Hi! This is my very first time writing and posting something, so please be kind 🫠🩷
Bucky Barnes x Reader (gender-neutral, second person)
Post-TFATWS, soft vibes, one cooking class.
English is not my first language. I search a lot of words.
Hope you enjoy.
A Pinch of Normal
The apron is ridiculous.
White, starched, with a frilly edge that curls slightly at the bottom like the hem of a summer dress. It’s the kind of thing Bucky Barnes would’ve laughed and maybe scowled at, depending on the day, but now, all he can do is sigh and tie it behind his back like it’s some sort of armor.
Sam had insisted this would be good for him.
“You can’t keep living off cheap take-out and microwaved ramen, man,” Sam had said, arms crossed, voice full of that same relentless optimism that somehow cut through the noise. “You’re not running away anymore. Try… I don’t know. Chopping onions. Cooking real food. Be normal.”
Bucky had scoffed and refused deeply but when it was Sarah who insisted and told him she knew someone, he ended up agreeing.
And now, here he is, standing in a sunlit community center kitchen that smells like olive oil and clean countertops, surrounded by shiny mixing bowls and strangers, waiting for the damn class to start. His right hand is jammed awkwardly in the apron’s front pocket. His left hand taps against the countertop, metal fingers making a soft ticking noise that draws glances from the others but he doesn’t meet their eyes. Instead, he studies the tiled floor, the shine of the steel prep table, the little chalkboard sign by the sink that reads, “Today’s Recipe: Hand-Stretched Pasta with Seasonal Herbs.” and whatever that means.
He’s already regretting this and cursing Sam. Normalcy is overrated and so is hand-stretched pasta.
Then the door swings open with a soft clang of bells, and you walk in.
You move like you’ve done this before —maybe not here, but somewhere. There’s a practiced ease in the way you scan the room, take in the set-up, spot the stack of aprons by the wall. You don’t hesitate, just tie one on, grab a cutting board, and choose a station near his.
You don’t look twice at the metal arm, or the nervous set of his shoulders, or the way he’s been pretending to read the recipe card for the last five minutes without flipping it over, and that alone earns you a curious glance from him.
The instructor starts talking —bright, chipper, explaining the recipe and promising that no one will lose a finger today, probably— and the rest of the class chuckles politely. Bucky doesn’t laugh, but he does glance sideways at you again.
You’re already slicing basil leaves with clean, practiced strokes. There’s a stain on your fingers and a calm on your face he hasn’t seen in a long time.
The knife in your hand moves with ease, not professionally —Bucky can tell that much— but with enough ease to make it look natural, almost confident. Your fingers guide the basil in practiced motions, slicing thin ribbons that curl slightly at the edges. There’s a rhythm to it, and it calms him in a way he doesn’t fully understand.
He’s still staring at the recipe card, pretending it makes any sense. His own pile of herbs looks like something a lawnmower coughed up.
He glances sideways again and you don’t flinch when you meet his eyes. Bucky opens his mouth before he can think twice. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
His voice sounds stiff in the open space —too loud, too direct— but you just look at the parsley in his hand, then back at him with an expression that isn't mocking, just… honest.
“Not exactly,” you say. “But hey, it’s still parsley. It'll taste fine.”
He stares at you and the way you’re not trying to impress anyone for a second longer than he should. You’re not nervous like the older couple across the room, or flirty like the two college kids near the oven. You’re just here, stirring a bowl with basil and olive oil like the world outside doesn’t matter.
God, he envies that.
“No one ever died from ugly herbs,” you add, brushing the greens into a bowl.
Something about that makes his chest feel less tight, and a smile —not quite there, but real enough to count— tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s fleeting, but it happens. The way you don’t point it out makes you even easier to be around.
“You’ve done this before?” he asks.
“A few classes,” you reply, nodding. “Cooking’s cheaper than therapy.”
You knead dough next, hands working with slow patience. Bucky watches you —more than he should, again— and tries to mimic your movements. His own dough is too dry, and he doesn’t know how hard to press, and the flour keeps sticking to his arm and hand, but he doesn’t want to stop.
You notice, of course.
“Like this,” you say gently, holding your hands just above the counter. You don’t reach for him, or try to correct him, you just mirror the motion so he can follow. And he does.
Bucky tries again, better now with your lead. Still clumsy, but better.
He glances at you again, noticing the flour on your knuckles and the little crease between your brows when you concentrate. The way you don’t shrink away from him —not the arm, the scars, or the quiet he brings with him everywhere.
“You’re good at this,” he says before he can stop himself.
You glance up, surprised. “At cooking?”
“At… helping.”
It comes out quieter than he means. And softer.
You look at him then —really look— and instead of brushing it off or laughing, you just offer a small, understanding smile.
The rest of the class unfolds in a strange kind of rhythm.
There’s a lot of flour and still some awkward moments like one small fire in the back corner involving someone who clearly shouldn’t be near a stove, and Bucky almost dropping an entire pot of boiling water because he has forgotten that steam can’t hurt his metal hand —but the yelp he let out had been pure muscle memory.
You’re beside him when it happens, and you don’t laugh. Just hand him a towel, say nothing, and keep working like it’s no big deal.
So, somewhere between rolling the dough and sautéing the garlic, Bucky forgets to keep looking over his shoulder, and worrying about who’s watching him. Instead he starts listening when you speak —soft advice, small jokes, a quiet comment about how good his sauce actually smells, even if he looks unconvinced.
By the time the instructor tells everyone to plate their dishes and find someone to trade bites with, the room has relaxed into a low hum of chatter and clinking forks.
Bucky hesitates, because he’s sure his pasta is overcooked and uneven and the sauce a little too salty, since he’d lost track of measurements halfway through. But you just slide your plate next to his without asking, hand him a fork, and say, “Yours first.”
He watches you take a bite, waiting for a grimace, a joke or something.
But you chew, tilt your head thoughtfully, and nod.
“Okay, wow. Not bad.”
He doesn’t believe you —until he tries it himself and realizes you’re being generous, but not lying. It’s edible. The sauce actually has flavor. There’s a weird knot in his chest that eases a little when you go back for a second bite without hesitation.
“You survived your first class,” you tell him, nudging his elbow.
And for a moment, it feels like more than that, almost like he did something right.
Cleanup is quick. People rinse bowls, trade compliments, joke about flour on their clothes. Bucky stays mostly quiet, but not withdrawn —just watching, processing. He’s not used to this kind of space: simple and safe. A room full of strangers who don’t know who he used to be or what he’s still afraid of becoming.
You’re wiping your hands on a towel when he finds himself beside you again. You notice, but don’t comment, just sling your bag over one shoulder and glance toward the door.
The class is ending, yes, but he’s not ready to go back to silence just yet.
“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat. “You walking out?”
You turn to face him, and there’s that same calm in your eyes —like he’s not a problem you need to solve, or something broken you feel sorry for. He's just a guy in a ridiculous apron, trying to cook.
“Yeah,” you reply. “Subway’s a few blocks down.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Bucky says, a little too fast. Then, quieter, “If that’s okay.”
You study him for a breath, then nod. “Sure.”
Outside, the evening air is warm. He keeps pace beside you, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the passing cars more out of habit than need. It’s quiet but not uncomfortable.
Halfway to the corner, you speak again.
“I never got your name, by the way.”
He hesitates.
He is still learning how to introduce himself without flinching. Still learning how to be Bucky Barnes instead of the Winter Soldier. But when he looks at you, he doesn’t see fear in your eyes —doesn’t see the weight of history. He just sees someone who lets him make ugly pasta without judgment.
“Bucky,” he says finally. “Bucky Barnes.”
You nod and tell him your name too, adding at the end: “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”
You stop walking, dig into your bag, pull out a piece of paper and a pen and write something on it before offering it over.
“Just in case,” you say casually. “If you need help with next week’s recipe. Or, you know, how to not murder parsley.”
He huffs a quiet laugh as he accepts the paper. It contains your name, along with a phone number.
“Thanks,” he says, the word heavier than it sounds. “For… today.”
You smile. “You’re welcome. Same time next week?”
He nods, and when you disappear down the steps toward the subway, your number tucked in a piece of paper on his hand and the scent of basil still lingering in his clothes, Bucky finds himself thinking of things he hasn’t in a long time.
Like what it means to look forward to something.
Like how it felt to hear you laugh.
Like maybe —maybe— he’ll be better at cooking next time.
a/n: Here's day 7! I had to rewrite this a few times cause I swear the inside of my brain is always jumbled. I hope you enjoy!
Banners by @vase-of-lilies
You were one of the trainers for the Avenger’s compound. It was your job to train the recruits that were hand picked by the main team. You were also an Avenger but you were only brought on the field when needed so you started using your talents at the recruitment center. You had a new class that was being brought in today, brand new from the west coast. They all came in with stone faces and all in a side by side line. You walked in with a clipboard and in your Avenger’s issued jumpsuit with your name on it. You quickly took roll call of everyone then started the training. Day one was always the easiest when it came to training but it was still as brutal. Bucky always said you worked them harder than any other trainer but you always joked that if they couldn’t survive day one then they couldn’t survive.
The day was done for the training but tradition was that every new recruit had to buy a round for the team. So everyone showered and changed then made their way to the bar about ten minutes from the compound. Little dive bar but the drinks were cheap and gave everyone an excuse to leave. You were sitting in a booth waiting for Bucky to bring you your drink when one of the new recruits came over, he had two beers, one in each hand. He had a smirk on his face as he sat across from you.
“Y/n, right?” He asked, you thought his name was Josh or Jake something like that.
You nodded, “Yep. What can I do for you?” You asked bored with the conversation already.
“Wondering if you wanted to have a beer with me? Rookies buy the first round, right?” He hummed as he slid the open beer towards you.
“Sorry, can’t” You faked a frown and slid it back to him.
“Why not, honey? It’s just one beer.” He shrugged and tried to slide it back but you blocked it with your abilities.
“Because pushy men means an insecure man, which is quite the turn off.” You fake pouted and his smirk was wiped from his face and a scowl replaced it.
His face got red and he began to insult you, “You little-”
Bucky stopped him with his metal hand on the guy's shoulder, “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I was you.” He growled at the young man and yanked him up from the booth, then shoved him away. Bucky grabbed the two beers and shoved them at him. “Take your cheap beers and put your sweaty moves on someone else.” The young man scrambled away and Bucky turned to me with a huff as he sat next to you.
He handed you your Jack and Coke and you smiled up at him. “Thank you, baby.” You said as you kissed his cheek softly.
“Fuckin’ idiot.” Bucky grumbled as he sipped his beer making you giggle softly.
“He’s just a dumb ass kid. He’ll learn, maybe with some life lessons and a clean pair of underwear.” You joked as you linked your fingers through his, he squeezed your hand softly and kissed your head.
He chuckled softly, “I hope he learned somewhat of a lesson, but believe me, tonight I’ll make sure he never mistakes you as single again.” He growled against your ear making a shiver go down your spine.
Later that night, Bucky and you make it back to your room in the compound. He pressed you against the door and kissed you deeply. You moaned softly against his lips and his hands gripped at your hips and squeezed them tight as he picked you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you. He fumbled for the hand to your door making him break away from the kiss and turn to the door handle. You giggled softly feeling the effects of the alcohol in your bloodstream. He managed to get the door open and he carried you into the room, kicking the door shut behind you two.
He gently tossed you on the bed making you smile and you started stripping off your blouse and pencil skirt. He tossed his jacket off and pulled his t-shirt off before climbing back on top of you. Your lips found his again and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and ran them along the lines of his toned back and shoulders. His hands went behind you to undo your bra and toss it away before his lips moved to your neck. He sucked marks and bruises into your skin and down to your chest, making sure that you were marked with bruises from his lips and teeth.
“That fuckin’ kid. Thought he could have you.” He growled against your collarbone and his hands moved down to your thighs and yanked them up and around his hips. You moved your hands down to undo his belt and jeans. He quickly shuffled out of his pants, revealing his throbbing and hard cock to you. You reached a hand down and stroked him slowly, starting at the base and moving up. He groaned softly and nuzzled into your chest.
You moved your hands down to the hem of your panties and pulled them down. Bucky was quick to help you and toss them away before he lined up to your weeping cunt. He stroked himself slowly before lining up to your hole and slowly pushing in. You moaned loudly and clawed at his back, leaving long red scratches on his skin. “B-Bucky! Fuck, you’re so big.” You whined as he bottomed out in you. The tip kissed your cervix making your back arch.
“So warm and tight.” He grunted before he started thrusting in and out of your hole. He kept your hips pinned to the bed as he pounded in and out of you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and grabbed his shoulders tight. He rested his forehead against yours, “You’re mine.” He grunted as he felt your walls squeezed around him.
You panted and whined as he pounded you into the mattress, your thighs shaking as they squeezed his hips, “All yours.”
Pairings: Boyfriend/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend/Avenger!Reader
Summary: Bucky gives you a birthday surprise you’ll never forget…
Warnings: Smut, fluff, unprotected (consensual) P in V sex, descriptions of showering together and shower sex, language, pet names.
A/N: This has been in my drafts since, like, mid July but I wanted to post it today because it’s my birthday 🤭. (I’ve also never been where Bucky takes the reader. This destination is like, my dream date)
You’re sitting in the bedroom of yours and Bucky’s shared apartment early one afternoon while he’s away on a long mission, when you suddenly hear the front door. Knowing he’s not supposed to be home for a few more days, your heart races. “H- hello?” You call out anxiously.
Bursting into the room, Bucky reveals himself, balloons and flowers in hand. “Happy birthday, gorgeous!”
Your eyes widen as you jump out of bed and rush towards him. “Bucky!”
He swiftly sets the flowers and balloons aside before you jump into his arms, hooking your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. “You didn’t really think I’d miss your birthday, did you?”
You giggle, peppering his face with kisses.
He laughs as he spins you around in a circle, playfully nuzzling into your kisses. “Happy birthday, beautiful girl.” He repeats, carefully setting you down again.
You grin, releasing him and pulling back. “Thank you, bubba!” You look at the flowers and balloons, blushing. “You didn’t have to get me anything… having you home again in the best present I could’ve received.”
He leans in and kisses your neck. “Mmm, baby… this isn’t even the half of it. I’m gonna spoil you rotten today…”
“Bucky…” you moan softly as he kisses your neck.
He smirks against your skin before pulling back. “Gimme your wrist, babydoll.”
Though you’re confused, you extend your arm.
Pulling a small, velvet box out of his jacket pocket, he reveals a delicate bracelet with a few charms on it, fastening it around your wrist.
You watch him with a soft smile, lifting your wrist to take a closer look at the charms; a small snowflake, a tiny soldier and a metal arm. You chuckle. “Winter Soldier, huh? And your vibranium arm?”
He smiles and nods, his eyes sparkling. “You got it, beautiful.” He lifts his hand, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “‘Cause you’re the only person I’ve ever fully trusted with the worst parts of me. The only person who’s ever truly loved me in spite of them…”
“Bucky…” Your eyes meet his, full of unshed tears, nuzzling your face into his gentle caress.
His face falls at the sight of your teary eyes, his thumb catching a tear as it falls. “Baby, I’m sorry. Don’t- don’t cry…”
“It’s not- I’m not-” You cut yourself off and shake your head. “Thank you, bubba. This- it’s beautiful…” You hold up the bracelet again, shaking the charms slightly before pulling him into a loving kiss.
Wrapping his arms around you tightly, he groans softly into the kiss, deepening it to convey all of his love and gratitude. “I love you, baby…” He breathes against your lips.
“I love you too…”
He smiles, pulling back. “I need to take a shower. Then, we’re going out to celebrate you.” He winks playfully, taking your hand and leading you towards the bathroom with him.
You chuckle, following him without hesitation.
He grins over his shoulder at you before closing the bathroom door behind you and turning on the shower. Then, he reaches out to help you take off your bracelet, placing it on the countertop before helping you get undressed, leaning in for a quick kiss as he pulls down your pyjama shorts and panties.
You giggle, undressing your top half as he works on your lower half. Then, you both work on getting him undressed.
Once the two of you are naked, he steps under the warm spray, pulling you under with him and into his embrace. “God, baby, I missed this. I missed you…” He turns around with you, pressing you against the cool tiles as he begins kissing your body hungrily, his hands roaming over your skin appreciatively.
You moan softly. “Mmm… I missed you too…”
His eyes lock on yours, his hands still wandering. “I love every goddamn inch of you…” He smirks, picking you up effortlessly and pinning you against the shower wall, kissing his way along your jawline and neck.
You laugh as he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as your arms hook around his neck.
Pulling back slightly, he gazes as you adoringly. “Can I make love to you in this shower, on your birthday, baby girl?”
“You better…” You grin.
With a smile, Bucky positions himself at your entrance, slowly pushing his shaft inside of you. He groans softly at the feeling of your warmth enveloping him, beginning a gentle yet passionate rhythm. “I love you, angel…”
You moan as he slips inside of you with such ease, your arms and legs tightening around him as he begins to move. “Mmm, I love you too…”
His pace quickens slightly, the glass of the shower steaming up as he leans back in to kiss your neck again. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight and wet…” He growls against your skin.
You can only whimper in response, your fingers raking through his hair, tugging gently.
He gasps softly, the sensation of your fingers in his hair spurring him on as he thrusts harder and faster, his hips slapping against yours with a lewd sound in the enclosed space. “That’s it, baby, just like that…” He encourages, his breath hot against your neck.
“Oh, fuck!!” You cry out as he speeds up, your head tipping back against the shower wall, a string of moans and whimpers escaping you as you hold onto Bucky tightly.
“Good girl.” He purrs, pulling back slightly. “You like that? You like me fucking you hard and fast on your birthday?”
“Yes!” You manage, your pleasure building as your climax approaches quickly.
His grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you, the water cascading over your intimately entwined bodies, his grunts and groans mixing with your cries of pleasure. “Fuck. I’m so close already, baby… I’m gonna fill you up…”
“Please!” You beg.
Though his pace stutters ever so slightly, he continues moving in a slower, deeper rhythm, his cock throbbing before he floods your insides with his hot release, his hips twitching with every spurt. “Oh, fuck yes…” He pants against your ear, still moving in pursuit of your orgasm.
Your orgasm chases his as he erupts inside of you, leaving you panting and shaking, your mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a moment before a loud moan escapes you. “Fuuuuck…!”
He chuckles, his rock hard member still buried deep inside of you as his thrusts slow to a halt, watching as the pleasure crosses your features, his grin growing wider with each passing moment. “You okay, baby?”
Almost drunkenly, you grin. “Never better…”
He laughs softly, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and carefully pulls out of you, setting you down on the shower floor. “Better get cleaned up, huh?” He says, making sure you’re steady as he lathers up a washcloth with soap and starts to wash you tenderly.
You lean back against the shower wall, fighting to catch your breath before speaking. “Do I get any hints as to where we’re going…?” You ask sweetly, fluttering your eyelashes.
He chuckles, shaking his head playfully. “Nope.” He finishes washing you, rinsing away the soap suds.
You grin, taking the washcloth from him and rinsing it out before switching positions with him, lathering it up again and washing him as gently as he had washed you. “Will you at least tell me what I should wear…?”
His eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans back against the shower wall, letting you take care of him. “Something… comfortable. Jeans and a t-shirt, maybe?” He suggests with a wink, his hands sliding up your sides to rest on your hips as he pulls you against him. “Better take a sweater, too…”
You eye him suspiciously. “You’re not giving anything away, huh?”
Laughing, he shakes his head, a playful grin on his lip. “Not a single thing.” He takes the washcloth from you, rinsing the last of the soap suds from both of your bodies. turning off the water, helping you out of the shower and wrapping a towel around you before grabbing one for himself. “Let’s get you dry, baby girl.”
He dries you off before quickly drying himself, turning to the counter to retrieve your bracelet. He gently lifts your arm and secures the bracelet around your wrist again.
You smile appreciatively, admiring the delicate piece of jewellery once more before walking with him through to the bedroom. “Jeans and a t-shirt…” You mumble, searching through the dresser.
Bucky leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you with a knowing glint in his eye. “And a sweater.” He reminds.
Turning to face him, you glare at him playfully before pulling out some suitable clothes and stepping into them, grabbing some socks and shoes. Once you’re changed, you approach the full length mirror in the bedroom, examining your appearance as Bucky gets dressed. “Is this okay…?”
As he finishes getting dressed, he steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your neck. “It’s perfect, baby. Trust me.” He says, his voice a low and gentle rumble in your ear, his hands travelling down your sides to give your hips a gentle squeeze before he lets go and pulls back to put on his own socks and shoes.
As Bucky finishes getting ready, you grab a sweater from the closer, tossing one to him too, earning a hearty laugh from him. “Do I get any hints yet…?”
Smirking, he shakes his head once more. “Still no. But I promise you’ll love it.” He says with confidence, extending his hand for you to take.
You sigh loudly, taking his hand.
“So dramatic!” He chuckles, squeezing your hand and leading you out of the apartment, locking up behind you.
You stick your tongue out at him as he walks downstairs with you, out of the apartment building and to his car.
He laughs at your playful antics opening the passenger door for you and helping you in before circling around to the driver’s side. “You’re adorable when you get all feisty, you know that?” He teases, getting behind the wheel and starting the engine as he pulls out of the parking spot and heads out onto the road.
As he drives, you bug Bucky with guesses about where he might be taking you. “Is it.. a restaurant?”
He smiles, shaking his head. “Baby, if I were taking you to a restaurant, I’d have got you to wear that sexy red dress that hugs your body so perfectly…” He says, keeping his eyes on the road as he drives through the city towards your surprise destination.
Hearing how much he likes that dress, you blush. “A bar?” You try again.
“Not a bar either, baby girl. Keep trying!” He encourages your little guessing game with an amused grin.
“A zoo?”
“God, you’re cute when you’re clueless.” He laughs. “No. Not a zoo. Too many unpredictable species…” He shudders at the thought.
You laugh as he inadvertently reveals his dislike for zoos. “I bet it’s a strip club…” You mumble teasingly.
He raises his eyebrows, shooting a cheeky smirk in your direction. “Well, if I’d known you were into that kind of thing…” He taunts suggestively, letting out a low growl. “But no, not a strip club.”
“Then where…?” You groan.
He laughs, pulling into a parking lot a fair distance from your surprise destination. “Riiiight… here.”
“A car park?” You grumble, disappointed.
He turns off the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt and faces you, grinning. “Don’t be fooled, beautiful. This is where I blindfold you so I can take you to your surprise.”
“Blindfold me, huh?” Your eyes sparkle as you smirk. “Kinky…”
His grin widens as he studies you, his eyes darkening slightly. “Maybe I am… but that’s not what this is about. Now be a good girl and turn around.”
You turn in your seat, your back to him so he can blindfold you.
Once you’re turned around, Bucky grabs a black cloth from his pocket and carefully places it over your eyes, tying it behind your head and making sure it’s secure so you can’t see anything. “Now was that so hard?” He whispers teasingly, climbing out of the car and coming to your side to help you out.
You blindly accept his outstretched hand. “It’s a good thing I trust you with my life, or this’d be pretty terrifying…”
His heart swells at your declaration of trust, a mix of affection and possessiveness in his actions as he hooks an arm around your waist, supporting you and leading you to towards the destination, your blindfold still in place. “You can always trust me, baby girl.”
As you and Bucky approach your surprise birthday venue, you hear laughter, loud music and joyful screaming. Your heart races with excitement as you start to piece everything together. “Bucky, you didn’t?!”
He chuckles, squeezing your waist affectionately before bringing you to a halt at the entrance, removing your blindfold to reveal your surprise - a funfair. “Happy birthday, beautiful.” He beams.
Your eyes light up as you take in the various attractions and stalls. “You’re the best!” You hug him tightly.
He laughs as he hugs you back, his heart lifting at the sight of you so happy. “Well, I try…” He jokes, pulling back and looking down at you lovingly. “I remember when we first got together, you told me that you’d always wanted to go to a funfair, but your parents could never find the time or the right venue to take you. So, when I heard that there was one opening up so close to our apartment, I knew exactly what I was gonna do for your birthday.”
You beam up at him. “I- I don’t know what to say, babe…”
He smiles back down at you, tucking a loose lock of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to say anything, baby girl… Just enjoy yourself tonight, okay? Let go of all the responsibilities and worries you’ve been carrying lately…”
“Consider it done!” You declare, grabbing his arm and dragging him into the depths of the funfair.
He chortles, letting you drag him to the various booths, stalls and attractions, his heart warming to see you so captivated by all the sights, sounds and smells surrounding you.
After hours of fun, laughter and playing the various carnival games, you and Bucky stand by a cotton candy stall, sharing a stick of the sweet treat, your cheeks flushed from all the excitement.
He glances over at you, watching as you pick at the cotton candy, his heart stuttering in his chest as he takes in the sight of your flushed cheeks and the pink sweetness that surrounds your mouth. “You’re too cute, baby…” He chuckles softly, disposing of the stick once you’re both finished and wiping the remnants from around your mouth.
You chuckle. “Thank you…”
He winks, taking your hand in his. “Come on, I got one more surprise in store for you tonight…” He smiles, leading you through the crowds and towards the ferris wheel.
Giggling, you wrap your arms around his waist as you wait in line for the last ride of the night.
He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close as he looks down at you. “I figured we could end the night with a view…”
“There’s only one view I’m interested in…” You smirk, gazing up at him adoringly.
“Oh yeah? What might that be…?” He teases as the line moves forward.
“You, dummy!” You laugh as the ride operator opens the door to the pod for you and Bucky.
He grins, taking a seat with you in the pod as the ride begins to move.
You stand, your eyes wide as you gaze out at the view.
Suddenly, the ride stops. Worried that there’s a malfunction, you turn back to Bucky only to find him down on one knee, holding a small, velvet box in his hands, cracking it open. “Bucky… what are you doing…?”
He looks up at you, his eyes and heart pounding with nerves. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago, baby…” He reaches up, taking your hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a gentle, calming kiss. “Y/N, you’re the best part of my life. You’re the brightest light in my world, and you always know how to make me smile on a crappy day. You own me, baby; my heart and soul belong to you. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Never trusted anyone like I trust you. Sweetheart… will you marry me?”
A wide, tearful smile breaks out onto your face as you pull Bucky up to his feet. “Yes! Yes, Bucky, I’ll marry you!” You practically squeal, pulling him into a tight, emotional hug.
He laughs in delight, squeezing you tightly, his heart overflowing with happiness. “God, I love you, angel…” He pulls back, slipping the ring onto your finger - a perfect fit - leaning back in for a kiss.
You grin against his lips, tears of happiness escaping your eyes as you pull back. “I love you too.”
He gently wipes away your tears with his thumb, a tender expression on his face. “I got you, baby girl…” He leans in, nuzzling his nose against yours and the wheel starts to move again, slowly taking you back down to the ground.
As the ride operator opens the pod for you and Bucky to exit, you catch the knowing nod he and Bucky share. “You set this whole day up to end with a proposal?”
He smiles sheepishly, still holding your hand tightly as the two of you step down from the ferris wheel area, making your ways out of the funfair and back to the car park. “Guilty as charged…” He leans down to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been planning it for weeks. I wanted everything to be perfect for you…”
Halfway to his car, you tug on his hand and stop him, gazing up at him. “Bucky, it was. This whole day has been… amazing.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him, grinning against his lips before whispering against them. “Best birthday ever…”
He rests his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you had fun, babydoll. You deserve nothing but the best. I just wanna give it to you.”
“You always do…” You pull back, cupping his cheek. “You are, without a doubt, the absolute best part of my life. You’ve given me three amazing years of love and happiness.” You raise your hand, newly decorated with the engagement ring, beaming. “And now we get to make more memories as fiancés.”
His heart swells with love, his eyes sparkling as he gazes down at you. “Don’t get too used to that title…” He grins, his hand resting on your lower back and pulling you against him. “I want you to be my wife.”
You chuckle, your hand falling from his cheek to his chest as he pulls you in. “Mmm… and I want you to be my husband…”
His smile never fades, his captivating blue eyes burning with sincerity. “You’re it for me, baby…” He leans in to kiss you lightly before pulling you back into his side as he continues walking with you towards his car. “It’s been a long day, beautiful. Fun, but long. So what do you say we get you home where we can snuggle up together all night?”
You wrap your arms around his waist as you both walk. “That… sounds like pure bliss.”
His face breaks out into a wide grin as he pulls you even closer. “It sure does, babydoll.” He opens the passenger side door and helps you in. Then, once you’re settled and buckled up, he shuts the door and hurries around to the driver’s seat.
As Bucky climbs in, fastens his own seatbelt and starts the car, you gaze at him lovingly. Catching this, Bucky glances back at you, reaching across the centre console to rest his hand on your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze as he pulls out of the parking lot, steering his with free hand.
As the drive wears on, your eyes start to grow heavy, the excitement of the day morphing into exhaustion.
Pulling up to a red light, Bucky notices this, gazing at you adoringly. “Take a nap, beautiful. I’ll wake you when we get home.”
“You sure…?” You ask, trying to keep your eyes open a moment longer.
He nods, smiling. “I’m sure.” He says, rubbing your thigh as the light turns green and he starts to drive again. “Rest, gorgeous…”
At this, your eyes flutter closed, a small smile on your lips as you drift off, facing him.
Smiling fondly, Bucky continues driving carefully, his hand remaining on your thigh, glancing over at your sleeping form periodically.
After a little while, he pulls up at the apartment building. Deciding not to disturb you when you look so content, he quietly gets out of the car and rounds the hood to get you out, scooping you up into his arms and carrying you up to the apartment.
You stir in his arms as he unlocks the door. “Mmm…? You were supposed to wake me…” You smile.
He grins, carrying you inside and kicking the door shut behind him. “Sorry, sweetheart. You looked so peaceful that I just didn’t have the heart to disturb you.” He walks through the living room, heading towards the bedroom and carefully setting you down on the bed before moving over to the dresser and grabbing some pyjamas for the both of you.
You chuckle sleepily, watching him with still-heavy eyes.
Taking in your adorable expression, Bucky laughs softly and kneels beside the bed, undressing you carefully and expertly as he pulls off your clothes and changes you into your pyjamas. He steps back, admiring you for a moment before changing out of his own clothes and into some pyjama pants, hanging low on his hips as he climbs into bed beside you, pulling you close.
You snuggle up to his bare chest, his warmth spreading through you as you exhale contentedly. “Thank you for the best day of my life…” You mumble.
His heart swells at your tired words, his hand coming up to rest on your upper arm, rubbing gentle circles with his fingers as he smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I told you, baby, you deserve nothing but the best. I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to give it to you.”
You giggle. “I love you so much…”
He gazes down at you, his eyes full of adoration. “I love you too, beautiful. More than anything in this world…”
PAIRING: bucky barnes x fem!reader, bucky barnes x avengers!reader
WARNINGS: dad!bucky, pregnancy, children, sickening domesticity, adorable children, literally just fluff on fluff on fluff
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
🎶 : invisible string - taylor swift
AN: 💗 - could be read on it's own - but this is a part two to illicit affairs!! sorry that it's so short, i just wanted them to use the house you (the reader) bought in illicit affairs!!
illicit affairs
sometime in the near future...
“Morning, Doll.”
You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. “Good morning.”
Bucky was already staring at you, his head propped up on his hand. “You look angelic.”
You glared, shoving his chest as you got up, donning your robe. “Can you start breakfast? I have to wake up the girls.”
If you had asked him in that exact moment what he was feeling, he would have said content. The most content he’d ever felt in his life. “Not a problem. What are we thinking? Pancakes or waffles?”
“What about French toast?” You grinned. “Please, I woke up craving it.”
“French toast, huh?” He practically rolled out of bed, and you hid your laughter behind your hand. If you hadn’t known he was a renowned superhero, you would have assumed he was the most inelegant person on Earth. He was so stiff, groggy as he searched for his t-shirt (which read ‘Universe’s Best Dad’ if you were wondering.) “You haven’t wanted French Toast since you were pregnant with Brie.”
“Huh.” You smiled, wondering if he would get the hint. He did not. “Funny.”
“Yeah.” He smiled, kissing your cheek as he practically skipped down the stairs. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” You called after him, carefully opening the door across the hall. They were little angels, the pair of them, their lips parted just barely, adorable little snores filling the room. Your heart clenched, eyes watering as you stared at your girls, your pride and joy. “Good morning, angels.”
Neither of them moved. You shook your head endearingly, kneeling beside your eldest’s bed, pushing the hair out of her face. “Andy. Time for breakfast.” She groaned, shoving your hand away. You laughed - the girl slept exactly like you, dead to the world, face shoved into her pillow, hair a mess. “Andy, Daddy is making your favorite.”
“French toast?” She mumbled, one eye peeking open.
You nodded, wiggling your eyebrows. “I bet he’ll even have strawberries.”
“I like strawberries.” She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“I know, baby.” You fought the laughter that bubbled in your throat. “Do you want to help me wake up Sissy?”
That woke her up. She nodded quickly, jumping out of bed and clambering over to her little sister’s bed. “Bee, wake up.”
“Gentle, Andy.” You whispered.
“Bee bee.” Andy was still working on her inside voice. “Don’t you want to play?”
Unlike Andy, Brielle took a lot more convincing to wake up. “Andy, why don’t you go downstairs? I’ll grab sissy and we’ll be right down.”
“Okay.”
She darted out the door, and a quick pang of fear rang through your heart. She tended to run down the stairs, causing both you and Bucky to have mini-heart attacks. “Careful, baby! Hold the railing!”
“Okay, Mama!”
You turned back to your youngest. “Brielle, time to wake up.”
“Mama.” Her voice was quiet, still tired. She reached up, trying (and failing) to grab your hair. You smiled, wrapping her in your arms.
“Hi, baby. Let’s go see Dada.”
Andy was sitting on the counter, eagerly helping her dad with breakfast. Help was a strong word - Bucky cut the berries, and she ate them. He pretended not to notice as he cut more, smiling to himself.
“Look who’s up!”
Bucky put the knife in the sink (away from Andy) before walking over, showering both Brielle and you in kisses. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“Hi, Dada.”
“Hi.” He smiled. “Did you sleep well?” She nodded, her hair (much like her sisters) mussed from her tossing and turning. “Good, that’s good, baby.”
“Is the food almost done?” Your stomach was rumbling as you looked over the counter at the pile of toast. “I’m starving.”
“Almost done.”
“Perfect.” You grinned, kissing his cheek quickly as you sat Brielle in her booster seat. “I’ll just grab this gremlin-” You tickled Andy’s side, giggling as she squealed from the attack. “And we’ll wait in the dining room.”
“What do you two want to do today?” You took a sip of your coffee, ignoring the cat that weaved through your legs, begging for attention. “We could go to the park, or the zoo, or-”
“Swing!” Brielle squealed. “Swing!”
Andy nodded. “I like the swing.”
You’d put in a tire swing ages ago, when Andy was little. Now that she was older, and Brielle could play, they were both obsessed with the tire swing. So much so that they would rather do that than the zoo.
It was hilarious.
“Are you sure?” Bucky laughed. “The zoo has lions, Andy. You like lions.”
“Sissy wants to swing.” Andy shrugged. “So I want to swing.”
“Alright then.” Bucky nodded. “Swing it is.”
“Go change, and then we’ll go outside.” You smiled. “Do you need help?”
“No!” Andy grabbed Brielle’s hand, walking hand in hand up the stairs. “I will help Bee.”
“They’re so big.” Your eyes began to tear up, again. “So grown up.”
“Don’t worry.” Bucky grabbed his mug, holding it in the air, away from Alpine (who was actively pawing at his arm.) “We still have twelve more years with Andy in the house.”
“Why would you say that?” You sighed. “That’s not long enough.”
He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry. I meant to say that she should never leave and stay six forever.”
“Good save.”
“Thank you.”
It was a nice day, perfect weather and all. Your yard, surrounded by the white picket fence Bucky insisted you needed, was green as could be, the great oak tree providing the perfect shade for the porch. “Bucky…”
“Yes, Doll?”
You leaned your head on his shoulder, humming. “Do you ever miss when it was just us?”
You felt horrible saying it. You loved your girls, you really did, and you loved your life. But you loved who you were before this; you loved your independence. You loved being able to do whatever you wanted, with Bucky or by yourself, with absolutely no repercussions. Now, you couldn’t even go to the bathroom without your daughters rattling the door.
“Of course I do.” He understood. He missed it - coming home and seeing you in the kitchen, in just his shirt and boxers, dancing around to your obnoxiously loud music. “I could get us a night alone. Sam’s been dying to watch the girls.”
“Oh?” You laughed. “As if I would trust him with the girls.”
“He’s good with them and you know it.”
“Yeah, when he’s not taking them flying.” You shook your head endearingly. “He may be Captain America, but if I find out he’s done that again, I’ll kill him myself.”
“I believe you.” His hand grabbed yours, squeezing tightly. “I’m sure Clint wouldn’t mind either.”
“Both of them are good choices. I just-” You sighed.
“What? What is it?”
“I don’t want them to feel like we’re abandoning them.”
“They will be fine.” He soothed your fears. He always had. “They love their pseudo-uncles.”
“I know.” You brought his hand up to your lips, kissing the back lightly. “I think we need to expand the house.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” It was sweet, seeing the former assassin reduced to the domestic family man. “I was thinking we could expand the kitchen. It’s a little-”
“Maybe.” You couldn’t look him in the eyes when you said it, too scared to face the truth, or too scared to see his reaction; you weren’t sure. “I was thinking another bedroom.”
“Oh?” You could feel his intense gaze trying to find your eyes. “Why’s that?”
You brought his hand to your stomach, taking a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
“Doll.” His finger found its way under your chin, pulling your gaze to his. “Are you sure?”
“I have been for a bit. I was-” You grinned, a tear falling down your cheek. “I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”
“This was perfect.” He grinned back, pulling you into a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”
"Mama?" Andy called out. "Are you crying?"
You shook your head, wiping the tears from your face quickly. "No, baby."
"You look sad."
"Mama's not sad." Bucky grinned, kissing your temple gently. "She's happy. Very happy."
Hi girl ❤️ i hope it's ok to send in a request due to my birthday today 🥰 i thought of something where the reader is working at the Avengers Compound and trains new agents, but one of them grows fond of her and like creeps up on her or follows her around all the time. Soon Bucky noticed that and decides to help. As the guy then again waits up on you and gets too close for Bucky's liking, he steps in between and kisses you passionately, making the creep leave and takes you by surprise. But what started as only some help, continues in Bucky's bedroom, revealing hidden feelings and passion 😏 i hope this is ok with you
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I am honored to have gotten this (first request ever so I am truly flattered) I hope you had great birthday! Sending lots of love across the sea! Hope you enjoy this story :)
Title: No Competition
Pairing: Avenger Bucky Barnes x SHEILD agent/trainer! Female Reader
Summary: A new recruit keeps ‘sniffing’ around you and Bucky isn’t having it.
A/N: My first request! Wee! @twistersmaverick thank you!
The Avengers Compound hummed with activity. Down in the training gym the rhythmic sounds of punches landing on training bags and the sharp commands of instructors filling the air. You were in your element, guiding a group of new recruits through their drills. Most of them respected your authority, but one had become... too attentive.
Ryan Daniels.
He was taller than most of the recruits, lean but with a wiry sort of strength that made him quick on his feet. But something about him set your nerves on edge.
He was always around, lingering at the edge of your training sessions, offering to help when you didn’t need it, staring too long when he thought you wouldn’t notice. He even started volunteering for sparring demonstrations more than anyone else. At first, you put it down to eagerness- wanting to impress- but it was getting a little much. It was suffocating, and no matter how many polite rejections you gave, he never seemed to take the hint.
Worse still, Bucky had noticed.
You first caught onto it when he started showing up during your sessions, lingering by the doorway, arms crossed, that signature scowl deepening whenever Daniels got too close. You didn’t think much of it at first- Bucky liked watching sparring sessions, after all. You appreciated his feedback, his insights. But then Bucky started walking you back to your quarters at the end of the day, or appearing in the hallways just when you were about to run into Daniels.
The fact that you and Bucky were friends- had even been partners on missions- made his presence feel natural, reassuring. He had always had your back, always stepped in when you needed him. And you hadn’t even had to tell him that Daniels made you uneasy. He just knew.
And now, as you exited the training room, drenched in sweat and ready to head for a shower, Daniels was waiting. Again.
“Hey, just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed today,” he said, blocking your path. “I was thinking maybe you could give me some private lessons? One-on-one?”
You sighed, already preparing your refusal, but before you could speak, a solid, muscular form slid between you and Daniels.
Bucky.
“She’s busy,” Bucky said, voice even, but sharp like a blade.
Daniels’s eyes darted between the two of you, lingering a little too long, and then he took a step back. “I was just asking- ”
Before he could finish, Bucky turned, grasped your face between his hands, and kissed you.
Not just any kiss- this was possessive, overwhelming, and laced with something deeper. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that took your breath away. Heat shot through your veins, and before you could even react, he was pressing closer, his body shielding yours completely.
Daniels muttered something and stalked off, but you barely noticed. Bucky’s lips lingered on yours for a moment longer before he pulled back, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable.
“What- ” you started, but he was already grabbing your hand, pulling you with him.
“C’mon,” he murmured, voice husky. “We’re not done here.”
You barely had time to process what had happened before you found yourself in his room, the door clicking shut behind you. Bucky’s eyes never left yours as he backed you up against the wall, hands bracketing your hips. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.
“That wasn’t just for show, was it?” you whispered.
Bucky smirked, the cocky tilt of his lips betraying just how long he’d been holding back. “No, Doll. Not even close.”
And then he kissed you again, deeper this time, hands exploring, pulling you flush against him, unraveling every ounce of tension between you until all that was left was raw, unfiltered passion.
His fingers trailed down your sides, gripping your hips before hoisting you up effortlessly. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours. The feel of his weight pressing you into the mattress sent a thrill through you, a needy whimper escaping as he tore his mouth from yours to trail heated kisses along your jaw and down your neck.
“Been wanting this for a long time,” he murmured against your skin, his vibranium fingers cool as they traced up under your shirt. “Wanted you.”
You shivered, arching into his touch, fingers threading into his hair as he sucked at your pulse point. “Bucky...”
“Couldn't stand the way that pathetic puppy Daniels kept sniffing around ya. Not right.” His voice was rough, tinged with something dark and possessive. His teeth scraped against your throat, a lingering tease, a whispered claim. "You're with me."
The sound of your voice, breathy and desperate, seemed to snap something in him. His lips returned to yours in a feverish clash, hands roaming, teasing, exploring until you were gasping against him. Every touch, every press of his body against yours, ignited something deep within you- a hunger you had no intention of denying tonight.
"Yours huh?" you teased, smirking up at him, but who were you kidding? You’d wanted Bucky since the first time he’d laid you out on your back on the training mats. But you knew his trauma, knew how hard it had been for him to let people in. You hadn’t wanted to push, not when he was just starting to come out of his shell around others. So, you'd kept your feelings buried, waiting, wondering if he’d ever see you the way you saw him.
But now? The way he was looking at you, the way he was touching you, left no doubt in your mind- he did.
A sharp gasp left your lips as his vibranium fingers slid under your shirt, pushing it up just enough for his mouth to find your skin. Instead of removing your bra completely, he hooked a finger under one cup, tugging it down until your breast was exposed to the cool air. His lips, hot and insistent, nuzzled against your chest before his tongue flicked over one sensitive peak, drawing a broken moan from you. He latched on, suckling deeply, teasing with his teeth and tongue, his grip tightening around your waist as if he couldn’t bear for you to move away.
"Clothes off. Now." His voice was a rasped command, eyes burning with something primal, something uncontrollable.
Then his flesh hand dropped to your hips, making quick work of your pants, yanking them down in one smooth motion. You barely had time to kick them off before he was pressing back against you, his metal fingers trailing fire across your bare skin.
The moment you were stripped down, he was on you, mouth hot and demanding against your neck, collarbone, and lower, his tongue tracing heated patterns along your skin. Your hands fumbled at his clothes, desperate to feel him against you, to strip away every barrier between you. You yanked at his shirt, dragging it up and over his head, your fingers immediately splaying over the hard planes of his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin. Bucky groaned at the contact, his muscles twitching under your touch as he shrugged off the fabric and pressed back into you, the heat of his bare skin seeping into yours.
His hands were everywhere- gripping, kneading, exploring, as though he was committing every inch of you to memory. His vibranium fingers trailed down your stomach, teasing the edge of your underwear before he hooked a finger under the band and pulled them down, slow and deliberate, eyes locked onto yours the entire time.
"How'd that damn wet eared puppy think you’d want him?" Bucky murmured against your skin, his lips pressing a kiss just above your navel. "That he could ever make you feel what I can."
Your fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed lower, dragging his tongue over your hip, teasing. "Bucky…"
"He’s not even in the same league as you, Doll," he growled, his hands bracketing your thighs as he kissed his way back up, trailing over your stomach, up the valley between your breasts, before returning to one peaked nipple. He latched on, suckling, teasing with his tongue as you arched into him, your hips rolling instinctively.
Bucky groaned when you ground against his stomach, then lower, feeling the heat of you pressed against him. His own hardness twitched in response, straining against his underwear, pressing into your thigh. He chuckled, breathless, against your skin. “You squirm so damn much, Doll.”
Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you rocked against him, a mix of need and impatience surging through you. "It’s been a while, Bucky," you admitted, your voice a hushed confession between pants of breath.
His movements slowed for a moment, his hand skimming up your side, eyes locking onto yours. "Need to go slow?" There was something softer under the roughness of his voice, something unspoken, like he was giving you an out.
"Hell no," you whispered, pulling him down into a searing kiss, rolling your hips up to meet him, needing more, needing him.
Bucky chuckled against your lips, returning the heat of the kiss before he was shoving his underwear down, kicking them off in a rush. You pawed at his back, nails dragging over his skin as you arched, feeling him- hot and hard- press against your inner thigh. The sheer sensation of him, bare and unrestrained, sent a shiver through you. The rigid weight of him against your sensitive skin making your breath hitch. A soft moan slipped free as your hips rolled instinctively against him, the friction sending sparks along your spine.
His flesh hand slid between you, fingers tracing over your slick heat, making you gasp as he teased. "So damn wet for me already," he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours.
Propped up on his metal elbow, he watched your reaction, drinking in every gasp, every quiver as he circled and teased, drawing out your pleasure before he aligned himself with you.
Your hands sank into his hair, gripping tight as he finally pushed forward, stretching, filling, a broken moan escaping your lips as he sank into you, inch by inch. Bucky groaned, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep control, his hand gripping your hip, holding you steady as he bottomed out. "Fuck, Doll..."
Your back arched, legs tightening around his waist as you both took a moment, breathless, caught in the overwhelming intensity of finally coming together.
"Yeah- damn," you gasped, brows pinching together as you adjusted, feeling yourself tighten around him, slick and needy. This was better than anything your imagination had ever thrown at you, the feeling of him stretching you, filling you, so much more intense than you’d expected.
Bucky groaned as he pulled back, his breath shuddering, then sank back in, dragging himself against your internal ridges in a way that had your body tightening around him instinctively.
"Au-uh!" The moan was breathy, breaking free as pleasure crackled through you, overwhelming and raw.
His pace was slow at first, deliberate, his whole body moving above you, close enough that every shift of his hips pressed you into the mattress, close enough that the hot, wet kisses he dragged along your throat sent sparks of heat racing through you. His hands gripped you like he needed to ground himself, like letting go wasn’t an option.
"Christ, you feel so good, Doll," he moaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin as he buried himself in you again.
"Should've done this sooner," he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need.
A breathless laugh slipped from you, but it broke off into a moan as he pulled back, then thrust forward again, dragging himself against every sensitive spot inside you. "Should’ve just had you on those training mats that first time."
Had he felt that same spark you had all those months back? The thought barely had time to take root before it was washed away, replaced by sensation as his hips picked up pace, rolling deeper, harder, his body moving fluidly above you. Every shift, every thrust, sent heat coiling through your core, winding tighter and tighter.
"W-would've saved us a lot of time if ya had," you panted, the words breaking apart between breathless little gasps as he drove you closer to the edge.
Bucky groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, his lips brushing over yours between ragged breaths. His breath was warm, uneven, ghosting over your skin as he tried to catch it, but there was something else in his expression. Relief. Like he’d been holding onto this for so long, unsure if he’d ever get the chance. Now that he had, he wasn’t letting go.
"Yeah- God, feel ya, Doll. So fucking tight for me. Gonna fill you up so good."
The idea had you reeling, a needy whimper slipping free as your nails raked down his back, spurring him on.
"Gonna fill you up so deep, Doll," he rasped, voice rough, desperate, each thrust making his words more strained. "Make sure no one else even thinks they could have you- 'cause you're mine. Always been mine."
His words unraveled you just as much as they did him.
"Buck- fuck, I- God- yours- fuck!" Your moans spilled out in broken cries, pleasure cresting higher with each roll of his hips.
Bucky groaned, his grip tightening on your waist as he buried himself deeper, his breath coming fast and ragged. "That's it, sweetheart- come for me. Wanna feel you squeeze me, wanna take every damn bit of it."
The words sent you spiraling, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your body clenched tight around him, pulling him deeper, dragging him with you. Bucky groaned, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, his release following yours, a strangled moan escaping as he spilled into you. He held you close, his body trembling against yours as you both rode it out, gasping for breath in the aftermath.
He collapsed against you, careful not to crush you under his weight, his face finding the crook of your neck. He stayed there, panting, pressing soft, lazy kisses against your damp skin as his hand stroked slow circles over your hip.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just basking in the heat between you, in the weight of what had just happened. Then, with a breathless chuckle, you murmured, "Guess I should send Daniels a fruit basket."
Bucky lifted his head slightly, brows knitting in confusion. "What?"
You grinned sleepily, running your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. "As a thank you. If he hadn't been such a creep, you might've never taken the leap."
Bucky groaned, shaking his head before pressing a teasing nip to your collarbone. "Doll, if you send that little shit a fruit basket, I'm making you pay for it later."
You smirked. "Oh? And how exactly would I be paying?"
His blue eyes darkened, a lazy, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. "Guess you'll just have to wait and see."
summary: the missus comes home to her two, oddly identical needy sweethearts.
warnings: implied s~mut (minors DNI!), sweet & touchy Bucky (established relationship), Reader can be an Avenger/with a Z or a standalone vigilante (also your choice if she has powers or not!), loads of Alpine moment because we love the dear girl, loads of bantering, not much Thunderbolts* spoilers I think!
a/n: brought to you by @navybrat817 because 'a kindred spirit' just warmed my soul from the inside out, and this was kinda inspired by her fic, was gonna make it a s~mut but I blanked out at the end. STILL, I am so willing to hear all the spicy details you might've imagined them doing (literally desperate), so don't be shy on me!! please enjoy, take care & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ
fancy reading something new? check out my full m.list!
» implied s~mut includes: desperate & touchy Bucky tearing your top off and touching your tits, because he needs you so :((
'The sight that never failed to cause a stutter in his heart, the butterflies in his stomach, however one could describe their beloved, even if words failed to express their very being.' ;
Seeing Alpine after a day's work, or in this case, weeks' worth of work, was always a soothing balm to your soul, and the same could be said for the white feline.
Her tail standing up straight, almost doing her little signature 'tippy-taps' on the foyer floor as she greeted you at the door, staring up at you with her bright blue eyes.
"Hello," You greeted with a lilt upon closing the door behind you, placing your bag down to lift the sweet girl in your arms, "How's my silly lil' girl?"
Alpine let out a little 'mrrp!', kneading at your top.
“Yeah? Were you behaving for daddy dearest?” You asked with the name you knew Bucky pretended not to like, as if you wouldn't catch the little tug at the corner of his lips each time you would use it.
Alpine tilted her head, the cutie, as if taking a playful offence for even asking her that.
“You're right, you're always behaving, aren't you? Unlike him.” You teased, bringing her close to your face.
Immediately, the sweet cat nuzzled into your face like it was her only chance. Purring up a storm and tickling your nose to ensure you really had her scent, especially considering how long you have been away.
“Oh, I know, I missed you, too,” You cooed, nuzzling back and letting the ball of fluff heal you inside out with her motorboat purrs the same way you would ease her mind with your presence, “Sweet girl, best girl!”
You both are.
Bucky thought to himself, having heard your return, your little tease of calling him ‘daddy dearest’, and your little reunion of snuggles and kisses with the feline.
As much as it pained him not to move from the kitchen to shower you with all the love and yearning he had within him, no matter the number of calls you had had, Alpine was faster, taking advantage of him, also putting away the confidential documents here and there as he ate.
One could say she technically cheated, having waited in the foyer for your return after overhearing Bucky's call with you.
In her mind, Bucky's mood lifting and eyes lighting up more than the usual calls he has had equals her mother's return.
Smart kitty, after all.
And, well, who was Bucky to get in the way of his favourite girls’ reunion?
Not especially with the airplane ears and the swipes of her paws at him at every given moment, the man she was adopted by was nowhere close to you.
She, for the most part, was being playful, but one could also say she made a good argument with her occasional crab walking at him for ‘ruining the moment’.
“Alright, pretty girl, let's go see how he's doing. Lead the way!” You placed her down, and like a soldier on duty, she took the lead, striding into the kitchen where Bucky was.
There, entering through the doorway after the feline, was none other than the woman of his life.
The sight that never failed to cause a stutter in his heart, the butterflies in his stomach, however one could describe their beloved, even if words failed to express their very being.
“Congressman Barnes.” You smiled in a faux sickeningly sweet manner, playfully fluttering your lashes at the man who had taken his suit and dress shirt off, leaving him in his undershirt and slacks.
He fondly scoffed, but his legs were moving, crossing the room and pulling you to his chest with his right arm.
“Hi.” You greeted once more, unable to help the chuckle that left your lips, granting you the sight of him softening more than he already had when you walked in, smiling down at you.
“Hi, yourself,” He responded, his voice low like it was intimate, and truth be told, it was. Always been, be it at home or in public. It was always just you and him, “Al first, huh?”
“She was at the door first.” You justified without missing a beat.
“Heard our call, she knew.” He argued, having the audacity to pout, even if it was subtle.
“Excuses, excuses.” You tutted, “And I called you. Guess she missed me more.”
He shut you up by latching his lips onto your neck, forcing out a giggle that bubbled in your throat shortly after a gasp.
“Buck, c’mon, I need a shower!” You wiggled, finding it impossible even for a man who didn’t have his Vibranium arm at the moment.
“Excuses, excuses.” He echoed, and you could practically feel the smile against your shoulder as he tickled your skin with his heavy stubble.
He peppered your skin with kisses, from your shoulder up to your neck and jaw, before tilting your head up, caressing your chin as he stared down at you with a loving look.
Returning the smile, you kissed his thumb, moving off his hold when he had loosened a tad despite his huff of protest. Opening the dishwasher, you reached for the Vibranium arm and then the clean kitchen cloth with the other hand.
“I sincerely hope you cleaned all the gunk or dirt out before you decided to use our dishwasher like a laundry service.” You jested, wiping off the extra condensate before helping him put it on. He let you, his heart fluttering each time you did without question, before giving the limb a good swing.
“Sounds like someone doesn’t have good faith in me.” He mused aloud, taking the opportunity to pull you in once more.
“I’m just reminding.” You shrugged, lightly drumming your fingers on his clothed chest.
Truly, besides the… Odd events with the ‘Avengerz with a Z’, there was never a dull moment with you, in or out of gear.
“Sure,” Resting his forehead against yours, one arm around you and the other rubbing up and down your back, he murmured, “And for the record, I missed you more.”
Oh, and Alpine took offence to that.
Clearly, given the immediate ‘airplane mode’ in her ears as she listened on and stayed around on the kitchen island near the spread of Mexican food takeaway, but the feline of mischief had a plan.
She toddled out of the kitchen, and you both knew she was up to something. You and Bucky shared a look, and while it took a moment, the second he heard a rustle of clothes in the laundry room, he stiffened.
“Al, Al–!” He began, panic beneath the firm tone, only to shut up when she returned. returned with the pristine white dress shirt he had tossed in the laundry basket after a little accident.
“Bucky! Again?” You gaped, reaching for the shirt to inspect the stain near the buttonholes, “First pizza, now, what tacos?”
He dared to give you what one would’ve described as a meek, ‘boxy’ grin.
“I–It just happened,” He reasoned lamely, though it was mostly true, “When you called.”
“Which… was an hour ago.” You raised a brow.
Well.
“I was going to get it off, honest,” He persisted, playfully narrowing his eyes at Alpine, who, in her feline way, looked all too proud to throw him under the bus, “And the call was forty-two minutes ago. I counted, and I got most of it off under running water.”
You weren’t sure why it dawned upon you then, but it did, adding, “Your arm’s not in the dishwasher because of work.”
But because of the damn sauce.
“Bucky!” You playfully nudged his side, your smile widening because you knew you had him figured out, all thanks to his ‘trusty sidekick’.
“I had it under control,” He groaned, but despite it all, he knew that you knew he would’ve gotten it taken care of. You just love to give him shit, the same way he loved pretending to whine and give faux, lame excuses to see you smile, and when he did see it, he squeezed you tighter, closer, “I’m doing my best ‘round here.”
You snorted, watching him reach for a nacho, loaded with proteins and fat, all the good stuff for nights like these.
“Open.” He commanded, his tone lighter, just like his demeanour since you were back home.
“Is this bribery?” You grinned.
“Would you say no to this bribery?” He argued back with an equally lighthearted tone.
Touché.
You shared a laugh, having a little dinner party with the three of you, your own family, each of you deserving one another like the next. Food was leagues better than what you had to settle for, given either a time crunch or lack of accessibility, your not-so-humble abode was still the embodiment of warmth and homey, and nothing could beat the company you could come home to.
Like Bucky, Alpine remained glued to your side, taking little chances to paw at your hand for a pat or a kiss on the head, and when the reunion dimmed down, she figured she was satisfied with all the attention she received from you, akin to making sure you were truly alive and well.
Bucky insisted on getting the dish washed and the laundry cleaned up, both his stained dress shirt and your set of clothes from your trip, considering you had just returned after a few long weeks. How you were able to convince him otherwise, opting for the laundry while he dealt with the dishes, was beyond him, but you always had a way to do so.
You carried Alpine to the cat tower in the living room, giving her a few last goodnight kisses before watching her curl up in a ball.
Not too long after, you carried your bag, along with Bucky's shirt, to the laundry room, your senses immediately met with the familiar scents lingering. The warm white light only added to the calming feeling as you separated the necessary, opting to wash the lighter ones first in hopes that the stain would be gone as much as possible.
In the midst of your little chore, you heard footsteps approaching. You weren't alarmed—they were familiar—nor did you turn around as Bucky embraced you from behind.
His hands roamed ever so slowly, nosing the sensitive area between your neck and shoulder.
“Might wanna take these off…” He murmured, tugging at the hem of your top.
You chuckled, not fully realizing the sheer desperation within him, “In a bit, Buck.”
But, oh, he was insistent.
“Take it off.” He muttered against your skin once more, his hands slipping under your top.
Your breath hitched, turning your head to see his eyes fluttering closed, breathing in the scent of you. Suddenly, you were just aware how… Needy he seemed.
When he looked up at you through lidded eyes, he slowly leaned in, capturing your lips with his for a kiss. Gentleness belied his desperation, though, in all honesty, he wanted you to know.
“Take it off.” He repeated against your lips, feeling you jump a tad when his metal arm brushed along the warmth of your tummy, and suddenly, he shoved your bra over your breasts, squeezing your tits in a way that was a shy away from being rough.
Brazen.
In need.
“Off, or I'm taking it off you.” He ordered this time, despite keeping his voice low, and that made the tension all the more heady.
But before you could even come anywhere close to your senses, you gasped at the unmistakable rip before the top lay torn on the floor. He turned you around, forcing you against the washing machine to meet his gaze once more, unyielding as though he had one thing and only one thing in mind.
Leaning once more, he brushed his stubble along your cheek, taking his time dragging his hands up your back before unhooking your bra.
“I said to take it off, didn't I?” He tutted, feigning disappointment as he tossed the undergarment to the laundry basket, “I'll get you another one. I'll get you plenty.”
He had the means for it, and God forbid he didn't because he'd still find a way to do anything for you.
“What do you say we… Turn in early tonight, get you cleaned up, changed…” His lips paused at your cheek, as if he just thought of something, “Or don't. Wouldn't mind you in nothing in bed either. Just wanna take care of you…”
You could only rest your hands on his chest, toying with the soft cotton beneath your fingers, “You want that? Take care of me?”
You could've sworn he hid a growl at that.
Wanted? He needed to take care of you.
“I want nothing more.” He replied, his hands descending to your rear and feeling you move closer at the gesture.
And who were you to deny him that?
˚ · . f i n . · ˚
» a/n: also, i am just learning that an undershirt is more or less the US counterpart of a singlet sooo yeah ;; gorgeous divider by @firefly-graphics ♡
the first time you put bucky’s metal arm in the dishwasher | just pure fluff with mentions of angst from the past.
── Bucky Barnes x Fem!Avenger!Reader
(obviously this is an au and i’ve taken creative liberties in bringing back some characters that have passed away because in this story no they didn’t!!!! i’ve loved and been in the mcu fandom since the first iron man so when you see things have been changed, that’s just me taking creative liberties for the sake of my story. as far as powers go, i don’t get into using them but reader can travel the multiverse, and has telekinesis)
thank you @pellucid-constellations for getting me out of my bucky writing slump, without even meaning to! i am but a kathie stan account atp. now brb gonna go re read for the love of the game again 🙂↔️
Bucky Barnes wasn’t sure of many things in life. But one thing he is 100% certain of, is that he is completely in love with you.
Even in the beginning, you were a calming presence in his life. He’d known you since you helped Steve track him down in Romania.
Now here you were all these years later, and most days he still couldn’t believe that not only were you in love with him as he was in love with you, but he was lucky enough to call you his wife.
On tough days where you weren’t also working, you often cooked so that he came home to his favorite home cooked meal, you’d make sure he took a long shower to relieve the tension in his muscles, and you even encouraged him to remove his metal arm when he was at home.
The last part occurred after he confessed that yes, he obviously loved being able to have both hands working. But there was a small sense of relief when he was able to be without his metal arm, even if only for short periods of time.
And that’s what you were dealing with right now. Bucky was gone for the day to go meet Sam and Joaquin for what Sam declared would be the best guys day any of them ever had. You were surprised when Bucky said he was going to go without the arm, since they were only going to be eating, watching the best trash tv (again, Sam’s words), and hanging out just the 3 of them.
When he told them, Joaquin immediately offered to pick him up on his way to Sam’s.
That was how you knew he fully trusted the 2 men. Around new people, or anyone he wasn’t too sure of, he always wore the metal arm, saying it was just incase.
Upon closer inspection, you noticed the arm was starting to get a little dirty. Shuri had done an amazing job, and the vibranium prevented itself from retaining any scratches. But there were tiny spots of dry old blood and other stains that didn’t come off no matter how hard you scrubbed, and you worried how Bucky would react when he noticed one day.
You set the arm down on the kitchen counter and sat down as you tried to work out what to do. After thinking for a few minutes, you pulled out your phone, sending a text.
Less than 5 minutes later you were on a Zoom call with the 2 people you thought would best be able to help you.
“I’m telling you, it’ll be fine! I know my technology, and some soap and hot water could probably do it good. It’s made to withstand water whether or not it’s being worn.”
“What she said. Plus if it something goes wrong, just come over and Stark Enterprises will be happy to help. I won’t even charge you.”
Shuri rolled her eyes as Tony spoke, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
As the 2 went back and forth arguing about who’d be able to repair the arm the best, should the dishwasher idea go wrong, you quietly leave the Zoom call, promptly receiving 2 messages.
Figuring fuck it, only one way to find out if this’ll work, you pick up the metal arm and head over to the dishwasher.
After spending too long deciding what cycle to run it on, you opt for the shortest one, pop a dishwasher pod in, and hope for the best.
Realizing Bucky will probably be home soon, you decide to kill time tidying up the apartment. He forgot his phone at home, but Joaquin text you saying that your boyfriend mentioned that he missed you multiple times.
You’re well aware that you could wave your hands around and have your apartment basically tidy itself. On your last girls night, Wanda had shown you how to do just that. But something about moving around the different rooms and cleaning / organizing, it calmed you. So you often chose to just do it manually.
When the door to your and Bucky’s apartment opens, you smile as you realize you were right.
“Doll, I’m home.” You look up to see him toss his keys onto the little table by the door.
He does a double take as he walks by the kitchen counter, noticing the giant piece of metal that’s missing.
“Where… where’s my arm?”
Right after he asks, the dishwasher does the little series of beeps that lets you know it’s finished. You grab Bucky’s hand as you tell him to come with you to the kitchen.
“Wanna take a guess where your arm is?”
Bucky raises his eyebrows as he takes a quick glance around the kitchen. “Under the sink?”
When you realize he thinks you hid it for him to find, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not hide and seek for your arm baby. Although I’ll keep that in mind for the future. But anyway, you know how your arms really good at not retaining scratches or dents from bullets or knives or whatever people try to kill you with?”
“…yeah.” You can practically see the gears turning in Bucky’s head as he tries to figure out where this conversation is headed.
“But you also know better than anyone that it’s not the easiest thing to clean, right?”
“I— yeah…”
“Well I made a call. Actually I guess technically I got on a call with two people, because I had an idea but wanted to make sure it would work and wouldn’t damage the vibranium.”
“Sweetheart… what did you do?”
“Ta-daaaaa!” You open the dishwasher and slide the bottom rack out.
When Bucky sees his metal arm on the rack, he bursts out laughing. He bends down to look at it, then pulls out his phone to get a picture before he takes it out.
Piggy backing off of his idea, you make him bend down next to the dishwasher, and he makes a face as he looks at the arm, pretending to be grumpy. After you take the photo, he carefully removes the arm and places it on the counter so he can inspect it up close.
It’s then that you’re thankful the dishwasher had a drying feature or you’re sure things would’ve ended bad.
You’re also pleased to see that your idea worked. The arm has a little bit of its shine back like when he was first gifted it. Gone are any traces of blood and whatever else wouldn’t come off when you scrubbed by hand.
When his arm is back on, he approaches you and pulls you close, and you sigh with content at the feeling of being in his embrace again.
“Thank you,” Bucky smiles and places a hand on either side of your face, pulling you in for a kiss.
“All I did was put it in the dishwasher and push a button, but I’m happy to help.”
“No,” Bucky shakes his head. He’s turned serious now, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face, and you know he’s happy. “I don’t mean just for that. When I first got that other arm from hydra, if you’d have told me there was gonna come a day where I’d be able to joke about it and be comfortable enough to take it off in front of people, not that I laughed back then but I would’ve laughed in your face.”
“Buck…” tears filled your eyes as you thought of Bucky as a scared man just forced into captivity. When a tear finally falls, he immediately wipes it away.
“If you’d have told me that eventually I’d meet the love of my life, and that she takes care of me, helps me see that I’m just as much of a man without the arm, I’d have said you were crazy. You know we got a little sentimental over at Sam’s, well he and Joaquin did a little more than me because I don’t get drunk, but we got to talking about safe or happy places. Sam and Joaquin agreed that their happy place was in the sky, when they’re able to fly freely in their suits and there’s no trouble or anything to worry about.”
You smiled as you picture them answering. Sam talked about flying like it was the coolest thing in the world, and you had no doubt that was true.
“I told them my happy place wasn’t actually a place. It’s you. Without a doubt, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And if I could only pick one reason to be grateful for…” he holds up his left hand and wiggles the metal fingers, “it’d be because it allows me to hold you like this.” He pulls you close once again, and for a moment there’s just a comfortable silence as you enjoy being in each others embrace.
“Well now I’m really glad I decided to put your arm in the dishwasher,” you laugh as a happy tear manages to escape.
Revenge had a price. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.
Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Synopsis: You wanted revenge. He became the reason you hesitated.
He was the ghost from your past—the one who took everything.
But getting close to him meant playing a dangerous game.
And somewhere between hating him and pretending not to care, you forgot the one rule you swore you'd follow: don't fall for the enemy.
Word Count: 2,700
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for eventual smut - and there will be a lot of it, mentions and descriptions of abuse (both physical and emotional), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, death of a family member, Sam/Bucky aren't friends.
Author’s Note: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (and is tagged accordingly) — as promised, a brand new fic series for our beloved New Avenger!Bucky. And it's an Avengers Tower fic! I am so excited for this. If you want to be tagged, let me know.
Masterlist | next chapter
You’d lived your whole life feeling what others couldn’t hide.
Anger that simmered beneath polite smiles. Grief was tucked behind practised charm. Lust, hatred, envy—emotions wrapped in flesh and bone and lies. Most people were predictable once you knew what they’d do before they did it.
It wasn’t magic. Not really.
It was you—something twisted into your blood long ago. You could read them. Sense the weight of a person by the colour of their aura, the heat of their intent. It made the world feel like a game of chess, you were always five moves ahead in.
And still, somehow, you’d lost everything.
No family. No justice.
Just a face burned into your memory—cold, unfeeling, and soaked in your brother’s blood.
The Winter Soldier.
You’d read all the self-help books and spent years in counselling and therapy. God, you had tried everything to get over it. But you remembered it like it was second nature, so much so that your Void Room felt like a nightmare you’d been used to for the past twenty years. It wasn’t reliving trauma, because you had never left. You were only a small child when it happened. You remember the fear that outlined your brother when he was cornered by the Winter Soldier, and the Soldier’s aura? Nothing. Like he was cut off from the world. Not an ounce of feeling or emotion.
But how could that be possible?
They said he was reformed, that he was out in the city under a government pardon, trying to live a ‘normal life’ after the Battle of Earth. There were traces of his presence a few years ago, working alongside Captain America to disassemble the Flag Smashers. And since then, a brief stint of being Brooklyn's Congressman.
Seriously, who would vote him into power?
You had been waiting for the world to hand him a spotlight, a new beginning, because that always seemed to happen to men like Bucky Barnes.
A fresh start. Forgiveness.
You were okay with waiting because a plan like this had to be made with precision, and precision took time. You couldn’t fight him with fury or fire.
You’d get close. You’d make him trust you. And when the moment came, you’d watch his world fall.
But for now, you worked at McCready’s bar in Lower Manhattan.
The neon lights outside the bar flickered in a lazy rhythm as you wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, the stale smell of spilt whiskey and cheap beer lingering in the air. It was a Tuesday, but the bar was packed — a sea of half-drunk faces and the kind of conversations that never mattered. You hadn’t expected much from the job, but at least it kept you afloat. Barely.
The tips were inconsistent, the hours long, but it was all you had. Living in New York City wasn’t kind to anyone who wasn’t swimming in money, and you weren’t even close. You’d gotten used to the way the city hummed around you, indifferent to your struggles, just another face in the crowd. At least you weren’t completely alone. Shane was always there, hovering in the background like a constant reminder of the life you were stuck in.
He was your roommate, sure — but the lines had blurred long ago. It was more than that. You couldn’t leave him, not because you loved him, but because you had nowhere else to go. Shane had a way of turning everything he touched into a mess, and you were caught in the fallout. He was just… volatile, always drunk, always angry. His mood swung like a pendulum — when it was good, it was fine, but when it was bad, it was a storm. And you were always the one caught in its path.
Tonight was no different. His eyes were bloodshot, his speech slurred, but you knew better than to challenge him. You knew the look, the one that came just before things went south. You had learned how to move quietly, how to keep your head down when he raged. It wasn’t the first time he’d lashed out — and you hated yourself for staying, for letting him control so much of your life. But you couldn’t leave. The apartment was cheap, and it was better than being homeless. The city wasn’t kind to women on their own, and you weren’t naïve enough to think you’d be different.
So you endured.
The clink of glass broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the bar. Another customer. Another drink to serve. You plastered on your best smile and handed over the next round, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, the one that never went away. The ache that was there every time you realised you were stuck in a life that wasn’t yours to begin with, with a person who only made it harder to breathe.
But then, he crashed against the bar when your back was turned.
You felt it before you saw him.
A tight heat in the centre of your chest, like a warning flare under your skin. The aura rolled in a moment later—dark, pulsing red, bloated with alcohol and laced with something sharp. Bitterness. Rage. Shame. It wrapped around you like smoke, familiar and suffocating.
Shane.
You didn’t even need to look up. The aura was unmistakable. Predictable. He always came into your orbit like this—loud, drunk, and looking to pick a fight he could pretend wasn’t his fault.
You braced your palms against the sticky bar top and sighed.
“Didn’t think you worked Thursdays,” his voice slurred from your left. He leaned heavily against the counter, already swaying.
“I switched shifts.” You kept your eyes on the glass you were drying, steady and detached.
Shane scoffed. “Of course you did. Probably duckin’ me.”
You didn’t answer.
He leaned in closer, breath hot and sharp with whiskey. “You can’t keep avoiding me, babe. We’ve got things to talk about.”
You turned to face him. “We broke up.”
His jaw twitched. You saw the spike in his aura before he even moved. The humiliation—how quickly it curdled into fury.
He slammed his palm down on the bar. “You can’t just cut me off like that! I still have your stuff!”
“And I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I get off work.” You spoke calmly, but your fingers curled against the wood.
“You act like I was the problem. Like you’re so perfect.”
You felt his emotions boiling up, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into your ribs. Your powers made it impossible not to feel it all—the guilt, the desperation, the jealousy eating holes in his brain.
He reached toward the shelf behind you, fingers clumsy and quick.
You saw it in a flash—his intention. The movement. The bottle. The shatter.
“Shane,” you warned, voice low.
But he grabbed the glass anyway.
And when you didn’t flinch—didn’t react—he hurled it at the far wall. The sound of shattering exploded through the bar like a gunshot.
Conversations cut off. Heads turned. The bartender at the other end shouted something you didn’t catch, but you didn’t move. You stared him down, heart steady even as your powers screamed with the heat of his spiraling aura.
“Get. Out.” Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.
Shane scoffed again, as if that might somehow make him look less pathetic. He backed up with slow, jerking steps, flipping off the room as he staggered toward the door.
“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, just before the door slammed shut behind him.
The silence he left behind was louder than the glass.
You let out a breath, realising you’d been holding it. Then you grabbed the broom from behind the bar and swept the shards into a dustpan, the sharp scrape of glass grounding you.
Your skin still tingled from the contact with his rage. You hated that you felt it all—the fear before it turned violent, the hurt beneath the anger. You hated that your powers made it impossible to just forget someone.
But maybe that was the curse of being who you were. You always saw what was coming. You just couldn’t always stop it.
As the last pieces of glass clinked into the bin, you finally straightened. The bar had settled again. Conversations resumed. The music picked back up.
“Rough night?”
The voice came from the far end of the bar—smooth, level, edged with something you couldn’t quite name.
You looked up. Black hoodie. Cap pulled low. Sunglasses indoors. He didn’t look dangerous, but he looked like someone who could be.
“Getting there,” you replied.
He offered a small nod. “Water, please.”
You poured it and slid it over. “You don’t seem like a regular.”
He chuckled. “I’m not.”
There was a pause. You watched him closely, brushing your senses over his aura. It was… quiet. Centred. Strong in a way that didn’t shout. But frayed at the edges. Worn. Heavy. You sensed something simmering—like a soldier forced to sit still while a war started without him.
“You handled yourself well earlier,” he said, not looking up.
You blinked. “You saw that?”
“I saw enough. Most people don’t know when to walk away. You did.”
You tilted your head, wary. “You following me?”
“No. Just watching.”
That didn’t make it less strange. But your instincts didn’t scream danger—only mystery.
You turned toward the corner TV to anchor yourself—something normal. Background noise. Distraction.
Instead, your stomach dropped.
You hadn’t meant to keep watching.
The TV had always just been background noise—old games, muted news reels, the occasional infomercial to fill the gaps between orders. But tonight, the screen was impossible to ignore.
A navy-blue backdrop. Stark white letters:
LIVE: O.X.E. GLOBAL INITIATIVE PRESS CONFERENCE
At the podium stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sharp in her suit, that perpetual half-smile like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t.
“Today,” she said, “marks the beginning of a new era.”
You barely noticed the sound of glass clinking behind the bar as someone restocked. The world had narrowed to that screen.
Val continued, cool and poised. “A world in chaos needs structure. Direction. Accountability. O.X.E. was founded for that purpose—and now, I’m proud to announce its greatest achievement yet.”
The camera panned as she lifted a hand, gesturing to the five figures standing just out of frame.
Your heart skipped once—no reason. Just instinct.
“Earth’s new protectors. A team not built on nostalgia or outdated legacies. But on precision, strength, and experience.”
The screen cut to a slow pan across the group.
First: Yelena Belova.
You recognised her instantly—shoulders squared in sleek black tactical gear, expression unreadable. There was something fiercely restrained in her stance. A storm with a chokehold on itself.
Next: Ava Starr.
Ghost. Gloved hands in her pockets, hood half-drawn. She looked like she wanted to vanish right through the floor. Her energy vibrated through the screen—quiet, unstable, barely contained.
Then: John Walker.
U.S. Agent. Chin high, arms crossed like he was daring someone to challenge his spot. The smugness rolled off him like oil.
After that: Alexei Shostakov.
The Red Guardian. Smirking like he thought this was a stage play. You remembered his face from news clippings—over-the-top patriotism paired with brute force.
And then—just as the camera reached the final spot—
You felt it before you saw him.
Cold steel wrapped in guilt. A storm buried under a thousand locked doors. It hit you like a tide and settled in your bones.
Bucky Barnes.
He stepped forward into frame, silent. Dark clothes. Gloves on. That familiar stare—the one you’d only ever seen in flashes, or in the brief security footage you weren’t supposed to find. The one from fourteen years ago.
Your grip on the counter went white-knuckle.
His name appeared below him in bold, unmistakable letters, sub-titled with the words Team Leader.
The world faded around you. The bar. The people. The music. It all disappeared.
There he was. Front and centre. Standing tall like the past never happened. Like the blood on his hands had been scrubbed clean.
Leader. Hero. Forgiven.
And just like that, the plan began to form.
Because if he was back—if he was leading this new world—then this was your chance.
You’d get close. You’d get answers.
And you’d finally make him pay.
“Mind if I use your phone?” The voice cut your thoughts off with a sharp snap.
You hesitated. “Landline’s under the register. Doesn’t do long-distance.”
“That’s fine. He’s local.”
The man in the cap dialled quickly, voice low as he turned away from the bar. You stayed close, listening despite yourself.
“Yeah. It’s me.” Cap said. That was the nickname you’d given him. It felt fitting. You read his aura, and found it laced with anger. But it wasn’t like Shane’s anger. It wasn’t volatile or red, but instead, it was muted and hurt. Betrayal.
A pause.
“No, I saw it. They didn’t clear it. Val went public without warning.”
Another pause.
“No, he didn’t tell me. Look, Torres. He knew— he knew about my plan to restart the Av—”
His jaw clenched before stopping mid-sentence, aware of his audience.
“Just be ready. If this gets worse, we’ll need to act fast. I’ll call him tonight.”
He hung up. Didn’t say goodbye.
You crossed your arms. “You talk like someone important.”
He gave you a look, unreadable behind the glasses. “Depends who’s asking.”
You lifted your chin, refusing to back down. “I’ve had enough people lie to my face tonight.”
For a beat, he said nothing.
Then, with the tiniest smirk, he pulled off the sunglasses and tucked them into his hoodie.
“I’m Sam.”
Your breath hitched.
Captain fucking America.
────✪────
Bucky’s phone lit up the second the press conference ended.
Sam Wilson.
He stared at the name a moment longer than he needed to, then answered with a clipped, “Yeah.”
Sam didn’t waste time.
“You really let them use the name.”
Bucky leaned back against the edge of the hotel desk, jaw tight. “It’s just a name.”
“No, it’s not,” Sam snapped. “It’s our name. You think you get to let some corrupt agency parade it around like a branding tool? Like Steve’s legacy didn’t mean a damn thing?”
Bucky said nothing.
“You stood up there like it was nothing,” Sam continued. “With Walker. With Val. You think this is what Steve would’ve wanted? You think he’d look at that team and—”
“Don’t,” Bucky cut in, voice suddenly cold. “Don’t bring him into this.”
Sam didn’t flinch. “Someone has to.”
Bucky exhaled, short and sharp. “I didn’t choose the name. I didn’t write the headline. I chose a mission. That’s it.”
“Yeah?” Sam snapped. “Well, congratulations. You just handed the Avengers legacy over to a bunch of government puppets.”
Something burned behind Bucky’s eyes. He clenched his fist.
Bucky’s silence was answer enough, and Sam could feel his partner’s stoic glare through the line.
Sam exhaled, like he was holding back something worse. “You think this is justice? You think you’re fixing something?”
“I’m doing what I can with the mess that’s left,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Same as you.”
“No, I’m trying to honour what came before. You—? You’re just trying to outrun it.”
That struck a nerve.
Bucky stood straighter, voice low and clipped. “You think I give a damn about your approval? I don’t need your permission to do something that matters.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam snapped. “Since when do you care about legacy?”
The air between them tightened, stretching thin with unspoken names and unforgiven history.
“You’ve got no idea what I care about,” Bucky said coldly.
Sam paused, just long enough for it to sting. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Click.
Bucky hung up first.
The fourteen months that followed weren’t peaceful.
────✪────
Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world
Summary: You finally get home from a long mission, but it just so happens that “home” isn’t the compound, but rather a pair of arms inside.
Prompt: "Nothing feels as good as coming home to you." - "Nothing feels as good as having you come home to me."
Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader
Word Count: ~1k
Content Contains:
2nd Person POV, Avenger Bucky Barnes, probably takes place post civil war but where everybody is still a happy family idk I didn’t plan that far, mentions of reader injury, mentions of reader almost dying, mentions of blood, still nothing too graphic, Bucky and Reader are co-dependent as it seems, Bucky misses reader just as much as she misses him and I think thats it! :)
Author’s Note: Day 5! I’m so tired right now, so maybe that’s what I’ve channeled into this one! I still love it, and I desperately wish I too had somebody to fall into after a long day, but alas, here I am composing my feelings into fanfiction. Anyways, I digress. I probably won’t post something for tomorrow’s prompt solely for the fact that I have to go be a master biomedical debater and these events take ALL DAY 💔Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
There is a wave of exhaust seeping into your bones with every step.
It’s not the kind that comes from being overworked or pushed too hard, but the quieter kind. The one that settles into your shoulders and makes them tense, like they’re bracing for something that never quite arrives.
The mission wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You’ve been on countless others, ones with active threats to your life, ones where adrenaline carries you through and wears off just in time for you to reach the medbay and take a hot shower. Those are easy, in a way. They’re loud and purposeful. You stare danger in the face, and it’s your duty to protect the people who depend on you. You have to be faster at saving lives than the reaper can take them. Those are the missions that leave you feeling accomplished, no matter how bad your body physically aches.
The long missions are the painful ones.
The kind where you sit and watch. Where your back aches from being hunched over cameras, shoulders tight from holding still too long, anticipating. Where your body is on high alert, but your hands feel restless because they’re not doing anything, YOU’RE not doing anything. You just sit and wait. The silence is the worst. You come home successful and still feel useless, like you left pieces of yourself somewhere between each new city and each new alias.
You know these missions matter. They’re the foundation: the quiet threads that make the high-stakes ones possible. Still, knowing doesn’t make them enjoyable.
You’ve been gone two months. Prague. Low-stakes undercover work, minimal intel, just orders to watch and wait. The team was investigating an underground weapons manufacturer, and while the rest of the team ran drills and chased leads, you learned faces and watched for patterns that weren’t even there. It was up to you to figure out who lingered too long and who vanished too fast.
By the time you land back home, you’re running on autopilot. Jittering and antsy with something that isn’t stress.
You tell yourself it’s exhaustion. That it’s the boredom of the mission clinging to you.
It isn’t.
You’re just tired of being away from home. Tired of being away from Bucky.
It isn’t like this is new for you. You’ve spent time apart before, real, measurable time. A year, once, in Alaska, you doing private work for SHIELD while he stayed in New York. That distance hadn’t hollowed you out like this. You hadn’t even felt this unstable the night a bullet slipped past your armor and almost killed you. You laid there bleeding, thinking that might be it. That maybe this is the farthest, distance wise, the two of you would ever be.
Something changed after that.
It wasn’t puppy love anymore. It wasn’t convenience or comfort, someone for the other to hold when the nightmares got too much, or the hurt ran bone deep.
It’s devotion. Clean cut; blind and deep.
You don’t linger when the quinjet touches down. The hangar smells like fuel and metal and something sterile that already makes your skin itch. Normally, you’d follow the routine without a question; debrief room first, sitting under fluorescent lights while someone asks the same questions you’ve already answered in your head a dozen times. Medbay second, vitals, scans, and a futile reminder to rest (even when the nurses already know you’ll be briefed for a new mission in a few days, maybe a week if you’re lucky)
Not tonight.
You sign your name on the tablet without slowing, barely glancing at the agent who starts to open their mouth to stop you. “Debrief can wait,” you mutter, already shoving past them.
You don’t go to the meeting room. You don’t go to medbay. You’re not bleeding. Nothing’s broken. Whatever is wrong with you isn’t something they could scan anyway.
Your boots echo down the hallway as you cut through the compound, fingers fidgeting at your sides, pulse too fast for a mission that went exactly as planned. You pass your own door without even looking at it. You’ll settle back in later.
You take the turn toward Bucky’s room instead.
It feels reckless. Skipping protocol, skipping procedure, it's something you would never do, but the pull is stronger than discipline. You don’t knock when you reach his door. You’ve never needed to.
The moment you step inside, the tension finally cracks.
The door barely shuts behind you before you hear his footsteps. You drop your bag, breath hitching when his arms wrap around you, solid and warm and real. You press your face into his shoulder like you’ll forget how he feels if you don’t relearn it right now.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Neither do you. You just breathe.
Then he leans back enough to look at you, eyes soft but searching, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he’s checking for something invisible.
You’re the first to speak, "Nothing feels as good as coming home to you."
"Nothing feels as good as having you come home to me."
The words settle between you, heavy and gentle all at once.
His forehead rests against yours now, hands sliding to your waist like they belong there because they do. The closeness sparks something familiar that curls low in your stomach, not rushed but certain. The kind of feeling that promises later without demanding it now.
“I missed you,” you whisper. The phrase settles wrong in your chest. It’s true, of course, yet it doesn’t even parallel how desperate you were to actually be with him.
“I know,” he murmurs, mouth kissing your temple, then your cheek. Before finally drifting down to your lips. He doesn’t kiss you, not yet. But the two of you are so close that you can make out the aftertaste of his mint gum.
“I felt it every day.”
You smile against him, finally letting your shoulders drop. For the first time in weeks, the tension lessens. Not because the mission is over, they never are, but because you’re, finally, exactly where you’re supposed to be. Home
And home isn’t a place.
It’s him.
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I don't have much to say after this one (shocker). If you have any requests, let me know!
Summary :You and Bucky fantasize about starting a family while tending to each other’s wounds.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Injury, Blood, non-sexual nudity. It’s a teeny bit angsty with lotsa fluff!!!
Requested by : myself lol
Word count : 1.8k
Note : I’ve had this idea for a while now. Enjoy!
Requests are open!
○support my ko-fi○
You opened the door to your and Bucky’s apartment with a loud creak. The lack of sound in your home was a little too quiet compared to the chaos you had both just escaped.
You were lucky that none of the neighbours saw you. Last time you saw Mrs. Jones from downstairs this bloody, she had called the ambulance. You had to assure her that you had everything you needed in your apartment.
You heard the soft click of the floorboards under you. Sometimes, you found that the little sounds in your home annoyed you, but you’d take it over the gunfire and shouting that still echoed in your ears. You and Bucky staggered inside, utterly exhausted, bloodied and bruised. The dim living room lamp was just enough to frame Bucky’s features. Just enough for you to recognise the love of your life limping in after you.
You dropped your gear by the door, wincing as a wheezing pain shot through your side. Your fingers came away slick with blood when you pressed against the wound, dripping down to the white carpet you just bought last week. Great, another one ruined.
You've lost count of how many rugs, welcome mats, and blankets you’ve needed to replace.
Bucky closed the door behind him, his movement sluggish despite having accelerated healing. He had it bad, since he threw himself on the line of impact to shield you from the debris of an explosion. He was lucky to walk away from that one with a only few cuts and bruises.
He slumped against the wall for a moment, eyes closed as he let out a long breath. You heard a thud from his head resting back on the wooden panel of the living room.
His tactical gear, like yours, was torn in places, stained with both his blood and the blood of others he had gotten in contact with. Despite a cut along his cheekbone and a bruise already forming on his jaw, his focus was still on making sure you were alright.
He eyed your side, the torn fabric gaping where a blade had sliced, thankfully not leaving a deep enough cut to cause permanent damage to your insides. It was deep enough to stay with you forever, though.
“You’re bleeding,” he said softly, his voice rough and dry. He needed water.
You slowly made your way to the kitchen, ignoring all the pain receptors in your body telling you to sit down.
You walked back and gave him the glass. He devoured it, but left some for you to finish.
“You too,” you nodded toward the gash on his forehead.
It had been a close call— too close. You both knew it.
You did what you always did after these particularly rough missions. You unzipped his jacket as he did yours, helping each other get undressed, leaving all the gear by the door.
Bucky was a specimen of a man, you couldn't deny that. But times like these, when you were naked and vulnerable after taking one too many hits, none of your thoughts were sexual. You only wanted him to love and to hold. For comfort.
You both made your way to the bathroom, turning on the shower to clean the injuries before you could tend to it. The two of you spent five minutes there, embracing wordlessly.
After rinsing both your wounds, Bucky picked up the medical kit, while you managed to fill up a clean bucket with water and grabbed a couple of washcloths.
Bucky huffed grumpily, staggering himself toward the couch, his metal arm hanging a little too stiffly at his side. You followed closeby.
“You first,” he murmured, sinking onto the edge of the fluffy couch with a groan. The cushions squeaked under his weight as he tapped at the seat beside him, motioning you closer.
You hesitated for a moment, looking down at the wound on you that was still bleeding. “We’re gonna ruin the couch,” you said with a sigh.
“Doll.” The word left his lips like he was begging for you to listen to yourself.
It was always like this with him— no matter how bad he had it, no matter how much worse he was than you, he always insisted you went first.
No one had ever cared for you the way Bucky did.
You finally relented, sitting beside him. You felt the familiar warmth of his presence extending to you. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the busy outside, people living their peaceful existence, a luxury neither of you can afford.
Bucky’s hands were gentle as he studied the scar along your bare ribs. His lips pressed into a tight line, worried.
“I should’ve gotten you out sooner,” he muttered, opening the medical box that had seen more use than you liked to admit.
He first used the washcloth and pressed it to your scar to stop the bleeding.
You winced when he began to clean the wound with antiseptic. “I’m fine, Buck,” you reassured him, though the sting of the cut made you bite your lip to the point where it was swollen. “It’s just a scratch.”
“You say that every time,” he said, shaking his head. His fingers were gentle, working with the skill of someone who had patched up countless wounds, both of himself and of others. “I’m scared that one of these days,” he stopped, hesitating before continuing, “You’re going to go where I can't follow.”
You met his eyes, knowing that if your wound had been just an inch deeper, you probably wouldn't be here. “I could say the same for you.”
He didn’t say anything and just resumed tending to you, though his touch was a little more careful, trying to make sure he didn’t cause you any more pain than necessary.
There was a deafening silence in the air from something that had been hanging over you both for a while now. It wasn’t just about the injuries or the blood on the couch. It was the exhaustion. The non-stop fighting. The feeling like no matter how many times you stopped a threat, another would emerge.
When Bucky finished bandaging your wound, he leaned back and wiped his hands on the already bloodstained towel. “All done.”
“Thank you,” you whispered. You sighed, eyeing at the dark red spots on the cushions beneath you.
He squeezed your hand in his human one. “Guess we’ll just have to get a new one.”
It seemed like an easy solution, but this was your fourth couch in six months. Definitely not sustainable.
Bucky smiled faintly as he continued his little bit. “Maybe we should just buy one of those ugly plastic ones that doesn’t stain.”
You chuckled. “I’m not living in a 90s sitcom with plastic-wrapped furniture.”
As you reached for the first aid kit, you motioned for him to sit still. “Your turn.”
Bucky sat back, his head tilting against the back of the couch. His eyes shut as you worked on the gash on his forehead, one just above his eyebrow. The bleeding has stopped, but it still needed to be cleaned a little more thoroughly.
“You should’ve ducked,” you teased gently, trying to bring a little laughter to the room.
“Yeah, well, no one warned me of a flying brick,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
“You are such a hero,” you said, dabbing at the wound with a damp cloth. “Trying to keep everyone safe.”
“Not everyone,” Bucky murmured, his voice a little more serious. His steely eyes fluttered open to meet yours. You both knew what he was talking about. There were too many people you couldn’t save. Too many you couldn’t protect.
Of course, he tried. But if he could save just one person, it would have been you.
You sat back, letting your hands fall into your lap helplessly. Exhaustion crept into your bones, finally catching up with you. “Do you ever think about stopping?”
Bucky’s gaze softened.
“The missions. The fighting.” You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight. “It feels like it never ends, Buck. I’m tired.”
He sat up a little straighter, the pain in his body forgotten for a moment. His human hand found yours, his thumb rubbing your palm in slow circles. “I think about it all the time,” he admitted quietly. “Every time we go out there.”
This was the first time either of you ever spoke about this. There were hints of it from time to time, but it was never really mulled over the way it was now. Tired and afraid, you were both as vulnerable as you could be to each other, all the skeletons in your closet aired out.
“I want to believe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “that one day the world will be good enough for us to stop.”
“We’ll get there,” he said. “Maybe not tomorrow, or soon. But one day. No more missions. No more blood on the couch.”
You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “If we survive long enough to even replace it.”
“We will,” he promised, his voice firm despite the tiredness in his eyes. “And when we do, we’ll get out of this life. We’ll find somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away from all this. Maybe… start a family.”
Your throat tightened before you could speak. You both have been through so much, you both have seen the worst of the world. You both, especially Bucky, had survived horrors that most people couldn’t even begin to comprehend. But here you were, sitting together on a bloodstained couch in your apartment, fantasising about something so fragile, so precious. Something that would require so much love and care and time to build.
The idea of starting a family together seemed so far removed from the violence that dictated your lives. But both of you had a spark that no amount of bloodshed could extinguish.
“I want that too,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “One day.”
“Do you know what I want to name our daughter?” Bucky asked as you taped up his would.
Your heart swelled with insurmountable adoration. “Mmhm?” you willed him to go on.
Bucky said your name, and it felt so comforting coming from his lips. “I want her to be named after you,” he continued.
Your heart felt like it could explode. “Only if we can name our baby boy James.”
Bucky chuckled, pulling you closer into a loving embrace, feeling his bare skin on yours. “Deal,” he agreed, pressing his lips to yours gently, as if he was afraid to hurt you.
His hands found yours, intertwining your fingers together as if you were one unit.
The city outside grumbled with life, but in the quiet of your apartment, there was peace. A fragile peace, but peace nonetheless.
One day, you told yourself. One day, we would both be free.
summary: you make lunch for new avengers John almost loses his life
a/n : just a silly drabble been thinking about it for days
bucky masterlist
Bucky never knew softness until he met you. You are the epitome of softness, you think of others first and then yourself. He loves that about you its sweet but he never let's it go too far.
He knows one day he'll marry you, buy you a house in the country side all those domestic things he dreamed of. He just needs a bit more time. Bucky sees the way you look at him, with love and absolute certainty that he's your future.
There's nothing he wouldn't do for you, not when he meets your doe eyes full of hopes and dreams. And he can't wait to make them all reality.
One thing about you is that you show your love through food, lots of it, he gained a few since you two started dating. Bucky didn't even know he loved food this much ( maybe he doesn't and its only to please you but the line blurred long ago when he realised that love is you and everything you do and make).
He never intended for you to meet the other new avengers, but they somehow found their way into your shared home. You welcomed them with open arms and heart. And you charmed them from the fist second. He knew you would, all you have to do is smile and you have people falling over left and right.
They weren't used to kindness and you had so much to give and you gave it freely in abundance.
Last night was rough for them and they all needed somewhere to recharge for the hard day ahead, so what did they do? They came to a little sanctuary, that is yours and Buckys apartment.
Even if Bucky hadn't called ahead you had opened the door in the middle of the night, you didn't even seem upset that they woke you up or that he brought five more people with him.
You jumped into his arms like it didn't matter that he was all dirty and sweaty and bloody, and to you it didn't.
Your small apartment was looking even tinier with the six avengers in the living room/kitchen.
"Welcome back! I'm sorry I didnt know you were coming you must be hungry! Ah I didnt prepare anything! I'm sure we have something around here!"
Bucky told you not to fuss about it, they'll order something for tonight and be out early in the morning. It took a lot of convincing and stolen distraction kisses to make you drop it.
"Jamie it's not nice! They're guests, your work family!" He smiles and pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead.
"You can cook some other time come on back to bed." Bucky ushered you to your room and laughed when he noticed your frown. He took a quick shower and then gave the rest of them towels and told them to figure it out how to sleep on one pull out bed. He didn't care enough he just wanted his girl.
"Good night, doll." Bucky says as he pulls you into his chest and kisses your neck. He feels you smile.
"Night Jamie."
In the morning Bucky can smell food? Its all kinds of food. He gets up and opens the bedroom door. Four figures stand behind the kitchen counter and watch you.
John is sitting on the pull out sofa, his eyes closed.
"Damn Soldier Barnes! Your wife is so talented! Look how she cooks!" Alexei says pointing at you stiring the pot and shaking the pan at the same time. You turn and your cheeks are flushed, both from the stove and the way Alexei called you Buckys wife.
"Morning love!" you look at him sheepishly, like you're caught doing a crime.
"She won't tell us what she's doing but this looks dangerous? No?" Yelena says..
"I'll be done soon I promise."
Bucky fondly laughs and walks over to you to give you a morning kiss but before he can do that an alarm sounds from your phone.
"Ah get that out of the oven! Thanks honey."
Bucky does as he's told and pulls out a huge tray of pastries out of the oven with his metal arm.
"Are we feeding an army?"
"Yes Bucky look how many of you and no one should work on an empty stomach."
Before he can say something you shush him and peck his lips.
"Okay now everything's done!"
And there on the counter six paper bags, each one has a name written on it, with a little doodle each different than the other.
Buckys heart grows and aches in ways he can't quite understand. You did all of this for him, for them, the people who have done horrible things, are doing horrible things.
First one to grab a bag is Alexei who then gives you a bear hug and lifts you off of the floor.
"Ah you are amazing woman! If Soldier doesn't treat you right he will have problem with me! I am very grateful!" You laugh and hug him back.
Ava just nodds and takes the bag, but in her eyes you see softness and thankfulness.
Yelena takes hers and says "Ah my favorite! Thank you! You are the best! I can't promise I won't come back for another round."
"You're always welcome" you reply and give her a hug.
"Thank you, miss. I appreciate your effort it is very kind for you to give us this food!" Bob says and stands at the door with the others.
John's the last one but he only stands up and goes to the door.
"Wait I made you one too!"
"Im not taking a children's lunch box I'll just buy something out."
The silence that came is deafening, you could hear a pin drop. Your eyes well up in tears.
And then Bucky grabs John by the throat, Yelena pulls her guns and points them at John, Ava teleports next to John and hits him and Alexi says
"I kill him now."
"Im sorry I'm sorry Im sorry I swear I didnt mean it." John starts to beg the avengers for mercy...
"Not to us stupid."
Bucky drops him to the ground and then John crawls to your feet and starts begging.
"Its fine I forgive you." you say kind of terrified and touched that they all care so much.
"You live another day, next time you make my girl cry I will kill you and then cut you into pieces and then I will burn those pieces."
John only nods and runs out the door.
Buckys eyes immediately soften as he walks over to you and grabs the last bag, it says love of my life and there's like a dozen hearts drawn. His hear melts.
"Thank you baby. I love you and I already miss you." you giggle at the hundreds of kisses Bucky gives you.
summary: you and bucky decide to take the next step, afterwards you both reflect on your choices, and your love.
word count: 3.3K
cw: thunderbolts* spoilers
a/n: i was recently in a wedding and forgot how much i love true love, this is inspired by that. this is just straight tooth rotting fluff! enjoy!!! ✨
Marriage was always in the cards for Bucky — well, it was when he thought that life had a time limit and wasn't something that could be delayed. He had imagined returning from the war to find a partner, a house with a white picket fence, maybe 2-3 kids, and, hopefully, a good paying job.
None of that came true.
None of that would ever be the case for him.
So he gave up his dreams and realized that life had dealt him a brand new hand. He had spent many years running, hiding, now it seemed like all he could do was try to make his way back to at least some of his old life. Marriage didn't seem to align this time around, and he was okay with that.
Or at least, he pretended to be.
Imagine his surprise when you made your way into his life. Bucky didn't know if the universe was playing some fucked up trick on him, or if he had been reading this new hand of cards wrong this entire time. He knew you were special. Life changing, even.
There was never a doubt about it, that you were someone worth fighting for — someone that he was meant to love. It felt foreign at first, he had gone so long without the kind touch of another human being, but the two of you eased into it as if it was the most natural thing in this world.
Because it was.
You never explicitly spoke about marriage, not even when things shifted from fun to serious.
There was always a reason not to:
Bucky dealing with the loss of Steve
Him and Sam weren't seeing eye to eye for a while
He decides to have a midlife crisis and become a Congressman (which you happily supported, even if you weren't entirely sure where it came from).
Now, he was finding his footing with a new group, the Thunderbolts — er, New Avengers (there were some legal issues with the name that Bucky didn't want to get into, he was usually too tired, too stressed, it wasn't important enough).
Which is why it surprised you that one night, after dinner, Bucky's leg seemed to be shaking more than usual — a clear sign that he had a lot on his mind. He was pretty good at not wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but tonight seemed different
"Everything okay?" you ask, your hand resting on his knee under the table.
Bucky turns his head in your direction with a look that said he saw you, but that his brain was in an entirely different place. There were dark spots on the shoulders of his gray t-shirt, he had taken a shower as soon as he got home and the droplets of water were falling from his still damp hair.
For a man so large and brooding, Bucky looks so small. He's hunched inwards, his elbows resting on the table as he holds his head in his hands. He barely touched his food, instead just moving it around with a fork. Holding secrets to himself.
"Things have been crazy," he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Walker's been driving me up a wall every single day asking the dumbest questions. Alexei asked me if we could experiment with doing a double dosage of the serum. Yelena's been talking me off the edge so I don't bust everyone's heads in."
Your lips curl into a soft smile as you squeeze his leg, offering him your silent support. The team was still semi-new and most days Bucky didn't have the patience to deal with them — even if silently he enjoyed their presence.
"You're all still working out the kinks."
"It's been a year, you'd think we'd have it figured out by now. Sam does, Steve always did."
"Sam didn't for a while," you remind him. "And Steve never did, he was just confident. You will work it out, you always do."
Bucky's head lolls to the side to look at you. Even in the smallest moments you never gave up on him, you always told him it would find a way — you were usually right, he just hated waiting for it.
"I love you, you know that?" he asks quietly, his hand moving to grab yours and bring it up to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the palm of your hand before he intertwines your fingers together.
"I do," you nod. "I love you, too."
Bucky uses his free hand to push away his plate of untouched food, then he grabs the bottom of your chair and drags you over until you're next to him. Leaning over his hands wrap around the underside of your legs and lifts them up, letting them drape over his lap. He watches you intently, always memorizing your features — always scared one day he won't recognize them anymore.
"That's not the only thing that's on my mind tonight," he admits, his voice soft.
"Care to share?"
"Maybe."
You chuckle as you lean your head against the back of the chair, the amount of love in your eyes could make the Earth shatter.
Whatever is going on in that big, beautiful brain of his is taking a toll on him, his fingers playing with the tips of yours as he purses his lips. It's obvious he's trying to figure out what exactly to say, or how to say it.
"We should get married," Bucky finally comes clean, exposing his thoughts right then and there.
You wish you could say you were surprised by his admission, but the truth is you and Bucky had known from the very start that this was where your lives were headed together. It didn't need to be said audibly, no one needed to make sure. This was it.
"When?" you ask.
"Now."
"Right now?" you chuckle again, shaking your head with a playful eye roll. "The courthouse is closed, we'd need a witness."
"Too many logistics," he huffs. "Tomorrow, then."
"I'd have to check my calendar."
It was Bucky's turn to laugh, his head tilts back as he lets out a hearty bark, one that he only reserved for you. His hand runs up and down your leg, you can feel the calluses on his hands from where he held his gun or gripped his knife too tightly, but you didn't care. You loved the feeling of him.
"Mean."
"Tomorrow might work," you say, your eyes examining his features. "I don't have anything to wear."
"I don't care. You could wear that ratty old t-shirt you've been hanging onto for too long. I just want to marry you."
So that's exactly what you and Bucky did.
The next day the two of you called Sam and asked (pleaded) with him to meet you at the courthouse that afternoon and be the witness. He put up a little bit of a fight about the whole Avengers thing but you managed to remind him that this wasn't about petty arguments.
Bucky managed to scrounge up a suit from his time as a Congressman and you found an outfit that would work — it was slightly off white, maybe a little less traditional, but it did the job.
"Wow. And you we were worried about having nothing to wear" Bucky says as the two of you meet at the top of the steps in your home. "Give me a spin." You take his extended hand and he spins you around, whistling in admiration as he does. "Beautiful, as always."
"Not too bad yourself," you say as you face him again, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Are you ready to marry me, Barnes?"
"I've been ready since the day I met you," he whispers your name before he kisses you again, his lips lingering a few seconds longer this time.
Deep down he doesn't want to leave, he wants to take those clothes right off of you and worship the ground you walk on. He wants to hear you moan out your vows and promise to be with him forever. He'll settle for the courthouse instead.
The wait is longer than you had anticipated, apparently trying to get a marriage license was more of a hassle than either of you had expected (which wasn't very high since you both did a quick search on the computer the night before than hoped for the best).
Sam showed up as promised, albeit a little late, and now the three of you waited in the lobby of the courthouse, your leg bouncing in anxious anticipation.
"You're going to start an earthquake," Sam teased, earning a playful nudge from you.
"It's not everyday that you get married, Wilson."
"Can't believe R2-D2 over here found a soulmate," his chin nods over in Bucky's direction.
Bucky flips Sam off in a way that's both brotherly and full of hate, a perfect balance that only the two of them could master. You turn your head to the side to hide the amused smirk on your face, Sam was always getting you in trouble with his jokes.
"Don't egg him on," Bucky mutters.
"I'm sorry, R2-D2 is funny."
He grumbles something under his breath about being lucky he was going to marry you, but it doesn't matter because at the same time you hear your names being called out by one of the staff members.
It was time.
You wish you could say that you remembered every detail of what happened. That it was this beautiful, over-the-top ceremony filled with tears and wishes of love. In truth, it was quick and your mind sort of blanked out during it. There were no rings, no exchanging of pre-written vows, Sam watched a few feet back, with a quiet smile. It was intimate, quiet, exactly what you wanted.
A few signed documents, one cranky judge and a kiss later and the two of you were officially married. Not in the traditional sense that everyone grows up to dream about, but in a way that still promised each other the world and more.
"We're married," Bucky says.
It was hours later, the sun had now set, the world was dark and still. The two of you were now sitting on the floor of the kitchen, your legs draped over his. There was a skylight on the ceiling that let the moon and stars shine through illuminating the floor.
Bucky had gotten rid of his tie and suit jacket at some point in the night, the first button of his shirt was undone and his hair was a mess — but he was your husband, and he was beautiful. Your own hair was a mess and your strap had fallen down your arm, though you didn't care to fix it, there was a mysterious stain right under your chest and for all intents and purposes it was exactly how you pictured your wedding night.
A few feet away were a few empty bottles of champagne and a cake that you picked up from the grocery store on the way home. The white box was opened revealing what was left of a chocolate cake (which was now some crumbs) and two forks because of course you and Bucky fed each other and laughed about how weirdly dry it was.
"You keep saying that," you tease, biting down on your bottom lip.
"Can you believe it though? We're married." He grabs the open bottle of champagne by the neck and tips it to his lips, taking a long sip. It's not like he would ever feel the effects of the alcohol, but getting time to sit here with you and bask in your love made it feel like a celebration. What was a celebration without a little booze? "I never thought I'd be married, not after everything that happened."
You nod your head and give him a sad smile, grabbing the bottle that he was now holding out for you and taking a much smaller sip, the bubbles popping in your mouth.
"I wrote vows," you say, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.
"When did you have time to write vows?" he asks, his eyebrow raising.
"Not last night, a while ago," you admit. "Do you want to hear them?"
There's a knot in Bucky's stomach at the idea that you had laid everything out on a piece of paper. He thought of his name in your neat handwriting, and how you must have taken time to reflect on this relationship — this love. He doesn't tell you he's done the same, that sitting in the breast of his suit pocket is his own set of vows. Ones that he wrote years ago.
But right now he wants nothing more in that moment than to hear what you have to say, so he nods his head. You stand immediately, using his shoulder as leverage, and patter over to the steps, soon finding your way to the bedroom. You kept the vows in the nightstand next to your side of the bed, a folded up piece of paper that you scribbled on the nights he was away.
They served as a constant reminder of his undying love for you.
The paper is tight in your hand as you make your way back to the kitchen, taking a seat on the floor in the same position that you got up from, your back now resting against the cabinets. Your eyes find Bucky's and when he gives you a soft smile you unfold the paper and begin to read:
"I'm not going to pretend that these are perfect, or even close to describing the love that I feel for you, but I would be a fool not to reflect on our story, and hope that I've had nearly a fraction of the impact on your life as the one you've had on mine.
"When we met for the first time, I knew at that moment that I would never be the same. Neither of us were searching for the other, but there we were, standing a few feet apart at that dirty dive bar that Sam brought us to …"
Bucky laughs.
"And the world seemed just a little bit brighter — like something had changed. Well, something did change. We were both scared of the world, of each other, and of falling in love. But we ignored those little voices, we leapt into this and no matter how scary or hard it was, we did it together. Hand in hand. Head first.
"Life isn't linear and our stories are never what we expect them to be, but with you by my side I know that we are unstoppable. You've shown me how to be brave and what true unconditional love looks like. If I've never said it before, then I am saying it now: thank you.
"I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your soulmate in this lifetime and every one. We will find each other no matter where we are or who we become, because our stories are now one. It's not just you and me, it's us.
"And at the end of our days you will not just be Bucky Barnes the hero, you'll be James Barnes, my husband, my one true love. And I hope by the time I'm reading this that we decide to get married, or calling you my husband will be kind of awkward."
Bucky laughs again, you join him as you try to get the rest of the words out, trying to hold back tears. Your voice is now shaking.
"And if we did get married, then I hope we did it like we do everything. Together, hand in hand, head first."
You fold the paper in your lap, a few tears sliding down your cheeks as you meet Bucky's gaze. His eyes are glossed over and there's a fondness on his face that he only reserves for you — like most of them are.
"I love you, Buck," you whisper.
Bucky nods his head a few times as he leans back, reaching out for his suit jacket that was behind him on the floor. If you were going to read him your vows, it was time for his. He pulls the crumbled paper out and holds it up. Your eyes widen in surprise, you did not expect him to have his own ready.
"I keep this thing with me wherever I go, I think I've crossed off a lot of things that didn't sound right," he says, showing you the paper for a moment. "May I?"
You nod your head. Bucky clears his throat, then begins:
"I'm not a man of many words, though I'd like to be, because life has passed me by and my only regret has been not telling you that 'I love you' enough. I know that you'll argue and say that I do, but I don't, because I should have told you the second we met and every moment after. Every single silence should have been filled with me saying those words to you.
"I knew it, I always did. What is there not to love? Your kindness? Your intelligence? The way you make sure to always keep my side of the bed warm when I get home late because you know I hate when it's cold? If I am the man worthy of your love then I have done something right in this world. I'll never take this love for granted, not ever.
"Maybe in another lifetime we found each other sooner, but in this lifetime we found each other exactly when we needed it. I always needed you. My life has been a constant tidal wave and you were the only one to swim me ashore. Now I can breathe, and you and I sit in the sun and bask in the warmth, where we belong.
"I'm sorry there aren't many words to explain how deep my love for you is, but I hope that every single day I can show you instead. I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your protector. And from now until my dying days I love you, I love you, I love you and I love you."
The paper in Bucky's hand is now splattered with teardrops, the once black ink now smudging across the off white paper. But it doesn't matter, none of it does, the vows are just a promise, one that the two of you had already made years ago.
You crawl over to him and wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. There's a few silent tears shed as you hold each other close, but nothing neither of you haven't seen before. It’s a rare moment of intimacy between lovers.
When Bucky pulls away to look at you there's a smile, not a sad one, but a grin so wide the corners of his eyes crinkled.
"We forgot rings."
"I know," you nod. "Do you have a pen?"
Bucky nods, reaching back into his suit pocket again and pulling out a ballpoint pen. You grab his hand and click the pen to expose the tip, writing your initials on the inside of his ring finger. He does the same shortly after — not a permanent solution, but a symbolic one.
He kisses the back of your hand a few times then begins to stand, lifting you to your feet and into his arms. Neither of you untangle from each other, instead opting to slowly sway back and forth in the middle of the kitchen, never wanting to let go. There was no music playing, there didn't need to be.
You and Bucky were starting your forever with whispered I love you's, hand in hand, head first.
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: non consensual confinement | psychological torture | audio-based manipulation | emotional manipulation | memory based distress | mind control | torture fully described like in a movie | angst | pain | blood | waterboarding (torture)
word count: 16 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
a/n: this is long ass chapter. if someone already read it in the first place (i hope you'll do it again) there are gonna be some parts that may or may not trigger you.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue
One month later, the gym smelled of sweat and aggression. Y/N had Bucky in a chokehold that would have made any other man tap out three moves earlier. He didn’t. Instead, he twisted, rolled, and threw her flat on her back.
She let out a grunt, glaring up at him from the mat. “You’re slipping, Grandpa.”
He smirked, panting slightly. “Still put you on your ass.” There wasn’t any venom in her voice anymore, not like there used to be.
And he noticed especially during the quiet mornings, when they ended up grabbing breakfast at the same time in the compound’s shared kitchen.
No snarky comment, no sass. Just… talking. Even if she’d let him take control that night, breathless and aching and entirely his, they hadn’t crossed that line again.
Not physically, just the memory of that night was enough.
Until he messed up.
It was a Friday, late afternoon, and the common area was crowded. Sam, Natasha, and even Steve was lounging around, enjoying the rare lull between missions. Laughter echoed off the walls, a movie played softly in the background, and the scent of popcorn lingered in the air. Bucky strolled in, smug as ever, a faint swagger in his step. He looked freshly showered, hair still damp, a towel slung casually over his shoulder. Y/N walked in just behind him, sipping coffee, cheeks still flushed from the treadmill. She wore a loose tank and joggers, earbuds hanging around her neck, completely unaware of the shift that was about to happen.
“You and Y/N still playing rough in the gym, huh?” Sam teased, nudging Bucky with an elbow, his grin wide and playful. Bucky smirked, cocky and careless, barely glancing back at her.
“Yeah, well… some things we’re good at keeping physical. Someone’s gotta keep her ego in check.”
The room went dead quiet.
Y/N froze mid step. Her cup lowered slightly, hand tightening around the ceramic mug as if it grounded her. Sam’s smile dropped. He gave Bucky a sharp look.
“Dude.” Bucky’s smirk faltered a beat too late. His brow creased.
“What? I meant sparring. Jesus.”
But it was already too late.
The implication had settled into the air like smoke. Natasha raised an eyebrow, unreadable but clearly unimpressed. Steve glanced down, lips pressed in a thin line, avoiding eye contact. Sam muttered something under his breath and walked out of the room without another word. Y/N’s jaw clenched. She didn’t speak, didn’t lash out, didn’t correct him. She just turned on her heel and walked away silent, controlled, but burning from the inside out. And Bucky felt it. Every step she took away from him stung more than he expected.
“Great,” Natasha muttered.
“You really nailed that one, Barnes.” Bucky opened his mouth. Closed it. The smirk was gone, evaporated like it had never been there.
Later that night, she found him in the training room again, punching the heavy bag like it had personally insulted him. His fists thudded against the leather, repeatedly, until he sensed her presence. He stopped when she entered, chest rising and falling with laboured breath.
“Y/N,” he started, guilt already flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean…”
“You think this is funny?” Her voice was low and sharp, cutting through the silence. “You screw me once and think that gives you the right to turn it into a joke for the whole team?”
His eyes darkened. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“Then what were you doing, Barnes? Because from where I stood, it looked a hell of a lot like you threw me under the bus for a cheap laugh.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said, stepping toward her.
“I panicked. They were teasing me and I… I didn’t mean to make you feel used.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “That’s the thing. You didn’t even think about how I’d feel, did you?”
“Jeez. You’re so sensitive, Y/N,” Bucky said, words spilling out fast and defensive like they might shield him from the damage already done. He regretted them the moment they left his mouth. Her expression didn’t shift right away. That was the worst part. She just blinked, like the words had hit her midbreath. Then something in her eyes changed subtly, but completely. It wasn’t anger. It was colder. Detached.
“You know what, Barnes?” Her voice was quiet and level, too calm. “That’s low. Even for you.”
Bucky’s stomach dropped. “Wait, Y/N”
“No.” She cut him off with a raised hand. “Don’t. Don’t walk it back now. You said what you said. You meant it enough to say it in front of the team, and now you’re doubling down?”
His jaw clenched. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mean it. That he was lashing out. That vulnerability sat on his chest like a loaded gun and sometimes he said stupid things because it scared him how much she mattered. But that would have been too honest. And Bucky Barnes hadn’t figured out how to be honest with her yet. So, he said nothing. And she stepped back like he’d physically shoved her.
“Whatever this was,” she gestured vaguely between them, “It’s done. You can go back to your brooding and your locker room jokes. I’ll go back to not giving a damn.”
“That’s not fair,” he finally said. She gave a short, humourless laugh.
“You know what’s not fair? Trusting you with something real. Letting my guard down when I never do. Not for anyone I work with. Not even for people I like, let alone-” She stopped herself, swallowed hard. “Forget it.”
He took a step forward, desperation starting to crack through the silence. “Just let me explain.”
“To what end?” Her voice shook, but only slightly. Her eyes were glassy now. “So you can call me sensitive again when I expect basic respect from someone, I was stupid enough to trust?”
“Damn it Y/N,” he snapped, frustration bleeding through. “I messed up. I know I did. But I wasn’t trying to hurt you”
“Too bad. You did hurt me,” she said quietly, but with a steely certainty that left no room for argument. “So, congratulations. Go win your next sparring match. Or whatever the hell helps you sleep at night.” She turned and walked away without looking back.
That night between them changed everything.
They pretended to hate each other again, sharp words, careless teasing, brutal sparring matches, as if nothing had shifted. As if the walls had never come down. But beneath the surface, the memory of that night lingered, raw and unburied. That night, he had taken her body, and she had let him.
For the first time in a long while, she had let her defences fall. And he hadn’t just been rough or passionate, he had been present, focused entirely on her in a way that both unsettled and awakened something deep inside her. Tonight, the distance between them felt heavier than ever.
She wanted to snap back, to joke like she always did. To play it cool and pretend none of it mattered. But all she could do was sit with that sting in her chest and wonder.
Was she just sensitive? Or had it meant something more?
Two weeks after, Bucky noticed it immediately.
Y/N wasn’t mean to him, not anymore.
He missed even her snarky comments. They started being enemies, then had one of the best night of their life and now they were almost as strangers. Y/N stopped showing up at the gym during their usual time.
No more shared breakfasts. No more sarcastic jabs tossed over shoulder pads or sparring gear. She was still going on missions still sharp, still efficient, still deadly. But now, she was cold. Clinical. Like he was just another operative on the roster. And it ate him alive. Because once you’ve had someone, truly had them, felt their skin under your hands, heard the sounds they only made for you, seen their eyes go soft in the dark when they thought no one else was watching, it was impossible to go back. Impossible to pretend they didn’t exist. But she was trying. Every time he walked into a room, she found a reason to leave.
During briefings, she addressed Steve or Sam, never him. If she had to acknowledge him, it was with a curt nod, a clipped word, a strictly professional tone that left no room for anything else. It hurt. More than he expected it to. Because she wasn’t yelling. She wasn’t rolling her eyes or throwing barbs at him like she used to. No, this wasn’t anger, it was absence. An emptiness that wrapped around her like armour, one he had helped weld into place with his own damn hands. And Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about how her mocking laugh used to sound before all of this. Before he messed everything up.
On a thursady, everyone was gathered in the conference room. Y/N sat at the far end of the table, well away from the seat Bucky instinctively dropped into. She didn’t glance his way once. Halfway through the meeting, Bucky cracked. Just a little.
“Y/N,” he said, after Tony finished rattling off the next mission assignment. “Can we talk?”
Her eyes flicked to him. Calm. Blank. “We’re in a briefing, Barnes.”
“I know,” he said, ignoring the eyes on them. “But after?” She didn’t answer. Just stood when the meeting ended and left the room without a word. Steve gave him a pointed look on the way out.
“Whatever this is. Fix it before it ruins your teamwork.” Like Bucky didn’t already know that.
That night, in the gym she was there again alone, or so she thought. Running drills, sweat glistening on her skin, focus sharp and unrelenting. Bucky stepped into the doorway.
“Y/N.”
She didn’t stop moving. “You are stalking me now?”
“No. I just… I needed to see you.”
“You already did enough of that,” she muttered, throwing a vicious punch at the bag. It swung hard, the chain groaning under the impact.
He winced. “I didn’t mean to cheapen what happened. I just… I get scared when things start to matter.” She stopped. Turned to face him. And God, the look on her face.
“You’re scared?” She said, her voice trembling, though her posture remained strong. “I gave you a piece of me I don’t give to anyone. I gave you control over me. And you turned it into a joke because you’re scared?”
Bucky had no answer. He stood frozen, silent.
She stepped closer. “I let you in. Do you get that? How many man do you think can handle me like you did? I let you see me. Not the soldier, not the assassin, not the one who always has her shit together. Me. I let all that go, for one goddamn night, and you ruined it.” Her hands were shaking now, and Bucky felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I know we used to pretend to hate each other…” she continued, voice cracking, “…or maybe we actually did. Maybe that hate was real once. But then came that mission. The house. That night.”
He still wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I couldn’t stand you. You couldn’t stand me. We were both too angry, too stubborn. But that night… that fucking night changed something.”
The silence that followed felt like a scream.
“You touched me like I was something you needed,” she whispered, eyes burning. “Like I was the only thing anchoring you to this world. You looked at me like I mattered. And it was rough and raw, let alone messy as hell, but it meant something.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. Still, he said nothing.
“That joke in front of everyone,” she spat, her voice splintering, “like it was a throwaway line like none of it meant a damn thing? It broke something in me.”
Finally, he looked at her. “I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly. And this time, he meant it. But she shook her head.
“That’s not good enough.” She brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his chest, and walked out with her eyes forward, heart locked down.
Days later, the tension was no longer subtle. Whenever Y/N and Bucky shared a space, the air seemed to drop ten degrees. And the rest of the team? Yeah, they noticed.
Natasha was the first to say it out loud. “You two broke up or just trying to kill each other with silence?”
They were mid mission planning when she said it, and the room went dead quiet. Y/N didn’t even blink. Bucky clenched his jaw.
“We weren’t together,” Y/N said flatly, eyes on the mission report.
Natasha glanced at Bucky. “Barnes?” He didn’t look up.
“Doesn’t matter.” Steve sighed, rubbing his face like he was reconsidering his entire life.
“Okay, seriously. What the hell is going on?” Sam leaned back in his chair. “Normally I’d enjoy the drama, but this is getting painful. You two are a walking HR violation. Either make out again or start throwing punches. Just do something.”
Y/N stood abruptly. “If this is how you run debriefs now, I’ll pass.” She walked out, leaving Bucky staring after her.
Tony, coffee in hand and smirking like the devil, shook his head. “So… that night wasn’t just tactical?”
“Tony,” Steve warned.
“What?” Tony shrugged. “The body language is screaming ex-enemies with unresolved tension and catastrophic emotional baggage.”
Sam raised a brow. “That’s oddly specific, man.”
Tony sipped. “I watch a lot of HBO.”
Later that night, Steve corned Bucky. “Buck,” Steve said, leaning against the wall outside the gym.
“I’m not in the mood, Steve.”
“Too bad. You and Y/N are bleeding all over this team, and it’s killing our cohesion. You’re distracted. She’s gone ice cold. It’s like watching two magnets trying to rip themselves apart.” Bucky let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Steve stepped closer. “What’s going on?” Bucky didn’t respond right away. His fists, especially the metal one, twitched at his sides. “At least before, you two yelled,” Steve said. “Now she won’t even look at you. And you walk around like she’s destroying you.”
“She is,” Bucky muttered. “I screwed it up. Said the wrong thing. She shut down. Started avoiding me.”
“Then fix it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” Steve said firmly. “If you care, you fight. Not on the mat. For her.”
Bucky looked away. “What if I already lost her?”
Steve’s gaze softened. “Then remind her what she meant to you that night, and every damn day after.”
He didn’t press further. He didn’t need to. He already knew the truth. The “hate” Bucky felt for Y/N? He saw fake money well designed.
Meanwhile, Natasha and Y/N had the same encounter. “Barnes is moping,” Natasha said casually, leaning in Y/N’s doorway like she hadn’t been keeping tabs the entire time.
Y/N didn’t look up from cleaning her sidearm. “Not my problem.”
“Oh, please. You’re walking around here like someone carved your heart out with a vibranium spoon. Something changed between you two. And now you’re pretending like he’s a stranger.”
Y/N’s hands stilled. “He made me feel like I was just something to scratch an itch.”
Nat moved into the room, sitting beside her. “And yet you’re the one doing the avoiding.”
Silence.
“Y/N,” she said gently, “I’ve seen a lot of guys fall for you. None of them looked the way Bucky did when you walked out of that kitchen.”
Y/N swallowed hard. “I really thought he could be different. He broke something in me. And i don’t even know what…”
She stood there, silent. “Then tell him,” Nat said quietly. “Let him earn fixing it.”
Steve and Natasha, the next morning, exchanged a subtle nod as they handed out assignments. “Y/N, you’re with Bucky on recon,” Steve said.
Y/N immediately looked up. “There’s no one else?”
“Nope,” Steve replied with a straight face. “Only one who matches his range and combat profile.”
It wasn’t completely a lie.
Bucky and Y/N clearly demonstrate to operate excellently together, but now there was another reason. Bucky glanced at her, and for a second, just a flicker, she met his eyes.
No anger. No hate. Just something haunted. And maybe, just maybe, something left to fight for.
“It’s an easy one, guys. Recon and download file on this USB.” Steve said, sliding the pen drive on the table. Y/N and Bucky nodded.
So, they were again together.
A mission, two person, one brain.
Rocks crunched under their boots as Y/N and Bucky climbed the ridge toward the outpost perimeter. Visibility was low due to the fog. Winds were brutal, radios off and just a hand of signals now.
She didn’t look at him once. Bucky watched her through the flurry. Same sure steps. Same sharp posture. Same silence as a wall he couldn’t scale. Every now and then, she motioned a command but never spoke. It drove him mad. They had been moving together for over two hours. Perfect sync. Their bodies remembered each other, even if their hearts pretended not to. She slipped through the trees like a shadow, scoped out patrols, gestured for him to flank. He obeyed without hesitation, covering her with a sniper shot when she silently took down two guards. Flawless teamwork. Just like before. But when the last sentry dropped and they ducked behind a rock outcropping, waiting for the patrol rotation to change.
Bucky cracked. “Y/N,” he whispered. “Say something. Anything.” She didn’t turn. He edged closer. “I know you’re still angry. You should be. But you’re in my head every second of the day and you won’t even look at me.”
Y/N in front of him, back facing him, winced slightly but didn’t stop.
The cold wind howled between them, but he barely felt it anymore. Just the ache in his chest.
“I miss you,” he said, quieter now. “I miss how you used to roll your eyes when I said something stupid. I miss you punching me too hard in sparring. I even miss you stealing the last of the damn strawberries in the fridge.”
At that point, Bucky didn’t care about the power games anymore.
The sarcasm.
The battles of will.
It all felt meaningless now. He would’ve begged. Hell, he would beg, if it would make her look at him even like she did in the past.
“Steve I would prefer her as an enemy again, rather than her not talking to me.” Bucky said to Steve one night, during a sparring.
Not like a teammate. Not like an obligation. Her shoulders shifted, almost imperceptibly.
“And I know I made you feel like it meant nothing,” he went on, voice catching, “but that night, it wrecked me. It still does. I’ve been trying to protect something I already lost.”
She finally turned. Looked at him. Just for a second. Before she could speak, a sharp crack rang through the trees. A gunshot. Bucky tackled her to the ground as a bullet shattered the rock behind where her head had been. They rolled. He shielded her with his body, heart pounding. She shoved him off once they hit cover behind a fallen tree.
“I had it,” she hissed, eyes blazing.
“Yeah? Well, I wasn’t taking any chances.”
Another round whizzed past. A sniper. Hidden. Y/N peered through her scope. “Northwest ridge, forty meters. You flank. I’ll draw fire.”
“No,” Bucky said. “I draw fire. You end it.”
This time, she didn’t argue.
Minutes later, they stood over the body, breathing hard and with the snow falling like ash around them. Still, she didn’t say anything else.
Bucky stared at her. “You’re shutting me out, but I’m still right here.” Her jaw clenched. She turned away, brushing past him and heading toward the outpost. They entered through the west wall breach, silent as ghosts. Inside, the corridors were dim and flickering with backup power. Alarms hadn’t gone off yet. But it was only a matter of time. Y/N took point, slipping through the shadows with the same grace he remembered fire and silk wrapped in skin. Deadly. Beautiful. Unreachable.
Her body brushed his as they squeezed into a narrow passage. Too tight. Too close. He inhaled sharply and caught the scent of her sweat, snow, gunmetal, and something softer beneath it. The memory of her fingers digging into his back, her voice breathless, her legs around his waist, it hit him like a punch to the ribs. That night lived between them now. But so did something else. Not lust. Not just anger. Something aching. They reached the server door. Keypad sealed. Y/N crouched to override it, fingers flying over the panel.
“Cover me,” she whispered.
Her voice wasn’t cold this time. It curled into his chest like smoke. He stood above her, gun raised, eyes on her. She was focused. Locked in. But she was trembling. Not much. Not enough anyone else would notice. But he did. Because he knew her body now. Knew what it looked like when she was pretending not to feel. The door clicked. Unlocked. She stood, brushing past him again. Her breath hitched when her arm grazed his.
Inside the server room, it was cramped and hot from the machines. Y/N inserted the USB and began the download. Bucky stood by the door, but his focus wasn’t on the mission anymore. It was on her tight jaw. Her shoulders. The way she refused to face him. The silence pressed in. Too much. He broke it.
“Y/N,” he said. “That night,”
“Don’t,” she snapped. But her voice cracked.
“You’re pretending it didn’t happen, but I know you feel it. Every second.”
“I can’t afford to feel it. Not when-” She turned then, eyes burning.
“Not when, what?” He asked, stepping closer.
She didn’t answer. The download finished. She yanked the USB out and turned away again. But he caught her wrist. She froze.
“It wasn’t just about your body,” he said, voice raw. “I should’ve told you sooner. But I can’t stand this silence, like I didn’t see you fall apart in my hands and beg me not to stop. You weren’t just a night. You’re the only thing that’s made me feel in years. Punch me. Shoot me. But don’t ignore me.”
She didn’t look at him. But she didn’t pull away. Their breathing matched again. And then footsteps echoed in the corridor. They snapped back into mission mode.
“Time’s up,” she muttered, voice hard but shaken. They ran.
They moved side by side through the narrow corridor, sweat sticking to their backs, adrenaline pounding. The palace shook. Someone must’ve triggered a failsafe. Lights flickered. Sirens wailed. Without thinking, Bucky grabbed her hand. Not romantic. Instinct. The instinct that told him he couldn’t lose her. She didn’t pull away. She gripped his hand as they sprinted down the tunnel, green exit lights pulsing like a distant promise. Then, a sharp noise.
BOOM.
The tunnel exploded behind them. Concrete cracked. Smoke surged forward. “Y/N!” Bucky shouted. Her hand ripped from his. Gone. His hand closed on air.
“Y/N!” He roared, spinning in the smoke. Nothing. He stumbled through the haze, coughing, heart racing. Rubble rained from the ceiling.
“Y/N!” He yelled again, desperate.
Still nothing. He shoved debris aside. Pipes. Dust. Chunks of metal.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Then he saw it. Her comms earpiece, half buried in ash.
“No no, no Y/N, come on,” he whispered, grabbing it with shaking fingers. Then a voice. Male. Calm. Cold.
“We will take care of her, Soldat.” Bucky froze. The blood drained from his face. That voice. German. Precise. Familiar. HYDRA.
“No…” he whispered. “No, no…”
The walls tilted. His mind slid into memory, metal restraints and commands, pain, drills, Russian echoing in the dark.
Soldat.
His vision blurred. They had her. They knew what she meant to him. And they took her anyway.
The quinjet landed with only one onboard. Bucky stormed off the ramp before it fully lowered, eyes wild, hair tangled with ash and blood. Steve ran to meet him. Sam was right behind.
“Where’s Y/N?” Steve asked immediately. Bucky didn’t answer. He dropped her comms piece into Steve’s hand. His jaw locked. His chest heaved. Sam’s eyes narrowed.
“What the hell happened?” Bucky looked up, face pale and cold.
“They took her,” he said, dropping to his knees.
“Who?” Steve demanded.
“Bucky, who took her?” Bucky’s lips parted, but for a moment, nothing came out. Then he said it. One word. One name.
“HYDRA.”
Hours after detonation, the air was thick with urgency. Bucky paced back and forth, every step echoing the turmoil inside him. His metal arm swung by his side, fingers twitching in frustration. Sam, Tony, Natasha, and Steve stood in a loose circle, eyes fixed on him, waiting for answers.
Sam broke the silence, voice steady but sharp. “What do you mean HYDRA took her? When did this happen?” Bucky stopped mid step, jaw tight. His voice was low, strained, almost brittle.
“During the explosion. We were running out of that compound, and then she was gone. One moment I had her hand… the next, nothing. Like she vanished.”
Tony frowned, arms crossed, stepping forward. His gaze flickered over Bucky’s as he processed the weight of the confession. “You lost her? On your watch? How the hell does that happen during a mission like that?” Bucky’s eyes snapped to Tony’s, cold and sharp.
“It wasn’t my fault. HYDRA planned this. They were watching me, waiting for the perfect moment. They knew what Y/N means to me. Knew I’d do anything to protect her.”
Sam’s brow furrowed, disbelief clear in his voice. “Wait, what do you mean they know how much Y/N means to you? Don’t you guys hate each other?”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, and you never explained that whole joke about being all ‘physical’ and Y/N giving you the silent treatment. We knew something happened on that mission.”
Bucky froze for a beat, then let out a slow breath. The room went quiet, all eyes on him. He looked down, jaw tightening as memories rushed back. “Yeah… we hate each other. At least, we used to.” His voice was rough, vulnerable in a way the team rarely heard. “We couldn’t stand each other. Mocking, sparring… brutal fights that never really ended. But then…” He hesitated, then finally said the words that still caught him off guard. “That night, in that little house… everything changed.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
Bucky’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something more tender slipping through. He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable under the team’s curious and slightly amused stares.
“Some kind of dominance show of mine…”
Everyone blinked.
Steve’s eyebrows shot up. Natasha raised an amused brow. Sam smirked. Bucky held up his hands quickly, as if warding off their silent judgments. “Guys, it was all consensual, okay?”
Tony snorted quietly, trying not to laugh.
Bucky pressed on, his voice softer now, a bit more vulnerable. “I used to say I couldn’t stand her yelling orders at me, but it wasn’t the truth.” He looked down, then back at the group. “In that house… something hit us. Something shifted.”
Sam nodded, eyes thoughtful. “Sounds like it wasn’t just a fight for control. It was real.”
Steve gave a small smile. “Sometimes the hardest walls are the ones you build yourself.”
Bucky’s gaze hardened, determination returning. “I thought I was past all that. But now… I realize how much I screwed up. And I won’t let her down again.”
Natasha clapped her hands together quietly. “Good. Because right now, you’ve got a team ready to bring her back.”
Tony grinned. “And no more dominance games, metal man. This is a rescue mission.” Everyone laughed softly, easing the tension. Bucky allowed himself a brief, tired smile, but the situation was anything but funny.
Natasha’s tone was calm, but sharp as a blade. “So, it was a trap. They used her as bait.”
Steve nodded grimly, stepping closer. “They’re counting on that. Using her to break you. And if they succeed with her, they’ll break you too.”
Bucky’s fist slammed onto the table, making the room jump. “I won’t let that happen. I swear I’ll burn every single one of them to ashes if it means getting her back.”
Tony’s expression softened suddenly. He took a step closer, voice quieter, more understanding. “Buck… it’s not your fault.”
Bucky blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes.
Tony shook his head. “You were caught in an ambush. HYDRA are experts at this kind of psychological warfare. Anyone could’ve lost her there.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “We all know what you’re dealing with. And none of us blame you.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “We’ve seen how far you’ll go for the people you care about. We’re not here to judge. We’re here to help.”
Natasha’s gaze was steady.
“The important thing is our next move.” Steve’s voice was calm but resolute. “We don’t have time to waste. We need to find where they’re holding her. HYDRA’s not just going to sit on this.”
Bucky’s eyes burned with renewed determination. “I want a full tactical sweep on every HYDRA facility within reach. I want every available asset. We’re pulling every string, whatever it takes.”
Tony gave a curt nod. “Alright. Consider it done. We’re going to find her. And we’re bringing her home.”
While the Avengers were looking for a plan, Y/N woke up. Everything was cold. Her body felt heavy. Numb. Y/N’s mind surfaced slowly, like being dragged from deep water. Her throat was raw, her head pounded like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. She tried to move. Her arms wouldn’t budge. Neither would her legs.
Restraints. Metal. Tight.
Her eyes snapped open. The room was shadowy and sterile. A single light buzzed overhead, flickering. There were no windows, except for a small one high on the wall. White tile floor. Steel walls. The stink of bleach lingered, with something sour beneath it. She knew that smell.
HYDRA.
The realization sank into her like ice in her lungs. She looked down. Boots and pants still on. No knife, no gun, no strap. Just black pants. On her upper body, the plain white t-shirt she always wore under the tactical gear. Her bra was still on.
Thank god, she though
A mechanical hiss sounded behind her. A door opening. She didn’t turn, couldn’t, but she listened. Soft footsteps. Measured. A voice followed. Familiar in a distant, sickening way. “You’re awake. Good.” She twisted her head toward the sound. A man stepped into view. Lab coat. Surgical gloves. His hair was slicked back, and his German accent was faint but unmistakable. A white mask on.
“Who the hell are you?” She rasped.
He smiled gently, like a teacher humouring a student. “You don’t need to know my name. Just know that you are important. To us. To him.” Y/N’s jaw clenched.
Bucky.
Her heart twisted. “What do you want from me?”
The man walked slowly around her, his gaze clinical behind the mask.
“Leverage. Pain is fleeting. But memory?” He leaned close. “Memory is what makes the Winter Soldier obedient.”
Y/N’s blood ran cold.
“You think hurting me is going to bring him back?” She spat. “You don’t know him.” His eyes twinkled. Not with malice. With certainty. “He hates me. If he could he would strap me on this chair too.”
“Don’t I?” He held up a small remote, and pressed a button.
Behind her, machinery stirred. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel the energy shift in the room. A low humming. Mechanical clicks. Electrodes charging. And then, a recording.
Audio only.
A voice.
His voice.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Bucky’s voice.
Shouting.
Frantic.
It pierced through the cold metal, the restraints, the haze in her mind. Her heart broke in two. She closed her eyes, trembling.
He was calling her. “In case you forget…” the doctor muttered, turning up the volume. A mechanical click. A slight crackle in the speakers. Then Bucky’s voice broken, panicked filled the room like a scream from another world.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Y/N flinched, her whole body tensing against the restraints. She knew that tone. The rawness of it. She could still feel the echo of it from the moment the explosion went off. The moment he lost her hand in the smoke and called her name like he was losing his mind. And now it was looping.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Over. And over. And over again.
The cruel realization sank in like ice. HYDRA was using Bucky’s voice as a weapon, a form of torture meant to break her mind. They wanted her to hear his desperation, his fear, repeatedly, amplifying her isolation and guilt.
“They’re going to leave it on,” she realized, muttering as she was alone in the room. Her stomach twisted. Her pulse quickened. The doctor didn’t need to say it, she could see the sick pleasure in his eyes. This wasn’t just about hurting her. It was about breaking her with him.
“You recognize that voice, don’t you?” He asked, falsely gentle. “That desperation. That pathetic loyalty.” He leaned down next to her, whispering like it was a secret between friends. “He will come for you. But not fast enough.” He said, getting out of the room. The audio looped again. The doctor exited the room. Leaving her and Bucky’s voice alone.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Tears stung her eyes. Not from fear. Not from the pain in her ribs or the ache in her wrists where the restraints bit into her skin. But from the way Bucky’s voice sounded so real, like he was right there, just inches out of reach. She remembered that night. How he whispered her name with reverence, not panic after consuming her body.
And now? Now that same voice was being weaponized against her.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
The tape looped like a knife scraping bone.
Y/N swallowed hard and forced herself to sit up straighter, despite the screaming pain.
No.
She wouldn’t let them use him to break her. Not like this. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, a tether to herself. To whom she was. To whom she’d always been.
She whispered under her breath, barely audible beneath the recording. “I’m still here, Bucky.”
And as the tape played on, she began to count the seconds between each repetition. She would survive this. She had to.
There were no clocks. No voices, except for the ones they played to torment her but Y/N found something else, the small window.
It sat high above the concrete floor, too small to escape through, too distant to touch. But it gave her something far more precious, light. It became her calendar, her tether to reality.
Every morning, pale gold spilled through it, cutting through the sterile gloom. Every evening, shadows crept in and let her know the sun had set.
She started counting.
One sunset.
Two.
Five.
Seven.
Each one was a mark of survival.
By the eighth day she began to understand.
Sunrise. Sunset. Sunrise. Food.
Every 36 hours, a full day and half of the following, the doctor brought her something.
It wasn’t real food, something resembling a protein shake. Enough to keep her alive but not enough to keep her fully awake. She spent this first eight days like this. Barely sleeping, eating every two days, Bucky’s voice now a background noise, four protein shakes.
The light, however, reminded her that the world was still turning. That somewhere beyond the cement and steel, the sun still touched the earth. Maybe even touched him. And though HYDRA’s psychological warfare continued.
Bucky’s voice echoing relentlessly in the chamber, twisted into torment, but they never took the window away.Some days, it took everything just to breathe. Her muscles ached, her limbs were still bound, or numb, or weak. Her mind frayed at the edges. But she never stopped looking up.
Sometimes, when the pale light struck the wall just right, she imagined what Bucky would say.
“That all you got, sweetheart?”
“Sunsets don’t mean a damn thing unless you’re standing in them.”
“Come home. I love you.”
She would close her eyes and whisper back, not to the speakers, not to the ghosts but to the sky itself.
“I’m trying Bucky.”
She didn’t know how long it had been. But she would keep counting.
9 days without Y/N
The room was not bright, just lit by the glow of holographic projections and scattered monitors. HYDRA bases. Communications logs. Grainy footage of the explosion that stole Y/N from them. Bucky stood rigid, arms crossed, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. He hadn’t slept. Not really. Not since the explosion.
“There’s nothing here,” Tony muttered, flipping through surveillance feeds again. “Whoever took her covered their tracks. No digital trail. No comms chatter.”
“Someone always talks,” Natasha said quietly, eyes sharp. “No one gets taken like that without a whisper somewhere.”
Steve looked over at Bucky. “Any detail you remember? Anything different about the area before the explosion?”
Bucky barely blinked. His voice was low and hoarse. “We were running. Hand in hand. I lost her for two seconds in the smoke. Then she was gone.” He slammed his metal fist on the table. The wood cracked under the force, coffee sloshing from a forgotten mug nearby. “Damn it. It’s been nine days!” Bucky barked, voice rough and ragged. “I can’t imagine what they’re doing to her…”
The room fell silent. Steve stood by the window, jaw clenched, but even he flinched at the rawness in Bucky’s voice. Natasha leaned forward, fingers steepled, eyes locked on him. Calm, but not cold. “She’s strong.”
“Yeah, she’s strong,” Bucky snapped, pacing now. “But she’s not invincible. And she’s alone.”
No one corrected him. Because they all knew, if Y/N had been taken, there was no comfort in empty reassurances.
Sam finally spoke, quietly. “We’ll find her.”
“When?” Bucky spun, eyes wild. “When there’s a body? When it’s too late to.”
His voice cracked, the words choking off.
He turned away, running a hand through his hair, flesh fingers trembling, the metal hand still clenched so tight it groaned.
Natasha rose slowly from her chair. “She wasn’t on a solo op. No one saw this coming.”
Bucky didn’t respond.
Because he did. He saw her pulling away.
Saw the mornings grow colder. Saw her mask slip just enough to know she was angry, maybe even hurt. And he hadn’t fixed it. Hadn’t said the thing she probably needed to hear. Now she was gone. And all he had left was nine days of silence, and the sound of his own voice screaming inside his head.
He began pacing, fists clenched, the buzz of failed leads and HYDRA’s silence pounding in his head. Each second that passed without news felt like another nail in her coffin. His breathing quickened. They took her.
A flicker of her face smudged with dirt, lips trembling, eyes searching for him in the smoke flashed behind his eyes.
And his voice.
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
It was his last begging before the voice. That bloody voice that took her away from him.
His knees buckled. He braced a hand against the wall, the cool metal of his vibranium arm trembling violently. His other hand fisted into his shirt, as if he could claw the guilt out of his chest.
His breath hitched.
Once. Then again.
Rapid, shallow gasps.
The world tilted.
“Bucky?” Steve’s voice came from behind him, concerned. But Bucky didn’t hear it. Not clearly. The walls were closing in.
“It’s my fault,” he choked, voice breaking. “They have her because of me because I didn’t hold on…I let go…I let her go”
“Hey hey, Buck look at me,” Sam said suddenly in front of him, hands gently gripping his shoulders. “You’re having a panic attack. Breathe. You’re okay. We’re here.”
Bucky tried to shake him off, but he was shaking too hard. His legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees. “I should’ve told her,” he gasped, chest heaving. “I never told her. I just let her walk away from me and now she’s-”
“Bucky, you didn’t let her go,” Steve knelt beside him, a steady hand on his back. “She was taken. And we’re not going to stop until we bring her back.”
Natasha crouched next to him, her voice firm but calm. “You want to fall apart? Fine. You’ve earned it. But don’t you dare think you’re alone in this.”
“She’s not gone,” Tony added, kneeling across from him, unusually quiet. “Not until we say she is. Not while you’re still fighting.”
Bucky’s breathing slowed, still ragged, but steadier. His eyes began to focus. He felt the grounding weight of Sam’s grip, the familiar presence of Steve’s hand on his back. The team was around him. Holding him together when he couldn’t do it alone. He buried his face in his hands, teeth gritted. “I just want her back.”
“Then we find her,” Steve said gently. “Together,” Natasha added. And for the first time in days, Bucky let the tears fall.
Y/N had now counted ten sunrises.
Ten times the weak winter light had filtered through the tiny slit of a window high above, carving a line across the wall like a promise. A thread connecting her to the world outside. To him. But today, the light didn’t bring comfort. Today, there were footsteps.
Slow. Purposeful.
The sound of rubber soles against concrete echoed down the hall and slithered beneath the door before it opened with a mechanical hiss. She didn’t flinch, but her pulse jumped. The doctor entered, same man with the white mask on and slight German accent.
Always calm. Always cold.
He put near her lips the straw and she drank the shakes. Five shakes, ten days. He then put the now empty packed in his pocket. This time, he carried two things. A water pipe around his arm, roughly two feet long stained and heavy, and a white towel neatly folded, draped over the other. Y/N’s body tensed in the chair, despite how drained she felt. Her muscles ached, her wrists chafed raw against the restraints. Her mouth was dry. The air stank of chemicals and stale metal. She said nothing. The doctor stepped into the center of the room and looked at her with mild curiosity, as if she were a puzzle he’d grown bored of solving.
“Ten days,” he said softly, almost admiringly. “Ten sunrises. Ten sunsets. You’re still watching the sky.” Y/N’s jaw clenched. He set the pipe down on the floor with a clang, then placed the towel beside it. Slowly. Deliberately. “You’re strong, fräulein. I’ll give you that. But strength is like glass.”
He straightened, eyes gleaming behind his mask. “Eventually, it cracks. Eventually, it shatters.” He began walking behind her silent. Predatory. She could smell the gloves again. That sterile, rubbery stench that always made her stomach turn. Her heart pounded, but she refused to show it. She stared ahead. Focused on the sliver of sky. The doctor’s voice slithered into her ear.
“You’re waiting for him. For the soldier.” He chuckled. “He doesn’t even know where you are. Do you really think he’s coming?”
Y/N didn’t answer. Because if she opened her mouth, she didn’t know whether it would be rage or fear that came out, and she wouldn’t give him either. She stayed silent. But her eyes flicked toward the light on the wall. Because that light meant time was still passing. And if time was passing, then Bucky was still fighting.
The click of the pipe sliding into place echoed like a lock slamming shut in her chest. Y/N’s eyes snapped to the corner of the room, where the doctor had crouched, attaching a long metal pipe to a spout she hadn’t even realized was there. It hissed slightly as pressure built, a quiet growl from the walls themselves. The hose unfurled on the ground like a serpent cold, silver, coiled with intent. Her heart started to race. She pulled instinctively against her restraints. Too tight. No give. The doctor rose, his expression calm. Clinical. The way one might prepare for a routine medical procedure. He walked back toward her, towel now unfolded, his hands moving with practiced ease. Y/N’s breathing quickened.
Waterboarding.
“Don’t.”
But he didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just raised the towel. “You’ve held out long enough. I admire it, truly. But we both know everyone breaks.”
He pressed the towel firmly over her mouth and nose. Y/N’s body thrashed, her survival instincts screaming as she tried to shake her head, but the straps bit into her limbs. And then, the water came. A burst of cold, suffocating force slammed through the towel. She couldn’t breathe. The water invaded everything her nose, her throat, her lungs screaming as instinct fought to suck in oxygen but found only wet panic. It felt like drowning in place. Trapped in her own body. Flooded by fear and helplessness. She kicked against the chair, muscles burning. The sound of water, gushing and spraying, was deafening in her ears. Then it stopped. The towel pulled away. Y/N gasped. Coughed violently. Her head fell forward as she choked on air and water. Spit ran down her chin. Her vision swam.
The doctor crouched beside her, eyes level with hers. “Where’s our Winter Soldier?” He asked gently, like a teacher posing a question to a child. Y/N dragged in breath after breath, her voice broken and ragged.
“I. Don’t. Fucking. Know.”
He tilted his head. “Wrong answer.”
He stood.
The towel returned to her face. The water hit again. The water surged again. Y/N’s body arched against the restraints. Her lungs begged for air but got none. Her head felt like it might split from the pressure. Her throat ached from choking on nothing but panic. The towel remained a wall between her and oxygen. Between her and herself. Every second stretched like wire, pulling tighter across her soul.
The doctor’s voice returned so soft, so maddening. “Where is he?”
No answer.
“Where is your soldier?”
Still no answer.
“He will not come for you.”
She heard it between the streams. Between the gasps and the coughs when he gave her seconds to breathe, just enough to survive. Just enough to start the cycle again. But Y/N refused to give them what they wanted. Not because she knew where Bucky was. But because she knew who he was.
Inside her mind, she was in that house again. The one from the mission. The one night that changed everything. Snow outside. Bucky’s hands rough on her skin. His mouth urgent against hers. Not tender but not cruel. Just hungry. Like he needed her to exist in that moment to survive. And she let him. She’d wanted to hate him but that night, she’d let him have her. And he’d taken her like a man clinging to his last piece of humanity. She remembered how he’d held her after. Even though neither of them admitted it out loud. His voice had been low then, too. It clung to the burn in her chest. Clung to the memories that couldn’t be drowned.
Not by water.
Not by HYDRA.
The towel came off again.
She gasped, spluttered. Her lips were cracked. Her arms ached. Her head pounded. But her voice, though raw, held a rasp of defiance. “You think… I’ll break for you?” She coughed. Water tinged her spit.
“You’ll need more than water and a towel.” The doctor stared down at her.
Not amused. Not angry. Just… disappointed, almost annoyed she wasn’t break. He stood without a word. This time, he didn’t walk toward the spout. He simply left the pipe, still attached to the spout on the ground, then walked to the door. Paused.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “Next time, we’ll use something worse.” And then he was gone. The door sealed shut. Y/N slumped in the chair, shaking. Wet. Broken, but not destroyed. She looked on the ground where the still connected pipe laid.
He’s gonna use it again she though.
The sky, through the sliver of window, was there again. Sunset number ten. Still here. Still fighting.
Come find me, Buck. She thought.
The next day, the door creaked open again. Y/N’s breath caught before she even saw him. She had begun to anticipate the doctor’s footsteps. Every sound in that place was memorized now but this time, they were slower. Heavier. Bucky’s voice now was a background noise. When he stepped into view, her stomach turned.
A camera. A tripod. And a knife.
The glint of the blade caught the fluorescent light, stainless steel. No rust. Clean. Prepared. The doctor said nothing at first. He moved silently, methodically, setting up the tripod across from her precisely in the center, ensuring the camera would have a full, clear view of her in the chair. Still bound. Still chilled from yesterday. She inhaled sharply through her nose, her ribs tight with unease.
“What the hell is this?” She rasped, her throat still raw.
The doctor didn’t answer. He turned the camera on. The red light blinked to life. He adjusted the angle slightly. Zoomed in. Focused. Then, at last, he looked at her. “They need to see what happens when you take something from us.”
Y/N’s eyes widened. No. They weren’t just trying to extract information anymore.
They were making a statement. A message. For him.
“You want to break him,” she said quietly more realization than accusation.
“And you’re going to help us do it.” He smiled faintly, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. “Hello, Soldat,” the Doctor said, his voice smooth and deliberate, eyes fixed on the camera. “I’m sure your Avengers friends are there with you. Watching. Listening.”
He steps aside, revealing Y/N tied to the chair dishevelled, but alive. “As you can see, I have the missing piece.” He places a gloved hand gently on Y/N’s shoulder, mockingly tender. “You’ve been searching. Tracking. Sacrificing. For what? This?” He leans closer toward to the lens.
“You always knew it would come to this.” He straightens, slowly circling the chair like a predator. “I want you to understand something, Soldat. You belong to us.” He tapped his temple. “You’re playing my game. And you’re already three moves behind.”
He walked to her side and laid the knife gently on her shoulder. Y/N’s throat closed. “Tell me where he is.” She didn’t answer. “Tell me what he’s planning. Tell me what he means to you.” Still silence. She locked her jaw, looking up into the camera’s red dot like it was a lifeline.
If this is being recorded… maybe it’s being watched. Maybe Bucky will see this. Maybe he’ll know I didn’t give in.
The doctor leaned in close. “Very well,” he whispered. “Let’s give him something to lose sleep over.”
He turned the knife. And the camera kept rolling. Y/N’s breath trembled, but she didn’t look away from the camera. If they wanted to record her, if they wanted to send a message to Bucky… Then let him see her unbroken. Let him see her fight. The doctor stood just beside her now, the camera capturing every second. The blade gleamed in his hand as he turned it slowly examining the edge, admiring it.
“You should told us.” He said calmly. “This doesn’t have to be personal.”
But it was personal.
She could see it in his expression, the only thing she could still see. There was no cold detachment, just satisfaction. Purpose. Hate. And that knife wasn’t just for information anymore. It was punishment. For her loyalty. For Bucky’s defiance. For the hope they both refused to kill. The first cut wasn’t deep, but it was intentional. A thin line across her collarbone not shallow enough to kill, but sharp enough to ignite pain. Her breath hitched through her teeth, jaw locking tight.
The doctor watched her closely, like a scientist observing a test subject. He didn’t look at her face, he watched her reactions.
She didn’t scream. He made the second cut lower. Slower. Across her ribs just under her bra, cutting even the light t-shirt she still wearing. Still nothing. Only her fists clenching. Her eyes burning. The red light of the camera flashing in the corner of her eye.
“He’ll come,” she whispered, voice hoarse. It wasn’t a plea. It was a promise. The doctor tilted his head, almost amused.
“That’s the point, dear.” He moved behind her again. Y/N’s whole body flinched when she felt the tip of the knife drag up the length of her arm not slicing, just gliding. A thin line of blood on her arm. The threat of pain becoming almost worse than the pain itself.
“You want him to see you like this?” The doctor asked. “Bloodied? Weak? Helpless?”
Y/N’s head lolled back slightly, her lips chapped and stained with blood, since she bite her lips so hard. “I want him to see I didn’t tell you a fucking thing.”
For the first time, the doctor’s expression faltered. And the next cut was much deeper. The doctor lowered the knife on her thigh, and slice it. Her scream echoed, strangled from her raw throat but it was the scream of a fighter, not a victim. Tears burned her eyes, but they didn’t fall.
As her blood hit the floor, Y/N’s mind went back to that night. That one night of peace. Of chaos, too but chaos with meaning. With connection. Bucky’s hands on her body had burned, yes, but not like this. They had made her feel real. Visible. Not like a ghost strapped to a chair in hell. She clung to that. To him. To the way he had looked at her afterward, silent and stunned. Like someone who realized too late that he’d fallen. She clung to the idea that maybe he still remembered. That maybe he was already on his way. That maybe he’d burn the world for her. And so, as her blood stained the floor, Y/N whispered into the red blinking eye of the camera.
“Don’t stop looking for me, Buck.”
It was early morning when the encrypted message came through. FRIDAY flagged it instantly unknown sender, military grade cipher. Natasha and Tony were already in the control room reviewing surveillance when the alert hit. “Incoming data packet. No metadata. Just a video file,” FRIDAY reported, her voice flat, almost cautious.
“Play it,” Bucky said from the doorway.
His voice was sharp. Tired. Barely human from lack of sleep. The shadows under his eyes had darkened by the day. His fists hadn’t unclenched since Y/N disappeared.
Sam glanced at Steve. Steve gave a tight nod. The screen flickered. A loading bar. And then, the video started. Static at first. A dim room. Metal restraints. A single chair. And in that chair, Y/N. The room went silent. Tony almost dropped the tablet he’d been holding. Steve’s jaw tensed so hard it cracked. Bucky didn’t breathe. She was strapped down. Filthy. Her hair hung limp and still wet around her face. But her head was up. Her eyes were open. She was looking directly into the camera. They watched the doctor step into frame.
“Hello, Soldat,” he said. “I’m sure your friends are there with you…”
Silence fell across the room.
Every Avenger stopped in place, eyes locked on the monitor. Bucky stood dead still, fists clenched tight enough his gloves creaked.
“…I have the missing piece.”
The image of Y/N tied to a chair, eyes tired but defiant. Bucky’s jaw flexed. Behind him, Sam muttered a curse under his breath.
“Son of a bitch,” Natasha said coldly, arms crossed, though her posture had gone rigid. Steve said nothing, but the storm in his eyes was clear.
As the Doctor continued circling Y/N, weaving his poisonous words, Bucky’s breathing grew heavier.
The words “You’re already three moves behind.” struck a nerve.
“He’s taunting you,” Steve murmured, stepping forward. “He wants you angry. Reckless.”
“He’s getting it,” Bucky growled, barely above a whisper.
Watched him adjust the mask. Set the knife in his hand. Calm. Precise. And then they watched what he did. The first cut made Natasha flinch. The second made Sam swear under his breath. The third, Bucky stepped backward, like he’d been physically hit.
Collarbone, ribs, thigh.
His metal hand gripped the edge of the table until the steel creaked. Her scream tore through the room like shrapnel. Steve couldn’t look anymore. Tony didn’t blink.
But Bucky? He watched every second. Watched the blood. The pain. The cruel, methodical way HYDRA showed what they’d done. Not just to her but to him. Because this wasn’t interrogation. This was a message. And then, near the end, came the moment that destroyed them all. Y/N, breathless, bloody, barely holding her head up, looked directly into the camera and whispered.
“Don’t stop looking for me, Buck.”
The video cut to black. No one spoke for a long time. The silence was suffocating. And then Bucky turned slowly, methodically and slammed his fist into the wall hard enough to leave a crater. His voice was low. Guttural. Barely human.
“We find her. We find her now.”
Five more day spent in that room.
Another day.
Another recording.
The doctor lifted a hand and reached toward her face but didn’t touch. Just hovered there. Gloved fingers, inches from her cheek. She flinched.
“Look at your Soldat,” he said, pointing to the camera.
When she didn’t respond, he knelt right there in front of the chair. His gloves rested lightly on her knees, not quite gripping but there.
Physical. Present.
“You’re not afraid,” he said quietly.
“I am,” she replied, staring straight at him.
He studied her face for a long moment.
Then his thumb shifted, barely, brushing along the fabric of her pants. It wasn’t overt. Not invasive. Just intentional. Controlled. Measured. Like everything he did.
“You’re calm when you lie,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Most patients tense when they’re cornered. But you… you stay still.”
She felt heat crawl up her spine. “You think I’m a patient?” She asked, voice brittle.
That earned a response, the faintest curl at the edge of his mouth. Not quite a smile. “You’re in the chair,” he said. “That makes you the subject.”
His right hand slid up just an inch now on her thigh, just above the knee. Where the third cut sting. She stiffened. He felt it. And stayed there. His thumb moved again barely grazing, higher.
Then he stepped closer into her space, past the barrier of professional distance.
One gloved hand reached out and tilted her chin up with two fingers, weirdly gentle but firm. “You want him to see this?” He asked quietly, nodding toward the camera. Then he turned and waved at it, looking straight into the lens.
“Fuck you,” she snapped, spitting at him.
He turned back at her, eyes flaming behind the mask. And then his hand moved not away from her chin, but down. Sliding lightly along her neck. His thumb traced the hollow of her throat. The camera’s red light blinked.
A silent witness to the dangerous game unfolding.
Then, he slapped her. “I’ll let him watch everything,” he said.
Her heart skipped. Her breath caught. He stepped even closer, the sound of his gloves brushing softly against her skin like a secret. His fingers traced the line of her collarbone. His hand moved with deliberate certainty sliding up from the rim of her pants to cup her breast, still covered in a bra, reading every reaction in her eyes.
The red light blinked steadily above them.
Silent. Impartial.
“I think it’s time to end it here,” the doctor said, voice calm but edged with command. She breathed again, the release sharp and sudden like waking from a long, tense hold. Her hands and legs remained bound to the cold steel chair. Still caught in the echo of his touch. Still trapped in the weight of the moment. Still wondering why he didn't touch her more. What was his plan?
“Let’s see if Soldat will like the show,” he murmured, nodding toward the camera. She swallowed hard. The words hung between them like a secret promise or a threat. The red light blinked steadily, capturing every pulse of the silent aftermath. For now, the game was paused. But neither of them doubted it was far from over.
The moment the Doctor’s footsteps faded down the hall, Y/N’s breath hitched shaky and shallow at first, then slowly deeper.
His hand on her skin left a cold, sick ache twisting in her stomach. It wasn’t just the violation it was the betrayal of trust, the sharp reminder of how far from safety she really was. She closed her eyes, aching for something familiar, something real. A heavy question settled over her, dark and unwelcome.
Could she ever let anyone else touch her again?
Could she ever trust like that?
Was the only intention let Bucky believe he did something?
The Doctor’s touch lingered like a poison beneath her skin cold, invasive, and utterly unwelcome. Y/N’s body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve on edge, as if she were trying to wake from a nightmare that wouldn’t end. She barely recognized the reflection in her mind anymore fractured, scarred in ways she couldn’t yet name. The woman who used to stand tall, fierce and unbreakable, now felt fragile like glass, cracked and trembling. Her own skin felt foreign, a landscape marked by something cruel and violating. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she swallowed them back, clinging to the last shards of herself.
Who am I now? The question haunted her, sharp and hollow. But beneath the fear, a faint ember glowed a stubborn will to reclaim what had been stolen, piece by piece. She was shaken. Scarred. But not defeated. Not yet. The silence around her felt endless, but inside, her mind was a storm. Fear, pain, and a fragile flicker of hope fighting to survive. For now, all she could do was breathe, and hold onto that small, trembling spark.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
The voice rang out again, slicing through the stale air like a blade dulled from overuse. It was no longer comforting. No longer haunting. Just infuriating. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, bloodshot and raw from sleep she hadn’t had in days.
“Stop saying it,” she whispered to no one. Her voice was barely audible. “Stop asking if I’m here.”
Because she was there, chained and bruised and tired and bleeding and he wasn’t.
Not at the door. Not in the vents. Not even in the damn walls. And with every damn phrase that echoed from the speakers, it felt like he was apologizing for not being there, without actually showing up.
“He’s not coming,” she muttered through gritted teeth, hot tears welling. “Not fast enough.”
She hated that voice now, not because it was his, but because it wasn’t his real one. It was just a recording. A version of him frozen in panic while she sat here, counting sunsets with wrists too raw to move and lungs still burning from water torture.
“I let you in,” she hissed, staring at the blinking red light on the camera. “I gave you something real, Barnes. I chose you.”
Another loop.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!” She screamed this time. She heard her own voice, repeating Bucky’s words.
Raw. Short. Violent. Like something tearing out of her throat.
Her body shook with rage and for one sharp second, she wasn’t afraid of what they’d do next.
“I don’t need you to ask if I’m alive, Bucky. I need you to fucking get me out.” She spit toward the floor, the motion weak but defiant. No more crying. No more hoping. Just rage. And she’d hold onto that, because that’s what would keep her breathing.
“You need to move you ass, Y/L/N.” Bucky said.
“I’m trying dickhead. Do something…” Y/N replied.
Then she saw Bucky left the room.
Unbeknownst to Y/N, hidden high in the ceiling above the flickering lights, another camera remained active 24/7.
Small, recessed, and silent.
She never noticed it. No one ever did.
The doctor watched every scream, every tremble, every quiet show of resilience.
But this… this was different.
She wasn’t just enduring now, she was angry. Her voice raw with fury as she yelled at the voice of the man who’d once broken down her walls, only to vanish when she needed him most. The doctor leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table, a gloved finger tapping thoughtfully against his lower lip.
“How fascinating,” he murmured, replaying the footage with clinical precision. “She is seeing him with her, in the room.”
He watched her eyes, how they burned. Watched the flick of her jaw when she spit toward the floor. Listened, again and again, to the trembling words.
“Fraulein thinks her soldier is there in the room. Good girl.” He said softly to the screen.
Then he stood and walked toward the editing station, fingers flying over keys.
A new file began to render, no cuts nor torture.
Then he sent it to the encrypted channel the Avengers had no idea they were being monitored through.
In the compound, the room was thick with tension. The team had gathered around the holographic display, the second video flickering in the dim light. Bucky’s jaw clenched tight as he watched the cold precision of the doctor gloved hand cupping, controlling, owning. The second the doctor’s gloved hand slid over her neck, a sharp, collective intake of breath filled the room. Bucky’s face went ice cold, eyes narrowing to hard slits. His fingers twitched, fists clenched like steel traps. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to stop it but he was frozen, forced to watch.
Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her fists tightening at her sides. “He’s toying with her,” she muttered.
Her jaw clenched so hard, and her knuckles turned white.
Steve’s voice was low but fierce. “We’re running out of time. Every second she’s in that room, he’s breaking her down.”
Sam’s fists clenched at his sides, breath shallow. The image of the Doctor’s hand tracing the hollow of her throat burned behind his eyes.
Tony slammed a fist onto the table. “We need to get to her. Now.”
Sam paced, frustration burning behind his eyes. “How many more videos is he going to send before we do something? This… this is torture.” He stared at the screen. Sam’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper, eyes scanning the room. “Do you think… he’d actually hurt her like that? You know… really cross that line abusing her?”
The room fell heavier.
Bucky’s face went stone cold, his hands clenched so tight the veins popped. Bucky finally spoke, his voice cold and deadly calm. “We’re going to find her. And when we do, he’s going to wish he’d never laid finger on her.”
The team exchanged determined looks, their resolve hardening.
The moment the video ended, the weight of it settled like a storm in the room. Bucky’s eyes burned with something darker than anger, something fierce and desperate. The thought of Y/N’s skin under that bastard’s touch, the cruelty she was forced to endure, ripped through him like fire. Without a word, he moved to the war room table, slamming his fist down. “We move faster. Harder. No more waiting.”
Sam nodded, voice tight with urgency. “We can’t give him any more time with her. Every second counts.”
Natasha’s gaze sharpened, scanning the data streams flooding in.
“I’m running every lead through the network. We’ll find him.” Steve’s steady presence anchored them all, but even he couldn’t hide the edge in his voice. “No mistakes. We bring her back safe.”
Tony’s fingers flew over the keyboard hacking into surveillance grids, satellite feeds or anything that could pinpoint the Doctor’s location. “He thinks he can break her. We’re about to break his world instead.”
“I’m running simulations on possible safehouses, predicting his next moves.” Bucky’s stare never left the screen.
The image of Y/N, trapped, vulnerable, haunted him. But it also fuelled him. “He touched her. He crossed the line. And now, he’s going to pay.”
The room was now silent again.
Tony stood by the monitor, jaw tight, eyes scanning the encrypted file that had just hit their firewall like a bullet through glass. “Another one,” he muttered grimly, dragging the file into the isolated viewer he’d built specifically for this sick game. “No code. No trap. Just raw feed.”
Bucky stood behind him, arms folded, shoulders rigid. Natasha sat in the corner, eyes half lidded but alert. Steve hovered by the wall, pacing slow. Sam leaned against the table, chewing on his knuckle.
The file opened, just her. Y/N.
“I don’t need you to ask if I’m alive, Bucky. I need you to get me out.”
Then she spit toward the floor. And the screen held on her expression fury, betrayal, heartbreak, before cutting to black.
“I’m trying dickhead. Do something…”
The room stayed quiet. Steve finally broke it. “They’re trying to break her.”
Nat crossed her arms. “Making her think he’s already abandoned her.”
“She doesn’t know we’ve been searching,” Sam added quietly. “She probably thinks we gave up.”
Bucky looked like he couldn’t breathe. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. “I did this,” he whispered. “I pushed her away before they ever took her. And now she thinks I’m still gone.”
Tony didn’t look up from the screen. “You’re not. We’re not. So unless someone here is planning to give up, I suggest we triple our grid scan and reroute the satellites.”
Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on the monitor. On the last frozen frame of her face tired, furious, strong. “No more waiting,” he said, turning away.
No one moved for a second.
Then Sam slowly stood up straighter, frowning as something clicked in his head. “Wait,” he said, breaking the stillness. “She’s in isolation, right?”
Tony nodded.
“Far as we can tell. No sound of guards, no other voices… nothing in the recordings except her and that freak who sends the messages.” Nat added.
“Right,” Sam said slowly, piecing it together. “So, who is she talking to?”
That caught everyone’s attention.
“What?” Bucky said, confused. “She wasn’t.”
“Yes, she was. She called your name.” Sam turned to him. “That message wasn’t just anger. It was a direct response. She was talking to you, Buck. Like she was arguing with you.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “But he’s not there.”
Tony’s screen pinged.
A hidden background audio track, low frequency looping beneath the footage. Tony pulled it up, isolated it, cleaned it and pressed play.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Everyone froze.
Then again.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Again.
Bucky’s heart dropped.
Sam’s shoulders fell.
Natasha muttered something sharp in Russian under her breath. “Oh my god…”
Steve said under his breath. “They’re using him.”
“They’ve been playing that voice on loop,” Tony confirmed, eyes flicking across the audio levels. “Over. And over. Probably 24/7. No wonder she cracked.”
Bucky stepped back like he’d been punched. “They… they made her hear that? Every day?”
Sam looked at him, soft but steady. “She thinks it’s you, Buck. Begging her, maybe even mocking her. Over and over again.”
Bucky’s voice was barely audible. “No. No, she wouldn’t think I’d do that-”
“She thinks you’re gone,” Natasha said gently. “Or worse… she thinks you’re pretending to care while leaving her there.”
“She’s turning against me…” Bucky whispered.
Tony stood, his expression hard. “Then we give her the truth. We hijack their feed. Let her see us. Let her see you.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. He finally looked up, a new fire burning in his chest.
“Then let’s make damn sure the next voice she hears is mine, for real this time.”
She lost count of the days, of the sunrises or the sunsets.
The days were just a mix between a poor protein shake and a little sleep. That fucking “Please, Y/N! Answer me!” as a soundtrack.
The room was quiet, except for the steady drip from a cracked pipe in the corner, now a steady presence. Y/N sat slumped in the chair, wrists red and raw from days of restraint. Her body ached, but it was nothing compared to the weight in her chest. She didn’t know how many days had passed. Only that the voice, his voice, kept echoing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
She had screamed back at it. She had cried. She had tried to block it out. But it never stopped. So she stopped fighting and screaming.
Today, the door creaked open. The doctor stepped in. No gloves this time. Just a file in one hand and a chair in the other. He sat across from her, calm as ever. Too calm. The little camera in the ceiling blinked red. Recording.
“You’re quieter today,” he said, placing the file on his lap. “No screaming. No fight. That’s good.” Y/N didn’t answer. Didn’t look up. She would see only that stupid white mask. He leaned forward slightly, voice low and oily. “They won’t come, you know.”
She didn’t move.
“They would have found you by now. Stark’s satellites can pierce through half the planet. Rogers would have torn down cities. But they haven’t. Have they?” Still, she said nothing. “And him?” He added, softly now. “Your Soldat?”
Her eyes twitched just a little with the smallest flinch and the doctor saw it.
“He’s not in love with you,” he said matter of fact. “He was never in love with you. You were a convenience. Heat of the moment. A body. That night in the safehouse?” He smiled. “You know, he told me about it.”
That broke her stillness. She looked up sharply, eyes wild. “You’re lying.”
“He’s a soldier. He was always a soldier. Trained to perform. And you? You were part of that moment. Useful. Tactical. Temporary.”
She shook her head, but slower now.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” The doctor said. “The truth settling in. The silence around you. The voice that was once comfort is now just noise.”
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
She swallowed. “I-he… he wouldn’t…” But doubt seeped in like poison.
“You were never his partner,” he said, turning to go. “You were just there for the mission.” The doctor, proceed. “You told me the first day he hated you. Do you remember?”
And then the door shut behind him, the recording light blinked on. The ceiling camera captured it all. Her cracked stare, her trembling lip, the breath she tried to hold in.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Still playing. Still taunting. And for the first time, a small part of her quiet, desperate, exhausted started to believe it.
Was now three weeks of Y/N held prisoner.
The Avengers all were tired and need a full rest, but Y/N was still the priority.
Tony lived glued on his tablet searching signals. Bucky wandered in the room, not being able to help. Natasha was mentally preparing a list of torture for the doctor. Steve and Sam coordinated everyone. The quiet hum of the Avengers Compound felt heavy almost sacred. The team sat clustered around Tony’s holographic projection table. Screens flickered with data streams, blueprints, and encrypted maps.
Tony’s fortress of hope.
Tony’s eyes were sharp, alive with that familiar spark that had never left him, even in the darkest times. “All right, here’s what I’ve got,” he began, tapping the projection until a 3D map of a remote facility flickered into view. “It’s a compound deep in the mountains, heavily fortified with top tier tech and security. There’s one way in an old, forgotten service tunnel not listed on any modern blueprints. I found it through satellite feeds and intercepted communications.”
Steve leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “How do we know she’s still there?”
The alert came like a whisper a soft ping that echoed too loudly in the silence of the Avengers Compound command center.
Everyone stilled.
Tony Stark’s fingers hovered above the console. “Another one,” he muttered, voice tight. “Incoming transmission. Looks like another damn message.”
Nat was already moving, scanning for threats. “Running it through quarantine now… No embedded code. No malware. It’s clean.”
“Play it,” Bucky said, his voice low almost a growl.
He hadn’t moved from where he stood, arms crossed, jaw locked, eyes fixed on the screen.
She pressed the key.
The screen flickered and Y/N appeared.
Her body was slumped in the same metal chair, bound at the wrists, bruised and exhausted. The light in the cell was harsh, casting shadows over her pale skin. Her eyes, once sharp with fire, were now dull and distant and beneath it all, that same voice played on a loop. Now they began to hear that too.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Again. And again. And again.
No one said a word.
Steve exhaled sharply through his nose. “They’re still playing that?” But it was more than that now. She wasn’t just enduring it she was starting to believe it.
Then, the doctor walked into frame. Bucky’s stomach turned. The man moved slowly, deliberately, with a calmness that twisted the scene into something colder than violence. He pulled a chair in front of her and sat, folding his hands over a file on his lap like this was a therapy session. Y/N didn’t look at him. She didn’t speak. That was the worst part.
“You’re quieter today,” the doctor said. “No screaming. No threats. That’s good.” She didn’t flinch. “You know they’re not coming,” he continued. “Stark. Rogers. All of them. If they cared, they’d be here by now.”
Bucky’s nails dug into his palms. Natasha stood beside him, watching the screen with narrowed eyes.
“And him,” the doctor added. “Your Soldat.”
Y/N’s head jerked slightly. Just enough. The doctor leaned in.
“He’s not in love with you. He was never in love with you. You were just… convenient. Tactical. distraction on a cold night.”
“No,” Bucky whispered.
Tony shot him a glance but said nothing.
“Heat of the moment,” the doctor continued smoothly. “He told me about that night.”
“Bullshit,” Sam hissed under his breath. But none of them looked away.
“You were just part of the mission.”
The camera caught it all every tremble in her lip, every flicker of doubt behind her tired eyes.
“He used you,” the doctor whispered. “And then he left.”
When the man stood and exited the frame, the screen remained locked on Y/N. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sat there, shaking, breathing in shallow gasps. The voice kept echoing.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Over and over. And she looked like she might be breaking. “You told me the first day he hated you. Do you remember?”
Bucky said nothing.
Everyone looked at Bucky.
His chest rose and fell unevenly, his fists clenched at his sides. “They want her to hate me,” he said. “They want to make her think I left her behind. That I didn’t care. That it was all… fake.” He blinked once, slow and deliberate. “It wasn’t fake.”
No one dared interrupt him.
“I don’t care if I have to tear down the entire continent,” he said, voice barely above a whisper but filled with the weight of a promise. “I’ll find her. And when I do, I’ll make sure that bastard never touches another person again.”
Another ping echoed through the command center.
Bucky spun around, fists clenched. “Stark, I swear- if it’s another video, I’ll lose my goddamn shit!”
His voice thundered through the room, hoarse from sleepless nights and too many false hopes.
Tony didn’t even flinch. His eyes were already scanning the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. “No…”
The tone in his voice changed, and everyone knew instantly that wasn’t another taunt. It wasn’t another twisted broadcast meant to unravel what was left of them. Tony’s voice sharpened. “Goddammit! No, it’s not a video. It’s a signal.”
“What kind of signal?” Steve asked, stepping forward.
“A ping. Weak. Barely there, like something’s trying to get through, but it’s jammed.”
Tony’s fingers danced across the console, pulling up live feed snippets, thermal imaging, and encrypted video streams. “There’s a signal. It’s weak, but it matches the signature from the last video we got. She’s there.”
Natasha crossed her arms, her voice tight. “What about the guards? Security protocols?”
Tony smirked, a hint of his usual cocky charm returning. “I upgraded your gear. Sam, you’re getting a new stealth suit adapted from Wakandian tech. It’s designed to blend with any environment.”
Sam nodded, already absorbing the plan. “What’s Bucky’s role?”
Tony looked at Bucky, whose expression was a mix of steel and raw emotion. “You’re the extraction leader. You’re the one she’s waiting for.”
Bucky’s breath hitched. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Steve placed a steady hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Tony flipped the display to a detailed schematic of the compound’s interior, highlighting cameras, patrol routes, and the exact room where Y/N’s last signal had been traced. “We move fast. Precision is key. The tunnel entrance is heavily guarded, but with Sam’s stealth tech and Natasha’s infiltration skills, we can get through undetected.”
Natasha nodded. “I’ll handle the guards inside. Steve, you and Bucky get Y/N out. Sam, cover our exit.”
Tony’s fingers paused on the final part of the plan. A remotely triggered EMP device. “If things go sideways, we cut power and scramble their comms. It’ll buy us minutes, maybe enough.”
The room fell silent for a beat, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.
Bucky wiped a tear away, his voice raw but resolute. “I’m ready. I’m going to bring her home.”
Tony smiled, a brief flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Then let’s get to work. Y/N must be with us at the end. No matter what.”
No one argued.
The tunnel was damp and silent, carved from old stone and forgotten infrastructure.
The air hung heavy with the scent of mildew and rust.
Sam led the way, cloaked in near invisibility, every movement precise, every breath measured. Natasha followed close behind, disabling the last of the interior motion sensors with swift, practiced ease. Her eyes flicked around the shadows, alert for any signs of trouble. Steve moved like a shadow himself, shield strapped to his back, eyes burning with quiet, unyielding purpose. Bucky trailed just behind them heart pounding, fists clenched, every muscle coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He hadn’t spoken much since the plan began. He didn’t need to. His focus was singular. One name on his mind.
Y/N.
Tony’s voice crackled through their earpieces, a tense edge breaking through the usual banter. “All right, kids. You’re in the window. Thirty seconds until the next patrol rounds the corner. Move.”
They slipped silently into the inner hallway. Shadows seemed to swallow their figures as they moved like ghosts. Two guards appeared ahead unaware, vulnerable. Natasha’s movements were a blur, precise and silent as she incapacitated them without a sound. Natasha stepped forward to the heavy door, fingers flying over the keypad. The lock disengaged with a soft, almost reverent click. Bucky was the first through. The room beyond was dim, flooded with a low yellow light that seemed to suck the warmth from the air.
There, strapped to a steel chair, was Y/N.
Her wrists were bound. Blood dried at the corners of her mouth and smeared along her temple. On her tight, on her ribs. Her shirt was torn, clinging to her battered frame. Her breathing was shallow, ragged, almost mechanical. One eye was swollen shut, bruised deep purple. Dried tears had left tracks down her pale cheeks. She didn’t move. Didn’t even look up. Then, before he could even speak, Bucky heard his own voice, loud and desperate.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
Bucky’s hands trembled as he reached toward Y/N again, her resistance fierce but fragile. Tears blurred his vision, heart aching at the sight of her broken spirit. Steve stepped forward quietly, voice low but cutting through the tension like steel, and smashed the recorder. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bucky stepped forward, voice breaking as he spoke aloud now, breaking the silence.
“Y/N… oh my God.”
At the sound of his voice, her head jerked up suddenly, eyes wide but empty. Lost somewhere far from here, distant and terrified.
“Get away from me!” She snapped, voice sharp and panicked. She twisted, pulling against her restraints, muscles straining. “You’re not here to help me! He told me…he told me you’d never come. You’re the same as them!”
Bucky froze, the sting of rejection like a physical blow. “It’s me,” he said, voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “It’s Bucky. It’s Buck, doll it’s me.”
Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, confusion and panic swirling in her gaze. Her body trembled violently, caught somewhere between present and the hellish memories clawing at her mind.
The Doctor’s voice echoed again, faint but insidious. “You belong to me. No one will save you.”
Sam stepped inside cautiously, his tone gentle but firm. “Y/N, we’re here to get you out. You’re safe now.”
Her eyes darted wildly between them, panic rising like a tide, muscles taut and shaking.
“Safe?” She hissed, fighting against the invisible chains holding her mind captive. “Safe? He doesn’t care about me.” She said looking at Bucky. “You think I’ll believe you?”
Natasha was already at her side, carefully cutting through the restraints while Y/N struggled fiercely, muscles flaring, body twisting in desperation. Steve stood guard at the door, shield ready, alert for any last threats.
Bucky dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching out with trembling hands, trying to catch her gaze. “I’m here,” he said, voice steady despite the ache. “I came for you. You’re not alone anymore.”
She recoiled sharply, jerking away from him as if his touch burned. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Panic clawed in her eyes, wild and desperate.
“Please, don’t touch me,” she whispered fiercely, pushing his hands away with surprising strength. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”
Bucky swallowed hard, pain flashing through his eyes. But he didn’t give up. Slowly, carefully, he tried again gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather.
“Y/N, listen to me,” he pleaded softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe. You’re coming with us.”
Her body tensed even more, trembling violently. She shook her head, fighting against the pull of his voice, the warmth of his hands. Her own voice was a broken whisper, shaky and raw. “No. No, you don’t understand. He’s still here in my head. I hear him. I feel him. He’s always watching. Always waiting. He told me… he told me you wouldn’t come. That I’m his now. He needs me here.”
She tried to kick him, but she was too weak. Bucky gently stopped her ankle. His big hand around her fragile leg. Bucky’s heart cracked at the sight of her torment, but he held steady.
“You’re stronger than he ever imagined. You’re not alone anymore. We’re here. We’ll fight him. Together.”
Her breath hitched, tears spilling down her bruised cheeks. Her fists clenched tight, fighting the invisible chains tightening around her mind. Bucky moved even closer, lowering his voice to a soothing murmur.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving without you.”
For a long moment, all that existed was the battle raging inside her the war between fear and hope, between captivity and freedom. And Bucky waited, patient and unyielding, ready to catch her when she finally let go. Bucky’s breath hitched as Y/N’s trembling fingers hesitated, then slowly, almost painfully, reached out and took his hand. Her grip was weak uncertain but it was there.
Their hands stayed clasped, fragile lifelines tethering two souls battered by pain and fear. She didn’t say a word. Her eyes searched his, filled with doubt and terror and a flicker of something else. Hope, maybe.
Bucky squeezed gently, voice soft and steady. “I’m here. You don’t have to fight alone.”
Her chest rose and fell, still uneven, but a small breath escaped less like a sob, more like a tentative step toward healing. Steve watched silently, the weight of the moment pressing down on them all. Y/N’s fingers curled around Bucky’s hand, weak but real.
For a brief moment, it felt like a lifeline like maybe she could believe them, maybe she could begin to let go of the fear. But then her eyes flicked downward and caught sight of the guns holstered at their sides, and the knife strapped to Bucky’s thigh, the cold steel gleaming faintly in the dim light. Her breath hitched. Panic surged like wildfire.
“No,” she whispered fiercely, pulling her hand back like it burned. “No weapons. No guns. No knives. You’re just like him.”
Her body tensed again, muscles coiling, and she twisted sharply in the chair, struggling against the restraints with renewed desperation. Bucky’s grip faltered, but he held on, voice pleading.
“Y/N, we’re not your captors. Those weapons are for protection. To keep you safe.”
She shook her head violently, eyes wild and desperate. “You think those guns and knives protect me? He used that knife against me. You’re just another nightmare.”
Her legs kicked weakly again, trying to push away the nightmare she believed them to be. The room seemed to close in around them, the flickering yellow light casting long shadows on her bruised face.
Bucky’s heart broke all over again. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “We’ll find a way through this. Together.”
But for now, the fight was far from over.
“Bucky I got it,” Tony’s voice came softly near him, almost a whisper. He held up a small syringe, needle gleaming faintly in the dim light. “It’s just something to calm her down. Don’t worry.”
Bucky gave a slight, tense nod. There was no other choice. Tony moved quickly but carefully, slipping the needle into Y/N’s arm.
At first, she fought, jerking and struggling against Bucky, panic flaring like a wild flame. Her breath came in quick, sharp gasps but slowly, the tension in her muscles began to ease.
The wild panic softened into a fragile stillness. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Her breathing was less ragged, her body sagging as if finally giving in. She leaned forward, resting her head weakly against Bucky’s chest. Bucky wrapped his arms around her carefully, holding her gently, afraid to press too hard but desperate to be her anchor.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice steady and low. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”
Her trembling slowed, the storm inside her calming just enough to let a flicker of trust seep through the cracks. He lifted her in his arms, and proceed to exit.
It was all too easy, but no one cared in that moment.
Summary: After a traumatic experience you stopped talking to everyone. Except Bucky. He gets you in a way like nobody else does.
Wordcount: 1.5k
Warnings: hurt/comfort. mention of trauma. mention of violence. kissing. touching. sign language. gentle Bucky. he has a huge crush on you.
—————————
Bucky couldn’t stop worrying about you.
Two weeks had already passed in which you hadn’t said a word to anyone.
Except to him. Using your hands to sign.
Every time Bucky left your room after a few hours, the others gathered around him to ask about your condition.
And Bucky made every effort not to snap their necks for their intrusive care.
„Do you think she’ll ever get out of her room again?”
Bucky didn’t know the answer to this question, but if you decide to spend more weeks or even months in your room at the Avengers Tower, he would continue to come to you every day.
„Did she tell you what happened?”
No, you didn’t. And Bucky didn’t push you to do so either. He was convinced that you would tell him when you were ready.
Natasha sighed in frustration after Bucky didn’t answer any of her questions. “Barnes, come on. You’re not the only one who cares about her. We’re all worried.”
Bucky nodded. “I know.”
“So,” Nat raised an eyebrow. “Do you have anything to tell us?”
He looked into the worried faces of Steve, Tony and Pepper. “For the moment, it’s okay the way it is.”
That wasn’t exactly the answer his friends had hoped for, but that’s all he could give them. Not without crossing your boundaries.
You didn’t want to talk about what happened?
He would accept.
You didn’t want to see anyone but Bucky?
He would appreciate his privilege.
You didn’t want to use your voice?
Bucky would spend the rest of his days improving his skills in sign language.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Steve said. He was the last one left behind in the kitchen, after the others had already left. “By not to tell us what’s going on in her.”
“I know.”
Steve snorted. “I don’t know what you do or how you doing it, but it seems to help her. She doesn’t let anyone else get as close to her as you.”
Bucky felt his insides cramp. It was the longing that was mixed with the concern for you. It was clear to him that this could not remain a permanent situation. He had to make sure you felt better soon. And he had to put his feelings for you on the side in the process.
“She is … I am…”
Steve nodded. “I get it. She’s important to you.”
“Yes.” Bucky stared at his hands, with which he supported himself on the counter. “Yes, she is important to me.”
Steve and Bucky both knew that it meant more than the care that the rest of the team felt. This went much deeper than that.
Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder before he also left the room. “No matter what you do, I know you’ll make the right decision.”
Long after Steve left, Bucky thought about his best friend’s words.
The right decision. How could he find something he didn’t even know what it looked like?
Later in the evening he entered your room with a bag full of take-out food. He knew that you loved this greasy stuff, so he got it before he came over for his evening visit.
Your room was empty and for a second Bucky thought you had actually taken a step outside, but then he heard the shower in the adjoining bathroom.
When you opened the door, Bucky froze to solid stone. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but when he blinked several times, he realized that he wasn’t dreaming at all.
Because you really stood in front of him wrapped in a towel. Just a towel. It was long enough to reach the middle of your thighs.
“Fuck sorry!” he huried to say and turned around quickly so that he couldn’t get carried away staring at your naked legs any longer.
He heard you open your closet and go back to the bathroom. Shortly after, timid fingers tapped his shoulder from behind.
Bucky could only hope that you didn’t see in his eyes what your sight did to him.
I didn’t expect you until later. Your hands moved a little shaky, which caused him wanting to slap himself across the face for his suggestive thoughts.
He raised his hands to answer. I’m so sorry! I didn’t want to scare you.
You tilt your head and push your eyebrows together. I’m not afraid of you, Bucky.
He stutted. That’s good, because there’s no reason for that.
You smile softly.
I brought us something to eat in case you’re hungry. He silently pointed to the bag he had placed on your nightstand.
Thank you! I’m starving. Your eyes lit up and Bucky watched you walk happily to the bag and then sink down with it on the floor next to your bed.
You look up at Bucky. What? Aren’t you coming?
He nodded with a smile.
During the meal, there was a real chaos in Bucky’s head. His thoughts raced in so many different directions that it was difficult to keep track.
He was so attracted to you that it caused him physical pain whenever he was not close to you. At the same time, he did not know how to ask you about the time you were missing. He was worried that you would never say a word to him ever again. And even if he would support you in your decision... he already missed hearing your voice.
The food was wonderful. You were my last salvation, really.
Bucky raised his hands to answer. You know ... you can always come to the kitchen and get something to eat. I could cook for you.
Your face instantly darkened. I can’t.
Why?
You hesitate before you raise your hands again. I can’t stand their looks at me.
Bucky frowned. Their looks? You mean the others?
You nod silently.
They’re just worried about you.
You look down. I know. That’s the problem. When I see their sympathy, I am reminded of everything that has happened.
Bucky hesitated. He knew that he probably will run into a concrete wall with his next question.
But he just had to try.
What happened?
There was a long pause in which none of you stirred. Then your hands lifted.
It was so dark... there.
Bucky held his breath. He couldn’t believe you were actually giving him a look into your head. He tried to sit as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t scare you by accident.
Every time he was with me, he talked about the fact that he has posses me. He said I belong to him now and would never be allowed to leave again.
Your lower lip began to tremble.
I had to be quiet. So quiet. I wasn’t allowed to say a word. Because if I did, then he uses electricity to ...
You put your hands in front of your face to hide your tears from him. Your shoulders shook and faint sounds of despair escaped your throat.
Bucky wanted to impale himself because he made you to live through this nightmare again.
He swallowed his emerging anger against the man who had done this to you and gently touched you on the wrist.
You raise your face and Bucky saw how red and swollen your eyes were from crying.
Murderous fantasies swept through his thoughts.
You don’t have to keep going. I’m sorry I made you do that.
You slowly shake your head. I think I want to tell you about it. It feels right. But I can’t say it out loud.
Bucky wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. You don’t have to.
You nod gratefully. Will you keep listening to me?
There’s nothing I rather do.
And he kept his word. He listened to your unspoken words. About how you had been tormented with electric shocks for days, if you made even the smallest sound. About the nightmares that haunted you and the fears that infiltrated your thoughts as soon as you even thought about leaving this room or saying a word.
He wished he could tell you what he really felt. How happy he would be by your side to catch you and get through it together.
Bucky wishes he could tell you how much he loved you and that you will make it together.
But he didn’t want to burden you with more ballast, so he kept quiet and comforted you.
It was a sleepless night for Bucky. For hours he threw himself back and forth in his bed and tried not to think about how sad and small you had looked. And how much his body had reacted to you when you came out of the shower.
He was ashamed to cherish two such fundamentally different feelings in such a short time.
He wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you and dry your tears. And he wanted to kiss you senseless until none of you knew your own names.
Just as he began to fall asleep, Bucky heard his door open.
Instantly he sat upright in his bed and focused on the delicate shadow that moved timidly towards him.
He couldn’t believe his eyes when he realized it was you standing in front of him.
“That ... that’s not necessary,” you said softly as Bucky already reached for the light switch.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. Your voice sounded hoarse because you hadn’t used it for so long, but still so beautiful that a warm shiver ran down his spine.
“You speak,” he whispered.
You nod.
“And you’re in my room.”
Another nod from you. “I wanted to see you.”
Bucky freed himself from the blanket to get up, but you had already climbed to him on the bed and put your arms around his neck. The force of your hug struck him so surprisingly that he tilted backwards and could only support himself with one arm behind him. With his free arm, he held you tightly pressed against his bare chest.
A while passed and no one moved. Your legs pressed from the outside against his thighs and he thought he was in heaven for a while, because the girl, whom he loved more than anything, was just sitting on his lap and held him tightly against her.
“Why didn’t you left?” you ask and lean back a bit to look at him. “Why did you keep coming back and didn’t give up on me?”
Bucky swallowed. His throat suddenly felt incredibly tight. He knew that this moment was important to what could happen next.
He had to make the right decision.
So he gathered his courage and decided to follow his heart and against his fear.
“When it comes to you, I’ll never give up. I will always come back to you, no matter how long it takes.”
You put a hand on his cheek and Bucky closed his eyes at the overwhelming feeling he felt because of your touch.
“Then I won’t give up either,” you whisper.
Bucky opened his eyes and saw that your face was directly in front of his. He hesitated, looking in your eyes for a sign of fear, but there was nothing like that.
Slowly he leaned towards you until his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was light as a feather and tender as a breeze.
As your hands moved over his bare shoulders and wandered over his muscular arms, a longing sigh escaped him.
Bucky deepened the kiss. He felt how every fiber of his body screamed for you and demanded more, but he took it slow.
He would enjoy every single moment of this. And won’t stop loving you, no matter what happens. No matter in what language.
———————-
Note: Hope you liked it!! @figtreesandmoonlight @majulians-groupie @dow00n-bread @goldnhabitx (hope I didn’t miss anyone - if I did please tell me)
Thank you so much for reading! 💙 All interactions are highly appreciated (but please don’t copy my work)
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
If you’d like to know what happened before - you can read it right here:
summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.
contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing
word count: 2.4k
a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance
i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.
also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)
!! divider by @strangergraphics !!
FICMAS MASTERLIST
your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.
who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.
a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.
at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.
excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.
as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.
if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.
what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.
a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.
your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.
bucky barnes.
quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.
to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.
what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.
it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.
the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.
flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.
you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.
when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.
the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.
you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.
please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.
in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.
it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.
you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.
surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.
bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.
“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.
you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.
it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.
here goes nothing.
“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.
a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.
you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.
“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.
for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.
“don’t recall asking for that either.”
you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”
“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.
despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.
“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.
“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”
bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.
“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.
you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.
“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”
he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”
you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””
why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.
that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.
just your luck, he’s right on schedule.
“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”
a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.
it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.
before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.
“merry christmas buck.”
your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.
and yet. he enjoyed the burn.
as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.
“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.
you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.
while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.
he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.
that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.
a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.
his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.
i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.
merry christmas ♡
bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.
from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.
you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.
but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.
later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.
bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.
tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.
and to ask you about your record collection.
thanks for reading! <3
tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals
!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!
pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (fake marriage au)
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors, dni, oral sex (f rec), unprotected sex, creampie, unresolved sexual tension, jealousy, possessive!bucky, slow burn-to-explosion, angst
summary: you and bucky are forced to play newlyweds at a luxury honeymoon resort. he’s controlling, you’re reckless, and now you’re sharing a bed. the problem? it’s getting harder to play pretend. and you’re not sure either of you will survive what comes next.
word count: 4.6k
author's note: hi my loves! i hope you enjoy this chapter!! 💓
series masterlist
The sun poured through gauzy curtains, brushing golden light across the silken sheets—but the space beside you was cold.
Empty.
At first, your half-asleep mind tried to explain it away, maybe Bucky was in the bathroom. Maybe he’d gone for a walk. Maybe he was on the balcony again, brooding over the ocean like he had the first night you got here.
But minute after minute ticked by in silence, and each one carved deeper into the pit of your stomach. Your pulse climbed. The soft rustle of sheets as you sat up sounded impossibly loud in the stillness.
You pushed the covers back and rose to your feet, the cool tiles shocking against your bare skin. Something in your chest thudded—not quite panic yet, but close. You tried the comms, voice low and clipped.
“Yelena? Ava? Anyone?”
Nothing.
Just a crackle of static, followed by silence. No signal, no voice.
Your heart rate kicked up, you tapped again, harder this time.
“Come on. Don’t do this now.”
Still nothing.
Your hand hovered over the emergency line. It was protocol, something you’d never had to use—a last resort tether. You didn’t want to overreact, but your jaw was clenched, throat thick, fingers trembling faintly.
Because he didn’t just disappear.
Not without a word.
Not after last night.
You were about to hit the button when the door clicked.
You froze, breath caught in your throat, heart pounding.
It creaked open slowly,
You froze.
Bucky stepped through the threshold with a tray in his hands. He didn’t look rushed or rattled, just composed, like he’d never been gone at all.
Your panic collided with a rush of anger.
But all you could do was stare.
“I, uh…” he started, glancing at you as he shut the door behind him. “Got us breakfast. Figured you’d be hungry.”
Your chest heaved once with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak. He stood there awkwardly for a beat longer, then gestured vaguely toward the en suite.
“I’ll wash up.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. It was thick. Dense. It wrapped around your throat like humidity in a storm, and you hated that he could still do this to you, could disappear and leave you unraveling like a live wire. You turned sharply on your heel and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you a little too hard.
The marble was cool beneath your feet, the steam from the last shower still faintly fogging the mirror. You stared at your reflection, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes too wide. Still shaken.
You hated it. Hated that one quiet morning could break your control like that. That you’d woken up in that soft bed and your first instinct had been dread.
That it hadn’t been just the mission anymore.
That it was him.
Not of him.
Never of him.
But for him.
You gripped the counter edge with both hands and closed your eyes. Inhale, then exhale, deep and even. He was fine. He brought breakfast.
This wasn’t Kabul.
This wasn’t Madripoor.
You weren’t losing your mind.
A soft buzz crackled in your ear.
“Sweetheart? Comms were down. Sorry. Bob fixed it.” Yelena’s voice chirped in casually, like you hadn’t just been seconds away from spiraling. “You okay? What happened last night? You two sounded…off”
She let the sentence trail off—not coy, exactly. But definitely fishing.
You swallowed. “It was fine,” you said too quickly. Too sharp. “Nothing happened.”
A pause. Then the unmistakable crunch of something in her mouth.
“Mhm. Sure,” she said flatly. “If you say so honey.”
You pulled the robe tighter around your waist and sighed.
By the time you emerged, Bucky had already set the table on the balcony. The scent of coffee and warm syrup hung in the morning air, soft and too domestic for the state of your chest.
The sun cast golden slants across the plates, silverware gleaming under the soft breeze. Bucky stood with his back to you, one hand braced on the railing, gazing out at the horizon like he hadn’t just sent you into a tailspin.
When you joined him, he turned and offered you a plate.
Omelettes. Sausages. And chocolate chip pancakes.
Your throat caught.
“I… didn’t know you remembered these.”
He gave a half-shrug, avoiding your eyes. “You said it once. When Walker got diner duty in New York. Thought you liked ’em.”
You sat down slowly, the chair cool beneath your thighs. Appetite gone, you stared at your plate, twisting the tines of your fork into the edge of a pancake you didn’t touch. The silence stretched again, thicker now, tinged with something raw.
It was you who broke it.
“About last night…”
Bucky didn’t flinch, but you caught the way his fingers tightened just slightly around his coffee mug. His expression didn’t change, but something in the way he held himself shifted.
“Yeah?” he said finally.
You hesitated. Then: “I didn’t mean for it to get, I don’t know. That close.”
He met your eyes over the rim of his cup.
“Neither did I.”
You waited, hoping he would say something more. That he’d reach across the table or crack a smile or offer something, anything, that might give you clarity.
Instead, he cleared his throat and looked away.
“We should stay professional,” he said, voice even. “Makes things less complicated.”
The words hit you square in the chest.
Your stomach dropped. Your hands curled under the table.
“Is that what I am to you?” you asked, quietly. “Complicated?”
He blinked. His brow furrowed, just slightly. “I didn’t—”
“Just stop, Bucky,” you said, cutting him off, your voice barely holding together. “Let’s just finish the mission and go home.”
He didn’t respond.
And for the second time that morning, silence swallowed you whole.
The rest of the week was a lesson in discipline, in restraint. You and Bucky slipped into your roles like second skin—Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, honeymooners flush with love and lust.
Your movements in public were seamless. Your interactions, flawless. To an outsider, you were enamored, addicted. The kind of couple that made heads turn in envy.
But behind the perfect facade, every glance, every touch simmered with unspoken tension. The silence that stretched in private was deafening, unbearable in its weight. It was a performance—a painfully convincing one. And it was starting to eat you alive.
At breakfast the following day, you sat on the open-air veranda with a glass of fresh juice sweating between your fingers. The sea breeze tousled your hair, and Bucky sat across from you in his crisp white button-down and sunglasses, the picture of effortless masculinity.
You were midway through pretending to laugh at something he said when Andrei strolled past your table.
“Morning, lyubimaya (darling)” he purred, espresso in hand, his grin oily and practiced. He didn’t even look at Bucky when he said it.
Before you could speak, Bucky’s arm slid around your shoulders, dragging you in until your body pressed tight against his side. His fingers flexed possessively along your collarbone.
You barely had time to react before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple—slow, deliberate, searing.
His lips lingered just a second too long.
Your throat went tight, pulse thrumming at your neck. The moment passed, but the phantom burn of his mouth remained. Andrei didn’t stop, but you felt the weight of his stare as he moved on, the air behind him thick with suspicion and something darker.
Moments like that repeated themselves.
At the pool, when Fred and Layna struck up a conversation about the spa packages, Bucky played his part perfectly. You listened and laughed on cue, legs dipped in the water, sunglasses perched on your nose.
And every now and then, Bucky’s hand found your waist, casual, proprietary, his thumb brushing slow, idle circles against your bare skin beneath the thin fabric of your wrap.
When Fred made some bland, slightly flirtatious comment about your laugh, Bucky didn’t say anything. But his hand slid higher, fingers splaying across your ribs like a silent warning. A boundary. His grip wasn’t rough, but it lingered, just firm enough to remind everyone who you belonged to, at least in front of others.
You didn’t pull away. But your breath hitched all the same.
He smiled as the conversation continued, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
That night, you walked with him hand-in-hand along one of the garden paths that wrapped around the west wing of the resort. The lanterns overhead cast dappled shadows along the stone walkway.
You tried to breathe in the scent of sea salt and hibiscus, tried to lose yourself in the illusion of warm intimacy. Your dress clung to your body from the heat, and his hand in yours felt both grounding and suffocating.
A group of guests passed by—loud, laughing—and among them,
Andrei.
His gaze caught yours, amused. Expectant.
You barely lifted your chin to acknowledge him when Bucky stopped short.
Before you could say a word, he turned and backed you into the nearest marble column.
Then his mouth was on yours.
There was nothing polite about it. No finesse. Just heat and pressure and a clash of teeth as his hands pinned your waist, body flush against yours like a shield. The kiss was possessive. Aggressive.
You could hear Andrei’s footsteps fading down the path—but your brain couldn’t process anything but the way Bucky’s body felt pressed tight against yours, the way his tongue curled hot and angry into your mouth.
When he pulled away, his lips hovered near yours, breathing hard.
“Just doing my job,” he muttered.
You didn’t respond.
Couldn’t.
You stood there in silence as he turned and kept walking, leaving you trembling against the column with your mouth still tingling and your knees barely steady.
The act continued.
Holding hands at dinner. His fingers trailing down your bare back as you leaned over a blackjack table. Kisses to your shoulder while you lounged by the pool, sunglasses hiding your eyes, heart pounding with every brush of his lips.
His hand would often rest on your thigh beneath the linen tablecloth. His voice would drop low when others were near.
Every contact was calculated.
Every movement choreographed.
But the ache growing inside you wasn’t.
And the worst part?
He was so good at pretending, it almost broke you.
Because sometimes, sometimes, it didn’t feel like an act.
Like the way his hand would tighten when someone else looked at you too long. Or the way his jaw flexed when you wore something a little too revealing. Or the way his gaze lingered on your lips when you weren’t talking, like he wanted to kiss you but didn’t trust himself to stop again.
He didn’t say anything.
He never did.
But you could feel it, thick and heavy in the space between you.
And then he’d pull away. Go cold. Professional.
It made you want to scream.
That night, you lay in bed beside him, facing the opposite direction. The sheets were warm from his body, but the distance between you felt like a chasm. You stared at the ceiling, counting the sound of the waves outside.
One. Two. Three.
You remembered the way he’d said, “You looked good today,” after your cover-dance with Layna. The way his eyes had dragged down the slope of your shoulder when your dress slipped during the mock twirl. The way he looked like he might burn through you with the heat in his stare.
And yet, he hadn’t touched you since. Not when you returned to the suite, not when you changed, not when you climbed into the same bed.
He hadn’t even looked at you.
You hated him for it. For being so cruelly good at making it feel real, only to take it back the second the curtain dropped.
But not nearly as much as you hated yourself.
Because you wanted it again.
Wanted him again.
And the worst part?
You didn’t know if it was because of the mission… or in spite of it.
The evening air buzzed with the low hum of the resort’s ambient music, barely audible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
You sat on the edge of the bed, still in your silk cover-up from earlier, legs tucked beneath you as the comms unit clicked to life on the table. Bucky stood beside it, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen.
The moment Val’s image flickered into focus, you felt the static tension in the room shift— like the crackle before lightning strikes.
“Well, it’s about damn time,” Val snapped, lips pressed in a tight line. “You two have been living in luxury for ten days now, and you’re telling me you’ve got absolutely nothing?”
You straightened instinctively, fingers curling against the fabric of your robe. “We’ve been gathering patterns, watching contacts. Andrei’s circling. He’s brought up Raskovic a few times, but nothing concrete yet—”
“I don’t want patterns,” she bit out. “I want results. Raskovic hasn’t slipped. No suspicious transfers. No hard evidence. You were supposed to be our in.”
Bucky’s jaw twitched, but he stayed silent. You pushed on. “We’re trying, but things are delicate. Too much too fast and they’ll get spooked. They’ll know—”
Val leaned forward, her eyes sharp, voice clipped. “You call this trying? Sounds to me like you’re not pushing hard enough. Not doing your damn part.”
You flinched. The words hit harder than they should’ve— because some part of you feared she was right. The days were blurring into each other. The mission was dragging. And maybe, just maybe, you were letting your emotions compromise your focus.
But before you could speak, Bucky’s voice cut through the silence, low, even, laced with steel.
“Back off.”
Val raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I said back off,” Bucky repeated, stepping forward, arms still crossed but posture charged.
“She’s done everything you asked. She’s played her part, charmed half the inner circle, and kept her cover airtight—despite having to flirt with these smug bastards. So if there’s a problem with our progress, maybe it’s the shitty intel we were given. Not her.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Val blinked, momentarily thrown. You stared at Bucky, something coiling tight in your chest. The protectiveness in his tone had been fierce. Unflinching, almost intimate.
He didn’t even look at you.
Just kept his gaze trained on the monitor, breathing steady.
Val’s expression shifted. She leaned back, mouth pursing.
“Fine,” she said after a beat. “You want to run interference for your partner? Go ahead. But get something, Barnes. I don’t care if both of you have to fuck your way through the entire guest list—I want names. Accounts. Routes. Do you hear me?”
“We’ll get it,” Bucky said flatly. “You’ll have it soon.”
The comms clicked off.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then, quietly, you murmured, “Thanks.”
He turned then—just slightly—enough for his eyes to meet yours. And the look there made your stomach drop.
He remembered.
You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. He remembered the night in the elevator—how close it had gotten.
Your back against the wall, his mouth inches from yours, his hand gripping your thigh like he couldn’t help it. He remembered the way your voice had trembled when he whispered in your ear, the way you’d touched him and how he hadn’t stopped you.
You didn’t answer. For a moment, you weren’t sure you could. The air between you had gone still, thick with something raw, unresolved, something too close to everything you were both trying to avoid.
“And, you’re not complicated,” he adds, so quiet you almost missed it.
You blinked. “What?”
He shook his head. “Forget it.”
“No.” You stood slowly, closing the space between you, the silk of your robe whispering against your thighs. “Say it again.”
His jaw flexed. He didn’t step back, but his whole body went still. That flicker of hesitation in his eyes, that crack of something hot and dangerous—it only pushed you forward.
“Say I’m not complicated. Say it’s all pretend,” you whispered, chin tilted up. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it. About me.”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t do this.”
“Why not?” you pressed. “You scared I’ll make you feel something?”
That was all it took.
Bucky crashed into you like a breaking dam, hands gripping your waist and the back of your neck as he kissed you like he was furious. His mouth claimed yours hard and hot, tongue pushing past your lips as he backed you toward the nearest wall.
You gasped into it, fisting the fabric of his shirt, barely keeping up as he devoured every breath like it belonged to him.
He broke away just long enough to rasp, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“Then do it,” you hissed. “Stop pretending.”
He dropped to his knees in front of you without a word.
Your breath hitched as his hands gripped your hips, strong, purposeful, sliding up the curve of your waist. One sharp tug loosed the sash of your robe, and the silk fell open with a whisper. You hadn’t bothered with underwear underneath, and when his gaze dropped to your bare skin, he made a sound you’d never heard from him before, low, almost desperate.
“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging the fabric down your arms and letting it pool at your feet. “Look at you.”
Then he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and leaned in.
The first stroke of his tongue was like setting fire to your nerves.
You gasped, one hand bracing against the wall behind you as his mouth latched onto your clit, no hesitation. He groaned into you, tongue flicking and circling before sliding lower, licking through your folds like he meant to memorize every inch. His grip tightened on your thigh, keeping you spread wide, open to him, helpless as he devoured you.
“Fuck—Bucky—”
Your voice cracked as he sucked harder, tongue pressing into you, he was relentless, obscene with how messy he got—spit and slick dripping down your thighs, his beard glistening, his fingers digging bruises into your hips to keep you steady. You were panting, shaking, already so close you could barely breathe.
He flattened his tongue and dragged it up slowly, groaning like he was addicted. “This pussy’s been mine all fucking week,” he said against you. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
You didn’t even get a response out, just a shattered moan as you came hard, thighs trembling, back arched off the wall as heat exploded through your core.
He didn’t stop, kept licking and sucking through it, until your legs threatened to give out and you were clawing at his shoulders to get away.
When he stood, his mouth was wet, his pupils blown wide. He grabbed your face and kissed you again—deep, filthy, tongue fucking into your mouth with the taste of you still fresh on his lips.
Then, rough and breathless, “Bed. Now.”
You stumbled to the mattress, dazed, still high from your orgasm. Bucky followed, shoving his pants down far enough to free his cock—thick, hard, the flushed tip leaking.
You moaned at the sight of it, spreading your legs for him.
He climbed over you and pressed the head of his cock through your folds, dragging it along your soaked slit.
“Goddamn, baby,” he growled. “You’re fucking dripping.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, until he bottomed out. You cried out, the stretch perfect and brutal all at once.
“Fuuuck—”
“You kept pushing,” he rasped. “You knew what it’d do to me.”
“So stop holding back,” you whispered.
He snapped his hips forward.
You gasped, fingers clawing at his back as he started to move—hard, fast, deep, his cock slamming into you like he’d been dying for it. He fucked you like he wanted to ruin you, dragging you up the bed with every thrust, his hands gripping your thighs as he drove into you with mindless, brutal rhythm.
“Bucky—” you sobbed. “God—Bucky, I’m—”
“That’s it,” he gritted out. “Cum for me sweetheart, I wanna feel you.”
He reached down between you and rubbed tight circles on your clit, matching the punishing pace of his thrusts. You came fast, harder than before—your body locking up, eyes rolling back as your orgasm ripped through you.
“Fuck—fuck—”
“Good girl,” he groaned, fucking you through it. “Taking it so fucking well.”
Your walls fluttered around him, soaking his cock, and he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering.
“I’m not gonna last,” he gritted, voice ragged. “You feel so fucking good—”
“Come inside,” you gasped. “I don’t care. I need it. Please—”
That was it.
Bucky slammed into you once, twice, then buried himself to the hilt with a raw, guttural groan as he came—hot and deep, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you completely.
He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard, his mouth pressed to your neck.
For a long time, neither of you spoke.
Then, after a beat, he whispered, voice raw:
“This isn’t just a mission to me.”
You turned your head just enough to see his face, still close, still flushed with heat.
And you didn’t say a word.
Because for the first time since this mission started—you finally believed him.
You didn’t move and neither did he. The moment held, delicate and loaded, like a breath neither of you dared to let go.
The hours that followed passed in a kind of hush—not silent, but suspended.
Bucky didn’t pull away, not right away, he stayed close. His hand remained on your hip while your heartbeat slowed beneath his touch. You lay tangled together in the warm hush of the suite, moonlight pooling on the sheets, the ocean crashing far below like a distant pulse.
At some point, he brushed your cheek with his knuckles and murmured, “We should get some rest.”
You didn’t argue.
He pulled the duvet over you both, and you curled into his chest without hesitation. The lines between real and pretend had already blurred past recognition.
There was only the feel of his body next to yours. The weight of everything unsaid. The quiet terror that maybe this was temporary—a consequence of proximity, adrenaline, heat.
And yet, you fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, steady and close.
The next evening arrived with little warning.
You dressed in silence, but it wasn’t the silence from before. It wasn’t cold or stiff, it was charged, waiting. Your eyes met in the mirror as you adjusted the delicate straps of your black slip dress, and Bucky’s lingered just a second too long.
The secure tablet buzzed against the nightstand. You crossed the suite and tapped the screen, perching on the edge of the armchair as the brunette adjusted the cuffs of his charcoal shirt in the mirror.
“Copy,” you said quietly when the line connected. “We’ve got movement. Andrei’s going to be at the restaurant tonight. We’ll be there too, we need to get closer.”
Yelena came in first, her voice even but alert. “You think he’s testing you?”
“Feels like it,” Bucky said, stepping into view behind you.
“He initiated contact?” Ava asked.
“He did,” you confirmed. “This afternoon, said he was going to be at this dinner thing, told us to come.”
There was a pause. Then John chimed in. “You expecting Raskovic?”
“We don’t know yet,” you said. “But it’s possible. Andrei’s acting like someone’s watching him.”
“Then assume someone is,” Ava said flatly. “If Raskovic wants to get a read on you, he won’t make it obvious.”
“We’ll be careful,” Bucky said.
“We’ll scan the floor from our end,” Yelena added. “No chatter from the VIP suites yet, but Bob flagged some encrypted calls coming in from offshore.”
You met Bucky’s eyes for a moment before replying. “We’ll stay close, just keep eyes on the exits. If anything shifts—”
“We’re already listening,” Yelena cut in. “Stay sharp.”
Bucky ended the line with a quiet tap.
Silence fell again—not heavy, but loaded.
You stood, smoothing your palms down the sides of your black dress.
“Let’s go,” you said, voice steady.
He looked at you like he had something else to say.
But he didn’t.
He just nodded.
The restaurant shimmered like something out of a dream.
Carved teakwood latticework framed the walls, filtering the amber glow of chandeliers strung like starlight above velvet-covered tables.
It smelled of seared wagyu and truffle oil, the air humming with soft jazz and the faint clink of cutlery. Waitstaff in gold-threaded uniforms moved like dancers across the polished marble floors.
You sat across from Bucky in a secluded alcove, half-hidden behind lush tropical plants, a private view of the moonlit ocean beyond the arched glass doors.
Bucky looked unfairly good in that collared shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his forearms, veins in his flesh arm flexing as he sipped from a glass of Yamazaki.
He hadn’t said much, but his eyes had barely left you all night. Not with the way your leg crossed over the other and the way your lip wrapped around the rim of your tequila cocktail.
You hadn’t meant to torture him.
Not entirely.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he murmured finally, his voice quiet beneath the music, laced with something darker.
You sipped again. “So do you.”
His mouth twitched—not a smile, not quite. Just the smallest hint of tension breaking through.
That’s when the shadow fell over your table.
Andrei wore a custom-tailored suit in midnight navy, the lapel pinned with a gleaming insignia you didn’t recognise, some blend of family crest and blood-stained money. His cologne hit before his voice did, expensive, overwhelming, suffocating.
“You two make quite the pair,” he said, lifting a crystal glass of something dark and expensive. “Mind if I interrupt?”
Bucky’s jaw locked, but he said nothing.
You gestured smoothly to the empty seat beside you. “By all means.”
Andrei took it with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My boss has noticed you,” he said, eyes flicking between you and Bucky like a predator scenting blood. “James and his beautiful bride.”
Bucky leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the chair behind you. He was projecting calm, but you felt the tension vibrating through him. His fingers ghosted over your bare shoulder, a subtle but unmistakable move. You didn’t move away.
Andrei continued. “He’s… curious. Interested in what you might offer. In what kinds of partnerships you and your husband are open to.” His lips curled. “So he’s invited you both to a private dinner. Just the four of us. Tomorrow night at the penthouse wing.”
“Four?” Bucky asked, voice edged in steel.
Andrei nodded. “Myself. You two. And Raskovic.”
The name landed like a gunshot.
Raskovic, the ghost in the mission file, the man they’d only seen from a distance, always flanked by guards or hidden behind reflective glass.
The boss.
The target.
You felt Bucky’s posture shift beside you, not outwardly, but enough. Enough to know he was already calculating, adjusting, preparing. His hand squeezed your shoulder just once, barely noticeable to anyone but you.
“Tell him we’d be honoured,” you said, smiling as you reached for Bucky’s hand and laced your fingers through his, projecting everything they expected of you. “We’ve been dying to meet the man pulling the strings.”
Andrei’s grin widened, sharp and knowing. “Good,” he said as he stood. “I’ll have a car sent.”
He left as swiftly as he came, disappearing into the velvet-draped crowd.
You stayed frozen for a moment, your fingers still threaded with Bucky’s under the candlelight. Then, slowly, you turned to look at him.
“This is it,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours, like he wasn’t sure what came next.
But even then, you could tell—something had changed.
a/n: and that's chapter 4! i am halfway through proofreading chapter 5 and i'm so excited to have it posted! please remember to leave a comment or reblog, it keeps me motivated! thank you!
summary: Bucky and reader are in a secret relationship, but can't stop wearing each others clothes...
warnings: details of injury and wound getting stitched up, keeping secrets, nothing too serious, some kisses
word count: 3.3k
author's note: fluffy Bucky is my favourite thing in the world, I just want him to cuddle me until I fall asleep. also, this is definitely not the most intellectual fic ever, it's just some toothrotting, daily life fluff so enjoy (---- indicates time skip, ////// indicates new day)
Your leg bounced up and down, anxiety manifesting in your body in familiar ways. You were awaiting the return of the mission crew, having heard that the mission had been extra brutal. As one of the doctors in the Avengers compound, it was your role to assess the agent's conditions, organising different levels of care for those who needed it.
Eyes focused on the horizon, you spotted the quinjet approaching as a buzz sounded over your walkie-talkie.
“We’re about 60 seconds out from base, got a couple here who need urgent med attention.”
“Ready and waiting,” you responded, trying to hide the wobble in your voice.
The quinjet came in to land, gusts of air messing your hair and causing you to squint your eyes. The door opened, agents limping out towards you. You directed the first set inside, nurses taking notes as they went.
You turned towards the quinjet, your walk progressing into a jog due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your feet moved up the ramp, narrowly dodging the pilot as they left the craft. Once inside, you turned to the right, scanning the cockpit to no avail. A wave of nerves washed over you and your heart dropped as you turned on your heel.
Looking up, your eyes met his and relief washed over you, your stomach turning with nausea. He was okay, thank god. His eyes crinkled slightly, the height of expression for this man. As the rest of the team exited the quinjet, he paused slightly in front of you.
“Doc,” his voice was low, barely speaking above a whisper.
“Bucky,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed as his familiar scent hit your nostrils.
The temptation to reach out and take his hand in yours was strong. You ran your eyes over his body, trying to identify any injuries on his body.
“I’m fine,” Bucky could sense the anxiety coursing through your veins. “Just a bit bruised. If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you give me a full check up later.”
You glanced up at his face, which he had leaned closer to you, “Give me an hour to check these guys out.”
A small nod was his response as he straightened, stretching his neck and leaving the quinjet.
You pushed open the door to your room, the familiar scent immediately wafting into your face. You knew he was there without even needing to see him, this had become routine over these past weeks. Steam snuck out of the bathroom through the cracks around the door and you could smell his body wash. Dropping your jacket on a chair, you began to tidy up around the room.
Pulling open the drawer, you placed the stray socks you had gathered from around the room and paused, reaching for one of Bucky’s sweaters. You lifted it to your face, inhaling the scent before pulling it on over your shirt.
The bathroom door opened, revealing Bucky with a towel draped around his waist, still dripping from the shower. He rubbed at his hair with a smaller towel, a smirk growing on his face as he saw you, dressed in his clothes. Leaning against the doorframe, he observed the image for a few moments, considering how he had gotten to this point in his life.
Feeling eyes on you, you turned to face him, a gentle smile on your lips, “Hey, how ya holdin’ up?”
“All good, doll,” his voice was music to your ears, like your favourite song on repeat. “Although I could do with some help with this…”
Turning, he presented a large gash in his side, the wound raw and bloody.
“James, for goodness sake-” you rolled your eyes, brushing past him into the bathroom to grab your med kit. “Go sit down.”
He chuckled at your response, having known exactly what you would say. Grimacing at the movement, he sat down and leaned in a way that would allow you access to his injury. You kneeled on the floor next to him, pulling gloves on and lightly pressing at the wound, watching for any signs of pain - thanks to the serum, he seemed pretty unphased by the whole situation.
Bucky watched each movement you made as you fixed him up, studying your face as though he was trying to memorise your features. A blush crept through your skin, the sight making you even more beautiful to the man with you. His hand brushed your cheek, drawing your eyes up to meet his gaze.
“Hi,” he mumbled, eyes half closed. In all the time you had known Bucky, he had never been this at ease, this comfortable, this calm. The effect was particularly evident when it was just the two of you, alone and safe behind closed doors. You doubted anyone would believe you if you told them that James Buchanan Barnes, the tortured ex-assassin with a brutal backstory, had fallen asleep with his head in your lap, you stroking slow, gentle circles on his scalp. It was actually his favourite position, he had often told you, usually as he balanced the line between asleep and awake.
And here you were, patching him up in your room as his thumb stroked along your bottom lip.
“Hi,” you whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb. “Nearly done.”
He let his head fall back, strangely enjoying the gentle touches of you stitching him up. As you wiped the wound, applying a small dressing, you pressed a kiss to his side and stood up. You threw the med kit onto the other side of the bed as Bucky’s hands lifted to rest on your hips, pulling you between his spread legs. His head dropped to rest on your chest as your arms circled him, a comfortable quiet settling over the room.
“Any other secret injuries?” you kept your voice low, pressing a kiss to his hair.
“Well, there is this one, maybe you can kiss it better?” he looked up at you with those blue eyes, glinting in the light.
You let out a sigh, playing up to the trick you knew he was about to pull, “Oh dear, where is it?”
“Right here,” he pointed to his forehead, pouting his bottom lip out.
You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering a moment, enjoying the closeness.
“Oh, and here,” his finger moved to his cheek.
Obliging, you shifted to nuzzle into his cheek, dotting a kiss on his cheekbone.
“And one last one,” he pointed to his lips, the bottom one still jutting out in a mock-pout.
Rolling your eyes playfully, you placed a finger under his chin, tilting it upwards. Leaning forward slowly, you pressed your lips against his, a sigh of relief leaving your body. His hand returned to your hip, squeezing comfortingly. Your hands rested on his shoulders, his build keeping you steady on your feet.
After a moment you pulled away, resting your forehead against his.
“How was it?” you asked, your eyes half-closed.
Bucky knew you were talking about the mission. He leaned back in the bed, pulling your hips with him so that you were laying across him. Reaching an arm behind you, he curled it to allow his fingers to play in your hair while the other hand rested on your thigh.
“‘S fine, nothing too special,” he murmured, eyes closed from the comfort of your presence. “You should have seen the other guys.”
A small chuckle escaped your lips as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing in the usual smell of him. The two of you lay there, pleasantly cozy in each other's company, even without words. Feeling yourself begin to drift, you snuck your hand up to cup his face, pulling his lips to yours for another gentle kiss.
Electric buzzing pulled you from the warm, serene clouds of sleep. Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, your vision cleared and revealed the face centimeters from yours. A sleepy smile grew on your face at the sight, warmth flooding your body. Gently unravelling your limbs from his, you cringed as he shifted in his sleep, evidently missing your presence.
Sneaking from the room, you closed the door quietly behind you, finally letting out a breath.
“Hey Doc!” Steve appeared from around the corner, clapping you on the shoulder. You jumped at the volume, your senses still awakening after your impromptu nap.
“Cap, hi,” your voice was groggy. You cleared your throat before looking back up at him. “Did you get beeped as well?”
“Yeah, can I walk you there?” Steve’s eyes glanced down at your sweater, recognition flashing across his face.
Crap. Bucky’s sweater.
You forced your eyes to stay on his face, refusing to give him any sign of the truth. “Sure, we should probably hurry up!”
You turned on your heels, starting towards the medical bay with Steve hot on your heels. Blood rushed to your head as you realized your current situation - if Steve had made the connection, there was no doubt others would too.
Barrelling into the med bay, you sprung into action, trying desperately to ignore the lingering glances you felt all over your skin.
Tony’s parties had always been extravagant, and this one was evidently no different. Balloons and lights turned the room fluorescent, a rainbow of colours reflecting on the dance floor in the middle of the room. For as much drama as these events caused, it was always nice for the whole team to get together and have some fun, Avengers and medical staff included.
The past few days, the only discussion in the medical bay had been centered around outfits, what was everyone going to wear? Hidden in the back of your wardrobe, you had purchased an outfit months ago, knowing that one of these parties would inevitably be organised before long.
The surprise of the day had occurred when you exited the bathroom; hair done, sprayed with your favorite scent and accessories perfectly matched to your outfit. You were thoroughly feeling yourself, the reality of this look living up to the concept you had created in your head. What you hadn’t expected, however, was to see Bucky, fixing his cufflinks in the vanity mirror before adjusting his tie - the colour of which matched your outfit, exactly.
You watched his reflection in the mirror, leaning back against the wall while admiring the man before you. He caught your eyes in the mirror, a smirk on his face as he witnessed the reaction to his master plan.
“You like it?” he spoke clearly as he picked up the hairbrush from the vanity, running it through his locks and settling them into place.
You sighed into your words, “A perfect match. Aren’t you worried someone will realise?”
“Nah, Tony’ll get everyone drunk enough they won’t even be able to see straight,” Bucky chuckled, using your scrunchie to tie back part of his hair as he brushed through a knot.
“Apart from Steve,” you raised your eyebrows, alluding to your previous interaction with the blonde super soldier.
“Steve’s fine, even if he thought something he’d never say it to anyone,” Bucky smiled at you, sliding the scrunchie back on his wrist as he turned, approaching you. His hands rested on your hips as he looked over your figure. “You look stunning, by the way.”
“Thanks Jamie,” you pressed your lips to his, reaching up to stroke his neatly trimmed beard. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
“You know, we just look too good together. If people knew, they would just be so jealous they would implode,” Bucky joked, a familiar, cheeky grin returning to his face.
“Yeah, yeah,” rolling your eyes, you pressed a final kiss to his lips before turning for the door. “I’ll see you up there. Don’t stare at me too hard.”
You gave him a quick wink before opening the door, making sure to see the look on his face before leaving - it was a sight to remember.
Steve had approached you as you entered the party, clapping his hand on your shoulder in a friendly manner.
“Hey, Doc! You scrub up nicely,” he smiled down at you, dressed in his finest suit.
“Looking good, Cap,” you pulled him into a quick hug. “How have you been? I feel like it’s been a minute since we caught up.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while,” Steve spoke, your previous interaction hanging in the air between you. “I’m good, just all these missions at the moment.”
It felt like a test, as though he wanted to see if Bucky had mentioned anything about these missions, to see if you and Bucky truly were in eachothers pockets as he predicted.
“There’s been some brutal injuries coming in, I feel like I’ve set more bones in the past week than the entirety of last year,” a nervous laugh left your body, feeling forced. Steve laughed in return, his eyes still searching yours.
A murmur settled over the crowd as heads turned towards the door. Curious, you craned your neck in an attempt to see what everyone was looking at. Of course it was him.
Bucky strolled in, running a hand through his hair as he scanned the room, eyes settling on you and Steve.
In that moment, there were three things you knew. You knew, without even looking, that Steve’s eyes were on you, trying to gauge your reaction to Bucky’s presence. You also knew that on Bucky’s raised arm, your scrunchie still sat, decorating his wrist. The final thing that you knew, your face was flushed pink as you realised the pair of you had messed up, again.
The light from your laptop was starting to give you a headache, blue light and all that. Running a hand over your face, you squeezed your eyes closed before opening them again and looking at the ceiling. The night shift was your least favorite of the shift patterns to work; not necessarily because of the timings, more because you hated leaving Bucky to sleep alone. The nightmares always seemed more frequent during these weeks.
A quick stretch of your limbs, punctuated by your bones popping and cracking, waking your body up from its lazy position, slumped over in your chair. There wasn’t too much to do on these night shifts, no-one was training at this time and missions had been slow recently. Your job was just to monitor the few agents on the ward and be there in case of emergency.
You stood, taking the opportunity to release the pressure in your back with a quick turn. Your shirt rode up, wafting Bucky’s familiar scent back into your face. You had left his room, not realising you were still wearing his red henley shirt. It was oversized on you, making it super comfortable and ideal for this shift.
“Doctor, Captain Rogers is on his way to the med bay with a request,” FRIDAY spoke over the speaker, the sudden noise a shock to your system.
Rubbing your eyes, you responded, “Okay, do you know the request?”
“He didn’t say, my apologies,” FRIDAY returned.
You began to pace the room, trying to consider what Steve might be wanting from you. Steve was the type of person who made it his business to know every single person in the compound. It’s my role as the Captain, he would say, the ship doesn’t sail without the sailors. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come to the med bay, visiting the medical staff on his rounds.
At the sound of the door you turned, eyes landing on the built frame of the man before you. Steve had never intimidated you, despite his intense physique and serious face, until recently, the prospect of him uncovering your secret setting you on edge. You plastered a smile on your face, trying to avoid him sensing something was off with you.
“Hey, Cap. How’s it going?” you spoke calmly, strolling over to meet him.
“Hi, uh- Are you free to talk?” Steve reached up, scratching the back of his neck.
A wave of anxiety swept over you as he spoke and you were sure the blood drained from your face, “Yeah, of course.”
Steve moved to sit at one of the tables, you sliding in across from him.
“I’ve been noticing some things and I just need to ask… are you and Bucky…?” he trailed off, seeming mildly uncomfortable with asking the question.
You sighed, eyes dropping to the floor, “Yes, Steve. We didn’t want to tell anyone yet, it’s still fairly new and we don’t really know how it’s going to work.”
Steve blew out a breath, seeming instantly lighter, “Thank God.”
“Huh?”
Surprise bloomed in your chest at his response. You were sure that he would be upset, maybe even betrayed at the secret being kept from him. Anger wouldn’t have surprised you, you were well aware of Steve’s intent on helping Bucky heal from his past before getting into anything overwhelming or new. Relief hadn’t been anywhere on your list of expected reactions.
“I was worried about him, something seemed different. It’s strange; he was more secretive and withdrawn, but there was a part of him that seemed better, healed maybe. It wasn’t until I saw you wearing his shirt, and then at Tony’s party, that it started to click. He’s in love,” Steve smiled, looking across the table at you.
“Oh, I- it’s still new, we haven’t said anything like that,” you stuttered.
Steve smiled, knowingly, “Doc, he’s been my best friend for nearly a century. I can tell when he’s in love.”
Your face flushed scarlet, your stomach full of butterflies at the revelation. Your watch beeped, alerting you to the end of your shift.
“Steve, I have to go,” your eyes met his and he instantly understood the message. Giving you a quick salute and a smile, he stood and turned to leave the room.
You sprinted back to your room, counting down the steps as you neared him. You creaked the door open, inch by inch, peering in to see if Bucky was asleep. As you had expected, he was lying atop the covers, hands behind his head and eyes focused on the ceiling. He turned to look at you as you entered.
“Mornin’ doll, how was-”
You ran over, cutting off his speech as you kicked your leg over, straddling his hips. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning down to press your lips to his. You felt his surprised response as he short circuited, taking a second to kick into gear and kiss you back. His hands roamed up your legs, rising to rest on your waist as he lifted his head, returning the kiss with passion.
Your lips danced as tongues and teeth clashed, the kiss becoming heated quickly. You forced yourself away from him, lips swollen and pink from the passion.
“Woah, good night?” Bucky was breathless, a rare sight for the self-proclaimed “ladies man”.
“James Buchanan Barnes, I am totally, irreversibly, completely in love with you.”
Your heart pounded, the seconds stretching into minutes, into hours, into days. You watched as Bucky’s expression changed; surprise, confusion, understanding, happiness, excitement, laughter. Then, you watched his eyes as they began to water.
“Darlin’, I am fully, devotedly, inconceivably in love with you,” he pulled you back to his lips, confirming the statement with his mouth.
Faces met, hands grabbed, hair pulled, hips rolled, teeth nibbled, breaths moaned. It was truly a night to remember.
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