come back to me | b. barnes
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ synopsis: it’s been three years since you and Bucky called it quits. you learned to live without him, to stop waiting for a knock that would never come. until tonight, when he shows up at your front door with his team and tired eyes, asking for a place to crash. his presence, bathed in the soft light of your doorstep, stirs feelings long buried—ones you thought had vanished the night he did.
-> pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader
-> disclaimers: so much angst that it’s sickening, yearning, cursing, minor use of y/n, reader and bucky are exes, the thunderbolts are a found family and i make sure of it, bucky has relationship insecurity, unresolved tension, i got carried away with angst (peep word count), bucky and his beautiful dyson airwrap blowout, happy ending.
-> word count: 10k+ (BYEEEE)
-> song rec: cardigan by taylor swift
-> a/n: first ever fic on this blog and it’s angst. i thrive off of tense silence and painful longing. it’s long but worth it (this deserved length)
The knocks come close to midnight. You’re still awake, folding all of your laundry you’d tackled on your day off. You aren’t tired by any means, however, you definitely weren’t expecting the company behind those three even raps on the wooden door of your apartment.
You approach the door with rightful caution—something your years of fighting crime, aliens and evil villains had taught you—but nothing you’d faced before could have ever prepared you for what was on the other side of that peephole.
You almost didn’t open it, backing away with a heartbeat that pumped too quickly for you to keep up. Your breathing grew heavy, like the weight you’ve spent so long trying to lift off your shoulders came crashing down on you again. Yet, there’s a part of you inside that desperately wants to swing the door open, which only makes you angrier—that after all this time, your heart still fails you in the presence of him.
Despite the voices in your head screaming at you from every angle, your body betrays you. Fingers switch the locks and you’re pulling the door open, a small gust of wind following in its path.
Bucky Barnes looks different from the last time you saw him—in person, at least. You’ve seen the new prince charming hair and scruffy beard plenty of times on your television but after a while, his face grew harder to look at so you stopped paying attention. Something once familiar became foreign and you convinced yourself you accepted that.
But there he stands at your front door. Only he isn’t alone, because behind him are the rest of his team of bandits turned heroes; bruised, bloodied and battered.
For a second, you don’t think you’d be able to speak but then your mouth moves faster than your brain. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
It’s silent, and you’re pissed. The goddam Thunderbolts are at your front door in the middle of the night and none of them have the decency to speak. Not even the man who brought them there.
“Is this a joke?” You say, blinking.
Bucky, as if your words snap him out of some sort of daze, raises his chin. “Hi Y/N.”
His voice was as gruff and deep as you remember and the sound of your name rolling off his tongue triggers something you thought you’d long gotten rid of.
When you don’t respond, out of equal parts shock and anger, Bucky continues, “We’re on a mission and it hasn’t been going well. We need,” He pauses. “We need some place to stay. Just for the night.”
There was no way, you think. Maybe you passed out and hit your head, hard enough for your brain to conjure up this sadistic nightmare.
“Seriously?” You breathe, fingers clutching the door with an effort that makes your knuckles turn white.
Bucky opens his mouth but is unable to come up with any words—shame and guilt flickering in every corner of his eyes.
You use the silence to glance around at the other five strangers standing at your front door. They look like they’ve all gone through the ringer; dirty and exhausted. When your eyes land on hers—Yelena’s—your breath falters.
She looks exactly like Natasha under the harsh fluorescent light of your hallway, with a deep gash on her lip and those same rich blue eyes. She stares back at you, tired in a way that makes your heart hurt.
Suddenly, you felt like shit for contemplating slamming the door right in their faces.
When your eyes meet Bucky’s again, that thumping in your heart is undeniable—the one that reminds you of just how much he’d once meant to you, of how you would’ve pulled him inside without question had he knocked on your door years earlier. It was yelling at you to let him inside. Them.
Because that part of you, the one that once loved him and everything that came with him, wasn’t entirely gone. No matter how much you tried to get rid of her.
With a sharp inhale, you step to the side for them to walk through.
Bucky hadn’t expected you to. Of course, he knew the kind of person you once were but he didn’t know the kind of person you are now—you had every right to turn him away and yet, your apartment door was wide open.
His feet feel frozen in place. After a moment of waiting for him to move, and sharing confused glances when he didn’t, the rest of The Thunderbolts begin walking through your door giving you murmurs of appreciation.
Bucky was the last one to step inside.
He feels the energy shift the second he walks through the threshold of your apartment. He hasn’t been inside since the breakup—since the day he practically ripped your heart out with his hand and tried to move on like nothing had happened.
You hate the way he doesn’t bother to look around like the rest of his teammates because he already knows the apartment like the back of his hand. More so, you hate locking the door behind him because that makes the situation all the more real.
Clearing your throat, you spin around despite the fact that your brain still feels as if it’s melting. “I’m Y/N.” You don’t know why you bother telling them your name when surely he beat you to it.
“Oh, we know who you are.” The big man—Red Guardian, you think—laughs, a smile stretching across his face in admiration. “You are Avenger. I see you fight on television. Big fan.”
You blink. “Well, I’ve seen you all fight on TV too,” Your words are laced with bitterness and you resist the urge to side-eye Bucky in the process. “The New Avengers. That’s taken some getting used to.”
Everyone in the room can feel the tension between you and the man who stands near the archway of the hallway, attempting to remain out of the way.
They know you and Bucky used to be a thing, the whole world does. The details of said separation are unknown to most but people have their theories and the creation of The New Avengers is rumored to be one of them.
“For us too, believe it or not.” The woman with a short brown bob and thick accent steps forward. “Thank you for opening your home to us. I’m Ava.”
You give her a simple nod of acknowledgement before the room falls back into quiet.
Then, John Walker who leans against your wall cockily, clears his throat. Your head shoots towards him and you resist the urge you have to drop kick him out the window of your apartment.
You knew him, of course. You’d been there when Sam and Bucky took down the Flag Smashers, and when the same shield that once belonged to Captain America was dripping with blood on live television at the hands of the very man standing in your living room.
“Ma’am.” He nods, offering a mock salute.
“Right.” Your voice is clipped when you look everywhere but at him, disregarding him sassily.
“Is this,” an unsure voice interrupts. It belongs to the brunette man with the shy face whom you hadn’t heard speak until now. He stands near the side table, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of intruding by just asking. “Is this you?”
He’s looking at one of the various picture frames on the table, stopped in front of one in particular—a slightly worn photo in a gold frame. It’s of you, sitting cross legged on a rooftop during golden hour. You were laughing, with your head thrown back happily and wearing his sweatshirt that was slightly too big for you. The city behind you was blurry but glowing, making your smile look radiant.
You swallow. The laugh in the picture still echoes in your head and you remember every second up to that photo being taken.
Years ago, Bucky and you sat on the rooftop of a building in Prague. The two of you had been on a mission, a long and exhausting one where you’d figured you both needed a moment of peace among the chaos. On the roof, you watched the sunset together and you practically begged him to take a photo with you to commemorate the night. He refused nonchalantly, and you teased him that he’s never in any photos. He joked that he can never sit still long enough to take them.
“Gives me cramps.” He smiled.
You’d thought that was the funniest thing you’d heard all day. Your laugh was genuine, pure and sweet sounding in his ears as it bounced off the rooftop of the building. At the sight of your easy smile, Bucky lifted up his phone and snapped the photo. You’d scolded him for taking the candid without giving you a warning, but he absolutely loved it.
“‘M gonna frame this,” He stared at it in admiration between your laughter. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Bucky.” You’d whined, a flush gracing your face.
“Seriously.” He turned to you, eyes softening. “Always so damn beautiful.”
The next time he’d come into your apartment, the first thing he had done was place the framed photo on your table, insisting you keep this version because he’d already printed out one of his own.
Now, the picture sat still and quiet, collecting dust because it hadn’t been appreciated since he left.
“That’s me,” You confirm to the man. “A few years back on a mission. Someone told a joke and I guess I laughed hard enough to be worth remembering.”
He nods, a gentle smile on his face. “It’s a good picture. You look happy.”
You blink, the photo staring back at you almost mockingly. “I was.”
Bucky shifts on his feet where he stands the farthest away in the living room. He knows exactly what photo it is without even having to see it because it’s still the lockscreen on his phone, only he never lets people get close enough to question it.
The younger man’s gaze flickers up to you like he can sense the sadness you feel by looking at the photo. He steps towards you, offering you his hand meekly. “I’m Bob.”
Maybe it’s something about his face, or the attentiveness with which he holds himself, but you smile back—small and sweet. “Nice to meet you, Bob.”
You’re still holding Bob’s hand when another voice speaks from behind you. “You’re a lot quieter than I imagined.”
You twist around and there she is, staring at you with sharp but exhausted eyes.
“Yelena,” She says, stepping forward and offering her hand too. “Belova.”
You take it, her grip steady, and fight the urge to say that you already know who she is. It appears she caught onto the fact that you recognize something in her.
“Y/N.” You nod your head back, taking the moment to analyze her face because it looked so much like the one you’d grown to miss.
She swallows, eyes flickering between your own, like maybe she wishes she knew you like her older sister had. “I like your place. It smells like coffee and books.”
The comment makes you huff, a quiet and gentle laugh. “Thank you.”
When you pull your hand away, you take a moment to scan the room full of standing guests, waiting to be told what was appropriate of them by you, who was now their host. You rarely have people over anymore so you aren’t entirely sure how to do this. Your eyes linger in the direction where Bucky stands for only a second, before you clear your throat and shake him off of you.
“Can I get you guys anything?” You ask no one in particular.
“Change of clothes.” Yelena.
“Water.” John.
“A first aid kit.” Ava.
“Snacks, please.” Bob.
“Tequila.” Alexei.
A small “oh” leaves your mouth as The Thunderbolts speak over each other, staring at you with hesitant grins and eager eyes.
“Yeah,” You nod your head. “Uh, the bathroom's down the hall and the kitchen’s through those doors. I don’t have any tequila but I do have snacks, water, and vodka in the top left cupboard.
Alexei practically threw his fist in the air with a joyous, “Yes!”
Bob almost did too at the mention of free snacks.
“There’s also blankets in that basket right there and the remote for the TV is on the coffee table,” You explain, motioning around with your hands and entirely unaware of the way Bucky’s softened eyes fixate on you and your natural hospitality. “I’ll go get the first aid and clothes, but uhm, help yourself to anything. Except if you’re Walker, which in that case, you can sit on the couch and not speak.”
It was a sarcastic joke—one that earns a snort from Yelena and a soft chuckle from Ava. Even Bucky, who remains behind you at a far enough distance, feels his lips curl up in a grin.
“I deserve that.” John nods, plopping down on the couch with an exhausted huff, ultimately just happy to have somewhere safe and comfortable to rest for a little.
Bob and Alexei remain still, neither man wishing to overstep boundaries, especially yours, though they so desperately want to get into that kitchen. Sensing their eagerness, you nod towards the kitchen once more in reassurance. Both of them immediately set off for it, seemingly racing each other to see who can get to the goodies first.
You blink, shaking your head in what was still disbelief before twisting around on your feet to head towards the hallway. Unlucky for you, Bucky still leaned against the doorway to the hall and when your eyes meet his, you nearly freeze in your spot.
You almost forgot he was there.
After so long of him being gone, you eventually got used to not having his physical being pressed to the couch or sleeping in your bed. However, his presence straggled in every corner of your apartment, haunting you in a way that kept you up at night because of how strongly you felt it—felt him. The fact that he’s back inside feels extremely surreal, but something you’d secretly imagined for years whenever you looked at a photo of him for too long or smelled the lingering scent of his cologne on one of your pillows.
You open your mouth, as if you instinctively want to speak, but shut it equally as quickly. You have nothing to say to him. Not right now.
You can’t pinpoint when it starts to feel normal. Not entirely, but just enough so that the silence in your apartment isn’t uncomfortable anymore. Just enough that their boots by the front door and empty water glasses on the table don’t feel like clutter but rather, signs of life.
Maybe it’s when you toss back a shot with Red Guardian, because he insists it’s his way of saying thank you, and his laugh almost physically shakes the apartment with how happy he is to be “drinking with an actual Avenger!” Or when Ava and John sit on the couch, fighting over the remote and arguing about what movie they should watch for the night.
Maybe it’s when you catch Bob carefully folding up one of your throw blankets into a comfy square, before plopping on the ground to eat a granola bar like it was a five star meal. Or when Yelena clamors all over your kitchen in search of microwave popcorn and shortly gets distracted in a conversation with you about your makeup routines, so the first batch burns. You both laugh about it extensively and even more so when Alexei insists you let him eat it instead of throwing it out.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s when Bob—sweet, innocent Bob—asks where your glasses are so he can get some water, and before you can even get up from your seat on the couch, Bucky’s already on his feet.
“Bottom cabinet, to the left of the sink.” He says over his shoulder, though he’s already halfway there.
You hesitate, lips parting like maybe you mean to say something but no words are capable of coming out. You merely watch him as he moves with ease–like he still belonged, like nothing has changed.
He doesn’t look at you either, not when he opens the cabinet and pulls out the glass without question. Not when he passes it off to Bob like it’s completely normal. Not when he walks right back to his seat on your arm chair in the corner of the room without so much as glancing in your direction.
Suddenly, you’re angry again–that same heat bubbling up in the middle of your chest and threatening to spew out with every second you spend staring at him.
How dare he? Your brain screams. How dare he float around your apartment after everything that happened? How dare he bring his team to the place where you live and just expect you to let them in? And how dare you be so completely and utterly helpless as to fall for it.
You curse yourself and your stupid heart; the one that still reserved a spot for him despite all that you’d done these past years to try and relinquish him. It was impossible to forget Bucky Barnes and you learned that the hard way. Even more so, it was impossible to unlove him. You realize this the more you look at him sitting, with his idiotically beautiful prince hair and uniform that he hasn’t bothered to change out of yet.
As if he could feel your eyes on him, he glances up from where he fiddles with a ring on his finger and your eyes meet for what feels like one too many times that night.
This time, though, you really can’t find it in yourself to look away. Not yet.
His breath hitches in his throat and you notice the way his body goes still under your gaze. He leans back in his seat, slowly but softly, like he’s tired and no longer wants to hide it from you. His tough, soldier demeanor falters for a second, his eyebrows softening at the distant expression in your face.
It was killing him inside, that he was this close to you physically, but so, so far away from you emotionally.
Bucky had been the one to call off your relationship around three years ago. After the whole ordeal with the Flagsmashers was over and Sam had finally gotten the shield back, you and Bucky had decided to move on together. He’d completed his book of amends, having made peace with all of the people he’d harmed and finally feeling like he’d made peace with himself.
The two of you were good–perfect, even—for months after that. You were settling down, taking things slowly, but beginning to live a life that didn’t always require missions every other day and constantly fighting off evil villains.
He’d practically moved in, falling asleep and waking up beside you in your bed, limbs tangled in the sheets like you could stay forever that way. He’d make you coffee in the morning after you’d smothered his face in kisses to wake him, then you’d spend all day together because you couldn’t bear to be a minute apart. You’d walk around town going to restaurants, or shops, or little book stores where he watched you scan the shelves with such admiration, you thought he might’ve jumped out of a romance novel himself.
He took you on dates and never once forgot flowers, no matter how many times you insisted you didn’t need that many bouquets of lilies. He’d stay up late with you while you binge watched one of your ridiculous reality shows, sitting behind you on the couch and pretending he wasn’t engaged though you knew he secretly loved it. He’d smile whenever you danced around the living room of your apartment while you were cleaning, and complained, but ultimately gave in when you’d tug him by the arm and insisted he slow danced with you too.
That was the life you’d dreamed of and just when the both of you started to get it, things began falling out of reach.
Bucky still struggled, hell, you did too, but adjusting to the simple life was a lot more difficult for him than it was for you. He’d still wake up with frequent nightmares where you’d then hold him until he felt safe enough to fall back to sleep in your arms. Sometimes he’d go silent, leave to get some fresh air and not come back for hours. When he did though, you’d always be waiting with a gentle hug and a warm cup of tea—ears open if he wished to speak about it, which he never really did.
Each time he felt like maybe he was getting better, he always fell back into old habits. You helped, of course. In fact, you were the only thing making him happy in his own life and the knowledge of that made Bucky overwhelmed with guilt.
He knew you wanted to settle down, wanted to slowly begin living a life of peace and quiet, with the occasional ‘saving the world mission’ here and there. Yet, he was worried you would never be able to achieve that tranquil lifestyle with him attached at your side. He was used to the chaos, to the noise and restlessness, so it was only a matter of time before he began feeling like one giant burden to you.
Your kindness, your hope, your ability to love without condition were all things that Bucky felt completely undeserving of—wonderful things that you were wasting on him. He’d felt selfish asking you to wait beside him while he tried to fix himself over and over again, so he convinced himself that letting you go was the most selfless thing he could do.
“Bucky,” You had stepped forward, with a frown and tears that threatened to spill over your waterline. “I just, I want to be here for you.”
“I know,” He nodded, trying his best to make you understand though he didn’t quite understand it himself. “But you shouldn’t have to. I don’t want to hold you back anymore. I don’t want you to keep bending yourself backwards for me, it’s not fair to you.”
“This isn’t fair to me,” You shook your head in disbelief. “I want to be with you. None of it bothers me, not if it means I get to have you, you know that right?”
“And what about the life you want to live?” He hummed, water brimming his own eyes. “I’m not going to be able to give you that–none of the peace or the quiet–not when I can barely go to sleep on my own without waking up from these fucked nightmares. There’s, just, so much more out there for you than this.”
Every word that slipped from his mouth was equivalent to someone taking a knife that was freshly sharpened and lodging it in your chest repeatedly. “So what,” You blinked up at him. “You’re gonna leave? After all of this, you want to leave because you think you’re too difficult?”
“Y/N, you don’t get sleep anymore because of me. You say it yourself, you’re so exhausted and it’s because of me. You stay up, waiting for me to come home and I feel like shit the moment I step through that door and see you still awake on the couch. It kills me that you feel like you have to do that, because you don’t and you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t have to wait for me anymore.” He continued.
“That doesn’t matter to me. I’ll do it, I’ll wait for you no matter what.” Your words come from your gut—genuine and determined. “When we started dating, I told you that I’d be here to take care of you regardless of the circumstances. I meant that because I love you too much to let you do this alone.”
“And I love you too much to drag you down with me.” He blurted, just as a stray tear rained down his cheek.
Your body faltered and you paused at the feeling of your heart crack away in your chest. The reality of the situation had weighed on you, and you needed a moment to catch up—to understand that Bucky was being serious.
Sure you’d argued before, over little things that you resolved with a second of alone time, some communication and a shared kiss. However, this didn’t feel like the sort of conversation that could be fixed with a kiss. The expression on Bucky’s face started to make you think that he had already made up his mind.
“So,” Your voice cracked. “So what, this is it? You’re just gonna leave after everything we've been through, after all the time we’ve spent here? This is your home.”
“And it was your home first.” He breathed. “You opened your door to me and so I came in, with all of my bullshit and problems. I intruded.”
“You did not intrude–”
“I did.” He pressed, sternly. “I don’t want to ruin this for you, I can’t. Not when you’re so bright, and full of life, and good. God, you’re so good, that I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking that away from you. You deserve better than me, better than this.”
Had your knees not locked, you thought you might’ve collapsed right there on the floor of your living room. It was a horrible dream, a sick one even. Except, the more you stared into the depths of his, once, vibrant ocean eyes to find them darkened to a storm blue, you realized just how real this was.
Bucky approached you slowly, his gentle hands finding their places on the sides of your hips, holding you up and simultaneously closer to him. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, it sounded more like a whimper past his devastated lips. “I’m so sorry.”
You sobbed almost immediately, dropping your head and letting it fall against his chest. He didn’t push you away, only wrapped his arms around you and held you like it was the last time he was going to—which in this case, it was.
It didn’t feel the same though. His grip was tight around you but his hold was loose, like he had already checked out by the time he’d placed his chin on top of your head and ran his hand down your back in comfort. Regardless, you savoured the moment, melted into it for as long it took to commit his touch to memory. Unfortunately for you, the feeling of his skin on yours would linger like a tattoo for all the years that he’d be away.
Your sadness was shortly accompanied by anger, a feeling completely foreign to you, especially around the man you loved. You were wiggling out of his grasp, and pushing him by the chest to increase the distance between the two of you.
He watched with knitted eyebrows as you wiped the tears off of your face on the sleeves of the hoodie you wore—one that belonged to him. You tried to regulate your breathing, make it as leveled as you could so you could spit out the words, “Fine. Go.”
This time, it was Bucky who felt like he’d just gotten stabbed in the chest.
“If giving up on our relationship is easier for you than sticking around, there’s no reason for you to be here anymore.” You hiss, sudden resentment dripping off of your tongue.
You had every reason in the world to be upset about this, he knew this. He also knew that it was hypocritical of him to be hurt by your words because this was his doing, after all. He deserved this, he reminded himself, your anger and your hatred as opposed to your patience and love. Because Bucky’s days as The Winter Soldier had trained him to be unloveable–to be cruel, and sad, and lonely. That was all he knew and sometimes, he felt it was all he was made for.
“Go.” You snapped when he couldn't find the dignity to move his legs. “Please. Just, please get the hell out, and don’t come back.”
With an empty void where his heart should be, Bucky left that night, for good this time. He didn’t quietly enter again at two in the morning to be greeted by the love of his life carrying a warm cup of freshly brewed tea. He didn’t climb into your bed with you so you could comb your fingers through his hair and lull him to sleep. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t because he knew the distance was the only thing good for you. It was the only thing that would keep you free from him.
That distance held true for three years. No matter how many times you’d see him on your television, whether it was under the guise of Congressman Barnes or now, New Avenger Bucky, you never once ran back to him. It was something you’d thought about many times because god, you missed him more than you’d missed anything in your life, but you weren’t going to fall victim to your own heart.
Instead, he eventually ran back to you–standing at your front door with his new team, his new friends, his new priorities. None of which involved you. Up until the moment he needed a place to stay for the night.
Your attention finally flickers away as you turn back to the rest of The Thunderbolts that gathered in your living room despite the fact that it was well past midnight. Yelena, who sits beside you on the armrest of the couch, immediately jumps into storytime about what went wrong on their mission that resulted in them camping out at your place.
Alexei however, sprawls out on the floor with a small bowl of trail mix in his lap, tossing back peanuts into his mouth like a sport. His focus seems to be on Bucky. With a curious head tilt, he asks during a pause in Yelena’s story, “What’s up with this guy?”
The room falls into a beat of silence and all eyes flicker over to the super soldier, including yours, but you look away faster than any of them can notice.
“What?” Yelena hums.
“He has not said anything at all for the past hour.” Alexei continues.
“He doesn’t talk much, you know this.” Ava shrugs simply.
“Yeah, but he is talking a lot less than usual.”
Bucky inhales, leaning back in his seat and offering the room a small but sarcastic smile. “Just tired. Long day.”
The Thunderbolts nod in agreement, all except for Alexei who tilts his head between you and Bucky curiously. “Well, there is an elephant in this room and I think it is very big.”
“Dad.” Yelena hisses, nudging him in his foot with her own.
Your body tenses on the spot and you swallow the lump in your throat harshly.
“What? I am just curious,” He says genuinely. “They were a thing, no? Her and Barnes?”
As badly as you want to chuck one of your throw pillows directly at the Red Guardian’s head, it’s clear to tell that he was sincerely asking. He’s horrible at reading the room though, you’d give him that.
“There is a time and place,” Yelena mumbles under her breath. “We talked about this, remember?”
“I think this is the place,” he argues. “It feels so heavy in here, like I am crushed.”
You don’t want to look up to catch Bucky’s reaction to his teammate’s words, though you were sure it mimicked your own. Desperately needing to put an end to whatever this was, you straighten your shoulders in an attempt to be casual.
“It wasn’t really a thing,” You say lightly, like it’s not a carefully crafted lie. “We worked together for a long time, that’s all.”
A beat.
“So it was not anything more?” Alexei continues, in between crunches of trail mix. “Because I watched the news and the news said you were dating. But it can be wrong, the news can be wrong.”
Your stomach was churning quickly, like your ribs were bruising from the inside out. You hated talking about it because the wound was still fresh, like a cut that never scabbed over properly.
“We were partners who got close, but that's it. It was work, ” You respond simply, reaching for your glass of water like it would save you from this confrontation. “That’s all it ever was.”
And it hurts to say it like that—to minimize everything that once was between you, but it was the one thing you learned how to do since he left. It made the loss of him easier to manage.
Alexei, finally seeming to have caught on, frowns into his snack bowl and mutters something under his breath about Americans being too vague. Bob clears his throat, totally uncomfortable by the silence and tension, just like Ava and John who focus their attention on the television screen though it was obvious they were thinking about something else. Yelena gives you a small glance–not pitying, but knowing.
Bucky doesn’t say a word, but his hand is curled tight around the glass he sips from, so much so that his knuckles have gone completely white.
It pains him, so much more than he’d like to show on his face, to hear you diminish your relationship to simply business. Because he remembers it all; the early mornings and late nights, the dates and bouquets of unnecessary flowers, the slow dances in the very same living room you were gathered in. Despite having been the one to walk out, he thought about those moments every day of his life and it killed him to know that it was all just passing to you.
In your peripheral vision, you catch it; the way he gazes at the floor like if he stares at it long enough, he might just be able to sink right into it—the look on his face as if he’s watching the life he could’ve had disappear all over again.
The damage had been done and while it should’ve felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulders to say, it only makes your lungs close up even more. Your breathing begins to feel dense and the longer you sit in the living room, the more it feels like its walls are closing in on you.
You push yourself off of the couch to turn towards Bob on the ground and hold your hand out for his empty glass. “You want a refill, Bob?”
Truthfully, he doesn’t but he notices the desperation in your expression for a way out so he nods his head quickly.
You take his glass and set off towards the kitchen. The second you step inside, you immediately put the cup down to grip the edge of the counter. Dropping your head, you close your eyes and try to regulate your breathing but your chest is so heavy, it almost feels impossible.
You feel ridiculous for letting this bother you as much as it was, but how could it not? You’re trying so hard to fight the collapse of the walls around your heart but, god, they’re shaking. Buckling. Breaking. It’s only a matter of time before they crumble completely under the weight of every memory you’ve tried to keep buried.
Why does it hurt so much? Why does it still hurt so much?
You want to cry, your throat burning with the pressure of holding it all back. You inhale a deep breath, one that rattles on the way down. You keep your palms flat against the countertop, like maybe if you hold onto it hard enough, it might keep you from crashing to the ground.
A creak sounds from the floor behind you, soft and careful, indicating that someone has stepped into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Yelena’s raspy voice asks.
You don’t turn around right away, but open your eyes with a heavy breath. “Yeah.”
The lie was weak and perfectly unoriginal. Yelena doesn’t call you out for it. She just waits, unmoving.
Finally glancing over your shoulder, you see her—arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the doorframe, watching you with equal parts sympathy and intrigue.
“I feel like an idiot.” You admit, wearing your feelings right on your sleeve. “When I saw him at that door, it was like everything came rushing back and, and I couldn’t do anything but let him in. God, I’m so pathetic.”
“You are not pathetic.” Yelena tilts her head.
“Yes I am.”
“No,” She steps forward with knitted eyebrows. “You are not.”
The two of you stare at each other for a moment. When you can’t find the words to speak, she exhales a soft breath.
“We were in deep shit on this mission,” She explains. “Bucky told us he knew a friend who might be able to help but I had no idea that it’d be you. I don’t think he was even sure you would be willing, but you were the first person he thought of anyways. You didn’t have to open the door but you did because you’re good. Doesn’t sound pathetic to me.”
The admission makes your head pound and you nearly wince at the ache you feel around your temples.
Yelena watches you lean against the counter, your eyes darting around as if searching for an answer that wasn’t there. She swallows and asks cautiously, “What happened with you two?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, the sensation of lingering tears itching the back of your throat. You hate talking about it, but it’s been so long since anyone bothered to ask, that you think you might be able to get through it this time.
“It was his idea,” You say with a shaky breath. “To end things.”
Yelena doesn’t respond right away, doesn’t push—she just gives you room as your gaze fixates on the tiled floor, like it might offer you some clarity.
“He told me I deserved better,” You continue, the bitterness in your soft voice laced with sadness rather than spite. “That I was too good. Didn’t want to hold me back, or burden me. He said he wanted me to live a life where I wasn’t constantly trying to pull him out of the dark.”
Yelena’s gaze is quiet, unflinching as you move to sit across from her at the table with a sigh.
“The worst part about it is, I don’t even think I fought hard enough. I mean, yeah, I begged and I cried but, then I just got mad,” Your brows furrow as you recall the memory, like it physically pains you to do so. “I let him leave—I made him, and he did it like it was the easiest thing he’s ever done.”
You finally look up to meet her eyes.
“So yeah,” you say. “I’m still so angry. Angry that he left and found a new group of people to rely on, angry that I let him and didn’t fight harder for us, angry that I still—”
You stop yourself short, the words halting in your throat because saying them out loud terrified you.
Yelena blinks, softly nodding her head in understanding. “You still love him.”
Hearing her say the exact thing you were thinking makes the back of your eyes sting with tears that have been hiding themselves all night. You pause for a second, because she’s right, and you can’t stand it.
“I remember everything, Yelena. Every single fucking thing and I hate that I do.”
Yelena leans closer on the table, catching your eyes with sincerity. “He remembers too.”
You pause, breath tight in your throat.
“He never talks about it, but I can tell, we all can.” She continues gently. “There’s this bracelet—gold and braided with a star charm—you made that for him, didn’t you?”
Swallowing, you nod, remembering the one night where Bucky couldn’t sleep and you’d insisted on staying up with him, claiming you could do crafts to pass the time. He taught you how to make little animals out of origami and you taught him how to make friendship bracelets.
“He still wears it. Everyday, on every mission.” She explains. “The other day he forgot his phone on the kitchen counter. I tapped it to check the time and that photo of you, the one Bob saw in your living room, it’s still his wallpaper.”
You think your heart might give out right then and there. A single tear drops from your eyes and you dig your nails so far into the skin on your palm, it’s enough to make you bleed.
“Y/N,” Yelena speaks softly, reaching out to carefully place her hand on top of yours. “I do not think he has ever stopped thinking about you—loving you.”
This time, more tears fall before you have the chance to hold them back. Softly, you let Yelena unclench your fists so she can slip her hand into yours to hold.
“Then why did he leave?” You whisper between a small sob.
Yelena frowns, shaking her head. She didn’t have the answer.
You did though, so it was silly you even had to ask.
The night Bucky left replays in your head like a film reel, and his words echo in every corner of your brain.
“I love you too much to drag you down with me.”
It was ironic, you thought, because you’d only started drowning when you were without him. He was not your anchor but rather your life jacket—pulling you out of the deep end when you got too tired to swim. These last three years without him were the longest moments you’ve ever spent with your head submerged underwater.
When he left, you sank all over again.
The quiet chatter has slowly dissipated to a still, and the only noise comes from the gentle hum of the television.
From where you sit in the corner of the couch, you glance around the room at the silence. On the couch, Yelena lays with her head on your lap and her feet tangled with Ava’s, whose sleeping figure matches Yelena’s on the opposite end. Near your feet on the floor was Bob, resting comfortably on top of one of your throw pillows. The rest of the floor is occupied by Alexei and John, who sprawl out with outstretched limbs—Alexei face down as if he’d just passed out from a three day bender, and John using his backpack to rest his head because he refused when you’d offered him a pillow.
You let yourself glance briefly in Bucky’s direction, where he still sits on the armchair in the dark corner of the room. You can make out the silhouette of his fully clothed figure. His head leans back towards the ceiling, a tell he had to be sleeping.
While you don’t want to risk waking any of them up, you’re beginning to grow uncomfortable squished on the couch.
Gently, you lift up Yelena’s head just enough to tuck a throw pillow beneath it so she doesn't recognize your absence. Slipping off of the couch, you adjust her head atop it, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face to as she hums in delight before sinking further into the pillow.
Reaching into the wicker basket beside the couch, you unfold a fleece blanket and delicately drape it over Bob who’s curled up like a ball. He, too, makes a soft noise of satisfaction, and you swear he mumbles something under his breath that you can’t make you.
Of course he talks in his sleep. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the observation.
Twisting around, you step over John’s feet and over towards Alexei, whose snores are so deep, he seems to grumble with each step you take. With a hushed chuckle, you pick up the bowl of trial mix beside his body so he doesn’t knock it over in his sleep.
Backing away slightly, you falter in admiration at the scene before you. Your apartment has never been this full and you can’t remember the last time you had people over besides that time you hosted dinner for Joaquin Torres and Sam Wilson. Other than that, you’re always by yourself.
Except for tonight.
The team of heroes occupy so much space in your living room, it makes the walls feel less empty—less sad. Regardless of how you felt about them before they entered the threshold of your apartment, you knew how you feel about them now. They’re chaotic, and messy, and unbelievably new to this whole “working as a team” thing, but in the few hours that they’ve kept you company in your place, they’ve offered you more joy and comfort than you’ve experienced in a while.
Beside you, Bucky shifts in his seat. He’s been wide awake the entire time—enough to see you give Yelena the pillow and Bob the blanket, enough to watch you observe his team with a soft, longing expression. The same one he carried whenever he looked at you for too long.
It was endearing, to say the least. To watch you care for his team like they were your own, despite not knowing any of them at all. You’ve always been that way—sweet, nurturing, and just plain kind. It makes Bucky’s heart swell, knowing that at least you didn’t lose that part of yourself when he left.
At the sound of movement, you glance in his direction and, once again, your body tenses at the sight.
“I didn’t know you were awake.” You say quietly, before your brain really registers you’re speaking to him.
He replies, “I couldn’t sleep.”
Blinking, you nod quickly before moving to carefully pick up the empty water glasses from the table. “Me either.”
You struggle to gather all of the cups so Bucky pushes himself out of the seat and moves to help you—against his inner monologue that tells him you’d likely be much happier if he sat down and didn’t move at all.
“It’s okay,” You stutter. “I’ve got it.”
“No, it’s alright, I’ll help.” He answers, picking up the remaining cups that you can’t.
You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat but it’s nearly impossible as you spin around to walk towards the kitchen, and Bucky follows hot on your trail. It’s silent when you place the glasses in the sink and you hate how natural it feels to watch Bucky do the same.
“I can clean these when I get up tomorrow,” Bucky nods. “Before we leave.”
“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head.
“I’ll just do it real quick so you don’t—”
“Seriously,” You interrupt more sternly this time as you finally look at him. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
He visibly swallows at your harshness, but nods nonetheless.
Then the two of you fall back into an odd quiet, where neither of you know what to say to each other but both understand that a conversation was inevitable from the moment he walked inside.
Blinking, you motion towards the sleeping bunch in your living room. “They’re, uhm,” You say. “They’re really great.”
Bucky purses his lips at the casualness with which you speak. “Yeah, they try.”
“Even Walker,” You continue, grabbing a towel to wipe down the counter because you so desperately need something to do with your hands. “He seems different.”
“He is.” Bucky nods, watching you intently. “I think we all are.”
His words have double meaning, this you know, and you hate the way you want to press him for details. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek and focus on the counter you were cleaning.
Bucky knows he has to talk to you—keep the conversation going—because he knows this is the only opportunity he might get. It really is now or never.
“I’m sorry for asking you that favor.” Bucky says suddenly, sincerity laced in his soft but gruffly voice. “For showing up unannounced.”
You nearly pause, your knuckles squeezing the towel in your hand like it was the only force keeping you on earth. “Would you have shown up announced?” You ask, your words holding a hint of hostility.
Bucky stills. “Y/N,” He breathes, his voice just above a whisper, like he can read all of the sarcasm you speak with.
He watches you intently with a burning desire to fix all of the wrong he’d caused that day he left—to mend what was broken between the two of you because he’s not sure he can live anymore knowing you’re angry with him.
You shake your head quickly because not only was it stupid to have this conversation in the kitchen where a few feet away, his entire team slept, but also, you were petrified of the words that were going to leave his mouth once the two of you finally worked up the courage to talk it out.
“Bucky,” You breathe.
He pauses, waiting for you to go on.
Only you don’t. Instead, your eyes flicker down to the uniform he still has on. With a sudden blink and a change of demeanor, you tilt your head. “Do you want to change clothes?”
He pauses. “I didn’t bring any.”
You don’t know why you suddenly cared whether or not he was comfortable in his clothes. A lot of things, you notice, got confusing when you were around him.
“I,” You pause, hating yourself for thinking of what you were. Deciding it would simply be way easier to do instead of say, you twist around on the balls of your feet and begin walking down the hallway towards your room.
Bucky blinks, until you glance over your shoulder at him.
“C’mere.” You say quietly, your suggestion soft in his ears, whether you intend it to be or not.
His feet move faster than his brain can even process. His head gets foggy as he maneuvers through the hallway. He knew exactly where he’s going because he’d been to your room so many times before in the past. It almost made him sick to his stomach when he realizes that’s where you’re taking him.
When you turn that corner into your bedroom, Bucky stops just outside the doorframe. He glances inside, immediately overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all. It’s practically exactly as it was when he’d walked out that day, reminding him of just how much he’d left behind—a happiness he’d pulled out from right under your feet.
He watches you rummage through your closet, reaching high onto a shelf in search of something. You mindlessly glance in his direction, chest clenching at the way he stands frozen outside of the threshold. He's too afraid to step foot inside which is so weird, because the Bucky you knew once took up space in this room like it was his own.
Tugging down two articles of clothing from the shelf, you twist back to him and hold them out. “Here.” You say. “You left these here.”
The navy blue hoodie and black sweats are folded neatly in your outstretched hands in such a way that almost makes them look brand new. Only they aren’t. You wore them for months after he left because it felt better to sleep in his clothes than it did your own.
Bucky looks from your face and back down to the clothes. He doesn’t want to step forward to grab them—feeling entirely undeserving of walking back into your room after all this time. But you aren’t going to him. So you stand frozen in the middle of your room, waiting for the moment he musters up the courage to come inside and retrieve them himself.
Eventually, his feet make their way slowly over to you, taking the clothes with a gentle ease. He can’t figure out what to say so he gives you a small nod of appreciation before turning back around, heading down the rest of the hall towards the bathroom.
Without him in the room, you’re finally able to take a deep breath. It’s shaky and long as it leaves your chest like you've been holding it all night.
You can’t stand it but somewhere deep down, this entire ordeal feels normal. You’re beginning to realize just how much you’ve missed it—missed him, and that thought alone keeps you wide awake because if being awake means more time with him before he leaves all over again, you’d have to take it.
Minutes pass of you bouncing your leg up and down where you sit on the edge of your bed, when the bathroom door clicks open and a newly changed Bucky emerges. It makes your stomach twist into a pretzel, to see him in the same hoodie you wore that day he left.
You press your hands into your knees, hesitating even more at how ridiculously good he looks in it. “Are you,” You hum. “Are you alright?”
Don’t ask that, I don’t deserve it, was what he wanted to say but he merely nods as he lingers in your door’s threshold again. “Why’d you keep them?”
Swallowing, you shrug. “I was gonna set them on fire, but the hoodie was too comfortable.”
For the first time that night, the corners of Bucky’s lips almost twist up into a smile. “Really?”
“Really.” You nod, glancing at him when he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “That and, I guess I always hoped you’d just come back to get them.”
Bucky falters with an expression that you can’t quite read. A silence washes over the two of you before he exhales, “I wanted to.”
“Did you?”
“I did.”
“Okay.” You hum sarcastically.
Bucky purses his mouth shut with a tilt of his head. “Y/N,”
“You know what,” You say with squinted eyes. “I don’t actually believe that, like at all, but it’s fine. Doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
“Why?” Bucky breathes. “Why don’t you believe it?”
“Because you left, Bucky!” You snap, your anger finally cutting through the surface after brewing all night. “You left and we never spoke again. I waited for you for months—to call or to text but you never did, so yeah, maybe I did believe you’d come back at some point but then I just got tired of waiting.”
“You moved on.” Bucky points out. “That’s good, that’s what you were supposed to do.”
“Yeah, except I didn’t.” You huff, pushing yourself off of the bed to glare at him. “You left because you wanted me to be happy but I wasn’t happy, I’m still not. The life you wanted me to live for myself was only possible if I lived it with you.”
Bucky’s face tightens in guilt as you let your words slip from your tongue.
“Then, I have to watch you on my television screen with your new team, the new people you have to take care of, and it kills me inside.” You don’t bother wiping away the stray tear that slides down your cheek. You look up at him, dead in the eyes and ask, “Are you happy?”
The question catches him off guard. He steps into your room with hesitancy, maintaining his distance but needing to be close to you to shake his head.
You nearly wince as you watch his face contort into a sadness much similar to your own.
“Not happy in the way I was when I was with you.”
The words are genuine, making your ears ring in disbelief. You swallow, but the lump in your throat feels like it might be permanently stuck.
“I have never been the same since the moment I walked out that day. I thought I was doing the right thing, I swore I was,” He admits. “I threw myself into work because I believed that somehow it would make up for what I was missing, but I learned right away that none of this could ever fill the gap that you left.”
You don’t seem to notice when you instinctively take a step closer, your body drawn to his as if your hearts were magnetized.
“You followed me everywhere, Y/N,” He exhales a defeated breath. “There were so many times when I just wanted to run back here, back to you, but I couldn’t because I figured you’d be doing better without me—without my burden.”
“You were never a burden.” You add, shaking your head with a furor you hope makes him understand. “Neither were any of your problems or trauma, and I hate that you think you were. I took care of you because that’s what you do when you love someone.”
Bucky takes a step closer too, though neither of you seem to notice with the way your eyes are trained on the other pair.
“Love someone?” He asks, his voice the most quiet and careful you’ve heard it all night.
It took years, and Bucky Barnes standing in front of you again, to finally admit it: you did still love him. What you felt for Bucky had never been surface level affection. You loved him desperately, like he was the air you needed to breathe and the light against all of the darkness that you’d hid from your whole life.
Loving him had never been easy. It came with deeply shared fears and anxiety of vulnerability and closeness. Though, you never desired an easy love anyways. You wanted a love that was complex and passionate, where obstacles were something you could leap over together if your relationship was built on a foundation of sincere care and respect.
Your love for him was so rooted in your veins, you always believed that your souls were destined to merge—surpassing time and change. You knew for a fact that you’d love him no matter how far apart the two of you were; your heart was his across states, countries, planets, timelines.
There was a vast multiverse out there, much bigger than your brain could even comprehend, and you were positive you loved Bucky Barnes in every single one of them.
“Love.” You nod, the most confident you’ve been about anything in years. “I’ve always loved you, James. I’ve never been able to stop.”
The sound of his name on your lips makes his heart swell, desperately wanting to jump out of his chest and towards you—where it knew it’d finally be at home.
Bucky can no longer deny the way he feels either, only he’s never really been able to. He loved you like you were the only thing on this planet of any importance. Sam saw it, Yelena saw it, hell, so did the rest of the goddamn world. He’d never been the same since he left and nothing ever felt right, not until he stepped back into your apartment where the walls remembered him and whispered stories of memories he’d never forgotten.
He lets out a shaky exhale. “I messed up so badly.”
“I did too.” You nod. “I shouldn’t have let you leave, I should’ve tried harder to-”
“No, hey, no,” Bucky shakes his head immediately, stepping forward so you two are the closest you’ve been in years. His fingers brush against yours, and when you don’t flinch away, he links his pinky with your own. “None of this was your fault, don’t blame yourself. I fucked up, I’m the one who left. This is not on you.”
You remain quiet, the small act of physical contact rendering you speechless.
“You were on my mind everyday. Whenever I got up to speak at congress, whenever I did press for the team, on every mission, every late night and early morning,” He whispers, eyes scanning your face like it was the first time he was getting the privilege of looking at you. “I hate myself for making that decision for you, for thinking we’d be better off. You were my world, still are.”
Everything comes flooding back, the walls around your heart breaking like a dam that was doomed to fall from the beginning. You want to cry, want to break down right there in his arms and hope the Bucky you still knew would be there to hold you.
“I can’t change what I did, but I can tell you what I want to do,” He goes on, hand coming up cautiously to cup the side of your face. “I want to love you all over again, the right way this time. I will spend the rest of our lives trying to rebuild what I tore down, if you’ll let me, and I promise to do better this time and give you whatever it is you want—”
“I want you.” You interrupt. “All of you. I want to know how you’re feeling or the things that keep you up at night because I want to be the one to help you through them. Don’t hide yourself from me.”
Bucky swallows at the desperation in your tone. How lucky was he to have your unconditional care once, and then all over again now, even if he still feels like he doesn’t deserve it. You’re still too good—far too good for him—but this time, he’s determined to be just the same for you.
“I promise.” He nods, his thumb rubbing your cheek like you’re a ceramic doll he’s afraid of breaking.
You place your own hand on his hand cupping your face, before running your other hand through his beautifully blown out hair. He grunts out a soft noise of delight, one that makes your stomach twist.
“God, I’ve missed you so much.” He says.
This almost doesn’t feel real; his touch or the words that leave his mouth, but it is—he is. He’s unbelievably real beneath your fingertips and it suddenly feels like you’re falling in love all over again as you stare at him.
“You came to me first.” You hum, your voice just above a whisper. “Yelena told me.”
Bucky lets out a small chuckle but his eyes still hold traces of disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re running your hands through his hair the way you are. “She did?”
“Mhm.” A smile begins to curl its way onto your lips, one you can’t deny.
“She’s a rat.” He grumbles, his hands dropping to your waist to gently run his palms over your sides.
“She’s sweet,” You correct, reaching down to grab his non-metal arm and gently pull his sleeve up, revealing the bracelet on his wrist. “And she also told me you still wear this.”
Bucky watches your fingers run over the braided material before his eyes flicker back up to you. “I’ve never taken it off.”
Your gaze meets his soft blue eyes where you can read the longing all over them. It’s been so long since you've seen it and yet, it’s still capable of sending a cacophony of butterflies through your stomach like something out of a dream sequence.
“I love you.” He says out of the blue.
The three words have your breath hindering in your throat.
“I’ve loved you every moment I was here and every moment I wasn’t.”
You don’t know what to say, how to express how much you reciprocate that love, so before you have the opportunity to think about it, you stand up on your toes and press your lips against his.
Bucky wastes no time. He wraps his arms further around your waist and tugs you closer to his chest. With your hands placed on the sides of his neck, you sink deeper into the kiss.
Kissing him feels just like it had all those years ago. It’s warm just like you remember it to be but more passionate, if that’s even possible. For Bucky, kissing you is still sweet but delicate in a way that reminds him of just how lucky he was to be able to press his lips against yours.
You kiss each other with a burning desire to make up for all the lost time, to fill the gap of what was once missing between the two of you—not lost but something simply misplaced. The two of you wished to stay forever that way, and maybe now you would.
“I fucking knew it.” A voice whisper shouts from the frame of your open door.
Pulling apart, you and Bucky both turn your heads in the direction of the hallway. Yelena stands with her hands in the pockets of your sweatpants, a knowing smirk stretching across her face.
You look down like you just got caught doing something you shouldn’t have, all while biting back your smile. Bucky’s face turns red and he purses his lips with a small nod. He side-eyes you as you cover your mouth with your hand, suppressing your small hysterical giggles. Your laughter made him grin helplessly, and he squeezed your hand, gently moving closer to your side where he intended to stay for good.
Yelena smiles. “Ava owes me twenty bucks.”