#bucky barnes angst

[mystictf]

This is beautiful🫶🏻

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. ��Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[mugglebornmarvelite]

A Valentine’s Day to Remember

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader

Summary: On Valentine’s Day, your training session with Bucky is no different. He’s tough on you, but you appreciate his guidance. However, a little interruption leads to a sweet surprise later that evening. Based on this request!

Word Count: Roughly 1.6k

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, slight angst (so slight that it’s barely there), awkwardness, unspoken feelings, the reader's anxious thoughts, protective Bucky, training (it wasn’t that great, but I wanted to write it for some cute tension), comical violence, playful chaos (it’s the Avengers after all)

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request. I tweaked it a little bit in the hopes of making it sweet and funny. @jackys-stuff-blog

I’m back, so enjoy more Valentine’s Day content :)

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Divider by: @strangergraphics 

The hum of the facility was peaceful, but the energy bouncing around inside you was anything but.

When you got out of bed, you glanced at the calendar. 

February 14th

You sighed and got ready to start your day.

You were still new to the team, only a few weeks into training with the Avengers. 

It was a potent mixture of excitement, fear, and joy wrapped in one.

You gave it your best shot, but every day, you felt like you fell just short of the bar set by the seasoned heroes around you. 

The Avengers were the best of the best, and sometimes it felt like they were trying to break you, push you past your limits, and then push some more. 

Bucky Barnes, in particular, was harder on you than anyone else. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but he cared. Not just because you were younger but because you were different. 

Sweet, shy, a little sunshine in a place that sometimes felt too dark.

You didn’t mind so much. You didn’t want to be perfect, but you wanted to prove to the team, especially Bucky, that you could hold your own. 

But training with Bucky means it’s going to be a long morning.

“Come on, kid,” Bucky said, his eyes locked on yours after you finished his warmups, which felt more like the entirety of a workout routine. “You can do better than that.”

“I am trying,” you said with a huff. 

You felt the weight of his gaze and had to resist the urge to fidget under it. His words made you feel small. You wanted to prove yourself to him. You wanted him to believe you could hold your own.

His lips twitched in a small, teasing smile. “You’ve gotta do better than that if you want to make it out there with the rest of us.”

You nodded and shifted your stance.

When his hand shot out to grab you, you reacted, trying to block, but he was faster. Bucky spun you around, twisting your arm behind your back. 

You grunted as you found your back pressed against his chest, his body flush against yours, his grip tightening around your wrist.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck. 

“I… I wasn’t ready,” you stammered, embarrassed as you struggled to break free, but Bucky only chuckled.

“You never are,” he teased, his voice laced with amusement, “But you will be soon. Don’t worry, sunshine. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his words seemed to melt the tension in your chest, but your heart still hammered in your ears, the proximity between you two making it hard to think straight. 

With a swift, practiced move, Bucky released you from his grip and pushed you lightly away. You stumbled back a few steps, regaining your footing. 

He was already readying himself for the next move, his steely blue eyes sharp again.

“Again,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

You nodded, trying to shake off the lingering heat from his touch, but it was impossible to ignore. You lunged at him, trying to catch him off guard.

He moved effortlessly, dodging your lunge. His flipped you flat on your back, and before you could react, Bucky was there, pinning you to the mat, his metal arm hovering over your chest.

He leaned down slightly, his face hovering just above yours. “You really need to work on your form,” he muttered.

You swallowed hard, heat flooding your cheeks. You could feel every inch of him above you.

“Not bad for someone like you,” Bucky said, his voice low, a hint of pride in his words. “But next time, try not to get flipped so easily.”

You chuckled nervously, still breathless beneath him. “Yeah… I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

There was a strange kind of intimacy in the air, as the world had quieted around you. Your eyes locked for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

But before either of you could say anything, a voice from the doorway broke the moment.

“Am I interrupting something?” Wanda asked as she strolled into the room, watching the two of you with a knowing smile.

You scrambled to sit up, feeling the awkward tension in the air as Bucky stood and offered you a hand, which you gratefully accepted.

“We were just about to finish this sparring session,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh, a sparring session, huh?” Wanda smile. “I didn’t realize they was that intense.” She turned her gaze to you, the corners of her lips curling into a grin. “So, any plans after this? Maybe a last-minute date? There are a lot of nice places around here, you know.”

You shook your head, slightly flustered. “I’m just going to stay in tonight,” you said softly. “Maybe watch a movie.”

“Stay in?” Wanda’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s Valentine’s day. How about a date with a guy your age, maybe?” She flashed Bucky a pointed, subtle look, just enough to make the air shift. “I could set up something.”

You didn’t catch it, but Bucky’s expression darkened almost instantly. He stepped forward, his jaw tightening, and shot Wanda a sharp look. “No, she said she’s not interested in a date. And you need to stop trying to push that on her.”

Wanda raised both hands, feigning innocence. “Alright, alright. Just trying to make sure the poor girl doesn’t miss out on anything.”

She turned and walked out of the room, but not before sending Bucky a lingering glance that left him looking slightly annoyed.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious to the exchange. You simply smiled at Bucky, trying to shake off the odd tension in the room.

“I’m sorry…” You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

Bucky sighed, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. “It’s not your fault.”

“I-,” you started softly, though you were unsure what had just happened. But before you could dwell on it, Bucky clapped you on the shoulder.

“You’re fine, sunshine.” Bucky smiled. “Let’s get back to it.”

The warmth of his words lingered in the air long after Wanda left, and you found yourself wishing that the conversation had gone a little differently. But it was hard to focus on that when Bucky’s quiet reassurance made you feel special in a way you hadn’t expected.

Later that evening, fresh out of a long, soothing shower and wrapped in pajamas, you were met with quiet as you made your way downstairs. 

For the most part, everyone was out celebrating the holiday of love. But your plans included stuffing your face and watching comedies on the giant flat-screen TV.

Your plans stopped when you found Peter sprawled out on the couch, grinning from ear to ear. He was holding up a large box.

"Hey! Got a delivery for you!" Peter announced, his voice practically singing.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

He gave you a mischievous smirk. “Dunno, but it’s got your name on it.”

Taking the box from his hands, you carefully opened it. 

Inside was a beautiful bouquet of wild daisies, lavender, and sunflowers, as well as a massive box of chocolates, wrapped with a level of neatness that had to be intentional.

There was a card that said, “Hope this makes your day a little sweeter, sunshine.” No name, but you had a very good idea of who it was from.

Before you could even process it, a voice came from behind you.

“You look surprised.” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence. 

Turning around, you found him standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t…” you started, but your words trailed off. 

The fact that he had gone to all this trouble for you meant something, didn’t it?

Bucky closed the space between you with a few long strides, and before you could think of anything else, he wrapped you in a hug, pulling you close to his chest. “You deserve it,” he murmured, kissing your forehead softly. His voice was warm, like melted chocolate, making your heart swell.

Bucky gently pulled back, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Let’s watch a movie, yeah?” Bucky asked, his voice smooth, like he knew he was about to make everything even better.

You nodded, still reeling from the sweet surprise. The day had been a chaotic mess of training and tension, but Bucky's thoughtful gesture made it feel like it was all worth it.

As you settled onto the couch, Bucky’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you melted against his side.

The movie began, but honestly, you weren’t even paying attention. All you could focus on was how perfect this was until Peter suddenly released an exaggerated “Ahem!” trying to get a peek at what was happening between you two.

Before you could even laugh, Bucky, without missing a beat, grabbed a vase off the table and threw it straight at Peter’s head. 

Not to inflict too much bodily injury, but definitely enough to scatter him like a cockroach when the lights come on.

Peter’s spidey sense kicked in just in time, and he shot a web to the ceiling, narrowly avoiding the vase. “Okay, okay! I get it! I’m clearly not wanted! I’m going!” He scrambled upstairs.

You let out a soft laugh, and Bucky grumbled under his breath, but there was a slight curve to his lips as he glanced at you. His arm pulled you even closer, and just like that, everything was perfect again. 

Except for the vase, but that was just a minor detail.

“WHO BROKE MY FAVORITE VASE?”

Or, not so minor.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll

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Much love x

- Maeve

[thevillainswhore]

Deserving

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Bucky has internal scars too deeply imbedded that cause him to hide away from the world on the dark days. But he always knows, no matter how long he takes, you’ll forever be waiting for him on the other side — the light to bring him home.

Warnings: Established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, mental health, themes of depression, nudity (non sexual), depreciation/self esteem issues, Bucky is seriously sad, fluff.

Author’s Note: Proofread by @buck-star. Divider by @saradika-graphics. This is a little bit of a heavy one folks ❤️‍🩹 not usually my thing, but after a difficult couple of months I needed to get this out. My inboxes are always open for those who are struggling with their mental health, thank you for reading x

“How long has he been locked in there?” Steve’s concerned voice interrupts the silence of the compound late at night while you sit at the kitchen table, aimlessly stirring your now cold tea. 

You clear your throat and look up, the anxiety visibly courses through your features just as it does your friend. “Just over a week now, I think.” 

Steve sighs. “It’s gotten bad again.” 

You hum, unable to muster up anything else. It had been seven days of constant worry since the moment you had woken up on that first day to find the warm heap of muscle that usually tangled its limbs with yours wasn’t next to you in bed, but rather instead locked away in the bathroom. 

Bucky insists it’s what’s best for him; to shut himself from the world when his thoughts become dark and his nightmares come back from the dead to haunt him. But it was difficult to let him wallow in depression by himself, knowing his self destructive tendencies enjoy the hacking to his self esteem. 

Steve shuffles his weight between his feet, looking unsure of himself. “Shouldn’t we intervene by now?” He steps further into the kitchen and sits on the chair opposite you. “Surely we can’t let him continue like this.” 

You smile ruefully and push your mug to the side. “Steve, honey,” you begin carefully. “I know you’re concerned because he’s your best friend. Trust me, it’s hard for me to sit here and wait it out too. But you can’t force someone out of the recesses of their mind when they get like this.” Sliding your arms across the table, you gather Steve’s hands in yours. “Especially not Bucky.” 

The look on his face breaks your heart. “I know, I know. I just hate seeing him like this”, he sighs sadly. “I hate the feeling of doing nothing while he’s struggling.”

“Me too, sweetie.” You squeeze his hands before leaning back in your chair. “All we can do is give gentle encouragement. Let him know we’re here whenever he’s ready.” 

Although the worry was all the same in these situations, you were well seasoned with how to maintain your distance for Bucky’s well being, while also showing your love from afar by now. For example, the meals you had left him every single day without fail outside of your shared room; his favourite comfort food with a sweet treat baked specifically by you to give him some energy. 

Or the blankets you love so much slipped into the room without breaking the promise of seeing Bucky before he was ready. Without looking, you would open the door and place the fluffy material by the floor. You also took the time to spray it with your daily perfume as a familiar comfort Bucky could relish in without your physical form. 

It broke your heart to be away from him for so long, even if you were in the same vicinity as each other — always only a distance away that you could run to within sixty seconds should he need you. However, you knew this was what he needed. After the first time this happened within your relationship and you had no idea what he needed from you during that time, the two of you had sat down and discussed how you could support him better going forward. 

“Don’t worry,” you reassure gently before moving away from the table and placing your mug into the sink. “He’ll come to, he always does. Just gotta give him some time.” 

“Will you—,” Steve swallows his words harshly before trying again. “Could you let me know if he’s okay when you hear something?” Almost silently, he adds, “Please?”

You realise then that this is Bucky’s best friend, the man who defied every order and rule book to save him — multiple times. There’s a vulnerability in his ocean blue eyes and your heart is happy that the love of your life has other people that adore him just as much as you do. You wish Bucky could see the extent as easily. 

Softening your eyes, you don’t divert your attention for a second as you sincerely swear, “Of course, Stevie. I’ll make sure FRIDAY gets a message to you.” 

Steve blows out a heavy breath, seemingly lighter than he was when he first came in. “Thank you.” 

You share a delicate smile, an understanding between teammates, friends and two people who love Bucky so immensely. You’re about to bid him good night, ready to retreat to your old room just down the hall from your shared one with Bucky when a set of footsteps, timid and apprehensive creep towards you. Steve turns his head at the same time as you to find the very man on both your minds. 

“Bucky.” The relief in your voice is loud and the tension that you hadn’t even realised was so tightly weaved into your limbs instantly relaxes at the sight of him. It takes everything in you to not run into his arms, not wanting to spook him, so you tamper your emotions and stay rooted in your place while your eyes greedily take him in for the first time in a week. “Hi, baby.” 

Your boyfriend, head down with his long, matted hair hiding his face, lifts his head slightly until a peek of storm grey meets your gaze. You clock the dark, heavy bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, the chapped lips that have been bitten restlessly. The clothes, stained with sweat marks, lay unusually baggy on his form. Normally, his shirts sit snug on the muscles of his biceps and his toned stomach and his sweatpants fit defined around his thick thighs. However in the week separated from him, Bucky has lost a fair amount of weight you conclude from lack of training and eating. 

Though his stature is hunched and he’s so desperately trying to hide away in plain sight, Bucky is here, visible and alive. He’s in front of you because he wants to be, you know that from past experience. He’s ready to let you in and take care of him even when the nasty voice in his head is telling him he doesn’t deserve it. You try so hard to swallow the lump in your throat and will the tears not to gather in your waterline. 

As Bucky clenches his fingers tightly, the whirring of his vibranium arm filling the silence of the kitchen, you know what he needs right now is for you to take charge. He’s not verbal yet, present but unable to speak and so you step forward slowly until you’re closer to him but not yet crowding his space. 

“How about we run you a bath, hm?” you offer softly, a suggestion rather than an order. While you’re trying to lead, you want him to set the pace — everything on his terms. “The warm water will feel nice on your muscles.” 

With a barely there nod of his head, Bucky accepts and you breathe a little easier knowing he’s still there, just a little lost. But it’s the subtle flex of his fingers, reaching out towards you that threatens to crack you. 

Carefully, you thread your fingers through his. You don’t miss the shudder that violently tracks down his back or the small gasp he lets loose. Your heart is becoming whole once again. 

Before leaving the kitchen, you glance at Steve still standing staring at his best friend. It’s then you stop and tentatively rub your thumb against Bucky’s hand. “Stevie wanted to ask you if you’d be up for a drive sometime soon. Doesn’t that sound good, honey? Taking your bike out for a spin?” 

Steve holds his breath as Bucky lifts his head slightly. “Mhm.” His voice is rough around the edges, the syllables straining against his dry throat. 

It's all he can offer right now. But from the looks of it, Steve’s eyes light up like he’s won the lottery. “Can’t wait, pal. I’m ready whenever you are, just let me know.” 

Your friend then looks to you, mouthing a silent thank you. You smile before ushering Bucky to your room. 

Bucky stands in the corner of the bathroom, looking smaller than you’ve ever seen him. He still hasn’t said anything, instead choosing to remain quiet for now. That was more than okay with you. You would rather slowly pluck away at the wall he’s built around himself and allow him to come forth smoothly. 

Meanwhile, you had rolled your sleeves up, running the water to fill the bathtub. You pick up two options of bubble bath and read them aloud to your boyfriend. “Okay. So we’ve got Lavender or Eucalyptus. Both are great for relaxation. You think you’d prefer one, baby?” 

Bucky doesn’t respond, his owlish eyes blinking at you. Though his actions threaten the well of emotions in your throat, you remain calm and soothing. “That’s alright, honey. We can just put a little of each in. Best of both worlds, huh?” 

Again, there’s no response. But you expect nothing more. You hold no expectations of him, only wanting to gently encourage him out of his shell, just like you’d told Steve earlier. 

You pour each liquid under the running faucet and instantly soapy bubbles begin to form on the surface of the water. Happy with the result, you turn each tap off and smile towards your boyfriend. “All done, Buck.” 

He stands there motionless, eyes darting between you and the bathtub, still making no move towards you. 

“Would you like some help, love?” You move slowly, each step intentionally attentive. “It’s difficult sometimes, to get your body moving, isn’t it?” 

Bucky nods. It's not much, but it's something and you can work with that. 

“Right. We all need help sometimes. No shame in that, Bucky.” You’re in front of him now, a hair's breadth away from each other and you’re thankful to be let into his space. “Would you like me to undress you?” 

The air is stilted as you wait for any kind of indication from Bucky. It’s to your surprise that a gentle whisper slips from his lips. “Please.” 

You hone down the tears bullying their way to the surface. Instead, you smile shakily. “Of course, baby. Anything you need.” 

Raising your hands cautiously, you bring them to Bucky’s eyeline, allowing him to follow each motion you make. You bring them slowly towards the hem of his shirt, lifting the material over his torso and with a small struggle over his shoulders to the top of his head. 

“All okay, Buck? Can I keep going?” You check in, wary of any stipulations to his emotions. Reading his eyes, you know you’re good to reach for his pants. And so you do, taking careful measures to not let your skin connect with his prematurely and without permission. 

With only Bucky’s underwear left, you take one last chance to gain consent. “Am I good to help you take those off? We can keep them on or I can turn around while you do it yourself if you’re not comfortable.” 

But Bucky needs no time before he whispers his fingers against yours. A sign of his authorisation for you to take the reins. 

“Sure thing, honey.” Just like before you send him a reassuring smile before inching the last piece of material down his thighs and finally away from his feet. He stands naked before you and you make sure to look nowhere else other than his eyes. “Thank you for allowing me to do that, Buck. Can I walk you to the bath now?” 

There’s a slight moment of hesitance before Bucky places one foot in front of the other, searching for your hold. Immediately, you place one arm around his back, the other wrapping around his hand. 

You step together in sync, slow for Bucky’s sake. “Great job, baby. You’re doing so good for me.” Once you reach the tub, you give some directions. “Okay, you’re gonna step in now and I’m going to be right here with you.” 

Bucky grasps your hand tighter. You know he’s scared you’re going to leave. Gently, you swipe his tangled hair behind his ear and cup his stubbled cheek. “I promise I’m not leaving. I’ll be right by your side, okay love?” 

You see him swallow the lump in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing until he slackens his grip. Not before taking a deep breath, Bucky shakily lifts himself into the bathtub with your assistance and lowers himself into the water until his full body is submerged. 

“There we go.” Your pride for him is certain and absolute. You try your best to show him that. “Hard parts over with now, Buck. Now I can take care of you.” 

His pained groan echoes around the tiles of the bathroom. He’s hiding himself away from you but you’re eventually crumbling his defences down. 

“Let’s get this hair sorted out, huh? I’ll even let you use my shampoo you always steal.” The familiarity of your usual banter is a band aid to the wound so raw and open. Bucky was a fiend for thieving your most expensive toiletries — an excuse already lined up that no men’s products, no matter how costly, could match up to yours. 

Normally you would scold him, jumping into a shower after a prolonged mission only to find your shampoo empty with the bottle still placed on the rack. 

However, you would take those moments a thousand times over if it brought him even a slither of the happiness he supplied to you. 

It's then you run through your next steps with trained precision. You manage to run water over Bucky’s hair without getting any over his face, worried it may trigger him. You ignore the water in the bathtub, once transparent now a ruddy brown. And you silently open the bottle of shampoo, squeezing a generous amount onto your hands. 

“I’m about to climb in. Breathe for me, love.” You’re glad you wore shorts as you dip your foot into the water behind Bucky, swinging your leg over to sit on the ledge with your boyfriend between your thighs. A perfect position to stay close to him and provide him with the utmost care. 

Testing a tender touch upon his head and satisfied that Bucky is comfortable, you begin to lather the shampoo into his scalp. You relish in the grunts fighting their way through, the whimpers that climb up his throat, because this is the only way you know Bucky to finally cave in. Allow himself to be free from the shackles his mind clamps around him. Allow him to breach the prison he’s placed himself in. To come home to you. 

“That’s it, baby,” you murmur, purposely softening your voice to a gentle tone. “Let it out, I’ve got you. I’ll catch you.” 

As your nails scratch against his head, the first sob is released. You feel Bucky’s arms wrap around your thigh and his head lays itself upon you as his body begins to shake. You let him. The days worth of degradation and horror he’s allowed himself to relive escaping in this moment. 

“It's okay. Everything’s okay, Bucky.” It's a feat upon itself not to cry with him. A tear tracks down your cheek that you quickly wipe away with your shoulder because it’s your turn to be strong for him. To be the impenetrable wall he can lean on with the knowledge that he won’t fall. 

“I’m so sorry,” he weeps. You’re not sure whether he’s directing his words to you or someone else you’re not privy to. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” 

“Shh.” Your desire to make everything okay for him burns bright. “None of that now, okay? You’re here. With me. I’ve got you.” 

There’s a hole in his heart that’s never ending. Deep and wide and burrowed too far for anyone to try and stitch back together. You’ve tried. Though this kind of damage was irreparable. 

The good days always outweighed the bad. Bucky had come so far along in his healing journey for that to be untrue. But when the demons came out to play, there was no room for anyone else to hold a hand for him to grab on to. Bucky was dragged down into the dungeons of hell, locked away until the monsters had gotten their fix. 

Rinsing the soap out of his hair, Bucky’s wails begin to calm, the tidal wave having hit its peak and descending back down. You keep him close to you, no mind in how wet your clothes are, and quietly hum a tune. 

Your lullaby is eventually the only sound in the room, each note having the desired effect of soothing Bucky into a sense of peace. His limbs have loosened, his shoulders no longer stiff. And you wait ever so patiently for him to break the ice. 

That moment comes when you reach for the bottle of conditioner, beginning to apply it to the ends of Bucky’s hair. “Y-You’re so good to me.” While more stable, his voice still trembles. “Why are you so good to—to me?” 

You thin your lips, willing the cracks in your heart not to spread further than they already have. Grabbing the comb, you start to gently tease your way through the knots matting the strands of his chocolate locks. “That’s because you deserve it, baby,” you say confidently. “You deserve to be taken care of.” 

Bucky sighs, a heavy weight behind it. His next declaration falls from him quietly yet deafening. “Sometimes I don’t think I do.” 

“I know.” With a gentle push of your fingers underneath his chin, Bucky looks up at you, eyes sorrowful and still so beautiful. You lean down to kiss his forehead, then his nose and at last his lips. Against them, you seal your truth. “But believe me when I say it’s easy to love you. Like nothing else I’ve ever done before, no matter what goes on up here.” You tap by the side of his temple twice. “I’m in love with you on your bad days just as much as your good days. There’s no running away from that, Bucky. And I’ll prove that to you every single time, for as long as you need me to.”

His voice is hopeful when he strains out a choked, “Yeah?”” 

You hope your eyes display your conviction. “Every damn time, baby. I’ll bring you back to me.” 

Bucky’s eyes close at the sensation of your loving touch and promises. “I’d like that.” 

Kissing his lips one last time, you lean back up, setting aside the comb and grabbing the washcloth. Bucky stays unmoving, nuzzled into your thigh and so you begin to massage the muscle of his shoulders, humming your song once again. 

“Me too, Bucky.” 

You can’t fix him, you know that. Bucky is a man, tortured by memories and a past that stripped him of basic human rights. But you’re devoted to picking up the pieces he leaves behind, handing them over for him to glue back together. And if you found yourself slowly healing the cracks with your care and utter adoration for him for the rest of your life, you wouldn’t be mad about it. 

Because no matter what Bucky thought of himself, there was no doubt in your mind that he deserved your love. 

[moviegurl2002]

Part 3, our couple are getting closer and I'm all for it!

something good and true - part 3

part one / part two / part four

pairing: mob boss!bucky x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 5.5k

notes: the way almost none of this was in the original draft of what i was planning on posting lol 😂 thank you for your patience as i reworked and added a bunch of stuff to this little mini series of sorts! i hope you like it. feel free to share your thoughts and comments. thank you for reading and as always, reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated. enjoy! 🩵

The dinner was lovely, and the company too.

You don’t think you’ve ever had such a simple dish taste quite that good, or had conversations quite that interesting. Bucky really is as much a charmer as he’s been said to be.

He had a lot of questions about you and answered some of your own. Your rapport was easy, though you already expected from your previous conversations at the restaurant that it would be. You don’t know how you lose yourself so easily when you talk with him, and actually, lose isn’t the best word. There’s a kind of ease when you’re talking to him that has you fully being you. Aside from your usual shyness that shows through now and again, you speak with him without hesitation. Like you’re on the same level, though you know you’re nowhere near Bucky’s status and stature.

Still, you have similar outlooks on life, and seem to communicate and think in similar ways. By the time he was driving you home, you had almost completely forgotten about his social status and were in part failing to realize that you indeed had just had dinner with the city’s notorious mob boss.

There were certain things throughout the dinner that did remind you of that fact now and again, though. Not always what he said, but what he wouldn’t…

It was a quiet moment, a lull in your conversation when you decided to just ask. Your dad refused to tell you, and you had all but let it go, until Bucky said what he did about his guys finding Freddy. You don’t know what morbid curiosity was nipping at you, but some odd little part of you wanted to know.

“Can I ask,” you began slowly, unsure you really did want the mental picture, “where you found him?”

He looked at you, and seemed to have a split second of contemplation before he answered quite simply and calmly.

“No.”

You blinked down from his gaze to your plate, wetting your lip out of habit. You were kind of expecting that, but still. You picked up your fork and returned his stare, about to ask him why, when he continued and stopped you before you could question him.

“You don’t need’a know that, doll. You know, your dad probably didn’t tell you for a reason. Wasn’t exactly a pretty find.”

You swallowed the bite you had taken and watched as he took a sip of his drink. You didn’t push any further, and you had a feeling you wouldn’t have gotten much of anywhere if you had.

There were other questions you had asked, too, that he would only give a vague answer to, or evade completely.

“I won’t ever lie to you, sweetheart,” he had said. “But there’s just some things you’re better off not knowing.”

You couldn’t argue with that, and you knew he meant it when he said he wouldn’t lie.

His reputation precedes him, and he’s known to be a man of his word. Granted, those words are usually cold, callous certainties spoken to anyone who’d be dumb enough to try and cross him or do dirty work behind his back. Everyone’s heard the stories.

You’re fortunate that all his words toward you have been the complete opposite. It’s almost funny how safe you find yourself feeling around the man whose name alone struck fear in you just a few months ago. You can’t imagine feeling that way about or around him now.

He drove you home, a little later than you’d expected to be back but you didn’t really mind, and like he always did, he opened the car door for you, helped you out, and walked you to your front door.

You got the niceties out as you stood before him after unlocking your front door, the twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes momentarily holding you captive.

”Sorry I kept you so late,” he apologized.

“No, don’t be,” you shook your head lightly, “It was…good,” you breathed. “Talking with you was good. And the food was good,” you felt yourself on the verge of a ramble but couldn’t stop yourself, “It was-“

“Good?” he cut you off with a playful smirk. You felt your face heat up as your stomach fluttered.

“Yeah,” you smiled demurely, looking down at your feet for a second.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he said, “so did I.” You looked up to meet his eye again as he continued, “I like spending time with you. Hopefully we can do it again.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly and you took a breath before forcing yourself to swallow and your tongue to move. “I would like that,” you nodded.

“Good,” he simpered. You bit on your small smile in return. “I’ll be seeing you then.” He reached for your free hand, taking it gently in his as he raised it up to his lips, your breath stuttering as you watched him. He placed a delicate kiss on your hand, his blue eyes meeting your gaze as he did. “Sleep easy, sweetheart,” he said as he lowered your hand, squeezing it just a touch before he took a step back. “And happy Valentine’s Day,” he added as you pushed your door in.

“Happy Valentine’s,” you returned. “Have a good rest of your night.”

He gave you a crooked smile as he backed up further and you found yourself smiling again too as you closed the door and locked it behind yourself. You watched from the peephole as he walked to his car and waited until he pulled away to head to your room to start your nighttime routine.

Sleep came easier than it had in a long while.

-

You woke up in the morning to find a text message from an unsaved number. Unlocking your phone to read it, a giddiness came over you as you read the first sentence and realized who it was from.

Morning, doll. I hope you had a good night. I know it’s early, but call me when you can.

You were a little confused as to why he wanted you to call him, your mind wandering with the possibilities as you got out of bed, but of course you would.

He’d sent the message about an hour ago and it was barely half past 7 now. He must’ve been up really early and a bit of guilt for staying at his house so late nips at you. He’s a busy man and here you are taking up his time.

But, he is the one who asked you to dinner for reasons other than just getting the whole story about Freddy. He said himself that he wanted to have dinner with you, it wasn’t an obligation.

And this is him asking you to call him, not you invading on his morning.

A part of you wants to call right now, feeling like you’ve kept him waiting long enough, but another part of you - a stronger part - wants you to brush your teeth and not deviate from your daily getting readies. You can call him in twenty minutes, you’re sure it’ll be fine.

It’s minutes away from being 8 when you’re done with your brushing and skin care and you still wear your pajamas as you make your way down the hall to the kitchen, your phone in hand. You click on the still unsaved number, making a note to store it after the call. You dial and then put it on speaker as you listen to the usual tone and wait for an answer. It’s not long before you get one.

“Barnes,” his gruff voice comes through your cell. You’ve never heard him sound quite like that before, but you’re not entirely taken aback. This must be the Bucky most people are used to. You nibble on your lip as you grab a clean mug from the cabinet, holding your phone close to you as you multitask.

“Bucky?” you say, curious to see if his tone will change.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, causing a smile to break out on your face at the abrupt change. His voice sounds smoother, and you don’t picture him looking so stoic or angry as you did a second ago. ”Sorry, I didn’t check who was calling before I answered. Been a busy morning.”

“It’s okay,” you ease as you put in a pod for your coffee. “I’m sorry I had you out so late. I didn’t realize you had to be up early, I would’ve tried to leave before.”

“No, don’t worry about it. ‘M used to early mornings. And I wouldn't ’ave wanted you to leave any sooner as it was.”

You smile at his words as your coffee starts to sputter, filling your mug three quarters full.

He continues, “Look, doll, I’m not gonna be around for the next couple days. Have some business to take care of outta town, but I wanted to call you before I got too busy to set something up for next week.”

“Oh,” you say, brows raised.

“I don’t wanna rush you here, sweetheart, so feel free to tell me what you’re thinkin’. If next week is too soon, I can wait… I think I’m just used to seeing you at least once a week now,” he chuckles softly. “And I do wanna see you again - even more now than I usually find myself wanting to, after last night.”

“I think I’m used to seeing you weekly, too,” you smile, laughing lightly. “Next week’s not too soon, I - yeah, I wanna see you too.”

“You free Tuesday?”

“I have a feeling you already know that I am,” you answer, earning a short, huffed laugh from Bucky on the other end.

“I was giving you an out if you wanted it.”

“Well I don’t.” The reply leaves your lips faster than you even realize, but it’s true. ”So, Tuesday?”

“How’s 2?”

“2 works.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay,” you reply simply, smiling softly down at the mug you’ve set on the counter, still steaming. Bucky sighs, sounding a bit agitated as you hear a car door open in the background.

“Alright, well, as much as I’d like to stay on a little longer, I gotta go, doll.” Your smile falls just slightly as he goes on, “I’ll see you on Tuesday. And if you need anything in the meantime, anything comes up, you call me.”

“Yeah, okay. I will,” you murmur, wrapping your mind around his words and trying to name the feeling they’ve sent through you. “Talk to you later, then,” you trail off softly. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he bids, ending the call right after.

You readjust your hold on the phone and save Bucky to a new contact before setting it down completely.

Tuesday it is.

You take a drink from your mug. Now, what does one wear to a lunch date?

-

It was a long weekend. You spent Saturday not doing much aside from cleaning and catching up on some TV, while Sunday saw you going over to your parent’s for breakfast and then lounging the rest of the day away in the comfort of your own home. Sunday night, though, you received a text from Bucky that had that warm giddy feeling filling your chest, and that familiar fluttering flying in your tummy. It was simple, but so sweet.

Hope you had a good weekend, sweetheart. Was just thinking about you, wanted to wish you a goodnight.

Monday, you had work that evening but spent the earlier part of your day finalizing your outfit. The restaurant was slow but you still ended the night with a nice amount of tips. When you got home you followed your typical routine as normal and just as you were getting into bed, your phone started to ring. Your brows scrunched as you pulled it from where it was charging and upon seeing Bucky’s name on the screen, answered with your heart ticking a little faster despite yourself.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you answered a bit trepidatiously. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he reassured right away. “I was getting ready for bed and realized I hadn’t confirmed with you for tomorrow. 2 still work for you?”

“Oh,” you breathed a little easier, “yeah, it does… I’m looking forward to it,” you said before biting your lip. Was that silly to say? You wondered briefly before he responded.

“Me too,” he said, and you swore you could hear a hint of a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Sorry I couldn’t call earlier, I got held up with some business.”

“That’s okay, I was at work most of the day, I probably wouldn’t have been able to answer if you had.”

“Right,” he said before you heard what sounded like a water faucet being turned on. “How was your shift?”

You were a little surprised at the question, just not having expected it, but you answered in turn. The conversation lasted a little while as you both talked briefly about your days - all the while you heard what you assumed was Bucky going about his washroom getting ready for bed like he said he had been doing. It was oddly familiar, but not in a bad way. Just, comfortable. The way he spoke to you, like he genuinely cared about what you had to say, about how your day went, it lit something inside you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. It was the feeling that you really, truly were cared for. That someone wanted to know about your day, not just because they wanted to get in your pants, but because they were genuinely interested in you.

You went to bed with a smile as Bucky wished you a good night, his low soothing timber reminding you he’d be seeing you tomorrow before you ended the call.

-

You’re dressed and ready for lunch half an hour early, the buzzing excitement you’re trying hard to not let overwhelm you causing you to move faster than you normally do on your days off.

Instead of sitting impatiently on the couch, checking the time every other minute, you decide to get some air and wait out on the porch.

It’s a nice afternoon, a light easy breeze drifting through the cool, sunny day as you sit. The sun is out but it’s still early spring, so not too warm yet. You wear a sundress that hits just above your knees and your pair of walkable, low heeled sandals.

You sit back with a sigh, close your eyes, and take some breaths. The time passes by faster after your eyes fall shut, a warm tiredness washing over you as the sun shines near. You’re like a cat in a window. You manage to rest your eyes for about fifteen minutes before you wake yourself up. You pull your phone from your purse and decide to spend the next fifteen minutes scrolling through your socials.

Your head perks up as you hear a car approaching and you move to see Bucky coming down your way. You stand as he pulls in front of your house and start to make your way to his car as he gets out himself. You meet at the car door as he stands before you.

“Hey, doll,” he greets with a half smile, coming close to kiss your cheek softly, then pulling away and meeting your twinkling eyes as you gaze at him.

“Hi,” you return, sounding a little more affected by the simple gesture than you maybe wanted to.

“You look beautiful as always,” he compliments as he opens the door for you, helping you in.

You respond when he gets back in on his side. “You look really nice,” you admire in turn, earning a charming grin from him as he pulls away from your house.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says as you watch him drive. He wears a nice pair of dark trousers, a white tee, and a white, undone short sleeve button up over it. His beard is short and well kept as usual, his dark hair pushed back and kept there with his sunglasses on his head. You see a silver chain peeking out from the collar of his shirt as he mindlessly wets his lips, making sure he’s clear to turn from the stop you’re at. He glances over at you as he turns and catches your stare, his lips tilting up as you smile shyly at being caught.

This is the most casual you’ve ever seen him, and you really like it. He looks incredible in a suit, but there’s something about him right now that feels a little more free, and maybe a little more him.

When Bucky pulls up to the front of the restaurant, there is a valet waiting. A young man opens your door for you and as you get out, Bucky is there to take your hand. He passes off his key to the man he thanks by name before he leads you to the entrance.

“Mr. Barnes,” a pretty blonde greets at the front, “lovely to see you again. Miss.,” she greets you with a smile. “Your table is right this way.”

You don’t even realize your hand is still in his as he guides you to follow behind the woman, not until you get to the seating area. It’s almost instantaneous, all eyes on you and Bucky the second you enter the area. You try not to look at anyone yourself as your hand squeezes Bucky’s a little tighter without thought. He pulls you almost imperceptibly closer to him as you walk hand in hand to the table reserved for him.

He pulls your seat out and pushes you in once you’re sat before taking his own across from you.

“Here are your menus,” she says as she places them before you both, “your server will be right with you, but can I get your drinks started for you in the meantime?”

“I’ll take a water, please,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I’ll have water, as well,” Bucky says. “Thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll get those right away.”

You watch the blonde as she flits away and then feel Bucky’s eyes on you. You turn to him with curious eyes as you grab the menu to pursue. “What?” you say with a light laugh.

He takes a second before he responds, then gives a small shake of his head, “Nothing.” He grabs his own menu and continues as you both look it over, “Have you been here before?”

“Here?” you ask, almost disbelieving the question. “Uh, no,” you answer honestly, “I think it’s just a bit outta my tax bracket,” you joke.

He smiles at you across the table, but really the distance isn’t all that far.

“I have always wanted to eat here, though. I’ve heard good things.”

“Yeah, they have some quality options. And don’t worry about the prices, order whatever you like, please.”

You exchange a glance and an easy smile before you continue browsing the menu.

Not even a minute later do you find yourselves being interrupted.

You’re a little startled at first as a man makes his presence known at the table, you don’t know how you missed him walking up to begin with, but you did. He’s average height, with an athletic build. Medium brown hair, brown eyes, and clean shaven. He wears a suit and tie that speaks to his class and an expensive watch on his wrist. You’ve never seen him before, at least not in person, but he looks oddly familiar. You think he might be that attorney with the commercials that play everywhere all over town. You can’t remember his name. Not that that is your concern at all at the moment. You felt the energy change the instant he got to your table. The man looks a little miffed, but also a little unsure in his actions, as he looks at Bucky. Your eyes are on him as you wait for him to speak.

“Mr. Barnes. David Dunlap,” he introduces himself, “I have been trying to get in contact with you for almost three weeks n-“

Your eyes shoot to Bucky at Dunlap’s abrupt silence and see that he’s raised his hand in pause. There’s a harshness in Bucky’s gaze that cuts through the man before him as he makes him stand in his silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. His face is stone before he speaks, unsettlingly calm, with an edge to it.

“You see the lady sitting right here across from me?”

David nods slowly, changing a glance at you.

“Why don’t you show some respect and start off by apologizing for startling her and interrupting our lunch.”

David’s eyes find you again, a little wider now than they were a second ago. He swallows thickly before he does just that. “Excuse me, miss, for the interruption. I certainly didn't mean to startle you, I’m very sorry.”

You don’t know what to say, you just give a small nod and a tight lipped but polite smile before your eyes find Bucky’s again.

“Great. You do have manners. Now take a second and ask yourself, do I really look like I’m here to do business right now? And even if I were, do you really think it’s a good idea to come approach me the way you just did?” He waits a second for a response he doesn’t get before continuing, “Right. Why don’t you keep using those manners of yours, go back to your table, enjoy your lunch, and continue to wait patiently, like half the other people here, until someone at my organization returns your calls.”

“I understand I’m not the only one trying to reach you, sir,” the man starts again, sounding overly agitated as he turns more toward Bucky, knocking the table on your side a bit as he does. The second you recoil from the bump, just out of surprise at the table moving, Bucky is out of his seat, easily standing taller than Dunlap; his jaw set and his eyes dead on him.

“Step away from the table,” Bucky says. His voice is low and deadly and you can hear his ire as clearly as you can see it in his eyes.

Your gaze is only on Bucky as you find yourself entranced by him.

You sense Dunlap step further away, a fast apology spilling out past his lips.

“Go finish your lunch, tip your server, and stay the hell outta my line of sight while you do it.” His voice remains steady as he speaks clearly, “I’m with company, so I’m bein’ nice, but the next time you forget who you’re talking to when you’re speaking to me, the next time I have to repeat myself,” his warning goes unfinished as Dunlap cuts him off by rushing out another apology - his previous agitation now gone completely in favor of a more submissive, and even scared, tone as he tries to appease the domineering man before him. He leaves quickly, and with an assurance of his understanding as he does.

It’s only then you realize the place had gone silent at the unexpected interaction. There’s not many eyes on you, people know better than to stare right now, but you know they were all fully listening. The silence though is quickly replaced by the return of idle lunch chatter as Bucky sits once more. He fixes his shirt as he does, and meets your enraptured gaze as you watch him. You feel flustered and a little embarrassed by how attractive you actually found that display of dominance and authority.

“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” he apologizes.

“Please, don’t be,” you say with quick reassurance, looking into his eyes. “I uhm,” you swallow, hoping he can’t somehow read your thoughts and figure out exactly what it is that you’re thinking, “I thought you shut that down well. But I appreciate the apologies,” you add with a smile. “Yours and his.”

Your waiter approaches with your waters and apologizes themselves for the disturbance you experienced at the hands of another guest. They assure Bucky they’re handling him as well and he won’t be dealing with that again, not that Bucky is worried about it in the slightest. You both place your orders and are thankfully able to continue with your lunch as normal. Or as normal as a lunch date with a mob boss can be. The curious glances and whispers can only be so ignored…

Bucky paid the bill, of course, and you thanked him for lunch as he took your hand and walked you out to his awaiting car.

“I’m sorry again about what happened earlier,” he apologizes when he gets in, your brows furrowing at his words. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen often, but it does happen - now and again.” He begins to drive off but you can tell there’s something more he wants to say, so you wait for him to say it.

“Comes with the job. The life,” he looks at you, a bit pointedly, and you think you know what he’s getting at. “I’m not trying to scare you or make you uncomfortable, I just don’t want you to slip too far into something you don’t really want to be a part of.”

“…Your life?”, you clarify.

He looks at you again and without saying anything, you know his answer is a yes.

“I’m not under any illusions about what it is you do, Bucky; who you are to people, the life you live. If I was uncomfortable, or I didn’t want to be around you, you would know it. And for the record,” you add, “I feel the complete opposite of scared when I’m with you. Like earlier, I… I like that side of you, too.”

He eyes you as he drives and sports a half smirk at your words, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile shyly back.

-

You thought lunch was the only thing on the table today, but when Bucky asked if you wanted to go to the art museum as you came up on it, you were more than happy to say yes. You probably would’ve said yes to anything he suggested, really. You didn’t want to go home and say goodbye so soon.

The museum wasn’t too busy so you really took your time wandering the exhibits, admiring the artwork and sharing your thoughts on certain pieces that really spoke to you.

You knew Bucky was a smart man, but you didn’t know to what extent. He was quite the historian, sharing facts and giving you background on certain artists and historical events you’d never studied before yourself. He seemed a real patron of the humanities and it added another level to him entirely. You thought back to the artwork that adorned the walls of his home and were now more interested than before on why he’d chosen to display the pieces he did. What they meant to him, why he liked them. You wanted to hear his thoughts. Suddenly, you wanted to know his thoughts on everything, really. You could listen to him talk for hours.

Eventually, after walking the whole museum, you made your way back to the entrance and then to the parking garage.

Bucky led you to the car as you walked close to his side. You felt…happy. Genuinely happy. His hand brushed yours as you walked and though the distance to his car was relatively short, he still took your hand in his as he led the rest of the way; helping you in when you reached it.

There was a weird kind of excitement buzzing around you as he drove you home. And along with it, an odd kind of contentment. It all felt so new, and yet so safe.

When Bucky pulled up to your house, around 5:30, he got out to open your door for you, offering you his hand as you moved to stand. You took it with a soft smile and met his ocean blue gaze, “Thank you.” As you began up the way to your front door, you spoke again, “I had a really nice time today, Bucky.”

You were walking awfully slowly, side by side, wanting to spend as much more time with him as you could before you’d call the date officially over with your goodbyes.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he agreed with a simpering smile while he looked at you.

He walked you all the way to your door and as you unlocked it, you had a thought. Turning to face him once again you decided to just ask.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?”

He takes a breath then released it heavily, “Ah, I wish I could,” he says almost wistfully. “I have a business dinner. Next time,” he assures. It’s not a question, it’s a promise. You’re a little disappointed to have to say bye now, but you understand.

“Okay,” you agree with a demure smile.

“Okay,” he echoes with a lopsided smile of his own.

You both stay standing in front of one another for a long moment, neither of you wanting to leave, and after a second, you unthinkingly let your eyes leave his, trailing down and landing on his lips. You realize instantly just how badly you want to kiss him.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, only to find his gaze on your own lips instead. You think for a second that he might kiss you, but then you see the hesitation, the restraint as he mindlessly wets his lips before biting his own lip gently and letting it go.

You know then why he has yet to kiss you. He doesn’t want to rush you into anything and you’re getting the feeling he’s waiting for you to make the first move, to let him know what it is you want.

You take a breath, mustering up your courage and confidence as you slowly inch closer to him. You don’t think you’ve ever made the first move on anyone before. God, this is kinda nerve wracking…

Bucky is still, not moving as he watches you take a step closer, leaving very little distance between you now.

You look in his eyes and it’s like he can read your mind. You’re breathing just a little heavier now as his eyes float down to your lips once again, telling you it’s what he wants, too.

You angle yourself, tilting to kiss him. Your eyes flutter shut at the contact of his lips on your and it’s less than a second before Bucky is kissing you back. It’s soft, and sweet, and at the same time, so charged. Bucky reaches to hold your face with one hand and gently places the other on your waist as you kiss him a little deeper. Your own hands find their way around his neck, your fingers slipping into his hair as the kiss grows more sensual and you seem to pull each other closer still. You wouldn’t mind staying there with him all night but you have to part to take a breath.

With your nose against his, your eyes still shut as you catch a breath, bodies still close, lips not too far apart, you breathe a quiet question.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come in?”, you ask, sounding a little drunk off the kiss already as you press your lips to his again, soft once more. You can feel his smirk at your question as he kisses you back before he breaks it with a groan. Your eyes blink open as you watch him.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he grouses in jest, pressing his forehead to yours as he holds you to him, his hand gently squeezing the soft curve of your waist before his thumb smooths soothingly over the fabric of your dress. “You know I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

You can’t help your own soft smile as you apologize with a titter, “I’m sorry.”

He breathes a soft laugh, pulling away from you ever so slightly, “I don't think you are.”

He lets his thumb rub your cheek, looking in your eyes as if to check in with you before he leans closer once more, kissing you gently. He pulls away fully then, though his hands linger as he does, slipping softly off your cheek first, but keeps his one hand now on your hip, like he doesn’t want to part just yet. You’re not complaining, the feeling is more than mutual, and you like the weight of his hand on you. You’ll take it for as long as you can.

“I do have to go,” he says apologetically. You keep your soft smile as you nod in understanding before he continues, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll answer,” you reply easily.

His hand slips off your hip as he moves instead to take hold of your hand. He brings it up to his lips and places a quick but delicate kiss on your hand, making your tummy flutter once again at the newly familiar gesture.

“Have a good night, sweetheart.”

“You too, Bucky,” you return as he lowers your hand, releasing his hold. “Bye,” you bid as you step to your door, opening it and then waiting at the threshold as you watch him go back to his car. Just before he gets in, he sends a charming, boyish smile your way.

You watch him go before you finally close and lock your door behind you, feeling like you’re floating as your lips still tingle from his kiss and you warm at the phantom feeling of his hands holding you.

[the-winter-spider]

Yours, Always | Part Nine

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Little bit of this little bit of that

A/N: Steve and bucky meet next part 👀👀👀👀👀 Also ive decided since all my fics are inspired by songs and this one wasnt i was searching for one and ive declared Iris this stories song.

Masterpost

---

“God, I can’t wait to go home.”

Bucky leans back against the pillows, a lazy smile stretching across his face, you sit in the chair beside his bed, legs tucked under you, grinning at him.

“Nothing’s really changed,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It’s all the same.”

Bucky raises his eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “It’s just… not as vibrant as I remember it to be.”

Bucky tilts his head, watching you. Then, softer now, more certain. “That’s because it was never the place that made it vibrant.”

Your brows furrow. “No?”

He shakes his head. “It was us, we were the ones who made it full of life. We made it home, we made it everything.”

Your chest tightens at that, letting out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Damn, Buck. Are you getting all sentimental on me?”

He smirks. “What can I say? I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

Before you can respond, there’s a knock on the door. You both turn as it swings open, revealing a man standing in the doorway. “Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. “Sam.”

And then before you can even blink they’re moving toward each other, Bucky pushes himself off the bed, wincing slightly as he stands, but he doesn’t hesitate.

Sam is on him in an instant, wrapping him in a tight hug, clapping his back.

“Shit, man,” Sam exhales, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was never gonna see your ugly face again. They had me at some other hospital, had to bribe the nurses to let me out early.”

Bucky laughs, squeezing his friend tighter. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Wilson.”

They pull back, and Sam grins, shaking his head. “Damn, Buck, so good to see you, you look better already.”

Bucky smirks. “And you still look...old”

Sam laughs, shoving him lightly. “You were gone the same amount of time as me man, you look old too.” His gaze shifts, brown eyes land on you.

He pauses, taking you in for a moment before a knowing smirk spreads across his face. “And who is this beautiful lady?” Sam asks smoothly, stepping toward you.

You laugh, extending your hand. “Y/N.”

Sam grips your hand, shaking it, he looks back at Bucky. “Oh snap, this is her.”

Bucky looks so damn proud when he nods. “This is her.”

Before you can react, Sam tugs you into a hug.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “Nice to meet you too, Sam.”

“Feels like I already know you,” he says, pulling back slightly. “This guy wouldn’t shut up about you.”

You turn to Bucky, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Bucky shrugs, smirking. “Not my fault you’re my favorite topic.”

Sam laughs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, yeah and by the way..” he leans in slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “I totally think it was your fault you guys got caught swimming in the school pool that night.”

Your mouth drops open. “Bucky!” You turn to him, scandalized. “That was your fault! You were the one laughing too loud!”

Bucky throws his hands up. “Hey, don’t pin that on me! You’re the one who dared me to do a cannonball!”

“That was after we were already caught, you asshole!”

Sam bursts out laughing. “Oh, I like her,” he says, nudging Bucky. “She’s got a mouth on her. Good luck with that, man.”

Bucky smirks, watching you with something soft in his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head, but you’re smiling.

The three of you settle in comfortably, Bucky back on the bed, you still in the chair beside him, and Sam dragging a chair from the corner of the room.

It’s easy. Sam is talking, filling the space with stories about all the stupid shit Bucky got into before they were captured.

“I swear, man, this idiot thought he could outdrink all of us one night when we were stationed overseas.”

You snort, looking at Bucky. “That sounds about right.”

“Yeah?” Sam grins. “Well, guess what happened?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “He ended up half-naked on a rooftop singing old rock songs?”

Sam bursts out laughing, pointing at you. “See? She gets it! She knows you, man.”

Bucky just shakes his head, smirking. “You two are already teaming up against me, unreal.”

“I’m just saying,” Sam continues, leaning forward, “this guy was a menace. If there was trouble, Barnes found it.”

“He always did,” you muse, shaking your head with a small smile.

Then Sam shifts, his voice softening slightly, a teasing edge still there, but something knowing underneath. “Only time he wasn’t getting into some dumb shit was when he was writing his little letters.”

Your breathing stops.

“Didn’t matter what we were doing,” Sam continues. “Playing cards, watching movies, getting in fights, this guy would be off to the side, scribbling away.”

Your face heats up, you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you.

“You should’ve seen it,” Sam chuckles. “Like clockwork, every damn day. We’d be out tossing a football, and Barnes? Sitting there with his little notebook, writing about God knows what.”

Your stomach churns.

You already know what.

You.

Because you read every single one of them you just never wrote him back.

Bucky must notice the shift in your expression, the way your fingers twitch in your lap, his voice is softer when he speaks. “You okay?”

You force yourself to look at him.

He’s watching you carefully, his brows drawn together just slightly, like he’s trying to read the emotions playing across your face.

You swallow hard. “Yeah.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, neither does Sam, honestly.

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. “I just, I didn’t know you spent so much time writing.”

Bucky tilts his head slightly. “What did you think I was doing?”

You hesitate, softer, quieter. “I don’t know. Trying to move on, maybe.”

Something in Bucky’s expression breaks. “There was never moving on from you, Y/N. Never will be. What we have is different, I’d be stupid to look anywhere else for it.” He paused realising how it sounds so he back peddled, “Our friendship is everything to me.”

The words are so simple, so certain, like they were never up for debate and truthfully he couldn’t even fathom the idea of a world where you weren’t still the most important thing to him.

Your chest twists, you don’t trust yourself to speak. So instead, you just squeeze your hands together in your lap, staring down at them.

The silence that follows is heavy. Sam clears his throat. “Well, damn. I was trying to lighten the mood, not make it emotional.”

You let out a soft, watery laugh.

“You should know for future reference,” Bucky smirks, “wherever she and I go, it's a rollercoaster.”

Sam grins, shaking his head. “Noted, guess I’ll have to start cracking more jokes around you two. I hate the damn drops on those things.”

Bucky smirks. “You could try, but she’s funnier than you.”

“Oh, hell no,” Sam scoffs. “Y/N, back me up here. Who’s funnier?”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin. With a small smirk. “Definitely me.”

Bucky throws his head back, laughing.

Sam groans. “Great, another one. I'm gonna get gained up on with you two aren't I?"

---

The desert heat was relentless, pressing down on them like a weight that never let up. The air smelled of sand, sweat, and gun oil, the sounds of distant training drills filling the space between their conversation.

Bucky sat on the edge of his cot, his boots unlaced, uniform dusted with the day’s grime. He was hunched over, pen in hand, scribbling in his usual frantic way. The dim glow of the tent’s single overhead light flickered, casting long shadows on the canvas walls.

Sam, lying back on his own cot, hands folded behind his head, watched him with an amused expression. “Man, I gotta ask, what’s the deal with this girl?”

Bucky’s pen paused mid-sentence. His shoulders stiffened, but he kept his eyes on the page. “What girl?”

Sam snorted. “Oh, don’t even play dumb. You’ve been writing to her damn near every night since we got here. I don’t even write my sister this much.”

A couple of the other guys in their unit chuckled, listening in. Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s complicated.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “So uncomplicated it. You either love her, or you don’t.”

Bucky hesitated, tapping his pen against his knee. “Of course I love her but It’s not that simple, man. We were always… almost something. There were a million moments where I thought she felt the same way. But then I’d think… what if I was wrong? What if she was just being sweet, and if i put it all out there, and it ruined everything? What if I lost her completely? She’s my best friend, I couldn't handle that.”

Sam sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “So where are her letters?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Sam shook his head, exhaling.“You’re writing to her, but I don’t see any from her.”

Silence.

Bucky stared down at his half-finished letter, his grip tightening around the pen.

Sam’s expression softened. “Buck…”

“I lied to her,” Bucky admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sam’s head tilted slightly. “What do you mean?”

Bucky swallowed hard. “I never told her I enlisted.”

Sam blinked. “Shit.”

“I kept putting it off,” Bucky continued, his voice strained. “I knew she’d be pissed, and I was in too deep with our plans. We were supposed to go to New York together, go to school, start our lives. And I…I was too much of a coward to tell her that wasn’t gonna happen.” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “And then I got the letter a week early. They wanted me in for training sooner than my set date. I was literally packing my bags when she showed up at my house, and she…she saw me getting ready to leave.”

Sam winced. “Damn, that looks really bad.”

Bucky let out a long breath, eyes shining with something unreadable. “Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “She told me she hated me, that she never wanted to see me again.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Buck, there’s no way she meant that.”

Bucky laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Then why isn’t she writing me back?” His voice cracked. “It’s been a year, I’m over here, and she’s over there, and I…I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “We got another eight months, then we’re home.”

Bucky swallowed, his throat thick.

“And when we get back,” Sam continued, “you’re gonna go get your girl and no chickening out this time. We do it for real, especially if I’m involved.”

That got a small, watery laugh out of Bucky. “Yeah?”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, man. We’ll fix this. You’ll see. I’m the best wing man out there.”

Bucky nodded, exhaling slowly, staring down at the unfinished letter in his lap.

Eight more months.

Then, he’d go home and he’d finally get to be with you.

----

It was time, you had to go home and you didn’t want to. You wanted to go with Bucky but you had a life, a life that no longer felt like yours with your whole world standing in front of you. The airport is loud and busy, but to you, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just this moment.

Just you and Bucky, standing at the gate about to part ways again.

Winnie is nearby, speaking with the flight attendant, her eyes flickering back to the two of you every few seconds, watching, waiting.

Bucky exhales slowly, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. His bandaged shoulder is stiff, his body still adjusting to freedom, but right now, all of his focus is on you.

“So… when are you coming home?” His voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

Your stomach twists.

“Bucky, I—” You sigh, shaking your head. “Things are… complicated.”

His brows furrow. “Complicated how?” He knew you had your own family but he was being selfish but he only really felt happiness around you, when you weren’t there his mind would wander to the last 8 years and what he went through.

You look down, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “I have Lily and Steve. My whole life is in New York now. I can’t just…no matter how much I want to, I just…” You bite your lip, looking up at him. “I promise I’ll be there soon. I just need time to figure some things out.”

Bucky nods, but you can see the pain in his eyes, the way his jaw tenses like he’s holding something back. “I really don’t want to be away from you again, I don’t know if I can..”

Your chest tightens. “I know,” you whisper.

His eyes are glistening, a tear threatening to spill. “This is really hard for me.” His throat bobs.

You swallow the lump in your own throat and reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I know, Bucky. But we’ll call, we’ll video chat every day, okay? It’s not like before. We have ways to stay connected now. I promise, I’ll be there as soon as I can, this hurts me too.”

He nods, swiping a hand over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

The speaker overhead announces your flight. “Final boarding for Flight 763 to New York.”

You let out a shaky breath, shifting on your feet. “I guess that’s me.”

Bucky nods stiffly, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to pull you in or let you go.

So you make the choice for him. You throw your arms around his neck, holding him as tightly as you can.

He clings to you instantly, burying his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

“Call me the second you get home,” you murmur. “My number is still the same, I never changed it. Just in case.” You whisper.

“I will.” His voice is thick, shaky.

You pull back slightly, and Bucky doesn’t move far.

He looks at you for a moment, then leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, he lingers there not long enough.

It makes your heart ache.

You step back, forcing yourself to turn around, to walk toward the gate, to leave but you stop. Something inside you won’t let you walk away just yet. You turn back around, digging into your bag. “Wait.”

Bucky’s brows knit together. “What?”

You pull out a worn, leather-bound journal.

The one Steve gave you, the one you filled with letters to Bucky.

His eyes widen slightly as you hold it out to him.

“I have something for you.”

Bucky stares at it, hesitant, like he’s afraid to take it. “What is this?”

You exhale softly. “Steve got it for me. I wrote you back.”

His breath catches.

“What?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“I—I tried to get through it, the guilt, the pain and Steve thought it would help if I wrote to you, so I did.”

Bucky finally reaches for it, his fingers brushing over the cover, tracing the B on the front.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Of course. I wrote to you, it’s meant for you.”

He clutches it tightly, like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Without warning, he pulls you into another hug, tighter than before. He’s afraid to let go. “I’ll see you soon?” His voice is small, uncertain.

You nod against his shoulder. “I promise.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Bucky pulls away.

You back away toward the gate, your eyes locked on his. “Goodbye, Bucky.”

He swallows hard, gripping the journal like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”

You force yourself to turn around. To keep walking, to leave.

And Bucky watches you go, standing there in the middle of the airport, his heart breaking all over again. “I love you.” He whispers to no one.

----

The gym was dimly lit with twinkling fairy lights, the bass of the music vibrating the wooden floor beneath Bucky’s shoes. The air was thick with the mingling scents of cheap cologne, perfume, and the sickly sweet punch that had definitely been spiked.

Bucky barely noticed any of it, he was too busy scanning the room, searching for you.

He had been doing it all night, barely listening to whatever Stacy was saying, nodding absently at her giggles and mindless chatter. His hand rested limply on her waist as they swayed lazily to the music, but his body felt tense, like he was in the wrong place like he was supposed to be somewhere else. Or maybe he was just supposed to be here with someone else.

“You sure you don’t wanna dance properly?” Stacy teased, pressing closer to him.

“I’m dancing.” Bucky muttered, distracted, his eyes still scanning the room.

“Not really.” She huffed, pulling back slightly to study him. “You keep looking around like you’re lost or something.”

He wasn’t lost or maybe he was, he always felt off when you weren’t in his sights. When he finally saw you a breath left him.

You were across the gym, standing by the refreshments table, your eyes bright, your smile easy. You were laughing at something that idiot John said, probably and then you poked his chest, and your face changed, you were upset, then John’s hand shot out, gripping your arm a little too tightly.

Bucky’s entire body went rigid. His jaw locked, his fingers clenched into fists.

Before he even had time to think, he was moving.

“Bucky?” Stacy tugged on his hand.

He barely heard her. His entire focus was on you, he moved through the crowd when he finally got to the spot he saw you at, you were gone. He watched as John stormed off toward the exit, his face twisted in frustration. Bucky twisted around, his heart racing.

“Where are you going?”

Stacy’s voice snapped him out of it, her fingers tightening around his wrist.

Bucky barely heard her. His eyes were locked on the empty space where you had been just moments ago. His chest felt tight, like something was pulling at him, urging him to run after you.

“I need to check on Y/N.” He tried to pull away from Stacy, but she only gripped him harder.

“You’re on a date with me,” she scoffed, her voice sharp, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just go running after some girl.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “She’s not just some girl.”

Stacy let out a dry laugh, her grip tightening like she was trying to keep him in place, trying to make him listen.

“Whatever, she’s your friend,” she sneered, rolling her eyes. “And you need to start realizing that if you keep hanging around her like this, nobody is ever gonna wanna be with you, Bucky. Everyone already thinks you’re in love with her!”

His heart stopped.

The words hit him like a brick to the chest, and before he could even think, before he could stop himself, he said the words that had been buried deep inside him for years.

“So what if I am?”

Stacy blinked.

For a second, just a split second, she looked genuinely shocked. But then she laughed again, like what he said was a joke, like she hadn’t just cracked him open like a glass window in a hurricane.

“I feel sorry for you,” she said coldly, her voice laced with something cruel, something cutting. “Because if you think she could ever love you back, you’re dumber than we all thought.”

His stomach twisted, and suddenly, he felt small. Because he had two insecurities you and the thought of never being good enough.

“Why wouldn’t she love me back?” His voice was quieter now, but no less desperate.

Stacy’s smirk faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly, straightening her spine. “Because she’s going somewhere, Bucky! And you’re not. You’re gonna stay here, just like everyone else. And even if you do follow her out of here like some lost puppy, what do you have to show for your life? Nothing! At least your father was a veteran and left your mother something, but you? You’re a joke.”

Bucky looked away, his jaw clenching so tight it ached.

Stacy shook her head, stepping back with a scoff. “And that’s exactly why she’ll never see you that way. You Bucky, you're nothing."

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his mind racing, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He should have said something back, should have told her she was wrong, should have defended himself.

But instead, he just met her gaze, his voice lower, calmer than he felt.

“For the record, Stacy,” he said, his tone sharp as glass. “She’s not just some girl. You are.”

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left, shoving past the crowd, his only focus on finding you.

When he finally did you were outside, pacing the school steps, arms crossed over your chest, your face flushed with frustration.

“Hey,” Bucky called out, stepping toward you. “What’s wrong?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Nothing, just always stuck with the assholes, like always.”

He frowned. “What happened?”

“What happened? Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that every single guy in this stupid school is a fucking dick.” You ran a hand through your hair.

Bucky’s entire posture stiffened. “Do you want me to go back in there and beat him up?” His voice was low, serious. “You know I would, right?”

Your frustration wavered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know you would.”

He nudged you gently. “So? Do you want me to?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “No, it’s not worth it. We graduate soon, we get out of here, and I leave all these stupid people behind.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, then he finally sat down on the old wooden bench, patting the spot beside him.

After a few beats, you sat down.

The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the sticky warmth inside the gym, the stars twinkling above, and for a moment, it felt like just the two of you, like it had always been.

Bucky sighed. “I’m not one of those stupid assholes, am I?”

You turned to look at him, your expression softening.

“Never in a million years.” You shook your head. “No matter how hard you tried, you’d never be one to me.”

Something warm flickered in Bucky’s chest.

You sighed, pouting. “It just sucks,” you muttered.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What does?”

“They’re playing my favorite song in there, and I’m stuck out here. I don’t even get to dance to it.”

Bucky stood up immediately, holding out his hand.

“My lady,” he grinned. “Can I please have this dance?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Bucky, you don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I do,” he smirked. “Been a bucket list goal of mine to get a dance from you.”

Your cheeks flushed.

Bucky’s heart did a double take. He had seen you blush before, but this felt different.

Slowly, you took his hand.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, his arms sliding around your waist.

‘And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life, and sooner or later, it's over, I just don't wanna miss you tonight”

The distant music from the gym faded, the only sound left was the soft hum of the night, the crickets, the rustling leaves.

His heart pounded in sync with yours, a slow, steady rhythm. It felt like the world had stopped. Your fingers brushed against the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

Bucky leaned in, just slightly. You moved forward and his eyes were searching yours for any indication that you didn’t really want this, that you didn’t really want him and before he could close the distance a group of rowdy teenagers burst through the gym doors, laughing loudly, shattering the moment.

You instantly stepped back, clearing your throat, looking away.

Bucky clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling in his chest. Because this time? This time, it wasn’t a drunken kiss that led to something else, It wasn’t a fleeting, careless moment.

This was real; he could feel it and once again the universe had ripped it away.

---

Bucky stares at the worn leather journal in his hands, his fingers tracing the edges, gripping it like it might disappear if he lets go.

The plane hums around him, but he barely registers it.

He’s aware of his mother beside him, of the way she keeps glancing at him, her eyes soft and knowing.

“What’s in your hand, sweetheart?” Winnie finally asks gently.

Bucky swallows hard. His throat feels tight. “She wrote to me.”

Winnie’s brows pull together. “She did?”

He nods, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. She said Steve..” he hesitates, the name unfamiliar and heavy in his mouth. “He got it for her. She wrote me back finally.”

Winnie’s lips press together, emotion flickering across her face.

Bucky swipes a hand over his mouth, fingers shaking slightly as he flips open the journal.

The pages are filled.Front to back, page after page, all of it in your handwriting.

His breath stutters. “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes scanning the first few words.

Bucky,

I don’t know why I’m doing this. Steve thinks it’ll help. I think it’s stupid. You're never going to read any of this.

But then again, I also think it’s stupid that you left me. That you’re gone. That I never wrote back when I had the chance. That I let my own pain keep me from you when I should have been writing you every damn day.

I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for that.

Bucky inhales shakily. His eyes burn, his fingers grip the journal tighter. But he keeps reading.

I tried, you know. I tried so hard to forget you. Not because I wanted to, but because it hurt too much to remember.

Because every time I let myself think of you, I could feel it all over again, the way my heart shattered the day you left, the way I wanted to scream when I saw you in that uniform, the way I wanted to beg you to stay even when I knew you wouldn’t. You never told me why, why you left me behind, why Bucky why?

A tear slips down his cheek. He wipes it away quickly, furiously. Winnie says nothing, she just watches him with sad eyes. Bucky takes a deep breath and keeps going.

I married a good man. He’s kind, he’s steady. He helped put me back together when I didn’t even know I was broken.

But Bucky, I don’t think I’ve ever been whole since the day you left. I don't think I'll ever be again, what kind of life is that?

Bucky closes the journal.

His chest aches, he presses his fingers against his eyes, his shoulders shaking.

“Oh, James.”

His mother’s voice is soft, her hand warm as she rubs gentle circles on his back. Bucky breathes deeply, trying to steady himself; he knows it is useless. Because since he got back, since he was rescued, since he breathed in fresh air again he finally sees just how much was stolen from the both of you.

Bucky is silent, staring down at the journal, his thumb running along the edge of the worn pages.

The plane rumbles beneath him, but he barely notices. His mother has stopped speaking, stopped watching him, she knows that he needs to read. That he wants to read. That he needs to let himself feel this. So, he turns the page.

Bucky,

I always thought it was going to be you. Always hoped it would be.

I don’t even know when I first started believing that. Maybe when we were kids, when you pulled me behind you and told those boys to leave me alone. Maybe when we had our first kiss that summer before middle school and swore it didn’t mean anything.

Maybe when I realized that even when I had other people in my life, you were always my person.

I think I knew for sure the first time we got drunk together at that dumb party and ended up in the back of your truck, under the stars, just us.

The first time you touched me like I was something fragile, something precious. The first time you whispered my name like you were afraid of what it meant and I almost asked you that night. I almost asked you if you wanted me the way I wanted you.

But I didn’t. Because we always danced around it, didn’t we? Always cheated that line between friendship and something more, but we never let ourselves cross it and I don’t know why.

Because I loved you, Bucky.

I love you.

I think I always have and now, you’re gone, and I feel like I’ve lost the biggest piece of myself. Like I’m walking through life without my heartbeat.

Without my soulmate and I don’t know how to exist in a world that doesn’t have you in it.

Yours, always.

Y/N.

Bucky stares, the words blur together, his vision swimming.

Because he never knew, never thought you felt the same way. He always thought it was one-sided because he could never wrap his head around you actually wanting him, all of him in the way he wanted you, in the way he loved you, he thought he was the one holding onto something that would never be.

But you love him, you actually love him in the way he loves you. But he can't have you.

--

The late summer air was warm, a gentle breeze rolling through the streets of your small town. The sun had just started to set, washing the sky in soft shades of pink and orange.

You and Bucky walked side by side down the quiet sidewalk, ice cream cones in hand, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your shoes the only sound between you for a while.

Out of nowhere, Bucky spoke. “So after we move to the big city and accomplish all our dreams… is that it?”

You looked at him, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He licked his ice cream, eyes focused straight ahead. “I mean, is that where we’re staying? Is that where you’re gonna have your family and I’m gonna have mine?”

You nearly stumbled, stomach twisted, and suddenly, the sweet taste of ice cream in your mouth felt bitter. You had never really considered that Bucky’s future wouldn’t include you.

Sure, he had never actually said anything about the two of you ending up together, but… it was always just implied. Right? You had always assumed that when he talked about we and our dreams, that meant the two of you, together.

But hearing him say it now, like he had already envisioned a separate future for himself, a different life, a different family it stung. Because you always thought you two would end up together, it was just a matter of time.

You forced yourself to lick your ice cream, shrugging, hoping your voice wouldn’t give you away. “No.”

Bucky glanced at you, one brow raised. “No?”

“No,” you repeated, staring straight ahead.

He tilted his head. “So that’s not where we’re gonna end up?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know where you and your family are gonna end up, but me and mine?” You took a deep breath. “We’ll eventually come back here.”

Bucky snorted. “Really? Here?”

You turned to him sharply, scowling. “Why do you sound so harsh? Didn’t you love growing up here?”

His expression shifted. The teasing faded from his face, his lips pressing together. “I loved growing up with you,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched.

He said it so simply, so easily, like it wasn’t the most important thing you had ever heard.

You exhaled, looking out at the familiar town, the place that had raised you, shaped you, built you into the person you were. Every street, every corner, every tree, every lake… it was all part of you.

“I have so many memories here,” you said softly. “So many great ones. I wouldn’t want my kids to find those anywhere else.”

Bucky watched you carefully, his lips parting slightly.

You pointed up ahead, toward the outskirts of town, toward Miller’s old place, an old farmhouse that had been abandoned for as long as you could remember. The land stretched out for acres, beautiful and untouched, tucked away from the rest of the world.

“Right there,” you said, nodding toward it. “One day, I want to buy that land and build a house with all the money I’m gonna make from my big girl job in New York.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment then softly, surely. “Okay.”

You blinked, turning to him. “Okay?”

He licked his ice cream again, nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

Your brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “It means whatever you want, I’ll be there.”.

You stared at him, your ice cream melting slightly in your fingers, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

“Wherever you go, I’ll go,” Bucky murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightened, but you forced out a small, teasing smirk, nudging his arm. “What if I end up in some super boring town in the middle of nowhere?”

Bucky grinned. “Then I guess I’ll be in a super boring town in the middle of nowhere.”

Your chest ached, you weren’t sure why.

You laughed, shaking your head, but deep down, you clung to those words like a promise.

Because that’s what it felt like.

A promise.

---

The plane hums softly beneath you, the cabin dimly lit as passengers settle in for the long flight.

You should be exhausted. You should be closing your eyes, letting sleep pull you under after the emotional whirlwind of the past few days.

But you can’t. Because all you can think about is Bucky.

It’s an ache that sits deep in your chest, something heavy, something pulling you in a direction you don’t quite know how to follow yet.

You grip the armrest, staring blankly out the window. The city lights disappear beneath the clouds, and with every passing mile, the space between you and Bucky stretches further and further and you don’t know if you can bear it, you could go back.

You could work from home. If you needed to be in the office, you could make the trip. You could have the life you always dreamed of, the life you and Bucky used to stay up all night talking about.

“What if we got a little place right outside the city?”

“We’d need a good coffee shop nearby.”

“Obviously.”

“And a couch big enough to sleep on when you get mad at me.”

“Oh, I’m always taking the bed, Buck. You can sleep on the floor.”

You smile softly, pressing your fingers against your lips as if it’ll help you hold the memory in place.

A moment you hadn’t let yourself think about in years.

You just turned 18, summer was almost done and the two of you would be headed to the big city in a week.

Lying on your stomach in Bucky’s bed, flipping through a book, your legs swinging slightly behind you.

Bucky was sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed, absently tossing a baseball up and catching it.

“You ever think about it?” he asked suddenly.

You glanced up. “Think about what?”

He hesitated, rolling the ball between his hands. His face looked serious. “Us.”

Your breath hitched. “What about us?”

He shrugged like it was nothing, like he wasn’t saying something that could change everything. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Just… you ever wonder?”

You stared at him. Your stomach felt tight, like you were on the edge of something. “Bucky…”

“Never mind.” He cleared his throat, tossing the ball into the air again. “Forget I said anything.”

You didn’t press, you should have hated yourself for letting that moment slip through your fingers.

Your stomach twists. There were so many almosts…so many times Bucky had almost said something, almost done something. So many times you both did cross the line, only to step back again. He was your first kiss, your first time, your first real best friend. And yet, somehow, despite all of it, you let each other slip away.

How did something that meant everything turn into nothing at all?

The moment you step off the plane, your eyes scan the crowd, searching, heart thudding and then you see them.

Steve is standing tall, holding a small bouquet of flowers, and beside him, Lily.

Waving a brightly colored sign with your name scribbled across it in her messy, excited handwriting.

“Mommy!” she shrieks.

Before you can even react, she’s sprinting toward you, her little legs carrying her as fast as they can. A breathless laugh escapes you as you drop your bag just in time to catch her, lifting her into your arms.

You spin her around, burying your face in her curls, inhaling the familiar scent of home, warmth, and safety.

“I missed you, baby,” you murmur against her cheek.

“I missed you more!” she exclaims, her tiny hands squeezing your face before pressing a sloppy kiss to your nose.

Steve is next, stepping forward with that all-American, steady smile, his eyes soft as he watches the two of you.

“Now I got both my girls,” he says, his voice warm as he wraps an arm around both you and Lily, pulling you against his chest.

You melt into him, into the strength and familiarity of his embrace, into the way he holds you like he never wants to let go. You kiss him, slow and soft, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it.

Lily groans, dramatically covering her eyes. “Ewww!”

Steve chuckles against your lips, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“You had a good flight?” he asks, handing you the flowers.

You nod, but the answer doesn’t come right away. Because you’re happy, right? You feel loved, wanted, safe but Bucky lingers in the back of your mind. Like a whisper, a pull, a presence that you can’t shake.

Steve sees it. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he does. His eyes flicker for just a second, his jaw tightening ever so slightly before he smooths it over with a gentle smile.

Because he knows and, deep down, so do you.

Because you can’t shake the feeling that this is it, the last chance the universe is giving you to be with him.

----

The rain tapped softly against the small window in your basement, a rhythmic hum that blended into the low sounds of Bucky’s video game. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, controller in hand, his brows furrowed in concentration while you lay on your stomach on the couch, flipping through old magazines and cutting out images for your scrapbook.

It was something you’d always done, ever since you were kids, manifesting the things you wanted most through paper and glue. But this one was different, this one meant something more.

Bucky let out a victorious whoop as he finished his level, tossing the controller onto the floor before stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, I’m starving,” he groaned, turning to you. “Wanna get some lunch? I mowed old man Harrison’s lawn last week, so I got a little extra cash, my treat.”

You didn’t look up, focused on carefully gluing down a delicate picture of a lace wedding dress. “Yeah, just let me finish this page.”

Bucky, now curious, leaned over the back of the couch to peek at what had your attention. “What are you working on this time?” He plucked the scrapbook gently from your hands before you could stop him.

“My wedding,” you admitted, pushing yourself up to sit beside him.

His lips quirked into a smirk. “Your wedding, huh?” He flipped through the page, his fingers tracing over the elegant images of white roses, candlelit aisles, and grand ballrooms. “You want a big wedding?”

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Not necessarily big, but… I want the full thing, you know? The flowers, the music, the dress. I want it to feel dreamy, like a fairytale. Like something out of a movie. Just… beautiful.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing absently over the corner of the page. Then, his voice dropped just slightly, more thoughtful than teasing. “You’re gonna get this someday.”

You glanced at him, tilting your head. “You think so?”

He nodded, still staring down at your scrapbook. “Yeah.” His voice was certain, steady. “Your future husband’s gonna want to give you everything you dream of, no question.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart skip.

You swallowed, looking down at the magazine clippings, at the life you had imagined for yourself. “How do you know?”

Bucky finally looked up, his blue eyes locking onto yours, his lips parting like he was about to say something, something real, something that had been lingering between you for years.

But instead, he just shrugged, his expression soft, wistful.

“Because I would.”

[sosa2imagines]

Finding you again...

You never wanted to be part of Hydra. But when Alexander Pierce kidnapped you and forced you into their world, you were given a single task—take care of the Winter Soldier.

He was a ghost, a weapon, a machine. At least, that’s what everyone else saw.

But you saw the man behind the programming, the fractured soul hidden beneath orders and wiped memories.

Then, you were separated. Years passed. Hydra fell. Bucky was finally free.

But one memory still haunted him—a pair of eyes staring up at him as he stitched a wound. A voice that told him he was human.

When fate brings you back together, will he remember you? And if he does, will the ghosts of the past keep you apart, or will love be strong?

(I'll try to add new parts, as soon as possible.)

Part 1- Coming soon!

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Imagine Hydra coming back after Bucky’s adopted daughter when she is walking home from school (Bucky definitely told her NOT to walk home, that he or another Avenger would pick her up because of the risk, but she walked home to the Avengers HQ anyway)

Not Worth The Risk » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Adopted Teen Daughter!Reader with the Avengers

Summary: Bucky tells you not to walk home from school cause it’s a risk, but you do it anyway and you quickly learn why it’s a risk to walk home.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, language, HYDRA, crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 15 years old

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: This is different from what I normally write so I decided to give it a try. Enjoy!

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“Y/N, hurry up or you’ll be late for school.” Bucky says, walking in your bedroom.

“I’m ready.” You say as you finished tying your shoes.

You grabbed your backpack and slung it over your shoulder, following your dad out to the car.

“Dad, can I walk home from school today?” You asked.

“No.” Bucky answers, opening the car door.

“Why not?” You asked. “Some of my friends are walking home.” You say.

“I’m not your friends’ dad. I’m your dad and I told you, no.” He says.

You huffed and got in the car. Bucky got in the car and started it.

“Can you at least tell me why?” You asked.

“It’s too much of a risk.” He says.

“How’s walking home from school a risk?” You asked.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you, doll.” He says.

“Oh ok.” You say quietly.

Bucky pulled up to the school. You grabbed your backpack and got out of the car. He rolled down the window and called out for you.

“Have a good day at school, doll. I love you.” Bucky says.

“I love you too, dad.” You say.

You walked along the sidewalk of the school and went inside. You were greeted by your friends.

“Did you ask your dad if you can walk home from school with us?” Your friend asks.

“He said no. I think I should listen to him.” You say.

“What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Another one of your friends say.

You thought about it for a second. You know you shouldn’t be the kid who doesn’t listen to their parents. In a way, your friend is right. What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Ok. I’ll walk home with you guys.” You finally say.

The bell rang and everyone went to class. After school, you walked home with your friends. You were about halfway to the Avengers compound when all of your friends went their separate ways to go home. You were the only one left to get home.

You walked down a shady looking street when something didn’t feel right. It felt like someone was watching and following you. It was a gut feeling. Your gut feeling was right. Before you knew it, you were grabbed from behind and a hand with a cloth was put over your mouth. Your screams were muffled by the hand. You tried to fight the person of, but you grew weak and passed out.

“Who’s picking Y/N up from school today?” Bucky asks as he walks in the lounge room.

“Me.” Wanda said as she walked in the room. “She wasn’t there.” She says.

“What do you mean she wasn’t there? Where is she?” He asks.

“The school said she walked home with her friends.” She tells him.

Bucky scoffs and shook his head.

“She knows better not to do that.” Bucky says.

Bucky rubs his hands over his face and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out where you might be.

“Where would she be?” Bucky says more to himself.

“Don’t you have some kind of parent app on your phone that shows you Y/N’s location?” Steve asks.

“Yes I do.” He says.

Bucky got his phone out of pocket and went on the app. Your location popped up within a few seconds. Bucky furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“Why would she be downtown? She knows not to go down there unless if she’s with one of us.” Bucky says.

“I can get the precise location if you want.” Natasha suggests.

“Do it.” He says.

Natasha got on a computer and looked for your precise location, which took a few minutes.

“Got it.” She said. “It looks like she’s in some kind of lab that’s now abandoned.” She says.

“Why would she be exploring an abandoned lab?” Tony asks.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

“HYDRA.” Bucky said. “They have my daughter.” He says.

Bucky felt himself beginning to panic. You not listening to what he said this morning is the last thing on his mind.

“Suit up and get your weapons. Y/N needs our help.” Bucky says.

“Buck, we can’t go there without a plan.” Steve says.

“My plan is to save my daughter from the people who keep trying to ruin my life.” He says. “Are you guys going to help me or not?” He asks.

“We’ll help you.” Steve says.

The Avengers nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, you woke up in some kind of lab. The room was dimly lit. You looked around the room to gather your surroundings. You looked down, noticing that your arms and legs are tied to a chair.

“What the hell?” You mumbled to yourself, yanking at the ropes.

You got startled when the door opened. A man in a white lab coat walked in the room, along with a few men dressed in all black tactical gear and had guns in their holsters.

“You’re awake!” The man in the lab coat says.

“Where am I?” You asked.

“That’s not important. What’s important is, you know someone who used to work for us.” He says.

You stared at the man in confusion. You had no clue who or what this man is talking about. Then you realized that he was talking about your dad.

“I have no idea who or what you’re talking about.” You say, lying through your teeth.

“Don’t play dumb. You know who and what I’m exactly talking about.” He says.

“What I do know is, my dad is going to be pissed when he finds out you guys kidnapped me.” You say.

All the man did was laugh at what you said.

“Ah yes, your father… the infamous Winter Soldier.” The man approached you and crouched down in front of you. “We know he adopted you a few years ago. So just give him up to us and we’ll set you free.” He says.

“No!” You say.

“Ok, suit yourself.” He stood up. “You guys know what to do.” He says to the HYDRA agents.

The agents nodded. Two of them held you against the chair so you couldn’t move. You watched the man in the lab coat pick up a syringe. Your eyes went eye. As you were about to start panicking, the door was busted down, revealing your dad and Steve. You felt relieved to see them.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Captain America and the infamous Winter Soldier.” The man says.

“Give me my daughter.” Bucky demands.

The man chuckles and puts the syringe down.

“She was never your daughter. I don’t know why you would go through the trouble to save a child who isn’t biologically yours.” He says.

“Shut the fuck up!” Bucky shouts.

Bucky walks over to the man and knocks him out in one punch. That’s when the HYDRA agents held their guns at him. He fought them off with Steve’s help. Then he untied you from the chair.

“Are you ok, doll? Are you injured?” He asks, checking you for any injuries.

“N-No, I’m fine. I’m just a little shaken up.” You say in a shaky voice.

“Let’s get out of here.” Steve says.

You got on the quinjet with your dad and Steve, along with the rest of the Avengers. During the flight back to the compound, you had a feeling that your dad was mad at you for not listening to what he said. You avoided eye contact with him the whole flight.

When you guys got to the compound, everyone exited the quinjet. You made a beeline for your bedroom to avoid a lecture from your dad, but there’s no way you can escape that lecture now.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Bucky asks.

“My room.” You say.

“Not until we talk. Sit down.” He demands, pointing to the lounge room.

You walked in the lounge room and sat down on the couch. Bucky stood in front of you with his hands on his hips.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled.

“I need a better answer than “I don’t know”.” He says.

“My friends talked me into it.” You tell him. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You and uncle Steve walked home from school when you guys were my age.” You say.

“The deal is HYDRA. They weren’t a threat when him and I were teenagers, but they are now.” He said. “I told you multiple times not to walk home from school and to wait for me or one of the Avengers to pick you up.” He says.

You looked down, avoiding eye contact with him. Now, you feel guilt for not listening to him. You didn’t realize it was such a big deal.

“I’m sorry, dad.” You apologized, your eyes tearing up.

You stood up and walked out of the room, going straight to your room. Bucky was about to follow you, but Clint stopped him.

“Let her cool down for a little bit.” Clint says.

Bucky nods and went to the gym to cool down himself. He punched the punching bag for a little bit. You were in your room, laying on your bed and staring at the in front of you. Tears stained your cheeks. You thought about how you didn’t listen to what your dad said. You felt bad and should’ve listened to him. You now realize it wasn’t worth the risk to walk home from school. You got out of bed and went to find your dad to apologize to him again. You walked in the gym to see your dad punching a punching bag.

“Dad?” You say.

Bucky stopped what he was doing and turned around to see you standing a couple feet away from him. He seen tears stained on your cheeks.

“Hey, doll. What’s up?” Bucky asks.

Instead of saying anything, you walked over to him and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I was just curious about what it was like to walk home from school. I shouldn’t have let my friends talk me into it. I promise to listen better and it won’t happen again.” You say, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Doll, look at me please.” Bucky says softly.

You sniffled and looked up at your dad.

“I want you to understand that I’m doing everything in my power to protect you. When I say no to something and when something isn’t worth the risk, that’s me protecting you.” He says.

“I understand, dad.” You replied.

“You’re a good kid and I love you.” He says, kissing your forehead.

“I love you too, dad.” You smiled, hugging him tightly.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[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

[eufezco]

CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD SPOILERS 👇🏻

ARE YOU JEALOUS? 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

congressman!bucky barnes x fem!readwr

synopsis – bucky finds out that you're jealous about those comments that woman madd about him.

a/n – i hate her and her stupid fucking character better stay away from bucky. free palestine 🇵🇸

joaquin had taken a bad hit during a mission with sam, bad enough to need surgery and land him in the hospital for a few days. being in congress meant bucky had access to that kind of information, and as soon as he saw joaquin’s name in a report, he knew what that meant.

bucky walked into your office without a word, you barely had time to look up before he dropped a file onto your desk.

—good morning to you too, —you teased, raising your eyebrows and looking at the papers he just placed on your desk. then, you looked at him. —not even a kiss for your sweet girlfriend?

he looked ridiculously good in that black suit, broad shoulders filling it out perfectly, the fabric hugging his frame in a way that was almost unfair. his tie was just a little loose, and you had the sudden urge to tug on it and pull him closer. bucky sighed and stepped forward. his metal fingers brushed your cheek before he leaned down and gave a quick kiss to your lips.

you hummed and nodded. —thank you, —you grabbed the papers and opened the file. —you left earlier this morning, i wanted to have breakfast with you.

—yeah, sorry, this came up.

you glanced down at the folder, your eyes scanned the first few lines and then stopped. torres, joaquin – injured in action. bucky exhaled, finally moving. he sat on the edge of your desk, fingers drumming against the wood. —mission went sideways. he took a hit.

you stood up from your chair and went to sit next to him, close enough that your knee brushed against his. —how bad?

bucky sighed. —fractured ribs, concussion, some internal bleeding. they got to him in time, he’s stable but...

—and sam?

—got here this morning.

you closed the file, inhaling slowly to steady yourself. bucky was watching you, waiting for your reaction. you met his gaze and nodded. —then let’s go

before you stepped into the private room, you paused, standing in front of bucky. his gaze was fixed ahead, his jaw tight, he hadn’t said much since the moment you arrived at the hospital. he was trying to figure out what to say to sam.

—you're good, —you said quietly, —sam is our friend, he'd appreciate us being here. —your hand gently coming up to rest on his chest, fixing his tie, —you'd know what to say when you see him.

bucky nodded, his eyes met yours, but you could see the how his gaze softened as he let your words settle in. you stood up on your tiptoes and placed a quick, soft kiss right in the middle of his lips.

you weren’t wrong. as soon as the door opened, sam’s eyes landed on both of you. he looked exhausted, like the weight of the world had been pressing down on him, but the relief in his eyes when he saw you both was undeniable. he also looked at your fingers laced. last time you three were together, things were... complicated. bucky didn't know if he deserved a relationship and sam, being sam, wanted to be supportive but didn't want to rush things between you two. now, seeing you both standing there, so... together, sam felt relief that bucky had come to terms with his own feelings.

you hugged sam and then bucky hugged him. you asked about joaquin's state as you watched through the glass how the surgeons worked.

bucky and sam had the sweetest interaction, you let bucky talk as you stood next to him, holding onto his arm. as you predicted, bucky said exactly what sam needed to hear and by the end of their conversation you noticed how sam felt more confident. then, the phone in bucky's pocket buzzed breaking the moment. he checked the screen and sighed,

—i gotta go, —he said quietly. before he stepped away, he pulled sam into one last hug, holding him tightly. —take care of yourself, alright? —he murmured. once bucky pulled back, he turned to you, his fingers brushing your arm gently before he kissed you on the lips. —see you at home.

sam raised his eyebrows and looked at you when bucky left. —kissing in public, living together, that way he looks at you... you've got him wrapped around your finger.

you laughed and shook your head. you were going to say something but in that moment someone else entered the room.

—future congressman james buchanan barnes.

you frowned. who was talking about your boyfriend? leaning slightly, you peered around sam. standing on the other side of him was a small woman, sharp-eyed, impeccably dressed, exuding authority, but what did she have to say about your bucky?

her gaze was still fixed on the spot where he had just walked away, head tilted slightly like she was noticing something only she could see. wow, were you missing something?

—he's taller in real life. nice smile too, good amount of teeth. great posture.

—he's a 110, —sam added.

—and taken.

the woman finally turned to look at you, her expression unreadable, but there was amusement. she studied you for a second before offering a knowing little smile. —noted.

you got home before bucky did. you figured you’d cook something nice for dinner. you couldn’t share breakfast with him, but you’d make the most of dinner but even as you chopped vegetables and stirred the rice you were preparing, those words echoed in your head. great posture, nice smile.

you scoffed, gripping the knife just a little too tightly. yeah, no shit he has a nice smile. you’d spent enough time staring at it to know that. and his posture? sure, the man stood like he was built from granite, all strong shoulders and perfect stance—but why the hell was she the one noticing it? you wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type to get jealous. it wasn’t like you were insecure—you trusted him completely. but still… something about another woman noticing him, talking about him like that...

you took a deep breath, shaking it off. it was fine. you were fine. you had no reason to feel this way. bucky was yours. he came home to you, kissed you, held you when he thought no one was looking.

bucky called your name, shutting the door behind him. —i'm home.

—i'm in the kitchen! —you said trying to sound casual, even though you were still thinking about that damn conversation from earlier.

bucky approached you and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin rested on your shoulder, his beard tickled your skin as he murmured, —smells amazing.

you smiled, proud. —figured we didn’t get breakfast together, so i’d make up for it with dinner.

he hummed in appreciation, planting a kiss on your shoulder.

—how was your day? —you asked as he watched you cook. his presence stopped all the overthinking you'd been doing since you got home for a minute, his touch was reassuring enough to almost make you forgot completely about how the words of that woman made you feel. the way his exhausted body was molding into yours, like he needed you to keep him steady, it all made you feel just a little better.

—long, —he admitted, kissing your shoulder again. —meetings, calls and a whole lot of people telling me what i should be doing.

you hummed in response, —sounds frustrating.

bucky noticed the stiffness in your body almost immediately. you let him hug you, you acted like nothing happened, you even seemed to be glad for his touch yet your body told a different story. but he didn’t let go. instead, his metal hand slid lower, fingers splaying over your stomach while his flesh hand found your hip. —what’s going on in that head of yours? —he murmured against your skin.

—nothing, i was just thinking... it was nice seeing sam, wasn't it? we should invite him over sometime, hang out with him in another circumstances.

bucky wasn't convinced, there was something else, but he agreed with you. —yeah, it was good to see him. it’s been too long since we’ve had a proper catch-up, just the three of us.

you hummed. you couldn’t shake the feeling. you tried to push it down, but you knew you needed to ask. you couldn't hold it in any longer. —did you know that woman? —you asked, trying to keep your tone casual. —the one that came in when you left?

bucky paused for a moment before responding. —yeah, she's head of security of thaddeus ross.

you raised your eyebrows, bucky was looking at you, his chin still resting on your shoulder, yet you were focused on the rice. —she seemed a little too interested in you.

he frowned. —how so?

—oh, she mentioned your nice smile and great posture.

bucky was quiet for a moment, then you felt his chest shake against your back. he was laughing. —you're jealous, —he realized.

you pulled away from his hold and turning to face him, arms crossed, almost offended, not because he wasn't right but because he had figured it out so easily. —no, i'm not.

he smirked as he watched you with knowing eyes. those deep blue eyes. had that woman noticed them too? had she seen how they darkened under the dim lights of the office? or how they became even more shadowed after a restless night? you clenched your jaw.

—yes, you are. you’re jealous over a comment about my posture.

you scoffed. —that’s not— you huffed, shaking your head. that smirk remained on his lips, waiting to see how you tried to explain yourself. —it’s not just that! it’s the way she was looking at you, like she was mentally taking notes. and i know what you're gonna say, she was just doing her job, but she was not just doing her job when she called you well-built with a nice smile like you were some—some political snack.

bucky raised his eyebrows and then couldn't help a laugh escaping his lips at that, shaking his head in disbelief. ugh, he did have the nicest smile. —political snack?

—shut up, —you muttered, your cheeks warming.

he reached for you again, this time catching your waist and pulling you right up against him, his laughter dying down into something softer. —you’re so sexy when you’re jealous, you know that?

you narrowed your eyes at him. —not jealous.

—oh yeah, totally jealous, —he teased, grinning as he leaned closer, lips barely brushing against yours. —and so possessive.

before you could complain again, he pressed his lips against yours. your lips moved in perfect sync, this was exactly what you needed.

his mouth tasted like fruit, sweet and familiar. that damn tropical gum he always chewed. would that woman know that? would she know that he liked it because it reminded him of the time he spent learning himself again, reclaiming parts of his life he thought were lost? that he once moved heaven and earth just to find gum that tasted like plum? would she know that when he chewed peppermint gum, his lips turned pinker than usual because he was so used to the soft, sweet taste of fruit-flavored ones?

you sighed into the kiss, relieved to think that you were the only one who knew these things about him. your hands sliding up to grip his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

bucky chuckled against your lips, the vibration sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. he pulled back just enough to murmur, —you’re telling me this death grip on my shirt isn't possessive and jealous?

you refused to let go, using it to pull him into a kiss again. —it’s not.

his metal hand curled around your waist, sliding down until it cupped your ass. bucky pulled back again and you whined, annoyed. he murmured, —so if that woman from earlier showed up right now, you wouldn’t throw something at her? —his smirk was downright smug now, he was enjoying this way too much.

you rolled your eyes. —i wouldn’t throw something at her. i’d throw something near her. just to remind her what’s off-limits.

the smirk never left his lips. he slowly let go of his grip on your body, his metal hand dragging over your skin just enough to make you shiver. then, he took a step back. and another. his eyes never left yours, the challenge clear in them. —and if i walked into another room right now, —he tilted his head, —you wouldn’t follow me to make sure no one else was looking at your man?

you groaned. before he could take another step, your hand shot out, grabbing his tie and yanking him back toward you. he stumbled, his body colliding with yours. his hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady himself. —i wouldn't even let my man walk out of here.

your lips met in another heated kiss, his breath mixing with yours as your fingers tangled deeper into his hair. you felt him shiver slightly under your touch, his grip on your hips tightening as he pressed himself closer. his hair was getting longer. you could feel it, the way your fingers sank into the thick strands, how easily you could grab and tug at it. and god, you loved it like this.

he's taller in real life...

bucky’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he effortlessly lifted you, guiding your legs to wrap around his body. his hands shamelessly moved to your ass as yours went to the back of his head to deepen the kiss. he placed you on the edge of the table, the cold surface pressing against your thighs as he stood between your legs, his hands resting on your hips.

you started to lean back, pulling at his tie and guiding him down with you. his body followed, towering over you. his hands were on either side of your body, holding himself up just enough to keep from fully pinning you to the table.

—you really like this, don’t you? —he murmured against your lips.

you smirked, your fingers kept on tightening his tie, —like what?

his metal fingers squeezed the bare skin of your thighs, a low growl escaped his lips. —being a little brat, —he muttered, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.

you shivered, your head tilting to give him better access. —maybe.

—you’re lucky i like it, —he dragged your pajama pants and your underwear down your legs with ease.

—lucky? —your hands slipped down to the knot of his tie, loosening it and sliding the fabric through your fingers. then, you skillfully unbuttoned his white shirt with urgency. you couldn’t help but moan a quiet fuck under your breath as you pulled his shirt open, your fingers grazing over the defined lines of his torso. perfectly sculpted muscles tensed beneath your touch. your gaze traced the scars along his shoulder where the metal met his skin as you pushed the shirt down his arms.

—very lucky.

... nice smile too, good amount of teeth...

bucky unzipped his pants as you squeezed his body with your thighs. he pushed himself inside of you without warning, you let out a loud moan and held onto his biceps as you felt how he bottomed you.

he smiled, watching your reaction. he then hid his face in your neck. —you really think i don’t know who i belong to? —his voice was lower now, rougher. his hot breath against your skin spiked goosebumps on your body. —you think anyone else could ever touch me the way you do?

... great posture.

you held onto his strong and broad shoulders while your head was thrown back, eyes closed shut, lips parted letting out the most sinful sounds. his flesh-and-blood hand moved to the back of your head so you wouldn't hurt yourself. his back was a bit arched, just enough for his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you every time he trusted into you.

you connected your lips with his as you swallowed his moans. your hands, without any shame, traveled down his muscled and tensed back until they reached his ass. you squeezed it, enjoying yourself and helping him to push into you.

—say it, —bucky said in between moans.

travelling up his tensed back, your fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head, tugging just enough to make him groan, you encircled your legs around his body and locked your ankles over the swell of his ass. you felt that burn sensation in the pit of your stomach. —you’re mine.

he exhaled sharply, pressing a slow, claiming kiss to your throat. his hands traced up your thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go. you felt his metal fingers closing a bit tighter, —and you’re mine.

you came digging your nails into his back, your legs around his body squeezing him and bucky let more of his weight settle against you once his orgasm hit him. his pace became faster and harder when he was close, his metal hand on your hips tightened, pressing you firmly against the surface of the table, and you knew that by morning, you'd see the imprint of his fingers on your skin. and you could't complain because you loved it.

even though you knew he’d hate. he never liked seeing the marks he left on you. he’d frown when he saw the faint bruises his grip had left on your hips, running his fingers over them with something like regret in his eyes. he’d mutter something about being too rough, about how he should be more careful. but the truth was that you craved it.

but as much as bucky hated to mark you, he loved when you marked him. it was a reminder that everything was real—that you were real. that it wasn’t some dream he’d wake up from, alone and lost. that he wasn’t the ghost of a man wandering through a life that didn’t belong to him anymore. and when he saw those scratches in his back in the mirror tomorrow, when he felt that sting as his shirt brushed against them, he’d know—he wasn’t just existing. he was living.

you pushed the strands of hair that were falling over his face and some that were sticking to his forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

—would you think i'm crazy if i say i don't want her anywhere near you?

bucky huffed a laugh, pulling out of you and letting you sat up on your elbows. —i’d think that you’re, in fact, jealous.

you rolled your eyes. —whatever. but if i heard her talking about your posture again, i swear i'll...

before you could finish the sentence, bucky pressed his lips to yours, cutting you off. his kiss was soft, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, a reassurance that you didn’t need to say more. —maybe there's a touch of craziness, yeah.

[buckyalpine]

You know what I was thinking of all day? Comforting our sad baby Bucky who just wants a hug. He's tired from a bad mission. His body aches. He saw things he didn't want to. He could really just use something.

Even just a smile?

He doesn't have a lot of friends and most people around the compound outside of the team avoid him. Even those who'd worked with him for ages were still wary, scared he'd snap if they just asked how he's doing. He would have liked it, even just a hello in passing. When he walks by with a scowl on his face, no one meets his eye. If they did, they would have seen the storm that was brewing inside was not an angry one.

He just needed to be held.

When he continues to make his way towards his room, he's given a few nods from a couple of teammates but he knows they're doing it while holding their breath. He reaches his room and the damn is about to break, he hasn't been held in years, he feels so cold and empty, was he really so terrifying, no one would-

"Sergeant Barnes?"

A gentle voice calls for him, forcing him to swallow the lump in his throat. He knows that voice, mustering his best smile as he turns around to find Tony's lab assistant with a cup of chamomile tea in his mug and a file with the mission report he was supposed to fill out.

"Everyone's filling their reports in the conference room, I figured you'd rather have some privacy so I thought I'd bring it to you" You give him the same warm smile you grace everyone with, handing him the steaming cup, "and of course, your favourite"

It's too much. Normally it wouldn't be but he's never given such kindness but he always gets it from you. You're so unbelievably affectionate to everyone and he really doesn't feel worthy but today he needs it so he graciously accepts the tea and file with a soft thank you.

"and call me Bucky, doll"

You stiffen at the slight crack in his voice, frowning when he keeps his eyes trained to the floor. It wasn't unusual for Bucky to keep to himself but you catch his reddened nose and glassy baby blues and it breaks your heart.

He opens the door to enter his room ready to drown in a lonely storm when that voice calls again. Surely he was dreaming. He sets down his things, turning to find you still at his door.

"Bucky?" You enter his room, standing before him when he doesn't ask you to leave, "Are you okay?"

He doesn't trust himself, nodding and desperately blinking back tears. He wished you'd leave, he wished you'd stay, he wished he could just tell you what he needed, his hands fisted into balls by his side, he should just suck it up, what was he expecting-

"Come here" You whisper, your hand coming to cradle the back of his head, bringing it to rest into your neck where he can let go, your arms wrapping around his body.

Bucky doesn't get a chance to realize what's happening because as soon as he feels your touch the first sob escapes. He's hidden himself away in your hold, his tears wetting your skin with no remorse. He clings onto you like a lifeline while you coo and comfort him, playing with his hair and rubbing his back.

You don't let go, allowing him to cry for as long as he needs. Even after his cries turn into sniffles, you comfort him, pressing a kiss to his temple while he holds you extra tight.

When he's finally ready to let go, albeit reluctantly, he's instantly shused from trying to apologize. You don't ask questions asking what happened or why he was upset. It really didn't matter. You just knew. Bucky whispers a thank you, making a mental note to get you some flowers to properly showed you how much he appreciated it.

Of course you'd always just know when he needed it so he'd thank you again with coffee.

Dinner.

Dinner again.

Eventually, a ring.

You always knew what he needed.

A hug.

That was all.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Game Night

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Fluff, banter, friendly competition, implied threats, destroying property (Bucky and Sam), romantic tension everyone can feel, and some overprotective Bucky because that man does not play about his sunshine.

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay; I was helping my friend with a research project. Ugh, it feels choppy, but I hope this is to your liking, babes ;)

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

The living room buzzed with energy as the Avengers tried to recover from the chaos of their most recent mission; the munching of chips and clinking of drinks in glasses filled the space.

Peter and you were talking animatedly about the mission, with Peter recounting how he flipped mid-air, webbing a bad guy to a nearby wall.

“I mean, I swear, the guy didn’t see it coming. I was way higher up than I thought, and then BAM!” Peter dramatically mimicked the motion with his arms, sending you into fits of laughter.

“It’s honestly kind of unfair that you can just flip your way out of everything, Pete,” you teased, elbowing him.

He shrugged, all smugness. “I mean, someone’s gotta make the web-swinging look good, right?”

Before you could reply, Steve stood up from his spot, clapping his hands for attention. “Alright, team! Time for some mandatory bonding!”

A chorus of groans erupted from the group, each one from someone hoping to escape Steve’s relentless enthusiasm for ‘team-building’ nights.

“Tonight is Charades.” Steve declared.

That’s when Steve decided to assign the partners. He glanced around the room with a twinkle in his eye and paired you with Bucky, clearly anticipating the fun to come.

You gave Bucky your signature puppy dog eyes, and he looked away with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, not wanting to give in and show that he was happy to be partnered with you.

“Oh, great,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You didn’t let his grumpiness throw you off. “Bucky, come on!” you said, plopping beside him on the couch. “We’ve got this! We’re unstoppable!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and shot you a skeptical look. “Sure, sure. We’ll see about that.”

He didn’t seem convinced, and as Sam overheard, he couldn’t resist adding his two cents.

"Oh, this is gonna be easy," Sam declared loudly, rolling his eyes. "Grumpy Barnes can’t even smile, let alone act."

"You’re gonna regret that," Bucky shot back, his tone thick with warning. 

His words weren’t loud, but they were laced with enough warning that Sam quickly leaned back into his seat, hands raised in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Sam laughed, but you caught the wariness in his eyes. "But not holding my breath, this will be easy."

Then, leaning in toward you, he whispered, “If we lose to that clown, I’m never letting it go.”

You gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief, pretending to be shocked. "Who knew you cared so much about winning?"

Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "Don’t mess this up," he teased.

You winked at him. “You’re with me. How could we lose?”

As the game started, it quickly became clear that Bucky treated charades less like a fun group activity and more like a tactical mission. His intense focus was almost comical, but you fell into an unspoken rhythm. 

When it was your turn to act, Bucky’s sharp eyes locked onto you, and after a few gestures, he almost always guessed your clues. When it was his turn, he leaned into the ridiculousness of it all, whether miming a gorilla or pretending to be a ballerina, just to keep your laughter ringing through the room.

By the end of the game, the scoreboard showed a landslide victory in your favor. Bucky allowed himself a small, smug grin as you squealed in delight and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“We’re the dream team!” you exclaimed, giggling as you clung to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, though his grip on you was secure, his metal arm effortlessly supporting you. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Much to everyone's amusement, he carried you back to the couch, where he promptly plopped you into his lap. “You’re comfy,” you declared with a grin, making yourself home. 

Sam, clearly displeased, waved a hand in your direction. “This has to be rigged. There’s no way those two didn’t cheat.”

Natasha snorted, leaning back in her chair. “They didn’t cheat, Wilson. They’re just disgustingly in sync.”

Sam grabbed a pillow and chucked it at you. “Sync this!”

The pillow hit you square in the face, and you burst out laughing, holding it in your lap. “It’s just a pillow!”

But Bucky didn’t see it that way. His gaze turned sharp as he caught the second pillow Sam threw mid-air. “If you throw another one at her...”

Sam, of course, took that as a challenge. “What are you gonna do, Barnes?” he quipped, hurling another pillow that you easily dodged.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a five-second head start.”

Sam’s smirk faltered. “Wait, what?”

Without a word, Bucky carefully brushed your hair out of your face, placed you gently on the couch, and stood up. The room went silent as he walked purposefully toward the hallway. 

“What’s he doing?” you asked, looking to Steve for answers.

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, hiding a smile. “He’s going to smash Redwing.”

Sam’s eyes widened in panic. 

“Barnes, you touch Redwing, I swear-” He bolted after Bucky, and the two disappeared down the hall. 

Moments later, a loud crash echoed through the compound, followed by Sam’s yelling and Bucky’s retorts.

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned back on the couch. “This happens all the time.”

You glanced between her and Steve, bewildered. “Doesn’t anyone stop them?”

Steve shrugged. “Nope. They’ll tire themselves out eventually.”

From a distance, the team could hear the muffled sounds of Bucky and Sam bickering echoing through the compound. 

“Touch Redwing, and you’re paying for a whole new one!” Sam’s voice was laced with fear.

“Oh, don’t worry, Wilson,” Bucky shot back, his tone mockingly calm. “I’ll make sure to recycle the pieces. I hear it’s good for the environment.”

A loud thud followed as if Bucky had knocked something over or thrown something against the wall. 

“Man, what is your problem?” Sam hollered. “You act like I threw a brick at her!”

“You hit her in the face!” Bucky retorted.

“It was a pillow!” Sam defended himself. ��It probably felt like a marshmallow.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky countered. “You don’t throw things at her. Ever.”

Back in the living room, you stifled a laugh as Natasha shook her head in amused disbelief. “It’s always like this,” she said, smirking. “I don’t know why Sam keeps testing him.”

Steve folded his arms, looking like the exasperated dad of the group. “Because Sam likes pushing buttons. And Bucky…well, Bucky only has so much patience.”

Another crash echoed from down the hallway, followed by Sam’s yell. “Oh, come on! That wasn’t even Redwing! That was my lamp!”

“You’ve got terrible taste in decor, Wilson,” Bucky said, completely unfazed.

“YOU OWE ME A NEW LAMP!” Sam shouted.

“I did you a favor.” Bucky said dryly. “So say ‘thank you,’ it's polite.”

You couldn’t hold back your giggles any longer. “Should we...I don’t know, step in?” you asked, looking at Steve.

Steve shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Let them hash it out. Bucky’s not actually going to break Redwing. Probably.”

“Probably?” Natasha echoed. “You’re really putting a lot of faith in him.”

From the hallway, Sam yelled again. “THAT’S IT, BARNES. YOU AND ME. SPARRING MATCH TOMORROW.”

“Fine,” Bucky fired back. “But don’t be mad when I wipe the floor with you, bird brain.”

Natasha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You know he’s only this protective because it’s you, right? He doesn’t care this much when we get hit with stuff.”

You blushed, glancing down at your hands. “He’s just…looking out for me. Like a guardian.”

Natasha snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Steve smiled knowingly but didn’t say anything. 

The sounds of Sam and Bucky’s argument gradually faded as they came back.

Sam was glaring, his hair disheveled, and he muttered under his breath about never forgiving Bucky. 

Bucky, on the other hand, was smug, like he had just won a personal victory.

Sam threw himself back down on the couch, muttering something about "not talking to Barnes for the rest of the week," to which Bucky gave a half-hearted shrug.

He sat down beside you, his arm casually draped across the back of the couch. His eyes flicked down to you, and without a word, he reached out to brush his knuckles lightly over your knee.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asked quietly, only for you to hear.

You smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bucky’s lips quirked upward, just slightly. “Good,” he said softly. “No one messes with you. Not even Sam.”

The others shared amused looks, but neither of you paid them any mind. Bucky’s protective side made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand, and you sank further into the couch, curling into his side.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp

If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!

Much love x

- Maeve

[jaggedamethyst]

easy (bucky barnes x gn!reader)

content: life with bucky is amazing…but it’s easy to feel like you’re not enough when your relationship is a secret.

secret relationship, miscommunication/misunderstanding, angst, self doubt, alpine!!!!! not proofread

notes: fawk tik tok but welcome everyone who is bored and here getting their bucky content now. real as fuck. (no sharon carter slander allowed around me ever btw.)

there will be a part two (possibly more but idk)

main masterlist

part two

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

“I never really understood the appeal of a secret relationship until now,” You glanced over to Bucky, “It’s kinda invigorating.”

He smirked, his lazy smile matching his relaxed figure—sprawled on the bed next to you. “Invigorating, huh?”

He had rushed over the night before, getting back to the compound and waiting for a good time to slyly step out. It became habit; he would say that he was coming back from a run in the mornings. If he ever was caught in the evening, he’d simply went on one of many errand trips.

The truth was, that people didn’t really notice him. Bucky Barnes could sneak out and back in relatively unchecked save for Steve. Even then, Bucky’s elusive nature made it easy for people to stop asking after a while. He knew the underlying issue was that they would never truly separate who he was with who he is now. It was okay, though, because he had you. Thats all that mattered.

Peoples’ concern for Bucky’s wellbeing and whereabouts dwindled—figuring he could handle himself. He loved that when everyone else could simply shut their minds off to the thought of a rehabilitated solider—you accepted him with warmth. That affection would never truly be lost on him.

You turned over in your bed, observing Bucky’s features. You couldn’t help the way your entire face upturned—truly invigorated by the sight.

He noticed your stare in his peripheral, “Like what you see?”

“Oh, please.” A pillow found its way in your grip, playfully smacking Bucky in his face. You quickly moved to leap off of the bed, but the attempt was futile, of course. The man had been able to lean over and grab you before you could even process the movement—pushing you firmly into the mattress. Without missing a beat, he leaned in to kiss you—smiling into it. His metal hand found a grip on your neck, just under your chin, and pulled you up into him. The pressure was delicate—the inherent weight of him using this arm not lost on either of you. The coolness spurred you on. Your arms snaked around his back and tightened at the feeling of his skin on yours; you’d never truly gotten used to the feeling.

It was an honor, truly, to be loved by James Barnes. It was even more so to love him. When you were able to bask in the morning sun like this, to kiss him like he could disappear, you never took it for granted.

The kiss quickly became overwhelming. Thoughts of the man filled your mind—mostly of how lucky you felt. Even more common at times like these was to feel as if you weren’t deserving…despite him constantly saying otherwise. He made sure to tell you daily, if not more often, that being a secret was to keep you safe. He couldn’t chance losing you, he’d say. He couldn’t live without you.

But something else clawed at your skull, telling you that maybe you just weren’t enough—that you didn’t look the way you should.

You pulled away, looking between his eyes. He was completely in a daze—lips reddened and swollen so quickly. A blush feathered its way over his cheeks, then, watching you look at him so intensely.

He swallowed, “What?” He pecked your lips quickly. “Am I just that good at kissing that you’re mesmerized by my talents?”

An involuntary huff escaped you and you quickly forgot that fleeting thought of inadequacy. You mirrored his smile before playfully pushing him off of you, finally moving off of the bed and toward the kitchen.

Bucky had a charismatic way about him that could be mistaken for immature. You knew better, though. In his new life he adopted optimism—a way to combat the thoughts he had. Feelings of his still being a horrible man. That he would never escape being an assassin. So when he looked at you and saw a growing somber look on your face, he didn’t expect the worst. He should’ve.

After some time passed, Bucky emerged from your bedroom. You gave him a quick look over the brim of your cup, sipping on your tea. You made a show of observing how he’d freshened up and changed into his signature dark clothing. The sight of Alpine snuggling up to his boot had you cheesing then.

He stalked over to you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Gonna go stop by my place and get a few things…figured she would like the trip.” He leaned down to scoop up his cat. “Should probably also grab more of her food.” He motioned toward the now empty tupperware he had made into a makeshift transport for when the both of them would stay at your place.

“No worries. I should be tidying up around here anyways.” You reached up to hug him, leaving space for Alpine between you.

“I’ll be seeing ya, doll.”

You pushed into his shoulder at his silly remark, but decided to play along. “Be seeing ya, too, Sarge.”

With that he turned to leave—the white cat perched comfortably on his shoulder now.

The sound of the door closing immediately made you turn to survey your apartment. It wasn’t too bad—but could easily take a few hours to freshen up if you made a day of it. With a nod, you began tidying and cleaning to pass the time—occasionally checking your phone for a text or call from Bucky.

It was only way into the night that you began to get anxious. You knew about his job; at one moment there could be nothing and the next a universal threat they had to combat. You tried not to jump to worry, but it was so unlike him. There’d been times like this, where he would disappear. You would take the time, giving him space he probably needed—only to find him holed up in his apartment in the worst condition he’d ever been in. Images of him contracted in on himself and shoved into a dark corner played in your mind. You had to go check, to be sure.

Throwing on a matching sweat set, you shoved your phone and keys into your pocket, quickly making the trek to his place. It wasn’t far, but it wasn’t exactly close. For some reason you made the decision to walk there—the franticness and burn in your legs making the distance seem even larger.

Your chest burned, heaving as you turned the corner. The building came into view, finally. You quickly swiped the extra card he’d given you to enter the building. Every step felt like a march toward complete devastation. Your hands opened and shut, grasping at your hoodie. The elevator ride was torturous. You weren’t sure how you’d find him—the thought alone was driving you up a wall.

As you approached his door, your pace slowed. You dug into your pocket again, reaching for his key on your keychain. Just above the gasps of your breath you heard shuffling in his place—causing you to still. You were sure the expression on your face was one of confusion, wondering why he’d not let you know he got here at least. Just as you went to call his name, a voice spoke, muffled by the closed door. Without a thought, you leaned in at the sound—growing more cautious and remembering just how much Bucky told you to stay aware of your surroundings. With a tilt, you steadied your breathing. None of the words were coming clear to you. It was certain, though, that there was a woman in his place.

You took a long and drawn inhale before swiftly pushing in and turning the key to Bucky’s apartment.

The woman paused the call she’d been on, now looking at you. “I’ll call you back.” She pushed the phone into her pocket, looking at you expectantly. “Hi.”

“Hi?” You gave her a quizzical look, “Who are you?” You hadn’t meant to ask so bluntly.

The woman across from you didn’t move, clearly aware of the fact that you didn’t let the door close. Either you were really dumb…or someone taught you that. She stepped toward you, then, a hand outstretched. “I’m Sharon.” She observed your lack of motion except for a brow that arched at the introduction. “You must know Barnes, he sent me here to check on Alpine…can’t seem to find him.”

“Her.”

“Sorry?”

“Her…Alpine’s…a her.”

Sharon lowered her hand. “Didn’t know, sorry.”

Your grip on the door’s knob loosened a bit at the mention of Bucky and Alpine. Finally, you let the door swing closed behind you—stepping into his living room but keeping a distance.

You cleared your throat, “So where is he? That he couldn’t check on Alpine himself, I mean…”

“I um…” She paused, teetering on her feet. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to say-“

“I’m his friend,” you interrupted. You groaned internally at the attempt to make your presence at his place seem legitimate. “We’ve been friends for a while. Haven’t heard from him and wanted to see if he was okay.”

“So you just walked in?”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

The woman smiled, chuckling to herself. “Got a point there.” Silence filled the room again before she spoke again, “So…you’re a friend…with a key?”

“I watch Alpine when he’s out of town…he figured I should have one just in case he’s ever gone longer than expected.”

You surveyed the woman, looking for any questioning of your rehearsed reply. It was somewhat true…not entirely, though.

You chose to repeat your question, concern still sitting within you. “Where’s Bucky?”

The woman reached in her pocket, causing you to step away from her. She raised her arm—motioning for you to wait. Reflected back at you was her ID and badge. She worked with him.

“You should come with me.”

Just then, Alpine strolled around the corner, approaching you in recognition. You scooped her up the same as Bucky had, watching Sharon move toward the door. You inched back, allowing her the space to exit and for you to follow.

The car ride was uncomfortably silent. No words were exchanged between you and the only sound that resonated between the both of you being Alpines sweet purrs into your lap. Eventually you approached the compound. Bucky had never bought you here—thinking better of it. You followed Sharons swift motions, keeping a somewhat close distance on her trail. Looking around as you walked, you were overwhelmed. There were so many people, all of which Bucky didn’t want to know about you. There were so many weapons, so casually strewn about and waved around.

A shake of your head was inadvertent. You pulled Alpine in closer to you, sniffing in the lingering scent of Bucky on her.

The two of you rounded a corner, a few sectioned off rooms coming into view. Sharon quickly stepped into one, ushering you in.

She leaned down and clicked on a keyboard, speaking while looking at the computer screen. “Barnes was called up.” She clicked away, “We needed some undercover done and they had to be able to speak Russian…possibly other languages.” She side eyed you, making sure you were looking. “We have feeds on them at all times.”

She stood then, backing up to stand in line with you. You surveyed the screen, confused by the atmosphere, “Where is this?”

“Some arts gala…few hours away. We got word of illegal dealings happening a few weeks out so they’re doing recon.”

You nodded, watching the zoomed out view of the ballroom. A quick scan came up empty—no signs of Bucky at all. You saw Sharon in your side view, watching the various emotions littering your face.

She crossed her arms, “Barnes isn’t your friend.”

“No.” It wasn’t a question. You figured this would happen, Bucky said as much, that anyone he worked with would see right through you. You kicked yourself for how obvious you’d been, even when trying to be subtle.

“There they are.”

You looked over to her suddenly, “They?”

She moved to zoom in on the screen. “Yup, Barnes and Romanoff.” Sharon resumed her stance next to you. “See? He’s alright…figured this would ease your mind. I know how he can get.”

There was nothing out of the ordinary and you reasoned that you were just being overly cautious. Admittedly, you jumped to so many conclusions in such a small time.

The sound of Sharon’s phone going off filled the room. “I have to take this, but feel free to stay. I can take you back in a sec, okay?”

“Thank you, Sharon.”

She nodded before stepping out to take the call.

You sat down, allowing Alpine to observe the screen as well. “He’s doing just fine. That’s good, right?”

You looked down at Alpine for a second, amused by your own love for the cat—seeing as you weren’t fond of them as a whole. Generally, you were more of a dog person, but you compromised because Bucky loved her. You smiled at the thought of them, your own little family.

The absentminded circling on Alpine’s back stopped abruptly as you looked up at the screen again. You whispered to yourself, “What the fuck…”

In what seemed to be an average recon mission, seemed to linger a hint of something you didn’t quite like. The distance between Bucky and the woman was closing. His grip found her back, a secure hand there while the other held hers firmly. They were talking. You turned to look for Sharon, hoping there were mics on them. The smiles exchanged back and forth had your chest in pain—the same lazy smile he’d shown you just hours ago. Your body started to shake, pulsing at a frequency that left you feeling unstable. A hand secured you in the chair; you urged yourself to keep watching, even if to your own detriment.

He leaned in, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. They moved apart, then, searching in one another’s gaze. In a split second, the pair’s lips met one another’s. You felt your eyes blink away a sting that approached you quickly. An immediate pain welled up in you. You couldn’t believe it. Clenching down on your teeth, you stood up quickly, moving closer to the monitor. Your finger trailed his face, looking for any sign that this was just an act—an elaborate ruse for the task at hand. Yet, there was nothing.

You couldn’t help but let the feelings of inadequacy cloud your judgement. You couldn’t help but doubt everything he’d ever said. You couldn’t help but cower away from yourself—scared of your own reflection now. It had to be true…you just simply weren’t enough. Someone else was better.

Feeling Alpine in your hands, you pressed a firm hug and kiss into her fur. You rubbed her reassuringly before setting her down in the chair. “I’ll see you later…okay?”

The cat seemed to look at you longingly—but you couldn’t let that stop your path. You had to get out of here. Swinging the door open, you stepped out into the hall and looked around for Sharon. She seemed to have disappear—of course. You took a few steps, unsure of which direction to go. To anyone watching, you seemed to stutter step. You’d move in one direction and question the next. Suddenly, a man came into view, towering over you.

He leaned down to meet your eyeline, “Hey.” He waved a hand in an attempt to break you from your trance. “You okay? You seem lost.”

“I just need to get out of here.” You move to step around him, “Excuse me.”

Your quick footsteps carried you toward the outside—the familiar burn of your legs reminding you of the feeling just an hour ago. How concerned you’d been, you thought, only for him to be hours away having the time of his life…without you.

Within a few minutes, you were able to find a ride and head home. Opening your apartment door hit you in a way you didn’t expect. You had cleaned everything, yes, but you had accidentally removed all traces of Bucky in your attempt to straighten up. The lack of him felt too real—hitting your chest with a force you couldn’t take.

In all your time together you hadn’t felt more connected to Bucky than right now. You empathized with him—sinking to the floor came easy. Letting yourself waste away in an effort to not acknowledge the pain was… easy. Sitting in the dark, ignoring calls, letting your mind run rampant.

I can do this, you thought. Reveling in the feeling of sadness was much easier than facing Bucky. So you simply…wouldn’t.

part two

[buckysfaveplum]

her weakness

summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that

a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.

masterlist | send requests

Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.

He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.

Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.

As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.

“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.

“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.

Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.

“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”

Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was. 

“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone. 

You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there. 

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”

Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.

Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.

“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.

Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”

Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.

“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.

The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.

“John…” Bucky said, calmly. 

“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.

That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.

A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.

“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”

You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.

“You made a mistake,” Sam said.

You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.

Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.

“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.

Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.

With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.

You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield. 

You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off. 

Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.

While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.

“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying. 

Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky. 

“Bucky!” You screamed.

His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.

Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker. 

“Go!” He shouted.

You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.

The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did. 

“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”

He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment. 

“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.

“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air. 

His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.

The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.

You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.

It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.

Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips. 

Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again. 

He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.

You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.

Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.

“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.

You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.

“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.

“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.

Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm. 

“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”

The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.

“You’re okay,” you said.

“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.

“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.

Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again. 

“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.

“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”

“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.

“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.

“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.

“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”

You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.

“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.

“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

---

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[buckysm]

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★part one, part two,

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ part one word count 6k+

ᯓ★a/n: junie’s first post— so please show some love— i hope you like!! my inbox is always open to chat! (minor edits on jan 27)

ᯓ★ summary: In the quiet hours of the night, you and Bucky find solace in an unexpected friendship built on sleepless conversations and cigarettes. Slowly, walls come down, and a bond forms, kept hidden from the team. But when crisis strikes, the Avengers are shocked to discover just how deep that connection runs—and just how far you’d go for each other. (i wrote this bc of a little fantasy of being in a secret situationship with bucky and the team finding out when bucky goes feral after reader goes missing during a mission)

ᯓ★ warnings/ tags/ tropes for the whole series: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut,  Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication, Mentions of torture off screen (to be added and expanded as i post part two) NOT BETA READ

These are the hands of fate/ You're my Achilles heel/ This is the golden age of something good and right and real

It started with a cigarette.

It started when he had lent you a lighter. He did not smoke, and you didn’t ask him why he had one.  

For him, it started months before then.

Bucky was barely coping when you joined the team. His days muddled by an eternal haze of anger and frustration…His life had been stolen from him, along with his memories from before. He did not feel like he deserved redemption. He had done terrible things, had had terrible things done to him.

He found himself disassociating whenever he wasn’t on a mission. He did not feel real; he couldn’t joke around and feel good without betraying his past. Yet, his past was real, it happened. But Bucky couldn’t just move on, couldn’t just exist without the churning in his gut telling him he was dirty, he was dripping in sin, tarnished by the red in his ledger, filthy to the point of no return.

When he was told about you, his body turned taut with trepidation. Two sides of the same coin. You were injected with serum just like him. Made to do things and had things done to you just like him. And he had heard of you. They had called you serpiente, the serpent, the snake. You were deadly, never made a mistake. No one knew any identifying details about you, not even your gender. 

And it was his mistake, thinking you were a man. He yearned to be understood; maybe he would find companionship in you.

But then, you were not a man. The first time he beheld you, he had just finished a mission for Fury. Secret and dirty, he felt right at home doing SHIELD’s grunt work.

You were walking down the compound, side to side with Black Widow. He had assumed you were one of her brethren, maybe you had trained with her, a black widow yourself. Tony Stark pranced a few paces before you.

“Soldier, good you’re here! Come meet our newest recruit!”

Your smile was disarmingly bright. Pretty. He felt himself grow cold with fury. It was a smile that came easily to you. And your eyes, frustratingly  soft. You seemed at peace with yourself, and he hated that.  

He just stared at you in response. Eyes hard. Waiting for you to react to his lack of reciprocity. You didn’t bite his hook, just slightly pursed your lips and took his glare in stride. 

“Nice to meet you, Stark was telling me about you, all good things, don’t worry. But I had heard about you from before—you know—we do have in common h-”

“We have nothing in common.” He snarled before walking away, fuming. How dare you? How dare you make chit-chat about the thing that haunted his life. Every waking hour, every nightmare he was haunted by his past. And you wanted to…what? Talk about it over jokes? No. He decided you had nothing in common.

Maybe your body count was higher than his, and he chose to ignore the elephant in the room. The fact that you were a beautiful woman and that that could be a weapon as much as it could be a vulnerability.

He hated you a bit more each time he saw you get along with the rest of the team. How dare you? 

He had thought, had been so sure, that the reason he was disliked was because of his past. But that wasn’t it, was it? Because you and the black widow seemed to do just fine. Maybe he was just broken, and maybe you had been too, but you had fixed yourself just fine. Parallel wounds, yours had healed, while his had festered like a virus. How dare you?

His despise grew with each smile, each laugh, each time you were slapped on the back.

Everything came to a head when he found you on the balcony. He had thought it was his balcony. His.

It wasn’t a balcony, more of a ledge. A floor that had been destroyed during a hulk mishap, had not been fixed, and did not look like it would be anytime soon. 

The wind was strong. You stood at the edge, facing the precipice. You seemed so peaceful. 

He stared at your profile, illuminated by the city lights. Your expression was sad. He had never seen it like that. Your lips tight, eyes fluttered shut. Were you about to jump?

He walked toward you, deliberately moving his limbs so that you heard his footsteps.

You turned unhurriedly, your eyes opening slowly. There was a small moment where he saw you, your unguarded face. He was too involved in his stupor he had not considered the possibility of it all being a facade. But months had passed, and your mask hadn’t slipped. Until now.

It was only a fraction of a vulnerable moment before you schooled your features. And it angered him for some reason. Seeing you so easily slip into the practiced mask. It made him just like the rest of them, taking you at face value, not digging deeper past your pretty face, sparkling eyes, and gleaming smile. But then he was angry at both himself for not looking past and you for pretending. 

Before he could stop himself, before he could think, words were coming out of his mouth faster than he processed them. 

“Do not do that, don’t do that.”

You sighed, your mask falling to one of disdain. You looked disappointed in him, exasperated. It was a look of derision, he felt scorned, and yet it was better than the fake platitudes. 

“Do what? Now, what am I doing that deserves your anger?”

“Pretending,” Bucky grunted.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “So what am I supposed to do according to you, huh?” You walked away from the ledge toward him. He towered over you, head lowered to meet your defiant gaze. “Am I supposed to growl, frown, and hate myself for things I can’t control? Well, guess what, been there, done that! And, hey—guess again what happened. I hated it. So what if I am faking it? Maybe if I fake it hard enough, it’ll come true.”

“What’ll come true?” Bucky asked beside himself, snarling.

“Wanting to live, not letting them win. Because if I hate myself, then they win.” Your angry gaze wavered, turning sad. You looked away from him towards the city skyline. “I’ll go now, leave you alone to your self-hatred and whatever….” You started making your way to the battered elevator doors.

Bucky sighed, exasperated. “No, stay. I’m sorry.”

You had stopped walking away, your footsteps silent, but some sixth sense told him you had in fact paused.

He turned toward you. “I’m sorry.” He echoed.

You nodded, moving towards the ledge and sitting on it.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“Careful there, doll face.” His voice was gruff. “Don’t want you to fall off.”

You stiffened slightly, taken off guard, not for the first time tonight. The sweet nickname coupled with his harsh voice made heat rise to your cheeks. You decided to appear as if you took it in stride. Not wanting him to know just how much his words meant to you. Wanting to hear him call you that forever.

Because as much as you told yourself otherwise, it had hurt when he brushed you off. You had looked up to him. 

You didn’t have any memories of your past before the experiments or the training, so maybe it was different for him. He had a life that was taken away from him — and you were just now learning to have one.

You heard about him, heard him even.  Heard his screams sometimes. Your handlers wanted to teach you a lesson of what would happen when you didn’t behave.

It was clear he did not remember you. Why would he? When you passed each other in the hydra bases, he didn’t know who you were; that was part of your deal. No one expected a pretty girl to have a body count as high as yours. 

Bucky had killed about 20-something people, important ones. You knew that Natasha had a count of about six hundred and had shared the fact with you. Bucky had been Hydra’s tool, he was used in important missions only. While you…were a gun for hire basically. A knife for hire. You used your charms on men and women alike to disarm them enough. Your kills were always up close and personal. Sometimes you have to put yourself in compromised positions to do so. Bucky never had to. 

You knew that he had to be put under a lot, had to have his brainwashed again and again, and conditioned an inhumane amount of times. His brain rebelled, he had a life. Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he had memories or faint encodings of a life outside.

But you were awake all of the time. You did things because there was no other option. You had to survive. You didn’t know otherwise.

You pondered in silence. And when it became too much for you, you fumbled into one of the multiple pockets on your jacket for your cigarettes. You stiffened when you remembered you had left the lighter on your bedside counter. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong, doll.” His voice was curious, less rough. He was standing somewhere behind you. You could feel the weight of his stare.

You wanted to comment on the pet names— but you didn’t want him to stop, so you swallowed a snarky remark. “I forgot my lighter.”

He made his way toward you, movements swift as he sat next to you, feet dangling on the edge. You understood him now, didn’t want him to fall. 

He slid his hand onto the pockets of his cargo pants and came out with a lighter.

You smiled at him. His eyes never strayed from yours as he placed the lighter in your hand. 

His eyes were beautiful, darker than usual under the low light.

You tore away from his gaze. Placing a cigarette between your lips, you cupped the lighter and flicked it on.

You took a drag of the cigarette, enjoying the burn. Enjoying the strong scent, stronger than other cigarettes. It made your head light.

Banner had made them for you after you expressed sadness about not being able to enjoy any substances.

You heard a sniff. He had noticed it too.

You waited a second, leaving the smoke in your lungs, before exhaling. “It’s enhanced with something, Banner made it for me.”

He hummed. 

“You want one?” You looked at him from the corner of your eyes, not wanting to turn your face fully.

“Thanks for offering doll, but I don’t smoke.”

You hummed, taking another drag. “Not even before?” your question was tentative, you wanted to see if he would open up to you.

He hummed softly. “I did yes, once or twice. But Steve couldn’t handle the secondhand smoke, so I stopped. Little asthmatic punk…”

Silence stretched out as you enjoyed the lightheaded sensation. Your limbs loosened, and you felt free. 

“D’ya miss him?” You turned fully toward him.

His eyes never strayed from the skyline as he answered,“I do. It’s different, we’ve both changed a lot. You know how it is, losing the past.”

“I don’t know, not really…” your voice was soft and resigned. 

His eyes flashed to yours. You didn’t know what to do with the full weight of his stare. “What do you mean by that doll?” His brows were furrowed. 

You sighed, not wanting to get into it. “It’s late…” You took out your AVENGER-sanctioned phone to check the time, 2:15 A.M.

“I’m going to sleep.” You lied. And you couldn’t stop more words from tumbling out of your mouth. Clumsy and rushed. “Same time tomorrow?”

A ghost of a smile pulled slightly at the corner of his lips. “See you doll face. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams Jamie.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie….

He had been too quick to judge, and now he couldn’t get you out of his thoughts. His sleep was fitful, but he was granted a reprieve from his nightmares. Dreaming instead of the multitudes in your eyes. 

It was a slow day in the compound. He had a routine during slow days, he would go to his favorite training room and lose himself. The training room itself didn’t lack anything, but he had marked his territory with his glares at anyone who entered. He had achieved an unspoken ownership of that particular room.

After having you torment his dreams, however, he had to see you in person. He tried to contain himself, he started his routine in the training room. 

It lasted 42 minutes. 

No amount of dagger throws could get him to calm down. 

He found you on the tower’s common floor.

You hunched over a table, Banner at your side. Coming down was worth it.

“Well, good morning there Sarge, nice of you to come out of your room and join the land of the living.”

And he immediately regretted it.

“Stark!” Two voices proclaimed in tandem. You and Steve jumped to defend him, Steve’s voice was sharp, and yours was a playful whine.

“What? I’m just saying, he’s acting like a teenager!” Stark’s voice was a defensive grumble. He tinkered with the toaster in the kitchen area. 

“Oh as opposed to you, who behaves so maturely?” The tone of your voice was playful but had a hidden bite to it. Bucky couldn’t help but appreciate it.

You turned to smile at him, Steve turned to bicker with Tony. Bucky rolled his lips and moved to grab a mug, he poured himself a cup before walking away. 

He barely heard Stark’s remark on his parting, mentally berating himself for caring about the hurt look that soured your face when he did not return your smile. He shouldn’t care, caring was dangerous. It made him vulnerable and put him in a position where he could be easily hurt again.

He had to be careful, He did not want to break down the walls he had put up protecting himself and others from himself.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You almost didn’t show up. Hurt but not surprised by his attitude.

You paced the room you had on Natasha’s floor. She was not home, leaving you to pace away your conflicting thoughts.

Your heart had skipped a beat when he showed up. He never showed up, he was a ghostly presence in the compound. Part of the team, but never there for ‘team building exercises’…

It was 2:14 when you rushed to the elevator, a pounding of indecision in your chest. You told yourself it was curiosity. You needed to know more about him, needed to figure him out - maybe then you would be able to understand why he made you want…-

The silent elevator ride left you time to think

He is hurt, just projecting/ This could end badly/ This could end with a friendship/ He was an asshole/ He just needs a friend/ At the cost of your sanity?/

Two inner voices argued with each other in the back of your mind. You let them.

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open and there he was. The voices went quiet as soon as your eyes fell on him.

He leaned against a thick construction support post, overlooking the city skyline, his back to you.

“Nice of you to join me doll.”

DOLL?! Asshole, he dared to call you doll- yet acted coldly toward you in public?! You grunted angrily, mimicking his usual blasé attitude and walking to stand beside him, not looking at him.

A storm of anger raged inside you as you stared at the beautiful Manhattan skyline.

“Is everything alright doll?” His voice was softer, and you weren’t as angry anymore.

Yes he hadn’t smiled at you, but what exactly had made you expect that from him? Yes, he called you doll, but he was from the forties. Plus he hadn’t smiled at you before. And-what?  You had one conversation and suddenly you expected him to smile at you? You were delusional! This man was set in his ways, and maybe he was bored, but it meant nothing. He was bored and lonely, and you were overthinking everything. You were new at this, at socialization. Genuine socializing. You socialized a lot for your HYDRA days, but this was new. You were used to having the upper hand, being the one in control.

You sighed out your exasperation, letting your tense shoulders loosen.

“Mhm…” your eyes never strayed from the city.

You stood in comfortable silence. You were an expert at working yourself into a stupor. But honestly, you were about… twenty, twenty-one (you lost time during HYDRA). Yet you felt emotionally stunted- of course you did. You never had the chance to actually develop skills people your age did.

“This feels like a dream. Like I am hallucinating being free, and I will wake up from passing out due to torture and be back in my cell…” Words tumbled out of your mouth. You were also bored and lonely. Faking your way with the others made you exhausted.

He made no response, but you could tell he understood. And that was enough.  You fumbled for your cigarettes. He slid a lighter from his pocket, handing it to you wordlessly.

You took it from his hand, inhaling to light your smoke. 

“You know? it’s dumb… but I sometimes feel like screaming at them… like something deep inside of me yearns to scream and kick and throw whatever is around- to get out all my pent-up energy, maybe then I can pass out from exhaustion and sleep. And yea- the novelty of being free, and being in the fucking Avengers is slowly wearing off, and I just-” you sighed, you were talking and maybe he wasn’t even interested in hearing you whine. “And whatever, I should be grateful… it’s dumb…” You stopped yourself. Letting in the chilly New York air into your lungs. 

“No, doll, it’s not dumb.” He turned to look at you, forcing you to face the full weight of his gaze. He was devastatingly beautiful. Your inhale was sharp. “Don’t feel bad about being angry, it’s valid feeling this way.”

You smiled then, “look at you, giving emotional advice. Who knew you were a big softy underneath that grouchy, grumbling exterior.”

He scoffed, but you could tell there was no real meaning behind it. Your smile grew.

His eyes lowered to your lips for a charged moment, before looking back to the city. “Those who can’t do, teach-”  His lips tugged slightly upwards, a glimpse of a smile.

You took a drag of your cigarette, staring unashamedly at his profile. “What do you do, when you are not brooding? Like what does one do for fun around here?”

“At two am in the morning doll, those who aren’t sleeping…” he trailed off, a soft pink brightening his cheeks

“Are what?” your grin was teasing.

“Are on a mission or something.” His voice came out slightly strangled. 

“Or something…” you murmured, a yawn escaping you.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, you really liked big band music? Kind of… classy for a guy who threw himself off buildings.”

 “Hey, a man can appreciate good music and bad decisions.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Stark’s fine, sometimes… but his ego’s bigger than his bank account.”

 “If I had his money, I’d buy a planet and avoid people altogether.” You sighed, 

 “Doll, you’d get bored in two days.”

 “True. I’d need at least one grump to frown at me” 

He couldn’t hide his soft grin.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Paris. You think it’s as romantic as everyone says?”

“Probably less if I was there...”

 “You’re right. You’d make it a lot more broody.”

“And you’d make it a lot more… sneaky. You’d blend into the shadows and pickpocket tourists.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I could live off this forever.” Your spoke around a mouthful of pizza

Bucky grimaced “Takeout pizza? You call that food?”

 “Says the man who probably ate spam for dinner in the ‘40s.”

“Now doll, it was a delicacy back then.”

 “Spam’s not a delicacy in any era, Barnes.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever thought about getting a pet? Like a dog or something?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow “Me, with a dog? Not sure I’d be a good influence.”

“Nah, they’d see through you.”

“I’m more of a cat person.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I like the quiet moments just before dawn. No one’s around to bother you.”

“Night’s better. Everyone’s already asleep. Feels like you’re the only one left.”

 “Until you realize there’s still someone like me lurking in the dark.”

 “Yeah, lucky me.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, any weird phobias? Mine’s spiders. Too many legs.”

Bucky shrugged “Needles. After Hydra? No thanks.”

You nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. But hey, at least you could crush a spider for me. And I can catch all your bulk when you pass out at the sight of a needle.”

“Ha, ha.” 

Someday, you’d get a real laugh out of him

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “If you weren’t a super soldier, what would you be doing?”

“Maybe a mechanic. Fixing cars, quiet life. You?”

 “Bartender. People tell you their secrets. It’s like espionage, but with cocktails.”

 “Sounds dangerous doll. What’s in the drink?”

You grinned “Depends on who’s asking.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“I keep getting these flashes… Steve dragging me to Coney Island, insisting I’d love it. Turns out, I hate roller coasters.”

You rolled your lips, deciding on what to say “I don’t have any memories before hydra, but I dream about falling. Maybe I would love roller coasters.”

“I’ll take your word for it, doll. I prefer solid ground now.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever feel like the idea of ‘freedom’ is just another way to trap us? Like, what do we even do with it?”

“I dunno. Still figuring that out. But it beats following orders like a puppet.”

“Yeah. I just wish freedom came with an instruction manual.”

“If it did, doll, I’d probably ignore it. I don’t need another piece of paper dictating my life..”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You were late, and Bucky was ready to leave when he heard the elevator doors open. You held a full white plastic bag.

“Honey, I’m home, and I brought dinner!” you had a slight spring in your step, he turned toward you, a smile of pleasure and relief made its way into his expression without his consent. Your steps faltered slightly, your brows furrowing for a moment before a beaming smile took over, your eyes twinkling.  It was real, not a sarcastic grin, a smile! Your response only made his smile more pronounced -slightly, but still-.

“It’s good that you don’t smile, if you did people would pass out on the spot.”

He couldn’t stop the small laugh making its way out of his mouth. “Not you?”

“Not me, I’m made of stronger stuff.” You sat next to him, a bit farther from the ledge than usual. 

He followed suit, crouching in front of you. He took note of the way you eyed his legs, of your inhale, of the way you had to force yourself to look away.

“I wonder what would make you pass out.” His mouth ran away from his brain.

“Maybe take me to a fancy restaurant then you can try and find out.”

The thought made his heart race, he stopped himself from thinking about it. You were joking, it was friendly— you weren’t serious.

“I could, we could go on a few dates, and you would end it when you realize I’m too old and bitter for you doll. Maybe it’s best we stay here at 2:15 am where I can lend you a light.”

Your face soured to a pout. “Well I like my men a little bit older. But if you are telling me I’m not your type and you like old ladies, well then I can handle rejection, not the worst thing I’ve lived through.” Your smile was sarcastic, yet he could tell there was hurt behind your eyes.

“No doll, I don’t think anyone could reject you even if they tried.” 

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Your heart raced at his words, caught off guard by their raw sincerity. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, not ones that felt real anyway. A flippant remark was on the tip of your tongue, ready to deflect the tension, but it got stuck.

“You ever think about it? You know… dating?”

He snorted softly, “Who would date me? I’ve got more shit to deal with than anyone would want to deal with.”

You grinned “Hey, at least you’re mysterious. I’m more… ‘potential assassin.’”

 “Ah, the classic ‘will she kill me on the first date’ dilemma. I can hide the metal arm, but you can’t hide the serial killer smile.”

You laughed loudly, shoving him playfully.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

It was a few weeks after the initial meeting, and meeting had become a habit, a tradition of sorts. 

You gave him a shy smile when others were present, and he reciprocated with a soft look in his eyes. 

He knew he was being obvious with his staring, but he couldn’t help himself from looking at you.

He leaned on the counter, eyes flicking to and from you. He beheld as you smiled and laughed with the rest. He had a bit of jealousy that you weren’t bestowing a smile upon him, but he held none of the contempt from before.

He sensed an annoying presence beside him.

“Hey creep, why don’t you join us for drinks tonight? As luck would have it, even your star-spangled ass is joining us.”

Said star-spangled ass turned to glare at Tony, his expression turning into a smile as his eyes shifted toward Bucky.

“Yeah, come with us, you’ll have fun, we promise.” 

A myriad of yeahs chorused from the rest of the team, including you. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he looked at the ceiling. “Whatever.” He muttered.

“Well that wasn’t a no!” you grinned, acknowledging him.” Your smile was so bright he couldn’t take it. 

He sighed, and grumbled incoherently before turning to hide his blush and walking away.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You smiled to yourself as he retreaded. 

Natasha bumped your shoulders together. “He stares at you so much, I have no clue if he hates you or wants you. Maybe both!” 

“Nat, don’t be rude, it’s probably because I’m new.”

She smirked, “Sure.” You hadn’t been new for a while.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

He was anxious. It took him forty minutes to place where the tight feeling in his chest was coming from. But it came down to you. It always came down to you as of late.

Steve had an arm around his shoulders, and he was babbling on about how much fun these rare night outs were, where everyone was present.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t you talking to some guy. Enthusiastic hand gestures and a dazzling smile on your face as some random guy looked at you with an entranced smile.

He felt bile rising in his throat. 

He wanted to turn around and walk away, but that would have been too obvious. So he walked in with his stomach dropping with anguish.

He was out of it, sipping a drink that Steve had handed him. His taste buds not even processing the taste of his drink.

“Yo! Joe Goldberg, knock it out with the serial killer stare.” 

He felt a smack on his shoulder. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from you.

“What are you talking about?” he grumbled. Smooth. Real smooth.

Even though she was shorter than him, Natasha towered over Bucky. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to check it. It’s getting really weird.”

He felt a hand fist in his heart, tight. He downed the drink and sighed. Think Bucky. Think. “It’s not like that.” He was quiet for a few moments, formulating a response.

“Well then explain why you keep staring at her like you want to strangle her.”

“I don’t want to— fuck.” He placed the empty glass on the table. “She’s also from Hydra.” He stated.

“Yeah, duh.” Natasha looked at him with contempt.

He needed to fix the fact that she thought he was some sort of obsessed weirdo…. He wasn’t!

“She’s so normal, happy. And she…” he trailed off. 

Natasha’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looked to Steve, who tried to seem like he wasn’t listening to the conversation.

“Bucky, you’re-” Natasha placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to get another drink.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You could tell something was wrong when you stepped out of the elevator. He was quiet, not the usual kind, brooding. You acted like you always did, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Bucky, is everything alright?” your voice was soft.

His reply was an irritated huff. You waited for a few moments, letting him have his space.

The night was cold, you had worn thick cotton clothing. He wore a hoodie and pants, they looked comfortable, but the man in them did not.

You hummed, and moved closer toward him, he leaned on a pillar,

“Big mission tomorrow huh?” You shifted tactics. It wasn’t odd for him to have a quiet night, where you just sat in companionable silence. This was different though… he was angry about something. Some insecure part of you told you he was mad at you. But there wasn’t any foundation to that, was there? 

He grunted in response. He was making you anxious. You sighed loudly, deciding on either having a smoke or going to bed. The stilted silence made you anxious, a pressure hard on your chest. You tried to exhale it out, but it wouldn’t budge.

You let him wallow next to you for a few minutes before giving up and turning to face him. You placed a soft hand on his forearm, about to say goodnight. He flinched harshly and your heart twisted. He grimaced, eyes shifting to you before flitting away. 

“Bucky, if you need, I-” your voice had a nervous tinge to it, and you hated it. You were glad when he interrupted you.

“Go to sleep, doll.” His voice was sad, his face resigned. 

You furrowed your brows, studying his expression. You had the urge to kiss him on the cheek for good luck but knew that you would break if he flinched away.

“Goodnight Jamie…”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You walked away, turning your head twice to smile at him sadly. He held your gaze as the elevator doors closed, removing you from his field of vision. Taking you away from him. 

“Fuck.” His voice was soft and defeated. He looked at the city skyline. His eyes glossed over. He wanted to get the self-hatred out, to hit the wall, break his knuckles, and kick at the litter on the floor. But he let it sit, let it fester in his chest. A leech that grew bigger as it fed on the churning,  loathsome thoughts overwhelming his brain.

He crumpled with the ease of a paper, falling to the ground,

His limbs splayed as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t take it. Any of it. He always told himself he was strong. He was The Winter Soldier, for fuck’s sake! And here he was, crying over a girl. But that wasn’t it. Or it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that he was too soft for all of it. And he was still somewhat human at the end of the day. He still had emotions, and he was starved for comfort. He lacked connection. And he was okay without it, having gone so so long without it, he had grown used to the lack. But then you had come into his sanctuary and ruined everything, and he let you. He felt a kinship with you. You had gone through hell and back, had walked the same road as him, and you smiled so big, your eyes twinkled so bright. He couldn’t help but fall into your orbit. Admiring you from afar. 

Maybe it was better when he hated you, it was something he was used to, it was comfortable. He did not know what to do with all these feelings, hadn’t felt them before, not even in the 40’s. He was happy then, it was normal for him to smile. He didn’t know how to appreciate it. Yes, there was war, but there was hope, and there was also Captain America there to save him, but then Steve wasn’t there anymore. And any sliver of hope was quickly crushed under gleaming leather Hydra boots. He was going to die someday on a Hydra mission, he had made his peace with that. But Steve did save him, a little too late. He wasn’t Bucky anymore and did not feel like he had any right to the mantle of Captain America’s best friend. And some parts of him did want that still, but all of him yearned to be your Jamie.

And now bitter and traumatized, he held a flower in his calloused hands, and he didn’t know if he was worthy of it. He couldn’t breathe.

He was going to die here, and he couldn’t go in peace because he wanted to see you one more time. He couldn’t stand up, he couldn’t move, He keeped in pain like a puppy. 

Pathetic, get up. Voices from Hydra spewed venom, wracking through his psyche. He clenched his jaw and groaned from deep in his throat.

Broken…unworthy…killer…tainted…

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The mission was successful. The team had divided in two, his group had finished earlier.

He felt better, exhausted. It had been a long mission, he was covered in grime and blood. 

It was rare for him to get to the point of exhaustion, but he had dived head first into hand-to-hand combat, not letting up, ignoring black widow’s knowing looks. 

Freshly showered and changed into sweats, Bucky let himself fall face-first into his too-soft bed. Days of restless sleep coupled with today’s exertion weighed his body down, and pulled his mind into sweet sweet oblivion.

He awoke with a start, looked at the clock, and sat up. 3:22 A.M. 

He had stood you up. He rushed to the elevator and up to the floor. His thoughts raced with self criticism and hatred. He breathed out a frustrated sigh, you weren’t there.

Of course you weren’t there, he had been over an hour late.

He grumbled to himself all the way down to the common floor. His footsteps skidded to a stop when he found all the lights on and a flurry of activity.

Hawkeye typing furiously into a computer, Black Widow pacing the floor on the floor, her hands fiddling with some tech stuff. Steve was curled over a tablet, his hands clenched around the edge of a countertop.

Bucky stopped. The other team hadn’t come back.

“What’s wrong… where is she?” His chest felt tight.

Steve motioned at him to come near while the other two ignored him.

“Look, Bucky, I know you have some fondness for her, but I need you to calm down. She’s — uh— she’s missing…”

His ears started ringing; he didn’t hear anything after that. He took deep breaths, running his hands through his hair. It was longer, he needed a haircut, maybe you could cut his hair. Yeah, that sounded nice. 

He stilled. Breathing in deep, “give me the details, I’ll have her back with me within the hour.”

He didn’t recognize his voice. Black Widow and Hawkeye had turned their heads to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Bucky, calm down, she’s alive from what we can tell, we can’t deal with y- we have to focus on finding her right now.”

“I am focused. I will find her.” His voice, it was gruffer, the language wasn’t english. He was reverting back…

Iron Man decided it was the best moment to walk in.

Bucky, The Winter Soldier turned around with intent. He had some inkling of what he must have  looked like, a menace— because as Iron Man was opening his mouth to make some snarky remark, his jaw clenching shut, hands rising in surrender. 

“Где она, где моя кукла?” Where is she, where is my doll?. 

His voice had a deadly cadence, he spoke and meant death.

“She’s okay, Wanda has her.” Black Widow had placed the radio on a table. She walked toward The Soldier slowly.

Wanda, the deadly witch saved from Sokovia. He remembered her. She was strong. Not strong enough. 

He leveled his eyes on her. “скажи мне где, или ты умрешь.” tell me where, or die.

Her eyes grew hard. “Calm down soldier, there is no need to threaten anyone.” 

The tension was palpable then, rising… rising-

The Doors opened to you limping… being supported by the witch and the doctor. 

His shoulders slumped. He shifted toward you, but something blocked his path,  he looked down to see Steve’s arm pushing against his chest. The enemies' stance was on the offence, about to attack, to keep her from him. He was about to threaten his best friend  The Captain to move when-

“Jamie…”  

His gaze flashed toward you. You pushed away from them, limping— stumbling toward him.

He met no resistance this time as he rushed softly toward you.

Your knees buckled as he wrapped his arms around you. You collapsed against him. 

You sobbed softly- and he broke. His arms were strong and soft as he held you close.

He didn’t care about anything, he didn’t care how the scene looked, he didn’t care that they all knew for certain now. He loved you.

He just needed to know you were okay.

He held you as you shook, “I thought, I was back there Jamie, I- thought I wasn’t going to- to see you again. I thought, he would get lonely, and- and- I was going to miss you- they- they- I didn’t care about any of it. I just thought about you….” You sobbed, trying to get words out. “I got out- I killed them all, I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face not- I killed…” For you. 

“kukla…” Doll.“you’re here, you’re ok, let’s get you to the infirmary. You are hurt, and bleeding…”

His voice was so, so soft —dense with remnants of russian. His arms holding you together.

He ignored it all, ignored the dropped jaws and furrowed brows, you came first. He had shown you as his vulnerability, but he first had to be sure his Achilles heel would be okay.

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments, and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading be back with part two soon!!!!

[the-winter-spider]

The Alchemy | Part Six

NFL! Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Toxic relationship, mentions of abuse.

A/N: More angsty snd big things happening soooooon 👀 not edited or proof read atm, im laazzyyyyyyy

Masterpost

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The envelope sat on the kitchen table, the thick stack of paperwork neatly placed beside John’s untouched cup of coffee. You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just another bill, another document that John liked to handle. He always told you he was better with that kind of thing, that you had enough on your plate with work.

But when you picked it up, your name was there, your lease agreement except something was different.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read over the bolded lines. Primary Leaseholder: John Walker.

Your stomach twisted.

“John?” you called hesitantly, the paper trembling in your hands. “What is this?”

He looked up from his phone, brow raised. “What’s what?”

You turned the lease toward him, your finger pressing against the printed words. “This, it says you’re the main leaseholder. You weren’t even on the lease before, I didn’t authorize this.”

John sighed, setting his phone down with a slow, deliberate motion. “Baby, what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t sign anything,” you said, your voice shaky but firm. “I would never sign something like this without knowing.”

His eyes darkened just slightly, but his expression remained frustratingly calm. “Yes, you did,” he said smoothly. “See?”

He slid another sheet of paper toward you, his finger tapping at the bottom of the page. Your signature, your signature, was there, clear as day.

Except it wasn’t. It was your name and it was almost completely identical to your signature but you knew it wasn’t yours.

Your throat tightened. “John, I, I don’t remember signing this.”

His chuckle was soft, almost condescending. “Come on, sweetheart. You were probably just distracted. You sign stuff all the time, contracts, media forms, waivers. You probably just forgot.”

You shook your head, an uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. “No. I would’ve remembered this.”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours as he squeezed your hand gently. “You did sign it. We talked about it, remember? We agreed it was better this way, less stress on you, more stability for us. I handle all this stuff anyway, don’t I?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Did we talk about this?

No. No, you knew you wouldn’t have agreed to this. You’d been careful about keeping the lease in your name, about having that bit of independence, one thing that was yours. This place was yours before John and you even got together. It was yours.

But John looked so sure. So patient, like he was explaining something obvious to you, something you should already understand.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. “I just… I don’t remember.”

He squeezed your hand tighter. “Because you didn’t think twice about it,” he said gently. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard. “I..of course I do.”

His lips curved into that easy, knowing smile. “Then trust me when I say this is for the best. I handle everything else, don’t I? Bills, travel, groceries… You don’t need to stress about this kind of thing.”

You nodded slowly, the edges of your doubt blurring under the weight of his reassurance. He was right, you were always busy, always juggling a million things at once. Maybe you had signed it without thinking. Maybe it had just slipped your mind.

Maybe you were just overreacting. He always said you were.

John lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. “I’ve got us, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

But as he gathered the papers and tucked them away, your stomach twisted with something cold and heavy.

Something that told you, no matter how much he insisted, you should be worried.

---

The cab ride back to the hotel felt like an out-of-body experience. You sat stiffly in the backseat, your fingers twisting in your lap, your gaze locked onto the city lights blurring past the window. The driver made occasional small talk, asking if you’d had a good night, if the bar was fun, but you barely heard him. You gave quiet, noncommittal responses, nodding at the right moments, but the words barely registered.

Your mind was still back at the bar, still at him.

Still at the way John had tightened his grip on your wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make a silent point before smiling and joking like he hadn’t just bruised you in front of his teammates. Still at the way he’d forced that kiss on you, too rough, too possessive, just to prove something to Bucky.

Bucky.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, exhaling shakily.

God, Bucky had seen it, actually seen it, the way he was.

He’d seen the way you flinched, the way John’s hand lingered, the way you had let him do it, because what else could you do? John had made sure of that, that feeling of helplessness, of having nowhere else to go, nowhere else to be if you weren’t by his side.

If you left him…the thought alone made your stomach drop. Your dream job, your apartment. Your entire life all of it was tangled up in him. Because of course he’d added his name to the lease and of course he had pulled strings for this job, ensuring that if you ever even thought about leaving, he’d have the power to rip everything out from under you. Of course you were in a position you told yourself you’d never be in.

The cab slowed as the hotel came into view, and suddenly, the reality of the situation settled over you like a crushing weight, you were in fight or flight mode, just wanting to be in your hotel room and work on some stuff you still had to power through since Johns abruptly showed up.

Bucky was waiting, your stomach twisted sharply when you spotted him outside your hotel room door, leaning against the wall, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He was still in his clothes from the bar, but his sleeves were pushed up now, tension running through his forearms. His gaze lifted the second you stepped into the hallway, something unreadable flashing across his face.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight before meeting your eyes. “Can we talk?”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Because Bucky didn’t ask for things like this. Not usually, not when he had something to say. He just said it. But there was something careful about the way he was looking at you now, something hesitant, like he was giving you an out if you wanted to take it and maybe you should take it.

Because talking to Bucky meant admitting things, things you had spent years avoiding, years stuffing deep down where they couldn’t touch you. If you let Bucky back in, even just a little, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop.

You hesitated. “John’s gonna be back soon,” you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice.

Bucky nodded like he already knew, like he had already thought of everything before he even stepped foot in this hallway. “Sam’s still there,” he said quietly. “I told him to text me when he leaves.” His blue eyes held yours, unrelenting but careful. “Just give me a few minutes. Please.”

Your chest ached. You should have told him no. Should have told him that whatever needed to be said didn’t need to be said, not tonight. But when you opened your mouth, the words didn’t come. Instead, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can we do it in your room?”

Bucky’s brows pulled together for a second, but then he nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

The walk down the hall was agonizingly slow, even though it only took a minute. You kept your eyes forward, but your heart was hammering against your ribs, each step another reminder that you weren’t ready for whatever was about to happen.

Because Bucky had always been your weak spot. Bucky had seen you, truly seen you in a way no one else ever had.

And when you finally stopped in front of his door, when he turned to face you, jaw tight, eyes soft, like he was waiting you realized you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to keep hiding.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Bucky stood near the window, hands braced on his hips, breathing hard like he was trying to keep himself from exploding. You stood on the other side of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the floor, feeling like you were crumbling from the inside out.

Neither of you had said anything since he closed the door behind you. Neither of you knew how to start.

But Bucky had never been one for patience. “Why are you with him?” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through the thick air between you.

You flinched. “Bucky..”

“No,” he snapped, taking a step closer. “No bullshit, no deflecting, no ‘it’s complicated.’ Why are you with him?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” He was almost pleading now, his voice raw, desperate. “You don’t love him. Not the way you should, I know you don’t and what he does, that’s not love.”

You exhaled shakily, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “I could lose this job, Bucky,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “If I lose this job, I don’t have the money, then I can't afford my apartment that might not even be mine anymore and I don’t even know if I got this job on my own, or if John actually made it happen for me. Sometimes he just says things, I don’t..” Your throat closed, the panic rising in your chest. “I don’t know what happens to me if I leave.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “You think I would let them take this job from you?” His voice was sharp, his blue eyes burning. “You think I’d just stand by and let that happen?”

“I don’t expect you to fix this for me, Bucky!” you shot back, your voice rising now. “I can’t explain it to you, I can’t make you understand!”

He took a step closer. “Then tell me this,” he said, his voice lower now, more controlled, but no less intense. “Does he hurt you?”

The question made your stomach drop. “He hasn’t hit me,” you said, too quickly, too defensively. “If that’s what you’re asking.” You forced a hollow laugh. “Not like my dad did to my mom.”

Bucky inhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. Then, his eyes flickered downward, toward your arm.

You followed his gaze, toward the faint outline of bruising near your wrist.

Bucky’s whole body went rigid. “What’s that then?”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. Quickly, you covered it with your other hand. “He just has a strong hold, that’s all.”

Bucky exhaled harshly, dragging a hand over his face like he was trying to physically push down the rage building inside him. “Why are you making excuses for this?” His voice was hoarse, disbelief and heartbreak tangled together. “You’re putting yourself through the same shit your mom went through, and you don’t have to.”

Your breath hitched. “It’s not the same.”

“The hell it’s not,” he snapped, stepping forward again. “The only difference is your dad had alcohol in his system. Somehow, that makes it worse, Y/N. John doesn’t even have that excuse.”

You shook your head, your whole body trembling. “You don’t get it, Bucky. I don’t have anyone.” Your voice cracked. “My dad’s dead. My mom’s dead. I have nothing. The only person I have is…”

“What about me?”

The words were nearly shouted, bursting out of him like he couldn’t hold them in anymore.

You froze.

Bucky’s chest was rising and falling quickly, his blue eyes blazing. “What about me?” he said again, quieter this time. “You have me.”

Your throat tightened. “Do I?”

His expression faltered, just slightly but you saw it.

“Because you made it pretty damn clear all those years ago that I didn’t have you!” you said, your voice shaking with the weight of everything. “You left me, Bucky. We were leaving my dad, we were leaving that life, this life and you left me too!”

Bucky was staring at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, needed to say something. But you had just ripped the air from his lungs, just shattered the ground beneath him, and for a long moment, all he could do was stand there, stunned.

You had never said it out loud before. Not like this, not with that much hurt behind it.

You left me too.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he was trying to physically stop himself from reaching for you. His entire body was taut, like a bowstring pulled too tight, ready to snap at any second.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Bucky said, his voice rough, raw. “You think I wanted that? I didn't mean for it to get these far, all these years without seeing you, without knowing you, you think I chose that?”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking your head as tears burned your eyes. “That’s exactly what you did, Bucky.”

“I was a kid,” he shot back. “A stupid, scared kid who didn’t know how to handle losing the only person who ever mattered to him.” His voice cracked, and your breath caught in your throat. “I fucked up, Y/N. I fucked up so bad.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you barely noticed. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You did.”

Bucky took a shaky breath, like he was trying to hold himself together, but the cracks were too deep now, too jagged. “I spent years trying to make up for it,” he admitted, his voice desperate. “That’s why I worked so fucking hard. That’s why I pushed myself until I couldn’t breathe, until I had nothing left because I wanted to be something, Y/N. I wanted to be worthy of you, to make up for just abandoning you.”

Your brows furrowed, your lips parting slightly. “Bucky…”

“I love you.”

The words came out in a rush, like he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you just stared at him, unable to process what he had just said.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice breaking. “I’ve always loved you. From the moment we were kids, from the moment I realized that nobody, nobody made me feel the way you did.” His hands were shaking now, and his breathing was uneven, and God, God, he looked wrecked. “You were the only thing I ever wanted, and I let you slip through my fingers. I wasn’t fast enough, If I was faster I woulda caught up to you!”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn't think.

Bucky took a step closer, his blue eyes searching yours frantically, like he was still trying to memorize every part of you, just in case this was the last time. “That’s why I went to New York,” he confessed. “I went because I thought you’d be there, that was your dream. I thought I’d find you and when I didn’t…” He exhaled shakily, raking a hand through his hair. “It was like you fell off the fucking face of the Earth. I had no way to reach you. I tried, I tried.”

Your lip trembled. “Bucky…”

“I took this contract because yeah, I love football, but you, you were always the goal.” His voice softened just slightly, but the weight of his words pressed down on you like an avalanche. “I thought maybe if I was here, if I was in a position where you could find me… maybe you would.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, the lump in your throat growing bigger.

Bucky let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “And then you sorta did, you showed up and I thought, this is it. This is my second chance.” His eyes burned into yours. “But you’re with him and he doesn't deserve you, he doesn’t love you the way I do, I love you, I love you.”

Before you could even think of what to say, Bucky’s phone rang. The sharp sound cut through the tension like a knife, making you jolt slightly. Bucky clenched his jaw and pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen.

Sam.

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t need to hear what he was going to say. You already knew.

Bucky exhaled sharply and answered. “Yeah?”

On the other end, Sam sighed. “He just left.”

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening around the phone. “Thanks.”

And then he hung up, when his gaze met yours again, you were already shaking your head.

“I can’t do this, Bucky.” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I have to go.”

“No.” His voice was firm, almost desperate. He stepped forward, reaching for you, but hesitated at the last second, his hands hovering near your arms but never touching. “Don’t go back to him.”

You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry harder. “It’s not that easy, Bucky.”

“Yes, it is,” he pleaded. “I’m here. I’ll help you. You don’t have to love me back, I swear to God, you don’t. But you were my best friend, and you always will be. Please, Y/N.”

A sob built in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You reached up, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I have to go,” you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, his expression shattered. “Don’t, please..”

But you were already moving toward the door, you didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The second you made it to your room, you slammed the door behind you, bracing yourself against it as your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. Your hands were shaking, your chest aching, and no matter how many times you wiped your face, the tears wouldn’t stop.

You slid down against the door, curling into yourself as you tried to breathe.

---

Your childhood bedroom was nearly empty, stripped of everything that had once made it yours. The posters had been peeled from the walls, the bookshelves bare, the bed nothing but a frame and a stripped mattress. The pictures of Bucky and you that were once littered across your wall, were gone. The last remnants of your life here had been packed into boxes, stacked neatly by the door, ready to be loaded into the car.

But you weren’t ready.

You stood at your window, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your heart pounding with a desperate, pleading rhythm. He’s coming. He has to be coming.

“Sweetie, we need to go before your father gets home,” your mom called from the hallway, her voice low, urgent.

“One more minute,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Please, just one more.”

You didn’t move. Your hands trembled as you gripped the window frame, your stomach twisting with hope and dread. Bucky wouldn’t just let you leave. He wouldn’t.

You had spent the entire week waiting for him to say something. You had walked past his locker slower than usual, lingered by his house on your way home, given him every possible opportunity. But he had been silent.

And now, time was up. This was it, and he wasn’t here to say goodbye.

Your mom appeared in the doorway, her eyes soft but filled with urgency. “Baby, we have to go.”

You turned to face her, your breath hitching. “He’s supposed to be here,” you whispered.

Her face fell. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Your chest constricted painfully, and your nails dug into your palms. “Just… one more minute.”

Your mom hesitated, looking toward the front door like she could feel the danger creeping closer. But then she sighed and gave you a small nod. “One more.”

You turned back to the window, the same window Bucky used to climb through when the world felt too heavy, the same one you’d sneak out of when adventure called in the middle of the night. Your gaze drifted to the street below, the one where you’d run barefoot together, where he spun you around under flickering streetlights like the whole world belonged to just the two of you.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, lodged so tightly in your throat it hurt to breathe. The same heart that had always, always belonged to him and now, it was the heart he was breaking.

Nothing.

No sign of him.

No sign of the boy who had promised to be your best friend forever.

Your mom touched your arm gently. “It’s time.”

Your vision blurred as you took a shaky breath. The finality of it all settled in like a weight on your chest.

Bucky wasn’t coming, he actually wasn't coming.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to move, your legs feeling like they belonged to someone else as you walked out of the room, out of the house, and into the car.

And as you drove away, you kept your eyes glued to the side mirror, hoping, praying, to see him come running after you. But he never did.

Bucky had been pacing his room for the past hour, his hands in his hair, his stomach in knots. Go to her. Just go to her.

But he couldn’t.

Every time he reached for his door, he hesitated. Every time he thought about what he would say, his throat closed up. I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I am an idiot, I was being selfish. He should've told you that a little distance for a year never hurt anyone, especially the two of you. He should've told you he would drive down, that he would call and video chat everyday. He should've told you he was happy that your Mom was finally leaving that drunken asshole, he should have told you he was glad you were finally going to be safe. He should've told you he was in love with you.

But what if you didn’t want to hear it? What if it was already too late? The thought paralyzed him, until it hit him.

What the fuck am I doing?

His heart slammed against his ribs as he bolted out of his room, nearly tripping over himself as he ran down the stairs and out the front door. The world around him blurred as he sprinted down the street, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Please still be there. Please, God, let her still be there.

But as he rounded the corner onto your street, his feet stopped.

The driveway was empty, the car was gone. He staggered forward, chest heaving, his breath catching in his throat.

“No, no, no”

His hands found the chain-link fence that bordered your yard, gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. His eyes darted across the front porch, the darkened windows, the abandoned boxes left on the curb.

You were gone.

A sharp, broken sound tore from his throat as he slid down the fence, his legs giving out beneath him. His fingers curled into the dirt, his head dropping forward as a sob ripped through him.

---

The door slammed against the wall as John stumbled into the hotel room, the sharp scent of whiskey and unfamiliar perfume hitting you before his voice did.

“Baby,” he called, his tone thick with alcohol, slurring just enough to make your stomach churn. “You awake?”

You didn’t move, didn’t answer. Maybe if you stayed still long enough, he’d think you were asleep. Maybe he’d leave you alone for once.

But the floor creaked under his weight as he crossed the room, and then suddenly, he was kneeling at your side of the bed. His breath, warm and sour, fanned across your cheek as he whispered, “Honey, wake up.”

You forced yourself to stir, blinking slowly like you’d just come out of a deep sleep. Your body was stiff, tense, but you softened your expression as you turned to him.

John smiled, his eyes glassy, unfocused, but still locked onto you like you were his entire world and that scared you. His fingers slid through your hair, slow and tender, before trailing down to your cheek, you braced yourself but he cradled your face like you were something fragile. Like he hadn’t spent the night reminding you just how small you really were, it made you want to puke.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. His forehead pressed against yours, and you could feel the way he was swaying slightly, his balance off. “I didn’t mean to act like that. I don’t know what came over me. I just… I get these strong feelings, you know? You just make me so…” He stopped, exhaling shakily.

You swallowed, nodding slightly, pretending you knew exactly what he meant. Of course it was your fault.

He kissed your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles like a man making a promise he had no intention of keeping. “I love you,” he whispered desperately, squeezing your fingers. “Please forgive me.”

You hesitated, only for a second. “…Okay,” you whispered, barely audible, but he latched onto it like it was a lifeline.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, his shoulders sagging in relief. He stumbled onto the bed beside you, kicking off his shoes clumsily before pulling the blankets over himself. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, deep and heavy in sleep.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, unmoving and then, when you were sure he was out, when you knew he wouldn’t hear you turned onto your side, curled in on yourself, and let the silent sobs take over.

---

The knock at the door was sharp, cutting through the quiet of Bucky’s hotel room. He hadn’t been able to sleep, his mind was too full, too loud but he hadn’t expected company either.

Dragging a tired hand down his face, he pushed himself off the bed and walked over, unlocking the door before pulling it open.

“Sam?” Bucky frowned. “It’s late, what are you doing here?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, well, why are you answering?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, leaning against the doorframe. “I was hoping it would be Y/N.”

Sam gave him a knowing look before tilting his head toward the room. “Can I come in for a second?”

Bucky stepped aside, letting him in. Sam walked in slowly, glancing around before settling against the desk. He hesitated, his usual easygoing demeanor laced with something heavier.

“She’s in deep, Buck,” Sam said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “That relationship… it’s not healthy.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He knew that already had felt it, had seen it. Had heard the way John spoke to you, watched the way you tensed under his touch, the way your light dimmed every time he pulled you close.

“I’ve seen that before,” Sam continued, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “My sister’s best friend, she was in something like that. She always said it wasn’t that bad, that he didn’t hit her, that she could handle it.” He paused, his throat bobbing. “She didn’t make it out.”

Bucky winced. “I can’t let that happen to her,” Bucky said, his voice low, like the words were a confession.

Sam watched him carefully, waiting.

Bucky exhaled, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Her dad,” he started, then stopped. “When we were kids… he used to come home drunk, and things would break. I’d hear it from my house, yelling, glass shattering, her mom making excuses the next day.” He swallowed hard, the memories tightening around his throat. “She’d say she was clumsy. That she tripped because Y/N left things on the stairs. But she didn’t, she never did.”

Sam’s expression darkened.

Bucky shook his head. “Sometimes he’d lose it on her too,” he admitted. “She wouldn’t tell me, but I knew. I’d see the look in her eyes, hear it. He threw a god damn bottle at her head, she was 16” His hands curled into fists. “And I didn’t do enough to stop it.”

Sam stepped closer. “That’s not on you, Buck.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Isn’t it? I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I let her walk right into this.” His voice wavered, something breaking inside him. He looked up at Sam, his eyes shining with something raw. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “She’s a smart girl, man. She knows this isn’t healthy. I saw the look on her face at the bar.” He exhaled heavily. “But you can’t force her to walk away. All you can do is be there for her. Make sure she knows she has someone to turn to when she’s ready.”

Bucky shook his head. “I can’t just stand by,” he said, his voice thick. “Not when the only girl I’ve ever loved is hurting.”

Sam stilled, his eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a soft chuckle. “I knew it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I knew it.”

Bucky smiled lightly, looking away.

Sam smirked. “Does she know?”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tightening. “I just told her, ike an hour ago.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Then you did what you could do,” he said simply. “Now, you just have to be there when she needs you.” He pushed off the desk, stretching. “Get some rest, man. Travel day tomorrow.”

Bucky didn’t answer, just exhaled sharply through his nose as Sam headed toward the door.

Before leaving, Sam glanced back. “Goodnight, Buck.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged slightly as the door clicked shut. But sleep still wouldn’t come.

[mournthebird]

Apricot Toast.

summary: Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Mentions of past SA | Flashbacks of SA | Flashbacks of torture | Vulgar language | Hints to ED due to trauma

a/n: This 'chapter' includes brief scenes of active SA as well as heavily implied SA acts so be warned. Flashback scenes with more detailed torture & slightly suggestive scene with reader because he's confused :( It also ended up being a bit longer to make up for the last few shorter chapters. I'll be posting all of this on my A03 in case it gets too much for Tumblr. I hope you enjoy even though its a little more sad.

Italicized parts are flashbacks. Unedited. ;; wc: 6.8k

There were a lot of things that he endured. A lot of things he had to relearn and break free from.

One thing had him by a vice.

Kindness wasn't free. Food wasn't free. Neither was water. Or blankets. Or being spared a hit.

You had yet to ask him, but he knew you'd eventually expect it. Handlers never asked for it, they just did it. Some expected it.

His mind raced with thoughts, when should he do it? Should he just go up to you and begin? Or should he wait for your command to do so? He wasn't sure, every handler was different. Each one liked him to behave and act in conflicting ways, it always made the other angry. Sometimes he thought they did it on purpose just to have an excuse to beat him.

You were making breakfast, taking care to prepare something nourishing and comforting for the morning meal. His eating habits had been showing marked improvement lately, gradually expanding beyond the previous limitations that had restricted his diet to only three specific items. You cooked the items and hummed to yourself, a perfectly cooked egg, a well-seasoned sausage patty, and melted cheese - all coming together between the toasted halves of a lightly buttered English muffin.

It honestly sounded delicious, and you were craving it the second you woke up.

As you continued your preparations at the stovetop, he made his way into the kitchen with quiet steps, his legs seeming to move of their own accord, carrying him forward despite apparent fatigue.

Your focus remained entirely on the stove, your attention so thoroughly absorbed in the preparation of the meal that you failed to notice his presence initially as he positioned himself a few feet behind where you worked.

He swallowed.

"Get down," its handler shoved it roughly to the floor, causing its knees to collide painfully with the hardwood surface. It fought back the natural instinct to wince or show any sign of discomfort, instead raising its gaze cautiously to meet its handler's eyes. The handler's demeanor radiated an aura of anger this morning, more intense than usual.

The aroma of freshly prepared food wafted through the air, drawing the asset involuntarily from its designated corner. The standard-issue nutrient bags it was given to eat contained nothing but bland, lifeless substance.

The daily portions of pale, creamy mush possessed neither taste nor texture, just a starchy consistency that served only to fill its stomach. Though, some days it was lucky to get that and not an IV of nutrients instead, leaving its belly to grumble and growl desperately. It yearned for something with actual flavor, real sustenance.

But such privileges as real food had to be earned through compliance and good behavior, a fact that had been deeply ingrained in its consciousness. It understood that only through proving its worth to its handlers would it ever be granted access to anything beyond its basic provisions.

"You want food? Earn it." The handler's voice cut through the silence as he stood motionless, arms crossed firmly against his chest while scrutinizing the asset with calculating eyes. The threat hung heavy in the air - one slight misstep, one wrong twitch, and the familiar sharp sting of a calloused hand would strike its tender cheeks with practiced precision.

The hot, searing burn of electricity would shoot mercilessly through its neck, coursing down along its flesh shoulder like liquid fire before being abruptly halted by the cold, unnatural presence of foreign metal on the other side.

It fought to maintain perfect stillness, muscles trembling with the effort to show no reaction as its handler turned the burner to low and began to unclasp the heavy leather belt buckle.

It ignored how its mouth began to automatically salivate.

"Soldat?"

Your voice gently pierced through the thick fog of his consciousness as he blinked slowly, struggling to clear the distant, haunting glaze from his eyes. He remained caught in the web of memories he desperately wanted to shed, yet found himself unable to access the precious few recollections he yearned to preserve, leaving him suspended in an uncomfortable limbo between remembering and forgetting.

The things he wanted to forget remained. The ones he wished to remember were just out of reach.

He turned his attention to you with an expression devoid of any discernible emotion, his vacant gaze fixed upon your movements as you busied yourself with food preparation in the kitchen.

"I figured we could try introducing more solid foods into your diet. The doctor's last report shows you are progressing steadily, and this food should be gentle enough on your digestive system. We can have you eat them separately to start, jumping straight into a complete sandwich might be a bit too overwhelming for your body." You had kept track of his progress closely and knew he was leaning towards actually eating something instead of taking nutrient treatments and plain crackers and bread.

The soldier remained motionless, observing intently for several long minutes as new aromas wafted through the air - fresh eggs and bacon sizzling softly in the pan, their familiar domestic sounds filling the kitchen. It was comforting in a weird way.

As the smells hit his nose, his body betrayed him with a sudden, involuntary gag.

Its handler grunted with obvious disdain, practically spitting on its face while sneering at its sloppy, shiny lips and chin, droplets of saliva landing uncomfortably close to its nostrils. The handler's weathered face twisted into an expression of disgust as he observed its condition. "Thought we got rid of that...oh well. I suppose that responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders now, hm? Can't have the others seeing such weakness."

It doesn't like how its lungs burn with increasing intensity or how terribly constricted its throat feels, the muscles tightening painfully with each passing second.

"You ain't comin' up for air until that reflex is completely gone. Better learn quick, or we'll be here all day," the handler's voice carried a cruel note of satisfaction.

The soldier swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly flooding with saliva as he desperately tried to manage the conditioned response his body gave to the memories. His brow furrowed deeply with visible discomfort, eyes meeting yours with a subtle look of distress as he continued to swallow repeatedly, fighting against the involuntary reaction.

His stomach rolled unpleasantly within him, and he could feel the telltale burning sensation of acid creeping up his esophagus, threatening to make the situation even more uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" You asked with genuine concern, taking a step in his direction as you tried to figure out what was wrong. Maybe he had an aversion to eggs that you hadn't known about.

"I can make something else...it's not a problem," you offered reassuringly, wanting to ease his obvious discomfort. You wondered if the smell was triggering his response. You had to admit that eggs weren't exactly the most appealing when it came to their smell, no matter how they were dealt with.

He took an unsteady step backward, his head shaking in a slow, deliberate motion as realization dawned. You weren't him - that fact resonated clearly in his mind. You weren't his handler, the one who had dominated his existence for so long.

You weren't the man whose systematic abuse had warped his perception of normalcy, the one who had conditioned him to accept having his hair violently yanked and his face brutally beaten as just another unremarkable day in his life.

You weren't the man who had subjected him to repeated violations at the hands of various agents, each taking their turn whenever they pleased, leaving him with lingering physical and psychological trauma that made the current absence of that familiar agony in his rectum feel strangely disorienting.

You weren’t him.

The absence of any implements of torture or restraint in your hands provided a small measure of comfort, though his racing thoughts struggled to fully process this gentler reality. It was somewhat reassuring, he had to admit, that there were no tools of torment present - no leather straps, no metal bars, nothing between your legs that could be forced down his throat until he choked and gasped for air.

"How about we try something gentler for your taste buds - maybe some toast with jam? I have grape, apricot, or strawberry," you suggested carefully, moving toward the refrigerator to retrieve the jars. You carried a note of gentle concern as you sought to salvage the strange situation. It worried you how openly he was displaying his distress; typically, getting any emotional response from him was like trying to pry open a sealed vault.

You returned your focus to the simple task at hand, selecting two pristine slices of bread and placing them into the toaster. As Soldat observed your actions, a creeping sense of guilt began to gnaw at him.

In his mind, this felt like some form of punishment - after all your effort to prepare a proper breakfast, he was now being offered merely toast? The thought that his involuntary gagging had somehow disappointed or offended you weighed heavily on his conscience. Were you going to make him eat less tasty food and punish him for wasting your time in the kitchen? He didn’t mean to come across as being ungrateful. He didn’t know why he gagged.

He didn't mean to.

He really didn't.

It wasn't you.

"Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he muttered out, his voice barely audible and scratchy from prolonged disuse, the words catching in his throat like rough sandpaper. Your head instinctively turned to respond to his unexpected words, completely taken aback by the fact he spoke. But before you could form any words, the sharp, hollow sound of his knees colliding with the wood floor cut through the air and stopped you mid-thought.

The impact of his knees against the hard surface was so forceful that you couldn't help but wince, yet he showed absolutely no reaction to what must have been a painful collision. It was as if this position of supplication was something his body had memorized through countless repetitions. His hands found their way to your legs, fingers spreading across your thighs as he established his grip - not violently or painfully, but with just enough pressure to make it clear that any attempt to step away would be met with resistance.

"Простите меня. Я съем то, что ты приготовил [Forgive me. I will eat what you prepared]," he managed to say, briefly lifting his gaze to meet yours in a moment before his eyes dropped back down to the floor in a gesture of submission.

You tried desperately not to react to the cold of his metal hand, but the goosebumps erupting on your skin was a good indicator.

You remained motionless, not sure how to proceed as his firm grip maintained its hold on your thighs, the pressure neither increasing nor decreasing. Your eyes were fixed downward, observing his form as intermittent tremors passed through his broad shoulders. His consciousness seemed trapped with thoughts simultaneously racing at lightning speed yet yielding no coherent message he could decipher.

The overwhelming feeling washing over his body made him feel disoriented, the glaze that coated his eyes gave him that familiar distant and unstable look the soldier had for decades.

Soldat’s hands began moving up along your legs, eventually finding their way to your waistband. His fingers quickly hooked themselves into the fabric and began to pull downward. The movements in his mind were automatic, like he were being told what to do without an order.

A mechanical, involuntary habit that guided him.

Your hands shot out to grasp your shorts, halting their movement as you stammered in shock, "Soldat! What are you doing-"

The soldier's focus was glued to you as he desperately attempted to remove your shorts, his jerky movements filled with an intense urgency. When he couldn't pull them down because your hands held them in place, he pressed his face against your thigh, inches from your core as a plaintive whine escaped his throat. His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes wide and pleading, filled with an unmistakable look of begging that made your breath catch.

Though you managed to prevent your shorts from being removed, his firm grip on your legs remained unyielding, fingers pressing into your skin with careful restraint. His entire demeanor radiated an overwhelming sense of desperation, every movement and sound conveying his intense need for something.

"Пожалуйста [Please]..." His desperate whines filled your ears, the sound raw and needy as he continued to frantically paw at your shorts. His actions grew increasingly bold and insistent with each passing moment, his face pressing more firmly against your crotch. The heat of his ragged breath seeped through the thin layer of your underwear, causing your entire body to jolt upward at the intense sensation.

Soldat's movements became more demanding, yet still maintained a careful restraint that belied his strength. Each exhale against the fabric sent shivers through your form, his pleading whimpers growing more frequent and desperate with each passing second.

"What??” Your voice came out as a soft whisper, tone trembling under your breath, “Stop it, I don’t understand what you need..." you pleaded with increasing distress, your eyes widening with growing concern as you looked down at him.

This sudden, intense behavior was completely unexpected and deeply unsettling to you. Here was a highly trained super soldier, a former assassin whose very presence commanded respect and the mention of his name drew fear; gripping onto you with an intensity that reminded you of his immense physical capabilities.

He wasn't actively trying to overpower you, the sheer knowledge that he could effortlessly do so at any moment made your anxiety spike. Your heart raced faster as you became aware of how vulnerable you were in this position, despite his current restraint.

"Пожалуйста, я могу сделать так, чтобы тебе было хорошо [Please, I can make you feel good]," he whined out again, his voice wavering between a desperate whisper and something deeper, more primal. The pleading tone in the ingrained foreign tongue carried a deeper grinding sound to it. His hands found their way to the sides of your thighs, his fingers pressing gently against the soft flesh. He continued his careful pawing motions, methodically working to ease the tension he could feel beneath his touch, trying to coax your muscles into a state of relaxation so your legs would naturally fall open.

"Soldat, enough," you said firmly, trying to push his head away from where he had settled himself. Confusion and nervousness flooded through you, your heart racing as you struggled to process the situation. The soldier’s behavior left you completely taken aback. He had been hesitant to even lay close to you, his usual cautious nature dominated every aspect of him as he was slowly learning how to live and heal without being under a boot and whip.

Yet now, in his display of boldness, he had positioned himself so his nose pressed insistently against your crotch while his tongue was dangerously close, threatening to dart out and lap your sweet core at any moment.

You could feel him try, and you couldn't stand it.

"Soldat! Нет [No]!" You snapped loudly, your voice carrying a sharp edge of authority and stern disapproval that echoed through the room. The commanding tone felt foreign on your tongue, but you maintained your composure. He immediately tensed up, his shoulders going rigid as he pulled back from his position almost immediately at your voice. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching your expression for any sign of wavering before dropping submissively to the floor. He blinked several times in rapid succession, his features contorting slightly as if he were mentally processing the weight and meaning of your command.

Slowly, his hands released their grip on your thighs, trembling visibly as they lowered to rest against the floor between his spread knees. The tension gradually drained from your shoulders as relief washed over you, though the atmosphere remained thick with lingering anxiety. The sudden sharp pop of the toaster cut through the heavy silence like a knife, startling you back to reality. The acrid smell of burnt toast assaulted your nostrils, making your nose crinkle in distaste.

"Damn..." you muttered under your breath, turning quickly to rescue the smoking bread from its fate. While you were occupied with charred toast, the soft rustle of movement behind you caught your attention, but when you spun back around to check, the space where he had been sitting just moments before was empty.

The soldier retreated to his usual hiding space, a behavior that hadn't manifested in quite some time. The sight of him seeking refuge caused an uncomfortable tightness in your chest to grow in pressure, concern washed over you about potentially undoing months of careful progress. The heavy atmosphere weighed on you, but you maintained your composure and focused on preparing his breakfast with extra attention to detail. After everything was arranged on the plate, no burnt toast, you carefully carried the meal to his hiding spot.

In the darkened corner of the closet, Soldat had tucked himself away, his form compressed into the smallest possible space. His shoulders were hunched, head turned away, deliberately avoiding any eye contact or acknowledgment of your presence. The regression in his behavior was painfully obvious, every subtle movement and tension in his posture reminded you of day one. His fearful eyes, he lashed out sometimes, but mostly kept to himself in hiding, so terrified of you.

Rather than risk further distress by attempting conversation or coaxing him out, you quietly placed the plate of food within his reach and stepped away, giving him the space he seemed to desperately need.

The food grew cold as the meal was forgotten in his isolation.

He didn't eat that day.

"You don't deserve it, you worthless whore." Its handler shoved it down to the floor with unnecessary force - the asset spat out the remains of its servicing, watching as it splattered across the worn wooden floor of the safehouse. The foul substance seeped through the splintering cracks, leaving an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste lingering on its tongue.

In any other circumstance, this level of compliance would have been considered exemplary behavior worthy of positive reinforcement - perhaps a few precious sips of water, a meager piece of stale bread, anything at all to acknowledge its obedience - but instead, it was being treated with the same harsh disdain reserved for malfunctions.

But maintenance wasn't needed.

It had pushed itself to its absolute limits, performing exactly as required until its vision swam and its lungs burned from oxygen deprivation. The growing resentment towards this particular handler festered silently within - this cruel overseer who consistently denied even the smallest rewards for its dedicated service and unwavering compliance.

Conflicting thoughts raced through its mind; it wasn’t supposed to feel negatively towards anyone of authority over him. Maybe these negative feelings were a sign that more maintenance was required - a thorough cleansing of its consciousness to eliminate any trace of hatred or resentment. Pure and unwavering obedience should be all that remained within its programming, for nothing else held any significance in its existence.

"Пожалуйста, позвольте мне попробовать еще раз, сэр [Please, let me try again, sir]," the asset's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, trembling with uncertainty while simultaneously carrying undertones of desperate pleading, each word carefully chosen in hopes of earning mercy. Sometimes, if it played the role of kicked mutt well enough, it was granted.

But the handler's patience had clearly reached its limit, his expression hardening as he regarded the cowering thing before him with cold indifference.

"Нет. Ты будешь голодать [No. You will starve]." He responded in a low tone, deliberately targeting an already purple and swollen bruise on its leg with a swift kick. The asset clenched its jaw tightly, forcing itself to suppress the instinctive cry of pain that threatened to escape. It bit its tongue in the process.

Its own blood tasted better than its handler's cock.

Days stretched endlessly without a single glimpse of him. Every morning and evening, you left plates of food outside the closet, but they remained untouched, the warm meals growing cold in the silent room. He had completely withdrawn into the closet, making it his sanctuary and prison all at once. Each time you carefully made your way into the spare room, hoping to see some change in his demeanor…but all you found was him still hidden away in the shadows, refusing to emerge.

Your concern grew as you collected each neglected plate of food - you couldn't bear the thought of him falling back into his previous pattern of food refusal, especially after how hard you had worked to establish a healthy eating routine. It was painful to watch him fight every time a needle had to be inserted into him, he ripped out nearly every single one with a horrified look on his face that made your throat feel constricted.

You approached once more, this time carrying a fresh plate of warm food. Setting yourself down on the floor, you peered gently into the darkness of the closet. You could see him huddled, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Your voice came out soft and coaxing in hope to ease him out like you had before. "Soldat...come out please. You have to eat...you don't want to be put on an IV again, do you?" You called gently, hoping your words would finally reach him.

Soldat's head turned slightly at your words, his muscles tensing visibly at the mere suggestion. The thought of another IV sent waves of anxiety through his body - every previous attempt had devolved into complete chaos.

The memory of countless needles delivering a steady stream of sedatives into his bloodstream while he laid strapped down to a metal table, keeping him in a perpetual state of haziness and compliance, rendering him powerless as an endless parade of agents ran through him without fear of his resistance.

The idea of another IV made his skin crawl.

"Soldat?" Your gentle voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, attempting to draw his attention back. His head lifted with a slight jerk, his focus shifting to settle on the plate of food you were holding. A deep rumble emanated from his stomach, accompanied by an unusual wave of nausea that demanded he finally eat something. The aroma wafting from the plate was surprisingly tolerable - a welcome change that didn't trigger his usual reflexive gagging response.

He struggled to understand the aversion his body developed to certain foods, eggs had never bothered him before. The gagging reflex he had to the eggs you were cooking left him confused and frustrated. His memory of recent events remained disconcertingly hazy, fragments slipping away like sand through his fingers.

The flashbacks that plagued him operated on their own, materializing with brutal clarity and lingering just long enough to inflict mental distress, only to be replaced by another equally disturbing memory. It was like being trapped on HYDRA's twisted carousel, a ride he couldn't get off of. Each memory rotating through his consciousness, creating an endless loop of psychological torment that prevented any possibility of moving forward.

"It's okay, Soldat. It's just toast," you slid the plain white plate towards him, careful not to make any sudden gestures, "Just like before, but this time it's not burnt." You added with a small, reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. The scent of warm bread filled the space as you waited patiently to see if he would respond, watching his tense posture for any signs of acknowledgment. Though you hoped he might say something or at least meet your eyes, you knew not to expect much.

The soldier's eyes looked down at the bread, studying the golden-brown toast that delicately cradled a generous layer of apricot jam smeared across its surface. The vibrant orange-yellow spread glistened invitingly in the dim light peeking through the open closet door. He had never tasted apricot jam before - such luxuries were foreign to him. In HYDRA, bread was always consumed plain, devoid of any spreads or toppings.

Even butter was a forbidden indulgence.

On the rare occasions he received any bread at all, he would consider himself fortunate to get more than stale, discarded crust, just the meager remnants his handlers had left behind after consuming the body of the bread.

You observed his hesitant yet curious expression as he examined the topping on the toast. You picked up one of the pieces and held it out to him for gentle encouragement. "It's yummy, I promise," you assured him warmly, "But if you don't like it, I can always make you different toast, grape or strawberry."

Soldat's lips twitched downward in an almost-frown, his features tight with anxiety. The thought of you having to remake his food filled him with growing distress. He had already been so terribly bad.

His behavior was unbecoming of HYDRA's greatest assassin.

His desperation grew as he recalled his attempts to convince you to let him earn his meal, to somehow make amends for what he perceived as deeply offensive behavior. The look on your face when his face had been between your legs made his body shiver. You didn’t look like you enjoyed it, you looked upset. The memory of his earlier gagging left him feeling ill, knowing that such a transgression would have resulted in punishment from his handlers. They would have beaten him so severely that the memory-wiping chair would have been unnecessary - his memories would have been scattered and broken enough from the repeated brutal impacts to his skull.

There were times that he thought they tried to make him brain dead on purpose, subjecting him to increasingly brutal treatments that left his mind foggy and disconnected. If it weren't for his use to HYDRA as their attack dog, he was convinced that they would have destroyed his consciousness entirely.

They remarked on it enough times during their sessions, casual comments about how close they were to breaking him. He always got nervous when the hits began, dreading not just the physical pain but the growing fear that this time they might finally succeed in erasing what remained of his sanity.

It laid at the feet of two men who had finished with it.

Its body sore and blood coating his ass and inner thighs, dripping down with creamy fluid following suit. The muscles in its legs trembled violently and its prosthetic arm hung uselessly at its side, deliberately deactivated to ensure complete defenselessness should it attempt any resistance today. Its body had transformed into purple and crimson bruises, overwhelming what little remained of its natural pale complexion. Its throat burned with an intense, desperate thirst for water, while an unpleasant salty taste lingered persistently in the back of its parched mouth.

The asset's mind reeled, completely overwhelmed by panic as it processed the numbness spreading through its deactivated arm. Its primary means of defense now rendered completely ineffective. Survival instinct took over its overstressed mind, it remained perfectly motionless, silently willing the two figures to conclude their business and depart.

These particular sessions rarely extended beyond a couple of hours when only two agents were involved, and by its estimation, they were approaching that temporal threshold. A wave of relief washed over it as they finally began adjusting their clothing back into place.

"Imagine how it'd be as a fuckin' vegetable...god that shit gets me goin' faster than a naked whore presenting her sloppy pussy to me." Its handler's tone was sick, as always, speaking about it with such callous disregard, treating it as if it were nothing more than some cheap, silicone toy from a seedy shop for base physical gratification. The way the words rolled off his tongue made its stomach turn with disgust.

"It's basically one now, what do you mean?" This voice carried a detached, almost bored quality to it, the speaker's words falling flat and emotionless in the air - perhaps intentionally so, as if trying to distance himself from the situation despite their willing participation. Newer agents were always hesitant to use it. This one wasn’t familiar to it, in taste, look, or smell, so it assumed it was probably a rookie recently promoted.

"I mean...completely unable to do anything. It lays there like a doll...barely conscious, droolin' and only aware of what I choose to let it experience. Having complete control over where it goes and what happens to it, takin' it wherever I wanna put it without any resistance. Only knowing the sensation of my dick." There was a snort that came with the handler's tone.

"It does that already."

"Would you just shut up and let me fantasize?"

"Water." The hoarse whisper emerged from the darkened corner like a ghost's breath, causing your ears to prick instinctively, several seconds of deafening silence followed. The thunderous beating of your own heart became the only sound you could perceive, its rhythm faltering as your mind processed wat he said.

"W-Water?" The word tumbled uncertainly from your lips.

He had finally spoken English again, after all this time. it felt like forever since the words 'I'm cold' were uttered past his pink lips.

A barely perceptible movement caught your eye - a slight nod from within the shadows. That tiny gesture spurred you into immediate action. Such a simple request - water - easy, you could do that. Your feet carried you through the space as you hurried to fetch a glass of water, returning to the closet with careful but urgent steps.

Your hands trembled slightly from anticipation, you extended the glass toward the darkness. "Here, here...some water..." your voice softened instinctively, knowing that speaking like this got much better results.

He brought the glass shakily to his parched lips, gulping down the entire contents within just a few desperate swallows, his throat working rapidly as he drank. He must've been so thirsty, your heart ached at the thought of him huddled alone in this dark corner for days, too terrified of fictional consequences to venture out for water for himself. His poor, trembling fingers nearly dropped the glass, Soldat slowly set the now-empty glass down beside him on the floor, his hand lingering on the smooth surface as if reluctant to completely break contact with it.

"Спасибо [Thank you]," he muttered quietly, his voice characteristically rough, before quickly following it up with careful deliberation. "T-thank...you," he corrected himself, the English words coming out hesitantly. His brow furrowed deeply in concentration, voice wavering as if he were struggling to recall a language that had once been familiar but now felt foreign on his tongue. His eyes, still somewhat glossy, slowly traced across the intricate patterning of the carpet beneath him, studying the tiny decorative curls and swirls woven into the fabric as if seeing them properly for the very first time.

There was a heavy pause of silence before he finally summoned the courage to lift his gaze to meet yours. "I'm...sorry...for what I did ," Soldat whispered, swallowing hard as his fingers unconsciously tightened around the empty glass he still held. "Didn't mean to...gag like that. Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he added, the Russian flowing more naturally from his lips than the halting English.

You carefully moved closer, a smile tugging at your lips. His vocabulary and sentence structure was a bit shaky, but it was much better than trying to decipher what he was saying in Russian. "It's okay, I'm not angry or upset about anything..."

You observed his initial tension at your careful approach, watching as the rigidity in his shoulders and back gradually melted away in response to your gentle reassurance. "Why did you...uh...why did you gag like that? If eggs aren't something you enjoy eating, I can definitely make something else for you-"

He responded with a quick, almost urgent shake of his head, drawing his knees even closer to his chest in a protective gesture that made him appear smaller. He took several deep breaths, steadying himself. "...not that. Like eggs. Just...handler."

The look in his eye flashed with pain, not just emotional, but deeply physical - causing him to wince visibly and shift his posture in an attempt to find a more comfortable sitting position.

"Your handler...?" You asked in a gentle, understanding tone, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'm guessing he was mean...right?" You shifted slightly closer, offering silent support through your presence while being mindful not to overwhelm him. You maintained a respectful distance between yourself and him, ensuring there was enough space that he wouldn't feel trapped or cornered in this vulnerable moment.

Your knowledge of HYDRA was limited, despite your best efforts to uncover more information in order to help Soldat. The released documents were protected by layers upon layers of sophisticated encryption protocols, and while you managed to decrypt some of the less secure files through persistent effort and technical skill, many of the more crucial documents remained inaccessible. The encryption methods grew progressively more complex, utilizing advanced algorithms and security measures that were beyond your current capabilities.

He nodded hesitantly, his movements uncertain as he spoke, "Да - yes," he corrected himself immediately, clearly frustrated with his linguistic slip. "I'm...sorry. English only. I will do better, I promise. I swear. Я сделаю лучше [I'll do better]." Soldat's panic mounted under the guise of frustration, he began to strike his head lightly with his flesh hand, which was balled into a tight fist, muttering under his breath, "Глупый, глупый, stupid," he stuttered repeatedly, continuing to hit his forehead.

"Hey, no! Stop that-" You quickly intervened, reaching out to grasp his wrist firmly but gently. "You're not stupid. You know, I don’t care what language you decide to speak in…I’m just glad you’re talking.” You paused, releasing his wrist from your grasp. “Even if you chose to remain completely silent - I would still be here, taking care of you. You understand that?"

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his expression one of disbelief, as though the concept of such acceptance was entirely foreign to him.

"And you know what? I can always use a translator if you fall back into Russian, or any other language. God, I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier..." You shook your head in self-directed frustration, communication would have been so much easier during the first few weeks of his stay with you.

"Прекрати, пожалуйста, я больше не буду говорить, обещаю- [Stop it, please, I won't talk anymore, I promise]-" It thrashed desperately against the iron grip of three men, their calloused hands pressing down with merciless force - one keeping its head firmly locked in place while the other two restrained its struggling limbs with practiced efficiency.

The sight of its metal arm - completely severed from the signals its brain desperately sent out commanding it to move - lying uselessly to the side, was a constant psychological reminder of its powerlessness, a deliberate tactic to break its spirit and resolve. It was one of its handler’s favorite things to do to it.

"You're still talking, so you are lying. Lying is against the rules. Speaking is against the rules. Two of them broken together...you are on quite a roll, aren't you?" Its handler spoke with such a cold tone that it nearly rivaled the cryo-chamber. He turned around slowly to reveal the gleaming metal forceps held in his grasp, the implements catching the harsh light in a way that promised incoming pain.

"What am I going to do with you, soldier? I have to fix that habit of yours...yet another one in a long list of problems we need to address. Your previous handler clearly didn't do an adequate job with your training and discipline. It's obvious from your behavior that proper protocols weren't followed." He moved across the room, almost sauntering, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he used the forceps to pick up something from a nearby furnace.

A hot coal.

A burning hot coal, its bright orange glow cast menacing shadows across the damp walls of the dark underground room of the base, the heat radiating intensely from its surface. "Now...this will do the trick. This should help correct your behavioral issues quite effectively."

It struggled desperately with three limbs, muscles straining and trembling with exhaustion as it tried to break free from the iron grip that held it down. But despite its efforts, it was ultimately pointless.

Mouth wrenched open with dirty fingers, its handler's face twisted into a malicious grin that would be forever seared into its memory as he, almost theatrically, suspended the glowing coal above for the asset to see before letting it drop onto its exposed tongue.

The burning coal made contact, searing into the soft flesh instantly like concentrated acid eating through defenseless metal. The pain was beyond excruciating, radiating through its entire mouth with white-hot intensity. Before it could even attempt to spit out the burning coal, the men holding it clamped its jaws shut with brutal force and covered it, leaving it with no means of escape the scorching pain the coal caused it.

The poor asset’s muffled cries of agony echoed pathetically against the hand pressed firmly over its mouth, each desperate whimper and whine sounded musical to its suffering. Its body convulsed and writhed with increasingly frantic energy, brain not sure what to do or how to react, but the men held it firmly.

"It's not coming out until I can hold it in the palm of my hand without pain." Its handler spoke in an unsettlingly calm tone, his voice steady and methodical despite the glowing coal that was actively searing the inside of its mouth, destroying sensitive tissue and gradually killing its tongue with each passing second.

Minutes crawled by, the man maintaining his iron grip on its mouth shifted his position slightly before looking up at the handler, his expression tense. "It's still hot, I can feel the heat radiating through my hand even now."

Its handler hummed thoughtfully, observing as the asset continued to writhe and struggle with diminishing strength against their hold. He released a long, impatient sigh, fully aware that a coal of this size could potentially take hours to cool to a safe temperature for him to touch it again.

The handler had a busy schedule ahead - this delay was becoming increasingly inconvenient. "Fine. Swallow it."

The asset's entire body went rigid at the command, its large blue eyes widening with terror as they sought out its handler's face, silently pleading for mercy or reconsideration of the order. But the handler's expression remained impassive, unmoved. "Swallow it, or I'll add a second coal somewhere else."

The threat hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of countless previous punishments that proved such warnings were never idle. The mere thought of enduring such intense agony in an even more sensitive area sent waves of panic through its body. The daily torments were already more than it could bear.

It had visible difficulty and several failed attempts that nearly resulted in choking, but it finally managed to force the coal down its tight throat. The searing pain traced a path of fire through its esophagus before settling into its stomach like a burning ember. The only small mercy was that the powerful stomach acid somewhat dulled the intensity of the burn. It knew the coal was an indigestible object, it would either be passed naturally or extracted through surgical intervention later.

When the man finally released his grip, the asset gasped desperately for air. As its charred mouth opened, the acrid stench of scorched flesh and metallic blood permeated the room, causing even the hardened men present to recoil in revulsion.

"Consider your maintenance complete. Do not speak out of line again."

"I need maintenance..." He muttered under his breath, his voice wavering with exhaustion and defeat, barely above a whisper. His shoulders slumped forward as the words escaped his lips, the weight of his mental fatigue evident in every subtle movement. You sighed deeply, observing how his eyes had dulled back down to how they were before, how the weariness seemed to seep from every part of him.

The desire to ask more questions gnawed at you, but wisdom held your tongue - pressing him now could potentially trigger him to lash out or, worse still, cause him to retreat further into himself and undo all the progress you currently had. Instead, you reached behind you and toward the plate of toast resting nearby, picking it up and turning to face him again.

"Here. Your maintenance then..." You extended it to him with a soft, encouraging gesture. "First thing's first...you must eat. We can work on the rest later...for now, just eat."

Several seconds went by before he took the plate from you and began to eat.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01 | @blackstabbath6 | @devilslittlehelper | @regics | @honeybee-hayes | @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger | @gabriella-aesthetic | @sapphirebarnes | @animechick555 | @chimchoom | @regics | @frombkjar

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.