Heads up that I will be posting about the ATLA movie the DAY it drops because I will be watching it pretty much immediately. I’ll tag spoilers ofc. Basically 👇
Some NSFW tfatws!Bucky Barnes stuff, minors dni, nsfw below the pic u have been warned.
Warnings: most dom!bucky but some subby stuff, oral, p in v, lmk if I missed any
- just thinking about tfatws!bucky rutting into you like a fucking animal. He’s holding you so tight as he fucks you, god knows he needs this.
- He’s so hard and he just fucks you relentlessly, he’ll slow down and do these delicious slow strokes just to get himself to stop from cumming.
- even though he’s going so hard he’s murmuring the sweetest things in your ear, his head either nestled in your neck or his forehead up against yours.
- he’s so endlessly grateful, he can’t explain the bliss he feels during sex, cause it’s not just pleasure, it’s the fact that after so much suffering he gets to feel this way, you let him feel this way.
- he’s amazed you even like him, after everything he’s done.
- but every day it’s something, he’s so tense. He’s always stressed and you can feel it when it’s really bad.
- so when he’s had a particularly rough day you’ll start by coming up behind him and giving him a massage, he’ll almost always give in because his back might as well be a bunch of steel rods and your touch just feels so good.
- but a massage turns into making out turns into fucking
- also I think he’s a munch maybe I’m just romanticizing fictional men but idc.
- because I feel like eating u out would calm him down in a weird way. Like clear his brain. When he can focus on something that feels more simple (like your pleasure), he can feel relaxed and in a way safe. Between your thighs he feels very safe.
- he loves ur thighs.
- loves to lay on them as you run your fingers through his hair. He loves to kiss them, gently bite them. He just thinks they’re so soft and sweet.
- aftercare is incredibly important to him
- taking care of u is taking care of himself because not only does he love u so much and want u to be okay but everything he does is actively making amends, and he likes to feel like he’s being a good boyfriend, that he’s being good for you
He’s such a softie I know he’s like grumpy and stuff but cmon he’s a softie 🥺🥺
Summary: An unexpected pregnancy test forces Bucky and you to confront your deepest fears. Amid silences, doubts, and fears that neither of you can fully articulate, you’ll both discover that starting a family may be the hardest—and most important—battle of your lives.
Tags: Post-TFATWS, Established relationship, accidental pregnancy, miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, fear, trauma, mentions of HYDRA, mentions of abortion, mentions of reader with irregular periods, mentions of Sam, mentions of Bucky working with Sam, Bucky emotionally constipated, Bucky afraid of fatherhood, Bucky crying, reader crying, no y/n, happy ending. My native language isn't English (I apologize if there are any mistakes).
Masterlist.
Notes: Hi! I should really be working on the drafts I have, but this idea just popped into my head and helped me get past a little writer’s block.
You’d been trying to pay attention to Bucky for almost half an hour.
With his usual calm demeanor, he was telling you how that day’s mission with Sam had gone. He talked about a chase that ended sooner than expected, his partner’s constant jokes, and a plan that had gone surprisingly well. You nodded from time to time, even smiled out of sheer habit, but in reality you hadn’t heard half of what he was saying. Your mind was trapped in a single thought that repeated itself over and over, impossible to ignore.
The positive pregnancy test.
The little plastic strip was still tucked away in your sock drawer, as if its mere existence had upset the balance of your entire life. You felt it took up a lot of space, even though it barely took up any at all. Ever since you’d seen it that morning, emotions had swirled inside you in a way that was impossible to sort out: fear, uncertainty, nerves, surprise, and a strange sense of hope that you still didn’t dare to accept.
You had no idea what to do.
During your early dates, the two of you had talked about starting a family. It had been a calm conversation, without arguments or promises. Bucky had admitted that he hadn’t imagined himself as a father and wasn’t even sure he could ever be one; after everything he’d been through, the idea of bringing a child into the world seemed too overwhelming to him. You, for your part, didn’t feel it was the right time either.
And yet, there you were.
Facing a situation neither of you had planned for.
The silence between you began to stretch because you had stopped responding several seconds ago. Bucky finished speaking and waited for a reaction that never came. That was when his senses picked up on what your words weren’t expressing.
Your heart was beating too fast.
The rapid, irregular, and persistent rhythm made him turn his full attention to you. He noticed the slight furrow of your brow, the tension in your jaw, and the way your fingers nervously fiddled with the rim of the cup resting on the table.
His expression changed instantly.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?” he asked in a soft voice, full of concern, as he leaned slightly toward you.
His hand sought yours on the table and gently wrapped around it, giving it a light squeeze, as if to remind you he was there.
That simple gesture finally broke down the barrier you’d been maintaining throughout the conversation.
The words slipped from your lips before you could finish turning them over in your head.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
Time seemed to stand still.
A complete silence settled between you, heavy and almost tangible. Bucky’s eyes widened slowly until they were wide with surprise, as the air left his lungs in a held breath. His fingers trembled slightly around yours, unable to hide the impact of the confession.
You lowered your gaze and let out an unsteady sigh, trying to control the lump that had formed in your throat and the anxiety coursing through every corner of your body.
“I took a pregnancy test because my period was later than usual…” you murmured in a low, tense voice, feeling as though every word required an enormous effort. “I thought it would be a false alarm, but… it came back positive.”
As you finished your sentence, silence once again enveloped the room with an almost suffocating intensity. The world seemed to have come to a sudden halt. Only the sound of their breathing broke the stillness, along with the rapid beating of your heart, which Bucky could still hear with absolute clarity. Each beat revealed the fear you were trying to hide behind a serene expression. They both remained motionless, realizing that a few words had been enough to completely change the course of their lives.
“When…?” he whispered, almost to himself, his gaze lost somewhere on the table.
The question didn’t seem directed at you, but at his own memories.
He looked down as he mentally reviewed every moment of the past few months, trying to find an explanation. Then he remembered. His expression slowly changed until it twisted into a small grimace filled with recognition and regret.
That night.
The only time they had both completely cast caution aside, convinced that nothing would happen, letting themselves be carried away by desire, closeness, and the heat of the moment.
In her memory, that slip had seemed insignificant. Now she realized that just once had been enough.
Her fingers tensed slightly before slipping from yours.
You parted your lips shyly, ready to say something—anything—to break the silence or calm the growing anxiety that was beginning to settle in your chest. You wanted to explain that you didn’t expect an immediate answer, that you didn’t know how to feel either, that the two of you could work it out together.
But Bucky stood up before you could utter a single word.
The movement was so sudden that the chair slid a few inches backward, making a sharp clatter against the floor.
He ran a hand over his face, breathing heavily as he avoided looking directly at you.
“I need some air…” he said in a low voice, though the weight of those four words fell on you like a slab of stone.
There was no anger in his tone, nor rejection, but there was no calm either. Just a confusion so deep that he seemed unable to stay another second within those four walls.
You watched him walk with hurried steps toward the apartment entrance. He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack almost out of habit, without bothering to put it on properly, and opened the door.
For a moment, you thought he would stop, that he would turn his head to say something else or to reassure you.
It didn’t happen.
The door closed behind him with a sharp click that echoed throughout the room.
You stood motionless, staring at the spot where he had disappeared, as silence once again took hold of the apartment. The pressure in your chest increased immediately, and fear began to make its way through all the thoughts you’d been trying to hold back.
☆
The faint blue glow from the TV was the only light in the room you shared with Bucky. Images flashed one after another across the screen, accompanied by the distant voices of a show you’d been trying to follow for over an hour without success.
You were sitting on the bed, your back against the headboard and your legs drawn up to your chest, wrapping both arms around them as if that small gesture could hold you together while you felt everything else beginning to fall apart.
Your eyes remained fixed on the television, but they didn’t really see what was happening on it.
Your mind kept returning to the same place over and over.
The positive test.
Bucky’s expression when you told him.
The way he’d let go of your hand.
And, above all, the door closing behind him.
It had been almost five hours since he left the apartment.
Five hours without a call.
Five hours without a reply to any of the messages you’d sent him with trembling hands—messages that had gone from a simple “Are you okay?” to a worried “Just tell me where you are.”
The phone lay beside you on the sheets, completely silent.
You were worried about him.
You knew that the idea of becoming a father had never held an important place in his life. After everything he’d been through, the decades that had been stolen from him, and the burden he still carried for acts he hadn’t even committed while in his right mind, starting a family seemed like a dream reserved for other people.
He had never told you he didn’t want children, but he hadn’t said he wanted them either.
And now the decision had gone from being a distant possibility to an unexpected reality.
Yet, as you thought about him, it was also impossible not to think about yourself.
About what that new life growing inside your body meant.
About how it would change your future.
About whether you would be able to handle it.
About whether you would be alone.
A lump formed in your throat as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to return.
The only sound that managed to snap you out of your thoughts was the unmistakable turn of a key in the front door lock.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Then came the creak of the door as it opened, followed by the soft thud as it closed again.
And finally, the heavy echo of boots echoing through the apartment.
You lay motionless on the bed, your gaze fixed on the bedroom door, listening as those footsteps moved slowly down the hallway. Each one seemed to last an eternity.
The doorknob turned and the door opened slowly.
Bucky stood in the doorway for a few seconds before entering. For the first time since you’d broken the news to him, his eyes met yours.
Silence settled between you once more.
You couldn’t help but notice the state he’d returned in.
His hair was more disheveled than usual, as if he’d run his hand through it countless times. The shadows under his eyes seemed to have deepened, betraying that he hadn’t found peace during those hours either. His jacket was still on, slightly wrinkled, and his shoulders remained tense.
But what caught your attention most was the expression on his face. There was fear and guilt.
His eyes scanned the room until they settled on the only source of light: the television.
He was silent for a few seconds before speaking, in that deep, restrained voice that barely let his true feelings show.
“You’re going to ruin your eyes like that…”
It wasn’t a rebuke; it was the only everyday thing he could think to say.
He walked over to the light switch and turned on the room’s light.
The warm glow instantly filled every corner.
You winced slightly at the sudden change in lighting and turned your face away a little, too late to hide what was obvious.
Your eyes were swollen and red. Dry tear stains remained on your cheeks.
Bucky stood still, his jaw tightening slightly. He looked down for a moment before looking back at you, as if he’d been struck by a silent blow.
He didn’t say “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t someone who found words easily, but the way he took a deep breath and stood motionless was enough to make it clear that he regretted leaving you alone for those hours.
With slow, measured movements, he took off his jacket, draped it over a nearby chair, and walked over to the bed.
The mattress sank slightly as he sat down beside you, leaving just a few inches between you and turning his back to you.
He didn’t try to touch you, but he didn’t move away either. He simply stayed there, his forearms resting on his legs and his hands clasped, staring at the floor as he searched, unsuccessfully, for the right way to sort through everything going through his head.
Silence settled in again, heavy and uncomfortable. Filled with questions neither of you dared to ask.
Several seconds passed before Bucky slowly exhaled.
“I walked down to the pier…” he murmured without looking up. “Then I kept walking. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere… I just needed my head to stop making noise.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and fell silent again.
“I didn’t answer because… I didn’t know what to say.”
The words came out clumsily, forced, as if each one took an enormous effort.
“And because I was afraid of saying the wrong thing.”
You felt a twinge in your heart and could barely manage a shaky exhale as you watched his back.
“I was never good at this.”
He didn’t specify what he meant, and you weren’t sure what he was referring to either. Maybe he meant talking, feeling, imagining a future, or becoming a father. It was probably all of those things at once.
The distance between you was still just a few centimeters, but the real obstacle wasn’t physical.
Your nails dug lightly into your legs before you began crawling toward him to gently take his chin and make him look at you.
He let you do it, and his eyes finally met yours. That blue you loved so much looked different; there was no anger or rejection, only a deep, silent fear mixed with an uncertainty that seemed to have robbed him of his breath.
For a moment, it seemed to you that you were looking at the soldier who had survived a war, not the man who always found a way to protect you.
You traced the rough line of his beard with your thumb.
“What do you want to do?” you asked in a barely audible whisper.
The question hung between you.
Bucky closed his eyes for a second, and his face twisted into an expression that was hard to read—a bitter mix of guilt, vulnerability, and resignation.
He was fully aware that this decision belonged solely to your body and your life. He also knew that he would never try to push you toward a choice that would benefit him over you. Even if he felt terrified, even if the idea of being a father overwhelmed him.
"I'll support you... whatever you decide." His voice was deep and low, almost hoarse.
It was the only certainty he had amid the chaos.
He paused for a moment longer before adding, almost as if he were struggling to get the words out.
"I don't know if I'll do this right... But I won't let you carry this burden alone."
☆
The next day, the uncertainty was still there.
After a nearly sleepless night, you began to convince yourself that maybe that home test had simply been wrong. After all, even pharmacy tests could yield false positives.
It was a possibility, so you clung to it with all your might.
After discussing it briefly over breakfast—if you could even call a cup of coffee you barely touched and the untouched toast on the plate breakfast—you decided to go to the hospital.
An ultrasound could provide answers almost immediately, and you wouldn’t have to endure the endless wait for a blood test.
When they called your name in the waiting room, your stomach turned instantly.
You stood up, your legs trembling, and without even thinking, you reached for Bucky’s hand and gripped it tightly.
He remained seated for another second, motionless, his back stiff and his gaze fixed on the floor. He seemed unable to force himself to walk through that door, not because he wanted to leave, but because he feared what he might find on the other side.
He stood up and walked behind you after you gently took his hand.
The office smelled just like the rest of the hospital: a clean, pungent mix of disinfectant and antiseptic products. However, the atmosphere was different.
The lights were warmer, and the walls were covered with informational posters about conception, birth control methods, fetal development, and drawings showing the approximate size of a baby week by week.
Your eyes lingered for a moment on each one.
Week 4—Poppy seed.
Week 6—Lentil.
Week 7—Chickpea.
Week 8—Cherry.
Week 9—Olive.
And the weeks and illustrations went on.
The illustrations seemed absurdly small for the enormous change they represented.
You swallowed hard as you clung to Bucky’s hand.
Your fingers were cold, and so were his. The slight tremor in his fingers betrayed that he was just as nervous as you were.
He stood beside you with his shoulders slightly hunched, staring at the floor as if he found it impossible to look up at any of those images. His jaw remained tense.
When the specialist told you to lie down on the examination table, you obeyed with slow movements. You lifted the fabric of your clothes just enough to expose your abdomen.
Moments later, the contact of the cold gel on your skin drew a small, involuntary grimace from you. A shiver ran through your entire body.
Without realizing it, you squeezed Bucky’s hand tighter, and he reacted almost reflexively, interlacing his fingers with yours and holding them firmly.
The careful squeeze of his hand was enough to make you understand that, even though he was still emotionally lost and the words remained stuck in some corner of his chest, he had decided to stay with you until he knew the answer.
The room was enveloped in an expectant silence.
The doctor moved the transducer calmly over your abdomen while watching the screen in front of her intently.
To you, that mass of shadows made no sense at all.
To her, every little change seemed to say a lot.
You felt your breathing start to quicken, and Bucky noticed it instantly.
Without taking his eyes off the monitor, his thumb began to slide slowly across the back of your hand—an almost automatic movement that he probably wasn’t even aware he was making.
It was strange and overwhelming for him.
A man who had survived wars, experiments, and decades of violence was completely defenseless in front of an ultrasound screen.
The doctor remained silent for a few more seconds, and your imagination began to fill in the blanks.
Maybe the test had failed after all.
Maybe your period was just coming soon.
Maybe...
“There it is.”
Her voice interrupted the whirlwind of thoughts.
She pointed to a tiny dot on the screen.
“It’s still very early, but we can see the gestational sac.”
You felt the air leave your lungs.
It wasn’t a mistake.
It wasn’t a false positive.
It was real.
Your eyes remained fixed on that tiny image, trying to understand how something so small could change two people’s lives so completely.
Bucky’s hand tightened around yours.
He didn’t say anything and didn’t even blink; he seemed to be holding his breath.
His gaze remained fixed on the monitor, as if trying to memorize every shadow despite not fully understanding them.
The doctor continued explaining a few things about the estimated gestational age, prenatal vitamins, and the tests that would be advisable to perform over the next few weeks.
Her voice reached you like a distant murmur. Neither of you seemed to be processing much; you just nodded.
At one point, the specialist smiled kindly, already accustomed to all kinds of reactions to this news.
“Would you like to hear the heartbeat?”
You turned your head toward Bucky, who remained completely still.
His eyes stayed fixed on the screen, but for the first time since they’d entered the office, he seemed to lose control of his expression.
He looked completely vulnerable.
And, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head before closing his eyes for a moment.
It wasn’t a “no.” It was someone trying to muster enough courage for something he couldn’t bring himself to say because of the weight of the moment and his fear.
“We… We need to talk about this first,” you murmured, your voice strained by the wave of emotions.
The doctor nodded understandingly, printed out some images, and began wiping the gel from your abdomen before walking over to Bucky’s side, where her desk was.
“It seems to be developing as expected for the sixth week,” she explained calmly. “We’ll schedule another checkup in a few weeks and proceed according to your decision.”
You nodded automatically and slowly sat up on the stretcher.
Bucky remained seated where he was, staring at one of the photographs the doctor had just placed on the desk. He seemed unable to take his eyes off that small gray smudge.
Finally, he stood up and slowly let go of your hand to pick up the image between his fingers with an almost absurd delicacy, as if he were afraid of breaking it. He looked at it for a long moment before carefully putting it away in the folder the doctor had given them along with all sorts of recommendations and informational brochures.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't ask any questions.
He just stayed by your side, supporting you when it seemed like the strength in your legs was about to give out.
☆
The days that followed weren't easy.
Both of you tried to cling to a routine that no longer felt entirely your own, as if pretending nothing had changed might delay the moment of facing reality.
You made a conscious effort to carry on with your usual life. You went to work, tidied the apartment, read, replied to messages, and tried to fill every minute with some activity that would keep your mind occupied. There were moments when you even succeeded. For a couple of hours, you forgot the constant fear that had settled in your chest, the uncertainty about the future, and the enormous decision that was still waiting for you.
But those moments of calm never lasted long; something always came along to bring you back to reality, and anxiety would wash over you like a wave.
Things didn’t seem any easier for Bucky either.
He kept taking on missions with Sam, though not as often as before. He started turning down smaller jobs and heading back to the apartment as soon as operations were over.
He didn’t say why—and probably never would—but it was clear he wanted to be close to you, even if he still didn’t know how to be there for you.
Many times he would sit on the couch while you read in silence. Other times you simply shared the same space without exchanging more than a few words, finding a strange sense of calm in each other’s mere presence.
It was his way of saying he was still there.
There were days when the tension seemed to grant you a respite, and you looked like yourselves again.
You’d curl up on the couch under a blanket to watch a movie neither of you paid much attention to, sharing a bowl of popcorn while Bucky complained about the main character and you ended up laughing at his comments.
Other afternoons, you’d cook together. He would chop vegetables with precision while you tried to steal a piece of carrot from him before it made it into the pan, causing him to shake his head and hide a barely perceptible smile before kissing your forehead.
They even resumed their habit of going for walks around the city. They wandered through familiar streets, small cafes, and parks where time seemed to move more slowly.
For a few hours, they managed to forget... Or at least pretend they did.
But the subject of the baby always found a way to come back.
It would surface when you caught yourself imagining how his life would change if you decided to continue with the pregnancy. When you wondered if Bucky could ever feel happy with that possibility. If the two of you could truly become a family.
It also came up during those walks when you passed a pregnant woman absentmindedly stroking her belly, a father pushing a stroller while a baby slept peacefully inside, or a little hand clutching its mother’s tightly as they crossed the street.
Then your steps would slow, your gaze would linger a few seconds longer, and the weight would settle back onto your shoulders.
Bucky never made any comments or asked what you were thinking, but he always noticed the change. He saw how your smile faded little by little, how your fingers unconsciously sought to rest on your abdomen, and how the sparkle in your eyes dimmed.
He could only walk beside you, keeping silent as he felt that familiar tightness settle in his chest.
The words remained trapped inside him.
He had learned to survive without uttering a single word for far too many years, and now, when he needed them most, they wouldn’t come out either.
The nights were the worst.
There were times when the weight of the decision would end up crushing you.
You’d wait until you were sure Bucky was breathing deeply before carefully slipping out of bed, leaving behind the warmth of the sheets and the arms that, even in his sleep, seemed to reach out for you.
Silently, you walked with the folder in your hands to the dining room and opened it once more to reread every brochure and recommendation with obsessive attention.
You read about prenatal vitamins, nutrition, hormonal changes, and medical checkups. Then you turned to the pages that talked about abortion clinics and the procedure.
You set them aside and always ended up doing the same thing: you held the ultrasound photo between your fingers.
The corners were slightly bent, and the paper had lost some of its stiffness from all the times you’d held it in the early hours of the morning.
You slipped out of bed again and again to look at that blurry image where you could barely make out a tiny white dot.
That was all.
A tiny speck.
And yet, it already occupied every corner of your mind.
What you didn’t know was that those worn corners weren’t just your fault.
Many nights, when he woke up and found your spot empty, Bucky would wait a few minutes before getting up and finding you sitting at the table.
He didn’t interrupt.
He simply returned silently to the bedroom, and when you finally fell back asleep, he was the one who left.
He stood in front of the open folder for minutes, sometimes for over an hour, staring at the same photograph without moving, feeling a fear and vulnerability that were completely foreign to him.
A silent terror that no mission, no battlefield, and no enemy had ever managed to awaken in him.
He never told you that he also looked at that ultrasound.
He never confessed that he already had it etched in his memory.
You sighed softly as you held it between your fingers. With the tip of your index finger, you slowly traced the tiny, barely visible figure on the paper.
According to one of the posters in the doctor’s office, when you found out, it was the size of a lentil. Now it was close to the size of a cherry.
It was a tiny difference, and yet, to you, it meant that time was still moving forward.
For days you’d tried to imagine every possible scenario and had made mental lists, thinking about work, money, the future, fear, Bucky, and yourself.
You’d tried to make a decision based solely on reason, but, for the first time since it all began, you stopped trying to convince yourself of an answer and simply listened to the silence.
Slowly, you brought your hand to your belly, which was still flat. Yet you felt a twinge in your chest at the thought of it being empty by your own choice.
You closed your eyes as you realized that the fear was still there, but it was no longer fear that was guiding your thoughts.
It was something else.
A small, fragile, and hard-to-explain feeling that had been growing almost without your noticing over those days.
It was hope.
Your lips trembled before forming a tiny, almost imperceptible smile, and tears slowly rolled down your cheeks.
They weren’t tears of anguish.
Not entirely.
They were the silent relief of someone who, after weeks of doubt, had finally found an answer.
“I want to get to know you…” you whispered, your voice breaking.
The decision was made.
The fear hadn’t disappeared; it had simply stopped being greater than love.
☆
When the first rays of sunlight began to filter through the bedroom curtains, drawing golden lines across the rumpled sheets, you slowly opened your eyes.
The first thing you saw was Bucky, who was already awake.
He lay on his side, his metal arm resting on the mattress and his elbow bent to support his head in the palm of his hand. He’d been watching you in silence for who knows how long, with that almost hypnotic calm and intensity so characteristic of him, as if while you slept he were trying to read all the thoughts you were never able to put into words.
You blinked a couple of times before letting out a sleepy sigh.
The sound snapped him out of his own thoughts, and his lips curved into a faint, discreet smile—so small that anyone could have easily missed it.
“Good morning, sweetheart…” he murmured in his deep, hoarse voice.
He leaned slowly toward you. First he placed a soft kiss on your cheek, then another at the corner of your lips, and finally a slow, gentle kiss on your mouth.
“Good morning, Buck…” you replied, your voice barely audible against his lips.
For a few moments, everything seemed to return to normal.
It was the same tranquility as any Sunday morning. Those mornings when neither of you was in a hurry to get up and you could spend an hour or even two under the sheets, embracing without saying much, stroking each other’s hair, sharing absent-minded kisses, or simply enjoying each other’s warmth while the world kept moving on outside the windows.
A sanctuary that had always belonged only to the two of you.
But something in your expression made him slowly step back to get a full view of your face. His blue eyes scanned every inch of your face, searching for that look he knew so well.
It was the look you had when you’d already made a decision and were gathering the courage to say it.
The faint trace of his smile vanished.
The silence in the bedroom was broken only by the distant traffic beginning to fill the streets and the soft rustle of the sheets as you slowly sat up. Bucky did the same.
“I know what I want to do…” Your voice came out almost as a whisper.
Bucky barely looked up, and there was something in his expression that broke your heart. He looked like a wounded animal trying to stay still so no one would notice how much pain he was in.
Your fingers sought his, and you wanted to intertwine them as you had so many times before, but he remained still, his hand unmoving.
You took a deep breath and spoke.
“I want to continue with the pregnancy.”
Your words came out soft, firm, and without hesitation, and yet they seemed to strike the air with impossible force.
Bucky remained completely still.
He didn’t respond.
He didn’t pull his hand away.
His expression didn’t change.
He simply sat there in front of you, watching you as if he needed several seconds to grasp the meaning of those five words.
Then he slowly lowered his head, and his lips parted slightly as if to say something, but nothing came out. He tried again, and only a muffled sound escaped.
His throat moved with difficulty as he swallowed, and his chest began to rise with deeper breaths than usual.
Fear had suddenly taken hold of his entire body.
It wasn’t fear of the baby or of the decision you’d made. Because during those days, as he walked with you through the city or lay awake staring at the ultrasound in the middle of the night, he’d discovered a truth he’d never wanted to admit.
He wanted to be a father with you and no one else.
He wanted that pregnancy to continue.
He wanted it more than he ever thought possible.
He wanted to meet that little life.
He wanted to hear that tiny heartbeat at the next appointment.
He wanted to be with you as your belly grew little by little.
He wanted to hold your hand during every checkup and for the rest of his life.
He wanted to try to be better for you and for that little boy or girl.
He had even caught himself imagining a messy room with toys on the floor, little footsteps running through the apartment, and a tiny voice calling them “Mom and Dad” while they both laughed as they prepared dinner.
He had allowed himself to imagine a home.
And that was precisely why the fear was unbearable. He had never longed for anything so intensely since regaining his freedom, and he had never felt such terror at the thought of not being up to the task.
The questions began to crowd his mind, giving him no respite.
What if he didn’t know how to be a father?
What if he wasn’t truly free and one day lost control?
What if his past caught up with them?
What if she deserved a simple life, far from someone like him?
What if her children deserved a different father?
He looked down at his own hands—the flesh-and-blood one and the vibranium one—and studied them as if seeing them for the first time.
He remembered the wars, the orders, the HYDRA labs, the lives he had taken, and the names he could never forget.
When his gaze settled on the gleam of the dark, golden metal, all he could think of was the gray metal with the red star. An unbearable shame squeezed his chest.
How could he imagine holding a newborn with hands that had been used to kill for so long?
How could someone who still woke up some nights convinced he was still a weapon promise protection?
The weight of each of his thoughts kept him frozen and unable to speak—that was why he was silent. It wasn’t because he rejected your decision, but because he accepted it so deeply that fear had left him speechless.
He only returned to reality when he felt your trembling hands encircling his face with infinite tenderness. As he looked up, seeing the tears streaming uncontrollably down your cheeks, something inside him snapped, and an unbearable pressure squeezed his chest.
His silence had lasted so long that you began to interpret that absence of words in the worst possible way. You thought he didn’t agree with your decision, that he could never accept that future... That, sooner or later, you would both end up going your separate ways.
That possibility, reflected in the pain in your eyes, was infinitely more terrifying to Bucky than any of the ghosts he carried with him.
For a moment, all the ghosts of his past fell silent.
Now there was only you, crying in front of him, thinking you were going to lose him.
His breath caught.
He raised a hand with obvious hesitation, as if even that gesture cost him an enormous effort, and ended up covering one of yours that you were holding against his cheek.
His fingers held you with desperate strength, as if he feared you were going to pull it away.
He slowly shook his head.
He tried to speak, but his throat kept closing up long before he could utter a single word.
The inability to speak made him feel more helpless than any enemy he had ever faced.
“No…” he finally managed to say, his voice breaking.
He swallowed with difficulty and looked down for just a second before meeting your gaze again.
“Don’t think that.”
His thumb began to absentmindedly stroke the back of your hand. It was a clumsy, instinctive movement, the same one he made every time he tried to calm you down without finding the right words.
“I don’t want… you to leave.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I want the same thing you do…”
That confession was so quiet it was almost lost amid the noise from outside.
“I’m scared. Really scared.”
He said it plainly, without trying to hide it; it was a brutal honesty that he was finally letting out into the open.
Bucky looked so fragile and vulnerable, until he finally broke down.
His eyes had filled with tears without warning, and a sob welled up from deep within his chest.
His hands wrapped tightly around your waist—but without choking you—as he did his best not to cry like a little child on your shoulder.
You didn’t hesitate for a second to cling to his body as you let yourself cry after all the fear and anxiety that was beginning to dissipate. You could finally feel relief knowing you wouldn’t be alone.
Bucky let out a brief, bitter laugh, filled with disbelief in himself, and shook his head.
“I’ve been imagining it for days,” he confessed, almost ashamed, his voice breaking slightly. “I see you walking around the apartment with the baby in your arms.”
For the first time, a tiny smile appeared on your face through your tears as you heard him.
Bucky looked up fully. His eyes were glistening with small, unshed tears, and there was an obvious, immense fear, but there was also a certainty he was finally ready to voice.
“I want to meet our little one.”
The words hung between you.
Bucky seemed surprised to have said it out loud and without trembling, as if a weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.
“I want to hear his heartbeat at the next appointment.” His lips trembled as a smile full of emotion appeared on his face. “I want to watch him grow…”
His gaze slowly drifted down to your still-flat abdomen, and with reverent slowness, he brought his vibranium hand to rest upon it. The tremor running through his fingers was entirely human.
“And I want to be there when the baby is born.” His voice broke again. “I want to hold him.”
He fell silent for a few seconds to compose himself.
“I still think you deserve better than me.” He admitted in a whisper.
You shook your head quickly. You searched desperately for his gaze as one of your hands reached out to touch his face again, but his metallic fingers gently caught your hand and pressed a kiss against the back of it.
“I’ll probably think that for a while,” he whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. “But I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to be the man you both deserve.”
You threw yourself at him without thinking, and Bucky barely had time to react before wrapping both arms around you with absolute firmness. You buried your face in his shoulder while he buried his in your hair.
They stayed like that for several long minutes.
Without speaking.
Without moving.
The future remained uncertain, but for the first time since that positive test forgotten in your drawer, the two of you stopped facing it alone.
They would face it together.
And for someone like Bucky, who clung to the idea of not making grand promises and was used to showing love through presence rather than words, standing there, holding you as if he wanted to protect you from the whole world, was the most sincere way of saying that he had chosen to stay with you.
Commissioned by @chunkypossum for @pippsmcgee to honor her amazing lore about Eris’s hounds! You saw it published here for @azrisweek, here's some closeups and process.
After the initial sketch, I pretty much copy-pasted borzoi photos in different positions and then traced them. Is it cheating? Idk, but 13 dogs is a lot! 😅 Then it was a matter of adjusting lights and shadows to be consistent. The illusion of details is done with textured brushes.
Thank you for giving me a challenge like this, the whole idea of commissioning azris artist to honor azris creators is so amazing and lovely, and i loved working on it ❤️
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Authors note:June Jukebox Scribbles event
June 21st - Animal I Have Become - Three Days Grace / “I can't escape this hell,
So many times I've tried, But I'm still caged inside ”
Warnings: none
Word Count: 373
Summary: while Bucky still sees only the Winter Soldier, the children of Wakanda see only the White Wolf
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
EVENT MASTERLIST
"White Wolf! White Wolf!”
Bucky sighed and shook his head, but he was already turning around.
Within seconds, small feet came charging across the little yard in front of his hut, a pair of arms wrapped around Bucky's leg. A bunch of kids with shiny eyes and white pearly teeth bounced around him, all talking over one another, while the smallest of them held up a wooden horse with a missing leg.
"Play with us, White Wolf!”
“Carry me!"
"I asked first!"
"No, me!"
Leaning against the doorway, you didn't even bother hiding your smile.
Not a minute later, the broad shouldered, grumpy super soldier was on all fours in the grass, one giggling boy on his back, tiny heels nudging Bucky's sides as though steering a horse.
"Faster, White Wolf!" the boy shouted, pointing across the yard. "We can't let those traitors escape!"
Bucky lurched into a gallop, the children shrieked with laughter as they scattered across the yard, and you laughed so hard your sides hurt.
"You're good with children," you said later that afternoon while repairing the fence bordering the fields. "They adore you."
Bucky drove another nail into the weathered wood.
"They don't know me."
His answer came so quietly you almost missed it.
"If they did..." He paused, staring at the hammer in his hand. "They'd be afraid."
You set your own hammer aside.
"They look at me like I'm good," he continued and you could see a muscle tick in his jaw. "But I'm not."
"Bucky..."
He exhaled slowly and looked at you.
“I can't escape this hell. So many times I've tried, but I'm still caged inside and nothing can change that.”
An excited shriek split the quiet.
"There he is!"
Three kids barreled into Bucky, almost sending him stumbling into the grass. Tiny hands tugged at his clothes, proudly presenting the wooden toy he'd repaired in the morning.
"Our White Wolf fixed it!"
“White Wolf is the best,” another small voice echoed and then they were gone as quickly as they had come.
"I think they know you better than you know yourself," you placed your hand on his shoulder.
He didn't answer.
"You've been set free, White Wolf. Don't build yourself another cage."
summary: winter never came for bucky barnes because he's living in eternal brat summer! welcome to a completely new masterlist of fics created by bucky writers' association to make your holidays even hotter. dial 999 in case the temperature gets too high! bwa takes zero responsibility for the horniness or the emotional damage you suffer while reading.
warnings: minors do not interact. each fic has its own set of warnings, tread carefully. you are responsible for your own media consumption. if you don't like it, stop reading. you have been warned.
credits: dividers by @/strangergraphics, graphics, video and the bwat divide by me. thank you, bri @iamthatonefangirl for helping me to organise this collab. i genuinely wouldn't be able to handle this without you, mwah!
❝ 360 ❞ by @houseofhyde — Sat, June 28, 2026
fleeing from a messy situationship, you embark on a journey to travel across the globe and discover the hidden beauties earth has to offer. you find the rarest beauty of all in him, bucky barnes. honey eyed, smooth-talking, and capable of working just about every job under the sun. as you continue to crash into him with every country you travel through, a chilling thought starts to take hold of your heart: is fate pushing you together, or is something darker chasing you?
❝ Club classics ❞ by @superbassbuck — Wed, July 1, 2026
If managing a housing complex in Greece during peak tourist season wasn't hard enough, your stupid, DJ manchild of a tenant, Bucky Barnes, goes one step further to make it even more difficult—that is, until he overhears an argument between you and your boyfriend, John, and decides to prove that he actually cares about you for more than just pissing you off with his loud music.
❝ Sympathy is a knife ❞ by @tw1sters — Sun, July 5, 2026
Your lives have always moved in parallel: close enough to touch, yet separated by an irreconcilable distance. Bucky is a prince and you are his sister's lady-in-waiting. But love ignores rank, and so does the kingdom's newest desire-inducing substance.
❝ I might say something stupid ❞ by @superbassbuck — Wed, July 8, 2026
While Bucky Barnes is back in New York navigating his feelings, love unexpectedly becomes one of them. It’s a beautiful, natural emotion—something a man like him never thought he would get to experience again. But he can’t. Not when the person he’s falling for is his therapist.
❝ Talk talk ❞ by @pinksplace — Sat, July 11, 2026
What if the hottest thing Bucky Barnes has ever heard is a language he can’t understand? While everyone else is trying to translate your words, Bucky is far more interested in the way they sound rolling off your tongue. The more time he spends with you, the less he believes he needs to understand you at all. There are plenty of ways to talk.
❝ Von dutch ❞ by @houseofhyde — Wed, July 15, 2026
one brand campaign. two models who hate each other’s guts. three months of torture, bickering, and looks that linger. bucky barnes might have a pretty face, but his heart is rotten to the core and his ego is larger than life. his need to make his dislike of you know is borderline obsessive, never failing to keep your name in his mouth... so maybe it’s time he just confess it: you’re his #1.
❝ Everything is romantic ❞ by @heldbybarnes — Sat, July 18, 2026
when you and bucky reach for the same bag of lemons at the farmer’s market, the touch triggers flashes of the many lifetimes you’ve spent loving each other. as those memories keep surfacing, the two of you have to figure out what it means to fall in love again in the life you’re living now.
❝ Rewind ❞ by @tw1sters — Wed, July 22, 2026
Two names just landed on your hit list: your father, who dragged you back to the tiny town you swore you'd never see again, and Bucky Barnes, the infuriating farmhand whose smart mouth and sexy smiles threaten to ruin your career and your heart.
❝ So I ❞ by @firingstars — Sat, July 25, 2026
notorious for a reputation he worked so hard for, bucky barnes is certain the world is his. he has it all- money, good looks, a fraternity that hangs on his every word; what more could he possibly need? ah, that's right. the pretty girl he met back in freshman year of university that refuses to give him time of day.
❝ Girl, so confusing ❞ by @danysdaughter — Wed, July 29, 2026
bucky barnes can handle almost anything except the way you make him feel chosen one moment and disposable the next. loving you would be simple, if you weren’t so fucking confusing.
❝ Apple ❞ by @54nboo — Sat, August 1, 2026
after hundreds of years of corrupt ruling and tyranny your family had wrought upon your kingdom, a disease wipes out half of the continent. as the last remaining royal in your family, the crown finally falls into your hands. with your council plotting your deposition, you are left with only your knight to support your claim to the throne. can you fix the years of ruin your ancestors had left to you, or does the apple not fall far from the tree?
❝ B2b ❞ by @barnesonly — Wed, August 5, 2026
as a rising singer, signed and promoted by Barnes Records, you try to find your way through the overwhelming whirlwind that is LA. Little do you know, your producer, Bucky, is determined to do everything to keep you as his biggest star.
❝ Mean girls ❞ by @iamthatonefangirl — Sat, August 8, 2026
it seems as though everything is finally falling into place for you: you’ve just won your first Oscar academy award for your film Rendezvous, and you’ve just scored your first deal with the world-renowned film studio, Piston Pictures. it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. that is, until the leading actor in your new film, the up-and-coming Bucky Barnes, makes a grave mistake that completely destroys your carefully crafted reputation overnight. except the mean girls of Hollywood can’t stop you from honing your craft, and they certainly can’t keep Bucky Barnes away from you, no matter how hard they try.
❝ I think about it all the time ❞ by @unificsation — Wed, August 12, 2026
bucky makes you think about having a child all the time. but the funny thing about time is it always, always runs out.
❝ 365 ❞ by @pinksplace — Sat, August 15, 2026
There are eight million people in New York City. Statistically, you shouldn’t keep running into the same man. You definitely shouldn’t keep fucking him.
── .✦ due to outside circumstances, our beloved @/spdrveil & @/artficlly cannot take a part in the collab. but don't worry, they're out there bumpin' that .ᐟ
