, making sure it was positioned right on your knee. “Here’s the situation: Inhumans are disappearing, and someone’s stealing weapons specifically designed to terminate them. These aren’t just suppression devices. We’re talking about tech built to kill.”

There was a low whistle from Remy on the other end of the line. “Damn, sounds like you got yourself a real mess, ma belle, You wouldn’t happen to be plannin’ somethin’, would ya?”

You exchanged a glance with Bucky, who raised his eyebrows in silent amusement. “What makes you think that?” you asked, your tone innocent but laced with sarcasm.

“Chère, I know you. You don’t get involved unless you got a plan to blow somethin’ up.”

Bucky snorted next to you, leaning back on his elbows. “She’s not blowing anything up,” he interjected, his voice dry.

You gave him a playful shrug. “You never know.” Then, turning your attention back to the phone, you added, “We’re going on an adventure. Heading to Europe tomorrow to… well, shake things up.”

Remy chuckled softly. “Ahhh, Europe, huh? Sounds like a real vacation. Y’ got your SPF packed?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that kind of trip, Remy.”

“I figured. But don’t pretend you ain’t plannin’ on stirrin’ up some trouble. You always do.”

“Look,” you said, “just keep your ears open. Let me know if you hear anything about these weapons or the people behind them.”

There was a pause, and you heard Remy step away from what sounded like a crowd, his voice growing quieter, more serious. “These weapons… they can really kill Inhumans?”

You exhaled, the weight of his question pressing down on you. “Yeah, they can.”

The line was silent for a moment, the tension hanging in the air. When Remy spoke again, his voice was low, but the sincerity in it was unmistakable. “You be careful out there, chère. You hear me? Don’t go gettin’ yourself hurt, ‘specially not for somethin’ like dis. Call me if you need backup.”

You laughed softly, though there was a tightness in your chest. “I’m the backup, apparently.”

Remy chuckled darkly. “Yeah, well, even de backup can need help sometimes.”

You glanced at Bucky, who was watching you closely, his arms crossed over his chest. You gave him a small smile, but your mind was still on the mission ahead.

“Thanks, Remy,” you said, your voice softening just a touch. “I mean it.”

“Anytime, ma belle. You know where to find me.”

With that, the line went dead, leaving you staring at your phone for a moment longer. The echo of Remy’s voice lingered in your head, the way his concern had slipped through, buried beneath all his usual teasing. Part of you hated that he still cared, that he could still get to you after all this time. But if you were being honest—really honest with yourself—another part of you was relieved. Relieved that, despite all the chaos, someone out there still had your back.

Bucky shifted beside you, drawing your attention. He had that look on his face—the one where he was trying to pretend he wasn’t curious but failed miserably at hiding it.

“So... who’s this Remy?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with interest.

You pocketed your phone, not quite meeting his eyes. “Remember that mission in New Orleans a few years ago?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed for a second before recognition dawned. “Mmhmm. The, uh, heists? Stolen artifacts?”

“Yeah, that guy,” you said, your voice deliberately casual as you scrolled through your phone, doing your best to ignore the way Bucky was now openly staring at you, his curiosity ramping up with each passing second.

Bucky nodded slowly, his expression shifting as he pieced it together. “Wait… you’re telling me you slept with the guy we were supposed to apprehend?”

You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen of your phone. There was no point in denying it. You knew Bucky well enough to know when he had you pegged. So, with a small shrug, you replied, “To be fair, if you ever met Remy, you’d probably also sleep with him. He’s just that type of guy.”

Bucky blinked, then shook his head, letting out a surprised laugh. “That type of guy, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smirk, “the type that can charm the pants off anyone.” You tilted your head, shooting him a playful look. “Literally.”

Bucky held his hands up in mock surrender. “No offense taken. Just... didn’t peg you as the ‘sleep with the target’ type back then.”

You chuckled, leaning back against the porch railing. “Trust me, neither did I. But Remy... he’s complicated. Always was.”

Bucky let out another laugh, but there was something softer in his expression now, something more understanding. “I get it. Sometimes things happen in the field that you can’t plan for.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Just didn’t expect you to be so... enthusiastic about it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “It was a long time ago, Buck.”

“Doesn’t seem like that  long ago,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. You sighed, already knowing where this conversation was headed. Bucky always had a way of cutting through the banter when it mattered, of seeing past your sharp words and deflection, straight to the heart of things. He could sense the weight you were carrying, the edge in your voice you didn’t want to acknowledge. And sure enough, his next words weren’t teasing. They were deadly serious.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Remy’s right. You need to be careful.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. You weren’t used to seeing Bucky like this—so openly worried, so raw. “I’m always careful,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended, a reflexive defense.

But Bucky wasn’t buying it. He gave you that look—the one that could cut through any bullshit you threw his way. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening just slightly, the tension radiating off him in waves. His eyes, usually calm and steady, were now shadowed with something deeper, something that tugged at the pit of your stomach.

“Really?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in that way that made you feel like you were missing something obvious. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re about to throw yourself into the middle of something dangerous. And I know you—when you get deep into this stuff, especially when it’s something like this, you don’t always think about yourself.”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, to brush off his concern with the usual quip, but Bucky cut you off before you could say a word.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice dropping low enough that it sent a shiver up your spine. He leaned in closer, his hand resting on his knee, fingers clenching into a tight fist. “These weapons you’re talking about? They’re not just a threat to the mission—they’re a threat to you.”

There was something in the way he said it, the way his voice faltered slightly at the end, that made you stop. Made you really look at him. His eyes were filled with a worry you hadn’t seen in a long time—not just the kind of concern you’d expect from a teammate headed into a dangerous mission, but something more. Something almost vulnerable. He wasn’t just worried about the mission going sideways. He was worried about you—about losing you.

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you both thickening, the air growing heavy with what was left unsaid. Bucky wasn’t someone who wore his emotions on his sleeve, not like this. He kept things close to the chest, locked up tight behind walls he’d built over decades of pain and loss. But right now, sitting next to you, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that made your heart twist, he wasn’t hiding anything.

He was scared.

“Bucky,” you started, trying to find the right words, the right way to ease the worry in his eyes. “It’s just like any other mission. I’m not invincible. I know that. Anything can kill me.”

He let out a long, frustrated sigh, his head tipping back slightly as if trying to gather his thoughts. When he looked at you again, there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—something sharper, more personal.

“But it’s not like every other mission, is it?” he asked, his tone softer now, but no less urgent. “This isn’t just some random op. This is personal for you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t—that you were fine, that you had it under control—but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

This mission was different.

You had been on dangerous assignments before, faced down threats that would have sent anyone else running in the opposite direction. You had dealt with mercenaries, terrorists, assassins, and gods. You’d been shot, stabbed, thrown through walls, and walked away each time with little more than bruises and scars, each one a testament to your survival. You had faced down death more times than you cared to count, and somehow, you’d always pulled through.

But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the danger of the mission. It wasn’t just the weapons designed to kill people like you, to strip away every advantage you’d ever had in a fight. It was the weight of it—the personal stakes, the way the faces of the missing haunted you, how it felt like the world was closing in, and the people you cared about were at the center of it. And now, as you stood on the edge of another mission, the fear wasn’t just about whether or not you’d make it out alive. It was about whether you’d come back the same.

Bucky shifted beside you, the two of you sitting in the quiet aftermath of his words. The worry in his eyes was still there, but now it was mixed with something heavier, something deeper that you hadn’t fully comprehended until now. He let out a small sigh, his gaze drifting away from you for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee like he was working through what he wanted to say next. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his brow furrowing just slightly as if trying to find the right words.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence between you stretched, thick and palpable, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a storm cloud about to break. You watched him, the way his eyes flickered with unspoken thoughts, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. You could sense it before he even said anything—this wasn’t just another conversation about the mission. This was something deeper, something raw.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough around the edges, as if the words were scraping against his throat. He still wasn’t looking at you, his eyes focused on something far off in the distance, something only he could see.

“I’ve been to war,” he began, his tone calm but tinged with an exhaustion that ran deeper than just physical tiredness. It was the kind of exhaustion that came from carrying too many burdens for too long. “I’ve seen things... done things... that I don’t talk about. Things I’m not proud of.”

His hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles going white as he clenched it against his thigh, like he was trying to hold something back. “I’ve been brainwashed, manipulated, used as a weapon. I’ve had my mind taken from me, my choices ripped away. I’ve been forced to do things—terrible things. And I’ve lost... God, I’ve lost more than you can even think about.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word *lost*, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability in him that he rarely ever let anyone see. His gaze shifted downward, like he couldn’t bear to look at you in that moment, like the weight of everything he’d been through was too much to hold your gaze.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“I got through it,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was talking more to himself than to you. His eyes finally met yours, and they were filled with a kind of haunted resignation. “I survived. I kept going because... well, because I had to. I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep moving forward, even when I didn’t want to.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening again as he fought to keep his emotions in check. But the cracks were showing now, the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself starting to crumble in front of you.

“But,” he said, and the word hung in the air, heavy and final. He hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed again, this time more slowly, like he was trying to gather the strength to say what came next. His eyes softened, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a knife.

“I think if I lost you...”

He trailed off, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to finish the sentence. His hand, the one that wasn’t made of vibranium, unclenched and hovered in the air for a second before he let it drop back to his side. His eyes searched yours, raw and open in a way you’d never seen before. A way that made your heart ache.

“I don’t think I could cope,” he finally admitted, his voice cracking again, this time with an emotion so deep it made your chest tighten. “I’ve lost so much already. More than anyone should. But you...”

He paused, his eyes flickering with something that looked like fear—real, unguarded fear. “You’re different. You’re...”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his words hung between you, unfinished but heavy with meaning. You were more than just a teammate to him, more than just someone he fought beside. You were a lifeline. A connection to the world, to something real and grounding. And the thought of losing you—of you not coming back from this mission—was a weight he didn’t know how to bear.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as the full weight of what he was saying settled over you. Bucky Barnes, the man who had faced down gods and monsters, who had lived through a century of war and torment, was afraid of losing you. And not just afraid—terrified.

Suddenly, everything about this mission felt different. The stakes weren’t just about the people you were trying to save, or the weapons you were trying to stop. They were about the people you’d leave behind if you didn’t come back. The people who cared about you, who needed you just as much as you needed them.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as a thousand possible responses raced through your mind. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him that you’d be fine, that you’d come back just like you always did. But the words felt hollow, empty, as if they would shatter the moment they left your mouth. Because deep down, you knew the truth—you couldn’t make that promise. Not this time. Not with what you were walking into. Not with these weapons.

“I...” You hesitated, the weight of his confession pressing down on you like a physical thing, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the raw emotion in the air between you, the unspoken fear and frustration. “Bucky, I—”

But before you could finish, Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his fingers digging in as if he could pull the frustration out of his scalp. He let out a sharp breath, a mix of a sigh and a growl, his eyes flashing with an intensity you didn’t see often. “I’m angry,” he said, his voice rough, “I’m angry at Fury, at Sam—hell, at everyone—for wanting to drag you into this. They’re putting you at risk,” he spat, his voice low but fierce, as if the mere thought of it set his blood boiling. “And for what? Because they think you’re the best shot at stopping this? Because they think you can handle it? They’re willing to gamble with your life, and I’m supposed to just sit here and be okay with it?”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your own frustration start to build in response to his. “I can handle it, Bucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s why Fury asked you to bring me in. I’ve done this before. I’ve faced worse.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening , his presence looming larger now, as if the raw emotion he was feeling was physically radiating off him. “Worse? Worse than weapons designed to kill people like you? To neutralize everything that makes you who you are?”

His words cut through you, sharp and unrelenting. And the way he said it—like the very idea of you being vulnerable, of you losing—was something he couldn’t even bear to think about.

“This isn’t just another mission, and you know that,” Bucky continued, his voice rising as the anger he’d been holding onto finally broke free. “This isn’t some mercenary with a gun, or a terrorist group with a bomb. These are weapons designed to end people like you. They’re not going to miss. They’re not going to give you a second chance. One wrong move, and you’re—”

“Dead?” you interrupted, your voice hardening as your own anger flared to life. “Yeah, I know that, Bucky. I’m not stupid. But you think I don’t know the risks? You think I haven’t considered what could happen?”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, his expression twisting with frustration. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You know the risks, but you’re still willing to throw yourself into it. You always do this—you always think you have to be the one to save everyone, to take the hit so no one else has to. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s...”

His voice broke off, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened, replaced by something rawer, more vulnerable. “This time, it’s you. This time you’re the one that needs saving.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of Bucky’s words settling deep in your gut. He wasn’t just angry about the mission, not really. He was angry because it was you—because this time, the risk was almost too real, too close to home. This time, it wasn’t some faceless threat or a distant danger. It was something that could take you away from him, and that terrified him.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips despite the tightness in your throat. “You think I want to be in this position? You think I don’t know how dangerous this is?” Your voice cracked, your words sharper than you intended, but you didn’t pull back. You couldn’t. Not now. “Bucky, I was done with all this. I had walked away. Hell, I wasn’t exactly happy, but I was... I was content. I was safe.”

You saw a flicker in his eyes—was it pain? Understanding? Maybe both. But it didn’t matter. The words were spilling out of you before you could stop them. “But then you knocked on my door. And you know damn well I’d never say no. Not to you.”

The truth hung between you like a blade suspended in the air, sharp and unspoken, its weight pressing down, impossible to ignore. You felt it in your chest, heavy as a boulder neither of you knew how to move. You had been out. You had built something resembling a life, a fragile, quiet existence that wasn’t perfect but was safe. And yet, all it had taken was him—just Bucky—to pull you back into the chaos. And he knew that. He had to know that.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, standing on the edge of something, but it was the silence between you that roared the loudest. It felt like standing at the precipice of something dark and uncertain, something you both knew was there but hadn’t allowed yourselves to fully face.

His eyes softened, just for a second, like he’d let his guard slip. You could feel the unspoken feelings swirling in the air between you, thick and tangible. This wasn’t just about the mission. It wasn’t even just about the danger. It was about you. About him. About the way your lives had become so entangled that even the thought of losing each other was too much to bear.

Bucky’s gaze held yours, and you could see it—feel it—just under the surface. The way his eyes lingered a beat too long, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when you said his name. He looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to the world, like losing you would destroy the last piece of himself he had left. And God, you felt the same way. You had for a long time.

This wasn’t just about the fights you’d been through together or the missions you’d survived. It was about the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile between you. It was the way your heart raced whenever he was too close, how you knew with absolute certainty that you’d follow him anywhere, no matter the cost.

You weren’t sure when it had happened—when that line had blurred. Maybe it had always been like this, simmering under the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free. But standing here now, with the ocean roaring beneath you and the future uncertain, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

Neither of you could.

The space between you felt like it was shrinking, the weight of all the things you hadn’t said pressing down on your chest like a physical weight. It was suffocating, the silence heavier than the wind whipping around you. You could see it in his eyes—the way they flickered with something raw and unguarded, something vulnerable that Bucky never let anyone see. But you saw it. You always saw it.

And for the first time, you realized just how much this wasn’t about the mission, or the danger, or the weapons. This wasn’t just about the threats you faced together every time you were called in to save the world. This was about you. Because you were more than just a partner to him. You were more than just someone who fought by his side.

“But why does it always have to be you?” Bucky’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper, like he was holding back something much bigger than words. “Why do you always have to be the one to throw yourself into the fire? Why the hell does everyone always go to you when they need something? When it’s dangerous, when it’s impossible, when it’s a goddamn suicide mission—why is it always you?”

You flinched at the rawness in his voice, at the way his words cut through the thin layer of composure you’d been clinging to. His eyes were locked on yours, and in them, you saw everything he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t just asking why the world seemed to throw its worst at you. He was asking why you always took it on. Why you couldn’t just stop. Why, even when you had the chance to walk away, to live a normal life, you let yourself be pulled back into the storm.

And deep down, you knew the answer. You knew why you kept doing this. But the answer wasn’t something you could explain—not to him. Not when you could barely explain it to yourself.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in your throat. You weren’t sure you had the strength to tell him the truth. That it wasn’t just about the mission. That it wasn’t just about saving the world or doing the right thing. It was about him. About being there for him, because the thought of him facing this without you, the thought of him being out there alone, was unbearable.

Before you could find your voice, the cabin door creaked open, and Sam stepped out onto the porch, his presence breaking the tension like a sudden gust of cold air.

“Everything okay out here?” Sam asked, his eyes flicking between you and Bucky, clearly sensing the heavy silence that had settled between you.

For a moment, you and Bucky just stared at each other, the unspoken words still hanging in the space between you, thick and suffocating. His gaze didn’t leave yours, and for a split second, you thought he might say something. Something real. Something that would shatter whatever fragile barrier had been holding the two of you apart. But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that raw vulnerability in his eyes was gone, replaced by the familiar mask he wore so well.

Bucky’s gaze lazily shifted to Sam, his voice flat as he replied, “Everything’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach—the unfinished conversation, the things neither of you had said. The truth that lingered just beneath the surface, too dangerous to confront but impossible to ignore.

Bucky stood up from the porch, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was putting distance between you and whatever it was that had almost been said. His eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer, and you could see it—the fear, the anger, the love—all of it, buried beneath layers of walls he’d spent years building. But he didn’t say a word.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said simply, his voice devoid of the emotion that had been there just moments before. And then, without another glance, he moved past Sam and walked back into the cabin, the door closing behind him with a soft thud that felt far too final.

You sat there, staring after him, your heart pounding in your chest, everything you hadn’t said still lodged in your throat. You wanted to call after him, to stop him, to tell him the truth. That it wasn’t just about the mission. That it wasn’t just about saving the world. That you were doing this because you loved him. But the words wouldn’t come.

Sam stood there for a moment, his brow furrowed as he looked between you and the now-closed door. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch on, as if he knew that whatever had just happened between you and Bucky was something too fragile, too complicated to pry into.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Sam asked again, his voice softer this time, like he already knew the answer.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s fine.”

But as you sat there, staring at the empty space where Bucky had been, you knew that everything was far from fine. You had stood on the edge of something with him—something real, something terrifying—and you had both stepped back. For now.

But you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep stepping back. Because the truth was, you were already in too deep. And so was he.

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Three

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: none, fluff as always and some angst

Part One | Part Two

Masterlist

As you step through the door, balancing the warm pie in your hands, a flurry of laughter and chatter greets you. 

“Miss Y/L/N is here!” Elizabeth shouts excitedly and grabs your free hand, practically dancing you inside. 

“Hey!” Steve appears from the kitchen, giving you a welcoming smile and takes the pie from your hands. “Glad you could make it.”

Before you have a chance to reply, Elizabeth pulls you further into the gathering, introducing you Sam, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce, all gathered around with warm smiles and friendly greetings. Bucky hovers a little ways back, hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders a touch tense. His eyes meet yours, just for a moment, and he gives you a small, slightly shy smile before looking away.

As you all move into the living room, the group’s easy chatter and laughter fill the air. You find yourself among a mix of friendly faces, each one seeming to bring something special to the room. Sam, ever the conversationalist, quickly pulls you into a story about an “epic” camping trip that had apparently ended with him rescuing Bucky from a raccoon, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Trust me,” Sam says with a grin, “Bucky here might look tough, but get him in the woods, and he’s toast. Isn’t that right, Buck?”

Bucky, leaning back with his arms crossed, rolls his eyes, clearly amused but trying to hide a smile. “I’d like to see you handle it any better, Wilson,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on,” Sam says, his gaze sliding toward you with a gleam of mischief. “He talks a big game, but you wouldn’t believe how much he’s told us about you.”

You feel a surprised blush creeping up, and Bucky’s expression goes from mildly amused to visibly embarrassed in seconds. “Sam,” he warns, his voice low but lacking any real bite.

Sam just smirks, clearly having too much fun. “What? You can’t spend weeks talking about someone and then get shy now that she’s actually here.” He turns back to you with a wink. “Honestly, we were starting to wonder if you were even real.”

Everyone laughs, and you can’t help but join in, glancing over at Bucky, who’s now rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze but clearly fighting a smile. “Don’t let him get to you,” he says, half under his breath, still looking anywhere but at you.

“It’s nice to know I made such an impression,” you say lightly, hoping to ease his nerves.

Natasha chimes in, leaning forward with a teasing smile. “Oh, he’s told us plenty. All good things, I assure you.”

Bucky’s face reddens slightly, and he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. You smile, touched by how endearing his shyness is. There’s something reassuring in knowing he might have felt the same quiet, lingering thoughts about you as you have about him.

You excuse yourself, wanting to say hi to Peggy, who you haven’t seen for a while for school pickup. 

In the cozy warmth of the kitchen, there is Elizabeth and Peggy, who is finishing up the last touches on dinner. The scent of roasted vegetables and warm spices fills the air as Elizabeth stands on her tiptoes, carefully sprinkling fresh herbs over a dish. She’s focused, her little hands steady, but when she sees you step into the kitchen, her face lights up.

“Come help!” she whispers, gesturing you over with a small wave.

“Oh hi Y/N. It’s so good to see you again! Elizabeth is so excited to have you over.” Peggy smiles brightly as she pulls you into a hug quickly. 

“I really appreciate the invite. Can I help with anything?” You offer your service up. You always hate showing up empty handed or standing around while the hosts do everything. 

“Elizabeth, why don’t you help Miss Y/L/N set the table?” Peggy hands her napkins while gesturing to the remaining dishes on the counter. 

You follow Elizabeth’s lead, handing her each item as you arrange the table. Elizabeth glances around to make sure no one is paying attention, then leans close, her voice low.

“Guess what?” she whispers conspiratorially, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Uncle Bucky likes you. He told me you’re his favorite friend.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. You look down to hide it, but as you lift your gaze again, your eyes meet Bucky’s across the room. He’s leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching the two of you with a gentle expression. The second he realizes you’re looking back, his eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shifts his gaze to the floor, looking like he’s been caught.

You try to laugh it off, but you can’t help glancing back at Bucky. This time, he’s watching you more openly, his gaze soft and unguarded, as if he’s allowing himself to hope. The rest of the room fades for a moment, and in that shared look, a quiet understanding passes between you—a feeling unspoken but undeniable, settling in the spaces between words.

Elizabeth tugs your sleeve gently, breaking the spell. “See?” she whispers with a grin. “I knew he liked you.”

The table is soon filled with food, and everyone finds their seat. You end up across from Bucky, who seems even quieter than usual, his gaze flicking between his plate and the people around him. When your eyes meet across the table, he gives you another brief, tentative smile before focusing back on his mashed potatoes.

As everyone digs into their food, Natasha catches you up on a few funny stories about Steve, who rolls his eyes but laughs along. Clint chimes in with his own antics, earning a lighthearted smack from Natasha, and the easy laughter fills the room, warming the space around you. Bucky seems to relax as he listens to them, glancing your way every so often but always looking away just as quickly.

As dinner progresses, you’re drawn into lively conversations with the others around the table. Bruce, sitting to your left, asks about your work, genuinely interested, his warm smile making you feel right at home.

“So, how long have you been teaching?” Bruce asks, leaning in as the others pass around dessert plates.

“Quite awhile now, almost eight years,” you reply, glancing over at Elizabeth, who’s absorbed in a chat with Peggy about the cookies they baked together earlier. “It’s challenging, but it’s worth every bit of effort. Kids like Elizabeth make it all so rewarding.”

Across the table, Bucky catches your eye. He’s been quiet throughout the meal, but there’s a look in his eyes—a mixture of admiration and something deeper—that makes your heart skip a beat. He gives you a small, almost shy smile, as if he’s only just realizing how much he appreciates having you here. You feel a warmth settle over you, a silent exchange that says more than words could.

“So, Y/N,” Natasha says from down the table, her voice pulling you back into the moment, “you seem to be handling our chaos well.”

“Oh, it’s definitely been entertaining,” you laugh, glancing around. “But in a good way. I think I could get used to this.”

Natasha grins, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re sticking around, maybe you’ll be here long enough to see us all argue over board games next,” she says, her tone mischievous.

Steve chuckles, setting his fork down. “Careful—Nat’s competitive streak knows no bounds. She once beat Clint’s winning streak at Uno, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t forgiven her yet.”

“Rematch is on the agenda,” Clint interjects with a dramatic sigh, giving Natasha a pointed look. “Just wait until tonight.”

“See?” Sam says, throwing you a wink. “If you’re up for some cutthroat board gaming, you’re in for a real treat.”

You smile, settling back into your chair, and your gaze drifts back to Bucky. Across the table, his expression softens as he watches you, his thumb absently rubbing along the rim of his glass. There’s an unspoken connection building between you, and you can feel it more clearly with each shared glance, every gentle smile that passes between you two.

As the evening begins to wind down, you find yourself surrounding the coffee table with the others as an intense game of Uno is being played. You’ve practically given up at this point as Sam has conveniently played all his pick twos and fours on you. 

“UNO!” Clint yells as he holds one card in his hands, staring Natasha down. Natasha actually looks nervous and annoyed by the five cards in her hands. 

“Okay you suck Barton. You got lucky.” Natasha tosses a card down, then Bruce, Peggy, Steve, Sam and finally you, until it gets to Clint again, who plays his remaining card, winning the game. 

Clint grins triumphantly, leaning back with his arms crossed, basking in the group’s groans of defeat. “What can I say? Skill like this can’t be taught,” he teases, earning a playful nudge from Natasha.

“Oh, enjoy it while it lasts,” she retorts, narrowing her eyes at him with a smirk. “I’m coming for you next round.”

As the group resets the cards for another round, you glance around the room, only to realize that Bucky and Elizabeth are no longer there. You hadn’t noticed them slip away, but the absence of their presence makes you suddenly curious.

Excusing yourself, you rise from the couch and quietly make your way down the hallway, glancing into a few rooms before pausing at Elizabeth’s bedroom door. Inside, you spot them: Bucky, seated cross-legged on the floor, and Elizabeth, eagerly arranging a circle of dolls in front of him.

Elizabeth is chattering away, explaining the intricate backstory of each doll, while Bucky listens intently, nodding with the utmost seriousness. The sight is both heartwarming and a little amusing—Bucky, who so often keeps to himself, fully engrossed in this imaginary world with her.

“...and she’s the queen, so she makes all the rules,” Elizabeth says firmly, placing a doll in a paper crown in front of Bucky. “And you have to be the king. That’s the rule.”

Bucky lifts the doll she hands him with gentle fingers, studying it with a small, genuine smile. “The king, huh? What’s he supposed to do?”

“He has to make sure everyone is safe,” Elizabeth replies, glancing up at him with an adoring look. “And be brave.”

You feel yourself smiling, charmed by the way he goes along with her game without a trace of reluctance. Leaning against the doorframe, you clear your throat softly, and Bucky’s head snaps up, surprised. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken there—an almost shy warmth that makes your heart race.

“Oh, hi!” Elizabeth says, beaming when she sees you. “Do you want to play, too?”

You step inside, kneeling down beside them. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your royal council,” you say with a grin, looking between them.

“Nonsense,” Bucky says, giving you a playful look as he scoots over to make room for you. “Every kingdom needs a trusted advisor.”

Settling in beside them, you pick up a doll, and the three of you quickly fall into an easy rhythm, building an imaginary world that feels as warm as the room around you. At one point, your hand brushes against Bucky’s, lingering there for a moment, and he glances at you with that same gentle, quiet smile. There’s something comforting—and thrilling—about being here like this with him.

When Elizabeth leans forward to adjust the queen’s crown, Bucky catches your eye again, his gaze lingering, filled with a depth you hadn’t quite noticed before tonight. There’s a silent understanding between you, one that promises more than either of you have said aloud yet.

And for now, that’s enough.

As the evening winds down, the group gradually disperses, the air filled with laughter and a lingering warmth that only a night with friends can bring. One by one, the others begin saying their goodbyes, each of them giving you a warm smile or a quick hug, leaving you feeling more at home than you’ve felt in a long time.

Elizabeth, exhausted from the excitement, gives you a sleepy smile as Peggy ushers her toward her room. “Thanks for playing with us,” she murmurs, her eyes heavy-lidded. You smile and squeeze her hand gently.

“Anytime,” you reply softly. “You were the best queen tonight.”

Elizabeth beams at you, her face lighting up for just a moment before she stifles a yawn and allows Peggy to lead her away. You watch her disappear down the hall, feeling an unexpected warmth in your chest.

When you turn back to the living room, Bucky is there, his hands tucked into his pockets, a soft smile on his face. The others have mostly gone, leaving just the two of you in the quiet, cozy glow of the dimmed lights.

“Looks like you’re about to head out too,” he says quietly, his voice low and slightly raspy from the night of talking.

You nod, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Yeah, it’s getting late,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, though your heart is racing a bit.

He steps forward, hesitating for just a moment, his gaze lingering on yours with that same softness that’s been there all night. “Thanks for coming. Elizabeth had a great time tonight,” he says, his voice warm. “And… so did I.”

The two of you stand in silence for a beat, neither one of you quite ready to break whatever has been building between you since dinner. He opens his mouth, as if to say something else, but stops, looking at you with a quiet intensity that makes you wonder if he feels it too.

You reach out and gently touch his arm, giving him a small smile. “Thanks for having me over. I really enjoyed tonight… and seeing this side of you,” you add, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his cheeks flushing slightly as his gaze drifts to the floor, a faint smile on his lips. “Maybe, um… we could do this again sometime. Just, you know, without the whole crew.”

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion, warmth spreading through you. “I’d like that,” you say, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for a moment longer. “Here, put your number in and we can talk more about it later.” You grab your phone with shaking hands, flustered from Bucky’s presence. 

Bucky types his name and number, saving it. As you tuck your phone back into your pocket, Bucky glances at you, his blue eyes holding that same softness from earlier, now laced with a spark of anticipation.

“Guess I’ll, uh, see you soon then,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, as if not wanting to break the fragile quiet around you both.

“Yeah, soon,” you reply, your voice coming out softer than intended, carrying all the unspoken things you want to say but aren’t quite ready to. 

Your smile grows as he helps you pull your coat on, and just before you turn to leave, he gives your hand a quick, gentle squeeze—a touch so brief that if you hadn’t been paying attention, you might have missed it. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly, his voice wrapped in that low, comforting tone that you’re starting to find so familiar.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you reply, your voice lingering a little longer than it should, letting the silence stretch between you both for just a breath more.

You step out into the cool night, the air feeling sharper after the warmth of the evening, but your mind is buzzing too much to notice. As you walk down the quiet street, you can still feel the gentle brush of his fingers, the look in his eyes, and the quiet promise hanging in the air between you.

The next day, you find yourself reaching for your phone, unable to resist the urge to text Bucky. After a little mental back and forth, you type out a message and hit send:

You: Morning, Bucky 😊 Hope you and Elizabeth got some rest after last night’s big feast!

It doesn’t take long before he replies:

Bucky: Morning. We definitely did—she practically passed out the second she hit her pillow.

You smile, picturing Elizabeth’s sleepy face and tousled hair, and quickly type a reply.

You: Well, she was a very busy queen last night! Hope you got some rest, too.

Bucky: I did. Kept thinking about how much fun she had with you, though. I think she’d keep you around full-time if she could.

You: It was a perfect end to Friendsgiving! Are you sure you’re up for a repeat next year?

Bucky: Only if you promise to sit across from me again. I’m not sure I could handle it otherwise. 😉

You feel your cheeks warm at the subtle flirtation, and you can’t help but lean into it a little.

You: Oh, so it was my company that kept you going? I’m flattered, Barnes.

There’s a pause, and then a new message pops up:

Bucky: Speaking of… I was thinking about next weekend. I’d like to take you somewhere, if you’re free on Saturday?

Your heart does a little flip. You can almost hear his voice through the words, steady but with a hint of anticipation.

You: Definitely. I’d say I could survive another night of your charm.

Bucky: Oh, you’re in trouble now. I’ve been told I’m even more charming one-on-one.

You: Is that so? Guess I’ll have to brace myself.

He calls suddenly, interrupting your next message, and you pick up, a little caught off guard but excited.

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual, but there’s a definite smile in your voice.

“Hey,” he replies, his tone warm and familiar. “Thought I’d call before I accidentally type a novel. Or break my phone trying.”

You laugh. “Honestly, I was ready to read the whole thing.”

“Noted,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Guess I’ll have to brush up on my typing skills.”

“I don’t mind this though,” you reply softly. “Hearing your voice instead of reading texts.”

There’s a comfortable pause before he speaks again, sounding a bit more relaxed. “I’m looking forward to Saturday… any food preferences, by the way?”

“Nothing fancy,” you say. “Just good company—and maybe a view?”

“Company I’ve got covered. And I know just the place with a great view,” he promises, his voice softening. “I’ll make sure it’s perfect.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he replies, his tone warm. After a beat, he adds, “Thanks for giving this a chance.”

“Thanks for asking,” you reply, the warmth in his voice settling around you like a blanket.

There’s a comfortable silence, neither of you quite ready to say goodbye, as if each shared word and laugh has deepened the connection even further.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice quieter, almost reluctant. “I’ll see you Saturday, then.”

“Looking forward to it,” you reply, a smile on your face.

It’s been a busy week, and the anticipation of your date with Bucky tomorrow has kept a quiet excitement buzzing through you since this morning.

You say goodbye to the students as their parents pick them up. Elizabeth is the last one out running down the hall with a shout of a goodbye to you. You laugh at her eagerness to get to Bucky and you can’t blame her. You’d do the same. 

As you lock up your classroom and exit the school doors, you immediately spot Bucky, leaning against his car parked by the curb, Elizabeth sitting in her carseat with her tablet, watching her favorite Barbie movie. 

Bucky is leaning against his car, looking as relaxed and calm as you’ve ever seen him outside the school. He’s dressed in a deep red henley and dark jeans. It's the small bouquet of flowers in his hands that catches your eye—a simple, elegant arrangement of red roses.

You stop in your tracks for a moment, heart skipping a beat. As if he senses you, he looks up, his face breaking into a grin when he sees you.

"Hey," he says, pushing off the truck slightly and onto the sidewalk with one glance toward Elizabeth to make sure she’s still okay. "I hope you don’t mind. I figured I’d bring you these... thought it might be a nice way to kick off the weekend."

You feel warmth spread through you as he offers you the flowers, and you can’t help but smile. "Bucky... these are beautiful. You really didn’t have to."

He shrugs, a soft laugh escaping him. "I wanted to. Plus, I figured I’d start things off right before our date tomorrow."

You raise an eyebrow, the teasing smile playing on your lips. "Are you trying to set the bar high already, Barnes?"

Bucky looks a little flustered, his cheeks flushing slightly, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. "Well, you know, I’ve gotta keep up with any other contenders to make sure I stay on top." His voice drops a little as he adds, "And I just wanted to make sure you knew I’m really looking forward to tomorrow."

“I can assure you, there is no other competition.” Your heart melts just a little at the sincerity in his voice. "I’m looking forward to it too," you reply softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Bucky's gaze softens as he watches you, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good. Because I think tomorrow's gonna be a lot of fun."

Before the moment can stretch into something heavier, Elizabeth's voice cuts through the air from the car, her high-pitched excitement unmistakable. "Uncle Bucky! Look! Barbie's going to the beach!" she announces proudly, waving her tablet in the air as if it’s a trophy.

You both glance over at her, and Bucky chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. "She's really into that movie lately," he says, a touch of amusement in his voice.

You laugh, watching the little girl practically bouncing in her seat. "Well, Barbie certainly knows how to make an impression."

Bucky smiles at the comment, but there's a soft, almost nostalgic look in his eyes as he watches her. He leans in toward you, his voice quieter this time. "She’s been asking about you, you know. Keeps asking when you’re going to go back over to her house again."

Your heart flutters at the thought. "She’s such a sweetheart," you reply, the warmth in your chest spreading. "I’m glad she likes me."

Bucky’s smile widens, but there's a subtle vulnerability in his expression that makes you pause. "I think she’s kind of hoping you’ll come hang out with us more. I can’t say I blame her."

"Well," you begin, trying to keep the mood light, "it’s hard to say no to such a persuasive little one."

His gaze softens and for a brief second, there’s a quiet intensity between you, the world around you seeming to fade for just a heartbeat. "Alright then. Tomorrow it is," he says with a small nod, his smile growing.

"Definitely," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch him climb into the driver’s seat of the truck, Elizabeth already turning the volume up on her tablet.

He waves at you through the window before pulling away, and you watch them drive off, feeling that same buzz of excitement filling you up for what tomorrow might bring.

As you make your way to your car, you can’t help but replay the quiet exchange in your mind—the warmth in his eyes, the sincerity of his words. Tomorrow might be the start of something even better than you’d imagined.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky as you finish up your preparations for the evening. It’s Saturday—your first real date with Bucky, and the nerves you’ve been feeling all day are only now settling in. You’re nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. It’s the kind of nervous that comes with looking forward to something new, something exciting.

You’re just finishing up a last-minute check in the mirror when you hear a knock on the door. Your heart skips a beat.

You open it to find Bucky standing there, his familiar grin lighting up his face. He’s dressed casually, in a deep green button-up shirt, sleek dress pants, and a leather jacket, his usual relaxed style elevated with a subtle touch of sophistication. Somehow, tonight, it all seems to make your pulse quicken in a way you didn’t expect.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and easy, though there’s a slight hint of nervousness in his eyes as he holds out his hand. In it, he’s holding a small bouquet of white daisies. The simplicity of the gesture has your heart swelling.

“Hi,” you reply, your smile spreading across your face as you take the flowers from him. “They’re lovely, Bucky. Thank you.”

His expression softens as he watches you, and a small blush tints his cheeks. He steps back slightly, glancing toward his car parked on the curb. “Ready to go?”

You nod, feeling your heart flutter a little as you step outside, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The night feels alive with possibility, and as Bucky opens the passenger door for you, you slide into the seat with anticipation, your nerves buzzing. The butterflies in your stomach don’t seem to quiet down as you settle into the car.

Bucky slides into the driver’s seat beside you, his hands gripping the wheel for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. You both fall into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the road and the low music from the radio filling the space between you. The air feels easy, though you can sense a shared nervousness underneath it all. Neither of you speaks for a few moments, but the silence is pleasant.

After a beat, Bucky clears his throat, his voice a little rough as he glances over at you, his hand adjusting the steering wheel slightly. “You look, uh—really beautiful.”

The compliment catches you off guard, but in the best way. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a slight flush spread across your cheeks. You meet his eyes for a brief moment, your smile soft and sincere. “Thank you. You look very handsome tonight too.”

At your words, Bucky visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping a little as if he’s relieved. His lips twitch upward in a shy smile, but there's a quiet warmth in his eyes that makes your chest tighten in the best way. The drive continues, but now there’s an added sense of comfort, like the space between you both is slowly closing, becoming more intimate with each passing second.

“You know,” Bucky says after a while, keeping his eyes on the road, “I’m really glad we’re doing this. I’ve been... kind of nervous, actually. But in a good way, you know?”

You smile, your eyes drifting back to the road as you consider his words. “I get it,” you say softly. “I’ve been nervous too. But I’m glad we’re finally here.”

The tension that lingers between you both starts to fade with each passing mile, and the drive feels easier, more natural. Bucky doesn’t seem quite as tense now, and the silence between you becomes less heavy, replaced with small talk and laughter.

When you finally reach your destination, Bucky parks the car near a secluded spot. It’s a quiet overlook on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by tall trees and the soft sound of wind through the leaves. The view is stunning—the sprawling city lights twinkling in the distance, the stars just beginning to pierce the night sky. It’s peaceful, private, and you immediately feel a sense of calm wash over you.

“You wanna head up?” Bucky asks, motioning to the small path that leads up to the overlook. “I, uh, packed a little something. Thought we could hang out up there.”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, trying to act casual, but your heart’s racing as you follow him up the path. You try to ignore how nervous you feel, focusing on the quiet hum of the world around you, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and Bucky’s presence next to you.

When you reach the top, you see that Bucky has set up a small blanket on the ground, with a basket beside it. There are candles in mason jars lining the edges, casting a warm glow on the area around you. It feels cozy, intimate, and it’s clear that Bucky’s put a lot of thought into this.

“I wanted to make it special,” he says, looking a little shy as he sits down on the blanket. “I don’t really know how to do dates like this, but I thought maybe a quiet place would be... nice.”

You sit down beside him, your fingers brushing against his briefly, and you can’t help but smile at how sweet this all is. "I love it, Bucky. It’s perfect."

The two of you fall into a natural silence for a moment, both of you unsure what to say next, but the quiet is comfortable. The only sounds are the occasional rustle of the trees and the soft hum of the city below.

“So...” you start, glancing over at him. “How’s, uh... how’s everything been for you lately?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, looking out over the city, his voice thoughtful. “It’s been... different. In a good way, I think. I’ve gotten used to the quiet in my life, but sometimes it feels like I’m missing something. Like I’m waiting for something, you know?”

You nod, understanding more than you expected. “I get that. I think sometimes, when life gets a little too quiet, you start wondering if something’s missing. Like... maybe you need to take a chance on something, even if it feels a little scary.”

Bucky’s gaze shifts toward you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “That’s kind of how I feel right now. Taking chances. But with you... with Elizabeth, it feels different. It feels right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You feel the connection between the two of you deepening, a quiet understanding that neither of you has quite been able to put into words.

For the next hour or so, you talk about everything and nothing—your pasts, your dreams, the things that scare you, and the things that make you feel alive. There’s an ease between you now, a comfort that grows with each passing minute. You talk about your favorite books, childhood memories, and what you hope for in the future. Bucky shares stories of his time in the army, of the people he’s loved and lost, and there’s a quiet vulnerability in his voice that makes your heart ache for him.

“So,” you start, breaking the silence with a small smile, “what’s one thing I’d never guess about you?”

Bucky thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Hmm... I don’t know. I guess people always think I’m just a tough guy, you know? Like, I don’t know, all muscles and no heart.” He chuckles softly, the sound warm, but there’s a touch of vulnerability beneath it. “But I’m not like that. I can be... sentimental. I keep things, little reminders of people or moments that meant something.”

You nod, your smile softening as you listen. “I can definitely see that about you. I think we all hold onto things in different ways. I'm kind of a book hoarder. I’ve got shelves full of them.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Really? What’s your favorite genre?”

You shrug, thinking for a moment. “I guess mostly fiction. I love stories that take me to places I’ve never been, things I could only ever wish to experience myself.”

He leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. “I get that. Some days I wish I could escape into something else for a while.”

You look at him, sensing a deeper layer beneath his words. “Where would you go, if you could? Somewhere far away, I mean.”

He leans back, arms circling his legs, eyes distant for a moment, like he’s picturing it. “I think... maybe a quiet place. Somewhere with a view. Maybe a cabin in the woods or on a mountain. Somewhere peaceful. I’ve spent a lot of time in chaos, in places that were loud and demanding. I don’t think I realized how much I missed silence until I had some time away from it.”

There’s a softness in his voice as he talks, something that makes your chest ache just a little. “That sounds... really nice. I think we all need quiet sometimes.”

Bucky glances at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “What about you? Where would you go?”

You pause, your thoughts drifting. “I think I’d go somewhere similar. I’ve always loved nature and the coziness of rain. I’d like to go somewhere that gets cold but not too cold. I’d like to spend time dreaming up my own stories or just think.”

Bucky nods, seeming to understand. “That sounds good, too. Sometimes being alone with your thoughts is the best way to find clarity.”

You nod, the quiet between you settling comfortably again. After a moment, you break the silence, wanting to know more. “You mentioned before, in passing, that you were in the army along with Steve and Sam. What was that like?”

Bucky’s expression shifts, and you notice a subtle change in his posture. His shoulders tighten slightly, and he stares down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “It was... a lot of things. Good and bad. You meet people who become your family, and you see things you wish you didn’t have to. But you learn a lot about yourself, too. What you're capable of when it really matters. But... you lose people along the way. Some of them were like brothers to me.”

His voice softens, and there’s a quiet ache in his words. “It’s hard to talk about sometimes. I don’t always know what to say.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between you, but there’s no rush to fill the space. You don’t push him. Instead, you simply say, “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

Bucky gives a small, quiet smile, his eyes distant again. “It’s not something you ever get over. You just learn to live with it, you know? Keep going, because that’s what they would have wanted.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “I think that’s really brave. I don’t know if I could be that strong.”

Bucky meets your gaze, his eyes serious but with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. “You’d be surprised. Strength isn’t always about big things. Sometimes it’s the small moments, the ones that nobody else sees. Like... showing up for someone when they need you. Or just listening when they need to talk.”

Your heart swells at his words. You didn’t expect to find such depth in a conversation so early, but it feels easy, like you’ve both always been able to talk like this. You swallow, your voice quiet but sincere. “I’m glad you’re here, Bucky.”

His expression softens even further, and he leans forward slightly, his voice low. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, but it’s different this time. There’s a deeper connection between you now, a shared understanding, as if you’ve both opened up in ways that most people never do. And it feels right—like this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Finally, Bucky clears his throat, breaking the silence with a small chuckle. “Sorry, I got a little heavy there. Didn’t mean to bring down the mood.”

You smile, shaking your head. “No, not at all. I like hearing about you. All of you.”

Bucky’s eyes twinkle, and he grins that soft, easy grin of his. “Well, I guess I’ll have to tell you more sometime, then.”

You laugh, the sound light and free between you. “I look forward to it.”

As the evening starts to wind down, you realize how much time has passed. The stars are fully out now, the city lights dimming beneath the vast sky. The two of you are sitting closer than before, your shoulders brushing every now and then, and you both seem reluctant to leave the spot.

“Do you wanna head back?” Bucky asks, his voice soft, though you can hear the hesitation in it. “I don’t want this to end yet, but I also don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You smile, a little shy. “No, I’m good. I’m really glad we did this. It’s... it’s been nice.”

Bucky stands, offering his hand to help you up. “Well, I’ll take you home then. If you’re ready, that is.”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you say, slipping your hand into his as he helps you to your feet. You both make your way back to the car, neither of you speaking for a moment, just enjoying the peaceful quiet around you.

When you arrive at your apartment, Bucky parks the car in front of your building. “I had a really great time tonight,” he says, turning toward you with a soft smile. “Thank you for... you know, giving me a chance.”

You look up at him, your heart full. “I’m glad I did. I think we have something good here, Bucky.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both just look at each other, and before you can say anything else, you surprise yourself by offering, “Would you like to come inside? I could make us some tea.”

Bucky seems caught off guard for a second, then smiles softly. “I’d like that. I think I’d like that a lot.”

The two of you walk inside, and you get to work making the tea. The conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and small moments of silence, as the next couple hours slip by unnoticed. You talk about your favorite childhood memories, your first jobs, your biggest fears. Each topic somehow leads into the next, like you're both unraveling the little threads of who you are, but it doesn't feel rushed.

You laugh at something Bucky says, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, and he catches the movement, his gaze softening for a moment.

“You know,” Bucky says, his voice a little quieter now, “I never thought I’d be here, doing this... with anyone. Not after everything.”

You glance at him, curiosity piqued. “Doing what?”

He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “Just... talking like this. Being open. Letting someone in. I’ve spent so much time keeping people at arm's length. It’s easier, I guess, to just... not let anyone get too close.”

You feel your chest tighten, the words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. You lower your gaze, trying to hide the way your heart swells with sympathy and understanding.

“I think I get that,” you say softly. “I’ve kind of built my own walls over the years, too. Not because I didn’t want to let people in, but because... I don’t know. It’s easier to be alone sometimes.”

He looks at you, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s as if the weight of your shared vulnerability is lingering between you, hanging in the air.

Bucky leans forward just a little, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t want you to think that... I’m not interested in letting you in,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Because I am. I don’t know if it’s the right time or the right place, but I want you to know that I am.”

Your breath catches, heart pounding in your chest. There’s a rawness in his voice that makes the air between you feel thick, heavy with unspoken words. You hesitate for a moment, before speaking.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.” Your voice is soft, but certain. “I’m here. I’ll always been here, just... sometimes I think I don't know how to say it.”

There’s a quiet, tender moment that passes between you. His lips part slightly, and he leans in just a fraction more, as if testing the space between you.

And that’s when the tension shifts, palpable now, crackling in the air. You both seem to feel it—a pull, something that draws you in, something that makes the moment stretch, and the space between you disappears. For a breathless second, everything else seems to vanish.

Your lips are so close now. His eyes flicker down to your mouth, then back up to meet your gaze, searching for permission, for a sign that you feel what he does.

You feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the closeness, and your pulse quickens. The intensity between you is almost too much, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let it hang there, both of you caught in the moment.

And then, just as it feels like the gap might close between you, Bucky exhales sharply, pulling back slightly as if snapping out of it. He runs a hand through his hair, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

You laugh softly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart is still racing. “It’s not weird, Bucky. It’s... nice.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours again, a bit of uncertainty there. “I don’t want to rush anything,” he says, his voice steadying. “I just... I don’t know. I really like being with you.”

You nod, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I like being with you too.”

The tension in the air lingers for a while longer, but the moment passes, and you both settle back into the comfortable rhythm of conversation again. You talk about small things—silly anecdotes and favorite songs, and the connection you’ve built feels stronger now than it ever has before.

As the conversation winds down, your eyes begin to flutter, exhaustion finally catching up with you. You let out a soft yawn, leaning back against the couch. Bucky watches you, his eyes soft, but there’s something almost reluctant in his gaze.

“I should probably go,” he says quietly, standing up and stretching. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You sit up, still a little drowsy. “You don’t have to leave,” you say, your voice a little more vulnerable than you intend. “I... I don’t want you to go.”

Bucky hesitates, his expression conflicted as he looks at you. “I... I don’t want to leave either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I don’t want to make things awkward either.”

You smile softly, trying to push the sleepiness from your eyes. “It’s not Bucky. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

After a long pause, he sits back down beside you, though his body is tense. He watches you closely for a moment before finally settling in. “Alright. I’ll stay. But just... just to keep you company. And because I don’t want you to be alone either.”

You feel a warm flush spread through you as you nestle deeper into the couch, the quiet between you comforting and safe. Bucky lies down beside you, careful not to get too close, but still there. You fall asleep, your head on his chest, and for the first time in a long while, you feel at peace.

Bucky lies awake beside you, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the thoughts that swirl in his mind. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to wake you, but the weight of his past—the nightmares, the fears—keeps him from fully resting. He stays awake, just listening to the sound of your breathing, hoping that his presence won’t disturb your sleep.

It’s the first time he’s ever felt this way with someone—so close, yet so distant, fighting the demons inside. He wonders, for just a moment, if he’s ready to let someone in completely.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

[mystictf]

Reblogging again so I can find it.

If you haven't read this already, I 100% recommend you do! Beautifully written story!🫶🏻

Waste a Moment Masterlist

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/reader)

Most recent update : 10/11/2024

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum. Angst.

The title was taken from a Kings of Leon song of the same name, and the chapter titles are taken from bits of lyrics from Waste a Moment, Find Me, and Reverend.

A new chapter will be posted every two days.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Part 1 — “Static on Her Brain”

Part 2 — “No Kin”

Part 3 — “The Wandering Man”

Part 4 — “Porcelain Smile”

Part 5 — “From Behind Your Eyes”

Part 6 — “Live Wire”

Part 7 — “How did You Find Me?”

Part 8 — “Cursed by the Crown”

Part 9 — “Ticking Time Bomb”

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

[hungermakesmonsters]

Devotion & Desire

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : When you, a lone omega, move in across the hall from alpha Bucky Barnes, he knows that his life is about to get a lot more complicated, but he has no idea just how much you’re going to turn his life upside down. You’re both devoted to fixing your past mistakes, but will desire for something more get the better of you?

Pairing : Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Forced claiming bites and very subtle allusions to SA (neither are graphically depicted), and some blood/injury mentions. All chapters will contain the usual omegaverse and A/B/O tropes, and explicit smut. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : 😭😭 sorry this too so long. Also sorry for being terrible about replying to comment on last chapter, work has been kicking my ass.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seven

There was a hollow place in his chest, carved out and left to fill with rot and decay. It had been there for as long as he’d been himself again, the space that used to be occupied by the Winter Soldier, by violence and bloodshed.

Little by little, he’d been trying to fill it, trying to become whole again.

And, for a brief moment, he’d dared to think it was working. 

For a few sweet minutes, he thought that hollow inside him might be filled by you and the feelings you’d caused to grow inside of him.

It played over and over in his head; the moment he’d fucked up and ruined everything.

You’d looked so - fuck, he wasn’t even sure what the look was. Hurt. Angry. Betrayed. Scared. All the things he never wanted to make you feel, all the things that made the alpha in him feel sick. He was supposed to protect you, supposed to look after you, and what had he done instead?

He’d tried to claim you without consent. He’d tried to take more than you wanted to give.

That thought caused him nothing but pain of the worst kind, forcing him to realise that Bucky was no different from the Winter Soldier. They both hurt you and neither cared. 

Only, that wasn’t entirely true. Bucky did care. Of course he did. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have felt so bad. But reality came a close second to his feelings of self loathing.

Not only had he tried to claim you - wanted to claim you - he’d then abandoned you. You were suffering through your heat and he’d just walked out and left you there. God only knew how you were coping on your own.

Fuck, he hated himself, but it wasn’t enough to make him return to the apartment for another two hours.

Something felt off the moment he stepped inside.

The bathroom door was open, so was the door leading to your room, but your scent seemed weaker than it should be and, before he even reached your bed and found it empty, Bucky knew that you were gone.

You’d run.

He knew that it was all his fault.

He moved back towards the door, already knowing it was too late to try and catch your scent, but he had to try. You were gone. Almost as if you’d never even been there to begin with.

In his panic, he called Sam, and the conversation that followed was a rushed garble of words that, ultimately, resulted in Sam telling Bucky that he’d be there in ten minutes, but Bucky wasn’t prepared to wait. He was going to head back to your apartment and look for you there.

Sam met him outside, already on the phone to Torres, trying to track you down after Bucky found your apartment empty.

Bucky felt like he was crawling out of his own skin, his chest tight with worry as he tried not to think about all the terrible things that could happen to an omega in heat out in the city on their own.

“Torres says a police report was filed outside your apartment building a couple of hours ago,” Sam relayed as Torres continued to speak on the other end of the call. “A taxi driver reported seeing the omega that he’d just dropped off being forced into the back of a car. The taxi driver confirmed picking her up outside the safehouse and that she was in heat.”

“Does he know what kind of car or the direction it went - anything?” Bucky asked.

A smile quickly grew on Sam’s lips.

“Even better, Torres is going through street cameras tracking where they took her...” Sam said, his attention returned to the call, listening as Torres worked. “You’re sure? Okay, great. I owe you one.”

“Well?” Bucky asked before Sam could even end the call.

“Gravesend, Brooklyn. There’s a warehouse. Torres is going to call back with more intel,” Sam answered, already moving towards his car.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, his voice a frustrated growl. “You got the suit?” 

“Yeah, it’s in the car.”

“Get the fucking suit, Sam. I’ll meet you there.” 

“You sure?”

“The longer she’s with him, the more time he has to hurt her,” Bucky said, already heading for his motorbike

“Should we call it in? Get back-up?” Sam asked.

“No. Not yet. We don’t know he’ll react.”

He started the engine and paused, watching as Sam pulled on his wings, waiting to see if the other man had any further questions.

“You care about her, don’t you?” Is what Sam chose to ask, reminding Bucky of that gnawing emptiness inside of him again.

Bucky didn’t answer, he simply put in his ear piece and peeled away from the curb. 

Following the speed limit, he knew the drive could take almost an hour. But Bucky wasn’t going to follow the speed limit. 

It wasn’t long before he saw Sam fly overhead and, despite his best efforts, there was no way of keeping up with the wingsuit while weaving through traffic. But the journey passed in a blur - twenty minutes of splitting his attention between other vehicles on the road and how he was going to apologise to you when he saw you again.

Sam tried to make conversation through the earpiece but Bucky wasn’t interested. He was single-minded in his need to rescue you and fix what he’d broken.

By the time he reached the warehouse, as directed by Sam, Torres had managed to give them a pretty good overview of how many ex-Hydra goons were inside and what hardware they had.

It wasn’t well set up, clearly you were the only reason they were even in New York. In some ways that made it better, but also so much worse. Rumlow wasn’t going to give you up without a fight. Add to that the fact that you were still in heat and Rumlow was an alpha obsessed with you...

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” 

Sam’s voice broke through Bucky’s internal panic, almost causing him to flinch.

“Where’s your head, Bucky?”

“It’s right here.”

“Oh really? Then what did I just say?”

“You’ll drop in from the roof, I’ll sneak in from the back,” Bucky answered, hoping he hadn’t missed anything.

“Getting her out is the mission,” Sam said. “Dealing with Rumlow comes after.”

“Agreed.”

Before Sam could continue, Bucky started to move, knowing that they’d already wasted more than enough time. You’d been with Rumlow for over three hours and he knew that anything could have happened in that time. More than that, he knew you; he knew you were a fighter, that you liked to get under people’s skin, and he wasn’t sure how Rumlow would deal with that.

He jumped the fence with ease, landing with a cat-like grace, barely making a sound. 

The sun was already starting to set and that made things a little easier for him. Bucky channelled years of training and muscle memory, slipping behind one guard and leaving him incapacitated. If Torres’s intel was right, that left another fifteen men, including Rumlow.

“I’m inside,” Sam said through the comms. “She’s definitely here, I can, uh, smell her.”

Bucky’s stomach knotted as he tightened his grip around the throat of a second goon until he went limp in his grasp.

All he could think about was getting to you, barely noticing anything or anyone that got in his way. He forced open the door and managed to drop another one of Rumlow’s men. It felt like he was losing himself, giving himself over to the part of him that was still the Winter Soldier. He didn’t care if he hurt anyone, didn’t care if he took it too far.

“Bucky, upstairs. I’ve found her, she’s not -” 

The sound of gunfire echoed through the warehouse, the element of surprise finally wearing out. Bucky took off at a run, heading towards the stairs.

“She’s what, Sam?” He asked, worry filling his tone.

A goon appeared from a doorway, only to find a vibranium fist slammed into his chest, knocking him backwards and halfway through the room he’d been leaving. His other hand was already reaching to unholster his gun.

He headed up the stairs, onto the walkway, heading towards the sounds of fighting.

When a knife flew towards him, it was instinct alone that had Bucky catching it mere inches from his face.

“Good to see you again, Soldier.”

The voice caused the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck to stand and his features twisted into an angry snarl as Rumlow stepped out onto the walkway.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked in a barely contained growl, throwing the knife to the ground.

He took in the sight of Rumlow, his heart threatening to stop at the sight of blood on his shirt. 

“She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be,” he answered.

Rumlow started to step forward, closing the distance and Bucky did likewise. Bucky lifted his gun, getting off a couple of shots but, in close quarters, it was easy for Rumlow to knock the gun from his hand.

Both men quickly threw fists, both hitting their mark. Bucky staggered back, momentarily shocked by the power behind Rumlows hit. 

The gauntlets. They were making him stronger.

Rumlow needed a second to recover, but both were toe to toe again in a matter of seconds.

This time Bucky feinted, swinging his fist but changing to a knee at the last second, slamming Rumlow into the railing. Then came the punch, super soldier strength, forcing Rumlow to take a step back. 

Rumlow retaliated, bringing his foot down against the side of Bucky’s knee, forcing him to stagger backwards to regain his balance. But, for Bucky pain was secondary, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for getting to you. He needed to save you.

He drove forward again, landing a blow to Rumlow’s kidney before grabbing his shirt and forcing him back against the railing, managing to lift him off his feet.

That was when it hit him, the cloying and sickly scent that was all over Rumlow - it was you, but not the you that Bucky knew. There was something wrong with the scent, something unpleasant, something sour. It reminded him of distress and despair, of pain and suffering. 

“What did you do to her?” Bucky demanded.

Rumlow laughed. “Nothing she didn’t deserve.”

He took advantage of Bucky’s momentary lapse in concentration as he worried about you. Rumlow kicked out again, this time wheeling Bucky around so that he was the one pressed against the railing.

“Can’t believe you came all the way here for another alpha’s omega,” Rumlow grit out, reaching for another knife and driving it into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky let out a grunt that was more anger than pain as he let go of any sense of restraint.

“She’s not yours.” 

He pushed Rumlow backward before lifting him off his feet again and slamming him into the railing, over and over, ignoring the crack of bones and the rattling sound every time Rumlow gasped for breath. The other alpha went limp in his arms and Bucky lifted him, about to drop him over the side of the railing and to the ground thirty feet below.

“Bucky!”

Sam. It was Sam.

The voice pulled Bucky from his anger.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Bucky dared to ask, the question catching even himself by surprise.

“I’ve got back-up on the way, they’ll take him to The Raft, he -”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” Bucky snapped, his eyes fixed on Rumlow’s face, on the blood bubbles that formed at the corners of his lips every time he tried to draw breath

“You’re right, he doesn’t,” Sam said. “But you don’t deserve to have his death on your conscience, and there’s an injured omega through there who needs you.”

It was all he needed to hear to let Rumlow go, letting him drop onto the walkway, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to move with the damage that Bucky had inflicted. In the distance he could already hear the sirens. Rumlow would pay for what he’d done, just not in the way that Bucky would have preferred.

But Bucky still didn’t know exactly what Rumlow had done, and that thought had him quickly moving past Sam, following the scent that was you but not you into a small room. Another scent soon filled his nose; the coppery tang of blood.

You looked so small, huddled in the corner of the room on a small camp bed, a bloodsoaked scrap of fabric pressed to your neck.

“Mouse?”

He was at your side in an instant, though you seemed unable to fully focus on him. Your lips parted but no words came out.

“Come on, I’m going to get you out of here,” he told you.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, ignoring the knife wound in his shoulder and the blood soaking through his shirt, quickly carrying you out of the room and out of the warehouse where the sirens were getting louder.

“It’s okay,” he told you, over and over, even though you’d lost consciousness at some point. “I’ve got you. I’m sorry, mouse. I’m so sorry.”

“Bucky...” you managed in little more than a soft sob.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re safe, mouse. Just hold on to me.”

You did as he asked and wrapped your arm around him as tight as you could while keeping the cloth pressed to your neck.

For the second time that day, he lost himself to the blur of it all as you were quickly loaded into an ambulance and the EMTs started to work on you. They wouldn’t let him travel to the hospital with you, but Sam quickly made sure he was pushed into the back of a second ambulance to have his stab wound dealt with.

------------

Your eyes opened and for the briefest moment, you felt nothing but relief; your heat was over and the pain in your abdomen was finally gone. But once your eyes started to focus and you realised where you were, you started to remember.

The monitor at your side started to beep wildly as you desperately tried to sit up.

Hospital. 

You were in the hospital.

The cold, sterile smell filled your nose and it was almost enough to make you vomit.  

There were hands on your shoulders and voices trying to settle you, but none of it got through to you. You wanted to sit up. Get up. Run.

The beeping seemed to get louder and more frantic. Your neck hurt as you tried to move and you found yourself clawing at the bandages, too panicked to remember what had happened to you. Breath caught in your chest as you struggled, desperate for freedom, desperate to escape the new hell that you’d found yourself in.

You heard someone say something about sedation and, after a few seconds, things started to get blurry and you quickly slipped into darkness.

The second time you woke the panic set in slower, your mind finally clear enough to think, to remember. You were in the hospital. You were safe. 

Well, at least a little safer than you had been.

You’d never liked hospitals and the letters OEC painted on the walls did nothing to help settle you. 

Months of your childhood had been lost in rooms like the one you currently found yourself, hours and days spent being made to feel weak. Broken.

When your hands dared lift to your neck again, it was gingerly and with the sort of hesitation that came from not knowing if you really wanted to know. Fingers brushed over gauze and bandaging and the slightest pressure had you wincing. 

Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to fight back the memories that began to flood back. Brock had tried to claim you. He’d bitten you. Over and over, trying to force you to submit.

You wretched, only just managing to lean over the side of the bed in time, bringing up nothing but fluid. At some point someone else entered the room and there was soon a bucket held out for you until, finally, your stomach completely emptied itself.

The doctor helped you settle back in bed and quickly took your temperature.

“Your heat symptoms have finally abated,” she said, sounding quite happy about it.

“How - how long have I been here?” You asked, your voice raspy and dry.

 “You were brought in two days ago,” she explained, pouring you a glass of water and handing it to you, “we had to operate immediately and, because of your heat, we had to keep you sedated yesterday to allow recovery.”

Operate? It was still so fuzzy, it was always harder to remember things that happened during your heats, but this felt like something else. It almost felt like you didn’t want to remember, like some part of you already knew that you were better off not remembering.

You took a slow drink before you spoke again, your throat feeling like it was full of sandpaper.

“What’s wrong with me?” You finally dared to ask, causing her to stop dead beside your bed. “What - what did he do to me?”

The doctor set you with an uncomfortable look which caused your stomach to coil and tie itself in knots. Bad news. It had to be bad news. 

She took a breath while you tried to ignore the tears that were prickling at the corner of your eyes.

Not bad news. Awful news.

“When you were brought in, you’d suffered severe trauma after rejecting several forced claiming bites” she said slowly, gently. “There was extensive tissue damage around your throat and neck, particularly over your mating gland. The surgeons did everything they could, but they were unable to repair the damage that had been done to your gland and, ultimately, they had to remove it.”

She continued talking a little while longer but her words were nothing more than a static hiss in your ears as the memories started flooding back.

He’d tried to force a claim on you, over and over, his teeth at your neck, tearing at skin. You’d refused him, denied him. You remembered bleeding. You remembered the pain, begging him to stop.

(You remembered Bucky holding you, carrying you to safety.)

“My... gland?” You said. “It’s gone?”

“I -” she took a slight breath, “- I’m afraid so.”

“What does that - I mean, how can I -” you tried desperately to understand what you wanted to ask, to understand what had been done to you and how it was going to affect you going forward.

“There’s no easy way to put this,” again she hesitated for a beat, “without your mating gland, you will never be able to be claimed or mated.”

The words left you feeling numb, even though some part of you didn’t really understand why. You’d never wanted to be claimed, never wanted to mate. You’d always tried so hard to reject the omega side of you but, now, you felt broken.

“But,” the doctor continued, her tone perking up a little, as if she wanted you to know it wasn’t the end of the world, “you’ll still be able to have a normal life; you’ll have your heats, you’ll still be able to bear pups. Though you may find your scenting is affected...”

Again, your mind drifted away from what she was saying, watching as her lips moved but not hearing a single word. Soon enough your gaze was drifting away from her, looking at the wall, at that garish OEC sign, hating that you were there.

You hated everything in that moment, every little thing that had led you to that point in your life. It felt like everything was unravelling and you had no idea how to stop it.

Your eyes snapped back to the doctor in time to catch her question. 

“The alpha who came in with you is still in the waiting room, would you like to see him?”

Still? He’d been sat out there for two days?

------------

“You don’t have to stay,” Bucky said, for at least the fiftieth time that day.

Since being patched up and checked over, Bucky had remained in the hospital waiting room, only receiving the barest of updates about you. He knew that you’d been taking into surgery straight away and that you’d been taking into recovery a few hours later, and they’d told him that you’d been kept under sedation so your heat symptoms didn’t cause complications, but that was all. 

He had no idea the extent of your injuries or how effective surgery had been. 

Of course, he understood that he wasn’t next of kin, that he was really nothing to you, but it frustrated him no end not knowing if you were really okay.

Sam had been home to sleep, and he’d tried to get Bucky to do the same. But there was nothing that anyone could say or do to get Bucky to leave that chair. He wouldn’t leave you, not again.

(Never again.)

“How about I stay and you go get some rest?” Sam countered. “I can call you if anything happens?”

“No,” Bucky answered, not even considering it. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You’re going to be no good to her if you make yourself ill, Bucky,” Sam answered back. “Just because you’ve got that cyborg brain doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest.”

Normally he’d roll his eyes at Sam’s dumb jokes, maybe even say something pointed in response, but Bucky was tired. More than that, he was worried.

“This is my fault, Sam. I can’t just leave her.”

“It’s not your fault, Bucky. You’re not the one who hurt her and beating yourself up over it isn’t going to help anyone, least of all her.”

Bucky shook his head. “I fucked up, Sam. I lost control. I tried to claim her when she didn’t want it and that makes me no better than Rumlow.”

In the time that they had spent in the waiting room together, Bucky had explained rather loosely what had happened between you and him, but it was clear to Sam that there was so much more to it.

“You stopped when she told you to. Rumlow didn’t,” Sam stated. “That’s a big fucking difference, Bucky.”

“I left her - she was in the middle of her heat and I -”

“You did what you thought you had to do to keep her safe.”

“But she wasn’t safe, was she? If she’d been safe, none of this would have happened.”

Bucky got to his feet and started to pace, not sure what else he could do with all of his nervous pent-up energy. Sam let out a sigh, knowing that there was nothing that he could say or do to stop Bucky from spiralling right now. He needed time to work through it, but he wasn’t going to allow himself that time until he knew for certain that you were alright.

Sam just hoped that moment would come sooner rather than later.

“They’ve finished processing Rumlow at The Raft,” he decided to change the subject. “After all the shit he’s pulled, he’s never going to see daylight again.”

“It’s still more than he deserves.”

“You still pissed I stopped you from killing him?”

“Yes,” Bucky snapped before pausing a beat. “No.” Then; “I don’t know.”

“That’s not you, Bucky. You’re not that guy.”

Not a killer. Not the Winter Soldier.

(But would the Winter Soldier have let this happen to you? No. The Winter Soldier would have kept you safe.)

“Maybe I -” Bucky started and stopped as the door to the waiting room opened and your doctor stepped inside.

Sam got to his feet, moving to stand beside Bucky.

“She’s groggy, but she’s finally awake,” she said.

“How is she?” Bucky asked.

The doctor took a breath before answering, deciding how much she was able to share.

“She’ll live. Thanks to you two,” she answered. “She’s recovering from the surgery well and there were no complications. Though she is going to have to remain under observation for at least the next couple of days.”

“Can I see her?” Bucky asked.

“She -” the doctor hesitated, “- she’s refused all visitors.”

“No, I need to see her. I need -”

“I understand your frustrations, but ultimately it’s the patient's choice, and given that she’s here because of injuries inflicted by an alpha -”

“That’s why I need to make sure she’s okay,” Bucky tried again, not even trying to hide his frustration. 

“Bucky...” Sam said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You need to give her time. She’s been through a lot.”

“I just -” his eyes flitted to the doctor who didn’t look like she was doing to change his mind. “You’re right,” Bucky conceded, not wanting to think about what Rumlow might have done to you and how you must have been feeling.

It turned his stomach inside out to think that you were less than a hundred metres away and he couldn’t get to you. Bucky ached to hold you in his arms again, to apologise for fucking so much up. More than anything, he wanted to confess to you, to tell you that it had never been about biology. It had always been you. He wanted you.

The doctor took a beat, her eyes moving from Bucky to Sam and back again.

“Normally this would be the part where I call the police to report crimes committed against an omega but...” she trailed off, looking at Sam. “Is that necessary with Captain America here?”

“No,” Sam answered. “Everyone involved has already been dealt with.”

“Good, no alpha who’s capable of doing that to an omega in heat should be allowed to walk the streets,” the doctor said.

For a moment Bucky had to wonder just how much she’d seen in her time working in the OEC, and he found himself reminded of everything you’d said about being an omega. Finally, he was starting to understand what it was really like for you. And, more than anything, he wanted to change it.

“Could you tell her that I’m sorry?” Bucky asked. “Tell her that I’m sorry I fucked up.”

------------

Sorry. What part was he sorry for?

You didn’t have the heart to ask the doctor to check for you and, besides that, you were certain she had more important things to be doing than playing messenger between you and Bucky. Whatever he had meant by the comment, you were sure he wasn’t sorry about what you wanted him to be sorry for. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

Bucky was an alpha. 

Perhaps not the most traditional alpha, but you were almost certain that he had no idea why you’d run from him.

No, he wasn’t sorry about that, wasn’t sorry about reducing you to nothing more than a good little omega. He was sorry that you’d been hurt and, really, even you understood that wasn’t Bucky’s fault.

When the doctor delivered his message, she told you that he was still in the waiting room if you changed your mind and wanted to see him.

He was there the next day too.

And the next.

On more than one occasion you found yourself in tears, still devastated and reeling over what had been done to you. You almost broke, almost asked them to let Bucky in so that he could hold you and tell you that everything was going to be alright.

(It wasn’t. You already knew that it wasn’t.)

You mourned lost opportunities and things that might never have happened - things you’d never really wanted or expected in the first place. 

So many times you’d wished not to be an omega and, now, it seemed like you weren’t even that.

And the real irony was Bucky, sitting out in the waiting room, not knowing that you’d been ruined, that you’d never belong to him now. You could already picture it, the pity in his eyes if he saw you again; the poor little omega. 

The more time you were given to sit with your new reality, the worse you felt about it, the numbness of shock finally giving away and leaving you to feel the full extent of your trauma. You became despondent to the point that a psychiatrist was sent to assess you.

She asked about you, about your life, and about what had happened to you and, as you always did, you gave half the story and heard all of the things you expected to hear in response; it wasn’t your fault, you shouldn’t blame yourself.

You knew she was right, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things. It felt like it had been your fault. If you hadn’t let your guard down with Bucky, you would have stayed in the safehouse, you would have been able to finish your heat with him, and then you would have been able to leave, able to avoid Rumlow.

Instead you’d let yourself believe that there was something more than biology at play, you’d let yourself hope that he cared, that he saw you as more than just an omega. You’d allowed him the perfect opportunity to hurt you without him even realising it and all because you didn’t want to be a good little omega.

On the sixth day in the hospital, you were brought a bowl of Cookie Crunch cereal, the nurse telling you that the alpha in the waiting room had told him that it was your favourite. Whatever had been holding you together in that moment finally broke and you started to sob uncontrollably, hating that Bucky could care so much without knowing it was too late, and hating even more that he’d come to know you better than anyone had in years in just a few months.

He knew you.

He cared about you, in his own way.

And that just made your heart ache more, knowing that it was too late. Even if you could get over what had happened between you, why would Bucky ever want a damaged omega like you?

Still, every day you would ask if he was in the waiting room and it wasn’t until the eighth day that you were told that he’d left and hadn’t come back.

He’d finally given up on you.

It should have come as a relief knowing that he wasn’t still out there, hoping for a future that was impossible. He’d get over it, get over wanting to claim you, have you as his good little omega. And he deserved to because, as much as you might have hated him only a few weeks ago, you knew now that Bucky was a good man. A better man than you deserved.

You decided to leave the hospital that night, checking yourself out against the doctor's advice. You had no idea where you were going to go or what you were going to do, all you knew was that you couldn’t stay there, couldn’t keep wallowing in your own trauma and self-loathing. You wanted to push it all away and bury it down, just like the first time you’d escaped from Rumlow.

Your apartment was still paid up until the end of the month so, you supposed, that would be the best place to start, even if it meant trying to dodge Bucky while you found somewhere else to live.

It was late when you got home.

His scent lingered in the hallway and caused your legs to tremble beneath you, and your heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze when you realised that your door had been repaired - someone had cared enough to make sure your apartment and your things were kept secure. It wasn’t something you expected and it made you think about what he’d told you, about how people cared.

You cast a longing glance at Bucky’s door, wondering if he was in there, if he was sleeping, if he was suffering through nightmares of finding you covered in blood. Part of you was desperate to go to him but you knew it was too late to say or do anything, too late to change anything. The time for talking had passed and none of it mattered anymore. You couldn’t be what Bucky wanted and he couldn’t give you what you needed.

If you were lucky, you’d be able to save you both the heartache of having to face each other again.

End Note : 😭 I can't believe this story is almost over. I think the next chapter will be the last. I don't know if it'll need an epilogue, but we'll see. Hopefully the next/last chapter will be up by the end of November (it should be quicker to write that this one, I'm just hella bad/slow at writing action). Also I'm really tired so so I'm sorry if any dumb typos slipped through

As always, reblogs/comments/likes/asks are always appreciated. Thanks so much for reading, hope you have a great day!

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