living in multiverse

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[multiverse-aesthetic]

･ﾟ: ✧･ 𝓐 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ

Stephen strange X reader

Summary: A quiet cabin by the sea, far from everything Stephen Strange usually carries on his shoulders. For once, there are no emergencies, no spells, no world-ending weight—just him and you, learning how to exist in a peaceful moment by the ocean.

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

The morning started too quiet.

Not suspiciously quiet ,just different.

You noticed it the moment you woke up.

No rustling papers. No faint glow of sling ring sparks from the living room. No distant muttering of incantations from Stephen Strange trying to “adjust something minor” that usually ended up bending reality a little too far.

Instead?

Sunlight, Soft, Warm and Peaceful.

You frowned, sitting up slowly. “Okay… that’s unsettling.” You say stretching your arms

From the doorway came a voice, casual—too casual.

“Good morning to you too.”

You turned your head—and blinked.

Once. Twice.

“…Who are you,” you said flatly, “and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

Stephen leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was what he was wearing.

No Cloak of Levitation.

No layered sorcerer robes.

No dramatic, universe-saving aesthetic.

Just… a dark t-shirt. Sleeves slightly rolled. Jeans. Messy hair like he hadn’t tried to tame it.

You narrowed your eyes.

“…You look illegal.”

He scoffed. “It’s called casual. Normal people wear it.”

“You’re not normal people.”

“Debatable.” He said rolling his eyes

You swung your legs off the bed, walking toward him slowly, inspecting him like a detective.

“Ok what are you sherlock Holmes? trying to detect me” he chuckled looking down at you

A beat.

Then your voice dropped slightly lighter. “I’m not used to seeing you like this… it feels unfair.”

“I regret this already,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to it.

“No you don’t.”

“…No, I don’t.”

He straightened, pushing himself off the doorframe, his expression settling into something more purposeful.

“Get dressed.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why?”

“We’re going out.”

That made you pause.

“…Out?” you repeated slowly, like the word itself didn’t quite belong to him.

“Yes.”

“You don’t do out.” You folded your arms, one brow lifting. “You do portals. And apocalyptic threats. And occasionally tea.”

“I’m expanding my range.”

You squinted at him. “Are we saving the world?”

“No.”

“Stopping a mystical artifact from destroying reality?”

“No.” he sighs, “Grocery shopping?”

He just gave you a look ,dry, unimpressed.

“Just get dressed.” He sighed leaving the room

Twenty minutes later, you stepped outside, wearing a long white dress soft and fluffy for that hot weather, your hair in soft long waves with natural makeup just a bit of blush and lip balm

But what made you stop right in tracks was this,

A car, Waiting.

You slowly turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a suspicious line.

“…Stephen.”

“Yes?” he replied calmly, like nothing about this was unusual.

“Are you kidnapping me?”

He let out a slow breath, already tired of you “Get in.” he says softly opening the passenger seat for you

You paused for a second, looking between him and the car, then back at him with a small, suspicious squint that didn’t fully hide your amusement.

Still, you got in anyway, because it was him.

As the car started moving, you glanced sideways at him, hand tight on the wheel as he started to drive letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“you okay?” you asked softly your hand gently resting on his shoulder , A small pause.

Then, “Yes.”

You tilted your head. “That sounded like a lie.”

That got a faint smile out of him, but it faded quickly.

“…I haven’t done this in a long time,” he admitted.

“we don’t have to we can just teleport there-“

He cuts you off gently “I want to do this …normally”

You nodded your hand finding his. His fingers tensed instinctively at first, then slowly relaxed as you laced yours through his

“ok ... just know if you want to stop at point you can” you say softly smiling slightly at him and he gazed at you for a moment nodding before focusing on the road.

You rested your head behind and looked outside the window your hands still tangling together in your lap .

You didn’t know how long you’d been driving.

At some point, you’d leaned your head against his shoulder, half-listening to the quiet rhythm of the road and the occasional low conversation between you, small things, easy things.

Until the car slowed, he opened the door for you before you stepped out, and then you saw it.

The ocean.

Endless, shimmering under the sun, and right there, a small cabin, the cabin was exactly how you’d once described it ,late at night, months ago, when you couldn’t sleep. You’d talked about it like a dream you didn’t expect to touch.

Wooden. Simple. Right on the edge of the beach.

the air hitting you softly with a noise of seagulls flying with smell of the ocean made you super relaxed smiling softly to yourself

“You like it?” he asked you standing next to you his hands in his pockets looking at the beach in front of him ,

You turned to him, eyes wide. “You—”

“I remembered,” he said quietly.

That was it.

That was all it took.

You throw your arms around his neck as you laughed,half disbelief, half pure happiness, pressing kisses all over his face without hesitation. “You actually remembered—Stephen, this is—this is my dream house!”

He let out a soft laugh, arms wrapping around you, steadying you like he always did. “I’m aware.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him “this is- thank you” she didn’t know what to say but this chuckling slightly

He shook his head pulling in resting his chin your shoulder “this is the least I can do” he said softly rubbing your back gently.

__________________________________

The cabinet was exactly how you wanted it, the bedroom was amazing, a big balcony windows of the side of the bed with soft white curtains, she threw herself on the bed “this is so good” she groans tiredly in the bed closing her eyes.

And that how it was for the start of the day taking a quick nap before going to the beach, when you both were walking barefoot on the wet sand water slightly splashes to your ankles by the waves enjoying the soft sun and the smell of the sea before returning to the cabinet sitting on the porch watching the sun set.

He glances at you pulling you in to his side, you resting your head on his shoulder “you happy?” he whispered his hand resting on your arm, you nodded “very” you whispered back

“But ... why now? Why did you plan this out of sudden?”

That made him slow down slightly.

“I realized something,” he said, “I spend so much time protecting reality… I forget to live in it.”

Your expression softened.

“And you…” he continued, quieter now, “you’ve been there through all of it. Even when things weren’t… easy.”

“So, i just thought… maybe it’s time I give you something back.” He whispered kissing your temple

“You already do ... you protect the reality we’re living in that’s enough” she says half admiration, half joking, which made him laugh slightly

_________

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sound of water running and the faint rustle of groceries being unpacked onto the wooden counter.

You had changed into something simple for the evening—an oversized white shirt that belonged to Stephen, the fabric loose enough to fall off one shoulder if you weren’t careful.

Your hair was tied back messily, a few strands escaping as you moved between ingredients.

Stephen stood nearby without saying much at first.

He had changed too, just a dark t-shirt and relaxed trousers.

He leaned lightly against the counter, watching you with a quiet, steady presence rather , You didn’t look at him immediately ,You were focused on what you were doing.

A simple dinner.

Pasta with garlic, olive oil.

A small salad on the side with lemon dressing. Bread warming in the oven, its smell slowly filling the cabin, just something warm and grounding.

The knife moved steadily under your hand as you chopped the salad, the sound soft against the wooden board.

Stephen finally spoke, voice low and even ,“Smells good.”

You gave a small nod without turning

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t heavy. Just… present.

After a moment, you reached for a pan on the stove, and Stephen moved without hesitation, stepping closer to help without needing to be asked.

He didn’t take over, he just stood beside you, passing ingredients when you needed them, occasionally adjusting something when your hands were full.

Eventually, as you were plating up everything and he moved behind you.

No words.

Just the quiet press of him at your back, arms sliding gently around your waist. His chest settled against your shoulders as he leaned down, resting his head lightly against you.

It wasn’t rushed, It was simply… him coming closer because he could.

You paused for a second, then continued as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

One of his hands stayed loosely around your middle while the other rested near your wrist, steadying you more out of habit than necessity.

His voice came softly near your ear.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m fine,” you said softly.

But he didn’t move away.

Instead, his hold just tightened slightly—not possessive, just present, like he was anchoring himself there, you leaned back into him without thinking.

When you finished plating up, you carried it to the small table near the window, Stephen set down the bread, and you both sat opposite each other.

Outside, the ocean was darker now, the last traces of sunset fading into deep blue.

You ate in comfortable silence for a while, Stephen’s gaze stayed on you more than his plate at first, but not in a way that demanded attention, more like he was simply making sure you were really there, really okay, really present in this quiet moment he had built for you.

At one point, you looked up and caught him watching.

“What?” you asked softly.

He shook his head slightly. “Nothing.”

You didn’t push it.

Instead, you went back to eating.

After a few moments, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I like this.”

You glanced up. “This?”

He nodded slightly, eyes flicking briefly toward the window, then back to you. “You. Here. Like this.”

Something warm settled in your chest.

You didn’t make it big. You didn’t turn it into something heavy.

You just nodded. “I like it too.”

That seemed to be enough.

Later, the dishes were left in the sink without urgency. Nothing in the cabin felt like it needed to be rushed.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the moonlight slipping through the balcony.

Stephen stood near the bed for a moment, looking around like he was taking in the stillness rather than the space itself. Then his attention returned to you.

You were standing just a few feet away brushing your hair until, he stepped closer first soft steps as he reached for the hair brush putting aside and his hand around your wrists pulling you gently a few feet’s closer to him.

His hand lifted, brushing lightly against your cheek, then resting there, his thump gently stroking your cheek before speaking gently,

“I love you” he murmured , you smiled gently before whispering back “I love you too” , his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer before his lips rested on yours soft with no rush , your hands came up ,one resting against his chest, the other lightly curling into the back of his hair as you kissed him back.

When you finally broke apart, his hand stayed at your waist, he gently guided you back toward the bed.

The backs of your legs hit the edge first.

And then everything shifted.

Carefully, he followed you down with him, never letting go completely, his weight settling beside you in a way that kept you close rather than trapped, one of his hands stayed at your waist, steady and warm, while the other supported him against the mattress as he looked down at you.

The moonlight filtered through the window behind him, outlining him in soft silver.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Just breathing. Just looking at each other.

His thumb brushed lightly at your side, slow and absent in that way that meant he wasn’t thinking about anything except you.

You reached up, touching his cheek again, and he leaned into it instinctively before, his lips found yours again, slower this time, like neither of you wanted it to end—getting lost in the softness of the moment, in each other, until there was nothing left but the quiet between you.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

✿ 𝓞𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷: 𝔂𝓸𝓾 ✿

BBC sherlock Holmes – sherlock Holmes X reader

Genre: soft, friends-to-lovers, New Year’s Eve

Summary: New Year’s Eve at 221B baker street is meant to be quiet, no chaos, no cases just friends and slow realization that some observations matter more than deductions. sherlock notices everything about you tonight, the problem is he finally understands why.

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

The evening starts the way most important things with sherlock do, quietly and entirely by accident,

221B is warm in that specific winter, snow falls softly outside, the windows are fogged from the cold outside, fairy lights Mrs. Hudson insisted on hanging glow softly along the fire place and above the couch

You’re sitting on the sofa, legs tucked beneath you, nursing a mug that’s gone lukewarm. you don’t mind; it gives you something to do with your hands.

You wearing comfy clothes a white sweater with blue jeans and your hair is up in a clip , Sherlock notices that immediately.

He tells himself he’s only cataloguing, habit, instinct, nothing more but the truth slips in anyway… you’re different tonight

Not dramatically so, no costume, no performance, just... softer , softer than your suits and blazer’s you wear at work , softer than when you run with him to find a suspect or chasing behind a clue.

Your eyes are warm, observant as always, maddeningly kind as he describes them — keep drifting to him when you think he’s not looking .

He is always looking.

“ stop staring,” john says mildly from his spot near the table , where he’s pretending not to listen while setting down a bottle of champagne .

“I’m not” sherlock replies without missing a beat.

“you are,” you say , finally meeting his gaze , your lips twitch , not quite a smile ,

“ you do that thing with your face” you say imitating the look he made , making sherlock frowns

“What thing, my face does many things” he says coldly pretending not caring as he looked down at his lap but can’t hide the smile of amusement ,

“The one where you forget people can feel it.”

A beat.

“…That’s not a thing.”

You smile then, slow and fond, and something in his chest tightens in a way he refuses to analyze.

___________________________________

The flat fills gradually.

Mrs. Hudson appears with mince pies and a threatening look that suggests she will force everyone to be festive if necessary. Lestrade drops by briefly, coat still on, wishing everyone a happy New Year before being dragged into a hug by Mrs. Hudson. Molly shows up with a carefully wrapped tin of homemade sweets she pretends she didn’t stress over.

It’s… nice.

Sherlock doesn’t say that out loud. But he sits closer than usual, knee brushing yours when he pretends it’s accidental.

He listens, he watches.

He notices your laugh when John looks around the room and says, dry and almost thoughtful,

“Strange night, really. Everyone outside acting like something big is about to happen, and we’re just… standing here.”

You smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

John shrugs. “Didn’t say it was.”

Sherlock scoffs. “Yes, well, London panics once a year on schedule. Very efficient.”

John raises an eyebrow. “And yet you’re still here.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replies. “Someone has to observe the madness.”

You laugh at that, soft and easy, and without thinking you lean slightly toward him. Your arm brushes his.

Sherlock pauses.

You don’t move away.

Observation: You do that a lot. Stand closer to him than necessary. Like it’s normal. Like it’s where you belong.

He breathes in.

You smell warm—vanilla, maybe. Familiar. Comforting in a way he doesn’t like to question.

You look up at him, eyes kind. “What?”

He tilts his head. “Nothing. You’re… loud.”

You blink. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly,” he says dryly.

You frown, clearly confused. “Loud? Me? I didn’t even say anything!”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, folding his arms. “Precisely. You radiate noise. It’s… audible in the subtle vibrations of the room. Very distracting.”

You blink at him. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, impossibly casual. “It’s a talent. You laugh, breathe, exist… and suddenly everyone’s aware of it. I call it ambient volume.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Ambient volume? Really, Sherlock? Are you always this dramatic?”

“Dramatic is a subjective term,” he says, deadpan, “I prefer… accurate.”

John snorts from the sofa. “I think she likes that one.”

Sherlock glances at you, expression unreadable. “Do not encourage him. He’s dangerously cheerful.”

You grin at him. “So, I’m loud… and dangerous?”

He tilts his head. “Yes. And yet… somehow, tolerable.”

You laugh again, leaning just a little closer. Sherlock notices, of course. He files that away too.

_____________________________

 Time moved quickly , that always happens when you sit with people you love , it was only minutes away from midnight , you made a move to the window looking outside o the snowy streets waiting for the fireworks , your hair catches the soft glow of the fairy lights, how your eyes sparkle in the reflection of the window, the gentle curve of your smile.

He tilts his head, noticing the faint scent again—vanilla, comfort, you—and something in his chest tightens. He’s aware of how close you are, how natural it feels, and the thought almost startles him.

“Do you ever think about time?” you ask quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Sherlock frowns slightly, caught off guard by the shift from teasing. “Time?”

“Yes,” you say, leaning a little on the windowsill. “How it just… moves forward whether we’re ready or not.”

He considers this. His mind doesn’t go to deductions or statistics—it goes to you. To the way you sit there, small and soft in the glow of the lights. “Yes,” he admits. “Constantly.”

You hum, like you expected that. “I thought so.” , sherlock’s gaze linger , not in the way he usually does like he’s calculating something , but his gaze softens his eyes is not sharp .

“You look… different tonight,” he blurts, startling even himself.

You blink. “Different… good or dangerous Sherlock-level different?”

“Different good,” he says immediately, dry and matter-of-fact, though his voice carries a warmth he doesn’t admit to.

Your cheeks warm, and he watches it, eyes sharp but careful.

Behind you, John clears his throat, “Two minutes.”

Sherlock’s chest tightens. Internal note: This is inconvenient

The countdown begins.

“Ten,”

Sherlock watches you, shoulder brushing his again. He notices the slight tilt of your head, the way your fingers curl around the edge of the windowsill. He leans just a little closer, as if the space between you could absorb the noise of the city outside.

“Nine,”

Sherlock clears his throat. “You look… incredible tonight,” he murmurs quietly, more to himself than to you. Your eyes flick to his, surprised, but he doesn’t break the gaze

“Eight.”

You smile softly, just the faintest curve of your lips, and he stores it away like a private treasure.

“Seven.”

“Six.”

“Five.”

He breathes, slowly, counting silently in his head to match the voices around them. “your presence is… comforting. Not just for me. For everyone, really. But especially me.”

“Four.”

Sherlock tilts his head, studying the soft glow of your eyes reflected in the window. “…I would like to share more of every year with you.”

“Three.”

You inch closer, drawn by the calm certainty in his voice. He notices without words.

“Two.”

He steps fully into your space, close enough that your foreheads almost touch. “You… matter to me,” he says, low and earnest. “And I want… all the years to come to include you.”

“One.”

The flat fills with cheers and fireworks. The city roars outside.

Sherlock doesn’t move away. He leans planting a soft kiss on her cheeks, breathing your warmth in. “Happy New Year,” he whispers, soft, careful.

You don’t move. You just let him, because you understand that this is him saying more than words ever could, and for once he allows himself to feel something without analyzing it.

Behind you, John clears his throat, grinning faintly. Lestrade leans against the doorframe, pretending not to care. Mrs. Hudson wipes her hands on a towel, eyes misty. Molly watches from the sofa, smiling quietly. Sherlock notices them, one eyebrow twitching. “Oh, marvelous,” he mutters, dry as ever. “The entire audience has arrived for the dramatic moment. Shall we take a bow?”

You laugh quietly, and he lets himself smile too, just a little.

He tilts his head, voice low and sarcastic as ever, “Yes, yes, be impressed. I see your awe, and it is… overwhelming.” He says looking down at the ground shifting his foot from one to another , For a moment, everything else—the cheering, the city, even the expectations—fades away.

Sherlock looks back up his gaze lingers on you, calm and certain, and for once, he doesn’t need to deduce or explain. He just stays, quietly holding the space between you, letting the moment stretch as long as it wants.

And in that quiet, he thinks, maybe this is exactly how every year should begin.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

☼ 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂ℯ𝓇 𝒮𝓅ℯ𝓁𝓁𝓈 ☼

(Doctor Strange x Reader)

pairing: Stephen Strange x fem!reader

genre: fluff, domestic, slice-of-life, soft romance

summary: The Avengers throw a summer BBQ and somehow convince Stephen to attend. In sunglasses, shorts, and actual flip-flops, he shocks everyone. You’re his partner, and the only one who’s ever seen the soft side of the Sorcerer Supreme. As the compound becomes a haven of laughter and summer games, you can’t help but stare at him like he’s the only one in the world.

___________________________________

It was a perfect summer day.

The sky was an endless sheet of blue, dotted with cotton ball clouds, and the sun was just the right kind of warm—not the burn-your-skin-off kind, but the lazy, golden kind that made grass smell better and ice cream taste sweeter.

The Avengers Compound was unrecognizable. Banners hung from the balcony railings. Tables were set up in a neat row, half shaded under giant umbrellas. Tony Stark had insisted on grilling himself, which everyone silently agreed was a terrible idea but no one had the energy to stop him. There were folding chairs, bean bags, a game of cornhole set up on the far side, a volleyball net, speakers playing music.

And then…

Then there was Stephen Strange. Wearing sunglasses.

Flip-flops.

A navy short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned halfway

and grey pants , you were standing next tony helping him with the bbq , wearing a soft white dress sprinkled with delicate blue flowers, the puffed sleeves framing your shoulders like ,the bodice hugged your waist with a corset-like lace-up front,

You swore the universe shifted when he walked out of the compound’s sliding doors.

The Cloak of Levitation, somehow still managing to float beside him like a paranoid chaperone, kept adjusting his collar before giving up and settling over a deck chair.

You tried not to laugh. You failed , you started to walk to him and so he did and meet halfway

“Something funny?” he asked with a raised brow, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you into him like it was second nature. 

You looped your arms around his neck and grinned. “Just… you. In flip-flops.”

He leaned in and murmured, “Careful. I could teleport all the sunscreen off everyone as punishment.”

“Rude.” She chuckles hitting his chest playfully making him laugh.

Natasha and Clint were sitting on the edge of the deck, drinking from matching tumblers and watching over the chaos like tired parents. Clint had sunglasses perched in his hair , Natasha was shockingly relaxed, even smiling a little as she stole fries off his plate.

Sam , Steve and Bucky were the ones who set up the tables and the chairs , Wanda and Vision were just chilling together on the grass talking and laughing .

Thor was with peter probably lecturing him about Asgard or mighty things a he calls it

And tony he’s taking the grill job “hey!” he called out as he fanned thee grill "I need someone to tell me if these burgers are overcooked or if your taste just sucks!” he shouted

You were sitting leaning into stephen's side , you sigh kissing his cheek before getting up to go to tony for help , and as you stand there , Stephen’s eyes didn’t leave you , the way you laughed when tony insisted on feeding you a burned burger , the sound of your laugh was alone music to his ears and he couldn’t help but to smile .

“he’s so smitten by you” tony told you and obviously you knew how was talking about Stephen , you turned smiling at him and waving and he just shook his head laughing , and that felt like home.

Stephen had a way of taking up space without realizing it—tall, powerful, magical, intimidating. But here, among friends, under the sun, with his hair a little messed up from the breeze and your head resting against his thigh, he looked human. And yours.

“I don’t know why you all wanted me here,” he murmured as he joined you next to tony “I’m not exactly... barbecue material.”

From across the field, Sam shouted, “HEY STRANGE, YOU WANNA PLAY VOLLEYBALL OR JUST LOOK PRETTY?”

Without missing a beat, Stephen called back: “I always look pretty.” That earned a hearty laugh from them all even him , that deep laugh that comes deep from the chest , genuine laugh.

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

The sun dipped low.

Tony handed out sparklers.

Steve manned the fire pit while Peter tried (and failed) to roast marshmallows without setting them on fire.

You sat beside Stephen, a blanket draped over both of your shoulders. Your head on his shoulder. His hand in yours. The firelight flickering across his features, soft and golden.

The fire pit crackled softly in the middle of the lawn, casting golden flickers across everyone’s faces. Most of the food had been eaten, the music had faded into the background, and people were leaning into chairs, arms slung lazily over the backs of seats, bodies tired but buzzing with the calm joy of a summer night spent with people you love.

You and Stephen were sharing a wide lounge chair, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. He had his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, his arm loosely around you while his fingers toyed with the edge of your sleeve. His sunglasses were long gone — tucked into your hair at one point — and his short sleeves revealed the soft freckles on his forearms that no one expected the Sorcerer Supreme to have.

Peter was curled up on a beanbag next to Wanda, red-faced and giggling from one too many marshmallows.

Tony had finally collapsed into a chair, nursing a drink and occasionally throwing popcorn at Sam teasingly.

Then came the suggestion.

“Let’s play Truth or Dare,” Nat said, her eyes glittering

“One full round. Truth or Dare. Everyone plays. No skipping. No magic to get out of it.”

“Define ‘magic,’” Stephen muttered.

“No spells. No portals. No time-looping out of dares,” Clint said.

“I’m looking at you, Doctor Wizard,” Tony added with a squint.

Stephen sighed, leaned his head back against the chair, and mumbled to you: “If this turns into another glitter incident, we’re leaving.”

You just grinned and whispered, “You love this.”

“…tolerating it for you”

And it started , Tony asking Wanda , “Truth or dare, Scarlet Witch?”

Wanda, half-curled near the fire with glowing fingers, shrugged: “Dare.”

Tony grinned. “Make Sam dance using your powers. Full-on boogie.”

“Oh no—” Sam started, but she was already lifting her hand.

Within seconds, Sam was doing the most ungodly combination of the cha-cha, robot, and moonwalk anyone had ever seen.

“I hate you all,” he called, spinning against his will.

Stephen clapped. “Better than anything I’ve seen at Kamar-Taj.”

Now Wanda to Bucky and she decided to keep it gentle

“Your turn, Snowflake.”

Bucky groaned. “...Truth.”

“Do you actually like Steve’s cooking?”

Steve looked up from roasting a marshmallow. “Don’t you dare—”

Bucky: “...No. Not even a little.” He laughed

“BUCKY.” Steve faked hurt , obviously it’s a joke cause Steven barely cooks.

Bucky to Steven , “Alright, Truth or dare?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Dare.”

“Switch shirts with Thor.”

Everyone: “YES.” They all clapped

Thor was already unbuttoning his linen tunic. “It shall be my honor, Captain!”

Five minutes later, Steve was swimming in golden fabric, and Thor was flexing in a now-skin-tight vintage Captain America tee.

Peter screamed laughing and about to fall from laughter “THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.”

Peter to Clint , “Okay, okay, um—Hawkeye! Truth or dare?”

Clint yawned. “Truth.”

Peter grinned. “What’s your most embarrassing mission moment?”

Clint blinked. “Fell out of a tree trying to stealth-land. Landed in a chicken coop. Was pecked aggressively.” He said coolly like it didn’t bother him

Sam howled “You never told us about the chickens!”

Clint deadpanned: “Yeah try explaining feather bruises to SHIELD.”

Thor to Stephen , “Ah! Sorcerer. Truth or dare?” Stephen didn’t flinch. “Truth.” Thor’s eyes lit up.  Thor sat up straighter, clearly thrilled. “Very well then—” he boomed, dramatic as always,

“—have you ever dreamt of proposing to Y/N beneath the stars, with a floating ring of fire and the moon blessing your union from above?” describing with dramatic hands gesture

Dead.

Silence.

Actual silence.

You blinked.

Stephen didn’t flinch. “...That’s oddly specific.”

Thor nodded proudly. “I read it in something called ‘Tumblr tags.’ It seemed appropriately romantic.”

Tony immediately dropped his cup. “WHO GAVE THOR A FANFIC ACCOUNT?”

Sam: “He just described the most intense fantasy wedding I’ve ever heard.”

Peter, who was half-asleep, suddenly sat up: “WAIT—ARE YOU ENGAGED?!”

Stephen calmly sipped his drink, completely unfazed. “No. But I am flattered he thinks I’d be that theatrical.”

You turned to look at him, trying not to smile like a total idiot. “So you haven’t imagined proposing like that?”

He raised a brow, eyes glinting. “I didn’t say that.”

Wanda covered her mouth with both hands. “I am losing my mind.”

Clint : “Someone go check if the moon is in position.”

Thor, proud of himself, added, “I also imagined the Cloak serving as the ring bearer.”

“STOP TALKING,” Stephen muttered through his teeth, cheeks a little pink now.

You giggled into his shoulder, whispering, “I’d say yes, for the record.”

He leaned in closer, barely audible. “Noted.”

But still that didn’t give the group the answer quite right

Now Stephen to you , “Your move, darling.” He said turning to face you “please be gentle” you chuckled cause the look on Stephen’s face said otherwise , Sam called out pointing at you “that’s cheating , don’t seduce him”

“truth or dare?” he asked , You sighed, knowing it didn’t matter which you picked — he’d weaponize either.

“Truth,” you said bravely.

He gave a slow, knowing nod. “Okay, then. Is it true… that you have a thing for my hands?”

The group paused. You blinked. Your breath caught.

Sam: “WHAT KIND OF QUESTION—”

Peter: “She definitely has. I saw her blush when he reversed time.”

Wanda: “She blushes when he ties his shoelaces.”

Tony: “I blush when he ties his shoelaces.”

Laughter broke out like thunder.

Thor: “I knew they were living a fanfic.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “This is illegal. All of you—illegal.”

Stephen, perfectly pleased with himself, just tilted his head. “So... is it true?”

Your voice was muffled through your fingers. “...No comment.”

Nat: “That’s a yes.”

Clint: “How does someone even develop a hand fetish from sling ring spells?”

Peter: “What does that even mean—wait, don’t explain it. I’m still technically a minor.” He said covering his ear laughing

Steve: shaking his head, chuckling “This is the most chaotic Truth or Dare I’ve ever played.”

Tony: “I’m never looking at his hands the same again. Thanks for that.”

Stephen leaned closer to you, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he murmured near your ear, “You know I can feel you staring sometimes, right?”

You tried to glare at him — failed — and finally just pushed him lightly. “Stop talking.” He chuckled — low and warm — and turned his palm up, letting your fingers slip into his without a word.

Around you, the fire crackled. Someone laughed. Thor mumbled in his sleep.

But all you felt was his hand in yours.

And for tonight, that was everything.

___________________________________

i absolutely enjoyed writting this i hope it's fun to read :) let me know if you have any request of this kind or another

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 10(last chapter): no peace written

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

She’d always known how to disappear.

Elena had mastered the art of quiet escapes. Slipping between cracks in the world when it got too loud, too heavy. And after everything fell apart — after Vienna, the accords, the headlines, and the fighting — she vanished again.

No side felt right. No cause made sense.

So she didn’t pick one.

Instead, she chose a sleepy coastal town tucked away like a forgotten secret. It smelled like salt and old books , and obviously she didn’t forget her dog,

Her days blurred together — mismatched socks, chipped mugs of tea, and evenings spent pretending she didn’t care that no one called.

That Bucky didn’t call.

She told herself it was better this way. That she wasn’t built for battle lines. That if they wanted her, they’d find her , She didn’t expect him to knock ,When she opened the door, the wind carried in a chill. Or maybe it was just the man standing on her porch.

Steve Rogers.

Wearing a worn jacket, a quiet sadness in his eyes, and the kind of stillness only people who had lost too much could carry.

“Hi,” he said simply.

Her heart dropped. She blinked. “Steve?”

He gave a soft smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“you’re really annoying when you disappear .. it took me ages to find you “he added, glancing at the faded porch swing behind her.

She scoffed , smiling knowingly .

They stood in silence for a few beats, the breeze rustling through the trees like the world was trying not to eavesdrop.

Then he spoke.

“I need you to come with me.” , Her chest tightened. “Why now?”

“Because he asked for you.”

That was all it took.

.The ride to Wakanda didn’t take long , once they landed she kept her gaze down walking quietly

She looked down at her hands. “You said he asked for me.”

Steve nodded once.

“After everything that happened… Bucky made a decision. One that might save him. Or not. He’s not sure. None of us are.”

She swallowed hard. “Is he okay?”

Steve hesitated.

“He’s… tired. But he’s safe. He just… needs someone. Someone real. Someone he remembers without pain.”

“And you think that’s me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“I know it is,” Steve replied, his voice gentle. “He never said your name out loud, Elena. But I saw it. Every time I said we had to keep moving. Every time we talked about the past. He kept a piece of you with him.”

Steve walked beside her as they made their way to the containment wing. Neither of them said much.

When they reached the door, he stopped.

“Elena,” he said gently, and for the first time, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s still him. But he’s scared.”

“So am I,” she admitted.

Steve smiled, sad and warm all at once.

“That’s how you’ll know it’s real.”

She opened the door ,And there he was.

The room was cold, clinical… but it somehow felt like the warmest place on Earth to her because he was in it ,Bucky sat on the edge of the metal table, his fingers fidgeting slightly, She stepped in slowly , he meet her gaze as he heard her footsteps, she still looked the same , the same soft hair , and those beautiful blue eyes.

“Elena,” he said, standing slowly, disbelief and longing etched into his every feature , She couldn’t breathe. Her hands trembled. But she walked to him anyway , she smiled softly “hey” she said gently standing in front of him now

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t say that,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize for surviving.”

Silence stretched between them — thick and fragile.

Then, finally, he asked the question that had been sitting on his chest for days,

"Where would you be… when I wake up?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, so uncharacteristically quiet, as if the question itself made him fragile. Bucky's eyes lifted to meet hers, his blue ones searching, clinging, almost desperate — and hers, just as blue, flickered gently with emotion as they locked with his.

Elena swallowed the lump in her throat, stepping in closer until her presence wrapped around him like a safety net,

“I’d be right here…” she murmured, her voice trembling like her hands as she cupped his cheek. Her thumb gently brushed against the stubble on his jaw. “With you.”

Their eyes met—his stormy, haunted gaze locked with her blue one, searching for a reason to stay. A reason to hope.

Steve stood quietly behind her, giving them space, watching with a heaviness in his chest. When Elena finally stepped back, her hand dropping reluctantly from Bucky’s face, Steve moved forward.

“You sure about this?” Steve asked softly.

“I can’t trust my own mind.”

Bucky gave a small smile, the kind that cracked your heart in half because it didn’t reach his eyes.

Elena’s lips twitched into the saddest kind of smile. She leaned down, her red hair cascading beside his face, and kissed his cheek—soft and slow. The moment her lips touched his skin, Bucky closed his eyes and lowered his head, as if holding onto it with everything he had.

Their foreheads almost touched. The air was still between them.

His fingers laced through hers.

“This isn’t goodbye, Red,” he whispered , a vow, a prayer.

She exhaled, trying to hold herself together.

“What am I gonna do with this?” she asked with a weak laugh, raising the small, leather notebook — the one filled with pieces of his broken past,

“Keep it,” he said, barely louder than a breath.

Her heart was in her throat, but she didn’t let herself look back. She couldn’t , Just as she reached the door, his voice called out once more, quiet but certain.

“I figured it out.”

She turned, their eyes locking one last time.

“Why people like us don’t get peace.”

She waited. Silent. Needing to hear it — even if it hurt.

“’Cause we’re damned.”

But the smile he gave her was soft — like maybe, just maybe, being damned wasn’t so bad… if you weren’t alone.

And she smiled back. A small nod. A quiet understanding.

Then she left, the notebook still in her hands.

She never looked back.

And somewhere, behind sealed doors and metal silence, James Buchanan Barnes closed his eyes… and let it all go.

———————————

“Some souls don’t get peace.

But that doesn’t mean they weren’t worth saving.”

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 10 : phase two : Fragments of Us

It didn’t take them long to find a safe place , they found and old warehouse , Sam and Steve managed to drag bucky in and they restrained him by placing his metal arm under a vice , Elena had a scolding look

“Steve .. I don’t like this” she says quietly , Steve grunts slightly as he tightens the vice handle “ just for precaution till we know he’s safe around to be-” she cuts him off “he’s not a monster steven!” she scolded , Steve turned to face her sweat all over his fac or water from the river “ I know … we just want to keep him and us safe” he says quietly , Elena just shakes her head before heading out

“gonna make a call” she says on her way out .

It wasn’t much when Elena left and bucky started to wake up, he lifted his head slightly his lips apart and he felt a squeezing feeling on his left arm , the metal arm and he exactly knew what happened , he looked up at Steve ,

“Steve “ he mummers brokenly , his voice is hoarse , Steve gave a him a nod “which bucky am I talking to ?” he asked , his voice in full seriousness , bucky smiles so slightly

“ your mom’s name is Sarah.. you used to wear newspapers in your shoes” he chuckles lightly , “you can’t read that in a museum” he mummers

“what did I do?” bucky asked quietly , Steve just shook his head and went to unlock the vice “enough” he answered back , bucky swallowed hard , flexing his metal arm a little before speaking again “he wanted to know about Siberia” he started and he kept talking about what Zemo wanted and the other super soldiers.

“you guys look like shit” he said with a slight sad smile , Sam scoffed “thank to you” ,

Steve chuckled “ you should see Elena , she’s worse” and something to bucky didn’t seem right

“who?” he asked , his voice full of confusion , Sam and Steve shared a look and as speaking of the devil , Elena walked in , her boots clicking on the floor

“got you a place , don’t worry we got us covered” she says in a hurried tone as she approached them but Steve quickly took her by the arm and hurried her out

“ow what are you doing I want to see him” she said as she yanked her arm out of his grip , Steve sighed looking down shaking his head before looking up at her

“he doesn’t remember you” he says quietly his voice full of sorrow ,

“what?” she said quietly her voice full of sadness and disbelief , her blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears , she didn’t believe it until she walked in with Steve and greeted bucky “hey buck” she says quietly with uncertain smile , he lifted his head , blood run down from his temple as he give her a glance as she stands quietly , his brows frowned at why she says hi but he knew she’s probably Elena who they talked about , he turned to Steve,

“who is she?” Bucky says he’s voice is quite and hoarse , in that moment Elena felt something break in her , she glanced at him , silent look on her face , her blue eyes glassing slightly , Steve glanced at her before back to bucky

“she’s Elena , she helped you escape.. you spend a couple weeks at her place” , bucky brows frowned as he tried to remember and he kept looking at her before whispering “ I don’t know her” , she took a deep breath before talking in a quite soft voice “ don’t worry , it’ll come back to you” .

“come on , we got a soft spot” she says quietly before heading out , letting out a long exhale a bit shaky , they got out and Elena straightened herself before moving expecting to follow behind there was a garage and they got in and Elena broke through the window to a car and the alarm went off but she was quick to silence it and getting the car started , Sam sat next to her in the passenger seat and Steve , bucky are in the backseat , she was getting the car started by the cables but once the engine started to hum to life she closed the door and wore her seatbelt ,

Sam gave a her a glance “you’re dangerous you know that” he said in a sarcastic way “why you’re scared” she chuckles as she started to drive , the streets weren’t busy and they stayed silent the whole ride until bucky broke the silence by asking Steve quietly “why are you trusting her?” he asked quietly thinking she wouldn’t hear but she did and looked at him through the mirror “cause you did” she said simply as the ride went on.

The car pulled up to a nondescript house on the edge of a quiet neighborhood. Elena’s safe house. It was modest, with peeling paint and a small porch light flickering above the door. Nothing fancy, but it was exactly the kind of place you’d want to disappear into.

Elena killed the engine and looked back at the group. “Alright, we’re here. Get ready to stay low for a while.”

Sam pushed his door open and stretched, smirking at Elena. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be laying low, you’ve got a hell of a network. How do you know all this stuff?” He nodded around at the safe house and the quick escape route. “You planning a sequel to your agent days or what?”

Elena smiled dryly, unlocking the door. “I’ve been around the block a few times. Former S.H.I.E.L.D. has its perks.” She stepped inside, motioning for the others to follow.

The interior was sparse but clean. A few shelves lined with medical supplies and some basic gear hinted at this being more than just a crash pad. She moved quickly, pulling out bandages, antiseptics, and ointments.

“Steve, you first,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “Sam, Bucky—sit tight.”

Steve winced as Elena gently peeled back the soaked bandage on his arm, revealing a nasty gash beneath. She carefully cleaned the wound, her touch professional but surprisingly tender. Sam watched, half amused, half impressed.

“You’re really good at this,” Sam remarked, eyeing the precision with which Elena worked.

“Years of patching up soldiers and spies who thought they were invincible,” she replied with a smirk. “Now sit still.”

When it was Bucky’s turn, Elena knelt beside him. His breathing was shallow, his eyes still wary. She noticed the faint tremor in his fingers as he flexed the metal arm.

“Let me see that,” she said quietly, lifting the cuff of his jacket. The metal was scratched and dull, with small patches of dried blood around the joint. She cleaned carefully, applying ointment to the small cuts and bruises on his flesh, then she moved to his temple whipping the dried blood with a cloth as her other hand where on his cheek to hold his face

Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on her, conflicted. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, he kept looking at her , the soft red hair , her blue eyes and things slightly started to get back , he rememberd something “red?’’ he whispered , Elena hand froze

“what did you say?” she asks quietly with hope , bucky licked his lips before speaking “that’s all I remember , calling you red but I don’t know why” he says quietly , and she smiled quietly “that’s a start” she mumbels as she stroked his cheek slightly before moving away but their moment was cut by sam’s comment .

“So, you cook too, huh? Agent, medic, chef—what else you hiding?”

Elena chuckled as she walked to the kitchen, pulling out a couple of frying pans. “You try to eat well when you live on the run.”

She got to work preparing dinner—simple but hearty: grilled chicken, sautéed vegetables, and rice. The scent filled the small house, making it feel less like a hideout and more like a home.

As she was preparing the plates steve got in to ask for help but she brushed it off “this life suits you well” he chuckled as he approached her to help her plate up , but she ignored the comment

“what are you going to do ?” she asked Steve quietly standing in the kitchen , who he sighs “I don’t know we need to settle things with tony , see who Zemo is and what he wants” he mutters quietly as he leans against the counter “ you want me with you-” she says but he cut her off quickly “absolutely not , you stay here , I don’t want you to get into anymore trouble” he said before taking the plates to the table where they all sit and eat.

Later That Night…

The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant hum of traffic beyond the hills. Everyone was asleep—or trying to be.

Bucky stood in the hallway, his hand hovering over the door to Elena’s room. He didn’t know what he was doing here exactly. Restless didn’t quite cover it. Something had been tugging at him all night, like a frayed thread caught in his chest that wouldn’t stop pulling.

He finally knocked—softly. No answer.

He opened the door anyway.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of the moon through the curtain. Elena was curled on her side, not asleep, just still. She turned her head slowly toward the door when she heard it creak open.

“Can’t sleep either?” she asked quietly, her voice hoarse from exhaustion.

He hesitated at the threshold, then stepped in.

“I remembered something,” Bucky said. Just that. No preamble.

She sat up a little. “Yeah?”

He stood by the door for a moment, unsure. Then, slowly, like gravity was dragging him, he walked over to the chair near her bed and sat. His fingers curled loosely on his knees, his metal arm glinting faintly.

“I didn’t know it was a memory at first,” he started, eyes not quite on her. “Thought it was just noise in my head. Like a leftover dream.”

“What was it?” she asked gently.

“I remember always you covering me with the blanket even when I didn’t I want to” he starts quietly before continuing “and you always left the tv on because I hated the quietness” he chuckled slightly shaking his head , she bite a smile back and they just sat in a silent room before her moving to the other side of the bed patting the empty space and he came slowly laying down facing , her hand gently brushed off his hair out of his face “I’m happy that you remembered’’ she says gently .

The warmth of the moment between Bucky and Elena was fleeting—fragile, like the flicker of a candle in the wind. But for now, it was enough. Enough to remind him of something human. Enough to make her believe that maybe, just maybe, he was still in there.

But peace, as always, was temporary.

Morning would come too quickly, and with it, the weight of reality. Stark was still out there—wounded, furious, and on the hunt. The accords hadn’t gone away. Neither had Zemo. And Steve knew they were only buying time. The cracks in the Avengers were getting deeper, more personal, and soon… they would shatter.

Elena stepped out onto the porch before sunrise, the cool air brushing her skin. She hugged herself as she watched the sky begin to bleed into blue. Behind her, the others were still sleeping, temporarily safe. But the war was already moving toward them, closer with every breath.

Inside, Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his metal hand. He was beginning to remember pieces—fragments of a life stolen from him.

In the distance, the storm was brewing.

Lines were being drawn. Sides were forming.

And soon… friends would become enemies

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 9 : phase one: collapse

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

" so that's your plane! Great plan stark!" Elena said storming through the office Tony's in , he turned in his chair before mumbling

"good to see you too Shaw" he stood up adjusting his jacket "and yes that's my plan and in fact it is a great plan" he says sarcastically

"don't joke I'm not joking" she said sternly pointing her finger at him , and that's when Steve got in

"he's in a cell , waiting for the psychiatrist" Steve told Elena with a sad look on his face , Elena shook her head turning away from tony , she was thinking of a way to get out here , they were instructed to be in an office rather than a cell and they took all their weapons , as if Elena needed a weapon to run away from a place , Steve sensed that she's up to something "don't" he says sternly "what? I didn't do anything" she says with a shrug of her shoulder

"you're thinking it" he replied with a raise of his an eyebrow , she just huffs quietly and goes out.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Bucky Barnes was locked in the contained cell with his robotic arm tightly fixed down , his head resting back in the metal chair he's sitting in.

Elena was standing next to Sharon as they both look at bucky through the screen , Elena's brows were frowned in sadness , he has been running away from this past but it seems the past isn't done with him yet .

Sharon sensing Elena's distress she pushes a button witch stops the restriction on the audio from Bucky's evaluation , and that's when Steve and Sam joined in watching as well.

Through the screen , Elena can see bucky features , anger and desperation to get out of this chair , and she know it must have triggered his memories cause he keeps clinching and unclenching his metal arm , finally a man sat in front of Bucky's cell , it was the psychiatrist or as everyone thought , it was normal questions about his past home and why he thinks he's here and something felt off to Elena ,

"something doesn't seem right" she mumbles to herself but Steve caught that and gave her a glance before glancing back at the screen , and in fact something didn't seem right cause bucky broke the restrainers on his hands and started bunching the cell glass till it shattered and red light turned on and an annoying alarm went off and from there everything went into hell.

The glass shattered like ice under a hammer , The moment the cell broke, chaos exploded. Red lights flickered against the walls, alarms screamed through the corridors, and the air grew heavier-like it always did right before something terrible happened.

"Elena-" Steve's voice was barely out before she was already running. Her instincts kicked in before her thoughts did.

"Go!" Sharon called after them, reaching for a hidden weapon in her boot. "Contain him!"

But Elena wasn't looking for containment-she was looking for him.

Bucky , but it wasn't him anymore

No. it was The Winter Soldier.

She found him in the hallway, just after he disarmed two guards like they were made of paper. His metal arm gleamed red under the warning lights. His expression was stone, eyes void, distant-like he wasn't even in his body. Zemo had him.

"Elena," Steve muttered, catching up, "Don't. He's not-he's not him right now."

But she didn't care , "Bucky!" she shouted , his head snapped toward her, jaw tight. Recognition flickered-and then vanished like a blown-out candle.

Without warning, he lunged at her.

Elena ducked under his swing just in time. His metal arm sliced through the air above her. She rolled to the side, sprung back to her feet, and kicked him in the ribs. He didn't even flinch.

He came at her again, this time faster-stronger. She grabbed his arm and twisted, but he spun and slammed her against the wall. Her head hit the concrete. Dazed, she blinked.

"Remember me," she whispered through gritted teeth, her voice breaking slightly , But he didn't.

His hand closed around her throat ,"Elena!" Steve shouted, charging in and tackling Bucky off her.

They crashed to the floor, Steve trying not to hurt him, trying to hold him down. Bucky threw him off like a ragdoll.

Sam flew in seconds later, wings slicing through the air, throwing a flash grenade near Bucky's feet. It dazed him just long enough for Elena to recover, grabbing a stun rod from the fallen guard.

"Please," she muttered to herself. "Don't make me hurt you." , She rushed at him again, flipping over a railing and striking him mid-air. The stun rod crackled against his shoulder, and he jerked-but didn't fall. His metal arm grabbed hers mid-swing and hurled her into a table. She landed hard, breath knocked out.

He ran up to the roof , Steve and Sam tried to block his path, but he was already heading to the rooftop hangar. Elena stumbled after him, blood dripping from a cut on her forehead.

By the time they reached the roof, the helicopter blades were already spinning. Bucky jumped inside, starting it up. Steve sprinted after him without thinking, leaping toward the chopper just as it lifted from the ground.

He grabbed the landing gear-with both arms-one hand on the helipad railing, one on the helicopter. Veins bulged in his arms as the wind roared around them. It was pure, impossible strength.

"Bucky! Don't do this!" Steve shouted, struggling to hold the copter in place.

Elena raced to the edge, heart pounding. The chopper was halfway off the ledge. She could barely see Bucky inside, fists on the controls, eyes still clouded.

"James!" she yelled , bucky gazed at her , not cause he know his name just cause he heard a voice , his expression was stern as he kept his grib on the wheel of the helicopter , Elena's chest was heaving from running up to him , she kept her gaze up at him silent tears running dow her face "please" she said quietly ,

And For a second-a second-his grip hesitated.

And that was all Steve needed.

He yanked the helicopter back just as it swerved. It crashed into the water below with a thunderous CRACK, pulling Steve and Bucky with it. The blades bent, the metal twisted, and the entire chopper slammed into the river.

"NO!" Elena shouted and bolted down the stairs three at a time.

Elena and Sam reached the riverbank, eyes scanning desperately. Nothing.

Then-movement.

Steve burst through the surface, gasping, dragging Bucky's unconscious body with him. His metal arm hung lifeless. Steve held him above water with all his strength ,Elena didn't wait-she waded in, chest-deep, grabbing Bucky's other arm , Together, they pulled him ashore.

He wasn't awake. He wasn't fighting. Just breathing.

And in that moment, as she knelt beside him in the mud, soaked and shivering, Elena pressed a shaking hand against his cheek.

"hey.. you ok I got you," she whispered shakily sniffling slightly as she brushed his wet hair out of his face still unconscious , and he remaned like that . unconscious.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 8 : The price of loyalty

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

churches, old train stations, and funerals. Elena Shaw had There were places where time seemed to stop , walked through all three in the span of a week, but it was the funeral that truly left her breathless.

London’s air was heavy that morning, the kind of damp chill that soaked into your bones. Elena was dressed in an elegant black long dress with long, her red hair was up in a half ponytail and a loose strand from the front.

She walked in ,The stone steps of the cathedral were lined with mourners, each dressed in dark coats and tighter expressions. But Elena barely noticed them. Her eyes were on the man standing a few rows ahead

Steve Rogers. Silent. Still. Like if he moved too quickly, he’d break apart.

They hadn’t spoken much in recent weeks

And Peggy’s death brought them all back — into each other’s orbit, if only for a moment.

“Steve.”

His back straightened at the sound of her voice. When he turned, the grief in his eyes was raw but familiar — the kind that didn’t ask for pity. Just understanding.

“Elena.” His voice was hoarse. “You came.”

“I wasn’t sure I should.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She stepped beside him. “I’m sorry about Peggy.”

He nodded, eyes still forward. “She was one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

There was a long silence before Elena finally asked, “Why didn’t you call me back?”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

“I’ve been... caught up in something. A lot, actually.” He turned to her then, eyes shadowed.

“Elena, do you know about the Sokovia Accords?”

She blinked. “No. Should I?”

“It’s a document. One hundred and seventeen countries came together to sign it. They want all enhanced individuals to operate under government oversight. No missions without approval. No freedom without permission.” His voice tightened. “It’s about control.”

Her brows drew in. “They’re putting you under a leash?”

“They’re asking us to put ourselves on one.”

She exhaled slowly. “And you said no.”

“Of course I said no.”

There was a long silence before Elena took a step closer. She wasn’t sure why she did it, but something inside her just snapped. She pulled Steve into a hug, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them.

Steve tensed at first, but then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this.”

“You’re not alone,” Elena whispered. “None of you are.”

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Hotel at London

The room was quiet, but not peaceful. The quiet of waiting, of wondering. Elena was sitting on the couch, watching Steve and Sam sift through old papers, the low hum of the TV in the background.

It was supposed to be a normal day — supposed to be.

Then, the breaking news hit.

"An explosion at the United Nations assembly in Vienna left dozens wounded, with at least twelve dead, including King T'Chaka of Wakanda."

Elena froze, her heart skipping a beat as the images flashed on screen. The terror, the destruction, the chaos.

"Authorities believe the suspect behind the bombing is James Buchanan Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier."

Elena felt her stomach drop into her feet. Her breath caught in her throat. No. No.

She stood up suddenly, her hands shaking. There, on the screen, was a grainy photo. The face was mostly covered by a jacket, but the posture, the way the man moved, the eyes — it had to be him.

Steve’s voice broke through her panicked thoughts. “No… that’s not him. That’s gotta be a mistake , he is in Bucharest he can’t be at vienna too”

But the photo lingered on the screen. The news anchors talked, but Elena couldn’t hear them over the pounding in her ears. No.

Elena’s chest tightened, her heart aching. She wanted to believe that’s not Bucky— she did. But the picture… the way the man moved, the way he carried himself, the half-covered face. It looked too much like Bucky.

“What if it is him?” she whispered, barely audible. She gripped her arms, feeling cold all over. The thought of Bucky, of her friend, doing something like this — it didn’t make sense.

Steve was already moving, grabbing his jacket. “We need to get to Bucharest. Now.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

This time, no one stopped her.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Bucharest

In a black cap and casual jacket Bucky walks along scanning around. Across the street he spots a twenty-something vender at a news-stand watching him. Bucky glances away, then looks back at the vender who's still watching him. The vender runs from his kiosk. Bucky goes over and picks up a paper. On the front page there are surveillance-photos of a man and the head line: 'Winter Soldier wanted for the Bombing of Vienna'. Written in romanian, Bucky glances around tensely.

Steve and Elena after a while managed to find the apartment he was staying in , Elena looks around, there's a mattress with disheveled covers and various bits of cheap looking furniture , sam was outside then they head him talking from their earbuds

“Heads up, Cap. German Special Forces, approaching from the south” , and that when bucky appeared

“why did you bring her here?” he said from behind them , Elena turned around a slight relief on her face as she saw he was ok

“we need to get you out of here-” he cut her off imedetly

“I wasn't in Vienna. I don't do that anymore.” Elena shook her head

“ I never said it was you” she says gently .

“They're entering the building.” Sam said through the earbuds again , she placed her finger on her ears

“hold them off” she ordered ,

“if I did they would know something a miss” he said back

“bucky.. the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive.” Steve said approaching bucky

“bucky come on I can keep you safe I promise” Elena pleaded , but all bucky did was to punch through the floor grabbing his backpack ,

“it doesn’t have to end in a fight” steve said quietly bucky looked at him

“it always end up in a fight” he said

and with that the cops slamed the door open and bucky He moved fast—too fast.

In one brutal motion, Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder and hurled him through the wall. Elena barely had time to react before Bucky was sprinting toward the window.

She dove after him.

Glass shattered above her as Bucky leapt out the apartment window, landing on a balcony two floors down. Elena raced to the hallway, where German special forces swarmed like ants—shouting commands in German, weapons raised.

“Move!” she barked, shoving past them, flipping down the railing like a gymnast. She landed hard, rolled, and kicked one of the agents square in the chest. He went flying into the wall.

Steve came crashing through the stairwell, shield in hand.

“Where is he?”

“Left stairwell! He’s heading for the street!”

Together, they pushed through the chaos, fighting their way down flight after flight. Bucky threw a soldier over the railing. Elena ducked a baton and cracked the attacker’s knee with hers, then kicked his rifle away.

They hit ground level.

The streets exploded into noise and bodies. Civilians screamed and scattered as Bucky tore through the open-air market. Elena and Steve were right behind him.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve shouted.

But Bucky wasn’t listening. His eyes darted wildly—trapped, hunted. He swung a crate at a squad car, using the distraction to vault a fruit stand.

Elena knocked aside a soldier with her elbow, dodged a tear gas canister, and nearly slipped on spilled apples.

Then—

He landed.

A black shape, sleek and feline.

Black Panther.

He slammed into Bucky, claws out. Bucky barely managed to block, steel arm catching the blow. Elena’s heart dropped.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me—”

She launched herself into the fight, drawing her short baton. She struck at Black Panther’s side, but his vibranium suit absorbed the hit like it was nothing. He didn’t even flinch.

He turned to her. Eyes unreadable. Silent.

He slashed.

She ducked—just barely—his claws grazed her shoulder. Pain bloomed. She gritted her teeth.

Steve tackled Black Panther from the side.

The three-way melee erupted in a blur of motion—

“Go!” Elena yelled at Bucky, gripping her bleeding shoulder. “Find another way out!”

Bucky took off again. Steve followed.

So did she.

They hit the highway like a bullet. Bucky stole a bike mid-motion—fluid, practiced. Engines roared. Bucky raced through the underground tunnel, weaving between cars. Elena took a stolen bike, the engine snarling beneath her. Steve chased in a black SUV, tires screeching as he narrowly dodged traffic.

Black Panther bounded off the sides of vehicles, leaping like a predator. He was fast—inhumanly so.

Bucky threw a steel sign into the road behind him. Elena swerved, nearly losing control. A van exploded as it crashed into the debris.

They kept going. The tunnel echoed with gunfire and roars of engines. Police tried to box them in—failed.

Dozens of GSG-9 vehicles closed in. Black Panther struck first, pinning Bucky’s bike against a median. Holding him down.

Armed police arrive and surround them, guns aimed. War Machine leaps down from above and raises both hands.

"Stand down, now” james rohdes ordered , Bucky stands beside Steve who puts his shield on his back , elena held her hand up and a cop forcefully moved her hand behind her back

“Congratulations, Cap. You're a criminal” rohdes said as he glanced at Steve Police move in and force Bucky to his knees. Black Panther raises his hands , Elena books at Bucky with an apologetic look.

A cop moves Steve's arms behind his back. Black Panther retracts his claws and pulls off his mask revealing his face T’Challa.

“I am sorry, Captain,” he said coldly. “But your friend murdered my father.”

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 7 : Ink & Ashes

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

3 weeks later :

Now Bucky has been with Elena for more than three weeks , he started to loosen up more , of course the nightmares didn’t disappear but since he started to sleep next to her it wasn’t as frequent as before , he kinda felt safe , days passed they adapted to each other more but there was this one night when bucky didn’t feel alone like he thought he was .

Elena shoot up from her sleep , breathing rapidly as she just ran a marathon , her hand shoot to her chest as she could calm down her rapid heartbeat, she looked around seeing herself in her bedroom , not on a mission , no gun in her hand , no screaming civilians no sound of crying .

She slumped back on the bed , tears burning in her eyes , her lips slightly apart , breathing started to get back to normal a little , she placed her hands over her face letting out a huff before getting up from bed to drink some water .

Once she was out she walked and passed the living to go to the kitchen she saw bucky.. he was sitting on the floor his back resting at the end of the couch one knee bent up and the other rests down , and a small journal in his hands as he writes things down.

She grabbed her glass of water and went to the living room passing over him and settled down on the floor next to him .

“can’t sleep?” he asked quietly not lifting his gaze from his journal and all she could do is mummer quietly “no” , He glanced at her, really looked, and she knew he saw it: the sheen in her eyes, the twitch in her fingers like she wanted to punch a ghost. She didn’t say anything more — just dropped beside him with a sigh.

“What’s that?” she asked, nodding toward the notebook.

He paused. “A mess.”

“Your mess or someone else’s?”

Bucky chuckled dryly. “Bit of both.”

He hesitated, then slid it toward her.

Elena blinked. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t have stayed here this long if I didn’t trust you.”

Her hands shook a little when she opened it.

The first few pages were like puzzle pieces from his fractured mind: names, locations, foreign phrases, bloodstains of memory and ink.

But then… she turned a page and paused.

It looked different.

Neat cursive. Older ink. The title:

“Things I miss from the Forties”

Elena’s brow furrowed. She glanced up at him.

Bucky didn’t speak. Just waited.

She read the first entry aloud.

“The smell of fresh bread from the corner bakery in Brooklyn. I used to walk past it on my way to meet Steve. He always bought the cinnamon roll. I said it was too sweet, but I always took a bite.”

She smiled faintly.

“Sounds nice,” she murmured.

He nodded. “It was. It was… warm.”

She turned the page.

“The way the radio cracked during baseball games. You could barely hear the announcer over the static, but it felt like home.”

“My mom’s hands. She had rough fingers from sewing, but she’d always hold my face like I was something worth saving.”

“The color of dresses back then. Women used to wear reds like they weren’t afraid of being seen.”

Elena swallowed.

“You remember all this?”

“Not all. Some of it came back over time. Sometimes during dreams. Sometimes when I smelled something in a bakery and it hit me like a truck.”

He leaned his head back against the couch.

“I write it down so I don’t lose it again.”

She kept flipping.

Each page felt like peeling back the version of him she’d never met. The boy before the soldier. The boy before the shadow.

She landed on another entry.

“Kissing a girl’s knuckles before a dance. Felt like the kind of thing that made you a gentleman.”

She raised a brow. “You really did that?”

“Only once,” he said, eyes glinting. “She laughed so hard I turned red and left the dance early.”

Elena actually laughed at that, the sound breaking through the heavy stillness of the room.

“I didn’t think you remembered things like dresses and baseball.”

He shrugged. “I was soft once. Still am, maybe.”

“I killed a kid,” she said suddenly.

Bucky froze.

Elena didn’t.

“She was fourteen. Had a bomb strapped to her chest. They told me she was mind-controlled, maybe. I don’t know. They gave me the order. I hesitated. Then I didn’t.”

The weight of it hit her like a stone in her chest. She didn’t respond right away.

So he filled the silence for her.

“You’re not weak,” Bucky said softly. “You hesitated. You were human.”

“I was trained not to be.”

“Same,” he murmured. “But the thing they couldn’t kill was this.” He tapped his chest. “The part that still grieves. The part that writes shit like cinnamon rolls in a notebook full of death.”

Elena smiled, wet-lashed and quiet ,She reached out, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

“your hair is getting out of control” she states quietly her voice is more gentle this time

“like me” he mummers back

“we can’t keep both out of control she chuckled , he glanced at her “you offering ?” he asked and she nodded with a slight smile “only a trim”

A small flicker of light started to creak into her house as the morning rises , they were in the bathroom , he washed his hair before sitting on the chair that Elena placed in front of the bathroom mirror as she started to brush his hair so she can cut

“Did your mom ever cut your hair?” she asked.

“Yeah. In the kitchen. Told me if I moved too much she’d give me the ‘crooked part.’”

“She sounds like someone I would’ve liked.” She chuckles as she cuts at the end of his hair

“She would’ve liked you.”

When she finished, she ran her fingers once through the strands again. He looked different — but not in a drastic way. Just… lighter.

Like he’d left something heavy behind.

They walked back to the living room, quieter now.

That’s when he said, “I’m thinking of going back to Romina.”

She paused, blinked.

“Why?”

“There’s this guy. He helped me when I was on the run. Hid me for weeks. I never thanked him. I think I need to. Not to erase anything. Just… to make peace with something.”

She nodded.

“You want me to come?”

He shook his head. “This one’s solo. But I’ll be back.”

She leaned against the doorframe, watching him like she could memorize his silhouette.

He hesitated at the doorway to his room.

Then turned,“Oh,” he added, almost shy, “keep the notebook. If you want to read more. Just… be gentle.”

She smiled.

“I always am.”

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 6 : Soft hands, heavy hearts

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

The digital clock on Elena’s nightstand read 3:17 AM, its red numbers glowing dimly in the dark.

She lay there, stiff and sleepless, the sheets tangled around her legs like they’d tried to hold her still while her thoughts ran wild. Her eyes stung. Her throat was tight. And even though the night air was cool against her skin, she felt like she was burning.

The file still haunted her. She’d read it hours ago.

She shouldn’t have.

But she had.

Just so she can understand him.

Just enough to help him.

Just enough to make him feel better.

Subject exhibited severe distress during Procedure #3. Screaming persisted for 22 minutes. No anesthesia provided.

Restraints required tightening after fourth episode of memory resistance. Subject broke left arm during struggle. Conditioning was re-applied successfully.

Civilian presence deemed non-essential. All witnesses were eliminated as per protocol.

All those years.

All those decades.

They’d stolen him. Over and over. Reset him like a clock with its gears torn out.

She wiped at her cheek quickly, annoyed with herself. She didn’t cry. Not over files. Not over things she couldn’t fix. But the image of him—pacing, muttering, confused, probably scared—and being dragged back in for more… it sat heavy on her chest.

She wasn’t going to sleep.

Not like this.

Not with the image of him strapped down, screaming into nothing, still branded into her skull.

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest.

Maybe she’d get water. Maybe she’d sit in the living room for a bit. She didn’t know. She just needed to breathe.

That’s when she heard it , Not a knock. Not even a full sound. Just… something ,A shift. A step.

She turned her head, slow. The door to her room was cracked open, and in the faint light leaking from the hallway, she saw him.

Bucky.

Barefoot. Shoulders tense. Hair a bit damp like he’d just come from a nightmare sweat. His breath was uneven. He stood there, just inside her room, like he didn’t even remember walking in.

“Elena.”It was barely a whisper.

She was already sliding out of bed.

He looked… haunted. Not angry. Not withdrawn. But lost. Like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was or if he was even awake.

His eyes weren’t focused. He wasn’t looking at her, not really.

She walked to him slowly.

“Bucky,” she whispered, her voice soft as breath, “sit down. Come here.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t resist when she gently reached for his arm and led him to the edge of her bed.

He sat down stiffly, both hands clenched together between his knees. His dog tags clinked softly as they slid forward, swaying.

His chest rose in slow, uneven breaths.

He was still caught in it—the dream, the memory, the noise inside his head.

And she could see it. That faraway look. The way his fingers flexed like they were still fighting something. That ache beneath his skin that never seemed to leave.

He didn’t speak ,But he didn’t leave, either.

Elena sat beside him without a word, just watching him. Her eyes swept his profile—the tense jaw, the way his hair clung to his forehead, the slight tremor in his right hand, Her heart ached.

Carefully, gently, she reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear , His breath caught.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull away.

But he went still.

She let her fingers linger for just a second longer, brushing lightly against his temple. Her hand moved slowly, almost instinctively, and she let her fingertips trail softly into his hair—just enough to soothe.

Then her other hand reached up, pressing lightly to the back of his head.

“Did you…” She stepped forward, hesitating. “Did you have a nightmare?”

His gaze finally shifted ,not toward her, but through her. Like she wasn’t real. Like maybe he didn’t believe she was.

Another soft “shh.”

And he let her.

He leaned forward, ever so slightly, resting his forehead against her shoulder, his dog tags brushing her arm.

His breath was warm against her neck.

And then she felt it—

The smallest sound.

Not a sob.

Just a breath that cracked.

She didn’t move. Didn’t press. Didn’t ask.

She just kept her hand in his hair and whispered, again , “Shh… You’re safe. I’m here.”

Minutes passed.

Maybe more.

And then, so softly she almost didn’t hear it, he whispered—

“I hate when they come back.”

She didn’t ask what he meant.

She didn’t need to.

Her hand slid from his hair down to the nape of his neck, resting there gently, like a grounding anchor.

“I know,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t know where I was,” he rasped, barely audible , His voice cracked like something was tearing in the middle.

She kept what she was doing, Soft fingers. Slow breaths. Gentle “shh”s, like waves against the shore.

He shifted again, just a bit closer. His arms were still tucked to his sides, but his head now rested more fully against her shoulder. His body didn’t shake. But it didn’t relax either.

It hovered in a space between panic and peace. Between memory and the now.

Later—she didn’t know how much later—he pulled back.

Just enough to sit up again.

his eyes met hers for the first time.

Something in them had cleared. Not all the way, but enough for him to see her.

“…Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

He looked like he wanted to say more. But didn’t.

Instead, he reached up, thumb brushing the chain around his neck. His dog tag.

It clinked again. Familiar. Constant.

Her gaze lingered on it.

And for the first time, she thought he might let her touch it.

But she didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

Some things had to be offered, not taken.

And tonight… he had offered her this.

The first touch he didn’t retreat from.

The first time he walked into her room—not because he wanted to, but because something in him needed to.

He stood up slowly, and she rose with him.

Their eyes met again.

A soft beat passed between them.

And just before he turned to leave, her hand brushed his hair again, a slow, gentle stroke behind his ear.

His eyes fluttered closed for just a second.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Then he walked out.

Back to the couch. Or maybe the floor.

He never took the bed.

But tonight, he didn’t carry it alone.

And neither did she.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The morning came slow, a soft gray light seeping through the cracks in the curtains. Elena lay still for a while, her eyes open but unfocused. She could hear the faint hum of the city outside and the soft, rhythmic sounds of the apartment. But there was something else too—the weight of the night before, the quiet between them, the way Bucky had sat next to her, letting her touch him, without pulling away.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. She couldn’t explain it, but something had shifted. Maybe just a little bit, but enough for her to feel it.

After a while, she heard the soft sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Bucky.

She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, the last remnants of sleep still clinging to her mind. She hadn’t heard him return to the couch. He must’ve gotten up sometime during the night, maybe after she fell asleep. She didn’t know.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath her feet, and stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

As she entered the living room, she saw him sitting there, just like he had last night—quiet, distant. He was staring out the window, his gaze unfocused, his back slightly hunched, his dog tags catching the light as they swayed slightly with every slow, shallow breath he took.

His body was still. But everything about him felt heavy—distant.

She wanted to help. She wanted to fix it, fix him, but she didn’t know how.

“Hey,” she said softly, taking a step toward him. Her voice was gentle, not wanting to startle him.

Bucky’s eyes flickered toward her but didn’t fully focus. His lips parted, but no words came. It was like he wasn’t really here, like his mind was still miles away in some other place.

Elena approached him, cautiously. She knelt down beside him, her hand resting on the arm of the chair he sat in.

“Bucky?” she whispered again.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from his mind. But the haze wouldn’t leave. It never did. He hadn’t slept properly since… since whenever it had all started.

“Do you need anything?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm. “Water? Breakfast?”

His lips pressed together, and he shook his head. "I’m fine."

But his eyes were distant. Faraway.

Elena’s heart ached. She knew that look. It wasn’t the same as the quiet man she had met when she first arrived—it was something darker, deeper. A place Bucky went when his mind couldn't keep up with his body, when he was too lost in the memories, the nightmares, to find his way back.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Bucky… You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

He turned his head to look at her, his gaze still blurry but sharp enough to see the worry in her eyes.

“I—what?”

“You can sleep in the guest room, or…” she trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. “You could sleep in my bed, if that’s easier. I—I know it’s not the same, but it might help. You don’t have to be on the couch.”

He looked at her, his eyes dark, unreadable. It was as if he was considering the offer but couldn’t fully understand it. The idea of a real bed, of rest, of comfort—it probably felt like too much for him.

But she was trying to help. Trying to make him feel like he wasn’t alone in this.

“Or,” she continued, voice quiet but firm, “I can stay on the couch and you can sleep in my bed. Just… just so you can rest, Bucky.”

There was a long pause.

He didn’t answer. But something flickered in his eyes—reluctance mixed with an undercurrent of something else. The kind of thing that happens when you’re too used to being alone. When you’ve been left out in the cold so long that even a warm bed feels like a threat.

“I…” he started, his voice rough, but he trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. How could he?

Elena sat down beside him, her hand resting gently on his, her thumb brushing across the back of his hand. He didn’t pull away. He never did.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” she said, quietly. “But I’m here. I want to help, Bucky. I want you to feel better.”

There was silence between them, thick with uncertainty. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if he was trying to shake off the fog in his head. He didn’t pull his hand away, didn’t push her out. But she could feel the tension in him. Like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to feel better. Or maybe if he even wanted to.

He sighed, long and heavy, and when he opened his eyes again, they were a little less distant, though still far away.

“I’m not…” His voice faltered, but he pushed through. “I’m not used to this.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Another beat of silence passed between them, then he let out a slow breath, a resigned exhale. “Maybe... maybe I’ll take the guest room.”

“Okay,” Elena said, giving him a soft smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She didn’t push. Didn’t ask again. He would do what he was ready for when he was ready.

But there was something else—something she hadn’t expected.

Bucky slowly reached up and took his dog tags in his hand, his fingers curling tightly around the chain. His eyes met hers again, still uncertain, but this time, there was a flicker of gratitude in them. And maybe a hint of something else—something softer.

He said nothing more, but when he stood up, Elena watched him walk toward the guest room. Her heart ached, knowing that he was still a million miles away in his own mind.

But she hadn’t given up.

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t giving up either.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 5 : Red & The ghost

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

The first few days were..odd.

Not dramatic or loud , just quietly odd , like someone rearranged the furniture in her brain ,there was a new presence in her home , Bucky Barnes wasn’t exactly the type to blend into the background, even if he tried.

He moved like a ghost, a soldier trying to blend into civilian walls that weren’t made for someone like him. Not that she minded the silence, but it was unnerving how good he was at it.

Bucky didn’t talk much. He nodded when necessary, grunted when asked anything too direct, and offered vague responses like “yeah,” or “fine.”

Food was the first struggle.

She made spaghetti the first night. It was quick, cheap, and easy. The sauce simmered as she tossed noodles around in a pot, humming something old on the radio. When she called for him

“Hey, food’s done if you’re hungry”—he came, sat, stared at the plate for a minute like it was a bomb waiting to go off, then picked at it.

“Too much garlic?” she asked, trying to cut the awkwardness.

He didn’t look up. “No. Just… not used to it.”

The next night, she made grilled cheese and tomato soup. He took one bite, then quietly placed the sandwich down.

“You don’t like it,” she said, a little more amused than hurt.

He shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re not eating.”

He gave a soft, almost apologetic exhale and muttered, “Not a fan of tomato anything.”

“Well, that’s one thing we figured out,” she smirked, grabbing his plate. “We’ll try again tomorrow, soldier.”

He flinched slightly at the word. Elena noticed, but didn’t comment.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

And then there is the laundry incident .

It was in the afternoon

Elena had just hit a rhythm. Fingers flying across the keys, music playing low from her speaker, coffee steaming beside her, her article finally starting to make sense. The city was quiet through the window, golden light casting soft shadows across the floor.

She was so in the zone that she didn’t hear anything. Not the floor creaking. Not the sound of the door easing open.

Which is why she nearly screamed when a voice, low and deadpan, said right behind her—

“I don’t know where the laundry machine is.”

She jerked so hard she knocked her coffee cup off the table.

“What the—!” She spun around, hand over her chest like she could keep her heart from launching out. “God, Bucky! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

He stood there, completely unfazed. Shirtless. Holding a bundle of clothes like it was a peace offering. One brow lifted slightly, the metal arm catching the light from the window.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You appeared out of nowhere!”

“I walked,” he said plainly.

“You materialized like a horror movie extra!”

A pause.

“…Sorry.”

Elena exhaled sharply, rubbing her hands down her face, heart still hammering.

“You’ve gotta stop doing that. You walk too quiet. Like some kind of ninja.”

“Years of practice,” he murmured.

She looked up again — and finally noticed him.

The way the fading sunlight glinted off the edges of his vibranium arm. The deep scars that curled down from his shoulder, half-hidden by shadows but jagged and raw in the right light. Some surgical. Some looked torn, like pieces of his body had been forced to fit with metal that didn’t belong.

She swallowed hard, blinking.

His voice cut through the silence, softer this time.

“I… didn’t want to wear these again. They’re kind of…” He trailed off and shrugged. “...gross.”

Elena forced herself to blink again, mind scrambling for words.

“Oh—uh, yeah, no problem. There’s a washer and dryer in the hall closet. Right over there.”

She pointed without looking directly at him.

He followed the motion with his eyes, but didn’t move.

She sighs getting up up , she took the bundle from him with a slight smile , her fingers brushed the cool metal of his hand. She glanced up, but he was already turning away, the lines of his back shifting under scarred skin as he moved toward the hallway.

“Oh! There’s clean clothes in the guest room closet,” she called after him. “Left from when Steve visited.”

He paused at the doorway, stiffened slightly.

“…Steve.”

“Yeah. You’re about the same build, I think. So, you know. Help yourself.”

He didn’t say anything right away. But when he turned his head slightly, she caught the briefest flicker of something in his expression. Not anger. Not quite sadness.

Just a ghost.

Then it was gone.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

And just like that, he disappeared again, as if he’d never been there in the first place.

Elena stared after him for a few seconds, then looked down at the clothes in her arms — worn, stained, with faint traces of something metallic in the fabric.

She exhaled again, muttering to herself, “...I need a bell for that man.”

Bucky returned ten minutes later wearing a navy henley and sweatpants that were clearly a size too big in the shoulders but somehow still fit him like they were made for him.

“You said they’re Steve’s?” he asked, voice quieter now. Something in the way he said it wasn’t just curiosity.

“Yeah.” She reached for her mug. “He used to crash here sometimes after missions when he didn’t want to deal with the tower. Had a whole little setup.”

Bucky leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed — metal over cotton.

“You two…” he started, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “Were you ever... more than friends?”

Elena blinked, caught off guard by the question. She set her coffee mug down, considering him with an incredulous look.

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. Just…” He looked at her like he was trying to piece something together. “You’ve got a history, and he’s been here. A lot. Thought maybe you two—”

“No.” She cut him off quickly with a laugh , a little “Steve’s like family to me, okay? Nothing like that. Not even close.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You sure? Because the way you two are so chummy, I was starting to think you had a thing going on—back in the day, maybe?”

Elena gave him an exasperated look. “Seriously? No, Bucky. We’re not a thing. Never were.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, clearly amused. “I’ll just take your word for it, but you two definitely looked like a couple. Just saying.”

Elena laughed, the tension easing into a light-hearted warmth. “Keep dreaming, Barnes.”

With that, Bucky’s smirk softened as he gave a casual nod.

“Just keeping things interesting, Red.”

“you can’t call me that” she says as she continued to type on her computer , bucky frowned “why?”

“it’s a Steve thing” she teased with a little smirk

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 4 : A fragile beginning

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

The cab ride was quiet except for the occasional honk of traffic.

Bucky sat next to Steve, gaze locked on the city beyond the window. The closer they got, the more his shoulders tensed.

Steve noticed. “You don’t have to stay long. Just give it a chance.” , Bucky didn’t respond.

Steve sighed. “You’ll like Elena. She’s easy to be around.”

That got a glance from Bucky. “That supposed to mean something?” he asks quietly his voice rough

“Means you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. She won’t pry.”

Bucky gave a slow exhale, shifting in his seat. “She know about me?”

Steve hesitated. “Some. Not everything.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Right.”

“She’s not expecting anything, Buck. Just… be there. See how you feel.”

Bucky didn’t answer. But he didn’t tell the driver to turn around, either.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Elena had known since yesterday that Steve was bringing him.

She had spent all night replaying the conversation in her head, the way Steve’s voice had been careful, almost hesitant, when he told her:

"I got him to agree. It wasn’t easy, but… we’re flying in tomorrow."

That was all he said. No promises, no reassurances. Just that Bucky Barnes—the Bucky Barnes—was coming here.

Elena had spent the morning busying herself. Not because she needed to, but because it was the only way to keep from pacing.

She had tidied the already-clean apartment, adjusted the pillows on the couch more times than she’d like to admit, and double-checked the guest room—even though she had a feeling he wouldn’t take it.

The dog, Milo, had picked up on her restlessness. He padded after her, tail wagging, watching her with curious brown eyes as she folded and refolded a blanket.

"I know, I know," she muttered, exhaling as she set it down. "I’m being ridiculous."

Milo just blinked at her, then flopped onto the floor, unimpressed.

Elena sighed, smoothing her hands over her sweater. She had debated changing into something more put-together—something that made her look less like she’d been overthinking all morning—but in the end, she stuck with what she had.

This wasn’t a date.

This wasn’t some formal meeting.

This was a man who had been through hell, stepping into unfamiliar ground. The last thing he needed was to feel like he was under a microscope.

Still, as the minutes ticked by, Elena found herself glancing at the clock.

And then—

A knock.

Elena inhaled sharply. Milo’s ears perked up, and he trotted to the door, tail wagging.

She exhaled, steadied herself, and went to open it.

Steve stood on the other side, giving her a small nod.

Next to him was Bucky Barnes.

His blue eyes flicked to her, then away, shoulders tense beneath his jacket.

Steve cleared his throat. “Elena, this is Bucky. Buck, Elena.”

Elena took him in for a second before offering a small smile. “Hey.” She says lightly , Steve smiled back “ hey red” , she just rolled her eyes at the silly nickname

Bucky barely nodded , She stepped aside. “Come in.”

He hesitated , just for a breath then stepped through the door.

Bucky didn’t sit at first. He stood near the door, scanning the apartment. His gaze flicked to Milo , who was wagging his tail excitedly.

“That your dog?” Bucky muttered.

Elena nodded. “Milo. He’s harmless.”

Milo padded over, sniffing curiously. Bucky stiffened, but the dog just wagged his tail harder, brushing against his leg.

Steve clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s sit.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose but finally moved to the couch, sitting stiffly across from them.

She walked to the kitchen, grabbed three mugs of coffee, and set them down. “Figured you might want something warm after the flight.”

Bucky gave the cup a brief glance before picking it up. He didn’t drink it right away, just held it between his hands.

Elena sat across from him, letting the silence settle for a moment before speaking.

“Steve told me you lived in Bucharest for a while.” She said quietly before taking a sip of her coffee

Bucky’s eyes lifted slightly. “Yeah.”

“How was it?”

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Quiet.”

Elena nodded. “I’ve never been, but I heard the food’s good.”

A pause. Then, to her mild surprise, Bucky muttered, “Depends on where you go.”

She caught the way Steve hid a small smile behind his cup.

Bucky, realizing he’d spoken more than he intended, shifted slightly in his seat.

Elena didn’t push.

Steve sighed, shaking his head. “That’s the best you’re gonna get from him today.”

Elena smirked slightly. “I figured.”

After a few hours of conversation—mostly Steve talking, Elena keeping things light, and Bucky saying little—Steve checked the time.

“I should get going.”

Bucky stiffened slightly but didn’t argue.

Steve looked at him. “You good here?”

A slow, reluctant nod. “Yeah.”

Steve patted Bucky’s shoulder before heading out. The moment the door shut, Bucky sighed, rubbing his face.

Elena crossed her arms. “The guest room’s ready for you.”

Bucky immediately shook his head. “I’ll take the couch.”

Elena arched a brow. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She studied him for a beat, then nodded. “Alright.”

She didn’t argue. She just walked to the couch, unfolded a spare blanket, and set it down.

Bucky glanced at it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Elena shrugged. “Yeah, well. I did.”

He didn’t have a response for that.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Elena didn’t hover. Didn’t push.

She went to bed early, giving him space.

But later that night, when she got up for water, she found him still awake, sitting on the floor by the couch, his back against it.

Elena hesitated in the doorway. “can’t sleep?” she mummers quietly

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t expect to.”

She nodded, setting her glass down. “Yeah. New places can do that.”

Bucky flexed his metal fingers absently. “…It’s quiet.”

“Too quiet?”

He shook his head. “Not used to it.”

She padded quietly to the couch and sat at the end of it , his body was close to her leg but not too close a good amount o space between them

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward her, brow slightly furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She grabbed the remote ‘turning on the tv… you said it’s too quite” she says quietly as she scrolled through the channels finally settling on a show playing and she turned on the volume but not too loud

He narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to figure something out.

But he didn’t tell her to leave , she just laid her temple on her hand as she watches the show glancing at him momentarily .

A few minutes passed. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock and the soft sound of the tv , Then, finally, Bucky shifted slightly, resting his head against the couch behind him.

He didn’t say goodnight.

But eventually, his breathing evened out, and he closed his eyes , Elena quietly unfolded the blanket placing it gently over his body ,

And for the first time in a long time…he slept.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 3 : Trust is a risk

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Steve didn’t give up on Bucky , him , Natasha and Sam were still in Bucharest , they were sitting at a café , Steve just hang up with Elena , he sighs placing the phone on the table rubbing his eyes.

“let me guess she said no” Sam says with his normal sarcastic tone , Natasha smirked shaking her head ,

“ she’s not sure , she didn’t give a no or yes she just said call me when you know” he says shrugging his shoulder

“yeah but why Elena would agree to take him” Sam asked not getting Steve’s point , “ I don’t know , to protect him” Steve says quietly feeling weary , Natasha sat up straightening her back resting her forearm on the coffee table “ let’s not forget Elena was a former agent of S.H.E.I.L.D , she’s well trained she can handle someone like Barnes” she says in a confident tone as she nodded to Steve , he nodded back slightly.

_________________________

Bucky’s life was simple , just surviving for the day but tonight’s was different .

Bucky felt it before he saw it.

Something was off.

The streets were too quiet. The air too still. He wasn’t being followed, but he knew someone was watching. His instincts had been honed through decades of survival, and they were screaming at him now.

He slipped into an alleyway, took a different route home. Checked his surroundings, measured exits. But when he got back to his small apartment, he already knew.

Steve Rogers was waiting inside.

Bucky froze. His heart pounded against his ribs, but he didn’t let it show. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t reach for a weapon. Just sat at the small table like he’d been there for hours. “You’re right. But I had to come.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “You need to leave.”

“Not until you hear me out.”

Silence.

Then, finally—“You have five minutes.” Bucky mumbles before sitting down the chair keeping distance

Steve let a beat pass before speaking again. “I found somewhere for you to go.”

Bucky tensed. “Not happening.”

“It’s not a prison, Buck.”

“No?” His voice was sharp. “Then what is it?”

Steve studied him. “It’s a place where you don’t have to keep running.”

Bucky let out a slow breath. “That doesn’t exist.”

Steve gave him a small, knowing look. “Yeah, it does.”

Bucky watched as Steve reached into his bag and pulled out a thin, manila file.

It wasn’t thick like the ones HYDRA used to throw in front of him. Those had been packed with mission reports, conditioning updates, surveillance logs that reduced him to nothing but a weapon. But this? This was small.

Steve slid it across the table. “I need you to read this.”

Bucky eyed it like it might explode. “What is it?”

“Someone who can help.”

That got a reaction. Bucky huffed out a humorless breath. “No one can help me, Steve.”

“Maybe not in the way you want,” Steve admitted. “But you can’t keep running forever. Just read it.”

Bucky hesitated, then picked up the file and flipped it open.

Elena Shaw

Age: 32

Location: New York City

Background: Civilian consultant, psychology and fieldwork experience.

Skills: Conflict resolution, combat training, survival tactics.

Bucky skimmed the words. The file wasn’t as clinical as the ones he was used to, but it still felt off. Like something was missing. There were sections blacked out, thick strokes of ink hiding details from him.

His fingers tightened on the edge of the paper. “You redacted things.”

Steve nodded. “Some things don’t matter right now.”

Bucky’s voice was sharp. “Like what?”

Steve exhaled. “She used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The air shifted.

Bucky went rigid, the file snapping shut between his hands. His jaw clenched, the metal plates in his arm whirring as he flexed his fist. “And you want me to trust her?”

Steve didn’t back down. “I trust her.”

Silence.

Then, quieter—“I know it’s a risk.” Steve leaned forward, lowering his voice. “But she’s different, Buck. She’s not here to fix you. She’s just… a safe place.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t need a ‘safe place.’”

“Yeah?” Steve’s voice was soft, but his eyes were hard. “Then why are you running?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

The quiet stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Then, finally—“What’s her place like?” bucky asks quietly as he stared at the image of her in the file , she was photographed in the street just out of a café with a cup on to go in her hand , her head down wearing sunglasses as her fiery red hair flying covering her lower face.

Steve didn’t smile, didn’t push. He just said, “It’s quiet , away from the city”

Bucky let out a slow breath. Then, reluctantly—“Fine. But the second something feels wrong, I’m gone.” Bucky warns lowly

“Deal.”

__________________________

The Flight to New York :

Bucky hated flying.

He hated the tight spaces, the recycled air, the way his metal arm drew too many looks. He kept his hoodie pulled low, jaw set tight as he sat by the window.

Steve sat beside him, quiet for most of the flight. He didn’t force conversation. Didn’t try to make Bucky talk.

But eventually, Bucky shifted in his seat. His voice was low when he asked, “Why her?”

Steve looked at him. “Because she understands people like us.”

Bucky didn’t respond, just stared out the window at the endless dark.

He didn’t trust easily. Probably never would.

But for now, he was on a plane heading toward someone Steve swore wouldn’t hurt him.

And that was the best he could do.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : the pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 2 : thirty years of silence

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Elena Shaw .

Her house sat in the quiet outskirts of a small town, hidden from the noise of the world. It wasn’t much—just a single-story home with green shutters, a small porch, and a backyard that stretched into thick woods. Safe. Peaceful. A place where no one was looking for her.

Inside, the house was cozy but filled with signs of life. Books stacked haphazardly on shelves, old coffee mugs on the counter, and a faint smell of cinnamon from the candle burning in the kitchen.

Milo, her golden retriever mix, was sprawled out on the couch, his tail thumping lazily as Elena grabbed her morning coffee. She wore black leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and thick socks—the kind of comfortable clothing she never used to wear.

This life? This was new.

She grabbed the mail from the small wooden table near the door, flipping through the usual bills and junk until her fingers stilled.

An envelope. Unmarked.

Her stomach twisted.

She set her coffee down and ran her fingers along the paper, feeling the weight of it. Thick. Too thick for a letter.

There was no sender, but she already knew.

Steve.

She carefully tore it open, and a small note fell onto the table.

I need you to read this. All of it. Then we’ll talk. - Steve

Elena frowned as she placed the folder on the counter, then pulled out the contents. A thick, yellowed file.

Stamped across the front, in bold red ink, were the words:

PROJECT: WINTER SOLDIER

ASSET FILE - JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

Her breath caught in her throat.

She hesitated. Part of her didn’t want to read it. Didn’t want to know.

But she flipped the file open anyway.

The first few pages were basic description

Name: James Buchanan Barnes.

D.O.B.: March 10, 1917.

Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NY.

Military Service: 107th Infantry, Sergeant. Declared KIA: 1945.

Then the reports changed.

Captured: 1945. Subject sustained critical injuries following a fall from a HYDRA train. Retrieved by Soviet operatives. Experimental procedures conducted.

Elena’s eyes narrowed as she turned the page. Images.

One of them was Bucky—before. Young, bright-eyed, human. Standing next to Steve, both of them grinning like idiots.

Then the next image—Bucky restrained on a metal slab, eyes hollow, metal arm gleaming under harsh fluorescent light. The Winter Soldier.

Her stomach churned , she read on.

"Subject exhibited extreme resistance to reprogramming. Initial attempts unsuccessful. Additional conditioning required."

Below it, another document.

THE WINTER SOLDIER INITIATIVE

"Methods: Electroshock therapy, sensory deprivation, chemical sedation. Subject exhibited violent responses to memory erasure—required multiple reapplications of Winter Soldier Protocol."

Elena clenched her jaw. Memory erasure.

They wiped him. Over and over and over again , she closed her eyes at the thought before She flipped the page.

A report from 1984.

"Asset successfully deployed. Mission execution: flawless. Subject does not question orders. No memory recall detected."

The list went on. Assassination orders. Targets eliminated. Some names she recognized. Some she didn’t want to recognize.

Thirty years.

Thirty years of being their weapon.

Elena closed the file, her fingers pressing into the worn edges of the paper , letting out a shaky breath.

She had seen a lot in her lifetime. Done things she didn’t talk about.

But this?

This was something else.

The quiet in her house suddenly felt suffocating.

Her phone buzzed against the coffee table.

She snatched it up, still staring at the file, and pressed answer.

“Elena.” Steve’s voice was low. Tired.

She swallowed, gripping the phone tighter.

“Steve. What the hell did you just drop on my doorstep?”

A long pause. Then, quietly:

“You read it.”

“You left it in my house. What was I supposed to do—ignore it?”

“I needed you to see it for yourself.”

She closed her eyes, frustration simmering beneath her skin.

“Steve, I need you to talk to me. Right now. Start from the beginning.”

She heard him exhale.

“I found him in Bucharest,” Steve said. “I’ve been tracking sightings for months—off-the-grid places, places he wouldn’t think I’d look.” A pause.

“I almost lost him twice.”

Elena glanced at the Winter Soldier file, flipping it open with her free hand. So many places. So many missions.

She exhaled slowly. “And?”

“…He doesn’t trust me,” Steve admitted. “I don’t blame him.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist.

“He ran.” Steve’s voice was softer now, careful. “And when I caught up to him, he was—he was ready to fight me, Elena.”

Her grip tightened on the phone.

“But I told him…” Steve hesitated. “I told him I knew who he was. That I wasn’t going to turn him in. That I just—I just wanted to talk.”

Elena didn’t say anything.

Because that must have killed him. Steve wasn’t a man who hesitated, but when it came to Bucky—this ghost from his past, this man Hydra had turned into a machine—he wasn’t just fighting against an enemy.

He was fighting to get his best friend back.

And Bucky… Bucky didn’t know him.

Steve continued, voice heavy. “I told him he wasn’t safe out there, not with people still hunting him. And I said—I said I had a place for him to go. Someone I trusted.”

Elena’s throat went dry

,“…Me?” she manges to whisper out

“Yeah.” Steve said quietly , she sighs

“Steve, this isn’t just some old war buddy who needs a place to crash. This is—”

“I know.” His voice was steady, but there was something behind it. A quiet urgency. “And I also know he needs help. Real help. I can’t keep dragging him from place to place hoping no one finds him. He needs somewhere safe.”

She swallowed, staring at the closed file.

“If I say yes,” she asked, “how long are we talking?”

“I don’t know.” Steve’s voice was careful. “Maybe a while. Maybe not. Depends on him.”

Him.

The man who had once been James Buchanan Barnes.

The man who had once been nothing but a ghost with a metal arm and a kill order.

“I’m not asking you to fix him.” Steve sighs , Her throat tightened.

“I’m asking you to help him.” He added quietly

She exhaled slowly, her fingers curling over the edge of the file “Call me when you know.”

Then Steve sighed, and she could practically hear the relief in his voice.

“Thank you, Elena.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

He chuckled lightly, but there was a heaviness to it.

“I’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead.

Elena slowly lowered the phone.

Milo stretched out on the couch, tail thumping lazily.

She looked at the file one last time, the words Winter Soldier still glaring back at her.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

A/n : this is set after , captain America: the winter soldier and it's pure fiction, pic is edited by Me , you can't copy my work , if you share any parts of my fanfic on any kind of applications please give credit ..

Chapter 1 : Ghost in the shadow

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

The search of Bucky Barnes has taken month , and yet Steve rogers didn’t give up on him , not after learning the full extent of what HYDRA had done to his best friend.

Bucky was out there. Alone. Dangerous. And Steve was going to bring him home.

Steve , Natasha and Sam were sitting at Steve’s place , searching for him , Steve tapped a pen impatiently against the table “ any ideas?’ he asked Natasha turning in his seat to face her , she shook her head as she leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. She’d been scanning a tablet for the last ten minutes, browsing security footage, cross-referencing patterns, chasing ghosts.

Sam Wilson, sitting at the table across from them, sipped his coffee.

“You know, normal people take a break sometimes.”

Steve ignored him. His fingers tapped impatiently against the table. “Anything, Nat?”

Natasha exhaled sharply.

“He’s been careful. No credit cards, no phones, no pattern” she says quietly

She flicked her finger across the screen.

“But I did find something. Eastern Europe. Some fight , someone interfered. Witnesses described a man with long hair, a metal arm—”

Steve sat up straighter cutting off Natasha “Where?”

“Bucharest.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Man’s bouncing all over the place.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “So, he’s hiding.”

Natasha shrugged. “Not just hiding. Surviving.”

Sam set down his coffee.

“Alright. So what’s the plan? Knock on his door and say, ‘Hey buddy, long time no see?’”

Steve shot him a look.

Sam smirked. “Look, I get it. You wanna save him. But does he want to be saved?” , Steve looked at the tablet screen Infront of him not responding.

Natasha sighs quietly

“Steve, if he’s been programmed for decades, you’re not walking into a reunion. You’re walking into a loaded gun.”

Steve knew that. He didn’t care.

“He’s still in there,” Steve said quietly. “I know he is.”

Natasha held his gaze, then sighed, tossing him the tablet. “Then let’s go find him.”

___________________________

Bucharest - Two Days Later

The city was cold, wet from last night’s rain. Dim streetlights flickered as Steve moved through the narrow alleys, his hoodie pulled low over his face.

Bucky was close.

He’d spent weeks tracking down scattered sightings, waiting for patterns. Then finally—a routine.

Bucky came to the same rundown bakery every morning. Never at the same time. Never staying longer than five minutes.

But it was something.

Steve leaned against a wall across from the bakery, hands in his pockets, waiting.

Then—movement.

A man approached the bakery, hood up, shoulders tense, moving like a shadow. Steve barely recognized him.

Bucky.

He looked thinner, his long hair unkempt, dark circles under his eyes. But what struck Steve the most was his expression.

Blank. Empty.

Steve’s chest tightened.

Bucky entered the bakery, slipping inside like a ghost.

Steve pushed off the wall.

It was time.

Bucky exited the bakery minutes later, a small bag in his hand. He turned down an alley, moving fast.

Steve followed.

“Bucky.”

Bucky stopped. Tensed.

His breathing slowed. His hands clenched.

Steve took a step forward. “It’s me.”

Nothing.

Bucky slowly turned, his face cold. Unfamiliar.

Steve felt like he was staring at a stranger.

“You’ve been running,” Steve said. “For a long time.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched. His eyes flickered—not recognition, just calculation.

“I don’t know you,” Bucky said flatly.

The words hit harder than Steve expected.

“Yes, you do.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “I don’t.”

Steve swallowed. “Bucky, I—”

“I don’t know you,” Bucky repeated, his voice sharper. He took a step back.

Steve raised his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Bucky’s lip curled. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

Steve shook his head. “No. I think you don’t trust yourself.”

Something flickered in Bucky’s expression, but it was gone in an instant.

Steve took another slow step forward. “You saved me. Back on the helicarrier. You could’ve let me drown.”

Bucky’s gaze hardened. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” Steve said softly. “I remember for both of us.”

Silence.

Then—Bucky moved.

Fast.

He grabbed Steve by the collar and slammed him against the brick wall. His metal hand pressed against Steve’s throat, cold and unrelenting.

Steve didn’t fight back , Bucky’s eyes burned into him, his breathing heavy.

Then—confusion. Uncertainty, Like a glitch in a system, His grip loosened—just barely.

Steve took a slow breath.

“I’m not your enemy.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched. His metal hand trembled , Then, suddenly, he let go.

Steve coughed, rubbing his throat as Bucky took a step back, breathing hard.

Steve straightened. “I can help you.”

Bucky shook his head, stepping further away. “I don’t need help.” she stated

“Yes, you do.” Steve said softly holding his hand up showing bucky he means no harm as he took a step forward

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists. But his eyes—they weren’t dead anymore.

Just lost.

Steve took a chance. “I have a place for you. A safe place. Just… just come with me.”

Bucky’s fists stayed tight, but he didn’t run.

Not yet.

Steve exhaled. “At least think about it.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, finally, Bucky turned—and walked away.

But he didn’t disappear completely.

And for now, that was enough.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

Mini series:

No peace for the damned.

Bucky Barnes is a ghost. A weapon without a war. A man without a past.

Elena Shaw , She was nobody. Just someone trying to live a quiet life, far from the world she once knew.

She left S.H.I.E.L.D. behind, choosing a quiet life far from the wreckage of her past.

She is not his handler. She is not his savior. But in a world that still sees Bucky Barnes as the Winter Soldier, she might be the only person willing to see him as something more.

Even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

_________________________________

[multiverse-aesthetic]

(Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of Hydra trauma, PTSD triggers (related to masks/face coverings), light angst, fluff, banter.

Summary: You and Bucky need to get somewhere fast. The scooter is the only option. But when you toss him a helmet, you realize something you should have noticed a long time ago.

___________________________________

The early sun cast a warm glow over the city, but the air was still crisp from the night before .

You pulled your jacket tighter as you leaned against the scooter , waiting.

You should’ve known Bucky would be late.

When the café door finally swung open, he walked out with two coffee cups in hand, looking exactly like a man who hated mornings.

“you’re impossible” you teased as he handed you a cup.

“I got you coffee, didn’t I?” He muttered, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw before taking a sip of his own , you took a grateful sip of your coffee before setting aside and swinging a leg over the scooter “Come on, we gotta go.”

Bucky stopped mid-sip, staring at you like you’d lost your mind. “No.”

You blinked. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean, I’m not getting on that thing again.” He says setting his cup setting aside as he crosses his arms over his chest

You rolled your eyes. “You love this thing.”

Bucky scoffed behind you. “I hate this thing.”

“Nope.” He shook his head

“You ride with me all the time.” You protested

“That doesn’t mean I love it,” he muttered, standing stiffly beside you.

You just rolled your eyes, reaching into the back compartment and pulling out your helmet. You slid it on easily before turning to toss him his—and that’s when it happened.

The helmet hit his vibranium arm and dropped to the pavement with a hollow clatter.

Bucky just stood there, staring down at it , Your heart clenched.

“Buck?” Your voice was softer now, careful.

Nothing. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked onto the helmet like it was something dangerous.

“Bucky,” you whispered more gentle this time, reaching for his arm.

That broke the spell. He blinked, his breath shuddering slightly as he looked away. “I’m fine.” He whispered

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t fine. You saw it now—the way his fingers curled into fists like he was trying to ground himself, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, like he was pushing something down.

You took a step closer. "You don’t have to wear it."

His jaw tensed. "We’ll get pulled over."

You shrugged. "Let them pull us over."

That got a small exhale—not quite a laugh, but close. He finally looked at you then, something quiet in his eyes.

"It’s not the helmet," he murmured. "It’s… just a thing."

You tilted your head. "A thing?"

Bucky shifted his weight. "Y’know." His fingers flexed around the helmet. "Face coverings. Never liked ‘em."

“It’s the weight.” His voice was quiet now. “Of somethin’ on my face. The way it… presses. Feels like I can’t—” He gestured vaguely, but you knew exactly what he meant.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t move.

Can’t be himself.

Your heart hurt for him.

“Hydra,” you murmured.

He flinched—barely. “Yeah.”

The word hung between you, heavy , Your heart clenched.

You reached out, your fingers brushing over the back of his metal hand. "Buck."

He let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little. "It’s stupid."

"It’s not." You squeezed his hand, grounding him. "You’re not there anymore."

Bucky looked at you for a long moment. Then, so quietly it almost got lost in the wind, "Sometimes it feels like I am."

Your throat went tight.

You understood what he meant—not in words, but in the way he carried himself. In the nights he still woke up half there, half gone, chest heaving. In the moments his past crept up on him when he least expected it.

You weren’t going to push.

Instead, you gently got the helmet from the pavement and set it back in the compartment. Then, without a word, you stepped closer and cupped his cheek , His eyes flickered, a breath catching in his throat.

Your thumb traced along his cheekbone, your touch featherlight. "You don’t have to wear it. Ever."

For a moment, he just stood there. Then, slowly, he leaned into your touch. Just enough to feel it.

Your fingers slipped to the nape of his neck, your touch warm and steady. His own hands found your waist—light, hesitant. A grounding point.

After a moment, you smiled. "Ready to make a run for it?"

Bucky huffed out a real chuckle this time. "On a scooter?"

"Damn right." You chuckle

A small smirk ghosted over his lips. "You’re gonna get me arrested one day."

"And yet, you keep coming back," you teased kissing his cheek, then stepping back and climbing onto the scooter.

Bucky shook his head, but when he slid in behind you, his hands around your waist were secure. Steady. Here.

No helmets. No past. No chains.

Just the open road.

Just you and him.

[multiverse-aesthetic]

(Doctor Strange x Reader – Accidental Marriage AU)

Summary:

A spell gone wrong sends you and Stephen to an alternate dimension where you're married—to each other. To blend in and avoid suspicion, you have to play the role of a loving couple. But the longer you act, the more blurred the lines become.

__________________________________

It all started with a book.

You should’ve known better than touching a book in sanctum , it wasn’t entirely your fault— Wong had left an ancient very odd book open on the table and your curiosity got the best of you so you just shrugged your shoulder ,

“This doesn’t look dangerous,” you had muttered, scanning the spell.

Famous last words.

The moment you traced your fingers over the ancient runes, the entire room shifted. Stephen had been mid-sentence, scolding you for meddling with things you didn’t understand, but his voice warped into an echo. The world twisted, a golden portal spiraling open beneath your feet—

And then…

Silence.

And the worst thing is … Stephen ported through as well.

___________________________________

When you woke up, it was not in the Sanctum.

Well at least not the sanctum you know,

A grand four-poster bed. Velvet curtains , and a faint trace of cologne that was unmistakably Stephen’s.

And, oh yeah—a wedding band on your finger.

“What the—”

You nearly fell out of bed.

A groan from beside you made you freeze.

Turning your head slowly—way too slowly—you found Stephen lying on his back, shirtless, sheets tangled around his waist.

Shirtless.

“Okay, okay,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “This is a dream. Or a prank. Or I’ve died.”

"Would you keep your existential crisis down?” Stephen muttered groggily, rubbing his temples. Then, as if suddenly registering your presence, his eyes snapped open. They flicked from your panicked expression to the ring on your hand.

His expression went from irritated to utterly horrified.

“What the fu—” he muttered under his breath cutting himself off as he looked around the room , and so does you and once you took the covers off , you were wearing shorts , and very short shorts and you quickly put the covers back on

“oh god … this is can’t be happening-” you say quietly closing your eyes only for Stephen to inturupt you “it is happening”

___________________________________

Finally once they got their heads wrapped around what's happening .

"So we are married.." Stephen started, you nodded "and the real couple are no where to be found.. and the worst part is we have servents here" you say pinching the bridge of your nose

"Why do you have servents anyway? What are we in the vectroin age?" You mumble

"don't look at me .. apparently he's just super rich" Stephen said chuckling slightly as he glanced around the room , the bedroom was big and literally shinning .

"We need to blend in," Stephen had said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Until we figure out a way back."

Yeah, except everyone here expects us to act married" you huff out

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll just play along, find a way to locate our counterparts, and then switch back."

You raised an eyebrow. "So, let me get this straight. You, the man who can barely say thank you without sounding like it's physically painful, are going to act like a devoted husband?"

He exhaled. "How hard could it be?"

Famous last words.

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

It turned out, very hard.

First, there was the hand-holding situation.

"You don’t hold my hand," you whispered through a forced smile as you walked through the Sanctum’s halls, Stephen’s fingers loosely intertwined with yours.

"People are watching," he muttered back, gripping your hand slightly tighter. "I’m playing the part."

"You look like you're holding hands with an infection."

Then came the dinner disaster.

Disciples had gathered in the Sanctum’s grand hall, expecting their beloved married leaders to share a meal. You played along, eating in silence, until one brave soul asked:

"Madame Strange, how did you and Master Strange first meet?"

Stephen choked on his wine.

You froze, staring at him as he coughed violently, trying to think of an answer that didn’t include *Oh, we’re actually two interdimensional intruders who got stuck here.*

"I… saved her," Stephen blurted out.

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"In battle," he continued, straightening his shoulders. "She was cornered, and I… intervened. It was fate."

You blinked. "Yeah. Sure. Fate." You laughs gently placing your hand on top of his on the table "i couldn't be more lucky" you added with fake affection trying to sound convincing as you smiled at Stephen

The disciples swooned.

And then there was the bedroom problem.

The one bed was enormous, draped in deep blue sheets. Neither of you wanted to address it.

"I'll take the floor," Stephen said gruffly.

"Don’t be an idiot," you sighed, climbing into bed and shoving a pillow between you. "Stay on your side, Sorcerer."

He huffed. "I always do."

But Maybe It’s Not So Bad…Over the next few days, something weird happened.

Stephen started to relax.

At night, you'd talk—about magic, about life, about the weird what if of it all. Sometimes, you'd even laugh.

One night, as you stood on the Sanctum’s balcony, staring at the city, Stephen appeared beside you.

"If this were real," he said quietly, "it wouldn’t be the worst thing."

You turned, heart stalling.

"Stephen," you started, but before you could finish—

The sky ripped open.

A portal burst into existence, and out tumbled—

Your real counterparts.

Your real married versions looked just as confused as you were. After some scrambling (and a lot of arguing between the two Stranges), the spell was finally reversed.

You landed back in your Sanctum, gasping for breath.

For a moment, you and Stephen just stood there, staring at each other.

It felt… wrong, somehow, that things had gone back to normal.

"So," you said, trying to sound casual. "Guess we don’t have to pretend anymore."

Stephen hesitated. Then, slowly, he reached out—and took your hand.

"No," he murmured. "I guess we don’t."

The air felt charged. Neither of you moved , and then Wong stormed in. "I told you not to mess with interdimensional—wait. Why are you two holding hands?"

You and Stephen immediately let go.

"Absolutely no reason," you both said at the same time , Wong narrowed his eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure."

But as you turned to leave, you caught Stephen glancing at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips , You playfully slapped his arms and he couldn't help but to laugh enjoying the banter.