lynn

writing fanfics like it’s my life’s purpose

[peterparkive]

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LYNN! 💌🦾❣️🪩 — she/her. 20. pisces. infp. hufflepuff. cabin 7. certified peter parker enthusiast. bucky barnes apologist. wanda maximoff lover in every universe. marvel fanatic.

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[elvenrin]

𝐻𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑆𝐼𝐶𝐾 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝐴𝑅𝑀𝑆 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝑁𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅 𝐻𝐸𝐿𝐷 𝑀𝐸

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x agent!reader

summary: bucky barnes was never yours. he'd fortified his walls out of impenetrable scars, trapping himself in emotional solitude. his actions were contradictory - even when breaking your heart, small gestures of affection that escaped his notice brought you a respite from the heartache. but he never offered more than the distance currently separating you. at least, not until the moment a speeding bullet meant for him tears through you instead. 

word count: 6.5k

warnings: gunshot wound, heavy description of blood, angst-ish (but with a soft ending, i promise), tiniest bit suggestive

a/n: a self proclaimed writer who barely writes reporting for duty! 🫡 i felt like writing a little bit of angst, but you already know i'll never leave you without a happy ending. to anyone who gives this story a chance and perhaps even likes it and has a good time reading - i love you, please have a cookie 🤲🏻🍪

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dim lights softly illuminated the venue, giving it an otherworldly atmosphere. The high ceiling carried heavy crystal chandeliers, richly illuminated with an abundance of small lights that made it seem as if a sea of fireflies nestled there. Murmurs of voices filled the room, guests mingling about in tailored suits and bedazzled, expensive dresses. There was an air of fabricated luxury filled with cold hearted opportunists and suck-ups with forced smiles trying to get information and gossip to use to their advantage. 

If it were up to you, you would've set off the fire alarm a long time ago and made a run for it. You didn't belong in this crowd. Forced out of your black tactical suit into a dress that was too tight and revealed more than you were comfortable with, you felt completely out of your depth.

Your own pep talk was still fresh in your mind. Act like you deserve to be there. Smile like everything is just fine. It's a good opportunity for the Avengers to find allies. Have a drink, look relaxed. Pretending is the one thing you’re good at. And it’s just for a couple of hours. 

A couple of hours trying not to notice the way Bucky’s suit clung to his thick frame and how good his long hair looked when stylists got their hands on it.

The room was suffocating, all the voices merging into one unbearable pitch and yet everything fell silent within a second when those tired, tormented blue eyes focused on you with an unwavering resolve.

Bucky's very presence, his tall, bulky silhouette in your peripheral vision was enough to ignite the flutter of your heartbeat. These were not butterflies fluttering in your stomach, but hornets. You felt the heaviness of that gaze like it was something tangible. Lifting your head feigning nonchalance, you met Bucky’s eyes, every thought in your mind screaming at the sight of the person who was the object of all your desires. The reason for the gaping heartache in your chest that sank deeper and deeper the longer you lived in a reality where he's not yours. 

I have no right having these thoughts. He is not mine.

But gods, do I wish he was.

At first it was an inconvenience, a ruckus in your chest you thought would be gone soon. You thought it was understandable, given just how handsome and captivating Bucky was.

Then it turned into yearning you tried to fight off, until it grew into something more. Something uncontrollable. Affection. Fondness. Devotion. And now you had to live with it festering inside, unable to fulfill the one thing these feelings wanted to do - to be fully given to the one you desperately desired.

While you were lost in your thoughts, Bucky’s gaze trailed a path up and down your whole figure mapping your dips and curves, like he couldn’t help himself. Every inch touched by his gaze was scorching your skin. A hot flush rushed to your cheeks. Ground swept beneath your feet, movements slowed down to a still and any semblance of time escaped your grasp. Your breaths were laboured, as if you were unable to draw a proper breath. Hands shaking. Knees weak, and ready to fall before him in worship. 

He unknowingly turned your world off its axis the moment he entered your life. The more time you spent around him, the more your thoughts weaved a network of their own you couldn’t control - your heartbeat in the rhythm of his breaths, your thoughts eloping to wherever he was, your dreams a collection of never ending reveries that were only ever about him. Things you shouldn’t think about, things that were not yours to daydream about.

This one-sided affection you felt for Bucky has very quickly turned into a damnation. The love that was growing for him has filled your lungs, creating a garden of delicate flowers; and while the love was diligently nurturing it, too much of a thing eventually becomes poison.

Where flower petals once stood are now sharp, rigid thorns and wilted leaves. How can he be your everything, if he was never yours? How can you be homesick for his embrace, if you were never his? 

You had once believed such lovely things were no longer for someone like you, a broken soul, hidden in the shadows in the deepest corners of the world. Hiding in plain sight was second nature to you, shadows clinging to you in the cover of darkness. Everyone who has ever truly known you has long since died, your liveliness and warmth buried deep with them like long forgotten artifacts erased from history. But that part of you still lingered because soft souls can never truly turn rigid. They can only scar and hide away, unable to resurface through the sharp edges of you.

You’ve locked yourself away, revealing only the parts that were necessary. That’s what agents did, right? You've trained your body into a lethal weapon to help, keep safe and protect. To fight and get your hands opened raw and bloody to escape from yourself. The only way to stop an emotional wound from hurting is to mask its pain by inflicting a physical one. 

In the aftermath of protecting others, you have forgotten to protect yourself. And the most obscure little thing you forgot about caught you off guard, threatening to be your undoing. It slipped your notice that a harmless thing such as love could actually be the most dangerous thing of all.

Your longing for warmth and affection has corroded your heart and thoughts, strengthening your belief that you were not meant to have that in this world after it slipped through your fingers. You’ve lost the ones that meant everything to you, and you vowed that no one will ever become that important again.

Until he reignited you from within. Bucky Barnes. Love was a divine intervention, one which you finally understood only when a pair of ocean eyes met yours at a briefing in a crowded room and stopped time from flowing its course. 

Divine intervention? More like exasperating meddling I never asked for.

These social events have always filled you with dread, especially when he attended them as well. You knew what was going to happen. What always happens.

There was always a woman too tipsy, too flirty, too eager to get her hands on him. Her eyes usually betrayed a lust to conquer, and not to love. It was a mere conquest to these women, something to brag about later. James Buchanan Barnes, an achievement on someone's list, used for the convenience of others.

In his self-destruction he let them, and this evening was no different. You met Bucky’s eyes one more time as he finally lifted his gaze to yours after he took his time tracing the curve of your neck. Burning several degrees higher, your face suddenly displayed an emotion that stunningly looked like yearning to Bucky.

Something deep settled in his eyes, his face betraying an inner conflict. A lovely woman that had been eyeing him the whole night approached him and got on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, grabbing on to his arm as he was already hers, the manicured nails almost like claws trying to hold him firmly in his place. And what hurt even more was that he did nothing to push her away. Bucky's gaze was however still fixed on you, as if you were the one thing that could make him decide differently.

There was a second of softness as he was analysing your face, so brief anyone else would've missed it. But you caught it. In a breathless moment and eyes clouded with sorrow, you muttered a soft, pleading “James…”. He flinched gently when he read his name on your lips and saw the expression on your face, the softness that graced his features for a second longer ebbing away for a different kind of emotion.

Brows furrowed, eyes darkening and falling into a resolve. He let the woman pull him away, happy to have gotten what she wanted. Your glossy eyes met his broad back, shoulders slumped, moving away from you in more ways than just physical. In some twisted way, you couldn't look away. The thing that hurt you the most was the one you desperately wanted. 

You understood why he was acting this way, going from one woman to the next. He was alone and deprived of intimacy for decades, and he must've craved it so bad that he was finding it the only way he knew. The only way he thought he deserved. 

It weighed heavy on you that he didn’t recognise that you could offer him that, and so much more. Something genuine and real. You suspected that he was aware of your feelings that you wore on your sleeve around him. It was the only thing you couldn't suppress, and it scared you how hot the fire he set alight was burning within you.

He never even dared assume he was worthy of the feelings you felt for him, even though some slight show of reciprocation slipped through the cracks against his better judgment. Feather-like touches to your lower back when he wanted to pass by, positioning himself in front of you during dangerous missions, checking up on you when you were injured. One time when he was too tired and sleepy to care about self-control, he stroked your hair tenderly, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind your ear and caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. You were completely distracted the next few days that you had to sit out a mission for “not having a clear enough head”. 

He was self-destructive and broken, choosing fleeting encounters over something that could be real and solid. He didn't seem to think that he deserved a gentle, genuine connection, which was precisely the reason he's never entertained the thought of having you.

He didn't dare to even think about it. Bucky couldn't offer you himself in an honest, meaningful way, and you deserved more than a trivial one night stand void of emotion.

He never could see just how loving and gentle he was, but you could. You saw. His disdain and hatred for himself blinded him from noticing the genuine kind acts he did for others, in silence when no one noticed. In Bucky's mind, he considered that he was doing such things out of duty, out of this nonsensical conviction that he owes the whole world an exposed repentance for what he has done.

He was such a beautiful, sad thing. A soul woven of inconceivable and unimaginable experiences. An impossible being that somehow came into existence, created against his permission.

And yet, they called him a monster. A cold-blooded soldier.

Soldat. A demon. 

But you loved broken things. Lonely things. You never thought that broken people needed to be fixed, just loved until their broken pieces form a connection between themselves again. And that was what you wanted for James Barnes. He deserved a chance to feel whole again, to feel joy and warmth and love. He deserved that after all the horrors his life has dealt him with. Even if he thought he didn't.

There was no point in staying after he was out of your sight. You moved through the crowd unnoticed, grabbing an abandoned bottle of whiskey from the bar as you passed towards the exit. Heaviness settled upon your chest, hollow and tender, the kind that made a dull pain upon each breath. The ache in your chest was too unbearable to contain, and you couldn't fight it anymore. In some twisted way, you felt a palpable relief that you finally let yourself surrender to your grief. Sometimes it felt good to yield to self-destruction and relinquish all self-control to get the poison out of your system. At least for a little while. And if he can drown his demons, so could you.

The explosion detonated with an ear-splitting thunder, bathing the surroundings in blinding light and rattling your bones, making you lose your balance as you crashed down to your knees and palms, scraping them in the aftermath. Just another mission where the team had a perfectly prepped plan where nothing could go wrong and confidently walked into an ambush no one anticipated. I guess having an inside informant didn’t pan out this time.

This was not the first time this had happened. Nothing ever went according to plan no matter how much prep the team did beforehand. Once you’re out there, nothing can save your life but improvising and relying on your instincts. This time however, something was different. Something was off. An impending doom was approaching fast like a storm cloud, and you could feel it twisting in your gut, like your insides were drilled and your heart was dropping to your feet. 

You were outnumbered, overpowered, and amidst the uncontrollable chaos, you lost sight of Bucky. He was always on the front lines, putting himself in danger before anyone else as if he had no sense of self-preservation. And he didn't. But you still knew that despite all odds he always walked out alive. So why couldn’t you shake off this feeling of dread and agonizing worry? This shaken faith in him to protect himself this time?

You got back to your feet, dust setting down through the air. One foot in front of the other, walking turned into running, running turned into sprinting. Your breaths were shallow, the flying dust sticking to your airways and suffocating your lungs. Every muscle in your body was burning and shaking from exertion, but the adrenaline spike hid all that from your brain. You’ll feel it all later, when there’s time to fall apart.

You ran down a corridor of the damaged building, charred and unstable from the explosion, led lights blinking and throwing a sickly blue hue on the walls. You heard a commotion and a deep, merciless sound as if someone was growling through clenched teeth, making the goosebumps on your arms rise.

He sounded just like the Winter Soldier when he felt trapped. Like a cornered animal with no escape route.

Bursting into a laboratory in full sprint you stopped in your tracks analysing the scene before you, the look in your eyes that of someone who’s only ever gazed upon nightmares and had known no other emotion but that of terror. Your body became wired within a second, and the whole scene played out like someone who controls the threads of reality pulled a string that made everything move twice as slow.

A loud gunshot pierced the air, illuminating the barrel of the gun as the bullet flew in slow motion straight towards Bucky. He was being held by two other Hydra soldiers, muscles taut and shaking from exertion, struggling to release himself from their clutches and titanium restraints they managed to put on his vibranium arm. Despite gaining the upper hand as his vibranium arm violently pulled to shatter the restraints, he didn't have the time to move away from the fast approaching bullet and its trajectory that aimed straight at his heart. 

Your body did the only thing it has ever known - to protect him. To love him and care for him in any way available, which at this moment meant running in front of him without a second thought. Bucky had just gotten himself free, knocking the soldiers unconscious, sharply raising his head to look ahead startled by your sudden presence.

Not a half second later, the bullet pierced your shoulder, dangerously close to the middle of your chest. The sheer force of it pushed you into Bucky's chest as he stood there horrified, quickly catching you with both arms as your body fell. 

The scorching bullet pierced your flesh with a sickeningly dull sound and in a merciful moment of sanity you were allowed before the pain exploded, you gratefully uttered a silent prayer that the bullet didn't exit through your back as it would’ve shot Bucky who was standing flush behind you. 

He slid down and kneeled with you in his arms, crimson blood dripping down his fingers as he pressed down harshly on your wound to stop you from bleeding out.

“What the fuck have you done?!” Bucky's eyes were wild, succumbing to emotions you had never seen him show before. 

You tried to speak but your mouth filled with thick blood, a violent cough making it splatter out and trickle down your lips. 

“No, no, no, please…not you…“ he frantically said, voice breathless and breaking, raw with panic, “... anyone but you…”

The very warmth of your blood made him nauseous, the feeling of your life slipping through his fingers turned his own blood cold in his veins.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He made sure to lure the soldiers away from where you were. He made sure you were at a safe distance. It had always been you he tried to protect. So why the fuck did you do that? There was not a single timeline of this life where his life is more valuable than yours.

You heard Bucky yell orders in a tone that left no space for discussion. It was like hearing unintelligible words through thick water.

“...y/n has been shot…”

“...gunshot wound to the chest….bleeding out….” 

“...call the hovercraft and get the medics...” 

Blood was still gushing out, absorbed by the material of your black tactical suit, darkening it as it disappeared out of sight. The only giveaway of your wound was the deep crimson colour staining Bucky's hands. The pain was so excruciating that it almost rendered you numb. A clammy, cold sweat covered your skin that was losing its colour by the minute. 

Gods, you were cold. Your body felt so heavy that you thought you were sinking into the concrete itself. Perhaps if you closed your eyes, just for a minute. Your eyelids were heavy as iron, your strength dissipating. Just a quick rest… your heartbeat spiked in alert as two strong hands violently shook you out of your slumber, sharp pain in your chest increasing. 

“Stay awake,” Bucky rasped, voice now fully shaking. “Help is on the way. You're going to be okay, j-just… hang on tight. Please. Please.” This is the most scared he's been since falling out of that train all those years ago. Hell, he was terrified. His mind drew a blank. He felt useless, paralysed by the feeling of utter helplessness. 

He pressed your wound using more of his strength, making you groan and shiver at the increased pain. The tortured sound that left your lips made Bucky swear that he will do everything to never hear that sound coming from you again. 

“Shit….Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry y/n,” he stammered, speaking under his breath as he fumbled to find something to press your wound with that wasn't his bare hand. “I know it hurts but I have to, okay? I need to stop the bleeding.“

His eyes were filled with hot unshed tears. He ripped the sleeve off of his suit in one clean and violent yank, and bundled it up in his hands to put pressure on your shoulder. You used the last of your strength to raise your hand and place it gently on his cheek. Your voice was raspy and faint, but you could see that he was slowly descending into unavoidable panic. 

“It'll be alright…” you whispered. ”It's okay James, i-it's okay, you're okay….“

Your voice was weak, void of life and warmth. But you could see that he needed to hear it, to know that you're fighting to stay. 

To stay with him. 

“This is nothing, Bucky. W-we've had worse, remember? James. Breathe…”

You trailed off as your hand fell from his cheek, leaving a red trail in its wake on his cheek. 

The amount of effort it took you just to speak said otherwise. Bucky was bewildered and beside himself from shock and disbelief. Why were you the one comforting him? You were bleeding out in his arms and still trying to keep him from falling apart.

You were dancing on the edge of a double edged sword of life and death, and yet the only thing that mattered to you were his inner wounds and if he'll survive this. The state of his soul being a priority over your physical body and what you were going through was outside of his comprehension. He didn’t deserve this kindness. Bucky looked so upset, so hurt, deep helplessness and anger etched on his lovely features. 

Someone spoke in his ear piece and he sighed an angry exhale, shutting his eyes tightly for a brief moment to compose himself. He needed to be calm for you, at least a semblance of it. He had to get his shit together if he was going to pull you out here alive. 

“y/n, the craft is coming but I need to carry you out of the building.”

There was a pause, and you nodded weakly.

“You understand what that means? It’s going to hurt when I move you and you'll have to keep pressure on your wound until I get you out. I…. I have no other choice.”

A frail and shaky ‘I trust you….’ flowed over your lips stained with blood, a sight and sound so eerie to Bucky’s ears that he knew it would haunt him in his nightmares. 

“I have to get you out.” 

“I can do it, Bucky. I'm not made of glass,” you uttered with a shallow breath. Bucky begged to differ. For such a gentle person, he always found you to be unnecessarily stubborn. He doubted your kindness was what qualified you to become an agent. 

“That's a bold claim for someone who's struggling to speak and breathe properly, y/n.” He inhaled a deep breath. Exhaled with a conviction.

“Take this and press as hard as you can.” You took the dampened cloth with a shaky grasp and hissed when you made contact with your shoulder. An uncontrollable shudder ran down your body when you pressed it on the wound, and he went rigid with anger.

He was angry with you for protecting him. Angry at the soldier who fired that bullet. Angry with himself for not being fast enough. If only he’d gotten himself free ten seconds earlier, this waking nightmare wouldn't be happening. 

Bucky picked you up slowly, mustering every ounce of gentleness he had in him so the pain would be minimal to you. Everything was flowing in slow motion, each breath and movement slow as if it was suspended in water. Gazing at the deep blue his eyes wouldn't be the worst way to die. You wouldn't have it any other way - to be welcomed by swallowing darkness in the warm embrace of his comforting arms that held you so tightly as if he could somehow grasp and tether your very soul to his to stop it from leaving.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, you heard yelling and fast, heavy footsteps approaching. Somewhere in the distance a loud whirring of a jet roared, and there was a bright light behind Bucky, illuminating the both of you. To your hazy, barely conscious mind, he looked luminous against the dark surroundings, as if there was a helo around his stature. Now able to see his face, your heart squeezed itself painfully at the divine, picturesque being gazing at you with raw and unhidden affection.

Perhaps it was divine intervention after all.

You were finally being held in his arms. No need to be homesick anymore. You finally knew how it felt to have his hands on your skin, to be caressed as gently as one would touch rose petals that are about to fall off. 

Oh god. Your guardian angel was crying. Why does he look so heartbroken? It's almost as if he…

Despite all the chaos around you and in you, all you cared about in this moment was him. You let your eyes roam freely on his face, mapping his features and inking them beneath your eyelids so you can see him even with your eyes closed. He was breathtaking. His long, disheveled hair fell softly, his lips plush and kissable, his face flushed and full of life. The blue of his eyes has never looked so crystal clear before, raw with emotion that was fully set free after his walls crumbled. What a sacred sight to see before you die.

He gently laid you down onto the stretcher, cradling your face with utmost care and leaning in so only you could hear him.

“Why did you do this?” he whispered so quietly that you almost missed it. 

“Why are you so afraid of losing me?” you countered softly.

Bucky remained silent, but his ocean eyes never left yours.

You were on the verge of falling unconscious, but you fought it for just a few more moments. If he could hear your inner thoughts, he’d hear a chanting echo of I love him, I love him, I love him. You pulled him gently towards you, your lips brushing his cheek as you spoke the words that would change everything. “That's what people do when they're in love, Bucky…”

The last thing you felt were his searing teardrops trailing down your cheek, and the velvet touch of the softest lips on your forehead.

The first thing you were aware of was your sense of touch. The bed you were in was pleasantly cool and comfortable. You were covered by something thin and soft, feeling like silk on your skin. You hadn’t settled into your body yet. The medication they gave you was still in your system, making it hard to come to your senses.

You tried stretching to alleviate the soreness of your worn out muscles but the stiffness and pain in your shoulder woke you up some more, as it was tightly bound and pulsating with a dull ache. Memories of what happened came to you in gentle waves, each sharper in detail than the one before. 

Blood. Chaos. Blue eyes, unshed tears. Bucky carrying you in his arms. 

You felt your hand being held in a tight grip. Warm, you thought. Safe. 

Opening your eyes, you blinked a couple of times to chase away the lingering sleepiness, and realized you were in your room that was reorganized to fit all the medical tech needed to monitor your vitals. Waking up in a familiar environment in the only place you gave yourself permission to be who you really were was comforting, putting you at ease. You glanced sideways and saw Bucky fast asleep slouched on your bed, his hand enveloping yours. A lifeline you can follow to find your way back to him. 

His skin was slightly pale and purple bruises bloomed under his eyes, his hair disheveled as if he kept running his fingers through it. A lock of hair fell across his face, moving in the rhythm of his breaths. He looked like someone who hasn’t slept for days, and was only knocked out now because his body made that decision for him.

Despite the exhaustion that was obvious, Bucky looked peaceful in his slumber. His features were relaxed, and it made him look endearing with his face smushed and his pink lips slightly open. However, the position he was sleeping in looked very much uncomfortable, and you knew he was going to be hurting all over until he’s had a full night of sleep in a proper bed.

A feeling started settling down in your chest, and you quickly recognized it. Guilt.

He was in this state because of you and your recklessness. It must’ve been quite a scare if someone so stoic succumbed to his emotions in full. The bedside table was a mix of medication, half eaten snacks and empty coffee cups. Bucky’s tactical suit and equipment were draped on a chair in the corner of the room, and he was now sporting comfy sweats and one of his henleys. 

He didn’t notice you were awake yet, and you remained unmoving and silent to steal this moment and look at him. He was lovely when he was disarmed and resting. He looked younger, sweeter. You gently moved the hair that fell over his eyes, and you continued to caress his hair, running your fingers through his hair ever so gently. It felt good to finally do that, like when you give into your desires after fighting them for too long. More than yearning to be loved by him, you wanted to love him.

He felt the light brush of your fingers on him and opened his eyes, fixated on you in an instant.

A pause. Another second. Bucky drew a breath and his eyes widened as his whole body became alert.

“Oh my god. You’re awake-”

He jumped on his feet straight towards you, his body on autopilot. All he could think about was being near you. Touching you. Feeling the warmth of your body. Seeing your chest rise and fall with each breath. Noting down and memorizing each little indication that you are alive.

He stopped himself abruptly, once he was in his right mind to remember that you had a gaping hole in your shoulder two days ago and pulling you into a crushing hug wouldn’t be the best idea.

“Go on then. Or are you just going to leave me hanging without a hug?” Seeing the amused look on your face made him relax, his features softening. 

“Yes y/n, I bet a crushing hug from a super soldier with a metal arm is just what you need to heal.”

You huffed, discontent and determined.  “If you don’t hug me this instant, I swear to god I’ll-”

Bucky started moving before you even got the chance to finish your sentence, and gently sat down next to you and helped you sit up with the utmost care. His hands were warm and steady, and your heartbeat picked up a little bit just by having his hands on you.

“I promise to give you the most suffocating hug when you’re healed. Deal? If your wound opens again, the medics will kick my ass.” Something was off with him despite the light tone he tried to keep in his voice. There was an edge. A heaviness he tried to mask.

You furrowed your brow at what he said. “....opens again?” 

Bucky looked reluctant to answer, as if reliving it again was something that he was not ready for. He debated what to say and how to say it until you intertwined his fingers with yours and interrupted his train of thoughts with a calm tone. “Tell me what happened after you brought me to the craft.”

“I…” his voice wavered only slightly, but you still caught it. You remained silent, watching him. He doesn’t need coaxing, he just needs time to recollect his thoughts. He deserves  patience to answer when he’s ready, not when he’s ordered.

“The medics were all over you when you lost consciousness. Your condition worsened within a minute.” His gaze was distant and pensive. Almost like he was trying to detach himself from the scenes that were plaguing his mind.

“You lost a lot of blood. Your blood pressure was dropping and they had to remove the bullet. Your…” he swallowed heavily, his words caught in his throat. “Your heart stopped. Twice.”

You were lost for words. If the roles were reversed, you had no idea how you’d even keep your composure without completely falling apart. “Bucky…” 

You stroked his arm up and down in a gentle caress, hoping the contact would comfort him. He continued in a strained voice. “They resuscitated you, reopening your wound a couple of times right after they finally managed to stop the bleeding. You were finally stable when we brought you to the compound and had access to full medical tech.”

“Did you sleep here the whole time?” you asked softly.

“I didn’t, but I was with you here the entire time. You needed a blood donation, and a lot of it.” He lifted his arm, a gauze fastened around his elbow. “We’re a match. The serum only affects my cells and not my blood so it's safe for you to receive it. I decided to stick around in case you needed blood again. Not that I wouldn’t have been here either way. Couldn’t do shit until you’re awake and safe.”

He turned to look at you and was startled to notice the stricken look in your eyes, your lower lip trembling with emotion and your eyes filled with hot unshed tears, until one escaped and rolled gently down your cheek. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, Bucky. I’m so sorry you had to do all that. Thank you. Thank you for saving my-”

The interruption was swift, his jaw clenched as he spoke in a low, tight voice, his tone pure ice. “I will not hear those words from you, do you understand? You will never say that to me. You saved my life.” A silent pause. “And what you did will never happen again.” 

“If you took that bullet, that soldier would’ve just shot me next and then we’d both be dead.”

“Don’t you dare be logical right now. I’m still fucking angry with you.”

“Bucky, it was a calculated action with prior forethought! I knew you’d get us out of there and we’d both have a chance at surviving.”

He shot you a look that clearly said that’s bullshit. “You jumped in front of death with absolutely no thoughts in your head.”

You sighed, realizing quickly that there’s no point in arguing with Bucky. “Yeah… true. I did. And I’d do it again if it meant saving you.” Bucky said nothing, but the fury brewing in him was evident from a mile away. Something told you he won't be dropping this easily. 

His voice broke through the silence. “Did you mean it?”

“That I’d save you again? Yeah-”

“No,” he interrupted. “That you did this…out of love.”

A nervous shiver ran down your spine as you heard those words. You knew this conversation was going to happen sooner than later but that didn’t mean you were prepared for it. 

But what bemused the most was that Bucky Barnes, the formidable six feet tall Winter Soldier, was nervously scratching the nape of his neck, looking embarrassed and a little flushed. He’s never looked more endearing than he did right now, disarmed and open. He’s finally opening up to you. He’s finally asking. He’s being vulnerable and you wanted to scream it into the universe until you lost your voice. Instead, you uttered his name softly.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“I’m in love with you.” 

His head shot up so quickly that anyone else would’ve gotten a whiplash and a sprained neck. A bewildered look in his eyes. Relieved. Stunned. Hopeful, you thought with surprise.

“I have been for the longest time. Even when you were breaking my heart.” He looked at you in question, frowning at what you said.

“You let others warm your bed for a few hours just to feel something, instead of finding a steady source of that warmth with me.”

“That's not- I didn’t-,” he stuttered, not finding the right words. 

You looked at him with gentleness, keeping his eyes glued to yours. “I know why you did it. I know you better than you might think. I see you, Bucky. All of you. The person you were before the Winter Soldier is still within you, it's the one thing they couldn't rip away. But you don't need to be the “old” you in order to be loved. No one ever stays the same, we all age and change, but our nature stays.”

He listened to your words, holding on them like they were a tether keeping him firmly grounded. Like he waited for the longest time to hear these words.

“And your nature, my beloved,” you whispered, “is as kind and as good as one can be. You not accepting that doesn't make it untrue.”

“Y/n….”

“You just need someone to make you see it.”

“Can you?”

“...can I what?”

“Make me see it.”

“James Barnes, I have been doing that this whole entire time. Whether you'll let me or not is up to you. I cannot be the one to fix you. You need to heal yourself on your own, but with me at your side.”

Bucky exhaled, and went still. In one swift movement, he brought his face impossibly close to yours. His breath was your breath. Your mind short-circuited, pausing all coherent thoughts. “This is your chance to say no.”

There was only silence coming from you as you slid your hand up his shoulder, resting it on his nape. All it took for Bucky to lose control was a gentle pull on his hair. He closed the distance capturing your lips with his, and nothing else in this world mattered anymore as your body was set ablaze.

His lips were softer than velvet and incredibly warm, moulding into yours in a kiss that you knew will consume your every waking thought. Bucky held your face in his hands as if holding something precious, kissing you senseless until your lungs were burning making you break the kiss reluctantly so both of you can get air. Not even the most rigorous training had you this breathless. Your lips still felt the pressure of his, already missing the contact. 

Nothing mattered but the two heartbeats harmonizing, right here in this room. Bucky licked your lower lip playfully, then placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Then he kissed your lips again. And again. 

“I love you,” he whispered right before he dived again, breathing those words into you as if sealing a contract that cannot be undone.

He placed a feather-like kiss on your left eye, then on your right eye. Next was a quick peck on your nose. Then he kissed your bruised, rosy lips one more time, reluctantly breaking it in a way that promised much more. A tender kiss found its way on your neck, making you shiver with anticipation, the softest moan leaving your lips and a wonderful, achingly warm feeling pooled in your lower tummy. The look he gave you looked a lot like “I feel it too” and “I'll make you see stars later”.

He then lifted your hand up and kissed the inside of your wrist with tenderness that brought another flush to your face. He left his lips linger on your skin for a moment, after which he leaned down until his forehead gently fell on yours, savouring the proximity. “I love to feel your heartbeat on my lips. Something to remind me that you’re alive when I’m not next to you.”

This was it, you thought. Whether I jump in front of a bullet or not he’ll be the death of me.

“y/n…I know I've hurt you. Tell me how to make this right. I'll spend a lifetime retracing my steps to make the right choices if I have to.” 

“Oh, you'd do that for me? Go back in time to make things right? Stealing the time stone might prove to be the one thing that's above even your capabilities.”

Bucky scoffed playfully, nudging you gently. “You know what I meant.”  

A pensive pause. 

“But I'll steal the stone if you ask me to.” He mumbled in his beard, grumpy and moping, “can't believe you said that…. above my skills… as if… ”

“There, there, superhero”, you said in a teasing tone, tapping his shoulder. “I know you're annoyingly capable. Terrifyingly so, really. It’s kinda unfair.”

You basked in this moment where you got to see him this playful. You wanted more of it. More of him. 

Your voice softened, enveloped in a more serious tone. “There’s nothing to make right, James. I just need you to be you. I need you to be with me. And - I need you to hold me whenever I ask. No exceptions.” Bucky placed his palms on your soft hips and squeezed in response.

You closed your eyes and sighed with palpable relief. “You feel like home.”

[peterparkive]

this is so beautiful oh my god ❤️‍🩹 your writing so so lovely, i’m amazed 😭

[beif0ngs]

The Knight and the Zoomer—they retire from battle, and they settle down in a small village. With each passing day, their love grows stronger.

[peterparkive]

god i love them so bad. my number one ship of all ships. no one’s doing it like them.

[peterparkive]

i love your theme oh my GOSH !! it reminds me of 2000s spidey and im sick with nostalgia. with just enough of sprinkle of tasm indie in 2014 and somehow also may spidey ???? how the HELL did you merge it so good 😞

GAHHH thank you so much!!!! mcu spidey was definitely the initial inspo but then the others just started bleeding in as i was putting it together, and it ended up working perfectly! 😮‍💨

all in all, it was literally crafted with sheer will, a pinterest board, and a dream 😩 took a million years but it was so worth it!

[peterparkive]

hi guys. i’ve been mia but had to come back to talk about stranger things 5 oh my godddd. WE’RE SO BACKKKKKK (about to get ten times more annoying)

[peterparkive]

AND IF I START WRITING FOR ST, THEN WHAT?????????

[peterparkive]

hi guys. i’ve been mia but had to come back to talk about stranger things 5 oh my godddd. WE’RE SO BACKKKKKK (about to get ten times more annoying)

[peterparkive]

LYNN YOU SEEM SO NICE AHH

AWHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 🫧 🫂 you’re so sweet :((( 💞

[peterparkive]

Hi!! I have a angsty/fluff bucky x reader request where the reader is always tough or bounces back but maybe one time they don’t? The team is on a mission and reader gets captured or tortured and tries to hide how they feel afterwards but break down scared and upset before the next mission to Bucky and he comforts/protects her? Reader and bucky are already together or not, it doesn’t matter!

oh i adore this so much. i see the vision and i love it ❤️‍🩹 can’t wait to write this!!!!! 🧟‍♀️

[houseofhyde]

bucky's best friend — an anthology

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader series synopsis. an anthology of 12 stories inspired by sabrina capenter's album, man's best friend. series warnings. a shit ton of smut. each story will feature it's own list of warnings! hyde's input. i actually think i might hate myself... wait, no, i'm blaming all of you for asking if any songs on the album were inspiring me! no promises on when these fics will drop, just know they're all competing in my head for attention and will eventually all be written.

★ ─ manchild ( roommate!bucky, frenemies to lovers )

synopsis. bucky can't help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you. ( 34.4k words )

★ ─ tears ( bf's older brother!bucky, childhood crush to lovers )

synopsis. bucky has been your ideal man since the fresh buds of puberty made your eager eyes gravitate towards his biceps: intelligent, considerate, good with his hands... his only flaw? he's your boyfriend's older brother.

★ ─ my man on willpower ( congressman!bucky, established relationship )

synopsis. in the blink of an eye, a couple has become a throuple: you, bucky, and politics. you've always been down for a threesome, but you're getting sick and tired of the government coming between you and bucky's sex life.

★ ─ sugar talking ( tinder crush!bucky, strangers to lovers )

synopsis. months of dancing around one another, never too far yet always just out of reach, comes to a head when you finally give your tinder crush an ultimatum: put your money where your mouth is, or i'm blocking you.

★ ─ we almost broke up again ( new avengers!bucky, make up sex )

synopsis. after a mission goes awry and voices are raised, the entire watch-tower is forced to reckon with the fallout of you and bucky's relationship. thus commences the rest of the team's ploy to get you back together.

★ ─ nobody's son ( dbf!bucky, age-gap )

synopsis. your relationships have a life-span of 3 months before it all goes to shit... so perhaps it's time you stop looking for someone's son, and set your eyes on someone's father.

★ ─ never getting laid ( ex-fiancé!bucky, romcom )

synopsis. being natasha's maid of honour comes with three simple rules: be civil, be polite, and please don't start an argument with steve's best-man. that's easier said than done when the best-man just so happens to be your ex-fiancé, bucky barnes.

★ ─ when did you get hot? ( surgeon!bucky, rivals to lovers )

synopsis. working as an anaesthesiologist is stressful enough, the last thing you need is an entitled surgeon breathing down your neck. too bad that's exactly what you get when your high school rival walks through the hospital doors and proclaims himself the new chief of your department. worst of all? bucky is hot now.

★ ─ go go juice ( best friend!bucky, friends to lovers )

synopsis. drunk, horny, and alone, you're on a mission to entice any old flame to come satisfy your needs. in a twist of fate, your thumb slips and suddenly you're begging your best friend to come screw the brains out of you.

★ ─ don't worry i'll make your worry ( knight!bucky, royal au )

synopsis. amidst royal balls and pleas for your hand in marriage, you strike up a dangerous affair with the man your father assigned to keep you safe... in your defence, his sword is really big.

★ ─ house tour ( tfatws!bucky, new relationship )

synopsis. you've finally been handed the keys to your new house, so naturally the next step is to host a house-warming. the guest list? one super soldier, and a mission to christen as many surfaces as you can.

★ ─ goodbye ( neighbour!bucky, fake dating au )

synopsis. tired of your ex showing up at your door with crumpled flowers and a plea to get back together, you accidentally drag your unsuspecting neighbour into a ploy of feigned affection and play-pretend dates.

dick-sclaimer! i will not be: 1) posting any of these fics until at least the 15th of september aka once the bwa collab is done, or 2) committing to a posting date/order; these fics will purely be written when i am possessed by the writing demon that grants me the power to do so. okay, thank you for reading, mwah! <3

[peterparkive]

totally about to lose my mind over this. this is EXACTLY what i needed after listening to this album on repeat since it dropped.

[myladybelle]

the siren call

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader summary: bucky swore he’d never lose himself again. so why does he keep looking for you in every room, hearing you in every silence, wanting you in every moment? he thinks your powers are making him fall in love, but when the truth comes out, so does everything he’s been holding back. tags: avenger!reader, superpowered!reader, bombshell!reader, mutual pining, bucky’s doing his best but still represses his romantic feelings for you warning(s): miscommunication trope, reader wears a dress, reader drinks alcohol, the avengers are alive and live at the compound with the thunderbolts because i said so, suggestive content (no smut) word count: 12.1k note: i got my start on tumblr writing bucky fics like eight years ago, so i love that i’m returning to my roots lol. i hope everyone enjoys this one!! there will be more bucky fics from me in the future 🫡

masterlist

Bucky knew you were a problem the moment you started distracting him during missions. Not that he would ever say that out loud. He didn’t say much at all, really, especially not to you.

And even if he wanted to, what the hell was he supposed to say? Hi, sorry, I can’t stop staring at you when I should be watching the guy with the grenade launcher. No. He kept his mouth shut because that was safer. Safer for him, safer for everyone.

But it didn’t matter what he told himself. You were still there, in his head.

It was the way you moved through a room effortlessly. Everyone else leaned closer when you spoke, even people like Tony who rarely listened to anyone.

You didn’t demand attention; you collected it the way fire collects moths. A hand on a shoulder, a laugh tossed lightly into the air, a question asked like you genuinely wanted the answer—and suddenly, you had them. All of them, including Bucky.

That was the part he couldn’t stand. Watching you draw people in and knowing he wasn’t immune. Watching the rest of the team light up around you, and catching himself memorising the way your smile tilted, the cadence of your voice, the way your presence shaped the whole atmosphere.

It made him restless and angry with himself, because Bucky Barnes didn’t get restless over anyone, not anymore. He’d had that burned out of him long ago.

So why the hell couldn’t he stop tracking the sound of your laugh over the comms? Why couldn’t he keep his eyes on the perimeter instead of catching glimpses of you through the chaos?

Bucky told himself it was tactical. In fact, he told himself countless things he knew were complete lies. But every time he caught you looking back at him, even just for a second, he felt the ground shift under his boots.

That was when he decided you weren’t just a distraction, you were dangerous. 

You’d caught the weight of his stare once or twice in the mayhem of a mission; the kind of look that wasn’t meant to be spotted. Quick, averted, almost guilty. But you were stubborn enough to notice him anyway, and stubborn enough to remember.

You didn’t blame Bucky for keeping his distance. Siren wasn’t the kind of codename that inspired trust. It sounded like trouble, like temptation, like something a man with Bucky’s past ought to run from. And your ability didn’t help either. Your voice could slip past a person’s defences like a knife between ribs, coaxing truth before they could resist. 

Useful, yes, but unsettling to anyone who didn’t know the limits of it.

As a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, you were capable of holding your own without using your abilities on most missions. But it was the only way to get information out of a mercenary with ties to Hydra. 

You had the merc cornered against a crumbling wall. Your power thrummed in your throat, low and resonant. “Who hired you?” 

The merc’s mouth moved before he could even think to resist, eyes wide as he gave up everything he knew. You dropped the thread of power the moment you had what you needed, your voice gentling back into warmth as you relayed the intel over comms.

Somewhere nearby, Steve was giving orders into comms, boots thundering on cracked concrete. Beneath all of it, you felt the burn of someone’s gaze.

When you turned, Bucky was watching you. Not casual, not even curious about your abilities. He didn’t seem to have noticed you used them in the first place.

Bucky was watching like a man who knew better, but couldn’t stop anyway. His jaw was locked tight, expression carved from stone, but his blue eyes betrayed him; sharp and fixed like he couldn’t help himself.

You offered him a quick smile—polite, maybe a touch coquettish—before moving on.

Back at the compound, everyone parted ways, grumbling about showers and sleep. After a long, hot shower, you padded into the kitchen with sock-clad feet, expecting it to be empty, but found Bucky there instead.

He stood stiffly at the counter like he hadn’t decided whether he was staying or fleeing. His shoulders were hunched as if bracing for impact, but he looked softer around the edges. His hair was almost black when wet, and his clothes were looser too: grey sweatpants and a faded navy T-shirt that clung to his shoulders but slouched everywhere else. 

Most people read that aura as Caution! Do not approach, but you weren’t most people.

“Tea?” you asked, flicking the kettle on and rummaging through the cupboard for your favourite bedtime blend.

Bucky blinked, startled you’d spoken at all. His pause was longer than it needed to be, and against what looked like his own better judgment, he nodded. 

You pulled two mugs from the cabinet, the faint clink of porcelain filling the hush between you. The silence wasn’t empty so much as alive, humming with the soft whistle of the kettle and the faint scrape of your movements. 

Bucky’s gaze tracked every small motion: your hand brushing hair from your face, the curve of your mouth when you concentrated, the way your body seemed to move with easy unconscious grace. He told himself to look away, but he couldn’t. All he could do was admire the way your sleeve slipped back from your wrist and the curve of your shoulders when you leaned forward. 

He was watching too closely, and you felt it, the weight of his attention warm on the back of your neck.

When you turned to face him, steam curled between you in fragrant ribbons of chamomile and lavender, heat fogging the air just enough to make the kitchen feel smaller. You offered him a mug, and for a heartbeat, his calloused, warm flesh hand brushed yours. Though his skin was rough, the press of his fingers against the back of your hand was feather-light. 

The touch was deliberately fleeting, but not so fleeting that you missed the sharp intake of his breath. Bucky pulled back like he’d been burned, lips pressed together.

“Thanks,” he muttered. His voice was rougher than you’d expected, gravel clinging to the edges of his tone even in the safety of the compound. It made the single syllable sound reluctant.

You sipped your tea, letting the heat sink into your palms, waiting for him to say or do something. Bucky didn’t immediately bolt, as he often did when the team tried to rope him into things, so you tried again. 

“Recon missions with new people are always a little hectic. Could’ve gone worse, though,” you said casually.

A pause. Bucky’s jaw worked, and then a low sound rumbled from him, almost like agreement.

You pressed, light but curious. “We don’t get to work together much, do we?”

Another pause. Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, swift and hot, before sliding away. “No,” he agreed.

You smiled into your mug. “Guess I’ll have to start putting in requests.”

This time, Bucky’s lips curved too. The smallest grin, quick and self-conscious, but real. And when it faded, his eyes lingered on you like he’d already let more slip than he should.

You always found your way to the Avengers Tower’s rooftop by accident. The first few times, you’d gone to the roof when the insomnia wouldn’t let up, and the walls of the tower felt like they were pressing inwards. Even though you had just as many fond memories at the tower as you did at the compound, some moments felt too polished and artificial, and you needed a breather.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The night air hit sharp against your cheeks, that particular New York chill that carried the smell of exhaust and something frying three streets down. You closed your eyes and breathed it in. The city was loud even at this hour, horns blaring, subway grates sighing.

Still, when you leaned against the railing and looked out, your chest tightened. DC wasn’t so far in miles, but it may as well have been on another planet. The memory of rooftops there—quiet, stolen places where you’d sat trying to decide whether you were really helping anyone, or just another cog in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s well-oiled machine—pushed its way in, unwanted. 

The sound of the door sliding open behind you made you stiffen. You expected Tony to lecture you about safety protocols and F.R.I.D.AY. waking him to alert him that someone was on the roof, or maybe Steve to remind you that you actually needed to be in bed to get a good night’s sleep. 

Instead, it was Bucky. He paused in the doorway, shoulders squared as if it’d taken a lot of courage for him to see you through the glass door and decide to join you. He stepped forward, silent despite the heavy weight of his boots. 

You wondered—not for the first time—if the super soldier serum had made him unnervingly stealthy on purpose, or if he just enjoyed startling you.

You glanced at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. Bucky leaned against the railing beside you, a careful two feet away. He always liked his distance. He wore that heavy jacket of his, zipped high, though you knew it wasn’t the cold that bothered him. His vibranium arm was covered, and his breath came in steady clouds.

“You don’t sleep much either, huh?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant.

Bucky’s mouth lifted faintly, like he wasn’t sure if he’d forgotten how to smile or if he didn’t trust it. “Not really.” His voice caught at the edges, the kind of sound that hummed against your skin long after it faded.

You tilted your head, trying for lightness. “Is it the mattress? Too many Egyptian cotton threads?”

That got you a small huff of air, an almost-laugh. The sound curled through you far too easily, catching low in your chest. Unfair, really, that one almost-laugh could feel like a personal victory.

Bucky looked out at the skyline. “Noise,” he said finally. “City’s loud.” A pause. “I used to sit on rooftops in Brooklyn when I was a kid. If it got too noisy inside, I’d go higher. It always felt quieter up there.”

“I had roof access in DC,” you offered, surprising yourself at how much you wanted to meet Bucky where he was. “Slept better up there than in my own bed. Guess it was easier to breathe when there wasn’t a ceiling above me. Or a mission the next morning.”

His gaze cut to you then, sharp and searching. “You didn’t like the missions?”

You swallowed, the cool air stinging your throat. “Didn’t always know who I was helping.” You trailed off, alluding to the way you, Steve, and Natasha had exposed Hydra’s infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D. “Funny how you can spend years fighting the good fight and not even know whose definition of ‘good’ you’re following.”

That earned you a heavy silence. 

You let yourself shamelessly watch Bucky, then. Not ogling or studying him, just observing him in the way you always seemed to watch people. As a trained spy, you spent a lot of your time trying to understand people through their behaviours so that you could give them exactly what they wanted from you. 

With Bucky, you just hoped your training would let you get to know him better. You liked the way the streetlight caught in the faint silvering at his temples, and his jaw flexed when he thought too hard. He smelled faintly of leather and soap despite the grit of the day still clinging to him. 

You caught yourself wondering what it would be like to close that careful gap he always held between you.

“The world’s loud in different ways now,” Bucky said at last. His voice was quieter, as if meant only for you. “Hard to tell what’s real.”

You tilted your head, watching the faint curl of your breath fade into the night. “The city, or people?”

Bucky huffed, closer to laughter than you’d ever heard from him. “Both.” His eyes lingered on the skyline. “Brooklyn used to feel smaller. Easier. You knew who was on your block, who’d slip you an extra cannoli at the bakery if you carried their groceries home. Now,” his hand made a vague gesture over the surrounding skyscrapers, “it’s like living in someone else’s memory. Looks familiar but doesn’t sound right.”

Hearing him admit something so personal without you prying surprised you. You softened. “I get that. DC felt that way after S.H.I.E.L.D. Same streets, same cafés, but I couldn’t walk them without wondering who’d known what. Who I’d smiled at in passing while they were pulling strings above my head.”

Bucky frowned, a shadow of empathy flickering across his face. “Guess we’ve both had the rug pulled out from under us.”

“More like the whole floor,” you quipped, before you could stop yourself. But Bucky’s lips curved, brief and genuine, and you decided you’d die happy having put a smile on his face.

He looked at you, steady in a way that made you shiver more than the cold. “So what keeps you here? With them?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just searching.

You blinked. “What keeps me with the Avengers?”

Bucky nodded.

You shifted, leaning against the railing, your fingers brushing cold metal. “Because even if the ground isn’t steady, the people are. Steve, Nat, Sam—they make the world make sense. And,” You hesitated, aware of the weight of his attention. “Because I want to believe in good. Even if I’ve been wrong before.”

Bucky’s jaw worked, as if he were chewing on that. Then he asked, almost softly, “And do you?”

Your throat tightened. “Most days. Some days more than others, especially when I’m not up all night contemplating it.” You chuckled quietly. “More than anything, I see good more than I believe in it.”

Bucky leaned his forearms on the railing, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he moved closer. If you moved even an inch, your sleeve would catch on his. The thought was absurdly magnetic, pulling at you.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get back there. To believing.” Bucky glanced sideways, a flicker of something raw passing through his eyes. “But sometimes I think it could be possible. Around the right people.”

You felt the admission settle between you, fragile and earnest. Your chest ached with the desire to ease the rawness in Bucky’s voice. 

You tipped your head, your lips curving into a smile. “Well,” you murmured, “I guess that makes for a decent audition tape for Team ‘Believing in Good Again.’ Obviously headed by Steve, America’s Golden Retriever Boyfriend. Not sure what the benefits package is, though. Fingers crossed for dental.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “Therapy would be nice,” he deadpanned. “Think they’d cover ninety years of back pay?”

That startled a laugh out of you, loud and unguarded enough that you clapped a hand over your mouth. “God, that’s dark.” The fact that he’d reciprocated your banter instead of shutting it down made you grin so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Honest,” Bucky corrected, his tone bone-dry.

You laughed harder, helpless against it, and Bucky joined in too. A low sound, quiet but genuine, breaking out of him like it hadn’t seen daylight in a long time. You turned to look at him, wanting to catch it before it vanished.

It didn’t vanish. The sound was rough, unpractised, but real. You wanted to wrap it in both hands and keep it safe.

Bucky was still chuckling softly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d gotten him there. The sound warmed the cold air more than any jacket could.

“Okay,” you said, breathless with amusement, “I think you make an excellent addition to the team. We don’t have nearly enough comic relief.” Your sardonic tone made Bucky smile again. If anything, the Avengers had too many sarcastic assholes who lived to make everyone laugh.

He arched a brow, the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. “That’s why they let you in, isn’t it?”

You mock-gasped. “Excuse you, I’m multi-talented.”

That earned you another little huff of laughter, and this one came easier, freer. Bucky didn’t look away this time either. His gaze stayed with you, steady and open in a way that made your heart thrum. It felt dangerously like trust, like a door creaking open just wide enough to glimpse the man he still was beneath all that armour.

Bucky lingered in the hall longer than he should have. The tower was alive tonight, laughter spilling from the common room in bright bursts. He caught the cadence of Sam’s bark of amusement, Natasha’s low drawl, and Peter’s earnest whining that always gave way to more heckling. Cards slapped against wood, a chorus of voices rose and broke again.

He’d only meant to come down for water. Nothing more; in and out, like one of their recon missions. But when he turned into the hallway and saw you in the kitchen, he couldn’t help but want to linger.

You leaned against the counter, bathed in the pale glow of the fridge. Hair swept up, but just messy enough that it looked deliberate. Your mouth already tipped into a smile when you noticed Bucky in the doorway.

“Well, if it isn’t Sergeant Midnight Snack,” you teased, lifting your glass with a lazy flourish. “At least tell me you’re here for Cheetos or something. Don’t ruin this for me with celery sticks.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the doorframe before he moved. Keep it steady, he reminded himself. Controlled. He brushed past you toward the cupboard, careful not to graze you. “Water,” he muttered.

“Water,” you echoed, amused. You tipped your head, eyes gleaming. “Living on the edge, I see.”

Bucky almost smiled. God, it was too easy with you. He reached for a glass. His hand stilled halfway when you slid one off the counter instead.

“Here,” you offered, filling it at the sink. The sound of water pouring was louder than the laughter down the hall. You held the glass out to him, steady, waiting.

Bucky hesitated. A thousand instincts screamed at him to retreat, to keep the space between you. He couldn’t afford softness, couldn’t afford the memory of your warmth stitched into his palm.

But he reached anyway. 

The brush of your fingers hit him like a spark—searing through his veins, too quick to disguise. His chest locked up, then hollowed, a dangerous looseness spreading where control should have been.

You didn’t even blink, just looked at Bucky with a smile so easy it made him dizzy. “You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence but not moving your hand, “if you want, I can teach you how to play. UNO’s not as terrifying as it sounds.”

Bucky huffed, a sound caught between dismissal and laughter. His voice came out rougher than he meant. “I think I’ll sit this one out. Not sure how much of Stark I can take once he’s started with the scotch.”

The common room roared again: cheers, shouts, Peter’s name yelled with mock outrage. But in the kitchen, between the hum of the fridge and the heat of your fingers still brushing his, it was quiet.

You grinned, mischief sparking, your voice velvety soft. “You’re already here, Bucky. Might as well take a seat before Clint cheats again.”

“I don’t cheat,” Clint’s voice called from the other room, immediately followed by Sam barking, “He cheats all the time!”

Your smirk deepened. “See? Justice needs you.” With that, you grabbed your own glass and headed back to the common room.

Bucky shook his head, but his unfaithful boots carried him those few steps toward the noise. He told himself he’d sit for one round, maybe two, and then slip away again.

The table was chaos—cards flying, Steve laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair, Wanda calmly dismantling Clint’s entire hand with two cards.

Peter made space instantly, practically bouncing in his seat. “Oh! Mr Barnes, sit here! You can totally take my spot.”

“He’s good,” you cut in smoothly, hand brushing the back of the empty chair next to you. “This one’s his.”

For a moment, Bucky paused. The expectation was always that he’d hover at the edges, watching but never joining in. But no one protested. They just kept shuffling, dealing, arguing over the rules—Yelena and Peter louder than anyone else.

“Barnes,” Clint said, already smirking. “You’ve never played UNO, have you?”

Bucky gave the faintest shrug.

“He doesn’t need experience,” you cut in, dealing the re-shuffled deck now that Bucky had joined. “He’s got the look of a man who can sniff out lies. Which means your cheating reign of terror is finished, Barton.”

Laughter rippled across the table. You leaned in, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “Rule number one: don’t listen to Tony. He thinks a Draw Four is a valid form of diplomacy.”

Tony lifted his drink in salute. “It’ll work one day.”

For the next few rounds, it was pure anarchy.

Sam narrated every card he played as if he were a sportscaster; Natasha destroyed Clint with surgical precision; Wanda and Yelena teamed up in a way that made Peter groan dramatically. Bucky seemed to angle himself toward you, so subtly you could almost convince yourself you’d imagined it.

You kept the banter flowing, firing off one-liners like sparks, revelling in the warmth of being part of this ridiculous found family that somehow hadn’t banished you yet.

You didn’t notice the way Steve’s eyes flicked to Sam, both of them catching the soft set of Bucky’s mouth when you laughed. You didn’t see Wanda hiding her smile behind her glass, or Natasha and Yelena exchanging the kind of look that could topple governments.

The pile of cards in front of Clint was obscene, and you had never been more delighted in your life. “Twenty-three,” you counted loudly, pointing to his spread across the table. “That’s not a hand, Barton. That’s a fire hazard.”

Clint, naturally, refused to concede. “Strategic arsenal.”

“Strategic losing streak,” Sam corrected, sliding a card down with far too much flourish. “Which, ladies and gentlemen, leaves me in the lead once again.”

“You’ve been in the lead since 2015,” Natasha deadpanned.

“That’s called consistency,” Sam said, grinning, and you nearly doubled over laughing.

Beside you, Bucky shifted, the kind of minimal movement that would’ve gone unnoticed if you hadn’t already been watching him. The corner of his mouth curved into a real smile, and seeing it felt like a victory greater than winning a game of UNO.

Still, you put down three Draw Four cards and gave the Avengers’ team leader a sugared smile.

Steve groaned loudly. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, staring at his new stack of twelve cards. “You played me,” he accused you.

You fluttered your lashes at him, unrepentant. “Played with you. For a while.”

Steve’s ears went red. “I wasn’t—” He stumbled, tripping over his own words, and Sam let out a delighted cackle.

“Look at him!” Sam hollered, pointing an accusatory finger. “Cap’s blushing like it’s prom night. That wasn’t strategy, that was seduction. You never stood a chance.”

“Seduction?” Steve repeated, scandalised.

“Oh, 100 percent.” Tony leaned across the table, eyes bright. “Textbook Siren manoeuvre. Get him cosy, lull him into trust, then—bam! Draw twelve. You should’ve known better, Capsicle.”

Clint wheezed a little. “She did smile at him all sweet, right before she gutted him.”

“Classic her,” Wanda cut in, smirking. “She pulls the same thing in training.”

Nat agreed, “You fall for it every time, Steve.”

Steve’s laugh grew more helpless, his blush creeping down his throat. “Okay, but she was being nice—”

“Nice?” Sam cackled. “She had you wrapped around her finger, man. Don’t even try to deny it.” He pointed at Bucky in a dramatic warning. “Careful, Buck, don’t sit too close to her. She’ll have you doing her bidding before you even realise she’s humming a tune.”

“Siren,” Yelena said in a husky whisper, teasing you for the codename you’ve had since your S.H.I.E.L.D. days and grinning as Natasha snorted beside her.

Steve complained again, dragging his hands down his face. “This is so unfair!” His protest broke into laughter, the tips of his ears already pink.

You’d been friends with Steve since the Avengers first formed, and you knew exactly how to appeal to your kind-hearted, big softy of a team leader. A tilt of your head, a lowered voice, a smile that suggested conspiracies shared just between the two of you. Steve was putty every time.

“Oh, come on, Rogers,” you teased, letting your fingers tap against the table. “You like trusting people. You trusted me, and it felt good, didn’t it?”

Steve sputtered, “I—that’s not—” He broke off into helpless giggles.

Sam leaned back, delighted. “Would you listen to him?”

Yelena let out a bark of laughter. “Is this normal? Does she do this every game night?”

“Every single time,” Wanda confirmed.

“I was the victim last time,” Peter recalled, matching Steve’s blush.

Laughter rolled across the table, easy and familiar as family. By now, they were used to the way you could shapeshift and charm to fit anyone’s needs—and to the way you shamelessly wielded it on game night. They couldn’t hold it against you. They knew you too well, and still fell for it every time.

But Bucky’s gaze was fixed on Steve’s hand on your shoulder. His chest rose too fast, like his ribs were suddenly too tight, and for one disorienting moment, the world blurred at the edges. The laughter muffled into a distant echo, and Bucky felt oddly like everything was moving in slow motion.

Siren. 

The word echoed, venomous and familiar in all the wrong ways. 

She’ll have you doing her bidding before you even realise she’s humming a tune. Was that why you were consuming Bucky’s every thought? You were using your powers on him?

His pulse thundered like an alarm in his ears. The warmth of the room—the light, easy banter he’d been enjoying all night—faded, leaving only the memories and sting of Hydra training and commands behind. 

You didn’t notice at first, caught up in Sam’s running commentary, in the ease of being teased by people who knew you too well to ever mistake your tricks for malice. You were oblivious to the way Bucky’s hand curled into a fist against his thigh.

When you turned, Bucky’s eyes were locked on you—blue, wide, and startled—like you’d just morphed into something sharp and dangerous.

The sight knocked the air out of you. You’d been making jokes, leaning into the jesting the way you always did, certain this was safe ground. Everyone else had laughed, But Bucky’s face made doubt curl in your stomach.

Had you crossed a line? Had your harmless flirting with Steve made Bucky uncomfortable?

“Bucky?” you murmured. Not playful this time. Just quiet and uncertain, caught between an apology and concern.

He couldn’t hear the softness in it over the ringing in his ears.

It started the morning after game night.

You weren’t expecting Bucky to send you flowers and a mixtape or anything. But you were expecting at least the usual nod in the hall. That minuscule flicker of acknowledgement he always gave, like he knew you existed in the same dimension and maybe didn’t mind it. Sometimes, if you caught him in a good mood, there’d even be the ghost of a smile.

But the next day? Nothing. Bucky passed you in the kitchen, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself the world’s grumpiest teammate.

And maybe that was just him. You knew he wasn’t Mr. Sunshine at the best of times, but then it happened again. And again. No nod, no hello, not even a grunt when you made some joke loud enough for him to overhear. 

It was like someone had flipped a switch from tolerating you to couldn’t care less if you lived or died.

At first, you brushed it off. People have bad weeks. The Avengers have bad weeks where “bad” involves alien warlords or the occasional robot uprising, so you figured he was busy.

But then you noticed the small things. Bucky had started sitting near you at the briefing table recently—not close, but within quipping distance. Now he deliberately picked the seat furthest away, next to Sam, since you always sat with Nat and Steve. And when you tried to talk to him, Bucky gave you these tight, clipped answers.

Polite, sure, but with all the warmth of an ice skating rink.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t seen the other side of Bucky. The side that came out on the balcony, when his shoulder almost brushed yours and he’d admitted, low and raw, that maybe he could believe in good again. The side that had joked with you and then, God help you, laughed like a careless little kid. Not a grunt, not a huff, but a real laugh, cracked and rusty and beautiful because it was his.

You’d thought—naively, apparently—that you’d reached some fragile truce where Bucky trusted you enough to be honest. But now he was shutting doors you hadn’t even realised he’d opened, and it left you fumbling in the dark.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if you hadn’t realised how much you’d come to enjoy those little moments. The way Bucky used to glance over when you were bantering with Yelena and Bob, that half-exasperated twitch of his mouth like he wanted to roll his eyes but was secretly amused. The way he’d linger for a second after you said goodnight, like there was something he might add before deciding against it.

They weren’t big things. They were barely-there things. Things you could almost convince yourself you’d imagined. But their absence was loud, and you kept wondering why it hurt so much.

The worst part was that you had no idea what you did wrong.

The warehouse smelled like damp concrete and trouble. You hated that smell.

“North corridor looks clear,” Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms, calm as always. “Yelena and I will sweep the other side. You two, check the labs.”

You cast Bucky a quick glance, but he didn’t return it. He was busy checking his gun, jaw set, posture locked in that soldier-straight way that always made you want to nudge him to see if he’d flinch.

He didn’t. Not even a twitch.

“Copy,” you said, because someone had to.

The labs were exactly what you’d expect in a bioweapons facility. Sterile walls, glass vials, enough ominous-looking refrigeration units to make you wonder how long it would take one bad leak to end civilisation. You tried to focus on cataloguing and checking for Hydra insignias, but it was impossible not to notice every tiny brush of proximity.

When you both reached for the same file on the counter, your fingers grazed Bucky’s vibranium hand, just a whisper of contact. But you felt the sudden hardness of his grip as he pulled away, and you saw the way his eyes flicked to yours for a microsecond. 

You swallowed, surprised at how much your chest skipped. 

Then, when you crouched to check under a lab bench and came up too fast, you collided shoulder-to-shoulder with him. The contact was short, but Bucky stiffened against you, eyes narrowed in a way that made your stomach drop.

You winced, ready to laugh it off, but the look he gave you had you biting your lip instead.

Your gaze caught a glint of red along the edge of his temple: a shallow cut from a piece of flying debris when the door gave way. “Bucky, let me see,” you murmured, reaching up toward the wound.

“I’m fine,” he said, waving a hand and jerking his head back just enough to evade your touch.

“Just let me look,” you pressed, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.

Bucky tensed, jaw tight, and for a moment, you almost didn’t recognise him. “I said I’m fine,” he snapped, voice low and brittle. “The serum takes care of it. Don’t fuss.”

You hesitated, caught between wanting to push and knowing when to step back. You frowned, growing defensive. “I’m not fussing, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Bucky stared at you, his eyes harsh and unreadable, and then he sighed to let you know he was done with the conversation. You wanted to ask him if he’d always made everyone else feel this way or if it was just you. But the moment passed before it could take shape. 

By the time the mission wrapped and you were making the trek back to the Quinjet, your nerves were shot. Your shoulders brushed, once, then again, and neither of you pulled away.

You could feel Bucky holding himself back, the tension radiating off him like something resembling anger. You stole glances at him, studied the furrow of his brow and the tight line of his mouth. It was like watching a storm brew in human form.

The Quinjet landed back at the Avengers Tower smoother than your nerves. Bucky had been staring at you the whole way home, or at least you thought he had. Every time you glanced up from adjusting your seatbelt strap there he was, heavy gaze fixed on you like you were a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong box. 

Not glaring, just watching. And not in a fun, this could lead to kissing kind of way. More like this could lead to homicide.

So, naturally, when the ramp lowered and the others filed out, you decided to test the waters. Light and breezy. Nothing that could be mistaken for poking the grizzly bear.

“Hey, Sarge.” You jogged a couple of steps to fall into stride with him. “Quick question: are we good? Because if this is about me finishing the last donut, I promise I’ll buy another box. Maybe two. Chocolate with sprinkles, right?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you, just kept walking—shoulders tight, jaw flexing. Your stomach dipped. Okay, not the donut thing. Probably something worse. 

“Bucky?” you tried again, quieter this time. “You’ve been—” You flailed for a word less desperate than glaring at me like I killed your family. “A little weird. Is everything okay?”

That’s when he paused; stopped dead in the middle of the hangar, boots planted, head bowed like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread. 

When Bucky finally spoke, his voice was low and taut. “No. It’s not okay.”

Oh, good. Not terrifying at all.

You forced a laugh, aiming for light but landing somewhere nervous. “Well, bonus points for honesty. Do you maybe want to elaborate, or should I just start apologising for every stupid thing I’ve ever said since we met?”

Bucky’s head lifted, and the intensity in his eyes rooted you to the spot. “You’re driving me insane,” he said.

The air left your lungs. Not playful, not an exaggeration. Something raw and jagged bled through every syllable.

“Um,” you blinked. “Okay. Can I ask why, specifically?”

“I can’t sleep without thinking about you,” Bucky pressed on, like your joke hadn’t reached his ears. He took a step toward you, each word sharp, cracking. “I can’t think without hearing your voice. Everything I do, every thought—it comes back to you. It’s like you’ve taken over every part of my brain, and I can’t shut it off.”

Your breath caught. Your pulse was a thunderclap in your ears. Part of you wanted to laugh it off, but the panic in his eyes shoved the humour back down. “Bucky,” you said carefully, trying to steady your voice, “I don’t—”

“You need to stop.” Another step, his shadow spilling over you now. It was the first time you’d ever felt small next to him, not because he was towering, but because his walls were closing in, bricked high.

Your back hit cool concrete of the wall before you’d even realised you’d been walking backwards. Your heart tripped over itself. “Stop what?”

“Using your powers on me!”

You blinked, disoriented. The words made sense in order, but together? They might as well have been a foreign language. “My what?!”

Bucky was breathing hard now, as if saying it out loud tore something open in him. His flesh hand raked through his hair, his metal one clenched like it might shatter. Then he shook his head, hard, like he could fling the thoughts out by force.

“This, whatever this is, it isn’t real!” Bucky’s voice was rising, frayed, trembling with panic. “You’re making me feel things I don’t want to feel, thoughts I don’t want. And I know why, I know what you do to people.”

Your gut swooped uncomfortably. “What I do to—Bucky, are you serious right now?”

“You think I don’t get it?” His voice cracked like a whip, close enough that you felt the heat of his breath. “They call you Siren. You sing your way into people’s heads. Twist them around until they can’t think straight. Well, congratulations, you got me.”

The accusation slammed into you harder than a punch. You swallowed, the air thick and sticky in your throat. Of all the things you thought he might accuse you of—being annoying, overeager, maybe even too much of a flirt—this cut bone-deep.

“That’s—” Your voice cracked before you fought it steady. “That’s not what I do. The name, Siren? It’s a joke. A stupid one, from when I was a new recruit at S.H.I.E.L.D. But I don’t manipulate people’s feelings! I can’t make you feel—”

But Bucky was already shaking his head. “Stop.” His tone was softer this time, closer to a plea than a command. “I just—” His hands flexed, metal glinting under harsh lights. “I don’t want you to talk to me anymore. I don’t want you around.”

And then Bucky tore himself away, storming out of the hangar as if he stayed a second longer, he’d break in half.

You stood frozen in the echo of his absence, heart pounding hard enough to bruise, skin prickling with the sting of it. You’d wanted clarity, reassurance that the tension between you wasn’t all in your head.

Instead, you got a mess of raw nerves and jagged mistrust—and the unmistakable sense that Bucky Barnes had just put you behind enemy lines.

Bucky had apparently mastered the art of disappearing in plain sight. 

It didn’t matter if you were in the gym, the kitchen, the common room, or wedged shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of the team in debriefs—he was suddenly the kind of man who always had someone standing between you and him. Yelena. John. Sometimes even Steve, which felt like adding insult to injury. And then, before you could so much as blink in his direction, Bucky’d be gone. 

A ghost in tactical boots.

You tried. God, you tried. A couple of subtle attempts in hallways, a few “funny running into you here” gambits that weren’t funny to anyone, least of all you. Once, you even faked needing an extra hand moving groceries into the kitchen. Bucky had slipped through a doorway like mist before you’d finished the word “carry.”

At night, when you stared at the ceiling of your tower room and felt the press of unsaid words burning behind your ribs, you replayed it all: his voice, his accusations, the wrecked look in his eyes when he told you he couldn’t sleep without thinking about you. 

That last one was the killer. Because even knowing he’d meant it as a confession of torment, you couldn’t stop the treacherous part of you that wanted to savour it. It was, in many ways, a confession of everything you’d wanted to hear from Bucky. But it was cloaked in a fear you couldn’t let yourself romanticise.

You might have happily earned your honorary degree in self-pity if your door hadn’t swung open without warning.

“Get up.”

You blinked at the sudden intrusion. Yelena, the picture of menace in cargo pants and a strapless crop top, leaned against your doorway like she owned the place. Behind her, Kate was juggling a bag of chips, a bow case, and the kind of apologetic smile you knew all too well.

“I’m sorry,” Kate stage-whispered, tilting her head toward Yelena, “she doesn’t really, uh, knock.”

“I do knock,” Yelena said flatly, stepping into your room. “But sometimes people pretend not to hear. This is more efficient.”

“Right,” you said, pushing up on your elbows. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this home invasion?”

Yelena crossed her arms. “We are going out.”

You blinked again. “Out where?”

“Bar,” Yelena explained. “Drinks. Dancing. Maybe karaoke if Kate Bishop here does not embarrass us.”

Kate made a wounded sound. “My karaoke skills are amazing, thank you very much.” Then, turning back to you with that earnest, slightly awkward energy that was somehow impossible to resist, she added, “You’ve been kind of out of it for the past couple of days. And since this is our last night in the city before heading back to the compound, we wanted to have some fun. No missions, no strategy briefs, and no sulking.”

“I don’t sulk,” you muttered automatically.

Yelena arched an eyebrow so sharp it could cut glass. “You are sulking right now.”

Kate nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, you kind of are sulking.”

You groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “Look, I appreciate it, but I’m not really in the mood to—”

“Wrong.” Yelena clapped her hands once, decisive. “You are in mood. Bad mood. We are fixing it.”

Kate dropped the chips onto your bed and perched on the edge with a grin. “C’mon. One night. Just us. You can wear those sexy combat boots with your black dress. I know you always pack it just in case.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Well, it would be irresponsible to consider heels with her around,” you said, motioning to the blonde menace in the room.

Yelena grinned approvingly. “Smart girl,” she said proudly.

And that’s how, twenty minutes later, you found yourself shimmying into a short black satin slip dress, the hem swishing around your thighs, your favourite black combat boots laced tight. The outfit, while not exactly groundbreaking or original, said you were fun but willing to fight if things got dicey. 

Exactly the vibe for a night out with Yelena Belova.

The bar was already humming when the three of you pushed through the door, Yelena leading the way. Warm golden light spilt from old-fashioned sconces onto scuffed hardwood floors, softened by the lazy swirl of neon lights spilling from behind the liquor shelves.

It wasn’t just the strong drinks or the comfort of knowing the staff would keep any gawkers in line—this bar was used to Avengers appearing like a travelling circus in leather jackets—but the fact that nobody cared who you were, so long as you tipped well.

“See? Already better than sulking in your room,” Yelena declared, tossing you a look over her shoulder. “Less pathetic. More you.”

Kate trailed behind, giving you a conspiratorial smile. “I told her you’d say no if we gave you the option. So she took away the option.”

“Very Russian,” you deadpanned, but your lips curved when Yelena smirked. She knew your comment was all in good fun.

Inside, familiar faces were already waving you over. Natasha with her usual low-key poise, Ava looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here, and Wanda, already halfway through a cocktail that shimmered in deep scarlet like her powers.

Natasha slid a glass across the polished bar toward you. “First round’s on me,” she said. “House rules: no talking shop, no moping, no sneaking out early.”

“Wow. Subtle, Nat,” you said, narrowing your eyes at the look she sent you specifically.

“Subtle is for people who don’t know you,” Natasha shot back.

You laughed, and when Yelena shoved a shot glass into your hand with a curt, “Drink. Or I tell embarrassing story,” you found yourself clinking it against Kate’s clumsily raised glass.

The first swallow burned in that good way, warm spreading through your chest. Around you, the energy of the bar shifted up a notch. 

“Look at that,” Ava murmured, eyeing you with a pleased look. “She remembers how to smile.”

“Barely,” Yelena cut in. “We haven’t seen Siren in forever. She’s hiding.”

At that, Kate raised her glass in mock solemnity. “May she rise from the ashes tonight, preferably on the dance floor.”

“To Siren,” Wanda added. “The one who makes half the room fall in love and the other half wonder what hit them.”

You rolled your eyes, but their laughter was infectious. “You’re all ridiculous,” you said. It was hard to fight the warmth of Wanda’s grin, Yelena’s sharp shove at your shoulder, and Kate’s eager nodding.

“Ridiculous, but not wrong,” Yelena said smoothly. When the music shifted into something louder and sultrier, she tugged you to the dance floor with zero hesitation. 

By the time the others arrived—Steve’s broad frame cutting a path through the crowd, John already chuckling at something Sam muttered, Bob trudging behind with an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else—you were gone.

Not literally, but lost in the pulse of it: twirling Wanda, laughing into Yelena’s shoulder, hips moving in tandem with the rhythm.

Bucky stopped dead just inside the doorway.

It hit him like a punch, the sight of you under the neon haze, hair catching the light like spun fire, laughter so unguarded it seemed to crack the shell he knew you kept tight around yourself. Everyone else in the room was drawn toward you without even realising it. 

You were gravity, you were the centre of orbit, you were Siren in full force, and he hadn’t realised until this moment how much he’d missed it.

Bucky’s chest ached with something he couldn’t name. Not quite jealousy, though the sight of you pulling Bob in and letting him spin you in a circle did spark something sharp.

More than anything, it was awe. You didn’t just light up the room, you made it warmer.

Sam elbowed him as they skirted toward the bar. “Man, you’re staring like you’ve never seen her before.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He couldn’t, not with the sound of your laugh carrying over the music and the way the hem of your already short dress teased the tops of your thighs.

His eyes tracked you without his permission, cataloguing details like he was back on a mission. The sway of your hips was controlled, but loose enough to let the beat pull you. The stretch of your arms above your head, bracelets sliding down your forearms as if the music shook them there. A bead of sweat curved down the side of your neck, catching in the hollow of your collarbone.

Bucky swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, and he took a sip of his beer that did nothing to fix it.

His gaze fell to your legs again. The shift of muscle as you bent your knees, the arch of your back when you moved, and the combat boots that always drove him crazy when you wore them. Bucky knew those legs could knock a man flat in the field, but here, they were all allure and temptation. 

Every step you took felt like it was being stomped on his chest.

You leaned into Bob’s side at one point, laughing, your hair sticking slightly to the sweat at your temples. It should have looked messy. Instead, it was devastating.

Bucky gripped the glass tighter. Cold condensation seeped into his gloved palm. He wished it had done more to ground him, because his body sure as hell wasn’t helping. Heat had pooled low in his stomach, spreading fast, leaving his shoulders tense and his pulse too quick.

He told himself it was just instinct, just observation, just knowing a teammate well. But then your head tilted back in laughter, exposing the clean line of your throat, and he knew he was lying to himself.

Steve said something beside him. Bucky didn’t catch it. His eyes didn’t leave you, the way you lost yourself in the song like no one was watching. Except he was watching; every second, every movement.

You were the first to notice the drinks were running low. Sweat sticking to your skin, music thrumming in your veins, and your glass bone-dry. Bob, bless him, had nursed the same Coke for nearly half an hour, so he needed a refill too.

“I’ll grab us some drinks,” you announced, shouting over the music.

Bob pushed his sleeves up as if he were gearing for battle. “I’ll come with you.”

You gave him a look, half-amused, half-incredulous. “It’s a bar, Bob. I can take care of myself.”

Still, he looked was protective in that gentle way of his. Before you could explain your plan, Yelena leaned in, smirking. “She does not want you cramping her style. Nobody will buy her drinks if you are standing there like bodyguard.”

That earned you a confused blink from Bob, then a sheepish laugh as realisation hit. You couldn’t help the smug little smirk that tugged at your mouth. Yelena wasn’t wrong.

You slipped your way to the less busy side of the bar—far from where the guys had staked out their corner—and sure enough, the second you claimed a sliver of space at the counter, the swarm arrived.

A few leaned too close, voices already slurred; one was way too interested in your neckline. But one—tall, dark hair, dimples—looked more like the golden retriever type. Friendly smile, easy energy. You gave him your brightest grin back.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he said, raising his voice over the bass.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” you drawled. “One Coke, one gin and tonic, and…” You rattled off the rest of the order, watching his brows climb as the list grew.

But he only laughed, waving the bartender down. “Guess I’ll be the hero of the night.” You tilted your head, enjoying the view.

The bartender set about juggling glasses, and while you waited, Dimple Guy leaned an elbow on the counter, turning toward you like you were the only person in the room. You nodded, smiled, threw in a quip or two, perfectly aware that your friends were somewhere behind you taking bets on how long it would take you to walk back with a tray full of free drinks.

The bartender slid the Coke drink across the bar, glass clinking against the counter, and you smiled at Dimple Guy like he’d just solved all your problems and passed it to Bob. Then you leaned in a little closer to Dimple Guy—because it was loud, because it was fun, because you could—and laughed at something he said. 

The sound of your giggle carried easily over the music, bright and unrestrained, drawing a few more glances your way.

You didn’t notice the way Bucky’s jaw tightened from across the room, the muscles in his forearm flexing where he gripped his own glass too hard. Didn’t see the way his eyes tracked your hand as you gestured, or how he watched your head tilt back when you smiled.

From his vantage point, it didn’t look like you were talking. It looked like you were working.

Siren.

His stomach twisted at the thought—like maybe the sparkle in your eyes and that easy sway of your hips weren’t just you enjoying yourself, but something deliberate, something calculated, meant to reel this guy in.

You had no idea. You were riding the high of the night, warm with sweat and music, free and a little reckless. But across the room, Bucky sat stiff and silent, every instinct in him coiled tight. 

Bob drifted over to their cluster by the bar, a fresh Coke in hand and his cheeks still a little pink from the dancing you’d roped him into. John caught sight of him and smirked, jerking his chin toward the dance floor.

“Guess she got you, huh? Should’ve warned you, she only drags in reinforcements when she’s planning to unleash the full Siren routine,” John said affectionately. He’d been the happy recipient of free drinks on a night out with you before.

Bob chuckled, still catching his breath. “I didn’t even get two steps in the door before she had me. She’s killing it out there, though. Haven’t seen her light up like that in a while.”

A couple of the others laughed, Ava shaking her head with an indulgent little smile. But Bucky’s expression didn’t budge. He set his drink down a little too hard. “You all just let her do that?”

The laughter tapered. Sam tilted his head, wary. “Do what?”

“Use her powers on some guy like that,” Bucky said flatly, his jaw tight. “Make him feel something that isn’t real just because she wants free drinks. That’s not right.”

A beat of silence followed. Kate blinked. Sam looked at Steve, confused. Natasha raised one brow like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“Buck,” Steve said carefully, “what are you talking about?”

“You know damn well,” Bucky snapped, low but heated. “She’s Siren. That’s her thing. She manipulates people, makes them fall over themselves and puts all kinds of thoughts in their heads. And now you’re all just standing here letting her do it.”

Steve stared at him for a moment, then laughed—short, incredulous. “Now, wait just one minute. You think that’s her power?”

Bucky’s frown didn’t ease. “Isn’t it?”

Natasha snorted softly and folded her arms. “No, Barnes. That’s just her.”

Bucky’s head jerked toward her, but she continued, her voice edged with fond amusement.

“When she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., half the recruits couldn’t keep their eyes in their heads. And instead of fighting it, she leaned into it, let them underestimate her. Let them drool and stumble over themselves while she smiled pretty.” Natasha’s smile grew proud. “And then she flattened them in hand-to-hand. Outshot them, outran them, outplayed them at every turn.”

Steve’s tone softened, adding, “She can’t mess with people’s heads, she can make people tell the truth. Useful for interrogations, but nothing she uses outside of work. The code name stuck because she was the perfect spy: charismatic, adaptable, instinctive. She could mirror anyone, win their trust, then turn the whole game on its head. That’s Siren.”

Sam let out a low whistle, grinning. “Yeah, man. If she’s getting free drinks, that’s just her charm. Not powers. Don’t cheapen it.”

Bucky stood stiff, processing. His gaze pulled helplessly back to you across the bar, where you were holding a tray of drinks, nodding at something Dimple Guy said. For the first time tonight, the knot of anger in his chest unravelled into something else.

Something that scared him more than rage ever could.

Bucky’s chest felt too tight. The floor seemed to tilt under his boots as Nat’s words replayed in his head, each one hammering another nail into the coffin of his assumptions.

No powers. No manipulation. Just you.

And suddenly every sharp glance, every clipped word he’d thrown your way over the past weeks felt like shrapnel lodged under his skin. He’d treated you warily, even cruelly sometimes; pushing you back, refusing to trust you, accusing you of pulling strings you’d never even touched. 

He’d dismissed your kindness, doubted your laughter, second-guessed every spark of warmth between you, and you hadn’t deserved any of it.

A wave of shame clawed up Bucky’s throat, raw and hot. He should have seen you clearly. He should have known. Instead, he’d twisted every smile into proof of something sinister because it was easier than admitting the truth: you got under his skin, you always had.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the noise of the club fading to a dull roar in his ears. And then, like a gut punch, another realisation hit him.

That night after the mission.

Bucky’s stomach dropped, cold dread sinking deep. He’d cornered you outside the Quinjet, tense and accusing you of messing with his head. About how you were in every thought, how he couldn’t shake you, how you consumed him without even trying.

At the time, he’d believed it was your doing. Your powers; some invisible hook you’d buried in him. But if what Natasha and Steve were saying was true, if none of that had ever been manipulation, then he hadn’t accused you.

He’d confessed to you.

Bucky’s breath caught, rough and uneven. You knew. You’d known all along. Every word he thought was an accusation had been nothing but a bare-knuckled admission: that he couldn’t stop thinking about you, that you lived in his head, that he was falling—hell, had already fallen—for you.

You knew he loved you.

His metal fingers curled into a fist against his thigh. Bucky could almost feel the moment again, the way his voice had cracked, the raw edge of desperation when he’d said you were everywhere. He’d meant it as a warning, a complaint. 

But looking back on it, it sounded like devotion.

And you hadn’t called him on it. You hadn’t laughed, or brushed him off, or told the others. You’d just looked at him. That soft, confused look he hadn’t been able to stand at the time.

Now Bucky understood why.

A low curse slipped between his teeth. He felt exposed, skinned alive. The part of him that still thought like a soldier, like an asset, wanted to retreat—bury this mess, shove it down, pretend it never happened. But the rest of him, the part that had been pulled closer to you despite every protest, was thrumming with the humiliating awareness that you knew him better than he wanted to admit. 

Bucky dropped his gaze to the sticky floor, fighting the useless urge to rewind time and unsay all of it. To crawl back into the comfort of thinking you’d tricked him somehow, because that lie had been easier than the truth pressing down on him now.

The truth that you hadn’t taken anything from him. He’d handed it over, piece by piece, all on his own.

The tower was still humming from the afterglow of laughter and music, the others scattering off to their rooms with flushed cheeks and unsteady footsteps. Natasha’s heels clicked faintly down the hall, Sam’s voice trailed off in a joke half-finished, and then—silence.

You lingered at the counter, fingers curled tight around a half-empty glass of water, as if you held it hard enough it might anchor you. You hadn’t planned on staying, hadn’t planned on being here when the room thinned out, but there was Bucky, leaning in the doorway like some inevitability.

The last person you wanted to see. The only person you wanted.

You didn’t look at him. Your arms folded tight across your chest once you put your glass down, a makeshift shield against the weight of his gaze. 

Bucky’s voice was low, rough. “I need to talk to you.”

“Don’t.” You cut him off, sharper than you meant to. “Just, let me say one thing.” Bucky paused, then nodded. “You of all people know what it feels like to lose your ability to choose. Did you really think I’d do that to you?”

That landed. You saw it in the way his jaw clenched, in the flicker of pain that crossed his face like you’d struck him clean through. Bucky moved a step closer, then another, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I know.” His voice cracked, raw enough to scrape at your chest. “I know, and I was wrong. I panicked. You—” Bucky broke off, dragged a hand through his hair, metal fingers catching the light. “You make me feel things I thought were gone for good. Want, longing, desire. All of it. And I didn’t know what to do with it, so I twisted it into something darker because that’s what Hydra trained into me.” Your breath caught, and you fought to steady the shaky exhale that followed. “I thought that if I let myself want anything, it’d be used against me. So I put it on you, and that wasn’t fair.”

You could feel your own heartbeat everywhere: in your throat, your wrists, low in your belly. Bucky’s confession made you grip the counter behind you to stay steady. Because God, if he only knew how many nights you’d been lying awake, caught in that same impossible ache.

And now here it was, on his tongue.

Bucky was a breath away now, and your pulse hammered like a drum in your ears. The space between you was agony and heaven all at once. His eyes darted to your lips, then flicked away, as if he were trying to measure the consequences of the smallest movement.

“I—” Bucky hesitated. He reached out, metal fingers brushing against the air beside your hand before pulling back sharply. “I had to make myself think badly of you. I had to because you’re so good. Funny, warm, and honest. And I didn’t trust myself to feel anything like that and not ruin it. Not break it. So I let my mind turn it into something to be scared of.”

Your chest tightened, a wild thrum of hurt and want colliding. “Bucky,” you whispered, trembling hands moving from the counter to clench at your sides. “I need honesty, not guilt. Talk to me, tell me why you thought I cut put thoughts and feelings in your head.”

“I heard everyone call you Siren, on game night, and saying that you’d have me wrapped around your finger,” he said. “I guess it was convenient for me to believe you were putting thoughts in my head, making me feel things I didn’t want to. I—” Bucky broke off, exhaling. “I wanted my feelings for you to be someone else’s responsibility. That way, I could just say they weren’t mine in the first place.”

“I was born with these abilities,” you explained slowly. “When I was little, I realised I could make people tell the truth when I suspected they were lying. That was it. That’s all I can do with my powers, make them verbalise the absolute truth. I mostly ignored it because I knew it was manipulation.” Bucky nodded like he already knew. “I got through S.H.I.E.L.D. on my own merits, earned the codename Siren, and—yes, I can force the truth when I have to. But everything else is just me. Your feelings for me, though? The want, the desire? That’s you.”

Bucky flinched a little at the words, metal arm twitching involuntarily. “That’s me,” he echoed, voice shaking with disbelief.

“Yes.” You took another step closer, your hands brushing the air just above his chest; not touching, just daring him to meet you halfway. “I can’t make you feel this. I may be good at flirting and figuring out what people want from me, but I never turned on the Siren charm for you. So all of this,” you paused, letting your gaze lock onto his, unwavering, “Is you, Bucky. Own it.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed, and his eyes shimmered with something raw, almost dangerous in its intensity. You could hear the faint scrape of his boots against the tile, the subtle shift of his weight as he closed the space, inch by inch.

The warmth of him, barely separated from your body, made your chest tighten. You could feel the faint heat radiating off Bucky’s neck, smell the sharp tang of metal and soap mingled with the faint smoke of the city outside. His breath, slow and deliberate, ghosted over your cheeks.

Bucky didn’t speak. Everything was sound and heat and the faint tang of his cologne, vibrating with the tension of the nearness. Every subtle movement he made, each tilt forward, each flex of muscle, made the desire between you so thick it almost had a taste.

Then his hands moved, a careful, almost excruciating centimetre away from sliding fully against yours, letting you feel the heat, the weight, the need.

Bucky exhaled, an almost inaudible sound that brushed against your ear. He was so close. Every inch of him spoke of everything you’d been holding back, every suppressed need, and now the energy between you crackled, waiting for the moment someone gave in.

His hands found yours before you could think to move, fingers threading through yours, warm and solid, and the shock of contact made you shiver violently. 

Bucky held your hands, careful but insistent, letting you feel his weight, his presence, his unabashed want. You could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, the subtle tension of muscle beneath your palms. Your own hands tingled, every nerve ending singing.

The low rasp of his voice, barely more than a whisper, broke the silence. “I don’t know how to want something without being afraid of it anymore,” Bucky said, and the honesty in it dug into you.

You felt the tension in his shoulders, the taut line of his jaw, the slow rise and fall of his chest as if he were holding back the rest of the words.

“I don’t know if I believe in good,” Bucky continued, his voice breaking slightly, “but I believe in you. And how could you not be good?” His thumb brushed along the back of your hand, tentative but deliberate.

The weight of his admission was almost too much to bear. You lifted your chin, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“Then let me show you it’s okay to want me,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the heat pooling through your chest. “Let me show you that I want you too.” Your fingers tightened around his, a silent promise and invitation.

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, a sharp intake of breath that mirrored your own. His gaze never left yours as he leaned forward, careful, deliberate, giving himself permission, giving you permission. 

His hands slid up your arms, tracing the line of your shoulders, grounding him even as the rest of him seemed ready to unravel. 

“I—” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, swallowed by the tension, but the word cracked through the air like a lightning strike. “I love you.”

You blinked, breath catching on the confession. It was so quiet, almost lost in the shuffle of your racing pulse, and it landed inside you like a shockwave. You didn’t have time to respond before he closed the space between you.

His lips pressed onto yours, desperate, hungry, as if he’d been holding back decades of want and need and fear all at once. The force of it drove you back into the counter, and you clutched at him—fingers tangling in his hair, gripping the leather at his shoulders, pulling him closer with a ferocity that matched his own. 

For so long you’d both been denying this; now there was no holding back.

Teeth grazed in the frenzy, breath tangling, the kiss deepening until it felt like he was trying to drink you in whole. His chest pressed against yours, hard and unyielding, the heat of him searing through your body as his arms wrapped tight around you, like if he loosened his grip for even a second, you might vanish.

Every nerve in you screamed, every breath was stolen. You could taste months of restraint unraveling on his tongue, feel the quake in his body as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you. The ache you’d carried, the hollow nights of longing, all of it poured out of you.

And still, Bucky couldn’t get enough. 

His hands roamed as though he needed to map every inch of you at once—one sliding down your spine, pulling you flush against him, the other cradling your jaw, tilting your face so he could claim your mouth deeper, longer, harder. He kissed you like a starving man finally given food, like he didn’t know how to slow down even if he tried.

But then it slowed, achingly so, like Bucky remembered that he could take it slower. His grip softened, his lips brushing yours in featherlight passes, reverent and trembling. One hand stayed at your waist, grounding, the other cupped the back of your neck with searing gentleness.

Bucky loved you.

You let your fierceness meet his, but there was tenderness too, a painstaking devotion in the way your lips traced his. Your fingers combed through his hair, your body leaning into his with unguarded trust. You kissed away the ghosts clinging to him, kissed away every Hydra shadow, every jagged scar of memory.

Bucky groaned low in your mouth, raw surrender, and you swallowed it eagerly. Your bodies pressed closer until there was no space left. Just heat, hammering hearts, and the dizzying rush of being completely his. 

Everything around you dissolved. Every brush of lips, every sigh, every whispered gasp became the center of your existence. The kiss broke only to return again and again, each one as hungry as the last, as though neither of you could stop feeding on the moment.

Bucky whispered your name against your lips—over and over, soft and worshipful—and you clung to as you clung to him.

When you pulled back just enough to look at each other, chests heaving in tandem, the room felt impossibly alive. Bucky’s hands lingered on you, thumbs brushing lightly over the exposed skin of your back.

His lips moved against yours in soft, breathless murmurs, just barely grazing your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your cheek. “I love you,” he whispered again, voice low and rough, almost in disbelief.

You smiled against him, a gentle warmth spreading in your chest at the sound of it. “I think you’re going to have to say that more than once,” you murmured, teasing just enough to lift the tension without breaking the intimacy.

Bucky chuckled, an unguarded sound that made your stomach twist in the best possible way. Then, almost reflexively, he said again: “I love you.” And again, and again, and again. Each time, quieter, breathier, and somehow even more insistent, as though saying it aloud made it more real to him.

Your smile deepened, and you pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Guess I didn’t need to use my powers after all,” you murmured, letting the warmth of your laughter bubble through, teasing but tender.

Bucky let out a full, real laugh this time, unrestrained, and pulled you back against him, lips claiming yours in another deep, desperate kiss. His hands held you tighter, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

You both eased back just enough to breathe. Bucky’s arms stayed wrapped securely around you, holding you as if letting go might undo everything. Your hands rested played lightly with his hair, sending a shiver down Bucky’s spine.

He nuzzled your temple. “You’re amazing,” you murmured, half-teasing, half-awed, as the adrenaline and heat of the kiss slowly ebbed.

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, low and rumbling, shaking his head against you. “I don’t even know how to do this without screwing it up,” he admitted, voice thick with vulnerability.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “You’re here. That’s enough. That’s all I need.”

For a long moment, silence settled over you, comforting and warm. Bucky pressed careful kisses to your head and hair, quietly murmuring to himself.

Then, with a soft giggle escaping you, you tilted your head back slightly. “You’re still saying it,” you teased, voice light, fingers brushing over his jaw.

“I can’t stop,” Bucky murmured against your temple, voice hoarse and intimate. “I love you… I love you… I love you—”

“I love you,” you cut in, grinning as he pulled you closer again.

There was no rush, no urgency beyond the shared need to be near. For the first time since he’d been Winter Soldier, Bucky let himself fully surrender—fully want, fully trust, fully be with you.

[peterparkive]

bombshell reader, save me bombshell reader 😩 so obsessed with this. the angst and miscommunication were so perfectly balanced with the humor and romance, i was locked in 🔒 AND A FIC WHERE ALL THE AVENGERS LIVE TOGETHER??? yeah y’all know how to reel me in 🙂‍↕️

[peterparkive]

His eyes squeezed shut. “I do.”

i want to dive just a bit to why this hits as much as it does. because its so clear to why this is so drastic for both of them, given steves last 48 or 72 hours have been messy and reader whos been out of the loop for most if not all of it.

and this argument isnt even an argument. its a back and forth between people who want more and cant have it. it includes pain where it should be and anger everywhere else. but underneath all that complex bleeding of negativity is a genuine longing.

this is the type of life chaos that causes rifts between couples in real life. maybe not fugitives from the gov, but just realistic things to deal with what you cant have. um, yeah, rant over, you did great and ATEEE‼️💌

oh my gosh, you analyzed it so perfectly i cannot.

i really wanted to emphasize that this isn’t a fight between them but rather a horrible agreement they both realize they have to come to. her bitterness and anger aren’t directed at steve but instead at the system that’s making it so he has to run in the first place. she wants to protect him in the same way he’s trying to protect her, which is what makes this moment all the more devastating.

like as much as neither of them want to part, the circumstances are against them yet again. it’s a quietly tragic and mature break-up, the kind of moment where no one is wrong yet it still falls apart anyways.

i’m so glad you liked it and saw this vision 🌸

[peterparkive]

im the anon that requested years to bloom between, and 100% honest, you captured every moment with immense honestly and realism. it was beautifully tragic and somehow exactly what i wanted??? 😣

i just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to write it. so exponentially well, making it feel realistic and somehow fit in the movies. share some talent, you did that!!

hi hi omg! thank you so much for requesting it. i loved the vision so much and i was so so excited to write for steve, you gave me the perfect base to work with! it was honestly one of my favorite pieces to write so far </3

i’m so happy you enjoyed it 🥲💓

[peterparkive]

“I wish I found you sooner.”

oh my GOD. how dare you, lynn.

my absolute favorite line i wrote in that entire fic 🫩 it was so devastatingly steve that as sad as it made me, i knew it was perfect for the moment. i’m glad it landed that way for you too 💔💔💔

[peterparkive]

oh. my. god. can we PLEASE get a follow up on carefully, with love maybe with smut? i feel like bucky is just so infatuated with the reader and their first time would be so >> i love how you write bucky!!! much love:D

the way i’m whipping this up RIGHT NOW!!!! i’m obsessed already, i cannot wait to give this to y’all 👻

and thank you sm! writing bucky is my pride and joy <3

[peterparkive]

years to bloom between | s. rogers

⋆˚✿˖ synopsis: Steve and you had built something sacred, something that always got cut short due to the weight of the world and the ever turning hands of time. How many years would have to pass before he realized he ought to do something for himself—and how many more would be stolen from the two of you before he finally did? Thank God Bucky has always been good at pep talks.

-> pairing: captain america!steve rogers x civilian!fem!reader

-> disclaimers: no use of y/n, minor cursing, angst, fluff, slow burn, time jumps & flashbacks, follows the mcu cap timeline, pre-blip & post-blip, emotional sacrifices, steve carries too much, time is a thief

-> song rec: baby came home 2/valentines by the neighbourhood & call it what you want by taylor swift

-> word count: 8k+

-> a/n: inspired by this request! thank you anon, i absolutely loved everything you gave me and i tried my best to piece it all together. i got a lil carried away with the timeline aspect and switched things up a bit, but i hope you enjoy 💐 the way this is come back to me’s twin sister….

The world was spinning on its axis again, bustling with the life and energy it was stolen of five years ago when a mere snap of a gauntlet stilled it to silence and ash. For the first time in a long stretch of emptiness, the missing half of the world was back. People were back.

And they were beginning—slowly and clumsily—to remember what it felt like to live again. Those who blipped were struggling to re-enter a world that had moved on without them and those who stayed were grieving all over again, mourning the versions of themselves that had to grow without the people they loved. Both parties fought one common denominator; time.

Steve Rogers had so much of that.

Time.

He’d lived far longer than any man should, or so he believed, and endured more than he ever thought he would. And while time had always been at his disposal, he’d learned he never had quite enough when it came to you.

“Remember,” Bruce said. “You have to return the stones to the exact moment you got ‘em or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

Steve nodded, gripping the case in his hands as he prepared to deliver the stones, that both ruined and saved the world, to their rightful places in the universe. He was to go back in time which, in a way, felt like more of mockery to a man who was both robbed of it, and then given infinite.

Bucky, who stood off to the side observationally, watched his best friend with furrowed brows. In all their years, he’d learned to read Steve like an open book but now, the words on the pages appeared blurred.

“Are you ready for this?” Bucky asked when Steve approached, voice low so the question could remain between the two of them.

“Never am.” Steve exhaled, eyes blinking rapidly like maybe there was an unspoken thought behind them.

Bucky could sense it—the hesitancy, the guilt, the slowness in Steve’s breathing that told him the fate of those stones, and the universe for that matter, was not at the forefront of Captain America’s brain.

“You talked to her, right?”

Steve swallowed, jaw clenching. “A little.”

Bucky shifted on his feet. “My guess is it didn’t go well, then. If you’re here, and she’s not.”

Steve inhaled, holding his breath tightly in his lungs. “I don’t want her here if I go through with it.”

“So she knows?”

He shook his head. “She’ll figure it out. Maybe you can explain it to her.”

Bucky nodded, slowly and hesitantly. He’d always thought he understood Steve like the back of his hand, but now, he wasn’t quite sure.

Why in the world was Steve Rogers, a man known for being the first to fight in any battle that called to him, running from the most important one?

Bucky continued. “You’ve decided then?”

Steve faltered because in all honesty, he hadn’t, but the thought had been burning in the back of his mind since that day you left.

Time was taken from him over seventy years ago—the life he grew up believing he would live. This mantle of The First Avenger was thrust upon him before he had a chance to breathe and yet, he upheld that with care and responsibility no matter what. But being a hero came with a cost; autonomy.

He’d spent so long doing everything for the world, that he never did anything for himself. He avoided rest, quiet, and love like the plague because he could never be still enough to have any of it in a way that mattered. He was full of regret and desperation but most importantly, longing.

For the life he dreamed to live, which was always just out of arms reach.

Until now.

Until he had the chance to go back in time and start fresh. He could make up for memories and opportunities he’d lost, actually exist in the years that only remembered him frozen in ice, and give the people he cared about in this timeline a blank canvas to grow on.

He thought about it for so long, the idea almost solidified in his mind. Yet, the more Bucky pressed, the more the only thing Steve could think about was you.

You who had eased your way into his life with the naturalness of waves on water, you who had fallen for the man behind the shield but adored him for what he did with it anyways, you who remained soft in all the places the world tried to harden him and stuck by his side no matter how often he believed he was doing right by you each time he walked away.

The temptation to go back in time and restart his life the way he felt he was always meant to, vanished like fog the moment he thought of ever having to leave you for good.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

[ February, 2014 ]

God, you hated living on the third floor. Especially at times like this—when the elevator in your apartment complex decided to stop working, which was most of the time—and you’d just gone grocery shopping for the week. You, in all your overachieving glory, decided it would be easier to bring up everything in one go instead of making two trips.

You only made it up the second flight of stairs before your arms started cramping and you had to drop the bags to rest. You sighed, shaking out your hands and then with a deep regret, you leaned down to grab them again.

A voice spoke from behind you the moment you lifted the bags. “Do you always carry your bags six at a time?”

You paused, turning around to find Steve fucking Rogers standing at the bottom of the stairs.

His presence threw you off, you almost forgot he lived in the same building as you. He moved in not too long ago, so fresh that it shocked you every time you passed him in the hallway or ran into him at the mailboxes. Even more so when you found out he only lived a solid two doors down from you and you could see him leave on his morning runs from your peephole.

You let out a small laugh, breathless and tired. “Only when I’m stubborn and the elevator isn’t working. So, yeah, always.”

He laughed with a nod, before instantly coming up the steps to take the bags out of your hands. All of them.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to.” You shook your head but didn't bother protesting when he relieved you of the weight.

He took the bags effortlessly, his fingers brushing yours by accident. “It’s no problem.”

It really wasn’t—not for Captain America. He began ascending the rest of the steps to the fourth floor with ease, leading the way without question.

“Yeah, clearly.” You mumbled and you swore you heard him stifle a chuckle.

When you both made it to the fourth floor, he didn’t bother asking you which one your apartment was because he already knew. He’d witnessed you leave countless times in the morning, coffee in hand and blazer neatly ironed as you made your way to your office job with a sleepy smile on your face.

You fished for your keys out of your purse, hyper aware of the figure carrying your groceries behind you like helping civilians with everyday tasks was just second nature to him.

After fumbling for the lock, you pushed your apartment door open and spun around, a deep breath stuck in your lungs as you debated what to say to a face like that. No matter how many times you’ve ran into him in passing, you’d never get over how utterly handsome he was.

“What do I owe you?” You asked, using the door handle to hold yourself upright.

He smiled, relaxed. “Let me carry these inside for you?”

You tilted your head, eyes squinting almost teasingly. Then you stepped to the side, hand motioning for him to come through. “I don’t usually let guys in my place before the first date but I’ll make an exception for Captain America.”

“I’m honored, then.” Steve hummed, walking inside with a sort of poise that might’ve made someone think he’d been there before. He beelined towards the kitchen, his muscles flexing beneath his button up.

Shutting the door behind you, you watched as he placed the bags on the kitchen counter, and man were you happy you cleaned the place before you left that afternoon. He then turned to you with a gentle smile as he wiped his hands on his jeans like trying to find words he didn’t have.

You watched him tower in your kitchen like he’d always belonged there and suddenly it hit you—this was your first ever conversation with him. Not just a greeting in the hallway consisting of a minimum of four words, but something real. As real as his figure in your apartment was.

With that thought in mind, your body moved instinctively and you stepped forward to hold out your hand. You introduced yourself to him, properly this time.

Steve’s smile instantly grew wider. He took your hand in his and shook it, firm but equally as gentle. “I know who you are.”

For a second, you faltered, the warmth of his palm sending a wave of goosebumps up your arm. “But I’ve never told you my name before this.”

He blinked, pulling back but never minimizing the distance. “Frances has. She talks about you all the time,” He explained, smiling as he recalls your mutual neighbor—an old lady who loved baking cookies for everyone on the floor and meddling in other people’s business. “She has more intel than S.H.E.I.L.D ever could.”

A breathy chuckle left your lips at that. “She’s tried to set me up with you. Twice.”

“She’s mentioned,” His grin reached his ears. “Said you thought I was handsome.”

You hadn’t expected him to be this blunt, but he radiated this confidence that made your stomach churn with excitement because holy shit, he was flirting and he was doing it exceptionally well. It seemed so natural for him that you couldn’t determine if there was intent behind it, or just his kindness bleeding into his teasing words.

“I didn’t think she’d actually tell you.” You winced, trying not to appear embarrassed.

“She was very enthusiastic about it,” he replied, that gentle smile flickering again. “I don’t mind hearing it.”

The air shifted just enough for you to fiddle with the hem of your sleeves.

“Does it matter anyways?” you asked. “I’m pretty sure the whole world knows you’re attractive, Cap.”

“Well,” he shrugged, effortlessly thinking his response over. “I’m not standing in the whole world’s kitchen, right now.”

Your eyebrows raised in sheer pleasure as you crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to ease your fidgeting. “You’re not at all what I expected. I always thought you were the quiet type.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“How so?” He leaned against your kitchen counter, one foot in front of the other with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks.

“We’ve passed each other in the hallway so many times and all you’ve ever said was ‘Good Morning’.” You shrugged simply.

“I didn’t want to make it weird.” He said, though he wouldn’t ever admit you’d actually made him nervous to the point where saying something other than a simple greeting was difficult. “You had a good rhythm going. I think I was just waiting for my opening.”

“And groceries was the move?” You bit back a smile.

He nodded modestly, like it was no big deal. “Giving a helping hand is kind of what I do best.”

You inhaled, the insides of your stomach churning with happy nerves and a desire to keep this energy, this moment, going. “I feel like I should return the favor.”

“It’s fine.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“But I want to,” you said, voice a little braver than you expected it to be. “If you’re free tomorrow night, I’ll make dinner. My famous penne arrabbiata.”

Steve blinked once. Not out of hesitation but out of plain disbelief from someone not expecting the offer, let alone wanting it as much as he suddenly did.

After a deep breath, he nodded. “I’d like that.”

You nodded too, hoping he couldn’t hear the way your heart was beating in your chest. “Sounds good. Seven?”

He smiled, pushing himself away from the counter with that effortless confidence. “I’ll be here.”

You grinned, walking him to the door with a warmth you couldn’t quite name. “Thank you again, Steve.”

He twisted to you once he stood in the hallway of the complex, the sound of his name rolled off your lips with an ease that had him fumbling for something to say in return. Of course you knew him, that’d been abundantly clear from every precious interaction that left you nervously avoiding eye contact with him. It was in the way you said it, though—sweet and genuine—that made it feel real in a way he’d never experienced with anyone else.

“Anytime.” He smiled.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

[ May 2014 ]

“I can’t believe you’ve never had Nutella on pancakes.” You grinned, sliding him a fork across the table.

“I was around during the Great Depression,” he joked, moving the plate of pancakes to sit between the two of you. “We didn’t have much of anything.”

“Touché.”

The diner was quiet in the morning, especially where you sat in the back corner booth, the farthest away from other customers. The sunrise was shining through the windows, bouncing off the silverware and refracting light spots onto your tired face. Despite the early time of day, you had an optimistic energy to you that was bright like the rising sun itself.

Steve was grateful for it. When things felt dark, being around you was always a force against the shadows.

“Sugar for breakfast, huh?” Steve hummed, picking up his fork.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You pointed, before shoving a piece of pancake in your mouth, the hazelnut flavor melting on your tongue. You hummed in satisfaction, tossing your head back dramatically in a way that had Steve chuckling.

It was his idea to meet for breakfast that morning.

It wasn’t abnormal for the two of you—since that fateful evening you invited him over for dinner months ago, the two of you had gone on frequent dates. You hadn’t labeled your relationship yet, but you’d spent enough time together for it to be something.

Recently though, he'd been busy. He explained it to you once, how he was trying to track down his lifelong best friend who’d just escaped the shackles of Hydra’s sadistic mind control. It was important to him, you knew that, and you supported him no matter what decision he made, no matter how often he wasn’t around—though you had a feeling this requested breakfast date was rooted in that exact explanation.

“Wow,” he raised his eyebrows after he mustered up the courage to shove a forkful of nutella pancakes into his mouth. “This is really good.”

“Told you.” You smiled, satisfied. “You can check that one off of your list now.”

He laughed, swallowing harshly as he watched the apples of your cheeks grow alongside your smile.

Steve Rogers had always believed he’d seen it all. In the ninety years he’d been on this planet, he’s witnessed so many of the great things it had to offer—beauty, kindness, love—yet he’d recently learned, you had them all beat. You were the embodiment of everything good about the world and so much more, which was why the more he looked at you, the more guilty he felt.

You watched his expression drop, his admiration faltering just slightly. “Are you okay?”

He inhaled and before you even had time to prepare yourself, he was speaking. “I’m sorry for being distant.”

You shook your head, putting your fork down gently. “Steve—”

“With the intel I’m chasing down, the dead ends, and empty turn ups, I just,” He paused to run a hand down his face. “It’s not an excuse, I understand that and I promise I’m trying to do better.”

You blinked at him, at the sincerity that dripped from his tongue. Shifting in your seat, you gave him your undivided attention as you said, “When I agreed to go on a date with you, and a second one, then another one after that, I knew what I was signing myself up for.”

He stilled, his breath hitched in his throat.

“I know what this is. Who you are.” You were gentle as you continued. “I never expected you to drop everything for me. You have a job to do and I respect that.”

He blinked, swallowing harshly. “Sometimes I think I’m getting myself too caught up in searching for him.”

You sighed, crossing your arms on the table to lean forward. “Is finding him important to you, Steve?”

He didn’t need to think about it before he nodded. “Yes.”

“Then, you’re making the right decision.”

“But you’re important to me too.” He said without letting a beat pass.

Your heart nearly did a summer-sault in between your ribcage.

He glanced away, his eyes trailed over the rim of his coffee mug. “I’ve never had to balance both—my personal and professional life have always been the same. But everything’s different because now, there’s that and there’s you,” his words smelled of vulnerability, nothing new from him but pungent nonetheless. “I want to make this work, I really do.”

Everyone that Steve had ever loved was involved with his work in some way or another, to the point where the line between profession work and romantic love got blurred. But you, you were his safe space outside of saving the world. He wanted to keep it that way, to preserve whatever your relationship was from the hardships of battle and combat. He just didn’t know how.

“I trust that you will,” You carefully placed your hand on top of his, your warmth sending an array of bumps across his skin. “When you want something, you do whatever it takes to get it,”

He watched you softly, a tender look behind those bright blue eyes.

“I know this is new to you, and honestly, it’s new to me too,” You went on. “But I believe in you and I believe in this. I’m by your side no matter where you are, okay?”

And, god, he thought he might melt into a puddle right there in the restaurant booth. He’d never understand how it is that he got so lucky, to have crossed paths with someone as understanding as you. He’d always been a kind-hearted person through and through, but he couldn’t help but think the universe was on his side when it gave him you—someone equally, if not more, compassionate and utterly human.

The silence between you two was softer when he shook his head, a smile curling at the corners of his lips. “You’re something else.”

You grinned too, a sudden tension lifting off your shoulders as you reached forward to snatch up another piece of pancake. “Something good, I hope.”

“Yes, good, always good.” He fiddled with his fork, eyes settling on you once more after a pregnant pause, and said, “I’m going to figure this out, okay?”

You blinked up at him in between chews. With all the assurance you could muster, you nodded. “I know.”

When the check came, and the both of you cleared the plate of any pancake, Steve was quick to snatch the receipt. You protested, but he dismissed you quickly, placing his card on the table without question.

You walked out of the diner together, footsteps padding over the sun-drenched concrete and shoulders brushing sweetly. Like it was second nature, his fingers reached for yours, intertwining easily. He tugged you closer, and with a softness that’d make silk jealous, he leaned down to press his lips gently against your temple.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling—warm and steady. Your free hand rested lightly against his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall beneath your palm.

“Thank you.” He murmured when he pulled back, his mouth still lingering close enough that his breath brushed your hairline.

“Thank you.” You echoed, voice just above a whisper as you leaned forward and returned the gesture—pressing your own soft kiss to his cheek.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

[ 2015 ]

“Steve?”

“It’s late, I know, I’m sorry.” He said quickly, standing outside of your apartment door with exhaustion buried beneath those blue eyes.

You didn’t bother rubbing the sleep away from your face because without hesitation, you immediately tugged him inside. The door shut behind him as you pulled him in for a hug, using him to keep your sleepy body balanced.

He reciprocated the hug, arms wrapping around your waist in guilt for having shown up to your place at an ungodly time of the night after drowning himself in the training room for hours on end.

Sokovia had taken its toll on him. Between plenty of sleepless evenings, disputes with the other Avengers, and training the new recruits, he was overwhelmed with responsibilities that he couldn’t seem to focus on because all he was thinking about was you.

You who he hadn’t seen in months given the circumstances of recent events. You who he tried to call whenever he had spare time in Sokovia though moments alone were scarce. You who went about your daily life having to pretend that your boyfriend hadn’t been halfway across the world infiltrating some Hydra base and recruiting enhanced individuals.

“Are you okay?” You asked, the question muffled against the rough fabric of his jacket.

“I’ve missed you.” He hummed, voice vibrating off the top of your head as his grip around your waist tightened. “I’ve been so busy, so tired and I just needed a break. I wanted to see you.”

“I missed you too.” You pulled away, enough to look up at him and gently brush away stray strands of blonde from his face. His eyes fluttered to a close at your touch, his lashes batted when you grabbed onto his hand. “Come on, sit.”

He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack, leaving him in a tight grey short sleeve that clung to his shoulders just right. The second he sank into the couch, you could see a weight fall off of his shoulders. His posture softened as he tilted his head back and ran a hand over his face. The lamp beside him on the side table painted his face golden, his hair shimmering under the light.

You plopped on the couch beside him and almost instantly, Steve shifted. He leaned into you, one large hand finding your thigh for balance as he laid down to rest his head on your lap like it was the only place he could put his brain to quiet it down.

One of your hands slipped into his hair, running through the strands carefully. He hummed faintly as his breathing slowed in content. The two of you stood that way for a while, cherishing the peacefulness that came from a comfortable silence.

Steve, who finally let his attention drift off, settled on a frame hanging above your television. “Is that a new painting?”

You glanced up at the watercolor garden on the canvas and nodded sheepishly, stunned that he managed to notice a miniscule detail like that. “Found it at the thrift store. It’s vintage.”

“Vintage.” He let out a breathy laugh as he settled further into your leg, large hand draping loosely over your thigh.

You smiled, tilting your head as you observed it. “It reminds me of my mom. She has this huge garden of flowers at her house that she just lets grow. My dad complains cause she never maintains it but she always says she thinks they’re better wild.”

A grin stretched across his face. “That’s nice. I like it.”

“You do?” You smiled, looking down at him.

“Mhm.” His eyes were still trained on the painting. “Are those wildflowers?”

“They are,” you nodded, fingers brushing across the sides of his forehead. “They’re free spirited, grow wherever they want.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Of course they do.”

“They grow through cracks in the sidewalk, take over gardens if you let ‘em,” You explained. “But they’re good for the ecosystem and really pretty.”

He went quiet for a moment, letting the image take shape in his head. Then, he murmured, “I see why you like them.”

You glanced down at him, but he was still looking ahead, like staring at the painting had magically freed him of any lingering stress. His thumb swept slowly back and forth on your bare leg, thoughtful.

“They make things better without trying to.” He added and it was enough to halt you to a silence.

The pause in the air was soft but heavy. When he tilted his head to look up at you, it was abundantly clear he was saying so much without actually speaking the words. There was a warmth blooming in your chest, one he put there with intention and the expression on his face told you he knew it too.

His hand came up to your face and he placed his palm against the side of your cheek. He ran his fingers over your skin, fingers brushing against your eyelashes and trailing down your jawline, like he was memorizing the feeling before it inevitably slipped away from him again.

“I wish I found you sooner.”

The minute the sentence left his lips, your heart began fervently pulsing in your chest. His words were simple but they carried years of weight—of war, of loss, of things unsaid. Admiration pooled in your stomach, flooding your lungs until all you could do was look at him.

“You found me when you were supposed to.” You admitted, your voice came out a whisper.

You were right of course. Still, he couldn’t help but wish he had more time with you.

How different would his life be had he met you before the battle of New York? What would it look like had he met you before he took the serum, before the war, before the weight of the world found its place firmly on his shoulders?

He tried to picture it: you, sitting beside him in some Brooklyn diner where sunlight dripped through the windows as you laughed at something he said. You as you reached for his hand at the cinema when you felt like neither of you were close enough for comfort. You, eyes shut as he led you in a slow dance, one that took place in your shared living room where the music on the record player was the only noise loud enough to drown out the sound of your beating hearts.

It was an image that made his throat tighten.

He was pulled out of the thought when your hand came down to massage his shoulder, your touch as familiar as it was grounding.

“You’re tense.” You murmured, more to yourself than to him. Your fingers pressed gently near his collarbone, drawing a deep breath from his chest. It was the kind of sigh that let you know he felt safe.

His gaze lingered on your face—how delicate your features looked under the lamplight and how your mouth curled up at the sides like the sight of him in your lap was as fulfilling as it was careful.

Without thinking, he reached up and cupped the back of your neck, his palm caressing your skin softly as it passed your jaw like asking for permission. You reciprocated the fondness in his eyes before you leaned down, his hand acting as a guide. His lips found yours with a naturalness like they’d done it a thousand times before. Like they’ll do it a thousand more.

This kiss was warm and light, like taking a breath. Rather than promise, it was full of truth. Right now, in that small, quiet corner of the world that was your apartment, he was allowed to want this for himself. He was allowed to have it, and have you.

When you part, he didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he kept looking at you like he wasn’t quite sure you were real. Or any of this, for that matter.

You smiled, thumb grazing his cheekbone. Your voice was like a flower, soft and gentle, when you whispered, “Hi.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes brighter than they were when you’d opened the door that evening. “Hi.”

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

[ 2016 ]

The sky looked ready to crack open.

Thick dark clouds press low overhead, casting everything at the park in a dim gray hush. The trees lining the sidewalk were restless, swaying in the breeze like they too could tell something was about to change.

You crossed the walkway slowly, your hands tucked into the pocket of your jacket. Your eyes scanned the space around you until they landed on him.

Steve was standing beneath a warped metal pavilion, still as stone with no umbrella or hood, like the impending rain storm was no match for whatever it was he’d called you there to say.

He wore a hat, the first time you’d ever seen him in one, and sunglasses that concealed those blue eyes you’d grown to love. You almost questioned why he needed glasses when the sun wasn't even out but then he’d lifted his head to find you.

You stopped a few feet away. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence was heavy, mimicking the clouds above.

Then he said your name like it ached to speak out loud.

“Steve.” You said.

You wanted to smile. God, this was the first time you’d seen him since he had to run off to Germany for business that you tried your best to understand. You wanted to be happy about this. Yet, the way his chin was raised and his shoulders broadened with words unspoken, you knew you probably shouldn’t.

He shifted his weight, glancing down at his boots before he spoke again. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Yeah,” You nodded once, finally mustering up the courage to join him underneath the pavilion where the both of you sat on a white wooden bench. “Your call said it was urgent. Figured it’d be wrong of me to say no.”

Your attempt at a joke didn’t go unnoticed and the corners of his lips curled up into a smile before immediately falling again.

The breeze picked up, nipping at your cheeks and nose. You anxiously pulled at your sleeves, sparing a glance at the man beside you. He removed his glasses and you were instantly thrown off by the darkness that swirled in those once vibrant eyes. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths like he prepared to say something that might ruin the moment.

“I’m leaving.” He spat out faster than you could process. “Tonight.”

You paused, blinking slowly. “But you just got back.”

It was something he explained to you briefly—The accords, the fight in Germany, taking Bucky to Wakanda—it was all so much to process but you didn’t doubt him. It never once worried you, not until now.

“I know.” He said.

“Is he okay?” You asked. “Bucky?”

Steve nodded. “He’s fine.”

“Then,” You swallowed, feeling the world narrow to the space between you two. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, couldn’t figure out how to say the words. But it didn’t matter because that was when you felt it—the shift.

It was in the quiet stretch of silence where he didn’t rush to get an explanation out, like he was savoring the moment of simply sitting beside you. You glanced down at his knuckles that clutched the sunglasses in his hand like they were a safety measure. When you looked back up at him, his teeth were carefully but so indiscreetly, chewing on the inside of his mouth.

“You’re not leaving,” You blinked as the pieces slowly came together. “You’re running.”

Steve’s mouth parted but no words came out.

You shook your head, an attempt at undoing the words and the prophecy they carried before it became real. “And you’re not coming back, are you?”

His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he said, “I don’t have a choice.”

The tears built up quicker than you could force them down, your throat tightening and your eyes stinging. For a second, you thought he might be joking but you knew him well enough to know Steve would never kid about something that’d hurt your feelings the way this was.

“This is the last thing I want to do, believe me,” He continued, his voice strained. “But they’re after me, I’m a fugitive now.”

“For saving your friend?” You scoffed bitterly.

He didn’t argue, didn’t bother correcting you because none of that mattered. Not when he was sitting beside you like it was the last time he ever would.

“I can’t risk you getting caught up in this.”

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And I hate that I’m even asking you to accept it but it’s not just about the Accords. It’s about me and the choices I’ve made. If the government finds out I’ve been with you, then—”

“Let them come after me, I don’t care.” You snapped, your voice sharp with feeling.

His eyes squeezed shut. “I do.”

You went quiet. The ache in your chest was rising fast but you bit down on it. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man beside you, couldn’t believe it came down to pushing you away as the only means of protection. Like losing you was merely part of the job.

You breathed. “When will I see you again?”

Steve watched you carefully, like trying to mitigate your reaction. “I don’t know how long I’ll be on the run for, how long it’ll be until this blows over. It could be months, or years.”

“Years?” You exhaled, voice shaky.

He wanted to curse himself for how heartbroken you sounded. “It won’t be safe to call, or write, or anything. They’ll be waiting for any sign of me. I need to disappear and I need them to think there’s nothing left tying me here.”

The truth was sinking in with terrifying clarity that had your body shivering, you almost mistook it for chills from the breeze—The breeze that picked up and began whistling through the trees just as the first raindrops started to fall. It was light at first, barely more than a mist, but steady and cold.

You didn’t move and neither did he as it sprinkled on top of the pavilion mockingly, like even the gods were mourning what both of you were losing.

“So this is it?” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself like somehow your own comfort would make this better.

“I don’t want it to be,” He countered fast. “But I can’t ask you to wait. Not when I don’t know how long this will last, not when it might never end.”

You blinked at him, his knee brushing yours ever so slightly as you shifted. He was staring at you with a desperation to get you to understand, to agree with him—as much as you may not want to.

“You can’t wait for me, okay?” He tilted, eyebrows knitting in despair. “Move on, talk to other people. Don’t let me hold you back when I’m not here. Please.”

You shook your head. “That’s asking too much of me, Steve, and you know it.”

That broke something in him—the mutual understanding that no matter how much he pushed this, neither of you would be able to forget what you had. It was quiet and tragic, the kind of parting that didn’t come with slamming doors and screaming but the unbearable weight of love with nowhere to go.

“I’m sorry.” He said finally, his voice breaking as soon as he muttered those two words.

You didn’t bother smiling, didn’t bother faking happiness when all you felt was hollow. Instead, your hands sat at your sides for a moment like you weren’t quite sure what to do with them, like your body hadn’t caught onto the truth of the moment.

He watched the way your shoulders sagged, and his frown deepened. Without a word, his arms came up to wrap around your shoulders and tug you closer. You let yourself sink into him, heavy and quiet, your body pressed to his chest as you tried to memorize the feeling.

Even this, the simple act of a hug, was risky and he knew it. Yet, he’d allow himself to be selfish for a moment because this moment was all he had left before everything changed. Before everything he’d grown to cherish and love slipped from his fingers like fine sand, no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

When you squeezed tighter, so did he. His eyes fluttered shut and he breathed you in, commuting this feeling to memory before it disappeared and him with it.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

It never really left him—those moments with you, the choices he made, the parts of you he left behind in the name of doing what was right. They haunted the quiet corners of his mind, resurfacing when he could help it least.

And lately, as he made yet another decision that would alter the fate of your lives forever, they’d been louder than ever.

That phone call just days ago only made it worse. It clung to him like an itch he couldn’t scratch no matter how much he clawed at it with his nails.

The line rang four times before you’d finally answered.

“Steve?”

His name came out shaky, laced with the unmistakable edge of tears. You’d been crying. He could hear it in the rasp of your voice that dripped with both confusion and fear. Yet, beneath it all, it still carried that familiar warmth, like it hadn’t changed at all since the last time he heard it.

He couldn’t believe that it was you on the other end, despite the fact he’d been the one to call. It’d been five years of dreaming to hear your voice again, of hating himself for not stopping Thanos before he wiped everyone away—including you. Five years of doing everything in his power to bring you back because he couldn’t go on in life without knowing you were out there somewhere living.

“I just wanted,” He paused, words trembling with a relief strong enough to crumble cities. “I just wanted to hear your voice. To know you were okay.”

The phone call was short. Neither of you reminisced for old times sake nor did he fill you in on all the things you’d missed while you were gone. He didn’t let it linger like he wanted to because that meant letting you in enough to mean something again. He didn’t feel he deserved it—your care, your love, your time.

You deserved better; than a man who kept leaving, than a man who let regret control his brain like a puppeteer, than a man who sacrificed everything as a defense mechanism for selfishness that he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

Sparing you from another goodbye was mercy. You didn’t pick up where you left off because where you left off was apart. It wasn’t a reconciliation, it was a retreat. He was still running.

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and steady, grounding the man back on Earth.

Steve’s eyes flickered up. blinking with evident dubiety.

“You don’t have to go through with this, you know that right?” Bucky expressed, voice hushed.

“I do.” Steve countered quickly.

“Goin’ back to return the stones? Sure, that I get but this,” He motioned around with his hands. “Goin’ back to a life that isn’t yours anymore? Help me understand why.”

The blond man inhaled sharply. “It’s easier.”

Bucky nearly scoffed, sucking on air in between his teeth. “I think that’s bullshit,”

Steve went silent.

“You spent so long pushing her away and the minute you can finally have her, you’re runnin’.” Bucky continued with that tone he only got when trying to convince someone of something important. “It’s killing you inside to think about never comin’ back to her, I know it is.”

Steve was listening—really—like maybe he just needed someone else to confirm what he was already thinking.

“I told her not to wait for me.” Steve swallowed.

“And then she vanished for five years.” Bucky tilted his head.

So much time had been stolen from the two of you—some uncontrollable, some by choice. Sure, Steve had all the time in the world but never with you.

Now, he had a chance to right that wrong, to make up for everything you had both lost in the many years he’d grown to love you.

So why the hell was he running from it?

“You’ve got nothing to lose, Buddy.” Bucky sounded just like he had in Brooklyn during the forties—back when the boys were still young and Steve trusted Bucky’s word more than anything else on the planet. “But a helluva lot to gain.”

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

His hand hovered over the doorbell of a house he hadn’t seen in years but remembered like yesterday. The wooden porch beneath his feet and twinkling wind chime over his head made his heart pound vehemently in his chest, worse than it ever had before a battle. When he worked up the courage, which was odd because he’d always been the man to have just enough of that, he pressed the button.

It wasn’t you that answered the door, but instead, it was your father. Your father’s brows furrowed as he took in the man at the threshold, and then as realization settled in, his eyes widened.

He inhaled. “Captain…”

“Sir.” Steve’s voice came out quiet, hands clasped in front of him.

Footsteps sounded behind the door and a moment later, your mother stepped into view beside her husband. She wrapped her sweater tighter around her frame and gawked at the sight before her in something of shock, memory, and gratitude.

The condolence cards he brought them after you blipped still sat perched above the fireplace in the living room. The hoodie he returned after you left it at his place and he kept it for all those years was draped against the back of the armchair. The words of sympathy he spoke to them when they lost their only child, rang like a gong in their ears as they looked at him with painful familiarity.

And simultaneously, relief.

Your mother didn’t hesitate when she ushered him inside and said, “She’s in the sunroom.”

Steve’s breath seemed permanently lodged in his throat as he made his way through the house, every step too loud and too heavy. The photos that lined the walls—you as a young girl, you with your childhood pet, you on graduation day—captured his focus as he walked past, your smile frozen in time between the frames.

He paused just outside of the sunroom. The light spilled out into golden streaks across the floor, and through the doorway, he could make out the shape of you. Your back was turned towards him where you sat on a wicker couch with your head in a book as you read—or tried too. You were bathed in sunlight like maybe the darkness that’d swallowed the world hadn’t at all touched you.

He was afraid to move but he knew he didn’t come all this way to stand in the threshold.

So with a deep inhale, he knocked on the door frame three times softly.

You looked up mindlessly, expecting it to be your mother coming to offer you sweet tea or force you to eat something again.

But when your gaze focused, you froze.

Neither of you breathed.

You sat up slowly as your book slipped from your lap and onto the floor, your page forgotten. It was like seeing the ghost of a feeling you never let yourself mourn, something unfinished and unsaid standing right there in the middle of the doorway.

You looked exactly the same as you did the last time he saw you in person over five years ago. The only difference was your puffy cheeks and dark under eyes that told him you’d been dealing with the blip in the only way you knew how—quiet and alone.

And suddenly, he hated himself for not being there the moment you blipped back, for letting that phone call be the only thing you had to hold onto, for deciding you’d heal better off without him.

“Hi.” He said, moving first.

You stood up from your seat, knees wobbling under the speed you moved. Your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to form the proper words.

“What?” Your voice stumbled. Your hands tremble at your sides. “What are you—why are you here? I thought you…”

“I went back to return the stones,” He said softly, stepping closer. “And for a second, I thought about staying. Thought maybe I could try to have some of that life I missed out on,”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

Steve shook his head. “But staying meant leaving you behind for good and if I’m being honest—I don’t want that life if you’re not in it.”

With every move he made, your heart hammered against your ribs.

“I’m done running,” He blinked confidently. “And I retired the shield.”

Your breath caught. “Steve, what?”

His gaze flickered down as he rummaged around for the words. “Sam can do more with it now than I can. I know he’ll do good.” He paused. “Being Captain America gave me purpose but kept me from everything else. I’ve got a new purpose now and I think I’ve earned a different kind of life.”

Blinking, you watched as he inched closer, now just an arms length away. Hues of sunlight danced across his face, making his blonde hair look electric and blue eyes the most vibrant they’d ever been. He was gorgeous like this, close enough to touch and warm enough to feel.

“What is it?” You swallowed, eyebrows knitting together. “Your new purpose?”

His finger twitched. He so badly wanted to reach out to you but needed you to initiate that movement first. “You.”

You shook your head, something of disbelief and admiration etched across your features.

“Me?”

“You.” He said confidently. “From the moment I carried your groceries inside, I knew it was you.”

The weight of his words settled around you, steady but heavy all the same. It was raw and real, that very thing the two of you fought for years to hold on to.

You inhaled and then exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s been a long time, Steve.”

Time.

At first, it was Steve who was gone for longer than he let himself recognize, saving the world and losing pieces of himself along the way. Then it was you—vanished into dust and forced to return the same in a world where everything was different. The years had not been in your favor and for a moment, outside reading your book in the golden light of the sunroom, you thought you accepted that.

But then he showed up, chin raised and shoulders relaxed, prepared to bare himself completely to you. He stood in front of you, gone of all hesitancy and fear, ready to make this work. After years of calling it whatever you wanted, you were finally slowing down to put a name to it.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot more of that,” He shrugged as a small smile curled up at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened.”

You shook away the apology he was letting spew from his lips, stepping forward to close that distance. Your hand came up to gently rest on his upper forearm and the touch felt like electricity. “That doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now.”

The silence that followed was soft but charged. His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to make sense of being allowed this—your touch, your proximity, your gentle gaze. All without anger or blame.

Your fingers fiddled with a loose strand on his white tee when you spoke again. “I waited for you.”

Steve tilted his head, opening his mouth to murmur your name but you stopped him.

“I know,” you nodded. “I know you said not to, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve never had anything the way I had you. I knew I wouldn’t find that anywhere else no matter how much I tried.”

He blinked, slow and deliberate like he was trying to take a mental photo of the way your face looked against the evening sunset. “You still have me,” His eyes went wide as he anticipated your answer. “If you want me.”

There was a glimmer in your pupils that twinkled with something teasing and heartfelt. Your lips curled up in a grin, oblivious of how it was the first genuine smile you’d graced in days. “Of course, I want you.”

“Alright,” He was grinning now too, wearing his heart on his sleeve as he took that final step forward to close the distance. “I was just checking.”

A giggle slipped out of your throat and you were unable to resist it anymore. Leaning up, you tilted your head to press your mouth to his, and without question, his lips began moving in unison.

It was cozy—this kiss—familiar, like a flower planted itself in your chest. The way your bodies clung together was golden, submerged beneath sun rays and brushed with the evening breeze. It mended a hole that carved itself there years ago, filling a spot you’d kept reserved for him and him only.

You could feel it when he smiled into the kiss and it only made you lean in further. Despite this, it was gentle. Not rushed or eager. Just calm like something you wanted to cherish.

When it was time to pull away slowly, your hands came down to rest on his upper forearms. “You wanna stay for dinner?” You mumbled against his lips.

He blinked rapidly and you could make out a slight rose tint on the apples of his cheeks. “I’ve got time, yeah.”

“Good.” You nodded, inhaling as you scanned his face, just enough to take him all in. “‘Cause you’ve got a lot to catch me up on, Rogers.”

He chuckled, soft and quiet, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles where they held you at your waist. “Never thought I’d be the one doing that.”

Time had once been your biggest enemy but now, appeared to be your greatest gift.

[peterparkive]

carefully, with love | b. barnes

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ synopsis: Bucky’s never been good at saying how he feels—but he’s getting better at showing it. Almost. From close tension-thick moments in cramped SUVs to flour clinging on your eyelashes in the middle of the night, there are three times he nearly kisses you…and the one time he finally does.

-> pairing: bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

-> disclaimers: fluff, just a little angst, cursing, unestablished relationship, so much pining & yearning hello, avengers tower au cause i can’t be stopped, use of pet names (doll, like once), use of y/n, mentions of violence & injuries, bucky’s so in love it’s sickening

-> word count: 8k

-> song rec: please, please, please, let me get what i want by the smiths

-> a/n: i thrive for almost moments and this entire fic was just a projection of that. i also have so many bucky fic ideas, i need to write them all or i’ll combust. (i’m writing for other characters too but these bucky drafts are just accumulating, i’m sorry)

Bucky isn’t entirely sure if he should punch Sam or thank him for the face cut he inflicted on him during training. For one, it stung like a bitch when Wilson’s combat boot went right into his cheek and split a gash into it. However, on the much brighter side, after training is over, you approach Bucky with squinted eyes laced in concern.

“You’ll have to clean it.” You hum, examining the cut with a sympathetic smile. “You’re bleeding.”

Bucky brushes it off with a shrug, his expression flat like the gash actually doesn’t bother him at all. “I’ll be alright.”

You figure that. He’s endured a lot more pain in his past than a simple boot to the face, but you’re far too caring to let his stubborn nature win in this case.

“C’mon.” You say, ushering him to follow as you begin walking out of the Avenger’s Tower training room and towards the nearest bathroom.

Bucky is going to protest—to insist that you don’t have to stress over him and that he can patch himself up. However, you’re already walking down the hallway, not bothering to glance over your shoulder because you know he’ll eventually follow. Follow he does and if he wasn’t so distracted by the way your hips swish while you walk, he’d have noticed the teasing smirks Natasha and Wanda give each other as you both leave.

When the two of you slip into the floor’s bathroom, you shut the door behind you and immediately kneel down to fetch the first aid kit from beneath the sink. “Sit, Buck.” You order.

Wordlessly, he finds himself obeying and plopping down on the closed toilet seat lid. His eyes are trained on your every move, finding it difficult to look anywhere else, as you shut the cabinet and rummage through the kit searching for the proper materials.

It’s one of those moments where he doesn’t feel as if he needs to say anything—most of the time he spends with you is like that. You’d don’t expect him to converse or entertain because sometimes, merely sitting in silence with him is enough. It’s comfortable and equally as rich as any conversation would be.

Ripping open an alcohol wipe, you narrow your gaze at the feeling of his eyes on you. Your lips curl up at the corner sweetly. “What?” You ask, your voice gentle.

“Nothin’.” Bucky blinks, shaking his head. “You don’t have to, y’know? More than capable of cleaning it myself.”

You smile even more at his relentlessly headstrong mindset. “Would you? Remember last time you got hurt on a mission?“

At the time, Bucky didn’t tell anyone his non-metal arm was in pain for days because he simply didn’t feel like burdening them with his problem. It only came to your attention when you accidentally brushed his shoulder in the kitchen, and he flinched—just a tiny twitch, barely noticeable.

But you’d noticed. You always seem to notice.

You scolded him for not telling anyone he’d been hurting and then again for not taking care of it properly himself. Then you dragged him into the medical room to wrap it up comfortably, much to his chagrin.

Now, sitting across from you again, he nods slowly. “Yeah,” he mutters, brushing his thumb over the cut on his cheek. “I remember.”

Quickly, you lightly smack his hand down so he can’t touch it before shifting over to stand in front of him. “Exactly, so let me do this for you, yeah?” He doesn’t have time to answer because then you’re holding up the alcohol wipe in front of his face. “This might sting.”

Bucky doesn’t so much as flinch when you press the wipe against his cut, but finds your warning endearing anyways. He’s more focused on the way you position yourself in between his spread open legs and lean down to get a better look at his cut.

“How hard did Sam kick you in your face?” You let out a small chuckle, the noise echoing off the walls of the bathroom. “He mad at you or something?”

The corners of Bucky’s lips threaten to curl up at your comment. “I took the last pancake Wanda made this morning, that might be it.”

You smile, laughing breathily as you reach over to grab some antiseptic cream from the first aid kit. “Makes sense. I would’ve kicked you in the face too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, watching you unscrew the lid to squeeze some onto your fingertip. “Oh, would you have?” When you nod, he hums. “I think I would’ve preferred a kick in the face from you instead of him anyway.”

Pursing your lips, you tilt your head teasingly. “Don’t let him hear you say that, Barnes. He might think I’m taking his spot as your best friend.”

“He’d never recover.” Bucky grins, but stills to a silence when you place your fingers on his cheek lightly.

His attention drifts up to your face, observing the way that your eyebrows knit together softly and lips twist in focus. You’re close to him now, so much so that he can smell your cherry perfume and he wonders how it’s managed to stay on despite having just returned from practice.

When his head tilts too far up as he looks at you, you gently grab his jaw and guide his head back down. The action is small, but sends a course of shivers down his spine, a feeling so rare and one he only ever experiences with you.

He doubts you know the effect you have on him. After all, he’s been trying his absolute hardest to conceal these newfound and confusing emotions until he can begin to understand them himself.

He knows something is off, though, when he catches himself smiling as your loud laughter echoes through the walls of the Tower during your and Natasha’s weekly movie nights, or when he wakes up early for coffee and finds you already in the kitchen, packing Peter a lunch for school with a bright smile on your face.

It’s the little things you do—like saving him a spot at the dinner table, handing him a fresh towel before he can even ask on sparring days, or patching up his wounds despite his grumpy protests—that make him worry he’s developing feelings no friend should have. It terrifies him, truly. But he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t feel good all the same.

You unwrap a butterfly bandaid and lay it carefully on his cheek, leaning your head back to admire your hard work. “Lookin’ good. Keep this with you,” You hold the antiseptic cream for him to take. “And put it on everyday so it doesn’t scab.”

Bucky takes the bottle from your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against your soft ones. “Yes ma’am.” He answers yet doesn’t get up from where he sits.

Suddenly, you become hyper-aware of the position you find yourself in—you’re still in between his legs and he’s still looking up at you like he can’t bear to pry his eyes away. It’s compromising and oddly intimate in a way you can’t determine if you like or hate, yet the warmth you feel in the pit of your stomach is answer enough.

“All done.” You remind him, your voice coming out more quiet than you intend.

A sudden tension seems to wash over the room as Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“Right,” He nods, then faster than you can register, he’s pushing himself to a standing position. His eyes are on you the entire time he rises, towering over you to look down with an expression you can’t quite decipher—one that makes your knees feel wobbly. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Your name sounds rich on his tongue like saying it is sacred to him. It makes your heart thump in your chest. “Anytime, Buck.”

The way you look up at him, through your softly kitted eyebrows, makes Bucky hesitate. His stare quickly travels across your face like trying to memorize it in its close proximity. His focus lands on your lips before flickering back up to your eyes. Now he’s aware of just how much he’d like to kiss you and just how much he probably shouldn’t.

You open your mouth to say something when a knock at the door interrupts, snapping your attention away from each other. You clear your throat, stepping back and increasing the distance between the two of you. Bucky hates how it feels colder without you close to him.

“Hey guys!” A squeaky voice belonging to Peter Parker echoes from the other side. “Sorry if you’re busy in there or something, but I really have to go and Vision’s fixing the elevator so I really don’t wanna have to run all the way upstairs!”

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. “We’re all done in here, Pete.” You turn to Bucky, offering him a sweet smile, back to your usual demeanor. “Don’t get kicked in the face again, ‘kay?”

His grin widens and with a nod of his head, he responds. “Not unless it’s by you, remember?”

You purse your lips to prevent your smile from stretching, then swing the door open. Bucky’s eyes are only trained on you as you walk, even when a desperate Peter runs inside and shoos him away with intentional shoves.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Everything was on fire. Quite literally.

The mission the team is on has gone sideways fast and now, all that matters is getting out of there. The extraction SUV comes into view just beyond the crumbling warehouse gates, engine revving as the back doors fly open.

“Move! Move! Move!” Steve barks into comms as he sprints towards the vehicle.

Natasha is right behind him, dragging a limping Sam who’s still cracking jokes through gritted teeth. You and Bucky follow close behind with Peter in tow—grounded and grumbling without any buildings to swing from. Natasha helps get Sam into the backseat before joining Steve in the front, which means the rest of you are to squeeze.

“You first, Pete!” You order and he obliges, quickly shoving himself inside.

Bucky follows suit and once he’s sat, he turns back, motioning for you to come in.

Your fingers grip the edge of the door, glancing around inside the car at the lack of seats left. Craning your neck behind you, you watch as more explosions occur and enemies emerge, dead-set on the car that you can’t get inside of. “Fuck! Guys, there’s no more room!”

“What?” Peter shouts. “Sam, why couldn’t you have flown?”

“I’m injured, you little asshole!” Sam hisses back.

“What do I do?” You emphasize. “Seriously, there’s—”

“There’s room.” Bucky speaks up.

You blink. “Where?!”

He doesn’t answer but instead, grabs your wrist and pulls. You yelp as he tugs you into the car, the door slamming shut behind you. You barely have time to process that you’re safely inside before the car peels away from the curb with a screech.

Then you realize, you’re in his lap—legs draped over his, your weight settling against him as the car jostles over cracked pavement. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist, holding you steady and secure. Suddenly, there’s no space or distance. Just you and him.

You freeze and so does he.

Nat’s arguing with Tony over comms, snapping at him to tell F.R.I.D.A.Y to reroute traffic. Steve chimes in every few seconds, telling them both to calm down, but he’s way too focused on weaving through cars like a getaway driver. Beside you, Peter’s whining about Sam’s wing-pack jabbing into his side, but Sam just grits his teeth and tells him to quit complaining.

It’s complete chaos in the car but Bucky? He doesn’t hear any of it.

Because you’re right there, pressing up against him in a way that makes it hard for him to breathe, a pressure blooming tightly in his throat. One of your hands clutches the side of his vest, knuckles brushing against his chest as you stabilize yourself for the wobbly car ride. Your face is close—almost too close—and you have to duck your head slightly, settling into a stomach churning position near his shoulder and jaw. For a second, he thinks he can feel the warmth of your breath against his neck and suddenly, every bump in the road is utter torture.

“I’m sorry,” He mutters, his voice low. “It was the only option.”

You nod quickly, trying to brush it off like this wasn’t the closest the two of you have ever been—like it wasn’t physically compromising in a way that makes your head pulse. “Yeah, I get it. It makes sense. Practical.”

Practical. Right.

Heat radiates off of your body as you adjust yourself on top of him, sinking into his lap like some cruel test of his self control.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles, his voice just above a whisper, reserving the question for only the two of you.

“Yes.” It’s the only word you manage to get out, too distracted by the way his fingers curl around your waist—grounding and almost possessive. He squeezes you closer with each sharp turn Steve takes, like holding you in place steadies something inside of him too.

Bucky swallows hard and risks a glance at you. There’s a smudge of dirt on your jaw and a thin line of blood on your lip from where it somehow split during combat. Your chest rises and falls with exhaustion, cheeks flushed and eyes still burning with adrenaline. And yet, despite it all, you look unbelievably gorgeous, like the chaos has only made you even more breathtaking.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, though his eyes have already scanned you twice for any injuries.

“No, I’m alright.” You answer, fingers fiddling with the edge of his utility vest out of what he assumed to be nerves with no place to go.

He nods but then pauses the moment your eyes flicker up to meet his. There’s a major shift in the air and for what feels like minutes, everything else fades away—the rambunctiousness of the car, the shouting from your teammates, the smell of smoke and metal from the mission. It stills to a stop.

Because you’re looking at him like you might feel it too; the same sensation he’s been drowning in for months whenever he’s around you.

And in that moment, Bucky Barnes wants to kiss you more than he’s wanted to do anything in years. Maybe ever. There you are; warm, gentle and in his lap like it’s normal, like your bodies were meant to be this close together. It sends a heatwave through his body that he supposes can only dissipate when his lips meet yours.

Then, Peter accidentally elbows him in his side while he argues with Sam, and Bucky is robbed of that idea as quickly as he obtains it.

“Are you,” You say, eyes flickering over his face like he might disappear if you don’t look hard enough. “Okay?”

“I’m fine.” He nods, assuringly but you can read it all over his face. There’s something there—something heavy and sincere—so similar to the pulsing you’re experiencing in your own chest.

Bucky leans back, putting some distance between the two of you, though it’s extremely difficult both physically and mentally. His gaze locks outside the car window, focusing on the trees as they pass instead of the way your eyes still fixate on him. More than he could ever admit, he wants to reach out, pull you closer, and press his lips to yours. But this wasn’t the time, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for something so real, so permanent.

So instead, he holds himself back and swallows the feeling.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You’re confident you don’t need to look at the recipe, but the more you mix the contents of your bowl, the more it looks suspicious.

The dough is too sticky, and there’s definitely more flour on your crewneck than there is in the bowl. You’re starting to think that you somehow missed a step while you were jamming out to the music playing from the small speaker in the kitchen of the Tower. However, you persevere, determined to manifest your grandmother’s chocolate chip cookie magic through sheer force and determination.

Over the quiet music and your own soft humming, you don’t notice the sound of someone entering the kitchen until a sudden shift in the air draws your attention. Your eyes flicker up and meet his electric blue ones.

Bucky stands in the doorway, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie with hair still damp from the shower. There’s tiredness in his face, sure, but also something tender—deep in the way that he looks at you. It was almost as if seeing you here, bobbing your head to the music on the radio and mixing the contents of the bowl like you’re in your own little world, was the first time he allowed himself to breathe all day.

“Heard you were making cookies.” He says, his voice gruff with sleep.

“Who said?” You smile, mixing your dough again in hopes that it would make it better.

Bucky steps closer, moving to stand on the opposite side of the island to you. “Steve,” He answers. “Said I’d better check on you before you burn the kitchen down with yourself inside of it.”

You let out a playful scoff, rolling your eyes. “Just for that, he doesn’t get any.”

Bucky grins, leaning against the countertop and examining the situation before him. There’s powder all over the table and ingredients sprawled about that he isn’t entirely sure you even need for chocolate chip cookies. His eyes trial up to you and your pajamas that display remnants of your mixture. Not only that but there are splotches of flour on your cheeks, and when he looks up at the top of your head, some there too.

He lets out a small chuckle at the sight and the noise has you glancing up at him briefly. “What?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Didn’t know chocolate chip cookies were this messy. You’ve got flour all over your face, Doll.”

Your hand instinctively flies up to wipe it away, swiping at your cheek blindly.

“That made it worse.” He squints, sympathetically.

You shrug, not caring much about how you looked in front of the soldier. “A little mess is the price I’m willing to pay for these cookies,” You say at the same time you suddenly realize what’s missing from your recipe. “Hey, since you’re here, can you do me a favor?”

He hums, the noise rumbling from the back of his throat and sounding oddly attractive to your ears.

“Could you find me the chocolate chips? I’m sure they’re somewhere in that cabinet.” You ask, nodding in the direction of one of the top shelves.

Bucky, who is positive he’ll do anything you ask of him, pushes himself off of the counter to walk over towards the cabinets. “Don’t tell me you started making the cookies before you checked if we even have chocolate chips.”

You shrug, sprinkling a little more flour into your bowl. “I was choosing to be optimistic.”

He rummages around before effortlessly grabbing a bag of chocolate chips from the highest shelf. Then he’s walking over to you, joining you on your side of the table to pass you the bag and smile at your workspace. “These are gonna be quite the cookies, huh?”

“Family recipe.” You nod confidently, opening the bag to drop plenty of chocolate chips into your mixing bowl. Bucky watches as you stir, your eyebrows knitting together in concentration. “Wanna taste?”

His shoulder brushes against yours as you turn to him, holding the bowl up to his face. It smells delicious and with how excited you are, he can’t exactly resist. “Sure.”

Your eyes follow him as he swoops his index finger into the bowl, runs it around the edge to collect stray dough and pops it into his mouth. Then slowly and almost absentmindedly, he licks the dough off of his finger.

His eyes flick up to yours, catching you mid-stare. You try to play it off, try not to let the warmth rising in your chest crawl all the way to your cheeks. It’s just cookie dough and just Bucky—your very handsome teammate casually doing something that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“Good?” You ask, and your voice is a little too light to be natural.

He hums, nodding. “Very.”

In satisfaction, you quirk your chin up and will yourself to turn away from him, no longer able to dwell on how horribly good he looks beneath the yellow light of the kitchen.

“You need my help?” He asks, watching you reach into a cabinet for a baking sheet.

You knit your brows, shaking your head. “Oh, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, his metal hand glimmering in a way that makes your stomach twist, and he takes the sheet from your hands. “I want to.”

You can’t find words to say as he immediately gets to work scooping the dough into balls and placing them on the tray, so you murmur a simple, “Thank you” and twist around to occupy yourself with cleaning your mess.

The kitchen falls into a domestically relaxed quiet, save for the sound of you doing the dishes and Bucky organizing the cookies on the sheet with an adorably concentrated precision. Every once in a while, you glance over your shoulder to get a glimpse of him as he rolls. Unknowingly to you, he does the same—twisting around when you aren’t looking to furrow his brows in admiration.

After you finish the dishes, you wipe your hands off on a dishrag and make your way back to the island where Bucky works. With a mindless grin, you lean against the counter, arms crossed as you watch him with your head in your palm.

There’s something about it—the sight of Bucky Barnes rolling cookie dough in his pajamas, damp strands of hair falling into his face as he leans over the counter. The notoriously brooding man had stepped into the kitchen wearing the softest smile, his hands now moving with a kind of gentleness, like the dough was a treasure you’d entrusted him with.

You can’t help but watch, hoping your heart-eyes aren’t as visible as you imagine they are in your head.

His gaze flickers to you, a small smile threatening to tear at the sides of his lips under the pressure of your attention. “You alright?”

You blink and nod, but don’t shy away. “I’m fine. Jus’ thinking.”

His head tilts in curiosity as he finishes rolling the last cookie. “About what?”

“About how no one would believe me if I told them Sergeant Barnes was helping me make chocolate chip cookies.” You purse your lips playfully.

Bucky raises his eyebrows, carrying the cookie tray to the oven with his metal hand and placing it on the rack. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of many talents.”

“Hmm,” you nod. “And baking is one of them?”

“Kinda had to be,” He straightens up and gives you a crooked smile, dusting his hands off. “My sister always made me bake with her every Sunday night—said I was useless unless I was mixing the batter. She’d dance around the kitchen to the music from the radio, and boss me around like she ran the place. I got pretty good at it after a while.”

You smile, fighting with your insides to keep them from turning to mush. “That’s sweet.”

For a moment, he just looks at you as if he’s seeing a piece of that memory reflected in you, like something about this moment brings it back to life in the gentlest way. It’s delicately warm and wonderfully familiar, feeling like home in a way that means the world to him.

His smile softens briefly like he’s letting himself sit in it, in you, in the quiet comfort of something good. Then, with a small huff that sounds suspiciously like fondness, he shakes his head. “Don’t go spreadin’ that around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain here.”

You grin, eyes sparkling mischievously. “How’d you know? I was actually planning on leaving a note next to the cookie plate,” You say, motioning in the air with your hands. “‘Rolled by James Buchanan Barnes. Carefully. With love. Lots of it.’”

Bucky rolls his eyes at your response, but grins anyway. “Cause you’ve got a big mouth, that’s how.”

You scoff, hand against your chest in offense. “Excuse me?”

Bucky’s face doesn’t budge. It’s flat and neutral as he says, “You heard me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jerk.”

Then without thinking, you dip your hand into the nearby flour jar—fingers curling around the soft powder—and flick it towards his chest in one swiftly impulsive motion. A white puff blooms across the dark fabric of his hoodie that he stares down at in a stunned silence.

You cover your mouth, a soft laugh slipping past it before you can even help it.

“Really?” He says.

You open your mouth to say something but then Bucky moves suddenly, reaching for the flour with a speed that ignites your fight or flight instincts.

“Alright, then.” He tilts.

You yelp, bolting around the kitchen island as he grabs a handful. “Bucky, no—”

“You started this.” He teases, following you in a confident sort of chase.

Circling the counter again, you attempt to increase the distance but as you round the far side, a cloud of flour explodes against your back.

“Hey!” You exclaim, eyeing the streak of white powder covering your crewneck.

Bucky just smirks, eyebrows raised in mock concern so in return, you reach into the flour jar again, desperate to get him back.

And for a sincere moment, the kitchen fills with laughter—yours bright and effortless; his, rough and warm, in a way it hasn’t been in years. For a full minute, nothing else exists but the sound of feet padding against the tiled floor as flour flies across the air in a ridiculous food fight. You’re both smiling like complete idiots despite the mess you’re making and Bucky realizes, suddenly and quietly, that this might be the happiest he’s been in a long time.

You lunge forward to circle the table again but this time, instead of running away from him, you run past him. It’s a drive-by attack, your arm shooting out as you pass to sprinkle flour directly onto his head.

A satisfying puff coats his dark hair and you let out a laugh of success. You attempt to make a run for it but then his fingers wrap around your wrist and in one fluid motion, he gently tugs you back towards him. Faster than you can process, your body spins around and your chest collides directly with his own.

Your feet stumble to a stop.

The both of you still.

Your head tilts up but his gaze is already on yours, staring at you with a longing look you only wish you can decipher.

Yet, before either of you can say anything, he lifts his hand and drops a handful of flour on the top of your head. The powder puffs out, sprinkling over your forehead and acting as glitter on your eyelashes.

Your mouth parts in shock, and Bucky, he’s grinning like he’s just won first place. “Got you.”

“You cheater.” You huff at the same time flour trickles from your hair in a silly fog of smoke onto the two of you.

He laughs, deep and sincere. “We didn’t establish any rules.”

You try to glare up at him but suddenly, you’re entirely hyper-aware of his hand that still holds your wrist gently, keeping you tucked against him. You swallow, eyes flickering across his face like you were trying to determine if he felt it too—that warmth pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

Some quiet song hums low from the kitchen speaker, delicate and slow, the kind of melody that makes everything feel like it’s moving in slow motion.

“You good?” He tilts his head, smiling crookedly.

His voice is too close, too gruff, that you almost melt into a puddle on the kitchen floor.

“Fine,” You say, the word coming out a lot quieter than you intend it to. “You win.”

Suddenly, Bucky gets trapped in the sincerity you watch him with. Your eyes are soft, puppy-like almost—wide and searching as they stare at him like they’re trying to figure him out without saying a word. Surely you don’t mean to, but he’s not positive he can handle the way you peer up with knitted eyebrows of velvety vulnerability. They’re gentle, so much so that it nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

A guttural ache curls at his insides, burning with a longing desire that he doesn’t know how to put out. For a split second, he thinks about leaning in to close the distance that is so obviously being pulled taut, like an invisible string, between the two of you. And in that same second, he thinks he might read it on your face too.

Would it be so horrible if his lips met yours beneath the gentle light of the Tower’s kitchen; where flour coats the counters, and your eyelashes, like snow. Where your laughter lingers in the air like a song he heard once and could never get enough of. Where the smell of warm, chocolate chip cookies in the oven dances around you and makes you feel like home. Would it be so terrible to give in to something so soft, so tender?

Bucky isn’t sure but, god, he wants to. He’s wanted to, for as long as he can remember. And he almost does.

Until his grip loosens and the weight of who he is pulls him back down to earth from the clouds you have him floating in.

His hand slips from your wrist and just like that, the window of opportunity passes. For a beat, he thinks he catches a glimpse of disappointment in those eyes of yours but then he’s forcing himself out of it, clearing his throat free of the tension and words he doesn’t say.

“I’ll check on the cookies.” He says, coming off confidently like usual, though he was far from it.

“Good idea.” You nod, far too quickly for it to be casual. “Don’t want them to burn and have everyone know Bucky Barnes isn’t as good at baking as he says he is.”

He smiles, the flutter stuck in his chest like the smoke after a flame is put out.

“They won’t burn,” He tilts his head. “Not when they were rolled carefully with love. Lots of it.”

And just like that, you’re back—the two of you falling into that easy, mutual rhythm as if the longing stares and gentle touches mean nothing. You move around each other like you always have, in that seamless and unspoken way despite the unsaid that lingers. It hovers, just beneath the surface waiting for one of you to finally put a name to it.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It was supposed to be a low-level recon mission at a nearby Hydra facility—one where the team got in and out with no problem. No combat. Just surveillance and intel retrieval. Easy enough for you, Natasha, and Sam to handle on your own. The rest of the team had stayed behind to run tactical. It was one of those missions—quick, clean, no surprises.

Except something did happen. And now, no one can reach you.

“It was an ambush,” Natasha’s voice says through comms, sharp with static and urgency. “We didn’t see them coming.”

The facility had been more than just abandoned—it was bait. Seconds after infiltration, the place locked down, alarms blared, and drones swarmed the exits. A blast took out part of the structure, and in the chaos, the three of you got separated.

“Nat,” Steve speaks through the comms after a few minutes pass, his voice calm despite the circumstances. “Have you found each other yet?”

It takes a second but then Nat’s voice is echoing through the speaker. “I’m with Wilson but we can’t find Y/N. She’s still not responding to us on comms.”

Bucky leans against the control panel, his jaw clenched in worry. Guilt washes over his body in a wave because before you’d left, he insisted on going with you all. Something about the idea of you walking into an ex-hydra base, even one that’s been shut down for years, didn’t feel right to him. Yet you’d insisted he stayed.

“I’ll be fine, Barnes.” You had said.

“I don’t trust it.” He responded.

Placing a gentle hand on his metal arm, you continued. “Just trust me.”

So he did and while he’d never doubt your ability to take care of yourself, he’s more mad at himself for knowing something was suspicious about the ex-Hydra base and letting the three of you go alone anyways.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Tony’s voice breaks Bucky out of his head. The Stark man sits across from Steve, observing the map and the way your location has been pinging in the same spot for the past five minutes. “Any intel on Y/N’s location or activity from her suit?”

miss y/n’s current location cannot be updated. her suit appears to have lost connection.

Bucky watches in real time as your location on the map flashes red before blinking away completely.

“Fuck!” He growls, slamming his fist down on the table before backing away, pacing like the movement might ease him of the frustration coiled in his chest.

Steve glances at his best friend, jaw tight. He understands the anger, he feels it too, but knows better than to try and talk Bucky down. Instead, he turns back to comms and speaks, low but urgent, “Nat, her location has gone off the grid completely. Any sign of her?”

“No! We can’t,” Natasha’s voice comes out in a panic before static ensues. It takes a moment amidst all of the chaos before she speaks again, “We can’t find her! Steve, the building’s gonna collapse, we’ve got to get out of here!”

With those words, Bucky’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest, sudden and harsh like the drop on a roller coaster. “No.” He says, his voice loud and stern as he approaches the panel and leans over Steve to speak to Natasha himself. “You’re not leaving without her.”

“Buck.” Steve glances up at him.

“Her location last said she was in the building.” Bucky presses his index finger against the map. “If it collapses and she’s—”

“Hey,” Steve says more firmly, turning towards his friend. “We don’t know that she’s still in there.”

“We don’t know that she’s not!” Bucky’s voice rises before he can stop it, words tearing out of him louder than he means, but the release feels necessary.

“Steve,” Sam speaks through his earpiece. “We’ve scoured the entire building, Redwing too—nothing. The damn ceiling’s gonna fall!”

“What if they took her?” Bucky proposes, standing up to run a hand over his head in worry. It’s not an idea far out the picture, after all, Bucky knew a lot about how capable they were of doing so.

Steve rubs his forehead. He knew there was a chance Bucky was right. While you were more than capable of holding your own, he also understood the dangerous of you being forced to fend yourself off against a bunch of ex-Hydra operatives.

Steve’s silence might be enough to send Bucky into a full on crash-out. He can feel the anxiety coursing through his body—knowing that you’re out there by yourself, surrounded by the same people who once broke him. It’s a fear unlike anything he’s experienced before and when that thought hits, it doesn’t feel like a freight train, but something worse.

His whole life, Bucky had endured so much that pushing people away became the only way to keep them safe—from both the people that hurt him and himself. He hadn’t allowed himself comfort, hadn’t dared to reach for happiness because deep down, he didn’t feel he deserved it. And worse, he feared those who did veer close enough would come out exactly as he had.

But you—in all your warmth and kindness—had somehow snuck through the cracks in his armour and settled into his soul. He couldn’t keep himself away from you, no matter how much he tried. Sometimes, it made him feel selfish to want you as much as he did. You were good, far too good to be crushed under the burdens he carried. Yet, you had a way of imprinting yourself into his heart, where the damage was irreversible and Bucky hadn’t done a single thing to stop you.

And now, he is living that consequence.

He’s prepared to rain hell on anyone who might’ve taken you, who might’ve hurt you. With clenched fists, he readies himself to go out there and search for as long as it takes just so he can bring you home.

But then Sam’s comms crackle. “Guys! I think we found her!”

Bucky perks up, as Steve and Tony share glances of hope. They gather around the panel, waiting for Sam to speak up again or for your location to flash back on.

“Guys, we found her!” Sam shouts, his voice filled with relief. “We’re—”

But then his comms disconnect. Urgently, Steve tries to get back in contact with them, any of them, but it’s radio silence.

Bucky doesn’t know whether to be thankful or even more worried, and the knot in his stomach remains tight the entire time the tower awaits your return. They spend thirty minutes monitoring Sam and Natasha’s location as it maneuvers through the city, just hoping they’re coming back with you.

It feels like the longest wait Bucky has ever had to endure, like time was moving slowly just to fuck with him. He sits on a chair in the corner, leaning his hand back against the wall as his knee bounces up and down anxiously.

Then Tony speaks. “They’re back.”

Bucky looks up, eyes set on the map where Sam and Natasha’s location is pinned at the Avengers Tower. Without thinking, he pushes himself off of his chair and marches out of the control room. Tony and Steve are right behind him as he storms straight towards the elevators to greet you downstairs himself, but just as he enters the living room, the elevator door dings on their floor.

He blinks and there you are, limping in with Sam at your side and Natasha rushing into the kitchen to fill you up a glass of water.

Bucky freezes, observing the many scratches and scrapes on your face. Your suit is disheveled, reflecting a battle you seem to have clearly put up. For some reason, he can’t move. He just stands off to the side, watching with a distant expression.

Steve rushes over to your other side, though you insist you’re fine, and he and Sam guide you to sit on the couch. You hiss in pain as you do so, clutching your hip where you’d injured it during the collapse. Natasha makes her way over with the water cup, handing it to you and you drink it down almost immediately.

“We need to get you checked.” Natasha orders.

“No,” You say, shaking your head quickly. “I mean, yes but I just need a minute, just to catch my breath, please.”

Steve’s eyes flicker up to Bucky, who’s standing to the side like he’s afraid to get too close. He can see the longing on his best friend’s face, all of the unspoken words that are threatening to spill over the surface if he doesn’t say them soon.

“You two mind telling us what happened?” Steve turns to Natasha and Sam who nod almost instantly. Then he looks back at you and with a much softer voice, asks. “You gonna be alright for a bit?”

At his worry, your lips curl up into a weak smile—your attempt at lifting a weight off their shoulders. “Why? You wanna stay to babysit me?”

A few of the others let out small laughs, your usual positive attitude giving them some relief. All but Bucky, whose jaw clenches with a feeling he can’t determine.

Everyone moves to head towards the meeting room, leaving you on the couch to lean your head back in exhaustion. As they walk, Steve claps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder with a look that says, “If you don’t tell her now, I will.”

Soon, the team is out of the room, and it’s just you and Bucky remaining. You feel his presence before you look up to see him, but when you do, you’re met with devastated eyes that tell you just how much your absence has bothered him.

With a head tilt, your raspy voice speaks, “Buck—”

“You scared the shit out of me.” He admits faster than you can process. His words hang in the air, tension suddenly pulsing through the walls of the tower.

“I’m sorry,” You say. “The blast knocked me out and when I got up, I tried to radio but it crushed my earpiece.”

Bucky remains silent for a beat, but you can tell his brain is running a mile a minute. “They could’ve taken you.”

“They didn’t.” You answer, with a small shrug.

“They could have.” He emphasizes.

“But they didn’t.” You say honestly but gently, understanding how jarring this must’ve been for him considering his history. “I mean, I think,” You pause. “I think they tried to. I fought them off though, I took care of it. I don’t even think they were really a match for me.”

Your attempt at lightening the conversation doesn’t go unnoticed, and for a second, the ends of his lips twitch like he wants to smile, before dropping back to an unreadable expression.

To say you feel horrible would be an understatement. It wasn’t your fault—both of you know that—but it rattled him nonetheless. Even now, he’s staring at you like you’re some half-pretend haze in his mind, like he’s not sure if you’re even real.

With a deep breath, you start to push yourself off the couch, wobbling under the weight of pain and imbalance. Bucky is at your side in an instant leaning down to help. His hands find your hips with practiced care, gentle and respectful, as he helps guide you upright.

“What’re you doing?” He asks.

“Standing so I can talk to you.” You answer, wincing a bit as your back straightens but ultimately relaxing your shoulders once you meet his weary eyes.

“How badly are you hurt?” Bucky says, gaze examining you in your entirety, hands never leaving your hips as if he was afraid you’ll disappear once he lets go.

“My back’s sore, and I’m pretty sure I tore something in my hip but it’s alright.” You answer, your hands clutching his arms to stabilize yourself though you feel perfectly okay to stand on your feet. He doesn’t seem convinced and you duck your head to catch his gaze better. “I’m fine, Buck, see. I’ll be okay.”

Bucky is focused on the scrapes on your cheeks, resisting the urge he has to lift his finger and brush against them.

You’re okay.

He tries to remind himself—You’re standing in front of him talking, smiling, breathing. You’re okay. For a second, he almost can’t understand why he’s still so shaken up, until his eyes meet yours and everything makes sense.

“I thought I lost you.” He speaks before he thinks, the words slipping from his mouth like it takes all of his energy just to mutter.

Your own breath seems to get lodged in your throat because suddenly, you have no idea what to say. Despite its sadness, his admission feels like a swarm of butterflies is fluttering against the insides of your stomach—warm and fuzzy.

The way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters to him beneath the soft light of the Tower’s living room, nearly makes your legs give out underneath you. You clutch onto his arms tighter, fighting how deeply you wish to tug him against you.

Your mouth opens like you want to say something but then you close it with a shake of your head. Seconds pass of the two of you only holding each other’s gaze before you work up the courage to mumble out a response.

“I’m here.” Your voice is quiet, just above a whisper.

Bucky feels it before he can even process it—that warmth flooding his chest in an overwhelming way only you’re capable of causing. It’s a twist deep in his core that somehow makes him feel light on his feet, and suddenly, the only thing of any importance is your gentle eyes as they blink up at him.

He’ll hate himself forever if he doesn’t take this opportunity—if he lets his fear of vulnerability control him any longer. Bucky Barnes has wanted to kiss you so many times, and all of those times have ended with him pulling away because comfort and love are things he’s been robbed of for years—things he doesn’t feel like he deserves.

But god, he wants it, and he wants you. More than you can even begin to comprehend.

With a singular blink, and a desire strong enough to destroy buildings, he’s moving to close the distance.

You almost don’t realize it’s happening until his mouth meets yours with a feverish want.

Undeniably, you’ve dreamt of this moment for as long as you can remember—Bucky’s lips against yours, your bodies pressed together closely. You’d almost believe you’re dreaming if not for the feeling of his warm fingertips at the skin on your hips. Your eyes flutter shut and your arms instinctively move to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

Bucky’s brain becomes a foggy mess the moment you start kissing him back. His hands move from your hips to wrap around your lower back, in an attempt to help you maintain your balance and, at the same time, draw you closer. As your lips move against his, he can’t help but wonder how something so soft can feel so earth-shattering.

You’re both in a daze—one gentle but hungry nonetheless—like you’ve both waited so long for this moment and now that it’s finally happening, all other problems cease to exist.

As much as you hate it, you pull away for air. Breathlessly, your eyes scan his pupils that you swore have grown larger in size since you’ve last looked at them. When your mouth begins curling up into the brightest smile you’re sure has ever graced your face, you lean forward to press a small, gentle kiss to his lips.

Then another one.

And then another one.

And another.

He accepts them happily, almost entirely in disbelief that this is even his reality. His heart thuds hard beneath his ribs, almost like it wants to jump out right out into your hands.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for so long,” You hum against his lips as you press a final kiss to them. When you finally lean your head back, your eyes flicker across his face like maybe you’re making sure this isn’t a dream.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He echoes softly, fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles over the tender part of your back.

“Why didn’t you?” You ask.

He shakes his head, eyebrows free of that constant furrow they always seem to be burdened with. “Thought I had all the time in the world,” His voice is just above a whisper when he adds, “Today showed me that I might not,”

He brings one hand up to your face, placing the back of his index finger carefully against your cheek and brushing over a cut beneath your eye with a delicacy that feels like air.

“I wasted so much of that time already, being scared and holding myself back,” His focus never once leaves you. “I can’t anymore. I just want to spend it with you.”

For a second, you can only pause and wonder if Bucky knows the impact of his words—the very ones he uses so scarcely. They make your skin heat up and it feels as if the throbbing pain in your lower back suddenly dissipates.

“Me too, Bucky.” You breathe, sincerity coating your lips as you smile up at him. In traditional you fashion, your eyes glimmer with a sudden playful tease. “If I knew that’s all it would take, I’d have gotten beat up on a mission a lot earlier.”

Bucky lets out a breathy laugh, allowing himself the joy of grinning. “That’s not a funny joke.”

“It’s a little funny.” You reciprocate, tilting your head at him.

“No, it’s not.” He responds, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

You shake your head softly before leaning in to kiss him again. Bucky melts into it without hesitation, already cursing himself for all the time he spent keeping this at arm’s length. Now that he has it—has you—he can’t imagine ever letting go.

[peterparkive]

hii gorgeous, hope youre doing goodd 💙 i got a request! and you of course do not have to do this, just a little thought i had <3

ive recently been on an fluff/angst spree (love that for me *sighs*) and imagine baby come home 2/valentines (neighbourhood) x call it what you want (taylor swift) x i know you (faye webster)—its a lot, i know, im sorry :(. so, imagine golden retriever!steve x bunny!reader instead of black cat. bear with me 😞

theyve been on and off since catws when he was trying to get used to modern world and got to know reader—how they did so is completely up to you. you dont have to write most things, just to give a backstory. and in post-catws, he expresses himself and keeps apologizing to reader while looking for bucky and all, but still keeping contact and actually lets her in. slightly—just at the surface because this is all so new to him. during aou, specifically after sokovia, steves been training the new recruits and trying to keep things stable with reader. reader is basically sunshine personified—smart but always open and kind-hearted, somehow a softer version of steve. one night, it gets bad for steve. he was too in his head. barely slept, practically lived in the gym at the compound, had nightmares. so he shows up to reader’s place, not much words, but so much was communicated. fast forward to the accords, and steve tries so hard—almost on his knees apologizing and to get her as far from him as possible because he sees himself as danger to her. she refused, and cue call it what you want. then the blip… and you choose what happens.

you obviously do not need to write this request or this as whole, maybe just one part and it doesn’t have to be long. this is just something i locked in with while thinking of and got curious to actually read. have a wonderful day !! 🫶

hii angel!! ohhhhh my god i’m obsessed with this. i’ve been wanting to write for steve so bad and this is actually perfect. and the song choices are so immaculate, might i add. 🤌🏼

i’m working on this right now so please stay tuned for updates on when it’s out! 💟🌟