"The system malfunctioned. Or maybe it was never set to stop. I don't know. But the recording kept going." Steve's voice was steady, but you could hear the strain beneath it. "It captured everything."
Everything.
The word echoed in your head, but your brain couldn't process it. Couldn't make sense of what he was saying.
Bucky's voice was low. Controlled. "Define everything."
Steve met his gaze. "The evaluation. The conversation. The…” He stopped. Looked away. "All of it."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
You couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
All of it.
The truth game. The confessions. The moment you'd finally admitted un-verbally that you loved him. The kiss. The way his hands had felt on your skin. The way you’d…
“Where where the cameras?” You ask slowly and carefully.
Steve swallowed.
“The office and the hallway,” You could see the disappointment on his face, “The bedroom capture just audio.”
Oh God.
"No," you said. The word came out strangled. "No, that's not…”
"I'm sorry," Steve said, and the pain in his voice was unmistakable. "I reviewed it because I always review Buck's evaluations. I didn't know what was on it until I'd already started watching. By the time I realized what I was seeing, I—" He stopped. Shook his head. "I tried to pull it from the system immediately. But it had already been uploaded."
Bucky still hadn't moved. Hadn't blinked. But you could see the tension radiating off him in waves.
"Uploaded where?" His voice was deadly quiet.
Steve's jaw tightened. "The intelligence review database. It's automatic. Every evaluation gets flagged for analysis."
"Who has access to that database?"
Steve didn't answer.
"Steve." Bucky's voice cracked like a whip. "Who has access?"
"CIA," Steve said finally. "NSA. Homeland Security. Anyone with Level 7 clearance or higher."
The room spun.
"How many people?" you asked. Your voice was shaking now. "How many people have seen it?"
Steve looked at you, and the answer was written all over his face.
"I don't know."
Your knees buckled. You grabbed the edge of the table to steady yourself, but it didn't help. Nothing helped.
They'd seen it.
Strangers. Intelligence officers. People you'd never met.
They'd seen you.
They'd seen him.
They'd seen the most private, most intimate moment of your entire life.
"Jesus Christ," Bucky said. His voice was hoarse. Broken.
Steve took a step forward. "Buck—"
"Don't." Bucky held up a hand, and Steve stopped. “Just, don't."
"I tried to stop it," Steve said. "As soon as I realized what was on the recording, I tried to have it pulled. But the system had already processed it. It was already in the database. I couldn't—"
“—You watched it." Bucky's voice was flat. Emotionless.
Steve flinched. "I didn't know what it was. I thought it was a standard evaluation. By the time I realized—"
“—You watched it."
"Yes."
The word hung in the air like a death sentence.
Bucky turned away. His hands were shaking. You could see them trembling at his sides, his fingers curling and uncurling like he didn't know what to do with them.
"How much?" Bucky asked. His voice was barely audible.
"Buck—"
"How much did you see?"
Steve's silence was answer enough.
Bucky made a sound, low, guttural, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He pressed his palms against the table, his head bowed, his shoulders heaving.
You couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Your mind was racing, trying to piece together what this meant. Trying to understand the scope of it.
Steve had seen you. Had seen the way you'd looked at Bucky. The way you'd touched him. The way you’d…fuck.
Your stomach lurched.
"I'm going to be sick," you whispered.
Steve moved toward you, but you held up a hand, stopping him.
"Don't," you said. Your voice was shaking so hard you could barely get the words out.
"I know that doesn't mean anything right now, but I'm sorry. If I could have stopped it, I would have.” Steve.
"But you didn't," Bucky said. His voice was cold. Hollow. "You didn't stop it. And now,” He stopped. Shook his head. "Now everyone knows."
"Not everyone," Steve said quickly. "The recording is classified. It's restricted to intelligence personnel with the right clearance. It's not—"
"It's not what?" Bucky turned to face him, and the look in his eyes was devastating. "It's not public? It's not on the internet? That's supposed to make this better?"
Steve didn't answer.
"They saw us," Bucky said. His voice cracked. "They saw—.“ He couldn't finish the sentence.
You felt tears burning at the corners of your eyes, but you couldn't let them fall. Not here. Not now.
"How many?" you asked again. Your voice was steadier this time. Colder. "How many people have accessed the file?"
Steve hesitated. "I don't have an exact number."
"Guess."
"At least three dozen. Maybe more."
Three dozen.
Three dozen people had watched you fall apart. Had watched you confess things you'd never told anyone.
You pressed a hand to your mouth, fighting the urge to scream.
"Can you delete it?" Bucky asked.
"I'm trying," Steve said. "But it's complicated. The file is part of an active intelligence review. If I delete it without authorization, it'll raise red flags. I'm working with Fury to see if we can have it reclassified or sealed, but—"
"But it's already out there," you said.
Steve nodded.
The room was silent.
You looked at Bucky. He was staring at the floor, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might shatter. His hands were still shaking.
He looked like he was breaking.
Your knees buckled.
Bucky moved before you could fall. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him, steadying you. His other hand came up to cup the back of your head, holding you close.
"I've got you," he murmured. His voice was rough. Broken. But his grip was solid. "I've got you."
You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. But his hands were warm and real and the only thing keeping you from completely shattering.
"I thought we were alone," you whispered against his chest.
"We were supposed to be,” Bucky said quietly.
"But we weren't." The words tasted like ash. "We were never alone."
Bucky's arms tightened around you. For a long moment, he just held you, his chin resting on top of your head, his breathing uneven.
Then he pulled back slightly. His hands moved to your shoulders, steadying you as he looked into your eyes.
"Hey," he said softly. His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "Look at me."
You did.
"We're going to figure this out," he said. His voice was steady now. Controlled. "Okay?"
You nodded, even though you didn't believe it.
Bucky's gaze moved toward the door. Something shifted in his expression—something dark and dangerous.
Then he looked back at you. "Baby," he said quietly. "I need you to wait outside for a minute."
You blinked. "What?"
"I need to talk to Steve." His hands squeezed your shoulders gently. "Alone."
"Bucky—"
“—Please." His voice was soft but firm. "Just for a few minutes. I'll come find you. I promise."
You wanted to argue. Wanted to stay. But the look in his eyes told you he needed this.
So you nodded.
Bucky's hand slid down your arm, his fingers tangling briefly with yours before letting go.
You walked to the door on unsteady legs. Paused with your hand on the handle and looked back.
Bucky was watching you, his jaw tight, his eyes dark.
Then you stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind you.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Bucky stood there, his back to the door, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
He counted to ten.
Then he turned and walked back down the hallway to Steve's office.
He didn't knock.
Steve looked up from his desk as the door slammed open. "Buck—"
"Get up."
Steve stood slowly. "Listen, I know you need time—"
"I said get up." Bucky's voice was low. Dangerous.
Steve came around the desk, his hands raised slightly. "I'm sorry. I know that doesn't—"
"You watched it." Bucky took a step forward. "You sat there and you watched me fuck her."
Steve flinched. "Buck—"
"Don't." Bucky's voice cracked. "Don't you dare try to soften this. You watched us. You saw everything."
"I tried to stop it as soon as I realized—"
"How long?" Bucky demanded. "How long did it take you to realize what you were watching?"
Steve's jaw worked. "A few minutes."
"A few minutes." Bucky laughed, but there was no humor in it. "So you saw enough. You saw me kiss her. You saw me touch her. You saw—" He stopped. His hands were shaking. "You saw everything."
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry." Bucky shook his head. "You're sorry. That's supposed to fix this?"
"No," Steve said quietly. "Nothing fixes this."
"You're goddamn right nothing fixes this." Bucky took another step forward. "Do you have any idea what you've done? What this means?"
"I know—"
"You don't know." Bucky's voice rose. "You have no idea what it took for me to let someone in like that. To trust someone enough to—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "And now you've seen it. The CIA's seen it. God knows who else has seen it."
"I'm trying to get it sealed—"
"It's too late!" Bucky shouted. "It's already out there. You can't unsee it. They can't unsee it. And now every time I look at you, I'm going to know that you watched me—that you saw her—"
He couldn't finish.
Steve's face was pale. "I never wanted this."
"But it happened anyway." Bucky's voice dropped again. Became something cold and hollow. "You're my best friend. The one person I thought I could trust with anything. And now I can't even look at you without wanting to put my fist through a wall."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to tell me why." Bucky's voice was shaking now. "Why the hell didn't you tell me the cameras were still recording?"
"It's standard protocol—"
"I don't give a shit about protocol!" Bucky slammed his hand against the desk. "You knew I was going into those evaluations. You knew what they were for. And you never once thought to mention that everything I said, everything I did, was being recorded?"
"I assumed you knew—"
"You assumed." Bucky's laugh was bitter. "You assumed I knew. You assumed she knew. But neither of us did. And now—" He stopped. Pressed his palms against his eyes. "Now everyone knows."
"I'm sorry," Steve said again.
"Stop saying that!" Bucky's voice cracked. "Stop apologizing like that makes any of this better. You saw us. You saw me with her. You saw—" He couldn't say it. Couldn't put into words what Steve had witnessed.
The most intimate moment of his life.
The first time he'd let himself be vulnerable with someone in decades.
The first time he'd felt safe enough to let go.
And Steve had watched it all.
"She didn't deserve this," Bucky said finally. His voice was barely audible. "Whatever you think of me, whatever mistakes I've made—she didn't deserve to have her privacy violated like this."
"I know," Steve said quietly. "And I'm sorry. For both of you."
Bucky didn't respond.
Steve took a breath. "For what it's worth—what I saw—" He stopped. Started again. "You looked happy. Both of you. I've never seen you look like that."
Bucky's hands clenched. "Don't."
"I'm just saying—"
"I don't want to hear it." Bucky turned to face him, and the look in his eyes was devastating. "I don't want your observations. I don't want your analysis. I don't want to know what you thought when you watched us. I don't want anything from you right now except a promise that you're going to do everything in your power to make sure that recording disappears."
Steve nodded. "You have my word."
"Your word." Bucky's laugh was bitter. "Yeah. Okay."
He walked to the door.
"Buck—" Steve started.
"Don't follow me," Bucky said without turning around. "Don't try to fix this. Don't try to make it better. Just—leave me alone."
"How long?"
Bucky stopped. His hand was on the door handle. "What?"
"How long do you need?"
Bucky was silent for a long moment.
"I don't know," he said finally. "I don't know if there's enough time in the world to make me forget that my best friend watched me fall in love."
Then he opened the door and walked out, leaving Steve standing alone in the empty office.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
And Steve was left with the weight of what he'd done settling over him like a shroud.
You were waiting in the hallway when Bucky emerged. You'd been pacing, your arms wrapped around yourself, your mind racing.
When you saw him, you stopped.
His face was flushed. His jaw was tight. His hands were still clenched into fists.
But when he saw you, something in his expression softened.
He walked to you without a word and pulled you into his arms.
You buried your face against his chest and finally let yourself cry.
"I've got you," he murmured again. "I've got you."
And for now, that was enough.
But it wasn't.
You pulled back after a moment, wiping at your face with shaking hands. "I can't—" Your voice broke. "I can't stay here."
Bucky's jaw tightened. "Neither can I."
"Everyone knows." The words came out strangled. "Everyone in this building knows what we did. And they saw us.”
"Hey." His hands came up to frame your face, forcing you to look at him. "We're leaving. Right now."
You nodded, unable to speak.
Bucky's hand found yours, his grip firm and grounding. "Come on."
He led you down the hallway, moving quickly but not running. You kept your eyes down, focusing on the floor, on his hand in yours, on anything except the faces you passed.
Someone said something as you walked by—you didn't catch the words, but you heard the tone. Sympathetic. Pitying.
Bucky's grip tightened.
You made it to the elevator. The doors opened immediately, mercifully empty. Bucky pulled you inside and jabbed the button for the parking garage.
The doors closed.
The silence was deafening.
You leaned back against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady. Bucky stood beside you, his shoulder pressed against yours, his hand still holding yours like a lifeline.
"Where are we going?" you asked quietly.
"My place." His voice was rough. "It's closer. And no one from SHIELD knows where it is."
The elevator descended. You watched the numbers tick down, each floor feeling like an eternity.
When the doors finally opened onto the parking garage, Bucky stepped out first, scanning the space like he was expecting an ambush.
It was empty.
He led you to a black motorcycle parked in the corner (of course he had a motorcycle) and pulled a helmet from the storage compartment.
"Here." He handed it to you.
You took it with numb fingers. "What about you?"
"I'll be fine." He swung his leg over the bike and looked back at you. "Get on."
You did.
Your arms wrapped around his waist, and he started the engine. The roar of it filled the garage, echoing off concrete walls.
Then you were moving.
Bucky drove fast—not recklessly, but with so much skill it was illegally handsome. The city blurred around you as he navigated through traffic, taking turns you didn't recognize, doubling back twice to make sure no one was following.
You pressed your face against his back and closed your eyes.
His apartment was in Brooklyn. A brownstone in a quiet, but overpriced, neighborhood.
Bucky parked the bike on the street and helped you off. Your legs were shaking again. He steadied you with a hand on your elbow, then led you up three flights of stairs to a door at the end of the hall.
He unlocked it and stepped inside first, flipping on lights.
The apartment was small. Sparse. A couch, a coffee table, a kitchen barely big enough for one person. But it was clean and quiet and blessedly empty.
Bucky closed the door behind you and locked it. Then he engaged two additional deadbolts and a chain.
You stood in the middle of the living room, your arms wrapped around yourself, not sure what to do.
Bucky turned to face you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then he crossed the space between you and pulled you into his arms again.
This time, you didn't cry. You just stood there, holding onto him, feeling the solid warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
You pulled back to look at him. "For what?"
"For all of it." His jaw was tight. "For not knowing about the cameras. For not protecting you from it.”
"Stop." You pressed your hand against his chest. "This isn't your fault."
"It feels like it is."
"It's not." Your voice was firmer now. "Neither of us knew. We couldn't have known."
Bucky's hand came up to cover yours. "Doesn't change what happened."
The silence stretched between you.
"What do we do now?" you asked finally.
Bucky exhaled slowly. "I don't know."
You moved away from him, needing space to think. You walked to the window and looked out at the street below. Normal people doing normal things. Walking dogs.
"Steve said the recording is classified," you said quietly. "That it won't go public."
"That doesn't mean it's gone." Bucky's voice was hard. "It's still out there. People have still seen it."
"I know."
"The CIA has it." He said it like a curse. "God knows who else."
You turned to face him. "What do you want to do?"
Bucky's hands curled into fists. "I want to burn every copy of that recording. I want to find everyone who's seen it and make them forget. I want,” He stopped. Shook his head. "I want to go back to yesterday when it was just us."
"Me too."
He looked at you then, really looked at you, and something in his expression cracked. "I'm so sorry you got dragged into this."
"I'm not." The words surprised you both. "I'm not sorry for what happened between us. I'm sorry it was recorded. I'm sorry other people saw it. But I'm not sorry it happened."
Bucky crossed the room in three strides and kissed you.
His lips were so goddamn soft. It was different from the kisses in the safe-house. Those had been exploratory and tentative This was desperate. Claiming. A reminder that what you had was real, even if it had been violated.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
"We'll figure this out," he said quietly.
"How?"
"I don't know yet." His hands came up to cup your face. "But we will."
You wanted to believe him.
You weren't sure you did.
But for now, in this small apartment in Brooklyn, with the door locked and the world held at bay, it was enough to try.
“Hey,” he says softly. You look into his eyes and see something you never really thought you ever would, “I love you.”
You'd been sitting on Bucky's couch for maybe twenty minutes when the knock came.
Three sharp raps against the door. Deliberate. Confident.
You and Bucky both froze.
His hand was still resting on your knee from where he'd been sitting beside you, and you felt his entire body go rigid. His eyes snapped to the door, then back to you.
"You expecting someone?" you whispered.
"No." His voice was flat. Too controlled. "No one knows I live here."
Another knock. Louder this time.
Bucky stood slowly, his movements careful and measured. You watched as he crossed to the door, his hand hovering near the knife block on the kitchen counter as he passed it.
He didn't look through the peephole. Instead, he positioned himself to the side of the door.
There was a pause.
Then: "It's Stark. Open up, Barnes. We need to talk."
Your stomach dropped.
Bucky's jaw tightened. He glanced back at you, and you saw the same dread in his eyes that you felt coiling in your chest.
He unlocked the door.
Tony Stark stood in the hallway wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than your annual salary, sunglasses perched on his head despite the fact that it was nearly evening. He looked tired. More than tired—he looked like he hadn't slept.
His eyes flicked past Bucky immediately, landing on you sitting on the couch.
He didn't look surprised.
"Ah," Tony said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "There you are. Saved me a trip."
Bucky closed the door behind him, his hand still on the knob. "How did you find me?"
"Please." Tony pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket. "I'm a genius billionaire with access to satellite imaging and facial recognition software that makes the NSA look like they're working with Etch A Sketches. You drove here on a motorcycle. In broad daylight." He paused. "Also, I put a tracker in your jacket two years ago. You're welcome."
"Stark—"
"Relax, I'm kidding about the tracker." Tony's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Mostly."
You stood up from the couch, your arms wrapping around yourself. "What are you doing here?"
Tony looked at you then, really looked at you, and something in his expression shifted. The trademark Stark bravado flickered, just for a second, and you saw something underneath it.
Sympathy.
Pity.
Your chest tightened.
"I'm here because—" Tony stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "Look, is there any chance either of you have something stronger than water in this place? Because I could really use a drink right now, and I have a feeling you're going to want one too."
Bucky didn't move. "Just say it."
"Bucky—"
"Say it."
Tony exhaled slowly. He looked between the two of you, and for once, he didn't have a quip ready. No sarcastic deflection. No pop culture reference to soften the blow.
He just looked tired.
"There's been fallout," Tony said finally. "From the recording."
Your knees went weak. You sat back down on the couch before they could give out entirely.
Bucky stayed standing, his body coiled tight. "What kind of fallout?"
Tony moved further into the apartment, his hands sliding into his pockets. He looked around—at the sparse furniture, the bare walls, the single window overlooking the street—and you could see him cataloging everything. Processing.
"The CIA accessed the recording before Steve could pull it," Tony said. "You already know that part. What you don't know is that it didn't stop there."
"Who else saw it?" Bucky's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Does it matter?" Tony turned to face him. "Too many people. People with clearance. People with opinions. People with—" He stopped himself. "People who think they have a say in how this gets handled."
You felt like you were going to be sick.
"Handled," you repeated. The word tasted bitter. "How is this being *handled*, Tony?"
He looked at you, and you saw him hesitate. Actually hesitate. Tony Stark, who never hesitated, who always had an answer, who could talk his way out of anything.
He was stalling.
"Tony." Bucky's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "What did they do?"
Tony pulled his hands from his pockets. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Settled on clasping them in front of him like he was about to deliver a eulogy.
"She's been fired," he said quietly, nodding toward you. "Effective immediately. And you're on temporary suspension pending a formal review."
The words hit like a physical blow.
You couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't process what he'd just said because it didn't make sense, it couldn't make sense, this couldn't be happening—
"What?" Bucky's voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry." Tony's expression was genuine. Pained. "I tried to stop it. I really did. But this came from way above my head. CIA brass, SHIELD oversight, people whose names I'm not even cleared to know—they all saw the recording, and they all agreed that there needed to be consequences."
"Consequences." You heard yourself say the word, but it sounded distant. Like someone else was speaking. "Consequences for what?"
"For the ethics violation." Tony looked at you. "You were his assigned profiler. There are rules about—"
"I know what the rules are." Your voice was shaking. "But we didn't—it wasn't—"
"I know." Tony held up a hand. "I know. And for what it's worth, I don't think you did anything wrong. Neither does Steve. Neither does anyone with half a brain and a shred of human decency."
"But?" Bucky's hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
"But the people making the decisions don't care about context." Tony's voice hardened. "They care about optics. They care about liability. They care about the fact that a SHIELD behavioral profiler and her subject were caught on camera in a—" He stopped. Cleared his throat. "In a compromising position. And they decided that someone needed to take the fall for it."
"So they fired her." Bucky's voice was flat. Dead.
"Yes."
"And I'm suspended."
"Temporarily. Pending review." Tony looked at Bucky. "Which, let's be honest, is bureaucratic speak for 'we'll let you back eventually but we need to make it look like we're taking this seriously.'"
You couldn't feel your hands. Couldn't feel anything except the crushing weight of what he'd just said.
Fired.
Your career. Your entire career. Everything you'd worked for. Gone.
Because you'd fallen in love with someone you were supposed to be helping.
Because you'd been honest.
Because you'd been human.
"This is bullshit." Bucky's voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. "She didn't do anything wrong."
"I agree." Tony's tone was careful. "But it doesn't change what happened."
"She was doing her job." Bucky took a step toward Tony. "She was helping me. She was the only person who—" His voice cracked. "She was the only person who saw me as something other than a weapon or a victim, and now she's being punished for it?"
"I know." Tony didn't back down. "I know, and I'm sorry. But the decision's been made."
"Then unmake it."
"I can't."
"You're Tony Stark." Bucky's voice was rising. "You can do whatever you want."
"Not this." Tony's expression was grim. "This came from people I can't touch. People who don't answer to me. People who saw that recording and decided that the best way to handle the PR nightmare was to make an example out of her."
"An example." You heard yourself laugh. It sounded hollow. Broken. "I'm an example."
Tony turned to you, and the sympathy in his eyes was almost worse than the news itself. "I'm sorry. I really am. If there was anything I could do—"
"But there isn't." You stood up, your legs somehow holding you even though you felt like you were falling apart. "So why are you here? To deliver the news in person? To make sure we understood the consequences of—" Your voice broke. "Of what? Caring about each other?"
"No." Tony's voice was firm. "I'm here because you deserved to hear it from someone who actually gives a damn about what happened to you. Not from some faceless bureaucrat who's never met either of you and doesn't care that you were set up to fail."
"Set up to fail?" Bucky's voice was sharp.
"You were recorded without your knowledge or consent." Tony looked between the two of you. "In a room that you had every reason to believe was private. During a moment that should have been private. And now you're both paying the price for something that never should have been seen by anyone." He paused. "That's not justice. That's a violation. And the fact that they're punishing you for it instead of the system that allowed it to happen?" He shook his head. "It's wrong."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
You sank back down onto the couch, your hands shaking.
Fired.
The word kept echoing in your head.
Fired.
Everything you'd worked for. Your entire career. Your reputation. Your future.
Gone.
Because you'd fallen in love.
Bucky moved to sit beside you, his hand finding yours. His grip was tight. Grounding.
"What happens now?" he asked quietly.
Tony exhaled slowly. "Now? You lay low. You don't talk to anyone from SHIELD or the CIA. You don't make statements. You don't try to fight this." He looked at Bucky. "Your suspension is temporary. You'll be reinstated once the review is complete. It's a formality."
"And her?"
Tony's expression darkened. "Her termination is permanent."
You felt Bucky's hand tighten around yours.
"There has to be something we can do," Bucky said.
"There isn't." Tony's voice was gentle but firm. "Not right now. Maybe down the line, once this blows over, there might be options. But right now?" He shook his head. "Right now, the best thing you can do is stay out of sight and let the dust settle."
"That's it?" Bucky's voice was incredulous. "That's your advice? Hide and hope it goes away?"
"No." Tony met his gaze. "My advice is to survive this. Both of you. Because the people who made this decision? They're hoping you'll fight back. They're hoping you'll make noise and give them an excuse to make this even worse." He paused. "Don't give them the satisfaction."
You couldn't speak. Couldn't process. Couldn't do anything except sit there and feel the weight of everything crashing down around you.
Tony moved toward the door, then stopped. Turned back.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm sorry this happened to you. Both of you. You didn't deserve this."
Then he left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And you and Bucky sat in the silence, the reality of what had just happened settling over you like a shroud.
You'd lost everything.
And there was nothing either of you could do about it.
The door clicked shut behind Tony.
Neither of you moved.
The silence was suffocating. Heavy. Like the air itself had turned solid and was pressing down on your chest, making it impossible to breathe.
You stood there, staring at the closed door, your mind still trying to process what had just happened.
Fired.
The word kept echoing in your head.
Fired.
Everything you'd worked for. Everything you'd sacrificed. Everything you'd built.
Gone.
You felt something crack inside you.
"I told you," you said quietly.
Bucky turned to look at you. "What?"
"I told you." Your voice was shaking. "Back at the safe-house. I told you this could happen.” He didn't say anything. "I told you I was terrified of this." You turned to face him, and you could feel the anger rising in your chest like a wave. "I told you exactly what I was afraid of, and you—"
"I know."
"Do you?" Your voice was getting louder. "Do you actually know? Because I just lost everything, Bucky. Everything I worked for. Everything I worked for.” Your voice cracked. "I spent years building my career. Years earning the trust to work with people like you. Years proving I was good enough to be in that room."
Bucky's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
"I told you," you continued, and now the words were spilling out faster, sharper. "I told you I was scared. I told you that if we crossed that line, if we got together,” You stopped. Swallowed. "I told you I could lose everything."
"I remember."
"Then why didn't you—" You stopped yourself. Shook your head. "No. That's not fair. We both—" You pressed your hands to your face. "God, I don't even know what I'm saying."
"You're angry," Bucky said quietly.
An absurd laugh left your lips.
"Of course I'm angry!" You dropped your hands. "I just got fired, Bucky. Fired. For doing my job. For helping you,” Your voice broke. "For falling in love with you."
He flinched.
You saw it. The way his entire body reacted to those words like they were a physical blow.
“I don’t regret what happened, and I don’t regret falling for you, but I don't think you understand what I just lost."
"I do."
"No." You shook your head. "You're suspended. Temporarily. You'll be back in a few weeks, maybe a month. But me?" Your voice cracked again. "I'm done. Permanently. My entire career is over because I…” You stopped.
"Because of me," Bucky said quietly.
You froze.
"What?"
"Because of me." His voice was flat. Emotionless. "You lost your career because of me."
"That's not—"
“—It is." He looked at you, and his eyes were dark. Hollow. "You were doing your job. You were helping me. And I,” He stopped. "I pushed. I asked you to play that game. I asked you those questions. I—"
“—Stop."
"I made you cross that line."
"Bucky, stop."
"You told me you were scared," he continued, and his voice was getting quieter. "You told me what you were afraid of, and I didn't listen. I didn't care. I just,” He shook his head. "I wanted you so badly that I didn't think about what it would cost you."
"That's not true."
"It is." He looked at you. "And now you're paying for it."
You stared at him.
He wasn't defending himself.
He wasn't reminding you that you'd made the choice together.
He wasn't pointing out that you'd kissed him first, that you'd told him you wanted this, that you'd said you didn't regret it.
He was just standing there.
Taking the blame.
Accepting it like it was his to carry.
"Bucky—"
"I'm sorry." His voice was rough. "I'm so sorry. If I could go back and—"
"And what?" Your anger was fading now, replaced by something else. Something that felt like grief. "Go back and not fall in love with me?"
He didn't answer.
"Is that what you want?" you asked quietly. "To go back and pretend we never—"
"No." The word came out sharp. Definitive. "No, I don't want that."
"Then what do you want?"
He paced the floor and then turned sharply to face you.
"I want you to not have lost everything because of me." His hands were shaking. "I want you to still have your career. Your future. Everything you worked for. I want,” He stopped. "I want you to not be standing here hating me.”
Your heart broke at his words.
"I don't hate you."
“Well, you should."
"Well, I don't." You took a step toward him. "I'm angry. I'm devastated. I’m," Your voice broke. "I'm terrified of what happens next. But I don't hate you."
He looked at you like he didn't believe you.
"Bucky." You moved closer. "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at,” You gestured vaguely. "At all of it. At the system. At the people who made this decision. At the fact that we were recorded without knowing. At,” You stopped and took in a deep breath. "I'm angry that the worst thing I imagined actually happened."
"Because of me."
"No." You shook your head. "Because of a system that punishes people for being human. Because of people who saw something private and decided to make it public. Because we fell in love in a world that doesn't allow for that."
Bucky's jaw tightened.
"I told you I was scared," you said quietly. "And I was. I was terrified. But I also told you—I didn't regret it."
"You said that before you got fired."
"I'm saying it now too.” He stared at you. "But I don't regret you.” His eyes were shining, "I'm angry," you continued. "I'm so angry I can barely breathe. But I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at everything else.” Bucky didn't move., ”Say something," you whispered.
"I don't know what to say." His voice was rough. "I don't know how to fix this."
"You can't."
"I know." He looked at you. "But I want to. I want to make this right."
"There is no making this right." You felt tears burning in your eyes. "It's done. I'm fired. You're suspended. The recording is out there. We can't undo any of it."
"Then what do we do?” You didn't have an answer. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then Bucky moved.
He crossed the space between you and pulled you into his arms.
You didn't resist.
You let him hold you, let yourself collapse against his chest, let the tears finally come.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm so sorry.” His arms tightened around you.
You stood there in the middle of his apartment, holding each other, both of you broken in different ways but neither of you willing to let go.
"I don't regret it," you said again, your voice muffled against his chest, “But I'm allowed to be angry. And scared.” You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were red. His jaw was tight. He looked like he was barely holding himself together, ”We'll figure this out," he said quietly.
"You keep saying that."
"Because I have to believe it's true." His hand came up to cup your face. "I have to believe there's a way through this."
"What if there isn't?"
"Then we'll make one."
You wanted to believe him.
You wanted to believe that love was enough.
That somehow, despite everything, you'd find a way forward.
But right now, standing in his apartment with your career in ruins and his future uncertain, you didn't know if belief was enough.
"I'm tired," you whispered.
"I know."
"I don't want to think about this anymore."
"Then don't." He pulled you back against his chest. "Just—stay here. With me. We'll figure out the rest later."
You nodded against him.
Later.
You'd deal with everything later.
Right now, you just needed to breathe.
Bucky sat on the couch, his back against the armrest, one leg stretched along the cushions. You lay against him, your head on his chest, your body curled into his side. Neither of you had moved in what felt like hours.
The argument had burned itself out. There was nothing left to say.
You'd screamed at him—not because you blamed him, but because you needed somewhere to put the grief. He'd let you. He hadn't defended himself, hadn't tried to explain away what had happened. He just stood there and took it, because he knew you were right to be angry. You'd warned him. You'd told him exactly what would happen if you crossed that line.
And you'd crossed it anyway.
Now your career was gone. His was hanging by a thread. And the most private moments of your lives had been watched by people who had no right to see them.
Bucky stared at the ceiling. His hand rested on your back, fingers spread across your shoulder blade. He could feel you breathing—slow and steady, but not relaxed. You weren't asleep. Neither of you were.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Your fingers curled against his shirt. "I know."
"I mean it."
"I know you do." Your voice was hoarse from crying, from yelling. "It doesn't change anything."
He swallowed. "No. It doesn't."
Silence settled over you both again. Heavy. Suffocating.
But you didn't pull away.
That was the thing he couldn't reconcile. You'd lost everything because of him—because of what you'd done together—and you were still here. Still pressed against him like he was the only solid thing left in your world.
Maybe he was.
Maybe you both were, for each other.
Your hand moved slightly, fingers tracing the edge of his ribs through the fabric of his shirt. It wasn't absent-minded. It was deliberate. Slow.
Bucky's breath caught.
You shifted against him, your thigh pressing more firmly against his hip. Your head tilted, and he felt the warmth of your breath against his collarbone.
"Hey," he murmured.
You didn't answer. Just kept moving. Small adjustments that brought your body closer to his. Your hand slid lower, resting on his stomach now. Your fingers splayed wide, and he felt the heat of your palm through his shirt.
His heart was pounding. He didn't know if you could hear it.
"You don't have to—" he started.
"I know." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I want to."
He closed his eyes. His hand moved from your back to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "We just…”
"I know what we just did." You lifted your head, and when he opened his eyes, you were looking at him. Your face was still blotchy from crying. Your eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted. But there was something else there too. Something raw and certain. "I know what we lost. I know what this cost us. But I don't want to be anywhere else." Your voice cracked. "Because the only place I feel like I can breathe right now is right here. With you."
Bucky's throat tightened. He cupped your face with his right hand, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "I don't deserve that."
You leaned into his touch.
You kissed him then. Soft and slow, like you were trying to memorize the shape of his mouth. He kissed you back, his hand sliding to the nape of your neck, holding you close.
When you pulled away, you didn't go far. Your forehead rested against his, and your hand moved lower, fingers brushing the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Is this okay?" you whispered.
He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay."
You shifted, sitting up slightly so you could straddle his hips. Your knees pressed into the couch on either side of him, and you settled your weight onto his thighs. Your hands rested on his chest, and you looked down at him with an expression he couldn't quite name.
Grief. Exhaustion. Love.
All of it at once.
Bucky's hands found your waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. "You sure about this?"
"Are you?"
"I asked you first."
A ghost of a smile crossed your face. It didn't last. "I'm sure."
He nodded. "Okay."
You leaned down and kissed him again, deeper this time. Your hips rolled forward, a slow, deliberate movement that made his breath hitch. He could feel the heat of you through the thin fabric of your leggings, and his body responded instinctively.
He felt it too. He knew because you made a soft sound against his mouth and did it again.
"Jesus," he muttered.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. Your hands moved to the hem of your shirt, and you pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. No bra. You hadn't bothered putting one back on after you'd gotten home.
Bucky's hands slid up your sides, palms skimming over your ribs, your breasts. You arched into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.
"Come here," he said quietly.
You did. You leaned down, and he kissed you again, slower this time. His hands moved to your hips, guiding you as you rocked against him. The friction was maddening, even through your clothes.
You broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Bucky—"
"I know." He shifted beneath you, reaching down to push his sweatpants and boxers down just enough. He didn't bother taking them off completely. There was no rush. No urgency. Just the two of you, moving together in the dim light of the apartment.
You lifted yourself slightly, and he helped you slide your leggings and underwear down your thighs. You kicked them off, and then you were back, settling onto his lap again.
For a moment, you both just looked at each other.
"I love you," you said. Your voice was steady. Certain.
"I love you too."
You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around him. He groaned, head falling back against the couch. You stroked him slowly, and he felt like he was going to lose his mind.
"Please," he muttered.
You positioned yourself over him, and then you sank down, slow and careful. He felt every inch of you, the tight heat of your body enveloping him. You gasped, hands bracing on his shoulders.
"Okay?" he asked, voice strained.
You nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."
You started to move. Slow, rolling motions that had him gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. He didn't mean to. He just needed something to hold onto.
You didn't seem to mind.
Your head fell forward, forehead resting against his. Your breaths mingled, hot and uneven. You moved like you had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else you needed to be.
Bucky's hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. You were so warm.
"God," you whispered. "Bucky—"
"I know.."
You kissed him, messy and desperate. Your movements became less controlled, more instinctive. He met you halfway, hips lifting to match your rhythm.
It wasn't frantic. It wasn't wild. It was something quieter. Something that felt like grief and comfort and love all tangled together.
You broke the kiss, burying your face against his neck. He felt your breath, hot and ragged, against his skin. Felt the way your body trembled as you moved.
You wanted to tell him you were close but the words dissolved into a moan.
You did. He felt it in the way your body tightened around him, in the way your fingers dug into his shoulders. You made a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp, and he held you through it, one hand cradling the back of your head.
He followed a moment later, his own release crashing over him in waves. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
For a long time, neither of you moved.
You stayed where you were, still connected to him, your body draped over his. His arms were wrapped around you, and he could feel your heartbeat against his chest.
"We're going to be okay," you whispered eventually.
Bucky didn't know if that was true. He didn't know what came next. Didn't know if you'd ever get your lives back.
But he knew this: you were here. You were choosing him. And that had to be enough.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "We will."
You lifted your head, and when you looked at him, your eyes were wet again. But you were smiling. Just a little.
"I don't regret it," you said. "Any of it."
He kissed your forehead. "Me neither."
You stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, until the light outside started to fade. And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, Bucky felt like maybe, just maybe, you’d find a way through this.
Together.
The air three hundred feet below ground tasted of recycled oxygen and old concrete. No windows. No natural light. Only the pale blue glow of a dozen monitors arranged in a crescent, each one flickering with frozen frames.
The largest screen showed them: Bucky and Y/N, bodies curved together in the half-dark of his apartment, her face pressed against his chest, his hand cradled at the nape of her neck. The image was grainy but intimate. Too intimate.
The hum of servers filled the silence—a low, mechanical breathing that never stopped.
A figure sat motionless before the monitors. Shadows pooled in the hollows of the room, obscuring everything but the faint outline of shoulders, the suggestion of a uniform. Watching. Always watching.
Eight tentacles.
A gloved hand moved into the light.
Leather creaked as fingers hovered over the controls, then pressed down with deliberate care. The image froze. The timestamp stopped. The screen went dark, reflecting nothing but the room's own emptiness.
people who capitalize off bucky’s fictional death rumors are not normal/ people who fake cancer are not normal
I agree.
Why would someone lie about something so serious like that?
What do they get out of it?
Literally nothing.
Stop projecting, because that’s something you would do, which says more about you than me.
I’ve debated whether I would even respond to these messages at all, because at the end of the day I always knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
Even if I sent you a photo of my family or of my bruised legs it wouldn’t make a difference to you because you’re the type of pathetic lifeless fool that is only here to troll. Deep down you know i’m not lying. But you’d still attack me, because your goal is something else isn’t it? We both know it is. Your goal was to get this exact response from me.
But i’m about to uno reverse your ass.
Does it bother you that bad, when you told me to kill myself and you were shocked I told you i’m already dying, that you felt so bad you’re trying to claim it’s a lie?
Maybe don’t cyber bully strangers.
I ignored your relentless attacks for weeks. Doesn’t matter what I told you or not. It wouldn’t make a difference.
Someone who lives a truth you refuse to believe doesn’t have to prove anything to you.
But I will answer it at least this once so the people outside of here have to understand the shit I had to deal with, and for people to see the reason I left the Sebastian Stan fandom and won’t ever be going back and why everyone should leave, too. Or at least support silently offline.
It’s the most toxic place on Tumblr and Twitter. It’s horrible. Disgusting. Filthy. Untrustworthy. Not one safe space. Fake. And lately crawling with way too many 15 year olds who don’t know their ass from their head. So bad even their faces continue to wish death on someone who’s already dying just because they don’t agree on one thing that is meaningless.
I don’t even know why you’re still here. Why are you so obsessed with me?
Giving you what you want: To answer your fucking question, no i’m not lying. There. You got your reaction. I won’t be here for your follow up.
Go to a Seb blog, god damnit. I’m hardly even active anymore because it’s a waste of time of the rest of my life. I won’t be spending anymore time on that hell on earth. You try to be kind there but you don’t ever get it in return. It’s not a mature place.
The Sebastian Stan fandom SUCKS.
That being said, there’s literally no reason for you to be here other than harass me. We both know that. I’m not stupid and neither are you, or at least I hope you’re not. I’m actually giving you too much credit here sincerely hoping that you don’t believe your own words.
At the end of the day you’re a pussy who can’t even get off anon, because you know you’d get destroyed by everyone for saying something so disgusting.
Bet you’re the same person who wished death on Annabelle’s little innocent baby. I hope she hates you. We both know she does. She’s a million times more human than you would ever be.
Leave me alone. I won’t be answering this remark ever again. Hope you rot in hell and enjoy your time in that fandom until your 60’s, alone and lonely and still sending bullying anon asks at your grown ass age. Meanwhile everyone else would have gotten married and settled down and found a career and moved on from Tumblr. You’ll be doom scrolling and realizing how much time you wasted. That’s what I learned on my death bed.
Not your kind, though, not your kind. You have no ambition in life. No goals. No dreams. Don’t even bother responding to this because I won’t be responding back, troll.
Remember all this when i’m gone. Hell, i’d be surprised if you even got this far. Your kind doesn’t like to read. Also, leave my friends alone.
Why are all the asks hating on Bucky smut what is this lol
I don’t think they’re hating on it, I think they’re just expressing their feelings on the kind of content they want to see more of. But that just happens to be the kind of asks i’m getting. If I were getting asks saying the opposite I would post them, but I just haven’t. You can share you own opinions too!
Maybe it’s just me but I think the reason the younger fics are more sex centric is because when you’re 19 you’re just so much more horny. That’s why I prefer fics where YN is over 21. There’s still sex, but it means more. 95% of bucky fics right now on tumblr are porn without plot and it sucks. If I want porn i’ll go on pornhub.
It was a Bucky/OC/Steve love triangle soulmate fic. 😞 Dear authors, if you want to remove your name from a fandom that you moved on from, just orphan the work. Don’t delete it. Please. I’ve never been the same since.
Saw someone say they think the person in the foreground of this shot is Steve and if it is it makes the poses and expressions on Sam + Bucky's faces so much funnier.
Again, all she has is mob fics and congressman Barnes. WTF. // burn the witch is neither of those. Nor is untouchable, although I haven’t read the latter
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
stormborns
kianamaiart
prguitarman
snowghoul
2087
gummygunk
vaporwave
