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auroralwriting · 8 months ago

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second chances

bucky barnes x reader (no use of y/n, next-door-neighbor trope!)

you once came face-to-face with the winter soldier, will bucky barnes be any different?

word count: 1.6k. | no warnings

The Winter Soldier's face was etched into your mind since the day you'd seen him. It was one of those average days in New York, you'd just gone out for some shopping. Sometimes Avenger sightings were normal, but seeing Captain America in full sprint was a sure fire sign something was amiss. That was when the shooting began.

You were quick to move people, ducking them under tables, shooing them further up the street, making them take corners to evade the flying bullets. It was just an instinct, there were too many people who could get hurt.

Then, you saw him.

His face was covered by a mask, but that arm, his left arm! It was completely metal. That was one of the features you burned into your brain, along with his hair color, skin color, height. The pure adrenaline and fear had pushed you to stop, freeze in place, and memorize the man.

It was then you were ushered to move by the man you found out was The Falcon. You were safe, but the smoke, the bullets, the explosions, it was all muted and dull compared to The Winter Soldier.

Years had gone by, you'd been a victim to what they called The Blip. Five whole years had forced you to relocate to Brooklyn, some cheap ass apartment building you were sure was haunted. You'd been living there for five months, got some furniture, meet the neighbors, it was a place content with being home. The one aspect that kept you up was the empty apartment next to you. It had been rotting since you moved in, you wondered who would fill its void, make the place a home once more.

It didn't take more than those five months for your answer to appear. It was grocery day, a list in your pocket and your wallet in hand, you'd just stepped out the door. Turning around, there he was.

It had been so many years since that fateful day, but you knew that stance, the hair color, height, everything about him. Through a peek in his jacket, you saw the hint of metal.

It was obvious he knew what you were thinking. The way your breath was heavy, eyes widened, there was no way he didn't know exactly what was rushing though your mind. He opened his mouth, but you rushed down the hall before he could say anything. The elevator ride down was when it hit you; he was your neighbor.

It had taken a week and a half for Bucky to gather the courage to face you. That look in your eyes was pure fear, he knew it all too well. He'd checked his list a hundred times, but your name wasn't on it. Okay, maybe he'd done some light digging into you, just a quick ask of some of the neighbors and he learned your name. He'd never hurt you, but that also didn't mean you'd never encountered him, either.

White fur of his cat, Alpine, brushed between his legs. The cat stared at Bucky, giving a soft meow. Bucky sighed, scratching between her ears. "I know, girl." He sighed, "I just need to get it over with."

The walk to your next-door apartment felt like it took ages. Bucky felt himself ridden with guilt when he softly tapped his knuckles on the door.

With the chain lock still in place, the door was opened a crack. "What do you want?" Your voice came out quickly, but it was laced with fear.

"I just.. wanna say hi to my new neighbor?" Bucky hesitated. That wasn't what he had planned on saying.

The door closed, and Bucky almost turned away when he heard the familiar sound of the chain dropping. The door opened and you slipped your way through. "You want to say hi?" Your asked in disbelief.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh arm. "Uh, yes. And, uh, apologize. I know- I know you know who I am, was. And uh, I'm not that guy anymore. It's really complicated-"

"I have time," Your response took him back. You were looking at him expectantly, your door now pushed wide open. "Are you gonna come in?"

Bucky's story was unlike any you'd ever heard. He spoke in such detail, starting from the forties to now. You'd given him some water, a soda for yourself as you sat on your couch, listening to his whole story. By the end, you felt such sympathy for the guy. He even went as far as to show you his little book (it broke your heart even more when you were told it was Steve's), amends he needed to make, movies and music he needed to see. There was a lot more to him than you expected. Much to both of your surprises, a friendship had blossomed that very day.

From that moment on, anytime Bucky would leave to go cross another name off his list, Alpine would stay at your place. You kept her company, fed her, gave her water, loved on her. Then, sometimes you found yourself missing her, so, naturally, you began going 'round Bucky's to play with her while he was home. Eventually, he began to stay around you both, watching tv or making dinner for the three of you.

Sooner or later, you had clothes at Bucky's apartment, and he kept som at yours, too. It was just friendly, of course. You just spent so much time together that it was natural to keep some belongings at each other's places.

The real change was the night you heard the loudest knocking, no, pounding, you'd ever heard on your door. The adrenaline left you jumping out of bed to go see what was happening. Throwing open the door, a disheveled, sweaty, and tearful Bucky stood, chest heaving as his hands gently grasped your face. His eyes met yours, scanning all over your face as you softly shushed him. You lead him into your apartment and laid him down in your bed. You sat next to him until he fell back asleep. He'd told you his nightmares were bad, but never this bad. It left you feeling guilty leaving him all alone in a bed he'd never been in. So, you slipped under the sheets next to him, just so he would feel a sense of comfort when he woke up.

Then that became the new normal for a few weeks. Anytime Bucky would have a nightmare, he'd slip into your bed with the key you'd given him after the second jumpscare of his fists colliding with your door.

The biggest change in your odd friendship was the night Bucky showed up at ten, before either of you had gone to sleep.

"Bucky?" You called from your spot on the couch, watching as he walked in, clad in his pajama pants and loose, grey tee-shirt. He didn't look panicked yet, you were confused why he was here so late, yet so early.

The soldier gave you a small smile, "Hi," You watched as he fumbled with his fingers, "I was wondering if I could stay? Didn't feel right bein' alone tonight." And so he stayed.

That's when the new habit began. Occasional nightmare-induced sleepovers turned into spending every night together, slowly merging to his apartment, too. You'd bring a book or your phone as Bucky would watch whatever was on tv quietly, sometimes he'd read too. Spending the night together became the new normal, you didn't know how you'd gone so far in your life without being with him like this.

Like what, though?

I mean, sure, you slept over together, he'd cook you both meals, you basically shared custody of his cat, shared apartments. But.. what? That wasn't something just friends did, but you'd never gone as far as to do anything people who were more than friends did either. So, you avoided him for approximately three days before Bucky had you cornered.

"Doll, where've you been?" Bucky asked. You could see it in his eyes, the hurt. "Been missin' you. I haven't seen you 'round, lately."

You gave him a small shrug, "Just been busy, Bucky." you answered.

Bucky knew your schedule like the back of his hand. In fact, he probably knew it better than his own. Unless something sudden or serious came up, there was no way you'd been that busy, unless..

"Why are you avoiding me?" The soldier questioned. "And don't lie to me, either. I know when you're lying."

The nerves crept up your spine as your mind raced through different answers to give him. "I've just been busy helping my aunt."

Bucky's eyebrow shot up, "Your aunt?"

"Yeah, my aunt."

"Which aunt?" Bucky questioned further, prying into your lie.

You felt your heart race, "My Aunt Leah,"

"The one who lives in Kentucky?" Bucky's face clearly showed he was not buying it.

"What are we, Buck?" You suddenly asked, feeling overwhelmed by his questions and your lie.

Bucky's face morphed into one of surprise, "What?" What did you mean, 'What are we?' You were his best friend, his everything. Wait, his everything? Bucky felt hopelessly stupid when he realized he'd never even acknowledged the fact that he could even like you.

"We sure as hell aren't just friends," You continued, "And I know for a fact that best friends don't sleep over every night, or eat every meal together, go shopping, watch movies," Your rant continued as you grilled into Bucky. "And I don't think I can keep going unless I'm yours,"

Your words had Bucky breathless, "Doll, 'course you're mine." Like a twist of fate, his words now held you breathless as you stared at the man, wide eyed. "I'm the stupid one, I should've made my intentions more clear from when I first started feeling more."

With a shake of your head, you gave Bucky a small smile, "You're not stupid, Buck."

"You wanna go get dinner tonight?" Bucky asked, "Officially as my girl, my treat."

A smile gleamed on your face, "I'd love nothing more."

#bucky barnes #marvel fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #sebastain stan #sebastian stan x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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night-dazai · 7 months ago

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Demons Wife

“fuck …oh my ….” full lips pulled into a smirk while sharp fangs peeked out “You even made me curse, such naughty lady aren't you, “ he said while white-gloved hands roamed your body pulling at your nipples and thrusting a finger into your wet weeping cunt.

“Seb…seabass….” you tried but nothing but strangled moans left your mouth, you had no idea how long it had been since you were in this position.

7 months into your marriage with Sebastian to save you from being a slave, you thought Ceil and his butler were kind men who had saved you and little did you know. You would sometimes question your husband's actions and behaviour, but with his gentlemanly aura you never even thought for a second he could be a devil or anything even close to evil. ”y/n we got married too soon, it might be a shock for you my dear, “ he said softly gloved hands creasing yours “Let's get to know each other and maybe one day we can consummate this marriage “ his smile angel like you could not thank god enough for such a caring and loving husband. In the 7 months, you guys would go on cafe dates and night outings cause that's when he was mostly free from his butler work. Holding hands after 2 months and kissing after 5 months broke it for you. You were sure you could give everything of yourself to him. “Sebastian, we can consummate this marriage, “ you said a month ago while you were out for a walk after dinner. His red eyes widened for a second and were soon replaced by a kind smile “Don't force yourself, love, it will be hard “ he said squeezing your hand reassuringly “But “you said stopping him “I want it to be you “You looked up dead in his eyes” I want you to take my virginity and all of me… I give it to you “ you said giving your hand to him. His red eyes looked at you quietly for a second before he got on his knees took your hands and kissed them “Your wish is my command y/n” he said smiling. You thought his eyes became darker for a second or maybe you were dreaming. But after the confession, your gentle husband made it his mission to get you accustomed to his touch, and light makeouts which left you panting for air.

“y/n I would like it if you looked at me more “ he said taking your hands which covered your tear-tainted face which was bright red. You looked up at him “Beautiful “ was all you could think but soon you pouted and turned your head to the side “No..not fair “ you said softly.

He chuckled kissing your jaw” What's not fair love ?” he asked innocently, you were sure he knew what it was. You lay naked and vulnerable on the bed while he was still fully clothed. You pulled at his shirt, chuckling at your cuteness “My my of course what is this rude behaviour of mine “ he said and moved back removing each piece of clothing with deliberate calculations and making sure you got a full show of him doing it.

“Now things are just going to get more rude “ he said pushing you back to the bed. The dimly lit room had both your shadows on the wall while some of the candles near your bed flickered a little due to the tension in the room.

That was when you noticed it fully, red eyes, fangs ready to draw blood and the smile of the devil, a shadow deep and darker than hell your husband smiled down on you creasing the side of your check “It will hurt, we have all the time so we can go slow okay “.

It was not a question, it was an order, telling you nothing will stop him. You have heard many call your wedded partner a devil and there were many questionable things that you have seen but …..” does it matter ?”.

Smiling you opened your arms wide “If you are going to hell or even if you are hell ..take me …”. That when the realisation hit you “I knew …… did not accept it “ you said “Claim me “

You did not know what effect your words had on him but his actions stopped, his dick right at your entrance while he stared into your eyes “Do…do you even know the meaning of the things you said ? What if I am a sinful being and ..not even human ?” he asked softly but there was no gentleness in it “that has nothing to do with me . You are my husband “you said still smiling like a child at a candy store.

The demon's red eyes flashed a dangerous red but collected himself he smiled, face filled with nothing but love “You surely will drive me crazy one day before that whiny master of mine does “ he said chucking and as you both were busy laughing his shaft moved right into you in one thrust.

Your back arching completely off the bed, air completely out of your lungs and eyes rolled back you held on to his shoulders for your life. Kissing your exposed neck, the devil smiled biting it, making you moan and yelp in pain and pleasure “All mine “ eyes red as fire and shadow darker than hell … The devil claimed his wife ………….

I always had a soft spot for the demon butler and also wanted one for myself ..but @chooyahh reminded me of my old lover. Thank you for that!💕

#black butler #black butler x reader #aot x black reader #sebastian michaelis smut #sebastian michaelis #sebastian x reader #sebastain stan #night dazai #sebastain x reader smut #Sebastian x female reader #sebastain michaelis x reader smut #sebastian smut #black butler season 4 #black butler x reader smut #ciel phantomhive #kuroshitsuji

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mutifandomkid · 13 days ago

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Happy Anniversary

Paring: Buckyxreader

Warnings: Angst, cheating, self comparison, implied car accident??

Word count: 1.7k

****************

Bucky and I had been in a relationship for three years now. Tomorrow was our anniversary. I had already picked out some black lingerie, and made reservations at one of Bucky’s favorite restaurants.

It was a small hole in the wall, Italian. The inside of the venue was beautiful, black and white marble walls. Ivy vines trailing up and down the walls, and the black open fences out on the balcony. It was fancy for a small hole in the wall, but the food was amazing, and each time we ate there, we always left with full bellies with smiles on our faces.

“Alright I have one table set for two, scheduled for tomorrow night at 7 pm, underneath the name of Mr. Barnes?” The woman asked.

“Yes, that’s correct, thank you.” I said, to which she smiled at me, and said I was go to go.

I headed from the restaurant to hailed a taxi, climbing in a heading to Stark’s tower. In which he already knew of my arrival, letting me up. He had me try on two different dresses. His designer looking them over and making small adjustments before having me model them again.

“Looks good, you and iceman will look great tonight, firecracker.” Tony smiled, admiring the dress on my body. “Perfect for the party tonight.”

The dress itself was a white dress, that faded into an ombré on yellow, orange and red at the bottom, the flow of the dress and mover of colors appearing as if it was flames.

Stark grabbed my hand and spun me around, the designer admiring it from afar. Tony gave another look of approval before sending me on my way to try on the other dress.

It was a simply black halter top. Tony had his designer design the dresses, one for the party he was throwing tonight in honor of defeating Loki a few weeks ago. And the other he threw in courteously once he found out about my anniversary with Bucky. His designer even went as far as designing two matching suits for Bucky, who would try them on once he returned from his mission later today.

“If Barnes didn’t have such a possessive streak on you, I’d snatch you up.” Tony smirked as he saw me in the floor length black halter top. His designer smiled in approval as she slid the previous dress and shoes into a dress bag.

“Careful Tony, talk like that will get you killed.” I laughed, doing a little spin.

“Good thing iceman isn’t here then.” Tony responded, nodding as I spun. He took in each angle. “Barnes better appreciate you the way you deserve, princess.”

“He does,” I smiled. He had for the past three years, why would now be any different. “You know he has.”

Tony nodded, smiling, but his body language didn’t match his happy expression. “Right, well firecracker, you have to get ready for the party tonight. Barnes tell you he’d meet you here?”

“No, he didn’t.” I said, walking back to the dressing room to dress in normal clothes. “M’sure just slipped his mind.”

“I’ll send a driver for you tonight at 8?” Tony offered.

“You don’t have to, but you know I can’t say no.” I chuckled, stepping back out in my jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. Handing his designer the black dress.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, reaching for my wallet.

“Don’t worry about it princess, you’re a part of this team. I’ll cover it.” Tony waved me off. “Off you go, get ready for tonight.”

I smiled and thanked him before heading back out of his building and back to my apartment, hailing a taxi to get back to Brooklyn.

_____________

“Hey Bucky, can’t wait to see you tonight!”

I sent the text over two hours ago. Was he okay? Did something go wrong on the mission? Did Sam know where he was?

The thoughts swirled in my head in a frenzied panic. I took a deep breath, counting to ten before exhausting, and then forced myself to calm down. He was probably fine, maybe just taking a nap.

I shot Sam a quick text, after all, they went on the mission together. If I couldn’t reach Bucky, then maybe Sam could.

“You guys make it back okay?”

It was a good few minutes before I got a reply. So while I waited, I busied myself with my make up for the night. Black eyeliner, orange eyeshadow with a touch of gold glitter, and dark ember lip.

“Yeah, we got back a few hours ago. Why?”

I read the text, frowning slightly. Normally Bucky was so quick to respond or call when he got back.

“Is Bucky okay?”

I went back to doing my makeup, finishing the look with the highlighter, and it accentuated the contour.

“Yeah, he’s in a great mood.”

I again frowned at Sam’s response, typing out a quick ‘okay’ and then putting my phone down. Why hadn’t he called? Brushing it off my shoulders and figuring he had his reasons, I moved onto my hair.

I did a light curl, then did it half up and half down, with a few strands framing my face. I then slipped on the dress, the white ombré one. I checked the time, Tony’s driver would be here any minute now.

I slipped on the matching white ombré shoes, and grabbed a small, white purse wallet, quickly shoving the few belongings I’d need while at the party. Before putting my phone in, I checked Bucky’s message log.

Seen.

________

As soon as I walked back into the tower, it was extravagant. Tony never faltered when it came to parties. Strobe lights, a live band, Dj stepping in when the band needed a break. People crowding the floor, the music blaring loudly. Drinks clattering, laughter and conversation filling the empty space.

Sam beckoned me over to him. He stood next to Natasha, both of which wearing black, although while Sam wore a classy suit, Natasha stood in a floor length slit black glitter dress, long gloves to match, as hell as glitter heels.

“Hey girl, where’ve you been?” Natasha smiled and pulled me into a hug. “Don’t tell me Bucky’s been keeping you all to himself. Always so selfish when it comes to you.”

I laughed at Natsha’s comment and hugged Sam when Natasha let me go. “Actually I haven’t seen him.” I smiled.

“Still?” Sam asked, handing me a cocktail he grabbed from a passing server’s plate. “Really thought he would’ve messaged you by now.”

I frowned. “Something happen on the mission?”

“No, not that I know of.” Sam answered.

“Odd, that’s not like Barnes.” Natasha mused. “No matter for now, we’re here to have fun. So let’s have some fun!”

Natasha smiled deviously before grabbing the cocktail from my hand and handing it to Sam. She then pulled me out to the dance floor, in which we both laughed and danced for a bit. For a minute it was just like old times.

And it was then I saw him.

There he was, in the suit that had matched mine. White with the same red, orange and yellow ombré, the colors clashing with his eyes. Courtesy of Tony.

I stopped dancing. Natasha noticed, and stopped and followed my gaze. It was then she saw it too, then grabbed my hand and physically dragged me off the dance floor.

There Bucky was, speaking softly to Sharon. He had her caged against the wall, her hands pressed against his chest, a flirtatious smile on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked when Natasha dragged my back to Sam by the bar.

“Apparently nothing is wrong with Bucky.” Natasha snapped, gesturing over to him.

Meanwhile I stood, taking my cocktail from Sam and taking small sips. Forcing the tears to stay at bay. I felt like my head was under water, and I was swimming in a pool that had no walls to grab onto.

I barely registered when Sam looked over, Bucky’s lips were locked with Sharon’s. Sam scowled, his expression a firm grimace.

“Let’s get you some air babe.” Sam said, walking with me towards the balcony outside. It was quieter there, less commotion, and not nearly as many people.

Natasha busied herself with shoving everyone else inside, then closing the balcony door and standing inside to prevent anyone from interrupting.

I was quiet, sipping my cocktail and willing the tears to stay, not allowing myself to cry.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Sam said softly.

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.” I whispered.

“I know.” Sam was quiet for a long moment. “But he doesn’t, not with how well you treated him.”

“You’re not helping.” I whispered, shying away.

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry.” He said, his voice soft.

I knew he was trying to be comforting, to help. But the only thing I could feel, see, was Bucky. Arms around her, kissing her, treating her like how he treated me. At least how he used to treat me.

I glanced back inside. He was still with her. Sharon, god she was beautiful. Blonde hair, skinny, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, thin nose, brown comforting eyes. I looked away, feeling sick- no, disgusted with myself.

What did she have that I didn’t?

“I think I’m just going to go home Sam.” I whispered softly.

He sighed softly, before pulling me into a tight hug. It was suffocating.

“Call me if you need anything.” Sam whispered, pressing a light kiss to the top of my forehead before letting me go.

I nodded, then went back inside, Natasha giving me a pitiful look as I walked out of the party. I made my way down to the garage, the damn finally breaking when I remembered I didn’t drive here.

I took off my heels and began walking outside of the tower, the tears now falling down my face. It was late out on the streets of New York, and here I was in a gorgeous dress, crying, arms wrapped tightly around myself the day before my anniversary.

I couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything. I felt like I was underwater, drowning in my own sorrows and pity.

What was so special about her? What did she have that I didn’t? Had he slept with her? Was she better in bed? Did he think about her when he was with me? How long had this been going on?

I didn’t see the car barreling towards me when I went to cross the road.

***********

I apologize in advance.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #sebastain stan #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #angst

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nameless-ken · 8 days ago

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Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Seven

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: smut!! (18+), fighting, guns, blood, the usual angst with some fluff

Masterlist

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. You stir first, the warmth of Bucky’s arm draped over your waist grounding you in the present moment. Turning slightly, you find him already awake, his piercing blue eyes watching you with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. For a man so often guarded, the vulnerability in his gaze now was striking.

“Good morning,” you yawn, moving a few strands of hair out of his face.

Bucky’s lips curve into the faintest of smiles. “Morning.”

For a while, neither of you move, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around. Bucky’s metal hand gently traces idle patterns on your back, and you can’t help but notice how his touch carries both hesitation and tenderness. It’s as if he is afraid this fragile connection might shatter if he holds on too tightly.

“You okay?” you ask softly, your fingers grazing the stubble along his jaw.

His brow furrows slightly, and he takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

Bucky’s eyes shift away for a moment before returning to yours. “About how good this feels. And how I… don’t know what to do with that.”

Your heart clenches at his honesty. “You don’t have to do anything, Bucky.”

“It’s just…” He pauses, glancing down, avoiding your eyeline. “You touch me and be here with me and it suddenly feels like I’m a little less war torn. I’m not sure exactly how that feels or what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you and the way you look at me.”

Your breath catches at his words, the raw vulnerability in them cutting straight to your heart. You gently cup his cheek, urging him to meet your gaze. “Bucky,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. You just… have to let yourself feel it.”

He closes his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch. “It’s been so long since I let myself feel anything like this. I’m scared of it, scared of losing it, scared of ruining it.”

The weight of his admission makes your throat tighten.“You’re not going to ruin it,” your thumb brushes along his cheekbone. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes open again, and this time, the intensity in them is softer. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” you reply, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “Sometimes, it’s okay to just… be.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, the silence speaking volumes. Bucky leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How does pancakes sound for breakfast?” you break the silence, rolling out of his bed, gently pulling his arm so he follows you.

“Sounds perfect.” Bucky stretches fully and you grab his hand to lead him to the kitchen. He pulls you back into him gently, pressing a few kisses to your lips. “That’s even more perfect.” He mumbles.

“Who would’ve thought Bucky Barnes would be such a cliche romantic?” you tease.

Bucky smirks, his lips brushing yours again before he pulls back just enough to look at you. “Don’t spread it around. I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” he replies with a playful glint in his eye.

You laugh, a sound that makes his shoulders relax. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”

He raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a grin on his face. “For now, huh? Guess I’ll have to keep making you happy then.”

Grinning, you tug him toward the kitchen. “You’re off to a good start, Barnes. But pancakes might seal the deal.”

As the two of you step into the small kitchen, Bucky leans against the counter, watching you pull out the ingredients. “You know,” he says, folding his arms, “I used to hate mornings. The optimism so many people brag that it brings them.”

You glance over your shoulder, smiling at him. “And now?”

“Now,” he says, stepping closer to rest his hands on your waist, “I can see what people mean. The lightness and quietness it brings.”

His words catch you off guard, the sincerity tugging at your heartstrings. “You really are a closet romantic,” you continue to tease, trying to deflect the way his words make you feel. “But if you really want to win me over, you’re going to have to be my sous chef.”

Bucky raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Tell me what to do.”

You hand him a whisk and point to the mixing bowl. “Start with the batter. And no complaining, soldier.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a mock salute, making you laugh.

As the two of you work side by side, the kitchen fills with the sound of laughter, the smell of pancakes, and the kind of quiet joy of wishing mornings like this could last forever.

When the first batch of pancakes hits the plate, Bucky nudges your shoulder. “See? I’m not so bad at this.”

You smirk, taking a bite. “Not bad at all. But don’t get cocky—it’s still my recipe.”

He chuckles, leaning closer to steal a bite from your plate. “Fair enough. But next time, I’m making breakfast. My way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s your specialty?”

“Toast,” he says with a completely straight face, making you burst into laughter.

As the morning sun streams through the window, lighting up the kitchen, you realize that moments like this—simple, messy, and full of love—are exactly what you both deserve.

As the hours pass, you’ve spent the whole day showing Bucky some of your favorite movies and ordering take out. Once the latest movie ends, you glance over at Bucky, noticing the tightness of his jaw and the blank stare watching the TV as the credits roll. You can tell something is bugging him.

“Bucky,” you mutter, turning your body to face him. He doesn’t look at you but moves to rest his elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as he sighs.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he says finally, his voice wavering a little.

You blink, caught off guard. “Leaving? Where?”

“Me, Steve, and Sam,” he clarifies. “We’re going after Neumann.”

The weight of his words sink in slowly. You sit up straighter, heart pounding. “What do you mean, ‘going after him’? I thought you said you were just tracking his movements.”

“We were,” Bucky admits, running a hand through his hair. “But things have escalated. He’s not just some guy with a grudge—he’s got resources. Connections to Hydra. We found traces of tech in his network that shouldn’t exist anymore, things Hydra buried after the war. We need to know how he got his hands on it and why he’s targeting us.”

“Bucky…” Your voice trails off as you try to find the right words. “This sounds dangerous.”

“It is.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it, and you appreciate that, even as it makes your stomach churn. “But we don’t have a choice. If we wait too long, he’ll get ahead of us, and we can’t let that happen.”

You stand, moving in front of him. Your hands softly grasp his cheeks, lifting his head so he looks at you. His hands instinctively pull you closer, moving up and down the back of your thighs before pulling you down onto his lap and nuzzling his head against your neck.

“There has to be another way—someone else who can handle it.” You try to plea.

“There isn’t,” he replies firmly. “This is my fight. My past. Steve and Sam are with me, but it’s my responsibility to end this.” you lean back, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt, but all you find now is determination.

“Then promise me something,” you whisper.

“Anything.”

“That you’ll come back,” you murmur, voice cracking. “No matter what happens, you come back. To me. To Elizabeth.”

His arms tighten around your, his expression softening for just a moment. “I promise.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you cup his face, your thumbs brushing against the stubble on his jawline. “I hate this,” you admit softly.

“I know,” his voice a quiet rasp. “But it’s the only way.”

The tension of the moment wraps around you like a tightly wound string. His hands shift, moving to rest on your hips, grounding you in the moment. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Bucky’s breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. For a second, you wonder if you’ve said too much, but then he crashes lips against yours with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs.

It’s desperate, the way he kisses you, as if trying to steal the air out of your lungs. His hands grip your waist gently, pulling you closer as your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently. You shift in his lap, your body pressing against his, and a soft groan escapes his lips.

“Bucky,” your voice trembles with overwhelming emotion.

He doesn’t respond with words, but the way he holds you speaks volumes. His hands move beneath your shirt carefully tracing the curve of your spine. You shiver at the coolness of his metal arm and the warmth of the other.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your jawline, his breath hot against your neck. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“I need you,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice filled with longing.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky picks you up, almost as if you weigh nothing, taking you back to his room.

The soft glow of the lamp bathes the room in a warm light, casting long shadows across the walls. Bucky softly sets you onto the bed, staying close to you, kissing your lips with more fury. You hand move to the edge of his shirt, pushing it up and over his head. Bucky stands tall, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly. He runs his hands against your thighs, tugging your leggings down, discarding your panties at the same time.

You can feel the heat and intenseness of his eyes as he kneels down. You take your top off, no bra underneath as his lips trail up your legs.

He teases as he grows closer to where you want him the most. He spreads your legs, his gaze taking in the sight of your glistening pussy.

"Bucky, please," you beg, your hands moving to his hair. Bucky can’t help but smirk at your reaction. He doesn’t waste anymore time. His tongue flicking out to tease your clit. You cry out, hips bucking up towards him. His tongue moves lower, mouth fully covering your pussy. He devours you, the sounds of your wetness and moans invading his ears, making his cock grow harder against his sweatpants. His hands grips your thighs, trying to get even closer to your sweetness.

“Oh god Bucky,” You can feel it building up as his tongue moves in and out of you before circling and slowly sucking on your clit. Your hands move to your breasts, pinching and squeezing your nipples as you feel yourself getting closer, you start to tense up.

"Bucky, I'm going to-" You scream out as you cum, shaking with pleasure. The air coming out of you stutters as you slowly open your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

Bucky kisses his way up to your face, worshipping every inch of you. He’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Etching you into every part of his brain. His eyes capture yours, his gaze filled with all the words he wants to say but can’t find the words.

You move your hands over his back, feeling his muscles tense as he leans his forehead against yours, both breathing each other in.

"I love you, Y/N," his voice shakes as you feel wetness against your cheek. You bring a hand to his face, gently wiping the few tears that have leaked from his eyes. You can’t help it anymore either. You don’t stop the salty streams from spilling over your own eyes.

This feeling, oh how you’ve missed this feeling. Having so many emotions all at once, making your head spin and heart race in all the best ways. The fear and sensitivity that comes along with allowing someone else to see you like this. The hope of finding someone who feels the same way and wants the same thing and needs you in the same way.

You’ve missed loving like this. Loving someone and them loving you back.

"I love you too, Bucky," you collide your lips against his, all the tears mixing together. “I need you, please, Bucky, make love to me.”

Bucky stands back up, sliding his sweats off, his cock springing forward. His eyes rake up and down your body as he glides his metal hand up and down his cock, biting his lip. Your eyes are glued to his cock as you run your hand down your chest and to your clit, rubbing softly as you watch him pleasure himself.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Bucky moans as his gaze flickers from your face to between your legs.

“Please Bucky, god I need you so much.” You open your legs wider for him. Bucky moves closer, grasping your thighs and pulling you closer to the edge of his bed. He gently moves the head of his cock through your folds, teasing you.

“Look at me.” Bucky sternly instructs and your eyes instantly meet his. He guides himself into you, both moaning loudly as he fills you slowly. Your chest rises and falls faster as he sinks in until he bottoms out inside you.

“Oh god, fuck.” You throw your head back, feeling so full of him. You thought your first time together yesterday was magical, this is even more breathtakingly phenomenal.

“I got you darling, I got you.” Bucky moves slowly, leaning down with his arms caging your upper body, face burying in your neck. His moans invade your ears as he savors every inch of you.

You can feel yourself getting close again. The movements of his hips, dragging in and out of you, slowly and gently, starts making your head feel lighter. You start to close your legs around him more as your nails dig into his back.

“That’s it lovely, yeah, fuck, you feels so fucking good around me.” Bucky growls against your neck as his movements become more erratic. His hands dig into your thighs as you tighten around him.

“Fuck darling, give it to me, that’s it. Come with me.” You cry out and finally let go, spasming against Bucky. With a final thrust, Bucky cums, his cock pulsing inside of you, filling you up as he tries to hold himself up so he doesn’t crush you.

After a few moments, he slides out of you and rolls onto his side, keeping you close. The sound of your breathing fills the quiet bedroom as he guides you up and lays against the pillows. He brings your leg to rest over his bare torso as he slides his other arm around your shoulders, holding you close.

You trace the contours of his bare chest, your fingertips brushing over the faint scars that map his story. Slowly, your touch travels up his neck, grazing his stubble, before circling around his lips. He catches your hand, his fingers gently wrapping around yours, and presses a soft kiss to the tip of your finger.

When your eyes meet, his gaze holds so much tenderness. At this moment, he’s just Bucky—no Hydra, no missions, no past to haunt him. Just yours.

A small smile tugs at his lips, and you can’t help but mirror it. The sight of him bathed in the dim light, his hair tousled, his blue eyes warm and steady, makes your chest tighten. You’ve never seen anything so gorgeous in your life.

“I don’t want this to end,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

“It doesn’t have to,” he replies softly, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you. You can’t help but notice how his hesitation to touch you with his metal arm has drifted away. You nestle against his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat calming the storm of emotions swirling in you.

“You’re my everything,” he says softly, his voice raw and unguarded.

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as you tilt your head to meet his gaze. The vulnerability in his words, in his eyes, is almost too much to handle. “Then come back to me,” you whisper, your voice cracking with emotion.

His lips press to your forehead, warm and lingering, sealing a promise he’s determined to keep. “I will,” he murmurs against your skin. “I will. I promise.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes hold a fierce determination. Slowly, you lean in, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s soft and aching, pouring every ounce of love and desperation into it.

The kiss deepens, his hands moving to cradle your face, holding you as if you might slip away. Time seems to blur as the heat between you reignites, and the world outside ceases to exist. For now, there’s only the two of you, lost in each other, determined to make the most of the time you have left.

You break apart, breathless and he rests his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you.” you repeat, the only words that matter in this moment.

For now, you let yourself surrender to the moment, memorizing every detail of him, every touch, every whisper, as if holding onto this memory could keep him safe.

The morning air is sharp and crisp. Bucky, Steve, and Sam are dressed in their gear as they finish packing up the SUV with luggage and other cases that you definitely don’t want to know what’s in them.

Elizabeth clings to Steve’s leg, her wide blue eyes glistening with tears. “Do you really have to go, Daddy?” she asks, her voice trembling.

Steve crouches down to her level, cupping her small face in his hands. “I do, sweetheart,” he replies gently. “But it’s important. We’re going to make sure everything is safe for you and everyone else.”

Elizabeth sniffles, her lip quivering. “But what if something happens?”

Steve’s jaw tightens, but he forces a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, or Uncle Bucky, or Uncle Sam. We’ll be back before you know it. And you’ve got Aunt Nat, Uncle Clint, Y/N and even Uncle Bruce here to keep you company, okay?”

She nods hesitantly, wrapping her arms around his neck for one last hug. “Okay. But you have to come back, Daddy. Promise?”

“I promise,” Steve murmurs, holding her tightly and kissing her forehead.

Bucky stands nearby, watching their exchange, his gaze flickering between Elizabeth and you. When Steve steps aside, Elizabeth turns to Bucky, running into his arms.

“I’m gonna miss you, Uncle Bucky,” she whispers, her voice muffled against his chest.

Bucky kneels to her level, his metal arm gently cradling her as he brushes a strand of hair out of her face with his flesh hand. “I’m gonna miss you too, Bee,” he says softly. “But I’ll be back before you know it. Keep being good, okay?”

Elizabeth giggles through her tears. “I will.”

Sam ruffles her hair, grinning. “Hey, don’t forget about me, little one. I expect a big welcome-home hug when we’re back.” Elizabeth smiles faintly, nodding as she wipes her cheeks.

Finally, Bucky turns to you, his expression softening in a way that makes your throat tighten. He steps closer, his gloved hand reaching out to hold yours.

“Everything’s in place,” he tells you quietly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Nat, Clint, and Bruce will stay close. Clint will be sure to escort you to and from school. You have a key to my apartment. You’ll be safe.”

“I know,” you respond, your voice steady despite the emotion welling in your chest. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you every second.”

Bucky’s lips quirk into a faint smile as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that runs down your cheek. “Don’t waste too much energy worrying about me,” he says. “I’ve got something important to come back to.

Your heart aches at his words, and you lean more into his touch. “Just… be careful, Bucky. Please.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Always.”

Before you can say more, Steve calls out, signaling it’s time to go. Bucky kisses you, slow and deliberate, not caring about the eyes on you at the moment. When he pulls back, his eyes search yours with a quiet promise.

“I’ll see you soon,” You nod, unable to find your voice, and watch as he joins Steve and Sam by the SUV. Elizabeth runs over to you, wrapping her arms around your leg as the three men get into the car. Bucky pauses for a second, leaving you with one more glance before stepping in and shutting his door.

As the SUV pulls away, Elizabeth waves frantically, and you hold her close, whispering a silent prayer to whoever is listening, that they will all come back safely.

The dimly lit corridors of the abandoned warehouse hum with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint static of comms in their ears. Bucky leads the way, his movements precise and silent as Steve and Sam follow closely behind, their eyes scanning every shadow for signs of danger. The intel they’d gathered pointed to this location as a key hub in Jakob Neumann’s network, but something about the stillness has Bucky on edge.

“We’ve got movement up ahead,” Sam’s voice crackles through the comms, his tone sharp.

Bucky holds up a fist, signaling to stop. He peers around the corner, his eyes catching the glint of weapons under the dim industrial lights. Three armed guards are stationed by a door at the far end of the hallway.

Steve moves up beside him, his gun at the ready. “Looks like they’re guarding something important.”

“Probably Neumann’s tech stash,” Bucky mutters, his grip tightening on his rifle. “Let’s move quietly. No unnecessary noise.”

Sam smirks faintly. “Subtle isn’t exactly our style, but I’ll try.”

The team advances, slipping through the shadows. Bucky’s sharp instincts guide them. They quietly reach the guards with precision, Bucky knocking one out with his metal arm and Steve stabbing the other in the neck without making a sound.

Inside the secure room, the team finds a piece of what they are looking for—and more than they have anticipated. Rows of computers hum with life, displaying blueprints and files that make Bucky’s stomach drop. A chillingly familiar logo flashes on the screens: Hydra’s double-headed serpent.

“Damn it,” Sam mutters, his voice low. “Hydra’s fingerprints are all over this.”

Steve moves to one of the terminals, his jaw set in a hard line. “Looks like they’ve been developing new tech—reconstructing what Hydra left behind. Weapons, surveillance equipment… and this.” He points to a file marked “Project Reclamation.”

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat as he scans the contents. The file contains detailed information about Hydra’s Nexus program, including blueprints of his arm. His name is listed—alongside others.

“They’re planning to restart the program,” Bucky says, his voice barely audible.

Steve places a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll shut it down. For good.”

Before Bucky can respond, the sound of footsteps echo from the hallway. The team tenses, weapons raise as the door bursts open. A group of armed operatives storm in, their movements coordinated and precise.

Bucky moves like a force of nature, his metal arm catching bullets as he clears a path for Steve and Sam. But amidst the chaos, one of the operatives locks eyes with Bucky—and smirks.

“James,” the man speaks, his voice dripping with mock familiarity. “Still following orders, I see.”

Bucky freezes, his mind racing as the recognition flares. The man is one of Hydra’s scientists, someone who had overseen his experiment.

“You should’ve stayed away,” the operative sneers before retreating into the chaos.

Rage and panic surges in Bucky’s chest. He charges after the man, ignoring Steve’s call to fall back. Memories of Hydra’s control floods his mind, each step dragging him deeper into his darkest fears.

He catches the scientist in a narrow hallway, pinning him to the wall. “Who sent you?” Bucky demands, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury.

The scientist chuckles darkly. “You think you’ve escaped? Hydra’s always watching, Soldier. You’re just a pawn in a bigger game.”

Before Bucky can press further, the man triggers a hidden explosive. A deafening blast tears through the hallway, throwing Bucky backward.

Bucky staggers to his feet as Steve and Sam pull him away from the collapsing structure. His ears ring, his mind a storm of fright and anger.

“Bucky, we need to regroup!” Steve shouts, pulling him to safety.

As they escape the crumbling building, Bucky can’t shake the scientist’s words—or the gnawing fear that he might never truly escape Hydra’s shadow. The mission has just begun, but the battle within him feels like a war he has always been destined to lose.

The motel room is cramped and dingy, the kind of place you forget the moment you leave. A single lamp flickers near the bed, casting dim light over the scattered maps, laptops, and notes spread across the small table. Steve sits on the edge of the bed, studying a map, while Sam leans against the wall, scrolling through intel on his tablet. Bucky stays silent in a chair by the door, his head in his hands, the weight of the mission and his memories pressing down on him like a suffocating fog.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asks without looking up, his voice edged with concern.

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately. He runs his metal fingers along his jaw, trying to ground himself. “Fine,” he mutters, though the strain in his voice betrays him.

Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, but neither pushes further. They know Bucky’s past isn’t something that can be unpacked with a few well-meaning words.

“We’ll focus on the next warehouse tomorrow,” Steve says, steering the conversation to their plans. “If Neumann’s people are connected to Hydra, we’ll find the links there. Sam, you keep running surveillance; I’ll handle coordination with the backup team. Bucky—”

“I know my role,” Bucky cuts him off sharply, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

Steve frowns but nods, deciding not to push.

The tense silence is broken by the sound of Bucky’s burner phone buzzing on the table. He hesitates before picking it up, the screen flashing your name. His heart skips, and for a moment, the crushing weight lifts.

“Hey,” he answers, his voice softening as he presses the phone to his ear.

“Hi,” your voice comes through, warm and soothing. “How’s it going?”

Bucky leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. “It’s... fine. We’re making progress.”

“I know that tone,” you reply gently. “What’s wrong?”

Before he can respond, a tiny voice chimes in the background. “Uncle Bucky!”

Bucky can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “Hey Bee.”

“I miss you,” Elizabeth replies, her voice slightly muffled, as she clutches the phone too tightly.

“I miss you too,” Bucky says, his voice cracking slightly. “You being good?”

“Yep! We baked cookies and watch Barbie movies and Y/N even let me do her makeup!” Elizabeth exclaims, making Bucky smile as he imagines those moments.

“Glad to hear that.” Bucky replies.

Elizabeth’s muffled voice pipes up again. “Uncle Bucky, can I talk to Dad and Uncle Sam too?”

Bucky chuckles softly, the sound almost foreign after the heaviness of the day. “Sure thing, Bee. Hang on.”

He holds out the phone to Steve. “She wants to talk to you.” Steve takes the phone, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his voice warm.

“Daddy!” Elizabeth exclaims, and even from across the room, Bucky can hear her excitement.

Steve’s face softens further as he listens to her chatter, nodding along as though she can see him. “Yeah? You’re staying up late tonight, huh? Don’t tell your mom I said this, but sometimes that’s okay.” He winks at Bucky, who shakes his head with an amused huff.

After a few minutes, Steve hands the phone to Sam. “Your turn,” he says.

Sam grins, taking the phone and putting on an exaggeratedly cheerful voice. “Lizzie! What’s up, kid? You keeping everyone in line over there?”

Elizabeth giggles, and Sam laughs along, letting her ramble about her day and how she helped Peggy and Y/N bake cookies. “Cookies, huh? Save me one, okay? Or two. Or five. I’m not picky.”

Their conversation winds down, and Sam hands the phone back to Bucky, his grin lingering as he pats Bucky on the shoulder.

Bucky brings the phone back to his ear, his voice soft again. “You still there?”

“I’m here,” you answer with a soft laugh.

“Elizabeth finally let go of the phone?” he teases, leaning back in his chair.

“She did. Barely,” you giggle. “She begged me to stay over at Steve and Peggy’s for a girl sleepover. I figured I’d feel safer there anyways.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling safe there. If at any point you don’t, I’ll always be here to answer the phone. Don’t hesitate to call if anything suspicious happens again-”

“Bucky, I know,” you interrupt him. “Don’t worry, okay. We’ll all be fine.”

“I miss you.” Bucky responds, your voice easing the pain he feels circling his whole body.

“I miss you too. How are you doing? How was the mission today?”

He hesitates, his fingers brushing the edge of the phone. “I’m fine,” he says after a moment, though his voice carries the weight of the day.

“You don’t sound so sure,” you reply, sensing the struggle behind his words.

“I don’t know. It’s all a lot. Haven’t done anything like this in a long time.” He answers truthfully. “Hearing you though... It helps. A lot.”

There’s a pause, as you contemplate what you can say to try and ease some of his pain. “I love you, Bucky. Just... don’t forget that, okay?”

His throat tightens, but manages to respond. “I love you. Sleep well darling.”

“Sweet dreams Bucky.”

When the call ends, he lowers the phone slowly, the echo of your words lingering in the quiet room.

Sam is grinning when Bucky looks up, leaning casually against the wall. “Well, look at that. The Tin Man’s got a heart after all.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but there’s no real irritation behind it.

Steve, still seated on the edge of the bed, smiles at Bucky, his expression a mix of pride and affection. “It’s good to see you like this, Buck. You deserve it.”

Bucky doesn’t respond directly, but the faint smile tugging at his lips speaks volumes.

“Alright,” Steve says, turning back to the map. “Let’s go over the plan one more time before we call it a night.”

The three of them huddle around the table, their focus returning to the mission. But as Bucky listens to Steve and Sam strategize, he finds a sliver of peace he hadn’t felt earlier—a reminder of the people waiting for him to come home and his two best friends right next to him.

The warehouse is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes every footstep echo off the walls. Steve gestures for Bucky and Sam to cover him as they move deeper into the labyrinth of crates.

“This is too quiet,” Sam mutters, his eyes darting quickly around the shadows.

Bucky’s grip tightens on his weapon, his senses sharp. “It’s a setup,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Before anyone can respond, a loud explosion shatters the silence. The blast rips through the air, throwing them to the ground as crates splinter around them. The shockwave leaves their ears ringing, and the acrid smell of smoke fills the room.

“Ambush!” Steve shouts, scrambling to his feet, instantly firing his weapon rapidly into the fog.

The smoke comes alive as dozens of armed operatives flood the room, their weapons blazing.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. His body moves on instinct, his training taking over as he engages the nearest attackers. His metal arm deflects a knife aimed for his throat, the blade shattering against the vibranium. He counters with brutal efficiency, the operative dropping to the ground unconscious.

“Keep moving!” Steve shouts, taking down a couple more operatives. “Bucky, watch out!” Steve’s voice cuts through the chaos, but it comes a split second too late.

A sharp, burning pain erupts in Bucky’s side as a blade pierces through his jacket, sinking deep into his abdomen. He grits his teeth, a strangled gasp escaping as he turns and takes out his attacker with a swift strike.

He stumbles, his hand pressing against the wound, blood seeping through his fingers. The world tilts for a moment, but he forces himself to stay upright.

“Bucky!” Sam is suddenly at his side. “We gotta get him out of here!”

Steve glances back, his jaw tight as he assesses the situation. With a quick burst of gunfire, he clears a path. “We’re leaving! Now!”

Sam hooks an arm around Bucky’s waist, half-carrying him as they move toward the exit. Bucky’s breathing is shallow, each step a struggle as the pain worsens.

The trio bursts out of the warehouse into the cold night air. The faint sound of sirens in the distance is a grim reminder that they don’t have much time.

Steve glances around, his face set in determination. “We need a ride. Now.”

Sam activates his comms, calling for an extraction, but Bucky’s knees buckle before they can take another step.

“Bucky!” Steve drops to his side, catching him before he hits the ground.

Bucky’s lips are pale, his breathing labored. “I’m fine,” he mutters weakly, though the blood soaking his shirt tells a different story.

“Stop talking,” Steve says firmly, his tone edged with fear. He pulls out his phone, dialing Bruce Banner’s private line.

Bruce answers on the second ring. “Steve?”

“We need you. Bucky’s hurt—badly. I don’t think he’ll make it without help.”

There’s a pause, and then Bruce’s voice hardens. “Where are you?”

Steve rattles off their location. “Can you get here?”

“I have a jet nearby. It’s on its way,” Bruce replies. “Hang in there.” The call ends, and Steve looks back at Bucky, who’s barely conscious now.

“Stay with us, Buck,” Steve pleads.

Together, Steve and Sam lift Bucky up, walking further away from the warehouse, following the directions Bruce provided for the jet to pick them up.

Bucky’s head lolls to the side, his breathing shallow as his blood stains his torso. His eyes flutter open briefly, and he whispers one name before losing consciousness completely.

“Y/N.”

The midday sun streams through the windows as you step into your apartment, bag slung over your shoulder. You’re annoyed with yourself for forgetting the folder of graded papers but relieved to have enough time to grab it during lunch before heading back to school.

You’re in such a rush you don’t notice the shadowy figure sitting on your couch until it’s too late.

“Looking for something?” a deep, low voice makes you gasp and jump.

You freeze on the spot, heart pounding as you turn to see a man leaning casually against your couch with a smirk resting on his face.

“Who are you? What do you want.” Your voice shakes slightly from the intrusion.

“Jakob. Jakob Neumann.” he answers, dressed in a sharp suit and calm demeanor that makes him all the more menacing.

“What are you doing here?” you demand, voice trembling.

Jakob rises to his feet. “I thought it was time we met. You see, your boyfriend and his little friends have been making quite a mess of my operations.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“One of my operatives reported back a few hours ago. Poor Bucky—he’s quite injured. Shame, really. He should’ve stayed out of this.”

Your breath catches. “Please,” she begs, stepping closer. “Don’t hurt him—or Steve or Sam. They’re just trying to stop people like you from hurting others.”

Jakob tilts his head, feigning consideration. “Such loyalty. Admirable, really. But I’m afraid I can’t make any promises.”

You step forward, your fear eclipsed by the protective rage bubbling up inside you. “Bucky has suffered enough because of people like you. Hydra tortured him, stole a part of him, and left him fighting to put the pieces back together. And now you think you can do it all over again?”

Jakob’s smirk falters slightly at your outburst, but he quickly recovers. “He knew the risks when he decided to come after me.”

Your fists clench. “No,” you snap, your voice steady now, hardened with resolve. “You don’t get to hurt him—not again. Not ever again. You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind hired guns and experiments. You’ll never break him the way Hydra did. And you’ll never get the chance to hurt him like that again.”

Jakob’s expression darkens, his casual demeanor slipping. “You’re a spirited one, I’ll give you that,” he says, his tone sharper now. “But loyalty can only get you so far.”

“I won’t let you touch him—or Steve or Sam,” you vow, stepping closer, your anger blazing now. “They’re trying to stop you from destroying more lives. If you think I’m going to let you—”

Jakob raises a hand, cutting you off. “Ah, but you see, I have no intention of asking your permission.” He snaps his fingers, and before you can react, a figure steps out from behind you.

You spin around, but it’s too late. A sharp sting pricks your neck, and your vision begins to swim.

“Don’t fight it,” Jakob’s voice echoes as your knees buckle. “You’re far too valuable to leave behind.”

The room tilts, Jakob’s smirk the last thing you see before darkness overtakes you.

Bucky blinks against the harsh light above him, the ache in his side pulling him fully into consciousness. The steady hum of an engine vibrates beneath him. He’s lying on what seems like a hospital bed.

“Take it easy,” Steve’s voice breaks through the haze.

Bucky turns his head, wincing at the pull in his abdomen. Helen Cho is leaning over him as she checks his vitals. “You gave us quite the scare,” she says gently, adjusting the IV line running into his arm.

“What happened?” Bucky’s voice is hoarse, his throat dry. He tries to push himself up, but the sharp pain in his side stops him short.

“You got stabbed, remember?” Sam says from across the cabin, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Bruce flew out Helen on his private jet. It’s decked out like a flying hospital.”

Bucky’s mind races to piece together the events that happened only hours ago: the warehouse, the ambush, the explosion, and then—pain. His hand instinctively moves to his side, feeling the bandages through his shirt.

“You’re going to be fine,” Helen assures him, her voice soft but firm. “The blade missed anything vital, but you lost a lot of blood. Rest is non-negotiable.”

Bucky tries again to sit up, only for Steve to place a firm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t push it. You’re tough, but even you need time to heal.”

The cabin falls into an uneasy silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Bucky’s gaze shifts between Steve and Sam, both of whom look unusually grim. A knot forms in his stomach.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he demands.

Steve hesitates, his jaw tightening. He glances at Sam, who shifts uncomfortably, before finally meeting Bucky’s piercing stare. “It’s Y/N,” Steve says, his voice low. “Jakob has her.”

The words hit Bucky like a second blade to his chest. “What?”

“Clint called us while Helen was patching you up,” Steve explains, his tone grim. “Jakob’s been keeping tabs on us, on you. He took Y/N. She’s his leverage now.”

Bucky’s fists clench at his sides, the whir of his metal hand filling the tense silence. His jaw tightens, and his eyes darken with a dangerous mix of fury and fear. “We have to get her back,” he growls, his voice low but filled with unshakable determination.

“And we will,” Steve says, his voice steady but firm. “But not like this. You’re in no condition to fight, Buck. If you try now, you’ll only get yourself killed—and that won’t help her.”

“We don’t have time,” Bucky snaps, trying to push himself up again despite the sharp protest of his body.

Steve steps closer, his hand still on Bucky’s shoulder, his voice softening. “I get it. She’s important to you. She’s important to all of us. But think about her. You rushing in half-dead isn’t going to save her—it’ll only make things worse.”

Bucky glares at him, his breathing ragged. His instincts scream to act, to do something, but deep down, he knows Steve is right. He falls back against the bed with a frustrated growl.

“She’s counting on us,” Bucky mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And we won’t let her down,” Sam interjects from across the cabin, his voice resolute. “We’ll get her back, no matter what.”

Bucky stares at the ceiling, his mind racing with images of you and the promise he silently makes to you in his head: I’ll come for you. Hold on.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

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hford0311 · 3 months ago

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Across the hall neighbor

Summary: Bucky is your across the hall neighbor, who you spend a lot of time with...when you're not on dates with other men. Bucky is always there to catch you when you fall and support you when you think you're on a high. Then, there was your current dating experience.

Pairings: fem!reader x oc; f!reader x bucky

Warnings: bruises, violence, mention of abuse, bucky and his vibranium arm cannot be messed with.

Word Count: 1.6k

***

Bucky listened closely - always did when he heard an unfamiliar voice in the building. A male's, flirtatious and smooth, he mentally noted and got up and peaked through his peephole. You were smiling up at the stranger as you stood in front of the door. "Thank you again," you breathed and grabbed your keys, toying with them. The male leaned down and kissed you. Bucky sighed and went back to his couch. It wasn't the first date that he watched end with you and most likely not the last. Did it make it any easier? No. No, it never did.

***

You and your neighbor were close, good friends. You ranted to him and had drinks with and the more rare grocery shopping. Nothing went beyond that, though, at least in real life. Bucky's fiction led to more but never let you know about it. Today was like most, the pair of you said hi and small talk when both of you left for work in the morning, eight to nine hours later, you found yourself planted on Bucky's couch with a drink in hand.

"I think he might be the one, Bucky." You smoothly and excitedly stated in your drunken form. He rolled his eyes and took another sip. "Yeah, okay." He stated with sarcasm. "I mean he-" he listened to your perfect date with now known man, Collin. It wasn't a new conversion. A rinse and repeat that happened every so many months. Bucky always took mental notes of the men you dated: what failed, what worked, how he turned you on or off, and other small details. Sometimes, after a breakup, when you'd end up with sobs on the couch, Bucky reminds you of any bad that the guy had and attempted to make you feel better. At the end of the however long a time period, you'd almost always end up on Bucky's couch, whether it was a great date or tragic ending.

Another two weeks went by, and Bucky noticed the quietness that filled his apartment more now. It had been a week, and he noticed your absence from his couch. He shrugged it off for a few nights before he started texting you about the newest and oddest leap of absence. Your replies filled with date details and how you needed to end the night at Collin's. When he did see you, the sleeves were all the way down to your palms, and you wore more pants than skirts or dresses. Had to be the seasons changing from fall to winter.

Then, a month. The morning small talk shortened, you were in a hurry every time. No more couch talks and drunken words thrown at each other either.

One Friday night, it drove him nuts too much. He missed you. He went to the door, glanced through the hole that showed your apartment door, and saw Collin towering over you. His mouth over your ear, hand gripping your wrist tightly. "I haven't, I promise. C'mon, let's get inside." You trying your best to speak calm, even though Bucky saw a bit of fear in your eyes. "Alright," your boyfriend grumbled, and you led him inside. More mental notes for Bucky.

Your ex-Soviet agent neighbor noticed how you came home less or even left earlier than normal over the past week. One day, he decided to do the same to catch up with you. As he locked his door, you came out. He smiled at you until he noticed the healing bruises that were exposed even under your tights. His next immediate thought was there were more under your sweater and jean jacket sleeves. "Haven't seen you lately, stranger," he jokingly chided. You quickly smiled him, "Yeah, just super busy lately with everything and anything." You replied, almost running out of breath how fast you said the words. "With, who, Chad--" "Collin...and partially, yes." You cut him off, beginning to go down the stairs. "Are you with Charlie tonight?" He quickly questioned, following you. "Collin, and no, Bucky."

"Come over tonight, we can catch up on that new show you've been begging me to watch with you." You internally cridged with guilt.

"I don't know, I'll think about it."

"We can order Chinese, the place with best rangoons." He sweetened. "On a diet, can't." You hurried out. Bucky stood defeated as you caught a cab out of the building. Never had you say no to rangoons. Nor making him watch a series, making him question what happened to humanity over the past 70 years. "Try again tomorrow," he mumbled to himself, walking towards the subway.

The following night, he woken from noises that were typically completely muffled to the point of silence for other neighbors, but not the one with super hearing. Yelling. The sounds of things being rumpled and thrown. A "get out" was yelled by you, and that's when he got out of bed, putting pants on before walking into the common hallway. He was just about to knock on your door when Collin walked out, glaring at Bucky. A second later, he saw a crying you by the door. "You ok? You wanna-" "I'm fine." You stated and shut the door before he could finish his sentence.

***

He knew he shouldn't. At the same time, he knew, he needed to. Bucky knocked on your door. His ears waiting to hear any response. Nada. One more set of knocks, two. Now there was shuffling around. "Y/n!" Bucky called with more raps. Bucky felt his heart rate quicken and his breathes deepen. Your door opened. "What do you want?" Collin stood, his body taking over the entry. Bucky had to resist the urge of punching the guy in the face. "I have some of Y/n's mail." He lied in a cold tone. "You couldn't just drop it off? Not making the hinges fall off the door?" Bucky's jaw tighten, so did his fists. "Next time." He briefly said, starring at the man that acted as if the apartment was his and not yours. "Well, where is it?"

"What?"

"Her mail."

"You know what, just tell her I have it and she can stop by to grab it when she can." Bucky started to walk back to his place. Collin rolled his eyes. "Just drop it off, she doesn't need to see you." His entire body clenched. "Listen buddy, I don't need to take this crap from you. Okay? Y/n can get her mail when you're not around." "Collin?" Your voice traveled to the hall. Collin sighed and shook his head, walking back in your apartment.

Two days later, a soft knock rapped on Bucky's apartment. He woke up to it. He raced to the door, opening to the point where he could've broken it. "Hi," he exhaled with a smile. "My mail?" You questioned, barely even making eye contact. Then, he noticed the dramatic eye make-up that was very much not your usual. "Um, yeah, about that," he pursed his lips. You sighed, "Bucky, don't ruin things over fake mail." That's when he saw it. A certain almost covered yellow greenish mark under your eyebrow. He softly touched your face, body acting before his words or maybe even part of his brain. You tried to hide your flinch. "I hit it on the counter. I was grabbing something on the floor and-" Bucky's hands moved to the end of your sleeve, pulled it up to your elbow. A combo of heeling and new bruises both the shape of finger tips and almost an entire hand. He was nearly shaking. "He can't do this to you." He growled.

The intercom from your apartment began ringing. "I have to-" You began to pull away from his soft grasp. "Is that him?" He began to stomp his way into the hall. "Bucky! Stop! He didn't mean it!" You called to him, following him down the stairs as if you could make him stop. "No! No, Y/n. Don't make excuses for him. He did mean it and no, he won't stop." His anger spewing. "Bucky, he's-" The words were no longer being heard. Collin was standing there in front of the glass locked door. Bucky pulled the door, letting it slam shut before you made it down there. A glove covered fist slammed into Collin's face, making him stumble a few steps back. More punches were exchanged, swinging arms, and you shouted at both of them to stop. "She doesn't," punch, "deserve," smack, "any of that!" Three more fist marks. "A real man" nose bleeding, "doesn't hit," a swift kick, "women!" A siren rang. Bucky took a step back Collin dusted himself off, wiped his bloody nose, and walked away. "She wasn't worth it anyways." Bucky nearly booked it, you grabbed his bicep. "Don't." You breathed.

That night, Bucky's apartment was finally filled with you again. Tears streaming down your cheeks as all the secrets of abuse were now coming out. Your makeup gone, bruised eye exposed, your arms wrapped around one of his couch pillows. Chinese on the coffee table. Bucky on the other end of the couch. After twenty minutes of this, Bucky scooted to the middle and wiped your tears. "You never deserved what he did. He didn't deserve you. One. Single. Bit." You leaned in and kissed him. His lips softly returning the action. The kiss broke and you looked into his eyes. "Give me what I deserve, James." He stroked your hair behind your ear and rested his forehead on yours. He leaned in more and sensually kissed you. "You deserve," lips connecting, "a man that," his lips trailed down, "will treat you like," back to the lips, "a queen." You hummed then giggled a little. "You can do that." He froze a little. You grabbed his chin, making him look up at you. "Bucky, you are that man."

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barnesboo1967 · 4 months ago

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Married the mafia

#moodboard #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mafia! bucky barnes #mafia aesthetic #marvel moodboard #sebastian stan lover #sebastian stan characters #sebastain stan #sebastian stan #james bucky buchanan barnes

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theylooklikehumanbeings · 6 months ago

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"All you have to worry about is some stupid tape" Tommy Lee x reader x slight! Pamela Anderson (Part 2)

MDNI! warnings for: angst, heartbreak, past abusive boyfriends, Tommy is mean still lol, mentions of forced and regular miscarriages, mentions of Self harm!! please stay safe guys.

Summary: Y/N is filling in as a backup singer for Motley Crue on their upcoming album. Tommy Lee has been pissed lately because their new album isnt going well and on top of that his sex tape with Pamela Anderson has been leaked. Y/N meanwhile is living with an abusive boyfriend so getting this gig with Motley Crue would be able to help them out of their home. However, what happens when homelife is meeting studio life..?

Part one

"Is Tommy here?"

You hadn't even noticed you had been staring at her for so long. It was like she was Americas dream model. Long blonde flowing hair, a nice body, perfect face... You were so lost in your thoughts you hadn't known she was waving a hand in front of your face. "Hello?" You blinked a few times. "uh, yeah... sorry..." you cleared your throat "yeah, hes in the studio..". She let out a relieved sigh "oh thank god, he practically ran out of the house this morning in a bad mood... I'm sorry.. what was your name? I don't think we've met before..." She smiled at you. Smiled. A god send of a smile. One your mother would probably give to you if you handed her a bad drawing and she wanted to make you feel like you were the best artist in the world. God... you didn't deserve someone to smile at you like that... "I'm Y/N.. I'm filling in as a backup singer" you explained to her and held out your hand. She immediately took it and you could feel her long acrylic nails touching your skin as she shook your hand.

"youre a singer? I've always dreamed of being one... I'm Pamela.." She said still smiling at you and introducing herself. 'Well... theres a reason I'm the backup..' you thought to yourself. "yeah I guess so..." you let go of her hand wishing for a slight second you could hold it longer. "I just got lucky I guess..." you said your voice sounding unsure of yourself. Pamelas face seemed to scrunch like she noticed but she didn't say anything. "Well... I better go find Tommy I need to talk to him... it was so nice to meet you though..." she said again smiling at you the sweetest smile. You reluctantly smiled back at her. "It was nice to meet you to..." you said waving as she walked inside. You couldn't help but stare as she walked away. You didn't even know what to think... She was so kind, sweet, pretty... everything you wished you could be...

After awhile of thinking and drowning in your own problems you walked back inside of the studio. You walked to the door but stopped. You noticed in the corner of the studio Tommy and Pamela talking in hushed voices. One part of you told yourself you shouldn't get into their business... The other half was too curious... Carefully, you snuck over and leaned against the wall. Far enough you could hear but far enough back they wouldn't see you. You listened in carefully to what they were talking about.

"Tommy. I can't keep doing this with you... you can't get so pissed youre running off and not telling me where you are going... I'm upset about the tape just as much as you are..."

"Not everything is about that fucking tape, okay? I've got more issues than the tape"

"I know baby but-"

"Listen baby... I need you to stop stressing so much.... this isn't good for you... our baby-"

You decided not to listen after that. It brought back memories... terrible, terrible memories.. You walked into the studio lookign at both Mick and Nikki "I have to go I'm sorry..." Nikki looked at you "hold on, if we just wait for vince a little longer-" You held your hand up "I'm sorry Nikki I need to go... I'll be back on Tuesday..." you said before turning. You felt tears burning in the corners of your eyes as you quickly grabbed your bag. As you walked out you turned to see Pamela and Tommy hugging and caressing each other. Tears ran down your cheeks as you made your way out of there. Life is unfair...

1992

You stared down at the pregancy test with shaking hands... No, No this cannot be happening. You couldn't be pregant.. you were not ready... and most definitely not with him... You held your head as you began to cry. How could this have happened...? How were you supposed to tell him..? Was the baby supposed to grow up in this awful apartment with a horrible father like him...? You stared down at the tiled floor in comtemplation. You couldn't give birth... not now... not ever... You got up shaking still. You walked over to the counter and stared at the whiskey bottle before you....

You stared at the road ahead of you. Dried tears were on your cheeks. Thoughts spiraled throguh your mind. You shouldn't even feel jealous... You shouldn't feel jealous of Pam and Tommy... yet you were. You were jealous they had each other. You were jealous they seemed to have the perfect life. The only thing they were worried about was a stupid fucking tape... You wiped the tears from your eyes as you made it home. Luckily, your boyfriend wasn't home from his job. You made your way inside and closed the door behind you.

You went into the bedroom you unfortanely had to share and got dressed into pajamas. Afterward, you made your way over the couch and laid across it turning it on. Luckily, MTV was on showing off the latest Nu Metal bands that were rising to fame. You were realizing why Tommy was upset. All the bands that started in the 80s were becoming irrelevant to the public. No longer were segments about Motley Crue, Guns n roses, Bon Jovi, etc. They want to report the newest thing. You frowned a bit feeling rather bad.

About an hour or two had passed as you sat there and watched the tv before you heard the landline ring. You looked up intrested. Usually, it was someone calling for your boyfriend. You went over and picked up the phone "Hello, Y/N speaking... If your looking for..." A voice cut you off "Hey, Y/N" You were shocked to hear who was on the other side "Tommy?" you asked recognizing his voice almost instantly. You heard a chuckle over the phone.

"Yeah its me... I just wanted to say I'm sorry... I'm sorry for how I was acting at the studio today... I can tell I upset you..." You stared down at the ground below you. You were both a little shocked Tommy out of all people would call you but more so that he was apologizing. "Oh uh... its alright really... It wasn't really you I'm just... going through some things..." you said trying to play it off and hoping he wasn't going to ask anymore questions on the matter. "Well, I still want to apologize, and to ask if you wanted to come with Pam and I to dinner..." You blinked for a second. Was Tommy Lee asking you to dinner? You were speechless for a moment. "Uh, well um... sure! where?" you asked curiously. "Theres a really nice place downtown I'll give you the address... Pamela would love to see you again..." Those words stuck in your brain. Pamela wanted to see you?

As he told you the address you wrote it down on a sticky note and stuck it in your pocket "okay... okay great, I'll be there!" You said as a genuine smile was on your face. It had been awhile since one of those appeared. Tommy chuckled over the phone "Great we will see you tomorrow" With that the phone hung up. You stared at the ground for awhile. You were in awe. Pamela and Tommy just invited you to dinner. You felt like you wanted to pinch yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Now another problem was approaching. What were you going to wear? sure, you had some mediocre dresses in your closet. But, you were sure they were going to take you somewhere so fancy you could only dream of it being real. You walked into the bedroom and looked in the closet for awhile. After awhile of searching, in the back was a beautiful black dress with a long black lace train. It was your prom dress from a few years back. It would still fit right? To your surprise it did. You stared at yourself in the mirror admiring the dress for awhile. It was so pretty. You remember saving up all your money from whatever job you were working at in high school to buy it. You smiled again seeing yourself however your gaze went down to your arms..

(Masc version skip if you don't wanna read:) You walked to the closet and looked around. You hadn't worn anything very nice in awhile. Knowing, Pam and Tommy however you knew they were probably going to take you to the fanciest resturant you could only dream of going to. After searching for awhile, you reached in the back and found a old suit. It was your suit for prom. You had completely forgot it was in there. It would still fit right? To your surprise, it did. You looked at yourself in the mirror testing out the shirt and the tux. It looked really nice on you. You smiled again seeing yourself in the mirror however, your eyes glanced down and noticed the sleeves of the tux rising up. It exposed your wrist...

Across your arms were gashes and cuts. Some healed, some still fresh. You swallowed and covered on of your wrists. Hopefully tomorrow Pam and Tommy won't notice.

A/N: thank you so much for the support on the first part! I'm sorry this is a bit delayed I was in the hospital with kidney stones. I'm so excited to continue writing for this series though!! with love, mwah mwah mwah

#pamela anderson #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #pamela anderson x reader #vince neil #nikki sixx #mick mars #sebastain stan #lily james #x reader #80s bands

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sarahowritesostucky · 11 months ago

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Ignore it if you're uncomfortable💕

Reader catching Steve eating um... "meat" or put suspicion on foods he cook cuz it's a little different from usual meat😔

Idk choose one or maybe both or maybe none

ANYTHING FOR STEVE KAMP I'M EVAPORATING RN

This will be a story told in infrequent, anachronistic snippets, as I love the story idea but don't really want to commit to another WIP. I hope you enjoy!

📖"Amuse Bouche"

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Steve Kemp x Reader

Tags: cannibalism, held hostage, basement wife, captor/captive, dark Steve

Summary: Amuse-Bouche (/əˌmuːzˈbuːʃ/; French; N.) : to delight the mouth.

You feel your ears buzzing as you sit across the island, frozen in place. The soft sounds of Steve's knife against the cutting board drumming in your ears inordinately loud, warring with the drum of your own thundering pulse. You lick your lips nervously, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything.

"Everything okay, Hon?"

You blink, startled out of your thoughts and surprised to find Steve staring at you from where he's working, his eyes boring into you, rather than the raw meat under his hand, the chef's knife in the other. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, and you're sure he can hear it, can tell exactly what you're thinking.

What are you thinking?

"Y-yeah," you stammer, forcing a smile. Oh god, he can tell. He knows what you're -

"Good." His smile is sweet and honest, unsuspecting, and he goes back to his work on the cutting board. You swallow, your mouth horribly dry. "Just hungry, huh?" Steve smirks down at his bloodied hands. "Really worked up an appetite this afternoon."

You chuckle nervously, shifting in place on the barstool. "Haha, yep. Yeah."

"Mm. Well I know how to fix that," he says. Eyes still on the meat.

You look down nervously to it again, and away again before he can catch you looking and see the thoughts going through your head. You avert your gaze around the kitchen. - the beautiful kitchen.

It'd seemed like such an easy mark. Middle of nowhere, no visible security. Single occupant who went away for hours at a time. It'd been easy to case. You'd thought you'd make out good on this one. Just one more job. A little more money to get you in a good spot. Then you'd go straight.

It hadn't worked out that way.

The links on your cuff make a quiet sound as you shift. You reach for your wine glass and take a big sip. It slides over your tongue in a burst of flavors: fruity and lush, decadent yet light. It's red wine, a Beaujolais, your favorite. Steve always pours it for you before dinner, and you always drink it as you watch him cook.

Lately you've been drinking it faster.

Your eyes are back on the bloody cutting board when Steve's amused voice jars you back to attention,

"Need another pour already?"

Your eyes jerk up to him in fright, and it must show on your face, because he sobers. "Hon? What is it?"

You fake another smile - something you've gotten quite good at, ever since you woke up one day in a carpeted cell. "Nothing," you assure him, batting your eyelashes and drinking the last few sips from your glass. You set it back down on the counter. "I think I would like some more, please."

Steve squints at you briefly, concerned, or maybe suspicious, but your smile seems to do the trick and he sighs good naturedly. "Okay, why not?" He sets the knife down on the cutting board and turns his back to you, going to the sink to rinse his hands. "I'm chilling a white for the main, and I thought we could have that honey wine with dessert."

"Oh." You can't keep your eyes off the cutting board - on the carefully trimmed hunks of meat that don't taste like anything you've ever had before ... and on the knife. "That sounds nice."

Steve chuckles. "My little woman loves her dessert wines."

You could reach it. It's within reach. If you just leant across the counter, you'd be able to -

Steve 's hand appears in your field of vision and you flinch. He's reaching to take your empty glass. He eyes you knowingly as he pours from the bottle of Beaujolais. You expect him to say something, but he just finishes pouring and slides the glass back across the countertop to you. "There you go," he says, staring at you.

You lick your lips and swallow heavily, feeling caught. He knows. "Thank you, Steve," you whisper.

The edge of his mouth twitches up. "You're welcome, Little thief."

Your guts churn at the words he's somehow turned into a term of endearment. Steve's no fool. He knew you'd look. He put the knife within reach to test you, and you've failed the test. Internally you sigh, and you meekly sip your wine. You've got a long time to go before you'll be able to get the better of him.

"What's for dinner?" you ask, resigned, eyes back on the mystery meat.

"Rosemary."

"What?" You look up at him, catching the tail end of something indecipherable in his eyes. "Rosemary?" you ask, heart beating faster.

"Mm." He nods and goes to pull something out of the fridge. He returns with a bundle of green herbs. Your shoulders slump. Oh. rosemary. Right. "I'm cooking it sous vide with herbs," he says, and starts plucking the needles off the stalk. "Rosemary, Thyme, bit of sage."

You nod vacantly, thinking of the Francisco Goya that Steve has hanging in the hallway: Saturn Devouring His Son. You used to appreciate his quirky taste in art, had planned to get rich off it. But now you're starting to suspect there's something else to it.

Still, you know it'll infuriate Steve if you refuse to eat the food he's prepared for you, so you focus on sipping your wine steadily, hoping to maybe get another pour in before the meal.

You don't ask what it is that he's cooking sous vide. But deep down, you think you know.

This has been a fill for: @badthingshappenbingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square O4: Kidnapping

Masterlist

#bad things happen bingo #steve kemp #steve kemp x ofc #steve kemp x y/n #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x you #fresh hulu #fresh 2022 #fresh movie #sebastain stan #bingos n bangs #my asks #basement wife #held hostage #held captive #yandere #dark fanfic

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cevans-is-classic · 1 year ago

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18+ only please. Sexual content, unprotected sex, language, oral

My Masterlist One and Two

Seb is here!

The Anon who asked about the Endings Beginnings gif request! I had this puppy in line and thought it'd be a good one to use. Enjoy!

Seb moved behind you, taking slow steps and brushing your biceps when he came forward. You looked at him humming. He smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist, rocking both of you side to side as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I thought we were going to tackle cleaning tomorrow?” He kissed your shoulder.

You turn the bowl in your hand. “I couldn’t stop thinking about them sitting out. We need to get the dishwasher fixed.”

“Mmm, we do.” He kissed you again, nuzzling into you as he squeezes you tight.

You set the cup down, unplugging the drain before wiping it dry. Seb stays glued to you as you move around the kitchen. He hums when you put the cups away, smiles into your neck when you sort the utensils, and holds your waist when you put the pots and pans up.

You feel this itch, like something is coming, and you can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Shaking away the crawling feeling, you spin in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck, and smiling at him, “Alright, how may I help you?”

“Well,” He kisses your nose, “I was coming down to see what you were doing,” He kisses your left cheek, “Then I saw you doing the dishes,” Your right cheek, “And you were wiggling your ass a little-”

You laughed, tilting your head back and Seb took full advantage, brushing his lips over your jaw and down until he skims his teeth. You gasp, jerk in his hold but smile as he kisses you, trailing bites along your throat and back up.

“My wiggling ass do it for you?” You grin.

“Baby,” Seb slides his hands until he can grip your ass, pressing you closer against him as he does, “Everything about you does it for me.”

The kiss was rough, your nose hitting his before you could turn your head, and Seb laughed a moment before you settled against each other. He’s still smiling when you lick at his bottom lip and he slides his hands to your thighs.

A yelp escapes as he lifts you his smile turning into a smirk, his hands tightening on your thighs as walks you towards to island and sits you down. His left hand curls around your calf pulling it higher to hang over his hip, his nails scratching over your skin.

“I just cleaned.” You whispered.

He nodded, “and you did a wonderful job.” He kisses you again, slower this time, but deeper. His tongue licked your mouth open and you could taste the mint of his toothpaste. His stubble was a little damp, and scratchy against your cheeks, and it made you blush.

Sebastian pulls back a second. “You okay?”

You drop his gaze, “Yeah.”

“Hey,” He squeezes your hip, “We don’t have to do anything-”

“No.” You shake your head, grabbing his shoulder, and softly shook him, “No.”

“Okay.” He nods again. “Not in the kitchen?”

Your cheeks heat, your eyes rolling to the ceiling as you shake your head and shimmy a bit against him. “Baby, talk to me.”

“I know, I-” With a breath, you look back at him, “I thought about your scruff and-”

Seb blinked, then he tilted his head, eyebrow coming up. “Yeah? Thought about my facial hair. Where?”

You looked down and Seb's grin turned hungry before he pulled you to the edge of the island and pushed you backward. He watches you rest along the surface, hands sliding over the countertop with nervous fingers.

“Baby,” He taps your hip until you move, helping him slip your shorts and underwear down, letting it hang off your foot as he kisses your knee, “I know what you mean.”

“Your knees are going to hate you.” It comes out as a squeak, your hands clenching into fists with embarrassment.

“But something will love me a lot more.” He says and licks your inner thigh. You gasp, the marble beneath you sticking to your backside.

Seb keeps going, his hands opening your legs further, teeth leaving marks as he works up your thigh. His finger startles you, the way he spreads you and touches you — his thumb finding your clit.

“Bast-”

“I got you.” He kisses above your heat. “I got you.”

Your hands fly to his hair when he licks you. One broad stripe that circled your clit. His fingers moved to your entrance, his thumb sliding in enough that you were aching for him to touch you. His tongue presses into you instead, licking, sucking, flicking against you over and over until your thighs shake.

He dove in again and again, faster, slower, fingers sliding in and out and in until you’re muttering curse words and gasping his name. It made your knee weak, and your fingers ache where you fist his hair. When you’re close, teetering, almost over that crashing edge, he stops.

“Fuck- what.”

Seb looks up at you, letting you see the slick dampening your beard, and with a grin he kisses your thigh again. Scraping his facial hair across your skin then licking you once, twice, repeating the pattern until the words coming out of you were incoherent. You needed him to go faster, needed him to make you come with his name on your tongue. His tongue inside you.

When his scruff scratches against you, arousal, hot and prickling, shoot up your spine, “Baby-”

He nipped your clit then went back to work, doubling his effort, fucking his fingers into you over and over and you need to come. Are begging for it, reaching for it, it’s slow close and you’re pressing into his face, closer, closer.

He pulls back.

You push him backward, your feet hitting the floor before you push him onto his back and climb over him.

“Are you okay?” You guide him inside you, then sink down, watching his eyes close, his chin tilting upwards, and a drop of your slick moves down his neck.

“So fucking okay.” He curses, gasping as your hips move.

Yes, yes, fuck right there. He feels perfect, filling you. His shirt shifts as you press against his chest, using your hands as leverage to ride him.

“So good,” He groans, grabbing your hips, and raising his knees enough to balance you. It buries him deeper, slides his cock against you, and that buzzing feeling went through you again. This time it felt electric and made your thighs tighten. He helps guide you as the feeling builds.

“Yes,” You gasp, “yes, yes, fuck.”

“Come on, baby, come for me.” His voice is deeper, his mouth going slack when you squeeze around him, dig your nails into his chest, and come.

He makes a drawn-out rumbling noise his hips bucking upwards. Seb guides you over him still dragging you through your after-shocks and towards his own release.

His eyes lose focus as he looks at you, one hand moving to touch your neck, your jaw, your cheek, and then he pulls you down and bites at your lips. The position has you shaking your head, his hips moving faster, the hand on your hip clenching tighter.

“Please.” You breathe into the kiss, “Baby, please.”

He kisses you harder when he comes, eyes closing, his hands a vice grip on you. It makes you snap, your body twitching as a sharp orgasm floods you.

Feeling him breathe against your cheek keeps you focused. His heart was racing beneath along your own as he shifted, kissing you slower.

#sebastain stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebstan

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theaussiedragon · 1 year ago

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I've started making characters on Janitor AI

Heres a list of the bots I've made (Ones that arent my own I had permission to remake) But please leave feedback and recommendations

Poe Dameron:

Birthday

First Order

You're the new medic

He's your number 1 fan

New Communications officer/ personnel

No So Great First Meeting

Mistletoe Mistle...Poe?

Basil Stitt:

New Neighbour

Marc Spector:

Vampire

Steven Grant:

Yandere

Jake Lockley:

Blue Jones:

Asylum- Yandere

Nathan Bateman:

Personal Assistant

Matt Murdock:

Stranger

Edward Lemuel:

New look

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roohuh · 2 years ago

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“Did your bag grow wings?”

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: Sebastian takes pity on a girl who’s bag has been stollen by bullies.

Warnings: angst kinda, hospital and chronic illness trigger

Word count 1066

Sebastian eyes the girl as she awkwardly tries to scramble up a tree to retrieve a bag caught in the branches. After a few failed attempts she stands hands on her hips staring up at the bag, a forlorn look darkening her brow.

“Did your bag grow wings?” He asks in his most serious voice, scrutinizing the bag. Turning to Sebastian the girl seems to only now notice him.

“Oh just leave me be!” She pleads before bending over to pick up a rock.

“As you wish.” Sebastian chuckles, throwing his hands up, backing away. The girl rolls her eyes, then begins to throw rocks at her bag.

“You will never get it down like that.” Sebastian laughs at her struggling. “Where is your wand?” Whipping her head around the girl catches Sebastian off guard with a tearful face. She looks as if she is going to say something then turns around, running away with all of her might.

“Hey wait up!” Sebastian calls, whipping out his wand, retrieving the bag. The girl does not stop for his call, instead running back to her house. Standing there dumbly Sebastian grasps the bag, feeling the shape of a wand inside.

“Dummy, you need your wand.” Sebastian shakes his head walking in the direction the girl ran. He does not make it far before he hears soft crying coming from the girls bathroom. Wavering before the door, Sebastian tries to decide the correct course of action, knowing he could just give her bag to a house elf and be done with it. They would return it to the rightful owner, however the sound of muffled cries tugs at him.

“Merlin's beard this better not backfire.” Sebastian sighs before pushing open the door and walking in. The crying stops the second the door opens.

“I have your bag.” Sebastian offers, hoping he has not just stumbled across another different unfortunate girl. Sniffles come from the stall furthest from the door.

“Do you want your bag or not?” More silence. As Sebastian turns to leave a small voice comes from the stall.

“Please leave my bag.”

“She speaks!” Sebastian laughs as he gently sets the bag down in front of the stall.

“Thank you.” Her voice is small and shaky.

“Anytime.” As he turns to leave a thought occurs to him. “Who threw your bag in that tree?” There is a long silence then the girl lets out a shaky breath.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does.” Sebastian’s voice is firm.

“Then I did it.” She shoots back defiantly. Running his finger through chestnut hair Sebastian chuckles.

“You are a strange one.” Then makes his exit.

As Sebastian sits to dinner he watches with satisfaction as the girl's bullies shuffle over to where she sits. Sebastian easily tracked down the cuprates teaching them a lesson they would not soon forget. The group of thrashed malcontents cast fearful looks in Sebastian’s direction while they deliver their apology to the girl. She too keeps sending looks in Sebastian’s direction, and the looks do not stop after the dejected group of miscreants shuffled to their seats. Before Sebastian can finish half of his plate he notices the girl standing excusing herself from the table. Unable to contain his curiosity, Sebastian stands to follow the girl. At his friends sudden movements Ominis gives Sebastian a funny look.

“Going somewhere?”

“The toilet, I need some air.” Sebastian mumbles as he makes his escape ignoring Ominis objection,

“Oh yes, just the place I go for fresh air.” Sebastian follows the girl unnoticed as she leads him all the way up to the infirmary, then sits on a bed expectantly.

“Did those troglodytes hurt you?” Sebastian snaps. She whips her head around, surprised by his sudden appearance.

“I swear I’ll-“ Sebastian’s treats are cut off by a soft giggle from the girl.

“I thought I heard someone behind me.” Sebastian stuffs the floor with a shoe putting his hands in his pockets.

“I… Well, I was worried that maybe they had said something nasty to you. Never can count on a bully to give a good apology.”

“I don’t know what I have done to earn your protection.” She raises an eyebrow to the freckled face before her.

“I just can’t stand to see a pretty girl cry.” Again Sebastian is given an eyebrow. Before the girl can give her retort the nurse walks in. At the sight of Sebastian standing there the nurse pauses giving the girl a funny look, to which she just shrugs in response.

“And how are we feeling today?” The nurse asks, hovering her wand over the girl as a dim green light is emitted from the tip.

“Fine.” She replies dismissively.

“That bad?” Stopping her work the nurse study’s the girl's face. “How many fits did you have?”

“Five.”

“Goodness me child! You know you are supposed to come and see me the second you have more than three.” Thrusting a vile of a sweet smelling potion into the girl's hands the nurse hurries away.

“I’ll be back.” She calls. As she drinks the liquid, a chill causes her whole body to tense.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian’s worried voice brings her eyes back on him.

“That’s a broad question.” She teases.

“I guess it is.” He rubs the back of his head. The sight is so reminiscent of his own sister trying a slew of potions given to her by a nurse who always wore the same worried expression. At the thought Sebastian begins to feel queasy. He sits on the ground.

“Are you alright?” Now it’s the girls turn to look concerned.

“That’s a broad question.” He mocks her tone. Looking down at her hands the girl seems to say more to herself then Sebastian.

“My second year at Hogwarts. I was in an accident. Had to take a year off to recover.” Sebastian stands again feeling guilty, he knew she had not wanted to be followed here and by the way she is sitting now she still does not want him here.

“I’m sorry.” He stammers as he backs toward the door. “I will give you privacy now.” All of his usual suave demeanor gone, he fumbles with the handle.

“Thank you.” She calls after him. “For your help today. With those jerks and my bag. Thank you.” He nods before disappearing out the door. He needs to find Ominis.

#hogwarts legacy #fanfic #harry potter hogwarts game #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #sebastian x mc #sebastain sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian stan #hogwarts legacy sebastian

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mutifandomkid · 10 days ago

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Happy Anniversary, Part three

Parings: Buckyxreader

Warnings: angst, blood, self harm(sorta)??, drinking, mentions of cheating, mental breakdown, POV change

Word count: 1.4k

*************

Sam picked me up in his car a few streets down.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked softly. “I saw Bucky chase after you. He looked pretty distressed.”

“I’m fine.” I said softly, playing with some of the fabric of my dress. My hands wrinkling the soft silk. “Distressed is an understatement.”

”What happened?” Sam asked softly, silently letting me know I didn’t have to answer.

“I almost got hit by a car. I um, tripped.” I answered, dropping my head, my hands fiddling with the silk more.

If Bucky was driving, he’d reach over and grab my hands, running his thumb over my knuckles before bringing my hand to his lips, and pressing a soft kiss to soothe my nerves. But that was before.

“M’glad you’re okay.” Sam said, his hands never leaving the wheel.

“Yeah,” I breathed out softly.

“You know I’m here for you. So is Nat, and Wanda. Hell, Tony would be too if you called him.” Sam said softly.

“I know.” I said, pausing for a long minute before continuing. “James, um, saved me.”

“James?” Sam questioned, I’d never addressed Bucky as James unless… “You’re really mad at him, huh?”

“He basically threw out the past four years, of course I’m going to be mad at him.” I whispered.

“Did you let him explain?” Sam asked softly.

“What’s there to explain, Sam? You saw the same as I did.” I said, shifting in my seat uncomfortably.

Sam was quiet as he pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building. “Are you going to be okay tonight? I can stay the night, it’s not a problem.”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks Sam.” I said, it was clear I was tired.

“Alright.” Sam said, pulling into a parking space. “Try to get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” I said, getting out of the car, and making my way to the elevator. I waved goodbye as I walked away from Sam’s car.

Everything was quiet, the elevator, my heels, the door to the apartment opening, my thoughts. All of it was quiet.

The apartment itself was empty. Felt that way, despite all the furniture and knickknacks. The bookshelves lined with Bucky’s favorite books, recently dusted and clean, ones that were once a comfort, now felt sterile and too clean.

The couch, Bucky’s sweatshirt lazily thrown over the cushions, now seemed like it was a nuisance taunting me. His shoes, all placed by the front door, seemed like a painful reminder.

I walked into the bedroom, seeing his clothes, the rumpled side of his bed, his cologne, his current book. I could still smell his presence in the room, and it was almost like he was there with me.

And for a second, I wished he was.

Only, it was all tainted. The betrayal, the hurt, the fear of losing him and realizing that not only had I lost him, he had taken what we had for granted. Thrown it to the side as if I was nothing but an annoyance in his life. Traded the four years of love for a quick thrill.

Anger and grief flooded my veins, and before I knew it, I was grabbing suitcases. His suitcases. I threw them on the bed, and grabbed his clothes, his books, shoes, knickknacks, colognes, toothbrush, hygiene products, hair products, every single little item that I could think of that was his, and threw it into the suitcases.

When I was done, I rolled his suitcases out and put them by the door. Then made my way to the kitchen, grabbing that whiskey bottle he’d brought home, and popping it open.

I poured myself a generous glass. I hated whiskey. I took a swig. I hated the burn. I took another swig.

His lips were on hers. Another swig. Her hands in his chest. Another.

I poured another generous glass.

“It’s not what you’re thinking!” His words rang in my head. Another swig.

“You almost got hit by a fucking car, and that’s what your worried about?!” I could hear that familiar sarcasm in his voice as his words taunted my thoughts. Another generous swig.

I could still feel the anger, the pain, the hurt, the betrayal… “Babydoll, please, tomorrow's our anniversary!”

I screamed, throwing the glass of whiskey into the counter. The glass shattered and splintered everywhere on impact. Glass shot back at me, sinking into my skin, but even the physical pain wasn’t enough to make the thoughts, the memories stop. Blood slowly seeped down my arms and cheeks where the glass had made an impact.

I sank to the floor, hands over my ears, knees tucked into my chest, head tucked down as I screamed and sobbed.

__________

Bucky

I didn’t bother drinking. Just sat on Steve’s couch. Head in my hands, fingers carding through my hair.

“She’s understanding Buck, just give her time.” Steve said, trying to give some sort of reassurance. “I’m sure she’ll come around.”

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me, Steve.” I said, finally looking up at him. My eyes were red, and I was clearly torn apart, tears evident on my cheeks from the wet trails they left. ”She looked at me like…” I dropped my head back between my knees, fingers back to carding through my hair. “Like I was a monster. She’s never looked at me like that.”

“She’s just hurt, Bucky. I would be too if I saw Peggy kissing another agent, especially one who’s never liked me before.” Steve reasoned. “I’d be mad too if Peggy hadn’t explained beforehand.”

“She won’t let me explain, Steve.” I muttered, sounding just as broken as I felt. “Sharon kissed me, grabbed my tie and kissed me.”

“I know Bucky. But you need to tell her that.” Steve responded.

“She won’t let me tell her! Steve she couldn’t even look at me, and then she yelled at me, and I,”

Steve interrupted me before I could continue. “She yelled at you?”

I nodded.

“She never yells.” Steve mused.

“I know! I know she doesn’t yell, Steve! I’ve been with her for almost four fucking years now! Don’t you think I know she doesn’t yell!” I said, growing more irritated by the second.

“Bucky,” Steve started.

“No, Steve! I fucked it up! And she won’t even hear my reasoning! She won’t even try to listen to me!” I stood and began to pace, my arms crossing to keep my hands from ripping out my hair.

“Bucky, just give her some time, she’ll let you explain.” Steve responded calmly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

“Goddamnit, Steve!” I yelled, my vibrainmun arm shooting out, punching into the wall. “You don’t get it, do you?” I snapped.

“Get what, Bucky? That Sharon set you up? That she kissed you when she knew y/n was looking?” Steve snapped back.

“No!” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “I was going to propose to her, Steve. I wanted to make her my wife. My girl.” I dropped back onto the couch, holding my head in my hands, voice breaking, tears staining my cheeks again. “And now…Steve I might’ve just lost the best fucking thing I could’ve ever had a chance with.”

I didn’t catch the pitiful look Steve gave me, didn’t even notice when he sat down next to me on the couch.

“I don’t think you lost her, Bucky. I think she just needs a little time to think everything through.” He whispered.

“Steve, you didn’t see the way she looked at me, the way she treated me. The way she treated herself.” I whispered, too broken to strengthen my voice. “I almost lost her, Steve. The car…she just stood there. Accepting it, like there was nothing she could do.”

Steve was quiet, save for the small almost inaudible gasp.

“I saved her, Steve. And she couldn’t even look at me. It was like I wasn’t even there to begin with.”

“Could’ve just been shocked, Bucky.” Steve said softly.

“No, she knew it was me, because the only thing she said was that ‘I kissed Sharon.’” A small sob left my lips, and I wouldn’t have realized it was from me if it hadn’t wracked my body. “She thinks I…”

Steve was quiet, trying to offer his support with a hand on my shoulder.

“I wanted to make her my fiancé tomorrow, Steve.” I shuffled around in my pocket, then pulled out the velvet box. “Been carrying this around for weeks, thought I’d be able to man up and ask her, but now…”

“You’ll get to ask her, Buck.” Steve whispered, though there was doubt in his voice. So subtle, I don’t even think he caught onto it.

“I don’t think I can now.” I whispered, voice broken, eyes red and teary. “I think I’ve just lost the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

***********

Part four?

Tag list:

@greatenthusiattidalwave @sebbymybaby21 @vicmc624 @cinnamon-bun47 @capswife @440mxs-wife @supersoldiers1xt @missvelvetsstuff @bonnyclydecat @marajade1974 @caity1995 @buckitostan

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #sebastain stan #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic

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nameless-ken · 1 day ago

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Bucky Barnes x Reader

The Stranger That Knows Me Best is a heartfelt story about connection, vulnerability, and taking chances on the unexpected. Through letters and shared experiences, two introverts discover that sometimes, the person who understands you best is the one you’ve never met.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: none really, mostly fluff and some angst

Masterlist

The first letter arrives on a Monday, stuck between a credit card offer and a pizza coupon. You stare at the plain envelope for a moment, debating whether to open it right away or let it sit on top of the unopened pile stacked up on the kitchen table. Honestly, you wouldn’t even be holding it if Wanda hadn’t forced you to sign up for this pen pal thing.

“It’ll be fun!” she exclaimed as she leaned dramatically across your desk while you tried to study. “You need to talk to someone who’s not me for a change. And how exciting to meet someone across the country!”

You rolled your eyes at her and muttered something about spam emails and book characters being more your speed. But she was insistent. “Imagine it. Getting to know someone without all the noise of social media. Just words. Just paper. It’ll be good for you.”

Now, standing in the kitchen, envelope in hand, you weren’t sure if she’d done you a favor or set you up for the most awkward exchange of your life. The return address displays Brooklyn, New York, in handwriting so neat it almost looks printed.

On the other side of the country, Bucky sits at a worn, small kitchen table in his tiny Brooklyn apartment, mouth turned down at the envelope in his hands. His roommate and best friend, Sam, somehow roped him into this, using every trick in the book to sign him up.

“You’re too serious all the time,” Sam teased. “You need to lighten up, meet new people or at least, like, write to one person.”

“I meet people,” Bucky muttered, already regretting the argument.

Sam laughed. “Right. The way you avoid everyone at parties? Sure, bud.”

And now here he is, a couple of weeks later, holding a letter from some stranger in Oregon and wondering if Sam had a point. Bucky has never been good at opening up, not even with people he knew. The idea of putting his thoughts down on paper for some stranger to read made him uneasy. But at the same time there was a comfort in only writing–no faces, no judgments, just words.

The truth is, Bucky doesn’t have a clue what to say or where to start. He agreed to this so Sam would get off his back about meeting new people. Bucky is tired of the monotonous routine of the same frat parties every week. How is he supposed to get to know someone through blasting music and dozens of beers? He’s never been a fan of crowds or casual conversations.

Maybe that’s why he’d said yes when Sam showed him the ‘Around The World’ pen pal website. To meet someone genuinely and in the most organic way his social anxiety will let him.

You sit down at your kitchen table, coffee growing cold as you carefully peel open the envelope. The paper inside is simple, lined like the kind from a spiral notebook. Nothing fancy, just a letter. The words on the page surprisingly feel honest.

Hey, I’m not sure how to start this. I guess an introduction is a good place? My name’s Bucky. Well, technically, it’s James, but no one calls me that. I signed up for this because a friend of mine said I should give it a shot. I don’t know if I’m good at writing letters, but I figure it can’t hurt to try. So, uh… hi.

Somehow Bucky’s awkward words bring a faint smile to your lips which makes you feel a little less self-conscious about your first letter.

Meanwhile, Bucky unfolds his letter in the quiet of his apartment, reading the loopy handwriting of his mystery pen pal.

Hi, I guess this is the part where I tell you about myself? My name’s Y/N, and I live in Oregon. Honestly, I signed up for this because my best friend wouldn’t let it go. She thought it would be fun, and I figured… why not? So here I am. I’m not sure what else to say yet, but I’m looking forward to hearing from you.

He let out a soft huff of amusement, almost smiling. There’s something disarming about the tone, like you are just as uncertain about this as he is.

Neither of you expected much from those first letters, just a few introductory words sent across the miles. But as you sit at your table, thinking about what to write back, you start to feel something you haven’t felt in a long time: curiosity.

And across the country, Bucky feels the same.

Only a week later, the third letter arrives with something extra—a pressed flower, its petals delicate and pale blue. It slips out from the folded paper and lands softly in your lap.

I found this on a walk and thought it was too pretty to leave behind. Don’t ask me what kind it is, I’m terrible at flowers. But it made me think of something you might like.

You smile, gently picking up the flower and holding it up to the light. The sunlight streaming through your living room window turns the petals almost translucent. It feels strange, how something so small can carry so much meaning. In this moment, it wasn’t just a flower, it’s a glimpse into how Bucky sees beauty in the world.

You tuck the flower carefully into the pages of your journal, pressing it between the lines of a half-finished poem you have been struggling to complete. Somehow, it seems to fit perfectly there, like it has been waiting for you to give it a new story.

You pick up a new blank page, finding yourself writing more freely than you had before. You practically spill out everything you’re thinking at the moment. You tell him about the books piled on your desk, the way your apartment smells like coffee and your favorite hazelnut candle, how the flower petal reminds you of a poem you read recently for class. You include a few lines of said poem on a piece of homemade paper you created a few days ago (a skill you learned from a YouTube video), a small gift in return for his.

Evening light slants through Bucky’s half closed bedroom window as he opens your next letter.

A muted tone bookmark slips out first.

I thought you might need this for all your textbooks. Kinesiology sounds intense, so hopefully this will help keep your place when you’re too tired to keep going.

He turns the bookmark over in his hands, studying the intricate design—a swirl of blues and greens, almost like a wave frozen mid-motion. It’s sturdy, practical, and yet oddly personal in a way that catches him off guard. In both of your previous letters, you learned about each other's majors.

Bucky is studying Kinesiology and you, creative writing and English literature.

He glances at his own textbooks scattered across his desk, a half-empty mug of tea sitting close to the edge. The long nights spent studying, the endless diagrams of muscles and tendons, the impending need to study for an upcoming test overwhelming his mind.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but it feels nice to be thought of.

Bucky pulls out the old cigar box he keeps on his bookshelf, the one where he stashes little things that matter—ticket stubs, Polaroids, a dried four-leaf clover. Carefully, he places the bookmark inside, alongside the growing pile of letters.

Later, as he writes his reply, he mentions how the bookmark reminds him of summers at the beach when he was a kid.

My mom used to drag me and my sister there every weekend. I pretended to hate it, but I think I loved it more than I let on. The waves were calming, you know? Kind of like the way your letter felt. Thanks for that.

He hesitates for a moment before folding the letter, then slips a small photo inside, an old snapshot of his hometown beach at sunset. He doesn’t remember exactly when he took it, but it felt like the right thing to share.

As he seals the envelope, his smile grows. A private gesture that no one else besides Sam usually sees. For the first time in a long time, the act of sharing doesn’t feel so hard.

Did you ever climb trees as a kid? There was this big oak in my backyard growing up. I used to climb all the way to the top, even though my mom always yelled at me for it. There was this one branch that stuck out just right, and I’d sit there for hours. It was the one place I felt like I could breathe.

When you read his words, something clicks in your memory. The reminder of your grandmother’s magnolia tree comes flooding back. Its branches were low and sturdy, perfect for climbing, and the flowers always smelled faintly sweet, even when they were just starting to bloom. That tree had been your secret world, a place where you could escape everything else and just… be.

You respond, telling about your afternoons of sitting in the tree with a journal, scribbling drawings and stories no one else has ever seen.

It was the first place I felt like I could dream. Funny how trees do that for you too, huh?

Bucky leans back on his couch as he reads about your memory. He hasn’t thought about that tree in years, not since it was cut down after a bad storm. He closes his eyes and tries to remember the texture of the rough bark under his fingers and how the world seemed so small from up there.

That night, instead of going straight to bed, Bucky finds himself sitting by the window, staring out at the sparse trees lining the streets below. The city doesn’t have the same kind of quiet his backyard had back then, but his memory of that oak tree now feels like it was something he could reach out and touch.

Your conversations about trees continues. In your next letter, you mention how you used to take a backpack filled with snacks and book up into the magnolia tree, like you were setting off for some great adventure. You confess how you fell asleep up there one afternoon and scared your grandmother half to death when she couldn’t find you.

Bucky’s laughter fills his bedroom as he reads that part, trying to put a face to you as he imagines that scene play out.

I used to stash stuff up there too. Snacks, comics, even a pair of binoculars I borrowed from my grandpa. It felt like my own little hideout, you know? Like the world couldn’t touch me when I was up there.

As the letters went on, the conversations turned into something deeper. You start talking about the feeling of having a place to escape, a space where the world feels manageable. For Bucky, it used to be the oak tree and now the gym, where he can lose himself in the rhythm of movement and focus. For you, it’s always been words—books, notebooks, even napkins when nothing else was around.

Do you ever feel like you’re still climbing? Like you’re still looking for a branch high enough to sit on, where you can finally just… breathe?

Bucky stares at that question for a long time.

Yeah. But sometimes I wonder if I’m looking in the wrong places. Maybe the branch isn’t what I need anymore. Maybe it’s just knowing there’s someone out there who gets it.

When you read those words it’s like the miles between you two has gotten a little smaller.

You must write a lot for your classes. Creative writing sounds… intimidating, honestly. I don’t think I could do it. I’m better with structure, you know? I like knowing how things work, how muscles move, how the body functions. It feels concrete, there’s always an answer.

You giggle at his admission. It’s not the first time you’ve heard that writing seems almost impossible to accomplish but to you, it’s almost the easiest but scariest thing in the world.

Concrete sounds nice. Writing feels like a brewing storm you can see from hundreds of miles away but as it creeps closer the weight of what to do next has you frozen on the spot. It’s easy in the sense of how subjective it is and everyone always has something to say. The scary part is being brave enough to expel your own thoughts or imagination for the world to have an opinion on. But I can’t imagine kinesiology being any easier. Do you ever feel like you’re carrying too much? Like the weight of learning all this stuff about the human body just… piles up?

Bucky nods to himself as he reads, his pen pausing above the paper. He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, the pressure of being in his program is overwhelming—the constant exams, the endless memorization, the unshakable feeling that one mistake could mean letting someone down in the future.

Yeah, it gets heavy sometimes. But I think about what it’s all for, and it makes it easier to keep going. What about you? What keeps you writing?

When you read his question, you stop to think. What keeps you inspired? The answer seems obvious–it was just something that came naturally to you, from a young age. But the longer you sit and dive deeper into his question, the harder it is to really put it into words.

Because I don’t know who I am without it.

You didn’t expect those words to carry a weight you didn’t know you have been holding.

It’s not always easy, though. Writer’s block isn’t some fantastical word people use as an excuse. It’s brutal. Trying to put the right words in the right order drives me crazy most of the time. But even when it’s hard, it’s the only thing that makes me feel like… me, if that makes sense.

Bucky thinks about how he feels when he is at the gym, or working with the human anatomy models in class. He doesn’t always love the grind of school, but there’s something about the act of moving, of learning how things worked, that makes him feel like he is on solid ground. He taps his pen against the table, thinking before continuing his next letter.

That makes a lot of sense, actually. I don’t know if I feel the same way about kinesiology, but I get what you mean about needing something to hold on to. For me, it’s movement. It sounds weird, but when I’m working out or studying how the body works, I don’t feel as… stuck, I guess. Like I’m figuring out the puzzle one piece at a time. And yeah, sometimes the puzzle sucks, but I think that’s just part of it.

He hesitates before adding:

Do you ever feel like writing is your way of figuring yourself out? Like it’s not just about telling a story, but about finding pieces of yourself you didn’t even know were missing?

His question lingers in your mind for days. It isn’t something you’d ever admitted to yourself, let alone anyone else, but he’s right. Writing isn’t just about creating, it’s about uncovering.

You write back:

All the time. It’s like every time I write something, I leave a little piece of myself on the page, but I also find something new. It’s terrifying sometimes, to feel so exposed, but I think that’s why I can’t stop. It’s the only way I know how to make sense of the world and myself. What about you? Does movement ever feel like that for you? Like it’s not just physical, but… more?

Bucky’s next letter was slower this time, but when it arrives, it’s longer than usual.

Yeah, I think it does. I never thought about it like that before, but now that you mention it, maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to it. When I’m moving—running, lifting, even just walking—it’s like the noise in my head quiets down. I don’t have to think about everything all at once. It’s just me and my body, and for a little while, that’s enough.

He pauses, then adds:

I think that’s why I want to help people. I want to give them that same feeling, like they’re not trapped in their bodies, but free because of them. Maybe that’s the piece of myself I’m trying to figure out.

With his next letter, Bucky includes a small, fraying string bracelet. It’s clearly worn from age, some threads are thinner than others, and a few have almost completely unraveled.

I used to wear this all the time as a kid. It’s nothing special just something a friend gave me back when life was simpler. I don’t know why I’ve kept it all these years, but I figured maybe it’s time it meant something to someone else.

You hold the delicate bracelet, running your fingers over the worn strings. The softness of the fibers and each fray holding a story Bucky hasn’t shared yet. There’s a weight to it, not in size, but in meaning. The way he decided to pass it down to you. It makes you think of the small tokens you’ve saved over the years–notes from old friends, concert tickets, friendship bracelets–those scraps are pieces of who you are, fragments of a past you’ll never be ready to let go of.

You didn’t want to just thank him for the token. It deserves more than that.

You decide to package a worn, dog-eared paperback book, edges wrinkled from the years of being opened and reread. It’s one of many copies of Pride & Prejudice you have. The first book that made you fall in love with writing. You can remember all the late nights you spent highlighting lines, making notes in the margins.

This was the first book that made me want to be a writer. It’s been sitting on my shelf for years, and I think it’s time someone else enjoys it. Maybe it’ll mean something to you too.

You hesitate for a moment, a knot swirling in your stomach. It was something small, seemingly insignificant but also personal. The book was more than a vintage piece of writing. It’s a piece of your past, something that has shaped who you are.

Bucky opens the package carefully, turning the book over in his hands. It looks like it’s been loved, its pages soft and curling at the corners. He can tell it’s been read over and over again.

He smiles genuinely. He’s never been a huge reader—always preferred the practicality of learning from textbooks or manuals—but this book makes him grateful to have a part of your world that you’re willing to share with him.

Bucky flips to the first page, the ink of your handwriting spells out a note ‘I hope this means something to you’

With a sigh, Bucky carefully places the book beside his bed. He’ll start reading it soon, maybe later tonight. There’s something comforting about knowing that, through these letters and small tokens, you are building something real, something that isn’t defined by distance or time, but by the simple act of sharing.

I’ll start reading it tonight. I can’t promise I’ll be as into it as you are, but I think it already means something to me. That bracelet I sent you, it isn’t just a piece of string. It's a piece of me, one I wasn’t sure how to share until now. I don’t know why I’ve kept it all these years, but I’m glad you’re the one who has it now.

He folds the letter and slips it into the envelope, sealing it with the same quiet smile that has been creeping into his letters more often.

Over the next few weeks, your letters became less about what you both do in a day and more about the things that have shaped you. Bucky told you about him joining his school's track team and local races all the kids in the neighborhood would have every summer. You told him stories about how you would write stories for your stuffed animals and act them out alone in your childhood room.

With each letter, it’s become harder to imagine not knowing Bucky, who in so many ways, is still a stranger. But also the one person in the world you feel free enough to share parts of you that you can’t with the closest people you see daily.

Your heart clenches at Bucky’s next admission:

It’s not that I don’t like people, but it’s like there’s this invisible wall between me and them. Like I’m always watching, but never quite part of it.

You couldn’t write that feeling any better.

I guess I’ve always been more comfortable in other people’s worlds than my own. Books made sense when nothing else did. I could lose myself in them and forget everything else—even for just a little while.

One day, his letter comes with a sketch tucked between the pages. It’s rough, the kind of drawing someone might do absentmindedly, but it has this subtle energy to it. It’s a street corner in Brooklyn with buildings stacked close together, fire escapes twisting up their sides like veins.

You’d like Brooklyn. There’s something about it, almost restless but steady at the same time. The city’s always moving, but if you look close enough, there are these little pockets of stillness. I think you’d find it inspiring.

You could almost imagine it. The sounds of the city, how different the air might feel. You’ve never been to the east coast. Your finger traces over the sketch, admiring the little piece of Bucky’s city he offers you.

That night, you feel inspired. You pull out an old journal and try to put words to his drawing. Imagining what Brooklyn must feel like, blending his description with your own ideas. You aren’t sure how cohesive your stream of thoughts are but you don’t take time to edit it. You rip the page out and fold in, slipping it in with your letter.

When Bucky opens the envelope and finds your poem, he reads it twice, then a third time, trying to imagine his own city through your eyes. You make Brooklyn feel less gray and crowded. As he sits by his favorite coffee shop window, he draws another sketch of what’s in front of him, he even includes a sticker the shop sells.

Your letters have become a map of sorts. A shared exploration of places neither of you have been to but can picture so vividly because of each other’s words. You print a picture of your favorite spot back home, a cliff overlooking the ocean where you’d sit for hours.

Writing on the back of the photo: The kind of place that makes you feel small but full of light.

In his reply, Bucky describes a park in his neighborhood where he goes for runs when he needs to clear his head.

There’s this one bench under an old sycamore tree. Sometimes I stop there and just sit for a while, watching people go by. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet. Peaceful.

With every letter, the walls between you seem to shrink. And yet, there’s still so much you don’t know about each other, so many questions left unspoken, fears left unsaid. Would the connection you’d built survive outside the pages of these letters? Or was it something that only made sense in this space you’d created?

You’re sprawled across the couch in your shared apartment, a blanket draped over your legs as Wanda flips through a magazine on the other end. The soft glow of fairy lights makes the room feel cozy, even as the stack of textbooks and your half-drunk coffee mug on the table scream anything but relaxation.

“You’ve been smiling at that piece of paper for ten minutes,” Wanda says, not even looking up.

You glance down at the letter in your hands, catching yourself before you grin again. “No, I haven’t.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “You totally have. That’s a ‘someone special wrote me something adorable’ smile if I’ve ever seen one.”

“It’s not like that,” you mumble, though your cheeks are already heating up.

Wanda scoots closer, pulling the letter out of your hands before you can stop her. She scans it, her face softening as she reads. “‘You’d like Brooklyn. There’s something about it—restless but steady at the same time.’” She looks up, her expression a mix of curiosity and teasing. “Okay, first of all, swoon. Second, who is this guy, and why haven’t you told me everything about him yet?”

You groan, snatching the letter back and holding it to your chest. “He’s just my pen pal. You know, from that website you made me sign up for.”

“I strongly encouraged you,” Wanda says with a smirk. “And clearly, I was right. You like him.”

“It’s not like that,” you repeat, but even you don't seem to believe your words. “We just… get each other. Like, in a way no one else does. It’s hard to explain.”

Wanda grins, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Oh, it’s not hard at all. You’re totally falling for him.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny it. Because maybe, she’s right.

Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his bed, the photograph of the cliffside you sent him in his hands. His thumb traces the edges of the picture absently, his eyes fixed on the jagged rocks and the expanse of sky above them. Sam sprawls in the armchair across the room, one foot lazily rests over the armrest. The faint sounds of the video he’s watching on his phone fills the room.

“Is that the photo your pen pal sent you?” Sam asks, nodding toward it.

Bucky glances up, startled slightly. “Uh, yeah.”

Sam smirks. “You’ve been staring at it for, like, twenty minutes, man. What’s up with that?”

Bucky shrugs, setting it carefully on the nightstand. “She said it’s her favorite spot near where she grew up. Told me she used to sit there when she needed to clear her head. I don’t know—it’s just… personal, you know?”

“Yeah, it sounds like it,” Sam sits up a little. “So, what? You’re into her now?”

“She’s just my pen pal,” Bucky sounds unconvinced by himself.

Sam laughs, leaning back again. “Don’t even try it. I know that look. It’s the same one you had when you started watching that baking show and tried to convince me it was just for the ‘techniques.’”

Bucky shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not like that,” he mutters. “She’s just… easy to talk to. Like, I don’t have to explain everything, you know? She just gets it.”

“Yeah, you sound totally detached,” Sam’s grin widens.

Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a pillow at him. “Shut up, man.”

But as he picks the photo up again, studying the way the sunlight played across the rocks and the faint edge of the ocean in the distance, he knows Sam isn’t entirely wrong.

The next morning, you’re sitting at your desk, chewing on the end of a pen as Wanda brushes her hair in the mirror.

“So, what’s his name?” she asks casually.

“Bucky,” you say before you realize.

Wanda freezes mid-brush. “Bucky? That’s his real name?”

You laugh, leaning back in your chair. “Technically James but he prefers Bucky.”

“Okay, first of all, iconic. Second of all, why aren’t you, like, booking a flight to meet him?”

You look at her shocked. “Because that’s not how this works.”

Wanda frowns, turning to face you. “That’s so stupid. What if he’s your soulmate or something?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

But later, as you reread his latest letter, you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to meet in person.

Meanwhile, Bucky is walking to class with Sam, the book tucked under his arm.

“So what’s her deal?” Sam asks.

“She’s a writer,” Bucky says. “Creative writing and English lit major.”

Sam whistles. “Damn. She sounds deep. You sure you can keep up?”

Bucky smirks. “Shut up. It’s not like that.”

But as he heads into class, flipping open the book to one of your underlined passages, he knows he’s not fooling anyone—not even himself.

I know this pen pal, letter sending thing is supposed to hold some kind of anonymity but sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to meet you. Don’t worry—I’m not suggesting anything crazy. It’s just… you’re such a big part of my life now, and it’s weird to think I wouldn’t even recognize you if I passed you on the street. I’d probably walk right by and never know.

Bucky pauses as he writes his next letter, staring at the words he’s written, debating whether to cross them out. Instead, he adds more

Have you ever thought about it? What would it be like if this wasn’t just on paper?

When you read his words, something inside you shifts. Of course you’ve thought about it too—what his voice sounds like, what kind of expression he wears when he writes to you.

Sometimes, I imagine what it’d be like to meet you too. It feels strange to think about, like breaking some kind of rule we’ve been following for three months. But if I’m honest, yeah, I’ve thought about it. More than once.

You hesitate, chewing on the end of your pen before adding:

What if we start small? Like a phone call? It’s not the same as meeting, but maybe hearing your voice wouldn’t feel so strange. What do you think?

Bucky sits with your letter in his hands, rereading your suggestion. A phone call. He’s thought about hearing your voice before, but seeing it written makes it real in a way he hadn’t expected.

A phone call sounds… terrifying, if I’m honest. But also kind of exciting? I mean, I want to hear what you sound like. I want to know if the way you talk matches the way you write. If you’re sure, let’s do it. Just don’t laugh if I sound awkward—I’m not great at this kind of thing.

You’ve never been good with phone calls. Honestly, you surprised yourself when you offered the suggestion to Bucky along with your phone number. But, knowing that Bucky feels similar, eases some of the nerves.

When the time comes, you sit on your bed with your phone clutched in your hand, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You exchanged numbers in the last letter, but staring at his name in your contacts feels surreal. After a few deep breaths, you hit the call button.

“Hello?” His voice was quiet, a little hesitant.

“Hi,” you respond, smiling even though he can’t see it. “It’s me.”

Bucky let out a small laugh. “Hey. This is… weird, right?”

“Yeah, but in a good way.”

There’s a moment of quiet, the kind that might feel awkward with anyone else, but with Bucky, it’s comfortable. Like the pauses in his letters, deliberate and thoughtful, holding space for meaning.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually call,” Bucky admits. “Not that I thought you wouldn’t. I just… I don’t know. It’s different hearing someone’s voice after reading their words for so long.”

“I know what you mean,” you reply, tucking your legs under you. “It feels like meeting you all over again, in a way.”

He hums in agreement, and you try to picture what he looks like by his voice. “So… what’s new?”

You laugh at the simplicity of the question, but it’s grounding in a way. “Not much. I’m still fighting my way through this writing project for class. I swear, my professor has a personal vendetta against me.”

“Or they just know you’re good at it and want to push you,” Bucky offers, his tone lighter now. “You ever think about that?”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“What’s the project about?”

“Character studies,” you reply, leaning back against the pillows. “Creating these detailed backstories for characters we’ve made up. It’s harder than I thought it’d be.”

“I bet you’re great at it,” the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“Thanks,” you say softly, caught off guard by his compliment.

Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his bed, phone balanced against his ear, a faint smile tugging at his lips as you tell him story of the stay cat you see everyday on your way home from class. “So, what’s the cat’s name?”

“I don’t know. He’s not mine—he just hangs out around my apartment building. But I’ve been calling him Poe.”

“Poe, like the writer?”

“Exactly.”

“Of course,” Bucky chuckles. “I should’ve guessed.”

“What about you? What’s new in your world?”

“Honestly? Not much. Sam tried to make lasagna last night. I’m pretty sure he invented a new species of food poisoning instead.”

You laugh loudly, the sound hitting a spot in his chest unexpectedly. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” he says, grinning. “I think the smoke alarm’s still traumatized.”

The conversation drifts, covering everything and nothing at once. You talk about your classes, your friends, your routines. He tells you more about his favorite places in Brooklyn, the way the city feels alive even when he feels anything but.

And soon, the nerves melt away completely, replaced by the same ease you’ve always feel through his letters.

“You know,” Bucky says after a long pause, “I think I like this. Talking to you.”

Your heart skips at his words, and you’re grateful he can’t see the flush creeping up your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “It’s nice. Like… you’re real now. Not just words on a page.”

You smile, staring up at your bedroom ceiling. “I like it too.”

When your call ends two hours later, you sit for a moment, staring at your phone. The world feels quieter, smaller, like it doesn’t quite matter as much.

And on the other side of the country, Bucky feels the same, staring at your name in his recent calls and wonders how someone so many miles away feels closer than ever.

What started as one phone call quickly became a routine.

Some nights, you call Bucky while sitting at your desk, the sound of his voice filling the quiet as you work on an assignment. He talks about his latest lecture or the annoying guy in his study group, and you share stories about your professor’s dramatic poetry readings or the characters in the story you were writing.

“You have a nice laugh,” he compliments, during a late-night call. “It’s different than I imagined, but in a good way. I like it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’re the first person to ever say that.”

“Well, I mean it. You have a good laugh. It makes everything sound less… heavy, you know?”

You sit back in your chair, glancing at the screen of your laptop, but your focus is entirely on the phone now. “I guess I could use a little less heaviness. Especially with my current assignment. I swear, my professor’s idea of ‘creativity’ is to make us write the most pretentious stuff imaginable.”

“I think every professor thinks they’re shaping the next great mind,” Bucky states. “Mine’s the same. My last one made us analyze a yoga position and turn it into a thesis. Like, what is this, ‘Kinesiology 101: Zen and the Art of Muscle Movement’?”

You giggle at the absurdity of it. “That’s both weird and kind of genius. Imagine doing that for one of my stories. The whole plot could be a yoga class, but with a secret mystery and forbidden love.”

“Now that’s a story I’d read,” Bucky jokes. “But seriously, I get it. It’s like they try to make everything sound deep and philosophical when sometimes… it’s just about getting through the day.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you agree, tapping your pen against the desk. “But hey, at least we’re doing something we enjoy, right? Writing, studying—whatever it is, it keeps us busy.”

“Yeah, but I think what really keeps me going is knowing that there’s more to it. I’m not just learning about muscles or how to help people move. It’s like a way of understanding how everything fits together—how the body moves, how it heals, and maybe even… why it breaks down in the first place.”

“I get that. For me, it’s the stories. I want to figure out why people do what they do, what drives them. Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to find the puzzle pieces and just waiting to put them together.”

“And when you do?” Bucky wonders, tone softer now.

“When I do…” You trail off, unsure of how to explain the feeling. “I think that’s when everything clicks. Like, the world makes sense, even if just for a moment.”

“I think that’s the best part of what we’re doing,” he adds thoughtfully. “Trying to understand how we all fit together in this world. You know, why we’re here.”

Another comfortable pause stretches between you.

“You know, sometimes I wish I could just leave all the work behind and go somewhere. Take a break from everything, just for a little while. Do something completely different.”

“Yeah, I get that. I think I’d like to go somewhere quiet. Maybe a cabin in the woods, or… a secluded beach. Somewhere I could just… breathe.”

“That sounds perfect,” he agrees. “No expectations. Just… space. Maybe one day we’ll both get to do it.”

You smile at the thought, imagining the peace that comes with leaving everything behind, even if just for a few days. “Maybe one day.”

Even without the ability to see one another, to meet face-to-face, you’ve found a space where you belong, right here with Bucky, in this quiet corner of the world you’ve created together.

The phone calls haven’t replaced the letters; if anything, they made them more special. You still send small items tucked into the envelopes, like pressed flowers you found on a walk or the postcard from a local bookshop with a note scribbled on the back: ‘This place feels like it belongs to you.’

Bucky sends things, too—a tiny seashell he’d found on a rare trip to the beach with Sam, one of his favorite protein bars (“I’m convinced these are the only reason I survive exams”), or a handwritten note on the back of a kinesiology diagram he thought you’d find funny.

I’m glad we started talking on the phone. It’s weird, but I don’t think I realized how much I needed it.

The next time Bucky’s name appears on your phone, you find yourself talking for hours, the way you always do. Bucky tells you about a new project he’s working on for class and you share the struggles of keeping up with your creative writing assignments. You laugh together about how you’ve both procrastinated on something important, even though you know you’re going to pull through in the end.

“You know,” Bucky says, his voice a little softer now, “I never really realized how much I needed to hear from someone like you. It’s just… easy, you know? Talking to you.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I feel the same. I didn’t know I could talk to someone this much without feeling like I’m overdoing it.”

There’s a silence for a moment, and then Bucky’s voice comes through, more vulnerable. “Do you ever think about what it’d be like if we could meet in person? Like… I don’t know, maybe take a trip or something?”

Your heart skips a beat. You hadn’t expected the question, but it feels like it’s been lingering there for a while. “Yeah,” you reply slowly. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about what it’d be like to actually meet you. Maybe we could go to that bookshop you told me about, or that café you go to all the time.”

“I think that would be nice,” Bucky agrees, mentally curating a day for you both like it might happen.

You sit on the floor of your room, your textbook open in front of you, but your mind is far away. Wanda, sprawled across your bed, scrolls through her phone.

“So, you’ve been talking to Bucky on the phone a lot lately, huh?” Wanda says casually, glancing down at you.

You look up from your book, the words of your professor blurring in your mind. “Yeah, a lot. Why?”

She raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Because it sounds like you two are practically a thing now. You’re sharing things that nobody else knows, stuff you haven’t even told me, and that’s… kinda big.”

You feel your cheeks warm, but you try to act nonchalant. “It’s just easier, you know? With him, it’s different.”

Wanda leans forward, setting her phone down, her expression turning serious. “So, when are you actually going to see him? I mean, for real, not just through letters and phone calls. You’re both in different states, and I get that it’s complicated, but... aren’t you curious? Don’t you think it’s time to see the real thing?”

There’s a knot in your stomach at the thought of meeting Bucky in person. “I don’t know. It feels so risky. We’ve got this thing, this connection, and I don’t want to mess it up by... meeting and finding out it’s not the same.”

Wanda sits up, her voice soft but insistent. “I get that, but listen to me, this thing you have, it’s real. I can hear it when you talk about him. You don’t have to know everything, but maybe it’s time to take that step. Meet him, see if what you feel is the same in person. If it’s worth it, you’ll know. And if not, you can go back to what you have now. But you won’t know until you try.”

You look down at your hands, the words swirling in your mind. “I don’t know if I can just... show up there, though. What if it’s too much?”

Wanda leans forward, giving you a meaningful look. “You’ll never know unless you do it. And what’s the worst that could happen? You go to Brooklyn, meet up with him, and find out if what you have is more than just letters. If it’s real. You deserve that, okay?”

You bite your lip, thoughts racing. Deep down, you know she’s right. But still, the idea of taking that leap is terrifying.

Bucky leans back against his chair as he closes the kinesiology textbook on the kitchen table. Sam is working on his own assignment, typing away across the table, though his eyes are trained on his friend, the expression on his face full of mischief.

“So, have you talked to her lately?” Sam asks, not looking up from the laptop.

Bucky shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, we’ve been texting. Calls, too. Same as always.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You sure? ‘Cause every time you pick up that phone, you get this dopey grin on your face. Like, way too much of a dopey grin.”

Bucky shoots him a look, but it’s hard to keep the smile off his face. “Shut up, man. It’s just easier to talk to her than anyone else. She’s cool. It’s... nice.”

Sam stops typing and leans forward, his tone shifting. “Look, Bucky, we’ve been best friends for years, and I can tell there’s something more there. You’ve never talked about anyone like you talk about her. You’ve been sending stuff, taking time to connect with her, and now you’re talking on the phone like you’ve known each other forever. What’s holding you back from making it real?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with the idea. “I don’t know. It feels too soon. I’ve only known her for like five months, and I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want to be that guy who shows up, and then everything falls apart. What if it’s different in person?”

Sam leans back, crossing his arms. “What if it’s better in person? You’re both out there, being real with each other. But you’re still holding back. Maybe meeting her, seeing her face to face, will show you something you didn’t even realize you needed.”

Sam smirks. “Bucky, she’s probably thinking the same thing. You’ve built something real, and now it’s time to see if it stands up in person. If you really care about her, you should at least give it a shot.”

Bucky looks down at the table, conflicted. “I don’t know, Sam. It’s a lot to ask of her. I don’t want to make things too complicated.”

Sam’s words weigh on him, and he can feel the pull, the desire to take that next step, to finally know what it would be like to stand face to face with you.

“You’re right,” Bucky mutters after a pause, his resolve slowly hardening. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it happen.”

Sam grins. “That’s what I like to hear, man. Just don’t wait too long, alright?”

The fall air outside is crisp. You’re favorite time of the year. You sit on your porch swing, finishing up your morning coffee. You’ve been buried in finals for the past few days, and it feels like the weight of them is starting to catch up. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, but you ignore it for the moment, reaching instead for the stack of mail that you checked this morning.

You sift through the usual bills and flyers until something catches your eye—a familiar handwriting. Your heart does a little flip when you recognize Bucky’s name on the envelope. The anticipation surges as you rip it open, the paper inside feeling heavier than usual.

A ticket slips out. A plane ticket to be exact.

You freeze for a moment, not quite able to wrap your mind around what you’re holding. You unfold his letter quickly.

Y/N, I’m not sure how to even begin this, so I’ll just say it plainly: I’m sending you a plane ticket. I know this is sudden, and I completely understand if you think this is too much or too soon. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, and if it’s not something you’re comfortable with, I won’t be offended in the slightest. It’s a refundable ticket, so no pressure, I promise. But if you’re open to it... I’d love for you to come visit me in Brooklyn. I remember you telling me your Fall break is coming up, and I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I want to show you everything here—the parks, the food spots, the places that always make me feel like I’m home. I’ve even made a little map of things I thought you’d enjoy. It’s not the grandest of plans, but I think it could be a good start. I’m giving you the time to decide, but if you do decide you want to take this leap... I’ll be waiting for you at the arrival gate, next Saturday. I’ll make sure I’m there early, just in case. And if not, I completely understand. You’ve been amazing, and I wouldn’t want to ruin what we’ve got, whatever it is. I hope to see you soon —Bucky

You blink, the words blurring together for a moment. The excitement is a bit overwhelming. He’s giving you space, no pressure, just an invitation. The ticket, the map—he’s really thought all of this through. And the idea of being in Brooklyn, of standing face-to-face with the person who’s been your constant for months now, feels... possible.

You glance down at the ticket again, your fingers trembling slightly as you trace the flight details. You take a deep breath, setting the ticket down beside you and run your fingers over the map he made, the carefully marked spots where he hopes to take you. You smile at his gesture. It’s simple, thoughtful... real.

You think of Wanda’s voice, urging you to take the leap.

Are you ready for this?

Thank you so much reading <3 Please let me know what you think and reblogs always help!!

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