all that's left 𐙚 b.b
pairing: fwb!bucky barnes x fwb!fem!reader
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, friends with benefits relationship, unprotected sex, lots of angst, arguments, hurtful words, bittersweet ending (sorta)
summary: you and bucky were never meant to be more than friends with benefits—until you say those three words. he walks out. then a mission traps you both in a sealed room, and suddenly, there’s no escaping the walls you both built.
word count: 4.4k
author's note: hi! for my first fic, it's kinda long, started working on it after watching thunderbolts! i hope you enjoy it, if you did, let me know or reblog, whichever works! love ya and have a great day! i hope this doesn't flop :")
“(Y/N), you’ll be with Bucky”.
The sentence cuts like paper through skin — quiet, clean and a lot deeper than it actually looks. Steve’s voice is steady, casual, captain-like, just as he always was when it came down to missions, the kind of tone he uses when he is expecting no resistance, and despite the glance that seems to reflect some sort of apology and perhaps even pity, you knew he was just doing his job. He is the team leader after all.
But the sound of his name, his name that you couldn’t bring yourself to even utter for the last two weeks, drops into your gut like a live grenade, you didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Your fingers stayed steady on the edge of the thick mission file, but inside you, something splinters, not all at once, but just a small, sharp crack under your ribs, the kind that gets worse when you pretend it doesn’t exist.
Across the briefing room, Bucky’s face remains still, his expression stoic, unreadable and you find yourself thinking that perhaps, you never were able to read him the way you thought you did. Because if you did, you’d figured out that everything that had transpired between you and the brunette was nothing more than meaningless flings, quick fucks if you will.
What was it they said?
Right — good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love.
You exhale softly, biting your lip as you scanned the file quickly, hydra base, intel recovery, two agents in, clean extraction. Of course it’s you and him, it always had been, both of you were known as SHIELD’s dream team when it came to intel extractions, break a few necks, fire some bullets and you both were out, unscathed, efficient, dangerous.
And then you’d return back to base, where his lips would meet yours feverishly as his hands trailed your curves, his fingers long accustomed to every crevice of your body. Bucky knew how to draw out every sound, every breath, every damn piece of you that craved to feel wanted.
You could remember the way he undid your suit on his bed, whispering those sweet nothings in your ear as you begged him to fuck you, your eyes blown wide with lust, and lips swollen as he teased out of you feelings you never knew you had.
But all of that was short lived, because well as much as you harboured nothing but stupid, aching love for the cerulean eyed man, he thought differently. That was clear as day when he had pushed himself off you, shock painted on his face as he pulled his pants on hurriedly, almost as if being in the same room for just another second would kill him. You had stumbled to your feet, bare and trembling, your voice rising as your heart cracked wide open, “I didn’t mean to, I swear Buck, please-”. You had reached for him, almost as if he’s already gone and left you, and he is.
“You were never supposed to fall in love with me (Y/n)-”
“I-I know Buck, please even if its not real for you, p-please, I just-”
He cuts you off, the emotions that were warring in his face replaced with that of coldness, the icy gaze that fell on you crushed whatever hope you had left.
“Let’s stop this, you were just convenient, don’t make this more than that”.
You had remembered that silence, god, it was deafening, and you felt the words like a harsh slap, like a knife twisting under your ribs and you watched, eyes rimmed red as the man you once believed could one day love you back walked out.
“Everything alright?” Steve’s voice cuts through your thoughts, you nod, eyes still trained on the file even though you damn well knew that moment was still playing in your head, like some sick film that couldn’t stop replaying itself.
“Buck?” Steve asked, shooting a glance towards his pal, you dared yourself to look up, Bucky’s jaw is clenched tightly, eyes unreadable as always, fixated on the door behind the capotain, almost as if it could offer some kind of salvation.
“Yeah, all’s good”. The brunette replied.
Liar.
The flight is quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that is far from peace, it was brittle, breathless, the kind that hung in the air like smoke after a fire. You had sat at one end of the jet, legs crossed, a mission file open in your lap that you hadn’t actually read past the first line.
Across from you, Bucky sat with, face turned just enough that you could see the line of his jaw, tight and unmoving. He hadn’t even looked at you once since takeoff.
Not that you were looking.
Well, not really.
But it was impossible not to notice him, the way he took up space without even trying to, the low sound of his breathing, even and steady, the slight twitch in his gloved fingers where they tapped a rhythm only he understood. You used to know that rhythm. You used to know everything about James Barnes.
And now?
Now you couldn’t even tell if he hated you or worse — felt absolutely nothing at all.
You kept your eyes fixed on the printed pages in front of you, even though your mind was anywhere but on the mission specs. It was a simple job, according to the file at least, in and out like Steve had said. You and Bucky had done this dance dozens of times, a flawless rhythm honed by years of fieldwork, communication and something that had once resembled trust.
Once.
The last time you were on a mission like this, you had ended up on Bucky’s lap, breathless, gasping, half-dressed as his mouth burned its way down the soft skin of your neck to the valley of your breasts, metal hand fluttering over your skin like he wanted, no, like he needed to memorise every inch.
Your moans had bounced off the walls of the jet as it lurched from turbulence, as Bucky kissed you though it, called you his pretty girl, said he needed you, wanted you.
And now, he wouldn’t even look at you.
“Should be a quick one, get the files, and you’re both out, no detours, as far as we know, this base has long been abandoned”. Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, grounding you with its usual steadiness. “Files are stored in a secure server, sublevel three, eyes up, low contact expected, you two copy?”.
“Copy” you said first, voice even, rehearsed, almost if you didn’t just cry your throat raw the last two weeks.
There was a beat of silence, then, “copy”. Bucky’s voice was rougher, lower and it sounded like a word forced out through clenched teeth.
And that was it, silence reclaimed the jet, thicker than it was before.
You risked a glance at the brunette, a real one this time, and your stomach twisted in a knot. He hadn’t moved. His eyes stayed fixed on the small window beside him, gaze distant, the curve of his brow giving nothing away.
There was a time where you thought you could read him, every flicker of emotion, every blink, every breathe, you knew when he had a bad night, when the nightmares plagued his dreams, you knew when his therapist had hammered down on him, giving him one of her many unsolicited advices that well, he never did take seriously, besides the one where she told him to talk to someone he trusted. You.
Well, it was you, between the hungry kisses and your back against bathroom walls as Bucky filled you so perfectly, he was sharing his life with you, the days he spent with HYDRA and of course, the 40s.
But maybe that had been an illusion, or maybe you were just hopelessly naive, stupid.
You turned your gaze back to the file, the words blurry as a headache bloomed at the base of your skull, you could feel tears well up in your eyes as you tried to get the words Bucky spat harshly out of your head.
God, you had begged him to stay, to not leave.
Begged him to stay after the words slipped out, — I love you — so fucking stupidly, so recklessly when your body was tangled with his as his hips had snapped against yours. You hadn’t even realised you had said them at first, until you had seen the look on his face, almost like you had stabbed him.
Your voice, small, shaking naked in every sense of the word, you could still see his cold, icy, piercing gaze, the softness draining from him like light bleeding out of a room.
Now, here you were, trapped in a tin can, above hostile territory with the man who shattered you, who was fine pretending you were both just teammates. Just agents. Like you hadn’t fallen asleep in his arms and thought, maybe, just maybe this could be real.
You clenched your jaw, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.
You didn’t want to love him anymore, but god, you missed the way it almost felt like he did.
The hallway stretched ahead like a vein of steel and silence, cold and humming with the kind of tension that settled in your bones, the kind that made your skin itch under your tactical gear. You and Bucky moved through it like you always had, together, seamless, wordless.
Muscle memory wrapped in old wounds, you fell into the rhythm automatically, Bucky would move, and you would follow, you’d gesture, and he’d respond, the dance that made SHIELD send the both of you out for every data retrieval mission, because the both of you never failed.
Even now.
At the end of the corridor, two guards stood, chatting lazily, their rifles slung low, Bucky glanced at you, nodding towards them, you didn’t hesitate before the both of you sprang into action.
It was efficient. Brutal. Over before the guards even knew they were in danger, you veered left, using the shadows like muscle memory, silent steps, steady breaths, the first guard didn’t even have time to draw his weapon, you slipped behind him, arm hooking around his neck in one clean, practiced sweep, the way Nat taught you, he struggled for a moment, but you held tight, twisting just enough until his knees buckled and he went down like a soft thud.
Bucky was already on the second guard, a flash of movement, a sharp, harsh kick to the back of knee to drop his stance, and before you knew it, guard two collapsed like dead weight.
You didn’t flinch when Bucky’s hand brushed against yours as you passed the second server room. But you felt it, a graze of skin. barely a touch — and yet it seared like contact with a live wire.
He flinched, not a recoil exactly, but a hitch. The faintest disruption in his usually smooth motion.
Enough to make you ache.
Then the door to the server room hissed open. You entered first, sweeping the corners, eyes scanning out of habit more than necessity.
“Clear,” you muttered
You knelt by the console and pulled the flash drive from your pocket, it slid into place with a soft click, and lines of code immediately flickered across the screen, the words, “download initiated” flashed across the computer, the whir of fans, the pulsing red light overhead and the steady tick of your heartbeat.
Then— SLAM.
The door behind you shut like a guillotine, a mechanical hiss following the unmistakable sound of a lock sliding into places the panel on the wall started blinking red.
“What the fuck—” you whirled, reaching instinctively for your comm.
Absolutely nothing, no static, not a voice.
You looked at Bucky, already at the keypad, jaw tight, eyes focused on the screen as his fingers danced over the keys, punching in override codes with mechanical precision, but even he looked tenser than usual — less sure.
“Backup lockdown protocol?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.
“Could be,” he said, not looking at you. “Maybe they knew we were coming.”
“Great.” You exhaled sharply. “Perfect.”
The room was small, closer than it had felt a minute ago, the red emergency lights cast shadows across the concrete floor, licking up the walls like flickering firelight, and the fact that you were this close to Bucky didn’t help, thoughts ran through your head as you tried to suffer through the silence.
Too tense. Too close.
“You don’t have to look so pissed,” you muttered after a long, stretching silence, arms folded tight over your chest like they could hold the ache in. Your voice echoed slightly in the metal-and-concrete hush of the server room, small but biting. “It’s not like I planned to get stuck in a room with you.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn around.
That silence was cold and heavy and deliberate, it was more infuriating than any argument. More cruel than any insult. And just like that, the restraint you’d been clinging to fractured, snapping apart like thin glass under pressure.
“Seriously, Bucky?” You took a step forward, fists curling tight at your sides, heat prickling behind your eyes. “You’re just gonna stay quiet?”
He paused. His back tensed. Then, without looking at you, he said flatly, “I didn’t realise we had anything left to say.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Sharp. Surgical. You sucked in a breath like it would stop the sting, but it didn’t. Instead, your lips curled into a bitter smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, voice tight with disbelief. “Maybe a follow-up to ‘you were convenient.’ Maybe that’s not something you just say and then disappear.”
At that, his shoulders stiffened. His fingers twitched near the keypad, as if they were still trying to solve the problem — like maybe if he focused hard enough, he wouldn’t have to face the real one standing behind him. But the motion faltered, and he let his hand fall away.
“You said it like I meant nothing to you,” you continued, voice cracking, breath hitching somewhere between fury and heartbreak. “Like I was just some mistake you made in a moment of weakness. Some warm body you used to get through the night.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” The words tumbled out of you now, raw and ragged. “I was there for you, Bucky. Every night. Every fucking night. When you couldn’t sleep. When the nightmares got so bad you couldn’t breathe. When you looked in the mirror like you didn’t deserve to be alive—I was there. And y-you used me.”
He turned at last, his eyes wild, stormy. His voice broke as he spoke.
“You told me you loved me.”
You flinched like the words had weight, like they could bruise you more than he already did.
“You think I could keep touching you after that?” he said, quieter now, like something inside him was unraveling.
And you froze.
The air thinned, shrank around you. Your heart thundered against your ribs.
“You think I could keep doing that to you,” he went on, his voice barely holding together, “knowing you felt something—when I... when I couldn’t let myself feel anything at all?”
Your voice was barely more than a breath. “So you ran. Because someone gave a shit?”
His eyes flared, a flicker of something wounded flashing through the cracks in his carefully worn armor.
“You don’t get it,” he snapped, cerulean eyes darkening. “You never did.”
“Then explain it to me,” you said, stepping forward until the air between you pulsed. “Help me fucking understand why I wasn’t enough.”
He looked like he wanted to bolt. Like the truth was a weight too heavy to hold. But he didn’t move. Not yet.
“You were supposed to know the rules,” he said finally, voice flat but not emotionless. “You made them. No feelings. No strings. You knew what this was.”
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you,” you whispered, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I just... did. And maybe that was stupid. Maybe I read something into it that was never there.”
His jaw flexed. His face closed off. And when he finally spoke, it was like ice cutting through your ribs.
“You did.”
The silence that followed was endless. Deafening. It rang in your ears louder than gunfire.
You stared at him, something inside you slowly collapsing in on itself. Your spine straightened, chin tilting up in a last shred of defiance even as your voice wavered.
“Wow,” you said. “Guess I really was convenient.”
He didn’t move. But something flickered across his face — guilt, pain, maybe even regret — and for the smallest second, it looked like he might take it all back.
But he didn’t.
Your throat closed. You couldn’t breathe past the pressure rising in your chest. You were unraveling, piece by piece, in front of the one person who’d already seen you at your most vulnerable. And it still wasn’t enough.
“I was a mission to you,” you said. “Something broken to fix. A distraction. A warm place to hide when the rest of the world got too loud. But y-you…”
Your voice cracked, and you turned away, hating yourself for how much it still hurt.
“You were everything to me. And I hate that you still are.”
That finally did it.
Bucky’s face shifted, like something inside him broke and bled out all at once. His jaw clenched so tight the muscles twitched, his lips were pressed into a thin, hard line, but even that didn’t hide the tremble beneath. His eyes, dark, stormy—flickered with something close to pain, raw and real, like the weight of everything you said was scraping against his soul.
The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened, harsh shadows carved by years of anger and loss, Bucky’s breathing hitched—sharp and ragged—like he was fighting against the damn emotions clawing their way up from somewhere deep and dangerous. You caught the briefest flicker of something you’d never seen before: brokenness.
A crack in the armor.
His metal arm twitched at his side, a reminder of what he’d been through, what he still carried. The cold gleam of the metal contrasted with the heat of his skin, flushed in anger or pain, or both. His whole body was tense, like he wanted to run, or fight, or maybe just disappear.
And yet, even with all that anger, all that rage, there was this dark, raw ache in his eyes—like he hated himself for feeling it, for letting you see it. He looked like he was on the edge of losing control, and maybe that scared him more than anything.
“I begged you to stay,” you said, almost whimpering as tears fell, Bucky’s voice came a second later, rough and ruined.
“I left because if I stayed, I would’ve destroyed you.”
You turned then, eyes blazing through the blur of tears. “You didn’t destroy me, Bucky. You left me alive to remember it.”
The server beeped — a cold, neutral sound. Files downloaded. Mission complete. Job done.
But this wasn’t a mission. This wasn’t something you could walk away from with a pat on the back and a debrief.
This was ruin. Quiet, private, and absolute.
You turned your back to him, shoulders trembling. Your hands curled into fists, knuckles white with the effort of staying upright. Silent tears carved paths down your cheeks, but you didn’t make a sound.
Behind you, Bucky didn’t speak. Didn’t move. The air between you was thick and poisonous, buzzing with everything you’d said and everything you hadn’t.
And in that unbearable silence, you finally understood the one truth that stung more than all the rest:
He wanted to love you.
But James Buchanan Barnes didn’t know how.
The server beeped again.
Still, you didn’t move, you couldn’t. Your hands trembled at your sides, your back still turned, chest rising and falling like your lungs were trying to remember how to breathe without pain. The words still echoed in the tight air between you, circling like ghosts neither of you could exorcise.
And then you heard it.
Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. The quiet creak of his boots across the floor. Closer. Closer still.
“Don’t,” you rasped, not turning around, afraid that he would see the tears that now stained your cheeks. “Don’t come near me if you’re just going to walk away again.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky said behind you, voice thick, low, loaded.
Then his hand was on your arm, warm flesh this time, not metal, turning you gently, carefully, until you were facing him.
Your eyes met his cerulean ones, and something snapped, Bucky crashed his lips against yours like he’d finally broken through whatever leash he’d kept himself on, no, it wasn’t gentle or sweet, it was punishment and apology and desperation all at once — teeth and tongue and heat and anger and god, it was everything you remembered and everything you’d tried to forget.
You kissed him back with everything you had.
Your hands clawed into his shirt, dragging him closer, pouring all your pain into it, needing him to feel it. You wanted to hurt him with your mouth, your nails, your breath — the way he’d hurt you — but it was all tangled in love, twisted, beautiful and devastating all at once.
Bucky’s hands cupped your jaw, tilted your head, deepened the kiss until you were dizzy.
“Say you hate me,” he growled against your mouth.
You gasped, breath catching. “I do.”
“Liar.” His voice was rough, ruined. “You feel this. Same as me.”
And then his metal hand gripped your waist, pulling you against the hard line of his body. You moaned — couldn’t help it — the contact lighting a fire beneath your skin, melting the last of your resolve.
“Fuck,” you hissed, as he backed you into the server console, lifting you onto it with ridiculous ease.
He stepped between your legs, breathing ragged, hands everywhere, tugging at your clothes, sliding under them, desperate to feel skin.
“You still feel like mine,” he muttered, voice cracked and reverent as he shoved your shirt up, exposing your stomach, your bra, the sweat-slick skin he used to worship like religion.
Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of his tac vest, shoving it off, needing to touch. To drag your nails down his chest. To mark him, claim him back.
“You walked away from this,” you gasped, kissing his jaw, biting it. “But your body still remembers me.”
He groaned deep in his throat. “I never forgot. Not once.”
And then he was on you, mouth on your neck, tongue sliding down to your collarbone, hands rough as he ripped open the button of your pants, dragging them down with agonizing speed. You gasped as cool air hit your thighs, and then again as he dropped to his knees like you were something to be worshipped.
“Bucky—” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you with blown pupils and a bruised mouth. His hands hooked behind your knees, dragging you to the edge of the console like you weighed nothing.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped.
You stared down at him, chest heaving.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
That was all he needed.
He buried his mouth between your thighs like a starving man, and you screamed — hands fisting in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue slid deep, his stubble scraping your thighs in the most delicious way. It was filthy. Sinful. He moaned into you like he was addicted to the taste of your pain, your need.
You were already close — the heat was unbearable — but he didn’t let up, didn’t pause, not even when you came apart on his tongue, shuddering and crying out his name like it was a confession.
He stood then, mouth wet, eyes feral, dragging you off the console and spinning you around.
Your palms slapped against the metal surface. You were still panting, legs trembling, but you wanted more. Needed him.
“Tell me you still want this,” he said against your ear, one hand trailing up your back, the other palming your ass.
“I want you,” you choked out, pressing back into him. “I want all of you.”
The sound he made — a desperate, broken groan — was followed by the sound of his zipper, then the feel of him, thick and hard, rubbing against your slick folds.
When Bucky pushed into you, it was like being split open and healed all at once.
You both gasped. Swore. Clutched at the metal console like it might save you from drowning in the fire.
He set a brutal rhythm — relentless, deep, pounding into you with years of unsaid words and unmet longing. You met every thrust with your own, sobbing his name, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure coiled tight again in your belly.
“You feel like home,” he groaned, fucking you deeper. “You are home.”
You shattered with his name on your lips.
And this time, when you broke, he didn’t let go.
He followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a raw, guttural moan, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his arms wrapping tight around your waist like he was terrified you might disappear again.
The silence that followed wasn’t the cold, cruel kind anymore.
It was quiet. Close. Reverent.
And when he finally pulled back, pressing a kiss to your spine, your shoulder, your temple — you knew.
Bucky couldn’t say it.
But this time, he wasn’t going to leave.
“I left because if I stayed, I would’ve broken you. And maybe… maybe I already did.”
Your breath caught, the confession hanging heavy in the room between you both. For a moment, the walls didn’t feel so cold. The distance shrunk, just a fraction, because finally, for the first time, he wasn’t hiding behind that ironclad façade.
You took a shaky step closer, eyes searching for something you’d never dared hope to see: vulnerability.
“Maybe you did,” you whispered, voice trembling, “but I’m still here.”
His gaze faltered, raw and unguarded. The storm behind his eyes softened, just enough to invite you in.
Before you could think twice, your fingers reached out, tracing the cold metal of his arm, and then his cheek. His skin was warm, alive, and beneath his guarded exterior, you found something broken, but not beyond repair.
Bucky’s lips parted, as if to speak, but instead, he pulled you into a bruising, desperate kiss that said everything words couldn’t. It was an apology, a plea, a promise all tangled into one.
The mission could wait. The past could wait.
Right now, it was just you and him, raw, broken and real.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start again.
i love, love, love, thunderbolts, it reignited my love for bucky ౨ৎ
