âand while lenore dove will forever be my true love, louella is my one and only sweetheart.â
that line hits so hard when you realize how quickly he was calling katniss sweetheart. through katnissâ eyes, it seemed insincere at first, almost like haymitch was mocking her. but now we truly know haymitch wouldnât just throw that around. he truly cared for her from the start.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CHAPTER 7 IS UP!! FINALLY!
Enjoy a crappy drawing from before my Shadow's got a bit better :D
(Please remember to read content warnings at the top of the page, thank you <3 Please remember this is an 18+ only fic)
It's a biiiig one because I'm focussing on doing one Chapter for a single day for a little while. I would love some feedback if ya'll like the longer chapter of the whole day or if you'd prefer the times of the days to be split into their own chapters. (This format won't last for all the chapters anyway, just the next handful.)
Summary: As the Avengers prepare for a mission that will bring them closer to your location than ever before, Bucky secretly clings to a video you unknowingly left behind; your quiet heartbreak revealing how unseen and unimportant you always felt.
Word Count: 3.1k+
Main Masterlist | The One You Donât See Masterlist
The compound was quiet, dim with the stillness of too many unanswered questions.
The previous mission had been a failure. At least, thatâs what the report would say. No sign of the enemy. No confrontation. Just an empty base scrubbed clean, with every hard drive wiped and even the dust disturbed like someone had intentionally unsettled it. The only thing left behind was a quiet sense of absence. Something had once lived there. Not anymore.
Bucky stayed behind after the others finished the debrief. Something didnât sit right. It wasnât tactical, it was instinctual. Like walking through a ghostâs memory.
So he went to your old desk, the room he stepped in was small. Office-like. Not messy, but functional. Two mugs were still on the shelf with one having lipstick faded on the rim that you didnât bother bringing. He also recognized a sweater folded neatly over the chairâs back, the same one heâd seen you wear sometimes with your sleeves always tugged past your knuckles.
He moved slowly and carefully like he didnât want to disturb whatever fragile pieces remained.
There was a small tablet hidden away in the desk, screen faintly scratched. You probably forgot about it. It was locked, but it didnât take him long, he had skills for this. Accessing encrypted drives used to be a job. Now it was just muscle memory.
It wasnât a mission file. It was a video. No timestamp. No label. Just⊠your name in the corner. And the faint hum of low light.
Bucky hesitated but hit play.
You were seated in frame. Slightly off-center, like you hadnât meant to record anything formal. Your hair was tied back and your eyes were tired. No makeup, no pretense. Just you. You didnât speak at first. Just looked somewhere off-camera, blinking slowly, like trying to hold yourself still enough to not feel something.
And then you started to talk.
âI think thereâs something broken in me that just wants to be useful. Like⊠if Iâm helpful enough, Iâll matter. Like maybe Iâll take up enough space where someone would finally notice.â
You smiled, but it wasnât a happy one. Just a tug of the lips, wry and sad..
âI donât know why Iâm doing this. I heard it helps to journal. But I used to think that if I worked hard enough, stayed out of the way, then someone might see me. Not as a teammate or even as a friend. Just⊠see me. Recognize that I was there.â
Buckyâs hands clenched slowly at his sides.
âBut I guess people donât notice the lights that stay on, only the ones that flicker. And I just so happened to be always steady, always silent. The background to their brilliance.â
There was a pause. You rubbed hands together nervously, looking down.
âSometimes I wonder what would happen if I just stopped showing up. If anyone would ask or if theyâd just assume I transferred. Or died, quietly, in the middle of some file update.â
The silence afterward was brutal. He could hear your breathing; shallow, steady, and controlled.
âI donât blame them. Not really. I just⊠wish I had been someone worth remembering.â
The video cut out. No goodbye. No signature. Just that last, unbearable sentence echoing like a gunshot.
Bucky sat in the silence it left behind. Not moving. Not breathing. Just staring at the still frame frozen on the screen. Your face. Your words. Your pain.
He hadnât seen you, not really. Not when you were around. Not when you were quietly doing your job, never needing thanks. Never asking for notice.
But now? Now, your absence was louder than most peopleâs presence. And he hated that he only realized it after you were gone.
After another failed search for you, the ride back to the compound was filled with static silence.
Bucky didnât speak. Didnât hand over the tablet. Didnât mention the video. But he kept it tucked in the inner lining of his gear, close to him like some part of him thought the words might bleed into his bones if he kept them near long enough.
No one asked what he found before. Maybe they assumed there was nothing. Or maybe they could read the way his shoulders held the weight of something they werenât ready to carry.
Steve debriefed quietly with Natasha and Sam. There was no victory to celebrate, only confirmation: the enemy was ahead of them. Smarter. Faster. One step further every time.
The woman, Buckyâs someone, floated in and out of the war room with the same serene detachment she always had. She brought them tea. Lightly teased Sam when he scowled at another dead lead. She leaned a hand on Buckyâs shoulder as she passed, offering him a soft, wordless smile.
He didnât return it. Not this time. He didnât shrug her off, either, just let her touch pass like water, something that could no longer reach him fully.
Her words echoed faintly in his head, like smoke: âShe didnât really fit in here anyways, did she? Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed sheâd move on.â
And then yours, not long after:
âI used to think that if I worked hard enough, someone might see meâŠâ
The contrast burned.
The next mission was set with alarming speed. A new location. Another âhiddenâ base identified by Bruce, picked up in the tail of an encrypted ping. Something you mightâve caught weeks ago, if you were still with them. If theyâd been paying attention.
Steve moved with purpose, but his eyes were more tired than before. Natasha reviewed formations, sharp and professional, but quieter than usual. Sam asked about escape routes twice as if he didnât trust any of this to go clean.
And Bucky, he checked his weapons. Reviewed the maps. Ran recon. But in the silence between, he replayed the video. Not for pain. Not for guilt.
But because it was real. The only honest thing he had left about you.
They hadnât found any new footage of you. No confirmed sightings. No sound bites, no intercepted comms. Just dead ends and wiped drives and the echo of your absence in places you used to sit.
You were out there. Alive, changed, and maybe not on their side anymore. But never just a ghost.
He closed the tablet and tucked it back inside his vest.
And when Steve said, âWe move at dawn,â Bucky only nodded once.
He didnât speak. Didnât tell anyone what he saw. Not yet. Because something in him whispered, worried that if they saw that recording too soon, theyâd see you as a weakness.
And for the first time in months, Bucky wasnât sure what side of the line he stood on. Not when it came to you.
The hours before a mission were always the quietest.
The hangar buzzed low with the whir of prep of gear checks, last-minute uploads, suits being sealed and weapons aligned. Natasha stood by the monitors, her gaze cold and sharp. Sam reviewed the aerial scans Bruce had fine-tuned just an hour before. Steve kept pacing near the Quinjet, arms folded, and eyes flicking to each of them like he could hold them together by willpower alone.
Bucky kept his distance like usual. He strapped his knives into place. Loaded his sidearm with meticulous focus. Checked his earpiece, then checked it again. He hadn't spoken more than a handful of words all morning. No one asked why.
No one noticed how he hadnât been sleeping. How he double-checked the route three times last night, long after the others went to bed. How his fingers lingered over the inside pocket of his jacket, where the tablet still rested, untouched by anyone but him.
The girl who had once been his comfort entered in mid-morning with her usual warm smile and a thermal mug of coffee for Steve. She handed it off with a soft murmur, her other hand brushing Buckyâs arm in passing.
âYou donât have to carry everything, you know,â She said gently, a faint tease in her voice. âYouâve got people.â
He didnât look at her. Didnât answer. And for the first time⊠she noticed. There was a flicker of pause in her face. The briefest narrowing of her eyes. Then her smile returned, unfazed.
âWell,â She said lightly, glancing over at Steve. âIf you all need anything before you go, just let me know. Iâll be around.â
Steve gave her a polite nod. Sam murmured a distracted thanks. She left the hangar as quietly as she came in. But Bucky watched her go, something unreadable in his stare.
He didnât trust her. Not anymore. He didnât know if he ever truly had or if sheâd simply fit into the gaps where life had left him hollow. She had been sweet. Soothing. Gentle in the way soft lies often were.
But you had never tried to be that. You had simply been honest. Quiet, yes. Awkward, maybe. But never fake. But he had never tried to acknowledge any of that till now. And now the only traces of you he had were clipped recordings buried in a stolen file and the phantom silence of the seat you used to occupy across mission tables. The longer they chased shadows, the more he feared it: that they had lost you to the wrong side and that they had pushed you there themselves.
âFive minutes,â Steve called out, snapping everyone back to focus.
Bucky stood, weapons in place, and jaw tight.
Whatever this mission held, whatever base they were headed for next, he had a feeling it wasnât just about cutting off a head of the organization anymore. There were pieces still missing. Threads pulled tight around something deeper. And though no one said it aloudâŠ
They all felt it. You were at the center of it. Maybe you werenât the enemy, but you werenât one of them anymore either. And Bucky didnât know which outcome he feared more.
The alarm started low. Just a pulsing tone beneath the hum of overhead lights, like the building had a heartbeat and it had suddenly quickened.
You didnât look up at first.
You were seated at the edge of a long metal table, eyes scanning one of Marenâs latest handoffs of network logs, patterns, and reconnaissance models that you were quietly, and more skillfully than anyone else here, picking apart. Another screen flickered with footage. Not of the Avengers this time, but of a smaller SHIELD outpost. One the organization had eyes on.
A quiet shift of balance. A new target. The second tone came louder. And this time, red light blinked across the top corners of the room.
You turned in your chair just as Maren came in through the steel door, less casual than usual. There was tension in her shoulders, but she hid it beneath a small smirk.
âWell,â Well said lightly, âGuess weâre having fire drills now.â
You stood slowly. âWhat is it.â
She waved a hand toward the glass pane. Down the corridor, you could see a few others moving quickly. Some with urgency, but not panic.
âSurveillance sweep caught something weird,â She said. âSignal bounce matched one of your old frequency ranges.â
You blinked. âThe Avengers?â
Her smile didnât reach her eyes. âIntel says itâs likely. But it could also be someone pretending to be them. Either way, leadership wants to shift locations again. They donât want to risk exposure, not now.â
You glanced toward the window again. The air suddenly felt thinner and colder, like the walls were remembering how to hold you again.
Maren stepped closer.
âTheyâll want you in the second caravan,â She said. âItâs less attention that way until weâre sure weâre not compromised.â
You didnât respond at first. Because something sat twisted in your stomach. Not fear, exactly, not even guilt. Just⊠the awareness that this place you had started to grow into, the first place where your mind had felt seen, was still a fortress.
Still temporary. Still ready to disappear the second anything real drew near.
You looked at Maren.
Her smile softened, more careful this time. âYouâll be alright. Weâve got you.â
But as you followed her out of the room, walking past people who now nodded when you passed, who sought your opinion, who used your analyses like gospel, you had that strange feeling again.
You didnât want to run. Not this time. Because if it was them. If they were coming now, after all this time, after leaving you behind, after forgetting you; you wanted to see who they were now. If they were just as hollow as they made you feel.
And if they had finally come⊠to save you. Or just to stop you.
The hallway continued to pulse with red light and clipped orders.
Boots on concrete. Quiet urgency. Controlled withdrawal. People packed crates with precision, hands practiced in the rhythm of disappearing. You walked among them unnoticed but not out of disregard, but because you werenât expected to panic. You were useful and trusted. The kind of asset who got escorted second not because they didnât care, but because they assumed youâd already figured a backup plan if things went sideways.
And you always did.
You reached the loading bay just as the first caravan started to move. There were trucks. Two armored vans. A trail vehicle. All headed for an off-grid location youâd helped locate last month, buried beneath so many encryption layers it would take even Stark months to trace it.
Maren was by the gate, tablet in hand, and brows furrowed in concentration.
She glanced up when she saw you. âVan two in the back left. Thereâs a seat with your name on it.â
You moved to step past her then paused.
âAre you coming?â
She gave a small smile. âNot yet. Last-minute patchwork. They want eyes on the rear systems until weâre sure itâs not just a scare.â
You hesitated enough for her to notice.
âWeâll see each other again,â She reassured softly. âDonât look like that.â
You didnât say anything. Just nodded once, then stepped into the vanâs shadows and sank into the corner seat. The door shut behind you. You kept your eyes on the window, watching the lights flicker and twist as the base began to purge data in real time. Mainframes going dark, terminals blacking out one by one. The signal was clear:
Whoever was coming was already too close.
Outside, not far beyond the mountain pass, the Quinjet cut low through clouds.
Steveâs voice was steady over comms. âFinal sweep, no obvious heat signatures. We keep it tight. If theyâre there, they know weâre coming.â
âTheyâre there,â Natasha said. Her tone wasnât a guess, it was certainty.
âOr they were,â Sam muttered, eyes flicking over the monitors.
From the back, Bucky checked his gear one last time. He hadnât spoken much since departure. Just silent and focused, eyes darker than usual. He hadnât said your name, but it sat heavy behind every breath.
Natasha glanced over from the bench across. âYou good?â
âYeah,â Bucky muttered. Then, more quietly: âI just want answers.â
The Quinjet slowed.
âApproaching target zone,â FRIDAY announced. âThere are signs of recent movement. Base is no longer cold.â
Steve stood and signaled them. âWe move on foot and we go fast. Donât break formation.â
They touched down five minutes later.
The moment Buckyâs boots hit the ground, he felt it.
Not heat. Not threat. But⊠presence.
Like you were still here. Like this place remembered you.
Steve gave the order. They breached the perimeter fast through reinforced side access. The air inside was stale, but not undisturbed. Computers still hummed. Floors were clean. Not a drop of dust. Not like last time.
âThey left in a hurry,â Natasha observed, crouching beside a freshly yanked power cable.
âThen they knew we were coming,â Sam replied grimly.
Buckyâs eyes tracked along the corridor. Doors left half-open. Screens still flickering out final traces of wiped data. A mug. A file left behind. He stepped toward it then stopped.
On the desk was a clipboard. Just one. The name at the top? Yours.
He exhaled slowly.
âYou were here,â He whispered.
Not just involved. Present. Maybe only minutes ago. Too close. Too late.
Steve pressed his fingers to his comm. âEveryone sweep east, this wasnât abandoned. Theyâre still moving.â
âTheyâre not just moving,â Sam called from the upper ledge. âTheyâre evacuating. Iâve got heat signatures heading into the lower exit tunnels, northbound. At least two armored vehicles pulling out now.â
Bucky was already moving. âCan we cut them off?â
âNegative,â FRIDAY replied sharply in his earpiece. âTheyâre on an off-road route and cloaked. Theyâll be buried by terrain in sixty seconds unless you launch a drone now.â
âIâve got it,â Natasha said, already deploying the small drone. It zipped through the air like a hornet. On the screen, the visuals sharpened as it locked onto the second vehicle.
That was when they saw you, barely a frame.
Just the curve of your shoulder, the side of your face half-obscured by the angle of the armored window. You werenât panicked. You werenât restrained. You were seated. Eyes down, calm, and still so unmistakably you.
Bucky leaned closer to the screen, throat tightening. âThatâs her.â
Steve cursed under his breath. âThey moved faster than expected.â
âWhich means theyâve done this before,â Natasha muttered.
âTheyâre organized. Too organized,â Sam added. âAnd she⊠she didnât look like a hostage.â
Bucky didnât answer. Because that still frame was seared into him. Not just because it was you. But because of how different you looked from the girl he remembered in the compound.
Not hurt. Not scared. Just⊠far away.
Meanwhile, you felt it before you saw it. A hum in your bones, sharp like pressure. Something familiar. Familiar in a way that made your pulse catch without rising.
You didnât look out the window, but you knew. They were close.
You kept your hands folded in your lap, steady, while the others in the van double-checked the rear systems and confirmed their routes.
Marenâs voice came over the comm, calm and professional. âExit route confirmed. Units dispersed. No direct pursuit.â
You could hear the faint smile in her voice.
âThey missed us.â
You didnât reply. Not because you were relieved. But because the truth hit you harder than you expected: They came and You were right. But it didnât change anything.
You were still in a moving van, heading deeper into the folds of a world they didnât understand. And they were behind you, too late, standing in the echo of where you used to be.
Part of you wondered if any of them had seen you. If they recognized the back of your head through bulletproof glass. If Bucky did.
You didnât look back to check. You just sat with the heavy truth nestled in your chest like something warm and rotten at the same time:
Note: Hey guys! sorry for being so absent rescently! I promise i've been working on stuff but! I also have a personal life as well! Just remember that please if you get mad at the fact that i haven't posted! Thank you and enjoy the story!
Summary: After years of steady companionship, something between Y/N and Alastor begins to shift. The familiarity theyâve built no longer feels entirely safe or simple. His attention lingers, his reactions sharpen, and emotions he usually keeps tightly controlled start slipping through the cracks. Neither of them says the word for whatâs happening, but the tension between them grows impossible to ignore. What once felt stable now feels fragile â as though one step forward could either deepen their bond⊠or change everything.
Warnings: Slow-burn romantic tension, Jealousy themes, Possessiveness / territorial behavior, Emotional conflict, Power and control dynamics, Vulnerability and fear of attachment, Morally gray characters, Foreshadowing of tragedy / damnation, Intense emotional dialogue
By the sixth year, Y/N knew the rhythm of him better than she knew her own.
She knew the difference between his public smile and the one that surfaced only in private. She knew when his tone sharpened because he was amused and when it sharpened because he was irritated. She knew the subtle way his posture shifted when he was pleased with himself â shoulders slightly back, chin angled just so â and the near-imperceptible stillness that settled over him when something genuinely caught him off guard.
She knew him.
Or at least, she believed she did.
Which was why the change unsettled her so deeply.
It began with his gaze.
Not its intensity â that had always been there â but its duration. Alastor had never been careless with eye contact. He wielded it like a tool, like punctuation. He would look long enough to disarm, long enough to challenge, and then withdraw before giving too much away. It was calculated.
Now, he lingered.
She noticed it first at the station. She had been speaking with one of the newer technicians, discussing minor programming changes, when she felt it â that familiar weight of attention settling against her shoulders. When she turned, she found him standing across the room, hands folded neatly behind his back, watching.
Not smiling.
Not interrupting.
Just watching.
And something in that look was different.
It wasnât evaluative.
It wasnât amused.
It was⊠focused.
As though he were trying to memorize something.
The moment their eyes met, his grin returned instantly â polished, effortless â and he stepped forward with some light remark about production schedules. The tension evaporated for anyone who might have noticed.
But it didnât evaporate for her.
That night, walking home beneath a sky thick with summer humidity, she replayed the moment in her mind and found herself unsettled by how it had made her feel.
Not threatened.
Not uncomfortable.
Aware.
Deeply, sharply aware.
Over the following weeks, the pattern continued. He stood a little closer during conversations. His hand would brush hers in passing and linger half a heartbeat longer than necessary. When others addressed her in crowded rooms, she felt his attention sharpen â subtle, but present.
And then there was the jealousy.
It was small at first. Almost imperceptible. A tightening around his smile when a well-dressed gentleman at a fundraising gala held her attention too long. A coolness in his voice when another broadcaster complimented her wit.
She might have imagined it â if she didnât know him so well.
Alastor did not do accidental emotion.
Which meant this was deliberate.
Or worse.
Uncontrolled.
The realization made her pulse quicken in ways she did not entirely understand.
One evening, during an unusually lively gathering at a private club, she found herself cornered in conversation by a charming investor who had taken particular interest in her opinions on media expansion. He was polite. Intelligent. Persistent.
She was aware of Alastor across the room.
She didnât look for him.
She felt him.
The investor laughed at something she said, leaning slightly closer than necessary. She smiled out of courtesy, shifting subtly to create distance without causing offense.
And thenâ
âForgive the interruption,â came Alastorâs smooth voice at her side.
He did not touch her.
He did not need to.
His presence alone altered the atmosphere.
The investor straightened immediately, offering polite greetings. Alastor responded with impeccable civility, his grin perfectly measured, his tone warm and charming.
But Y/N felt it â the undercurrent.
The tension wound tight beneath velvet.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the investor excused himself, sensing perhaps that he had stepped unknowingly into contested territory.
âI was having a conversation,â she replied, studying his profile.
âWith a man who could not stop staring at you.â
The bluntness startled her.
âAnd that concerns you?â
âNot at all,â he answered immediately.
Too immediately.
She stopped walking.
The music from inside the club spilled faintly into the night air as she turned to face him fully. Streetlamps cast soft gold light across his sharp features, illuminating the rigid set of his jaw.
âYouâre lying,â she said gently.
His grin sharpened.
âI do not lie.â
âYou deflect.â
A flicker in his eyes.
âDo you enjoy provoking me?â he asked.
âOnly when you pretend youâre unaffected.â
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air felt thick, charged, like the pause before summer thunder.
She realized then that her heart was beating faster â not from fear, but from the intensity of him. From the way he looked at her now â not as puzzle, not as equal opponent, not as steady companion.
But as something he did not want anyone else touching.
The awareness sent warmth spiraling through her chest, startling in its strength.
âYou donât like it,â she said softly.
His gaze dropped briefly â not in submission, but in consideration â before lifting again to meet hers.
âI do not,â he admitted.
The honesty struck her harder than any denial could have.
âWhy?â she asked.
And this time, the question was not playful.
It was vulnerable.
His silence stretched longer than she expected. She could see the conflict flickering beneath his composure â the calculation, the restraint, the refusal to surrender something he could not categorize neatly.
Finally, he spoke.
âI find,â he said carefully, âthat the idea of you being⊠diverted elsewhere is unpleasant.â
Unpleasant.
The word was almost clinical.
But the emotion behind it was not.
Her breath caught.
The world seemed to narrow, the sounds of the city dimming around them as her mind caught up with what her heart had already begun to suspect.
He was fighting something.
And it wasnât her.
It was himself.
A strange mixture of triumph and fear bloomed inside her. She had known, logically, that this path might lead here. She had felt herself warming to him for years now, her affection growing steadily, rooted in shared trust and laughter and quiet understanding.
But thisâ
This was different.
This was dangerous.
Because she knew something he didnât.
She knew that no matter how tightly this bond wove itself around them, one day it would end in blood and descent and static swallowed by hellfire.
And yet, standing there beneath the dim streetlamps, looking into eyes that had begun to soften only for herâŠ
She wanted him anyway.
That terrified her.
âYou donât have to fight it,â she said quietly.
His expression sharpened instantly. âFight what?â
She hesitated â just long enough to feel the weight of the word forming in her throat.
âWhatever this is.â
The silence that followed felt monumental.
His jaw tightened slightly.
âI am not fighting anything,â he said.
But they both knew he was.
And for the first time since she had met him, Y/N realized that the careful, steady friendship they had built over years was beginning to tilt into something else entirely.
Something neither of them could retreat from easily.
Something that would either anchor themâ
Or ruin them.
As they resumed walking, closer now than before, her thoughts churned with unfamiliar intensity. She felt the warmth of him beside her, the subtle awareness in the way his arm brushed hers without apology.
She had wanted this closeness.
She had earned it.
But as the city lights flickered against the dark sky, one truth echoed louder than the rest:
If Alastor allowed himself to love herâŠ
It would change everything.
And she did not know whether she was ready for the weight of that.
This chapter i feel is shorter than the others but i'm going to work on that a lot! I tried guys! Anyways! You know the drill! Ask if you want to be added to the tag list, always feel free to put in request! I will answer them!
