Summary: It's Bucky's birthday and he decides to spend it with his best friend, Steve, and Steve's little sister, you.
Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader, Brother!Steve Rogers x Sister!Reader
Warnings: Angst. Idiots in love. Fluff. Vague mentions to sex. Language 'cause I can't help myself. My poor attempts at being funny.
Word Count: 3.4K
Prompt: "So what should I say?" "when?" "when I love someone." "you should say it"
A/N: Since it's almost Bucky's birthday I wanted to celebrate it with my first fic with 40s Bucky! He's one of my favorite Buckys and I've been wanting to write about him for a while and I finally got this idea! Hope someone enjoys it! In my mind this happens like a year before Captain America: The First Avenger, so Bucky is turning 25, Steve is 23 and the Reader is 21, but you can always imagine any age you want. As always, any ideas for fics are appreciated!
Masterlist
You enter the room to see Bucky is hanging out in yours and Steve's apartment, like he always does, sitting down at the window, smoking a cigarette and reading the evening newspaper while a football game plays on the television in the living room and Steve sits on the couch, drawing on his notebook.
You're used to Bucky being here, he's your big brother's best friend and you've come to be very close friends with him too, even if you wished there was more.
As clichè as it is to have a crush on your brother's best friend, you couldn't help it. He was handsome and funny, and he's always sweet and protective of you.
You've known him since you were 9 years old, and he's the only family you have left other than Steve.
"Is this really how you're going to spend your birthday?" You ask Bucky as you sit on the couch next to Steve.
Bucky turns around towards you with a bright smile, his blue eyes lighting up as soon as he sees you, like they always do whenever he's around you.
He puts out the cigarette and stands up, walking over to you, sitting down on your other side and pulling you into a side hug.
"Hey, doll. I didn't think you were gonna be here today." He says, although he seems more happily surprised by your presence than disappointed.
"I live here, Barnes." You tease him with a smile. "Unlike you."
He rolls his eyes playfully as Steve snickers next to you while he keeps drawing. "I know that. I meant, I thought you were gonna be out with your friends tonight."
"I didn't feel like it." You dismiss him quickly, not wanting to actually say out loud that you'd rather spend his birthday with him doing nothing than go out with your friends, so you try to casually change the subject. "I thought you'd at least want to spend today with Dot."
Dot isn't actually Bucky's girlfriend, they've been on a few dates and you've seen them together a couple of times, but Bucky introduced her to you as a friend so you don't think they're that serious.
Not that Bucky ever is, girls are always all over him and he takes advantage of that. He's a ladies man.
But you try not to worry too much about his love life, not wanting to hurt yourself more than knowing Bucky will never see you like that already does.
"Well, I wanted to spend my birthday with my favorite pair of siblings. She can give me my birthday kiss tomorrow." He says with a grin while ruffling your hair.
"So... What's been going on with you lately, doll? Anything interesting happening in your life?" He asks curiously after a pause, genuinely wanting to know more about your day-to-day activities and experiences.
"I... Well, I went on my first date." You say shyly while playing with the edge of your dress.
Bucky's eyes widen in surprise, his interest piqued by your sudden confession. "First date? Who was it with? How'd it go?" He asks with what seems like excitement but mentally preparing himself to potentially become jealous or possessive no matter who you mention.
"It was fine..." You say quietly, still not looking at him. "It just wasn't... It wasn't what I was expecting..."
Bucky senses something off in your tone and expression, and immediately becomes concerned. He places a gentle hand on your knee, trying to comfort you without making it too obvious.
"What happened, doll? Did things not go as well as you hoped they would? Are you feeling okay?" He asks softly, trying to gauge whether or not you want to open up about what happened during your date and if there's anything he can do to make it better.
You don't really know how to answer his question, so you don't, simply glancing at him before looking away and shrugging.
"Tell me what happened, I'm here for you no matter what. If that guy hurt your feelings or made you uncomfortable, I'll kick his ass for sure." He promises fiercely, his protective instincts kicking into high gear whenever you seem vulnerable or upset.
You giggle weakly at his protectiveness but still don't look at him, so he takes your chin gently but firmly and makes you look at him. "Tell me what happened on your date. Was it some creep who tried to grope you or something worse? Because if he did, I swear to god I will find him and break his fucking legs."
"That's not it, Bucky." You say quickly. "It's just... He just... He wasn't..." You. He wasn't you. That's what you want to tell him, but you can't, so you sigh and shrug again. "He just wasn't my type."
Bucky knew what was your type. He knew he was your type, he has seen you ogle him countless times when he walked past you or sat near you.
He also knew that you had never shown any interest in any of the men who approached you, always dismissing them as not good enough for you. Or at least that's why he thought you did.
Glancing at Steve before looking back at you again, Bucky says quietly. "Well, that's too bad for him I guess."
"It doesn't matter, I'm not seeing him again." I say quietly, avoiding both Steve and Bucky's eyes.
Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion, he couldn't believe you were so quick to give up on a potential relationship just because the guy didn't live up to your impossible standards.
"Doll, you gotta give guys more of a chance. They ain't all as bad as you seem to think they are." He scolds you playfully, but there was also a hint of underlying irritation in his tone as he takes a long sip from his beer bottle.
You glance at him before looking away again. "So... You think I should go on another date with that guy?" You ask quietly.
Bucky thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of pushing you to go on another date with the mystery guy. "Yeah, actually. I mean, if you think he's worth giving a second chance, then why not? And if he turns out to be a total dud again, then at least you can say you gave it a shot. But only if you're really sure he's worth your time though. Don't waste it on some loser who doesn't appreciate everything you have to offer."
He advised you, trying to strike a balance between being supportive and challenging you to take risks when it came to relationships. "But whatever you decide, don't let me pressure you into doing something you don't want to do. You've gotta follow your heart, doll."
"You know, Stevie doesn't care this much about who I date, and he's my older brother." You tease Bucky while glancing at Steve.
Bucky snorts in amusement, "Yeah well, I'm not your brother, sweetheart, but I'm your friend and your wingman, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit back and watch you throw away a potential chance to be happy. Now come on, make up your mind already. Are you gonna give the guy another chance or not?" He pressed, playfully but determinedly.
You look at his face for a moment before looking away again and sighing. "I'm not." You say quietly but firmly. "I'm not going on a second date with that guy." You clarify.
Bucky felt his jaw tighten a little as he realized that you had completely ignored his previous suggestion and were instead deciding against giving the guy a second chance.
He didn't like the idea of you potentially missing out on something good due to your own stubbornness, but he also knew that he couldn't force you to do anything you didn't truly want to do.
"Well, fuck. Guess that settles that then," He said after a moment of silence, trying to hide his disappointment but failing miserably. "You're really gonna just throw that opportunity away? Fine, suit yourself, I guess. But don't expect me to hold your hand or anything when you get sad because you're alone. You're on your own with that shit."
"I guess I am." You say quietly before getting up from the couch and going to the window, climbing into the emergency staircase to go up to the roof, like you do most nights to watch the stars.
Bucky watches you leave, feeling a mix of frustration and concern as he realizes that you're retreating to your usual spot on the roof rather than staying and talking to him.
He wants to call after you, to make sure you're okay, but he knows better than to push you if you need time alone.
Instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the present moment, reminding himself that sometimes people need space and time to themselves.
"Fine. Have it your way," he calls after you, knowing that there isn't much else he can do in this situation. "But don't think for a second that I won't be keeping an eye on you up there. You better not try anything stupid."
You roll your eyes but don't stop, going up to the roof, that's right above yours and Steve's apartment, and sitting on the picnic blanket you and Steve use every night.
After a few minutes someone else comes to the roof and you can tell it's Steve by the light steps. "You sure you want to let Bucky alone in our apartment, Stevie? I'm afraid he might burn it down." You joke weakly without turning around to look at him, your eyes locked in the city's skyline.
Steve chuckles and you can feel him sitting down next to you. It's not the first time you sit together on the roof, everybody in your apartment building knows this is the Rogers siblings' spot.
You don't say anything and neither does Steve, and you're especially glad he doesn't say anything when he sees a tear falling down your cheek but simply wraps his arm around you as you lay your head on his shoulder.
"What's going on in your head, little sis?" Steve asks you after you stop crying.
You try to gather your thoughts, trying to find a way to make sense of everything swirling in your head. You take a deep breath before you pull away slightly and turn your head towards the city again. "What should I say?" You ask quietly.
"When?" Steve asks with a frown.
"When I love someone." I clarify looking back at him.
"You should say it." He tells you firmly. It's not the first time you've talked about this, Steve knows about your feelings for Bucky and like a good big brother he always tells you to express yourself. "You should tell him."
You sigh and look away from him and back to the New York skyline. "I don't know, Stevie..."
"Why not, Bambi?" You smile softly at his use of your childhood nickname because Bambi is your favorite book, but then you shake your head.
"Have you seen the way he looks at Dot? I have no chance with him. I'm not his type." You say with conviction.
"You really don't see it?" Steve ask, getting a little frustrated.
"See what?" You ask confusedly while looking back at him.
"The difference between you and her is that he looks at her like she's the prettiest girl in the world," Steve says and your heart sinks so you look away from him, but he still goes on. "but when he looks at you it's like... It's like maybe you're magic. He looks at you with such reverence and respect. He looks at you like if he could just have you in his arms, everything would be okay. Like if he had you, nothing could touch him. He looks at you like he just realized what love is."
Steve pauses and grabs your chin gently to make you look at him before finishing. "He loves you. Anyone can see that. You're just too blind to notice it."
Steve kisses your forehead and then gets up and goes back inside to the apartment, leaving you to think about everything he said.
You lay down on the picnic towel on the ground of the roof and look up at the stars. Could Steve be right? Does Bucky really love you back but you just haven't noticed?
If Bucky had feelings for you, certainly you would've noticed.
Yes, he's protective of you and he's always happy to have you around, but you've been friends for over a decade and he is your brother's best friend, so he probably sees you as just that. His best friend's sister.
But he never did treat you like Steve's annoying little sister.
Even when you were kids he always tried to include you in their games and literally held your hand whenever the three of you went somewhere, like the park a few blocks over.
He would always coo on you when you got any scrapes while playing and kiss your boo-boos away.
He's always been very sweet to you and he stood up for you as much as he did for Steve whenever someone bothered you.
But could that really be actual love? Or is it just affection for a girl he's known since you were little and sees as his own little sister?
You rub your eyes before putting your hands behind your head, getting comfortable while looking at the sky full of stars.
In the meantime, Bucky heard everything from the window of your apartment.
He couldn't deny the truth of what Steve had said, he did look at you with a sense of reverence and respect, like you held the key to unlocking his heart and making everything else in his life fall into place.
But he also knew that he had to tread carefully, to approach you in the right way or risk scaring you off completely.
As much as he wanted to take control of the situation and make things happen on his terms, he knew that he needed to let you come to him, to give you space to process everything that Steve told you and to allow you time to realize how much you actually mean to him.
As Steve climbs back into the window, he gives Bucky a pointed look and a pat in the back, silently encouraging him to talk to you.
Bucky takes a deep breath and then climbs into the stairs, getting to the roof but not getting any closer to you. He's determined to talk to you, but his nerves are getting the best of him.
You can hear Bucky coming to the roof and when he doesn't move closer you frown slightly but think he's just giving you a moment before sitting next to you.
When he stays put for a couple of minutes, you roll your eyes and with a small smile you say "You can come lay down next to me, if you want." Loudly enough for him to hear, your eyes never leaving the stars above you.
Bucky's heart skips a beat as he hears your invitation, and without hesitation he steps forward and drops down onto the towel beside you.
You can tell he's trying to keep his movements quiet, not wanting to startle you or disturb your peaceful contemplation.
He lays there quietly for a few moments, taking in the sight of you lying there so effortlessly beautiful, before finally speaking.
"You have no idea how much I wanted to hear those words coming from your mouth," he whispers and moves closer to you, placing one arm around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, feeling incredibly vulnerable by the fact that you were so physically close and you were allowing him to get even closer.
"Thanks for letting me do this," he added, indicating the embrace.
"It's not the first time we've watched the stars together, Buck..." You whisper back, resting your head on his while willing your heart to stop beating so fast.
Bucky smiles softly, feeling a warm sense of contentment wash over him as he wraps his arms around you, feeling incredibly grateful for this moment of intimacy between the two of you.
He can feel the gentle weight of your body against his, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He listens to the sound of your breathing, feeling his heartbeat slow down as he takes comfort in your presence.
"Yeah, it's not the first time... But it feels different tonight." He whispers back, feeling a newfound confidence and boldness coursing through his veins.
He moves even closer to you, pressing his face against your neck and inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of your skin. "I've always... I've always wanted to hold you like this."
"I... I always wanted you to..." You whisper back hesitantly and bite your lip when he presses his face against your neck, almost scared to move, worried that if you do it'll ruin the moment.
Bucky feels a surge of pleasure course through his body as he hears your response, knowing that you too cherished these special moments with him.
When you don't say anything at his physical contact he continues to hold you tightly, feeling a deep sense of connection growing between you.
He presses his lips against your neck, gently kissing and nibbling on your skin, feeling a newfound desire burning within him that he had never experienced before.
He wants more than anything to take things further, to remove your clothing and explore every inch of your body with his hands and mouth, but he forces himself to remain patient and wait for your signal that you actually want something more intimate.
"You know... I've always been afraid to show you how much I really care about you," he whispers into your ear, his voice barely audible over the sound of the city below them.
"Steve thinks you love me..." You say quietly, hoping to god that your idiot brother is right for once in his life.
Bucky freezes a little, feeling a mixture of relief and surprise wash over him. He's surprised at your boldness but so relieved that the truth is finally out there.
But he also knows you well enough to know that if he wants you to truly believe that he loves you, then he has to act quickly to prove it to you and make sure that you never doubt his feelings again.
"Yeah... I do love you, Doll. More than anything else in this world. And I'm sorry that I didn't say it sooner... But I was afraid to lose you." He admits quietly, as he takes your face in his hands.
"You really mean that?" You ask quietly, a mix of hope and uncertainty clear in your voice.
"I do." He says without hesitation while he looks at your beautiful face turned towards his. "And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much I care about you."
The smile that comes to your face is so bright that it feels to Bucky like the sun suddenly came up in the middle of the night.
"I know you already gave me a birthday gift," He says, referring to the jacket you gave him this morning. "But can I ask you for one more?"
You're definitely curious about what he wants so you nod. "Sure, what is it?"
"Can you give me a birthday kiss?" He asks quietly while brushing a strand of hair aways from your face and behind your ear.
You blush a little and can't help but smile because he wants a birthday kiss from you, not Dot or any other girl, and you nod slowly as you start leaning in.
Bucky meets you halfway and when your lips touch it feels like fireworks, your stomach filling with butterflies while he brings you closer to him while deepening the kiss.
After a few minutes you both pull away for air, breathing heavily while looking at each other. "Wow." Is all he says after a moment.
You giggle and bite your lip. "Happy birthday, Bucky." You say softly and give him a kiss on the cheek before settling back against him, your head on his chest as you look up at the stars.
Bucky wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head and then relaxes while looking up too, more content than ever to finally have you in his arms.
AN: 💗♥️ - i cried writing this, so... hope you enjoy!!
epilogue
“James!”
Mrs.Barnes’ voice echoed through the apartment, and you stilled, prying your lips away from Bucky’s. He whined, placing a finger under your chin, pulling you back toward him. You giggled, shaking your head as you tried to scold him. “Buck, she’s calling you.”
His lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “C’mon, Doll.” His kiss was so tender, so gentle, that if you had been standing, your knees would have given out. “Just ignore her.” Before you knew it, he’d manhandled you beneath him, his arms caging you in.
“That’s your mother.” You hissed, your hair sprawled beneath your frame as he stared at you. If you had asked Bucky, he would have told you you looked like an angel, with your hair acting as a halo. “She-” He kissed your neck, your breath hitching from the sensation. You tried to glare at him as he overwhelmed your senses. “We’re supposed to keep this a secret, James.”
“Who is she going to tell? Besides, she doesn’t even know you’re-”
“Is that a girl’s voice I hear?”
Your eyes widened, shoving the boy away from you as you stood. “Hey!” He whined, dramatically falling against his mattress. You scoffed, fixing your appearance in front of the mirror, trying to make it look like their son hadn’t just kissed you senseless. Bucky laughed, admiring the view from his bed, the bed you’d just been on.
You turned around, hands on your hips. “Is something funny?”
“You don’t gotta fix yourself up for my family.” His voice was soft. “You’re beautiful.”
“I do when you’ve made me look so- so-” You huffed, giving up on forming coherent thoughts. “Just stop looking at me like that.”
He stood up, sauntering over until you were inches apart. His cologne engulfed your senses, chills running down your spine. “Like what, Doll?”
“Like you want to eat me. You’re acting like a wolf.”
He shrugged, slinging his arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea to me.”
You gasped, shoving his chest and storming out of his bedroom. “Control yourself!”
“That’s going to be difficult.” He whispered, following closely behind and preparing for his mother to shriek from the top of her lungs. “Mom. Pops.” His father hadn’t bothered to look up from his paper, listening to the radio absentmindedly. He’d hardly moved when he’d been greeted.
Mrs.Barnes, however, was waiting at the end of the hall, a rolling pin in one hand and flour all over her apron. “James, what is she doing here?” She looked at you quickly, smiling brightly. “Not that we don’t love having you, sweetheart. My son forgot to inform me you’d be over.”
“Thank you, Mrs.Barnes.” You smiled, stepping further away from Bucky when you realized how close he’d been standing. “I came by to return some perfume Rebecca lent me.” Your eyes dart toward the front door. “Now that I’ve done that, I should probably-”
“Nonsense!” Your heart dropped as Mr.Barnes called out. “Come sit.” You looked back at Bucky, who was trying to hold in his laughter. You glared as he shooed you toward the living room. Sitting down on the couch in front of Mr.Barnes, you wished you had made a run for it when you had had the chance.
“So.” Mr.Barnes looked thoroughly entertained. Good, you thought. At least someone was. “How is your brother?”
“Steven’s doing well; thank you for asking.” You smiled, guilt building up in your stomach at the thought of him. You and Bucky had been trying to keep this all a secret, but keeping a secret from your brother, and for Bucky, his best friend, was torture.
“I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.” The older man frowned. “She was a sweet woman. Kind.”
“She was.” You tried not to get choked up thinking about her. “We miss her every day.”
He smiled, a faraway look in his eye. “You look just like her. The spitting image. She was quite the beauty, you know.”
Bucky's eyes almost popped out of his skull. “Pops!”
“She was.” Mr.Barnes shook his head, coming back to reality. “And so are you.”
You grinned, blush rising to the top of your cheeks. “You’re very sweet for saying that, sir.”
“Have you found yourself a suitor-”
Bucky stood up, clearing his throat. “She’s got to get home for dinner.”
“She’s more than welcome-”
“No, no.” Bucky shook his head. “Maybe Steve and her can come around another night.” You giggled, thanking both of his parents once more before Bucky guided you out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “I’m sorry about them.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” You smiled. “They’re sweet; you’re lucky to have them.” Closing the distance between you, you kissed his cheek gently. “You’re sweet, too.”
He blushed, tilting his head. “I thought I was a wolf.”
You shrugged. “You can be both.” Pushing a stray hair out of his face, you kissed the corners of his mouth. “Strong and sweet.”
He laughed, holding your hands in his. Looking down, he fidgeted with the ring that laid on your right hand. “Will I see you again?”
You shrugged. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”
He looked back up, glaring playfully. “You’re coming to the Stark Expo with Steve, right?” You nodded. “I’ll see you there, then.”
You smiled, walking back toward you and Steve’s apartment, making sure to sway your hips. “Goodbye, James.”
“You enlisted?” You hissed, pulling Bucky by the arm into an alleyway, the dark of the night sheltering you from prying eyes. “Bucky-”
“I wanted to, Doll.” His voice was soft. “Steve’s been trying for months-”
“Steve has never gotten past the first round of examination, you know that. I know that.” Your arms were crossed, heart racing at the thought of your lover dying on the battlefield. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Stop it.” Bucky frowned. “My father was in the war. Your father was in the war-”
“My father was a drunk, and an abusive son of a bitch.” You scoffed. “Why you would want to be like him, I have no clue.”
“That’s not fair, now is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “You know how much I hated him, how much we all hated him. I want to serve my country, to protect it. You should be proud of me.”
“Of course, I’m proud of you.” You whispered. “But I’ve already lost my mother. I only have Steve, and I can’t-” Tears threatened to fall as you clung to his suit jacket. “I can’t lose you, too.”
“You won’t.” He smiled, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “I’d crawl out of hell itself to get back to you.”
“Bucky.” Your heart fluttered, leaning into his touch. “Just promise me you won’t die.”
He laughed, nodding. “I promise, Doll.”
“What unit?” Your voice was small, a mere whisper. “What unit have you been assigned to?”
“The 107th.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “We’re set to leave for England first thing tomorrow.”
Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you spoke. “Write to me. So I know you’re alive.”
“Of course.” He nodded. “Whatever you want, Doll. I’ll do whatever you want.”
After your brother insisted on bringing you along on his worldwide tour, you began to miss home, the simplicity, the stability. Most of all, you began to miss Bucky like crazy.
His letters had stopped coming weeks ago, and you couldn’t help but feel nauseous even thinking about it. The mere idea of him getting hurt was enough to send you into a fit of tears.
It was dreary here, raining nonstop as you stared out the gray wasteland. Your brother wasn’t doing much better, the two of you staying up late, talking about your purpose, about how helpless you felt. He’d talked to you about Peggy, a woman he met during the experiment that turned him into the super-soldier he was today. You could tell she entranced him, more than any girl ever had. She’d approached you two after his most recent show, sensing his disappointment, explaining to him the notable difference in this crowds spirits.
“Your audience contained all that was left of the 107th. The rest were either killed or captured.”
“Are you sure it was the 107th?” You blurted out. “Absolutely sure?”
“Yes?” She questioned. “Why? What is it?”
“Steven…” You looked over at your brother, eyes filled with tears. “Wasn’t that Bucky’s unit?”
You hadn’t believed it at first. The colonel had said it so casually, so emotionless, you could sworn he didn’t care about his men. Now Bucky could be dead in some ditch somewhere in the middle of Europe. Tears streamed down your cheeks, fists tight with rage.
“What about the others?” Steve insisted, refusing to give up. “Are you planning a rescue mission?”
“Yeah, it’s called winning the war.”
“But if you know where they are, why not-”
“They’re thirty miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save.”
Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or the feeling of having nothing left to lose, because in a mere second, you were in front of the Colonel, poking your finger into his chest. “So you would rather stay back? Do you have no compassion, no empathy?” He just stared, and you scoffed. “Where’s your courage? Your bravery-”
The Colonel raised his hand, stopping you in your tracks. His eyes, unlike when they looked at your brother, were soft, full of understanding. “I’m sure you loved Sergant Barnes very much, but I am not willing to sacrifice my troops for a handful of men. However good they may be. I’m sorry, miss, I am.”
Maybe he did care, but you couldn’t find it in you to feel empathetic. “I don’t need your pity. And if you won’t do something about it, then we will.” Whipping around, you grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling him out of the tent. “C’mon.”
“The last surveillance flight is back.” You looked up from the war table, watching as Peggy placed the resulting images in front of them, each and every one void of any evidence that could prove Steve was alive. That anyone in the 107th was alive. “No sign of activity.”
“Go get a cup of coffee, Corporal.” The colonel waited until the tent was empty to speak. “I can’t touch Stark. He’s rich, and he’s the Army’s number one weapons contractor. You both are neither one.”
“With respect, sir, I don’t regret my actions, and I don’t think Captain Rogers did, either.”
“At least we did something.” You glared. “You would have rather sat by.”
The Colonel whipped around, eyes wide. “Excuse me, young lady? And what makes you think I give a damn about your opinons, Agent Carter? I took a chance with you, and now, America’s golden boy and a lot of other good men are dead 'cause you had a crush.”
“It wasn’t that. I had faith.”
“Well I hope that’s of comfort to you when they shut this division down.” He frowned. “Now what the hell is going on out there?”
You turned around, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Is it-” Peggy nodded, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the crowd. “Peg, wait.”
“What is it?”
“I just-” You took a deep breath. “I just need a moment.”
“Are you alright?”
You nodded. “I’m fine, go on. I’ll catch up.”
Your eyes were fixated on Bucky as you walked through the crowd, taking him in like it was your job. He was dirty, a little bloody, but there, there and alive. As he cheered your brother on, smiling brightly, tears fell. God, he was beautiful.
You waited for Bucky’s eyes to reach yours, refusing to interrupt. He was celebrating, you didn’t want to take that away from him. It was nice seeing him so happy.
You hadn’t seen him happy in so long.
You hadn’t seen him in so long.
Steve noticed you before Bucky had, waving you over. You grinned, hugging him tightly. “A little late, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “I got here, didn’t I?”
Bucky’s eyes were wide, shocked to see that his lover was here in the middle of war. Your brother let go of you, immediately finding Peggy.
You crossed your arms, eyes watery as you stood in front of the rescued soldier. “Bucky.”
“Hi, Doll.” His voice was rough, no doubt from what he’d experienced while held hostage.
“You’re alive.”
“I am.” He nodded, half convinced that you were a dream, a horrible illusion of the light. “You’re really here, right?”
“Yeah, Buck.” You nodded. “I’m here.”
His beautiful icy blue eyes welled with tears, walking forward and wrapping you in his arms. “Why are you here?”
You shoved your face into his neck. “Steve brought me along.”
“It’s not safe over here.” He leaned his head against yours, taking in your perfume. “He should know that.”
“I’m fine, Bucky.” You smiled to yourself. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”
He nodded, his hand tightening around your waist. “Alright, alright. Let me look at you.” You brushed your fingers through your hair, hyper-aware of your appearance now that Bucky was staring at you so intensely. “I haven’t been-”
“You look beautiful.” His tone was serious, the most serious you’d ever heard him.
“Stop it.” You shoved his chest playfully. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re here with me, that’s perfect. You also look devastatingly gorgeous.” You felt faint, his love and affection making you all warm inside. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a crumpled letter. “I was going to send it-”
“You were busy.” You smiled, your fingers grazing his. “You don’t need to explain yourself.”
“Did I worry you?” He frowned, caressing your cheek. “Have you been crying?”
“It doesn’t matter.” You smiled, leaning into his touch. “You kept our promise.”
He nodded, one arm still wrapped around your waist. “I told you I’d come back to you, didn’t I?”
You heard the rowdy soldiers from outside the bar, all too drunk for their own good. You smiled as one of them opened the door, hanging your coat on the already full rack and making your way to the back, only one goal on your mind. You hadn’t seen him since he’d returned from captivity, since you’d reunited, and you craved his touch, his attention, and most of all, his kiss.
He looked the very model of a sergeant, his hair slick and uniform freshly pressed. You took a deep breath, straightening your posture as you approached him.
“Sergeant Barnes.”
He turned in his seat, a wolfish smile gracing his otherwise angelic face. “Ma’am.”
You sat beside him, waving down the bartender. “A Manhattan, please.”
“Coming right up.”
You looked back at Bucky, blushing as he looked you up and down, his eyes dangerous, full of something you didn’t want to address at the moment. “Where’d this little piece come from?”
“This old thing?” You looked down at the dress, frowning. “Do you not like it?”
“Doll…” He practically growled, pulling your chair closer, a gasp leaving your lips. “What do you say we get out of here?”
“James.” You hissed. “I just got here.”
“That’s fine with me. Too many of these nitwits are looking at you anyway.”
You smiled, taking your drink from the bartender’s hand. “Let them look. I’m not interested.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “And who are you interested in?”
“You wouldn’t know him.” You raised your drink, taking a sip. “He’s devilshly handsome.”
“Yeah?” He leaned in, his cologne engulfing your senses.
You nodded. “Smart, too. And kind.”
“He sounds like a great guy.” Bucky’s eyes left yours, landing on your lips for just a moment before looking back up. “Lucky, too.”
“Oh, he is.” You stood up, straightening your dress. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“Dance with me.” He blurted out. “This guy can wait a couple minutes.” His hand was outstretched, waiting for you to take it. How could you not, when he looked like that?
“If you insist.” He led you to the dance floor, the band playing something nice and slow. You leaned your head against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. “I haven’t seen you lately.”
“I tried.” He murmured. “I tried, but it was never the right time.”
“I understand.” You swayed a moment before speaking again. “How is he?”
Bucky sighed. “Stressed. You know him; he wants to protect everyone.”
“Sounds like Steve.”
“I-” Bucky sounded nervous. “I wanted to kiss you. When we got back from the rescue mission.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You know why.” He paused. “I wish I would have.”
You looked up, eyes full of desperation. “You still can.”
“Yeah?” He grinned. “Steve’s here, you know.”
“I don’t care.” You wanted him to kiss you, to take you away and- You blushed simply thinking about it. “You wanna get out of here?”
He nodded, pulling you off the dance floor, and grabbed his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders. “Where are we off to?”
“Any suggestions?”
He hooked your arm through his, his smirk growing from your reaction. “I’ve never been to London.”
“It’s beautiful here.” You stayed close to his side. “Peggy’s been showing me around.”
Bucky wiggled his eyebrows. “How’s she and Steve doing?”
You laughed. “Not much is happening. My brother is brave, but when it comes to Peggy-” You shook your head. “She’ll have to make the first move.”
Bucky gasped, clutching his chest. “Such little faith.”
“Do you disagree?”
“This serum, it’s made him- bolder.” He shrugged, stopping in his tracks and spinning you towards him. “Maybe he’ll make a move, who knows?”
“And will you?” Your heart was beating a million miles a minute, eyes drifting to his lips. “Make a move, that is?”
“Depends.” His breath colliding with yours, your lips inches apart. “Where are we goin’?”
You smirked, kissed him so quickly he swore it hadn’t happened, and walked away. “My apartment.” The implication of your invite hadn’t truly hit him until you were a few paces away, fishing out your keys from your pocket and unlocking your door. You looked over your shoulder expectantly. “Are you coming?”
Bucky was on you in an instant, pushing you against the door and kissing you hard. It was passionate, full of need, of want. Full of love, of an unspoken promise to never leave you. He pulled away, breath short as he spoke. “Does that answer your question?”
Your day had been a rollercoaster; that much you were sure of. But the last moments, the one before your brother and Bucky had left for the mission, they’d been perfect. So perfect, you hadn’t expected anything to bring you down from the high you’d felt.
So much for believing.
Peggy and you stood in the debriefing room, as usual, waiting for any word, any sign they were okay. You paced around the debriefing room, as you always did when your boys left, fidgeting with the dog tags that Bucky had left you. You felt ecstatic from earlier, but something was off.
Something was different.
There was this pit in the bottom of your stomach, something that had always been there, but it was growing, never settling. The adrenaline, the high you were riding on from earlier, it did nothing to ease your anxiety. If anything, it had made it worse. This had made you pace ever faster, fidgeting with your lover’s dog tags like it was the last thing you had of him.
And when Steve walked in the room, eyes red and puffy, face sullen, you knew. You sank to the ground, all of the adrenaline leaving you instantly, dread and grief leaving you in waves. You sobbed and sobbed, one bloodcurdling cry after the other. Steve hadn’t even had the energy to comfort you, just sitting there and staring at the wall.
The Rogers had been broken that day, shaken to their very core.
Because Bucky was dead.
You clutched his dog tags in your hands, curled up in his bed, hoping they would wake you from this horrible nightmare, that he would show up at your door, and you could see him one last time.
(1950)
“Miss?”
You ignored the boy who followed after you, almost late to your staff meeting. He was persistent, you would give him that.
“Miss?”
“That’s agent, to you.” You hadn’t bothered to look over at him, still walking through the hallway with purpose.
The cadet smiled. “I- I just have to say-”
“Spit it out, will you?” You raised an eyebrow, surprised to see that ‘the boy’ was not just a boy, but a man, a tall, handsome man. Still, you showed no sign of interest.
“You’re beautiful.”
“That is highly inappropriate.”
“I call like I see it, ma’am.”
You scoffed, picking up your pace. “You have no shame, do you?”
“No, ma’am.” He was still smiling, grinning actually. “Can I take you to dinner sometime?”
The conference room was within reach, you could see Peggy talking to Colonel Phillips. You sighed, stopping just outside of the door. “I’m sure you’re a nice man-” He nodded, and you almost laughed. “But I’m afraid I must decline.”
“Ah.” he frowned. “He’s a lucky man.”
Your heart twisted, nodding slowly. “He was.”
“I’m sorry.”
His mischievous demeanor had fallen, pity developing instead. You hated that look, when people stared at you like you were fragile, like you were about to cry at the drop of a hat. “Yes, well, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Still-”
“Agent Rogers.” Colonel Phillips had his arms crossed, an impatient look on his face. “Will you be joining us anytime soon?”
“Agent Rogers?” The cadet looked shocked. “Like Steve Rogers? Captain America, Steve Rogers?”
“The very same.” The colonel tapped his foot, waiting for an answer. “I’m right behind you, sir.” You smiled gratefully, walking past the cadet without a second glance. The Colonel shut the door behind you, a strange sort of look in his eye.
“You’re welcome.”
You laughed. “Was that really necessary?”
“Looked like you needed saving.” The old man grumbled. “What’s the young man’s name?”
“I don’t know.” You weren’t lying, you had never caught the cadet’s name. “All I know is that I was late because he kept following me around.”
Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Following you?”
The whole room was now staring at you, and you blushed, eyes wide as you tried to signal that you did not want to talk about this here. “We’ll talk later, Peg.”
Colonel Phillips cleared his throat. “Alright, alright, enough gabbing.” You laughed, sitting up straight. “May I start the debrief now?”
You nodded, giving him your full attention. “Ready when you are, Colonel.”
He’d approached you three times after that, each time slowly weakening your resolve. He wasn’t horrible; easy on the eyes, smart, and kind.
Still, you couldn’t do it; every time you felt a twinge of interest, your mind became clouded with memories of Bucky. He’d been your one great love, everything went back to him. The way you did your makeup, your hair, your clothes - all because of him. And it wasn’t even because of him directly saying anything, he would have never said something like that.
It was the small moments, when he told you how beautiful you looked in navy blue, so you made sure to buy more of the color. When he said he loved the lipstick you were wearing because it tasted like cherries so you bought three more of the same shade. When he told you he loved your hair wild and free, that it reminded him of your summer trips to the beach, just the two of you.
And it was worse when you drove home every night. Brooklyn had memories of Bucky at every turn, every alley.
Your sandwich tasted dull, partially due to the fact it was ham and cheese and partially because your appetite, like most days, had been ruined by your thoughts of Bucky.
You neatly packed your sandwich back into your lunchbox and leaned your head back, taking in the soft glow of the spring sun.
“Agent Rogers. Mind if I sit?” You shook your head. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you before he spoke again. “Were you close with your brother?”
“As close as you can be. He’s older than me by two years. Our father was less than kind, and Steve took it upon himself to protect me. And our mother.” You stared into the distance, reminiscing. “He was always fighting.”
The cadet smiled. “Sounds like he was a good man.”
“He is- he was.”
“He would have been proud of you. Of what you’re doing.” Your eyes welled, and you nodded, not having the strength to speak. “If you need to talk, just know that I’m here for you.” He placed his hand on your knee, squeezing it quickly. “I promise it’ll get better, Doll.”
You sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder, almost laughing at the way he tensed up. His arm tentatively went around your shoulders, pulling you closer.
“What’s your name?” You whispered. “I just realized, I never asked.”
“Micheal Anderson.”
“Thank you, Micheal.”
“For what?” He looked down, voice soft.
“For listening.”
He smiled, leaning his head on top of yours. “Anytime.”
“What are you doing this Saturday?” You reached out, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers through his. “I heard about-”
“I’ll do anything you ask.” Michael blurted out, cheeks red. “Anything.”
You grinned, forgetting that the last man who’d said that to you was Bucky.
(1951)
This was a horrible idea. A horrible idea indeed. You stared down at Bucky’s dogtags, heart breaking at the sight. Bringing them up to your lips, you kissed them gently, eyes closed tightly.
Marriage was something you’d always expected, something you always knew would happen. You also always knew you would marry Bucky.
Or at least, you’d planned on it.
“Where do you see yourself in ten years?” You’d whispered, legs tangled with Bucky’s beneath your sheets. The bed was desheveled, not that either of you cared. His eyes bore into yours, both of you facing each other with giddy smiles on your faces.
“Married. Two kids, a house.” He sighed. “That’s the dream.”
“Marriage?” You wiggled your eyebrows. “Who’s the lucky gal?”
He frowned, pulling you closer. “You know who it is, Doll.”
You frowned back, your hands on his chest. “Don’t tease, Bucky.”
“I’m not.” He looked sincere. “I would never tease you about this.” His nose nudged yours, voice so fragile you thought it would break. “I love you.”
“I know you do.” You smiled. “But you don’t really mean that.”
“Yes, I do. I do mean that.” He pushed a hair out of your eyes, all remnants of humor gone. “I love you, and I want to marry you.” He kissed you gently, lips barely touching. “Be prepared.”
You giggled, throwing your head back. “I’ll try my hardest.”
He nodded. “Damn, right. You’re gonna grow old with me.”
“Bucky…” Your eyes were watering. “You’re sappy in the morning.”
“What can I say? You make me sappy.” His fingers bore into your hips, and you wiggled in his hold. “Now come here.”
“Are you ready?”
You opened your eyes, looking over at your maid of honor. “Just a second, Peggy.”
She smiled, giving you a look of understanding. “He would have wanted you to do this, you know.”
“I know.” You frowned, looking back at his dog tags. “It just hurts.”
“Of course it does.” She nodded. “Take your time, alright?”
You stood up, taking off the dog tags and placing them in your pocket. “No need. Im ready.”
(1957)
“One moment!” You yelled, trying not to cry from the amount of noise your children produced. “Honey!” Micheal’s head peaked out from around the corner. “Could you please take the children to the nursery?”
He nodded, running toward your children, the toddlers screeching with delight. “Don’t let the monster get you!”
“No, Dada, no!” Your daughter giggled, grabbing her little sister’s hand. “No!”
“Thank you, Micheal.” You looked down at the baby in your arms, cooing at his little face. “Let’s go see your Auntie, yeah?” You smoothed your hair before opening the front door, grinning brightly. “Rebecca, please come in!”
“You have a beautiful home.” Rebecca smiled. “I’m so glad I could come by.”
“You’re welcome anytime.” You insisted. “Michael and I host game nights every Thursday. You should swing by.”
“I’ll try.” You knew she wouldn’t, but you still offered. “Who’s this little one?”
You smiled, sitting down on the couch, Rebecca sitting next to you. “I hope you won’t be upset.”
“Why would I be upset?” Rebbeca frowned, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “You can tell me.”
“His name…” You looked down, eyes watery. “His name is James.” Rebecca’s hold on your forearm tightened, her eyes welling with tears. “James Steven Rogers-Anderson.”
“Oh my,” Rebecca whispered, both of you crying. “Honey-”
“I wanted to keep him alive, here with us.” Your voice was weak, weak with grief that had never really left you. “What better way than this?”
“He would be honored.” Rebecca reached out, James wrapping his tiny hand around her finger. “He loved you so much.”
“I know.” You cried, smiling at your son who was babbling. “I loved him just as much.”
(1970)
“Hail Hydra.”
In some odd way, you wished you hadn’t heard them. You wished you had gone on ignorant, and you didn’t hear that dreaded phrase. Unfortunately, you had, and now, you had to do something about it.
You peeked through the shelves, watching as the two secret agents left the old office, sneaking inside and carefully looking through their desks for evidence. You hadn’t expected to find anything; they may be Hydra agents, but they weren’t stupid. They’d gone this long without being caught.
Just when you’d begun to give up hope, simply running your fingers across the edges of the desk, a hatch opened, a key falling to the ground. You smirked, picking the key up and looking around the room for a lock. “Still got it.”
“Kiddos?” You yelled, slamming the door shut. “You guys home?”
“Mom?” Your kids called out, not bothering to leave the living room couch. In any other circumstance, you wouldn’t have cared. This was no other circumstance. “What’s up?”
“Time to go.” You yelled out, grabbing your backup gun from the safe. “Grab your go bags.”
“Our go bags?” Your eldest daughter stood in front of you, frowning. “Mom, what’s going on?”
You frowned, kissing her cheek quickly. “No time to explain, alright? Just grab your bags.” You walked into the living room, addressing your youngest daughter. “Where’s your brother, Char?”
“He’s outside.” Her eyebrows were furrowed. “What’s going on?”
Liz scoffed. “Can you just listen to Mom, Charlotte?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at her sister. “You’re not the boss of-” You walked outside, smiling at your son. He was the spitting image of his uncle, sitting in his tree house alone, doodling the time away. “Honey?” You called out, your voice hoarse. “Can you come down, please?”
He nodded, leaving his sketchbook behind. “Hey, Mom.” He hugged you quickly. “How was work?”
“Fine.” You forced yourself to calm down. “Can you get your go bag for me?”
He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
You watched as he ran inside, taking in every excruciating detail. Your daughter’s voices, the sound of your old white cat purring as she rubbed against your leg, the trees rustling, the house.
This horrible feeling festered at the bottom of your stomach as your home fell out of view in the rearview mirror.
Because somehow you knew you wouldn’t be coming back, that that had been the last time you walked through the front door, that you saw your children at peace.
They whined when you told them you had to leave. You hadn’t blamed them, you would have done the same.
“Mom?” Elizabeth’s voice was stern. “You have to tell us what’s going on.”
“Please,” Charlotte added. “You forgot to say please.”
James frowned. “Did something happen?”
You sighed. “I can’t tell you anything; you know that. If-” Your voice broke. “If I don’t come back by tomorrow, call this number.”
“If you don’t come back?” James crossed his arms. “Mom, what the hell-”
“It’s gonna be okay.” You smiled, caressing his cheek. “Take care of yourselves, alright? You know what to do if things go south.”
“Mom-” Charlotte cried. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” You hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, but you have to trust me, okay?”
Elizabeth stood strong, but you could tell she wanted to cling to you like she used to. You let go of Charlotte, holding your eldest’s hands in yours. “Liz, promise me something.”
“Anything.” She responded, squeezing your hands tightly. “Anything, Mom. Name it.”
“Don’t give up on your dreams. And do not go to community college just so you can take care of your father.”
“Mom-”
“Let me finish.” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re a smart girl, Lizzie. Your father can take care of himself, of your siblings. You are not me, and I don’t want you to be.”
“Mom, you’re acting like you’re gonna-” She swallowed, eyes welling. “Please just stay-”
“Promise me, young lady.”
“I-” She nodded. “I promise.”
“Good.” You nodded, hugging her tightly. “Good girl.”
You’d rushed out of the door, racing down the road. You could only think of two people you could trust in this situation, and one of them was currently in London, visiting her dying mother. You grabbed your car phone, dialing the second number.
“Hello-”
“Fury-”
“This is Nick Fury’s voicemail.” You groaned, waiting for the machine to beep.
“Fury, this is Agent Rogers. Something is wrong, something is seriously-” You squinted, swerving off the road. “Shit!” A man dressed in all black leather and a mask stood in the middle of the lane, directly in your way. Crashing into the guardrail, your head slammed against the steering wheel, knocking you unconscious.
Your head throbbed as you reached up, trying to relieve the pain. Your hands felt wet, most likely wet with your blood. Forcing yourself to open your eyes, the damage to your car was catastrophic. There was no way in hell you were going to be able to reach Fury or even escape whoever had run you off the road.
The man from the road was now stalking toward your car, and you wished you’d have hit him. Scrambling for your gun, you set off two warning shots in his direction. The man’s eyes widened, momentarily stopping his assent. You clawed at your seatbelt, pushing open the passenger side door and running onto the road.
You’d gotten farther than you thought when a bullet ripped through your leg, your body dropping to the ground like a marionette. Tears fell like hot streams down your face, crawling on the concrete. A sob left your lips as you watched the man slowly walk toward you; he wasn’t even trying. Forcing yourself to stand, you faced him with your gun aimed straight for his head. In a millisecond, he raised his arm, blocking the bullet. It fell to the ground, crumpled like it had been made of paper.
You shot again and again until he was right in front of you. His eyes, icy blue and numb, bore into yours, a chill running down your spine. His hand shot out, grabbing your neck and lifting you. You gasped, the air leaving your lungs the longer he held you. You clawed at his hand, but he showed no sign of pain, simply blankly staring at you.
When the fight began to leave you, when you stopped clawing, he dropped you, your body crumbling to the ground.
His shadow covered you, still staring at you as you struggled to breathe. You jumped up, grabbing at his mask and ripping it off his face. “If you’re going to kill me, you might as well-” The air left your lungs, and you wiped the tears from your face, squinting as if it had been a trick of the light.
It- You coughed once more, tilting your head. It couldn’t be.
“Bucky?”
(1945)
“You’re being irrational.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk nowhere to be seen.
“Well, you’re being reckless.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I have a horrible feeling about this mission. If you would just listen to me-”
“Doll.” He interrupted. “We’ve done this sort of mission a thousand times-”
“You’re not listening!” You yelled. “You don’t- I’m telling you-”
“Tell me again then!” His arms flailed as he spoke. “Since I didn’t understand the first time.”
“Don’t be an ass.” You glared. “They’re vengeful. You just took out all of their most important bases.” Your resolve weakened, voice cracking. “What if they take you again?”
“Is that what this is about?” He frowned. “Doll, it’ll be alright. I won’t let them-”
“No.” You shook your head. “And if you won’t listen to me, then we have nothing more to talk about.”
“Don’t do this. Don’t walk away.”
“Try and stop me.” You hissed.
“Doll!” He yelled after you, almost laughing when you flipped him off. Almost. “Goddamn it.” The locker room was quiet, the rest of the Commandos already on the plane. Opening his locker, he stared at the photo he’d had framed of you two - from your first beach day.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He jumped, shoving the photo underneath a towel. “Nothing.” He turned around, forcing himself to smile at his best friend. “Nothing at all.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “I know.”
Bucky laughed, turning back toward his locker and pulling out his uniform. “Know what, pal?”
“About you two.” Steve’s face was unreadable, Bucky determined. His, however, was fully transparent. “I’ve known for a while now.”
“Yeah?” He prepared to get socked in the face. And now, thanks to the serum, it would hurt. “How long is a while?”
“Two years.” Steve crossed his arms. “Is that a while to you?”
“Steve, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He walked across the room, opening his locker. “I’m not mad, honest.”
“Yeah?” Bucky laughed. “We were going to tell you, I swear.”
“Buck, it’s fine.” Steve laughed, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. “I’m glad it’s you.”
“I-” Bucky’s eyes darted towards the doorway. “I gotta go.”
“Tell her I’m happy.” Steve smiled. “Really happy.”
“I will,” Bucky yelled over his shoulder, running out of the locker room and past the war table, slamming her office door open.
“Jesus, Bucky!” You gasped, clutching your chest. “You can’t just-”
He stalked over, grabbing your waist and kissing you firmly. Your eyes widened, pulling away as you gasped for air. “What was that for?”
“Marry me.” He whispered, kissing you again. “Marry me.”
“Bucky!” You laughed, convinced this was a dream. “You can’t just kiss your way out of this!”
“That is not my intention, but I swear if you marry me I’ll do whatever you say for the rest of our lives.”
“What’s gotten into you?” You reached up, trying to feel his temperature.
“The ring’s at home but-”
“The ring? Bucky, how long have you-”
“Ever since I enlisted.” He grinned. “It wasn’t a hard decision. I love you, and I-”
You looked into his eyes, trying to figure out if he was being serious. “Is this real?”
“Yeah, Doll.” He nodded. “It’s real. I don’t have the ring right now, I didn’t want to lose it while I was here, but I have this as a placeholder.” He pulled his dog tags out, placing them around your neck. “Hold onto to these until I come back.”
You grinned, eyes watery. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.” He pulled up close, eyes desperate, fully prepared to convince you. “I wasn’t lying. Remember, two weeks ago? I want it all, the house, the kids, the dog-”
“Or cat-”
He sighed. “Or cat. I want it. With you.”
He was practically bouncing, nervously squeezing your waist. You giggled, reaching up to fix his hair, which had fallen out of place the first or second time he’d kissed you. “I want that too, Bucky.”
He grinned, his hand holding your chin, bringing your mouth to his. “I’m never letting you go.”
You laughed, kissing him between what felt like each word, your back against the wall. “You have to. You’re going to be late.”
“Alright, alright.” He’d almost made it to the door when he turned back around, kissing you once more, the collision almost making you fall backwards. “I’ll be back.”
You were a mess, grinning wildly and clutching his dog tags as he ran to the plane. “Come back to me in one piece, Barnes!”
(1970)
The sky was dark, clouds hiding any source of light the moon had to offer. Her breath had left her minutes ago, eyes fixed on him. It was curious, the name she’d uttered moments before he had finished his mission.
Bucky. Who the hell was Bucky?
The Winter Soldier tilted his head, a silver glint from around her neck catching his eye. Reaching down, he pulled the necklace from her cold frame, old dog tags and a ring hanging from the chain.
James B Barnes
32557038 T41
R. Barnes
3092 Stockton Road P
“Mission report.” The comm crackled, pulling his focus from the tag. He glanced down at the woman once more before the voice spoke again.“Soldat-”
“On route.” He wrapped the tags around his neck, walking into the woods, police sirens approaching from the distance, their lights illuminating the road. “Mission complete.”
Summary: It's been months since your dad went back to be with Peggy. You knew it would be hard without him, but just as your about to hit rock bottom, Sam and Bucky come back into your life.
Warnings: Possible swearing, angst, low mood, crying.
Reader's age: 18
The dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced through the grime on my apartment window, illuminating the general disarray of my life. It had been, what, two months? Three? Time had blurred into a monotonous, gray sludge since the day Dad went back.
I still remembered the feel of his hand on my cheek, the warmth of his smile, the faint scent of old leather and something distinctly him. He deserved it, I’d told myself a thousand times. He deserved his dance, his life, his Peggy. And I meant it, truly. But knowing he was happy didn’t make the silence in the apartment any less deafening. It didn’t fill the gaping hole where his presence used to be.
I’d inherited his (our) small Brooklyn apartment, a space that now felt impossibly large and empty. Every corner held a memory, every creak in the floorboards sounded like his footsteps. For the first few weeks, I’d tried. I really had. I went to classes – history, ironically – I answered texts from my few friends, I even tried cooking those terrible protein shakes Dad used to make.
But the energy waned. The texts went unanswered. The takeout containers piled up in the sink. Today, I hadn't even bothered to get out of bed. The duvet was a comforting cocoon, smelling faintly of stale laundry and self-pity. My phone, long dead, lay accusingly on the nightstand. I’d missed an alarm, a lecture, maybe even a deadline. It didn’t matter. Nothing felt like it mattered.
My stomach rumbled, a dull ache that I could no longer distinguish from the emotional one. I was pretty sure I was out of microwave meals, and the thought of going to the grocery store, facing the world, felt like scaling Everest in flip-flops. This was it, wasn't it? The fabled rock bottom. I pictured myself sinking deeper, the murky water closing over my head. Maybe this was how it ended for the offspring of a legend – not with a bang, but with a whimper and a pile of unwashed dishes.
A knock echoed through the apartment, startling me so badly I nearly fell out of bed. My heart hammered. Who on earth? I hadn’t ordered anything, wasn’t expecting anyone. I burrowed deeper under the covers, hoping whoever it was would just go away.
The knock came again, firmer this time. Then, a voice, deep and familiar. "Y/n? You in there, kiddo?"
My breath hitched. Sam.
I slowly untangled myself from the blankets, my limbs stiff and heavy. My hair was a mess, my clothes were what I’d slept in for two days, and I probably smelt like existential dread. I peered through the peephole. Sam Wilson, looking surprisingly groomed despite having probably just landed from some international incident, stood on my stoop. And next to him, Bucky Barnes, his expression unreadable as ever, but with a subtle tension in his jaw.
They looked like they hadn't seen a friendly face in a while either, but definitely not like they'd spent the last week marinating in their own misery.
I opened the door a crack, just enough to show my face. Sam's usual easy smile faltered slightly as he took me in. Bucky’s eyes, however, sharpened, assessing.
"Hey," I croaked, my voice rough from disuse.
"Hey, yourself," Sam said, his voice softening. "We've been trying to get a hold of you. You, uh, been alright?"
I bit my lip, forcing myself not to look away. "Yeah. Just… busy." The lie felt pathetic even to me.
Bucky stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "Busy doing what, Rogers? Not answering our calls? Not picking up your mail? Your landlord called Sam, said your rent was late. Again."
My cheeks flushed. Of course, they’d gone straight to the source. Steve had always been so meticulously organised, so responsible. I was doing a terrible job of upholding the family name.
Sam nudged Bucky subtly. "Look, we were in the neighbourhood. Just wanted to check in." He gestured vaguely at the world outside. "You wanna, uh, invite us in? It's kind of cold out here."
I hesitated, wanting nothing more than for them to leave so I could crawl back into my cave. But then I looked at their faces. Sam, with that earnest, worried look, and Bucky, who just looked… tired, but present. They weren’t strangers; they were the closest thing I had left to family, aside from the few remaining Avengers scattered across the globe. They were Dad’s family.
I sighed, pulling the door open wider. "Come in."
The moment they stepped inside, the oppressive silence of the apartment seemed to lessen, replaced by the quiet rustle of their jackets, the shift of their weight. Sam immediately started looking around, not invasive, but with a concerned eye on the pile of boxes, the neglected plants, the general evidence of my downward spiral. Bucky, true to form, just found a relatively clean spot on the counter and leaned against it, observing me.
"You look like hell, Y/N," Bucky said, his voice blunt, but without malice.
I managed a weak, self-deprecating laugh. "Thanks, Bucky. You, too."
Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, so maybe 'busy' isn't quite the word. Look, we get it. It's hard. Steve… he left a big hole."
"It's bigger than I thought," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. Tears pricked at my eyes, surprising me. I hadn’t cried in weeks. "I just… I knew it would be lonely, but I didn't know it would be like this. Like I’m forgetting how to be a person."
Sam walked over, his expression softening further. He put a hand on my shoulder, a steady, comforting weight. "Hey. You're not forgetting anything. You're just… grieving. And that's okay. But you don't have to do it alone."
Bucky pushed off the counter. "When's the last time you ate something that wasn't from a box?"
I blinked. "Uh…"
"Right. Sam, you got those groceries in the car?" Bucky didn't wait for an answer, striding towards the door. "We're making actual food. And then we're going to clean this place. And then you're going to tell us what you need."
Sam squeezed my shoulder gently. "He's right. Your dad wouldn't want you to be like this, Y/N. And neither do we." He gestured towards the door Bucky had just exited. "We're here. For real."
Looking at them, two men who had lost as much, if not more, than I had, who still stood tall, something shifted inside me. The rock bottom might have been reached, but maybe, just maybe, there were hands reaching down to pull me back up. The thought, alien and fragile, felt like the first breath of fresh air in months.
"Okay," I said, a faint tremor in my voice. "Okay. What are we making?"
“Bucky, I gotta get back inside. Steve needs my help with a few things.” You told him outside of your apartment, but he just wouldn’t let go of your arm. He was gentle—you could have pulled away, but you didn’t. “James, come on. I can’t.”
“You can do whatever you want, y/n.” He assured, hoping you’d come around. “Steve would understand—not only that, he’d support it.” Bucky continued reasoning, but the pit in your stomach wouldn’t let you agree.
“He’d bite his tongue, if anything. I don’t want to put him in that position—and neither should you.” You shook your head, looking down to hide your face from him, but he wasted no time reaching for your chin and bringing it back to his gaze.
“I love you, y/n. I can’t hide it anymore.” It felt like Bucky was staring into your soul. His hands moved to your cheeks and he pulled you in for a kiss you could no longer resist. You melted into his touch and all your anxieties about what could be washed away. “Give me a chance.” Bucky whispered under his breath.
“Y/N, you’re gonna get a cold standing out here.” Steve suddenly jerked the door open and you jumped back, feeling immediate guilt for being caught. “Oh, I—uh, I’m sorry for interrupting.” Steve glared at the both of you and shut the door.
“I’m sorry, y/n. I can make it up to him, I promise.” Bucky tried to comfort but you ran inside after your brother.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a friendship caught in the rifts of grief feels almost suffocating in the confines of an apartment kitchen…especially when there’s something unspoken beneath all of it.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bucky barnes x female!rogers reader
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: @buckyys-babydoll -> “share a little something with ‘I'm so in love with you. It's almost scary!’”
A CENTURY’S WORTH of life would do good to acquaint someone with the cruelty that fate could bring. y/n knew it as an old friend — had met it the day she got pumped with a vial of Erskine’s serum.
Some days, it felt like every drop of it was traced with some toxin…something that tugged a thread of her soul until it was threadbare — made her dream of a fate where she was still encased in Arctic ice. Steve, SHIELD turned HYDRA, Sokovia Accords, Thanos, Natasha, Tony.
Each plucked at that soul-bearing thread, with the cruelest anchor being the man that had toed the line of her patience for the last few months. Bucky Barnes.
Her brother’s death had cast a ripple into the midst of their friendship, one already strung on a thin rope by the psychological ramifications of Bucky’s decades-long abuse by HYDRA. The months after Steve’s passing, she had tried - relentlessly and to a (nearly) humiliating fault - to get him into the best trauma counseling with the merits of her former Avenger status.
Eventually, she had - with, of course, the approval of the government.
But, he was nothing more than a warm body in the therapist’s office. He attended each session, surely, yet just would fold his hands into his lap with the slouch of a bored teenager across from her. He’d solely speak as to judge her incessant scribbling in her notebook or to defend his propensity of antisocial behavior.
She could cast aside the embarrassment that his whole holier than though act projected amidst her place in the Air Force, and tolerate the droller remarks from Sam and Joaquin about forcing a former assassin to willingly go and get psychoanalyzed.
But, she couldn’t begrudge the truth beneath the garbled military appearances and peanut gallery quips — the reality that Bucky may have not found any worth in making sense of what he’d been subjected to for decades. To try and heal despite it all.
His therapist had called her that afternoon, spoke of his ‘disappointing’ lack of progress, clicked her tongue when reflecting on how the deficiency in improvement was stoking the fire of a select few politicians all too eager to lock him up.
And, alas, she had planted herself at his doorstep, with beer and Chinese tucked beneath her arms in haphazard peace offerings. If it had been Sam, the door would have never been opened. But, against the judgment of his self-wallow, he opened the door for her.
Now, watching him beneath the pendant light of his kitchen island, she pitched about her fork in a lukewarm box of Kung Pao chicken rather discontentedly.
“At some point, it’s not me forcing you to do this,” she then pointedly said, peering frustratingly towards him.
He stared at the condensation that trickled over the arch of her beer bottle, a rare flash of imprecision with words.
This conversation lived on a repeating record within their lives, and her exasperation was bleeding gradually through with each dizzying effort to get him to not so belligerently contend with her.
“It’s part of your agreement with the government — the one keeping you from having your ass tossed into federal custody and having the key thrown away,” her fingers curled in a clench around the neck of the bottle, the glass sustaining the peak of frustration that boiled up in her throat. It was also the agreement that would keep him in her life.
“I understand-” his voice pooled into the overstrung air, frustration furrowing his brow, obvious that he wanted to be done with this conversation.
“I don’t think you really do,” she rubbed her thumb with a swipe of aggravation against the wetness of the bottle, “The reason you aren’t in the deepest level of the Raft is because Sam and I have busted our asses for you in front of numerous Senate hearings — trying to convince them that you’re not an unstable threat. Yet, you show up to therapy and belittle every bit of it or even lash out, according to her.”
“I never asked for you guys to do that,” his voice pitched at an inch shy of a shout, flesh hand trailing down the stubble on his jaw. The blue of his eyes fleetingly betrayed a glint of hurt , “And I don’t lash out.”
Bucky had always matched her stubbornness, stood as a mirror of herself that was just different enough. But, even with the cracks of differentiation, the mirror still hurt.
Yet, ever since Steve passed, it seemed that they couldn’t stand at a further contrast from one another even with their best mustered effort.
She wasn’t obtuse, though — the divide that drifted between their once seemingly intertwined existences had been cast the day Bucky fell from the train and off into the anxious hands of HYDRA, splitting their lives into distinct paths of weaponized chaos and glorified valor.
Steve’s death had only lurched the divide further into wayward waters.
y/n kneaded a sole finger at the curve of her temple, briefly shutting her eyes to mull over her next words as to not impulsively respond and mumble out ill-placed words. A couple breaths flitted out later and she flicked her eyes back open, meeting the relentless weight of his steel blue ones.
“I’ve seen evil,” she measuredly spoke, low back and hip gliding against the rounded edge of the island as she eased alongside him. A doting yet wistful gaze concentrated on her close presence.
She flexed her hand as if to mingle it amongst his flesh one placed on the counter, yet refrained, allowing it to awkwardly idle at her thigh as she continued, “And that’s not you, Buck.”
Ever the keen-eyed observer, he noted the withdraw of her hand before it could roam the plane of existence towards his own. His face creased with a small gathering of wrinkles between his eyebrows, a slip of somberness peeking into the sternness in his eyes. Anyone else would have never clocked the subtle falters in demeanor - maybe would have even thought it was shadow play in an ill-lit room - but her eyes were always keyed in on what he did by virtue of (what she brushed off as a product of) being a former SHIELD agent.
“That doesn’t change the fact that I still did all those things — that I hurt or killed all those people,” he said, the sullenness vanishing amidst a storm cloud of frustration. The firmness of his voice was a near implore her for to just understand that, perhaps even agree with the words that accompanied him every glance into the mirror and every night when he drifted off to sleep.
Her fingers curled concisely at her sides. She knew that his past was something that would eternally mar his soul inside and out — she had wished so many times to just reprieve him of the ghosts that delved themselves into the recesses of his mind and made a promise to always remind him of every murder, every mind wipe, and every face of those who abused him. The ghosts that caused him to destroy every mirror in his apartment within the first week of living there, despising a reflection that reeked of Hydra’s bloodied and broken puppet.
Her words seemed like dummy rounds against the psychological onslaught, and she felt pitiful, standing there and imploring for him to forgive himself.
“I know that it doesn’t change that,” she flushed her tone with a steadiness that stood unequal from her nerves. And I wish more than anything I could change it. Make it that you don’t fear sleep. That you for once know peace. Her forefinger drew an aimless path across the marble swirl of the countertop in a haphazard grounding technique, noticing how he’s hovering closer now in her periphery, cued into her sudden nervousness.
“And I know therapy isn’t some cure all but if there’s even a chance to make things feel lighter, why not try?” she continued, aware her tone encroached on one of plea or even prodding now.
A faint metallic whir flitted in the tense air as his prosthetic hand, uncharacteristically bare from the typical leather gloves he adorned, clenched the neck of his beer bottle. He didn’t meet her eye as he angrily muttered, “Потому что я этого не заслуживаю. Прекрати пытаться заставить меня чувствовать себя так, будто я заслуживаю.” (Because I don't deserve it. Stop trying to make me feel like I do.)
y/n knew he only resorted to Russian when he was particularly agitated.
“I’ve seen this in other bilingual or multilingual patients,” his therapist tsked her tongue, drumming her pen amidst the scrawled notes of his most recent session, “They resort to the language they’re most comfortable or familiar with.”
y/n hummed out a deep breath as she sat across from the older woman.
“It’s a coping mechanism for him,” she continued, eyeing y/n over the rim of her glasses, “As troubling as it may seem.”
“Bucky, we just want to help,” she whispered, her chest slightly throbbing with a fallen hallow at just how utterly exhausted he looked beneath the island light. How he was a far cry from the boy that she danced with that last night before he shipped out. She blinked as to vanquish the threat of tears that simmered at her waterline.
“I don’t need to be coddled here, y/n,” he remarked sharply, hot breath fanning across her cheeks as he now stood over her, “Or that I’m some pity project.”
Her cheeks fell sunken as she inhaled with uncharacteristic reluctance.
“All anyone is trying to do is help,” she reiterated when anything of other variety failed her and became muddled in her racing thoughts.
“No one can help someone like me,” he vehemently proclaimed, response clear of his razor thin patience.
“How can they if you push them all away? You don’t let anyone in and I get why but—” she intercepted his stony gaze, inadvertently leaning away from the island and closer to the seethe of his chest, “—Bucky, it’s me.”
“And that’s the problem,” he lowly acknowledged, jaw slightly clicking against the taut stance it was drawn into. She blinked once — out of confusion, and then once more — out of effort to decipher what his words meant.
“I’m so in love with you, it’s almost scary,” he uttered with a cadence of hesitancy, shifting back as if distance would make the admission settle with more ease in his haywire nerves.
A searing feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately as the words registered quicker than she would’ve preferred. Y/N was seldom stunned into silence — she was a Rogers, after all — yet Bucky Barnes had a tendency to pull out an oddball behavior from her. He always had. Ever since they met as children in the concrete playground that was Brooklyn. Ever since she realized her love for him when he willingly slept on the floor of Steve and hers apartment after their mother passed away.
“Every time you don’t respond right away to a text, I think that you have given up on me — maybe because you can’t stand that I apologize for everything, that I test your patience, that I take off when things get too hard, that you’re afraid I might hurt you, or that you look at me and see him,” his hand trembled ever slightly as it tread through his short yet tousled hair, eyes opting away from hers, “Fuck.”
“Bucky,” she murmured, his weary eyes dubiously dropping down to her, “I’m not going anywhere. And you could never hurt me. Because I love you. Because I know you.” I know that you wanted to cut your hair short because it reminded you of your life before HYDRA. I know you don’t like for people to walk on your left side because of your arm. I know you hate the cold. I know that you don’t like the loud, unexpected noise of the subway so you walk most places. And I know that sometimes when you’re stressed, you hum “We’ll Meet Again” by Vera Lynn — I like to think it’s because it was the song we danced to the night before you left for Europe.
She poised her hands palms-upward in the minimal distance between them, patient and knowing that physical contact was something he had to initiate himself. His own hands rose in a mirrored stance of her own, fingertips sporadically flexing in uncertainty. Eventually, he placed his right hand upon her own, the warmth of her touch intermingling with the chill that often haunted his own skin — yet another invisible scar from Hydra.
Further weariness was oriented on his left hand as it hovered within mere inches of her slightly raised fingertips, his eyes analytical as they flicked between the flesh of her hand and the Vibranium of his own.
“Don’t think about it,” she whispered before a dense silence could descend upon them and cast him further down any stream of overthinking. Her gaze was steadying as an anchor when he rebounded his own to meet it: you could never hurt me. Gradually, he relented to the allure of her eyes’ consolation, the sound of metal relaxing faintly reverberating in the quiet kitchen as he unfurled the fist his left hand instinctively turned inwards to.
The abrupt coolness of his palm against the crook of her own may have made others flinch away, but she remained steadied, curling her grasp about his wrist.
His hand cramped into a gawky pose, as if uneasy or anticipating that she would retract her hand like it had brushed a flame. Everyone else always had.
y/n knew his mind was abound in a carousel of self-deprecations and internalized hatred — the moonlight blue of his eyes betrayed as much beneath the astute wander of her own.
“Do you remember when you taught me how to dance?” she inquired softly, tilting her head slightly up at him, hoping it would collect him away from his mental spiral.
His brow furrowed, meandering through a shattered mosaic of memories that were uniquely James Buchanan Barnes’, wholly untainted by the Winter Soldier. A few moments pulsed before a glint of recognition pooled amongst the frenetic throb in his eyes. A threadbare smile cracked on his lips.
“You stumbled a lot,” he mused, left hand almost absentmindedly composing into hers.
She lightheartedly rolled her eyes, “I was nine, Bucky.”
His smile swelled with something akin to sadness, “But, you’d always laugh about it. Never took it seriously.” Perhaps that sadness was longing, after all. Longing for a life that now seemed never his own.
A simple smile perked her mouth now, “Because you always did, too.”
For a few obsessive seconds too long did their eyes now trail the other’s. His right hand drifted aback from hers, replacing on her cheek, his thumb discreetly skimming the faint line of exhaustion beneath her eye. Slightly wavered at the touch initiated by him, a faintly bitter ice pummeled through her veins when he leveled his face with her own.
Now, impossibly close, their breaths interlaced in the few meters of openness. She minded how his eyes blazed with a life that had been dimmed from them for so long.
Therefore, her mind couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her forward towards his face, his lips pressed upon hers without a moment preserved to the benefit of a second thought.
And, for now, fate didn’t seem so bitterly cruel to her…and, for the first time in seventy years, to him.
Your mind still buzzed from the events of the evening. The warmth of family, the pride in your brother’s accomplishments, and the lingering thoughts of Bucky all swirled around you as you let the crisp night air rush through the rolled-down window.
As you reached your house, you paused on the front porch, taking a moment to breathe as your family entered. After a moment, and collecting your thoughts, you were greeted by your dad as he was making his way up the stairs toward your parent's bedroom.
“You okay, sweets?” your mom, Sarah, asked with a warm smile as you entered the kitchen.
“Yeah, just a lot on my mind,” you replied, offering her a small smile as you took a seat at the kitchen island. “It’s great about Steve though, he’s going to love college.”
Your mom nodded in agreement, a proud gleam in her eyes. “He’s worked so hard for it,” she said, her voice filled with admiration before she turned her full attention to you. “It was lovely to celebrate as a family,”
Your thought settled back to Bucky. Despite the uncertainty of your feelings, there was a part of you that couldn’t shake the complexity of the connection you felt toward him. Lost in thought, you hadn’t noticed that your mom bid you goodnight. Alone in the quiet of the house, you allowed yourself to reflect on the events of the day fully.
The memory of Bucky’s lips against yours, replayed in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine. There was something undeniably about the way he made you feel, a sense of longing that you had only read about in books.
There was a nagging voice of doubt, mixed in with the whirlwind of emotions, in the back of your mind. What if Steve was right? What if Bucky was just playing games with you? Was the list a part of that? The thought sends a pang of uncertainty through you.
~
At lunchtime, you found yourself loitering at your locker, lost in thought. The noise and chatter of the other students faded. It wasn’t until the familiar voices of Wanda and Peter grew louder that you snapped out of your daze.
“Hey,” you greeted them as they approached. “It’s nice to see you’re both feeling better.” you couldn’t help but laugh with them as you all recalled their absence the previous day.
Their expressions grew serious as they shared a knowing look, Wanda leaned in close to you. “We want to talk to you about Bucky,” she said, her eyes searching yours for any sign of reaction.
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name, nerves began to stir in your stomach. “What about him?” you asked with caution, trying to keep your tone neutral as you surveyed the hallways.
Wanda hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath. “We know the whole thing has been complicated between you two, especially with Steve,” she continued to whisper. “But, we wanted to assure you that his feelings for you are genuine.”
Surprised by her words, you meet her gaze with confusion settling across your face. “How do you know?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.
Peter then leaned in, his tone matching Wanda’s. “That’s why we were at Stark’s,” he confessed, “Trust us, he cares about you more than any of us realized.”
Before you could respond, a subtle movement caught your eye. Snapping your gaze past Wanda and Peter, you saw Bucky standing at the end of the hallway. When he noticed you watching him, he nudged his head to the side, gesturing for you to meet him in the classroom he was standing by.
“Hey, I’ll catch up with you in the cafeteria,” you said quickly, grabbing your backpack and heading off in the direction of the empty classroom. Wanda and Peter turned to watch you walk away, they sent each other a knowing look as they caught Bucky walking into the classroom moments before you reached him.
As you approached, your heart raced, wondering and hoping to have another encounter with him as yesterday. With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. Bucky stood by the teacher’s desk, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you enter.
“Hey,” you greeted him, trying to keep your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he replied, his smile widening as you took a step closer to you. “I was hoping we’d get a minute.”
Your cheeks flushed at his words, and you couldn’t help but return the smile and inch closer again to him. “Me too,” you paused for a moment, standing in front of him, locked in each other’s gaze. “Can we talk?”
Bucky’s expression softened, “Of course,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.
Gathering your thoughts, you took a deep breath. “I just wanted to say…” your voice trembled slightly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and everything that’s happened.”
He nodded in response, his eyes never leaving yours as he listened with intent. “I have too,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “And, I want you to know that I do care about you,”
His words sent a flutter of warmth through you, and some of the doubts and fears began to dispel. “I care about you too,” you said softly, reaching out to fidget with the chain he had hanging around his neck. “But, I need to know… can we trust each other?”
He gently began to trace patterns along the small of your back. “I understand,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “And, I want you to know that you can trust me, completely.”
You released a heavy breath, relief washing over you. “Thank you,” you smiled up at him.
Bucky returned your smile, “No, thank you,” he whispered, leaning closer to you. “For giving me a chance,”
As his lips met yours in a kiss, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. His touch was electric, sparking a fire deep within you.
The world around you faded away, as your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair, deepening the kiss. You tried to savor the taste of his kips as your breaths synced in harmony. Every touch, spoke volumes, the rhythm you found together melting you against him.
As the kiss unfortunately ended, you pulled back slightly, locking your gaze with him in a silent understanding. You knew this was where you were meant to be, in his arms. With a content smile, he rested his forehead against yours.
As the heat of the moment began to subside, Bucky pulled back slightly, his gaze a mixture of adoration and longing. “Hey,” he said, his voice that familiar soft tone he only seems to speak to you with, “Are you free tonight?”
“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, excitement coursing through you at the thought of spending more time with him. “What did you have in mind?”
His smile grew even wider at your enthusiastic response, his eyes shining with a matched excitement. “I was thinking, I’ll pick you up at the corner, and then, how about we have a movie night at my place? No one’s home, I’ll make popcorn, and build a blanket fort… we can watch any movie you like.”
The thought of an evening spent cuddled up with him seemed, in that moment like the perfect way to unwind after a long day. “That sounds perfect,” you beamed at him, “I’d love to.”
Bucky reached out, pushing a stray strand out of your face. Bringing his hand down to your cheek, he leaned in for a quick peak of your lips. “I’ll meet you at the corner around seven, okay?”
With a nod, you agreed on the plan, hope bubbling within you for the evening ahead. As you bid each other goodbye, stealing a few last kisses, you went your separate ways. Tonight held promises of intimate moments and the opportunity to get to know Bucky so much more. You couldn’t wait to see where the night would take you both.
---
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lowkey need to see some stark!reader and rogers!reader fics. especially brothers best friend!bucky omg im begging. and maybe a cheeky pietro/peter x reader (tonys daughter)🫦😩
Summary: The war is nearly over, and you go with Sarah to meet Steve and Bucky at the train station. But when Bucky steps off the train, changed and scarred, you realize nothing—not years, not distance—can stop the way he still feels like home.
Word count: 2.9k
Setting: story takes place in 1945, not cannon
•••🩵🤍💙•••🩵🤍💙 •••🩵🤍💙 •••🩵🤍💙 •••🩵🤍💙 •••
The whistle shrieked long before the train was in sight. It echoed down the station platform, sharp enough to scrape along your nerves until your chest ached with it. You dug your nails into the iron railing, grounding yourself in something solid while the crowd around you surged forward in a ripple of motion.
Someone laughed. Someone else sobbed. A child shouted, “Papa!” in a voice too small to be swallowed by the noise.
You stood rooted to the spot.
Beside you, Sarah Barnes shifted restlessly, her dark trousers brushing against the skirt of your light green dress with every twitch of her knee. Sarah was only a year younger, but she carried herself like a storm bottled tight, her jaw sharp, her braid swinging against the black of her blouse every time she craned her neck to see farther down the tracks.
“They’re here,” Sarah muttered, though the words cracked halfway. “Any second now—”
You forced yourself to nod. Your throat was too tight for words.
The hiss of steam came first, curling white and hot into the cool morning air. Then the screech of brakes, metal grinding against metal. The crowd pressed tighter, bodies jostling for a better view. Your chest squeezed. You had the sudden, desperate thought that you should’ve braided your hair differently, or worn another dress, or done anything to make yourself look less like you’d been holding your breath for four years.
Too late. The train groaned to a stop. The doors swung open.
Uniformed men spilled out in waves. Some carried duffels, some carried nothing at all. Their boots struck the platform in steady rhythm, each stomp a pulse you felt in your spine. A woman to the left shrieked her husband’s name and flung herself into his arms. To the right, a mother clutched two children as a soldier bent down to them, tears streaking through the dirt on his cheeks.
Your eyes blurred. Your fingers fisted tighter in the railing.
And then—
“Steve!” Sarah’s shout broke sharp and sudden.
Your head snapped up.
There he was. Your big brother, tall and broad-shouldered in a uniform that still looked strange on him, like he’d borrowed someone else’s skin. His jaw was set, his stride purposeful, his hand clutching the duffel strap slung across his shoulder. He looked—older. Tired. But alive.
Your lips parted to call for him. But then you saw the man beside him.
Bucky.
It knocked the air from your lungs.
He walked down the steps with the kind of fluid grace he’d always had, but sharper now, honed by something harder than Brooklyn streets and bar fights. His uniform clung to a frame that had been lean when he left and was carved into muscle now. His jaw was rough with stubble, his eyes shadowed. His left sleeve hung empty against his side.
Your vision tunneled.
Not gone. Not lost. Here.
Your knees wobbled. You gripped the railing tighter, the metal biting into your palm. Four years dissolved in a blink: the letters you kept under your pillow, the nights you sat awake with your braid damp from tears, the last glimpse you’d had of him at twenty-one, grinning cockily before the train pulled him away.
Now he was here. Changed. Older. Scarred. But him.
Your Bucky. Always your Bucky.
You couldn’t move.
“Go,” Sarah whispered fiercely, elbow nudging your ribs. “Y/N, go!”
But your feet might as well have been nailed to the platform. You stayed frozen, breath sawing shallow, until Bucky’s gaze swept the crowd.
He didn’t stop at the waving wives or the mothers in their Sunday hats. He didn’t linger on the children perched on shoulders. His eyes went straight to you, like they always had.
The noise around you dulled, muffled into a blur. For a moment, it was just the two of you.
Bucky’s chest lifted. He shifted the duffel on his shoulder. And then he was moving, stepping off the platform edge, weaving past reuniting families without hesitation.
Your pulse hammered. Your braid thumped against your spine. Your hands trembled.
And then—
“Doll,” he rasped, voice hoarse, low, impossibly familiar.
Your body moved before your mind caught up. You launched forward, colliding with him hard enough to rock you both back a step. Your arms wrapped around his neck, clutching tight, one hand diving into the thick waves of his hair at the crown, the other anchoring at the nape.
Bucky’s duffel slid to the ground. His arms banded around your waist, solid and desperate, pulling you flush against him. His face pressed into your temple, breath shuddering against your skin.
Your eyes burned. Tears slipped free, tracing hot down your cheeks, soaking into the rough wool of his uniform. Not ugly sobs, not loud or messy—just silent, unstoppable tears, because you’d spent four years imagining this moment and none of those dreams had prepared you for the reality of him.
Bucky held you tighter. The crowd cheered and cried and clapped around you, but you barely heard it.
After four years, you were finally home.
•••🩵🤍💙•••🩵🤍💙 •••🩵🤍💙 •••🩵🤍💙 •••🩵🤍💙 •••

The world kept moving, but the two of you didn’t.
The world kept moving, but the two of you didn’t.
All around, families shouted, laughed, sobbed. The platform trembled with the weight of boots and the rush of bodies colliding. Steam hissed from the train, curling white between shoulders. But you felt none of it. Only the heavy thrum of Bucky’s heartbeat where his chest pressed to yours, steady and alive, a rhythm you had thought you might never hear again.
Your tears traced silently down your cheeks, soaking the fabric at his collar. You hadn’t meant to cry. You’d wanted to meet him smiling, wanted to show him you were strong, that the years hadn’t broken you. But the moment you felt the rough scrape of his uniform under your cheek, the way his arms locked so fiercely around your waist, the dam gave way.
Bucky’s breath hitched against your temple. He pulled you closer, impossibly closer, as though afraid you might slip through his fingers if he eased his grip even a fraction. And then—softly, tentatively—his lips brushed your shoulder.
It wasn’t a kiss meant to be noticed. Barely a press of his mouth against the curve where your dress dipped, just below the braid that had loosened in the chaos. But you felt it all the same, felt it down to your toes. Your fingers fisted tighter in his hair, tugging gently at the thick strands.
“Doll,” he murmured again, rough as gravel, but gentler now. The word trembled between you, not an endearment so much as a confession.
You swallowed hard, throat raw. You wanted to answer, wanted to tell him I’m here, I never left, you’ll always be mine. But the words stuck fast. Instead, you clung to him.
You stood like that for long minutes—your arms wound high around his neck, his face buried in your shoulder, breath warm against your skin. The crowd began to thin, families drifting away with their soldiers, leaving only scattered reunions at the far end of the platform. Still you couldn’t let go.
Eventually, your grip shifted. Slowly, shakily, you slid your arms down, circling his waist instead. Your palms pressed against the solid breadth of his back, memorizing every new line, every ridge of muscle the war had carved into him. You squeezed, clinging to him like the anchor he had always been.
Bucky didn’t loosen. He adjusted. His hands rose, one sliding into your braid at the base of your skull, the other cupping the curve of your neck. His thumb brushed over the tender spot just beneath your ear, a touch so careful it made your chest ache. His forehead pressed against yours now, close enough that you felt every uneven exhale.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, so soft you almost missed it. “You’re real. You’re here.”
A fresh tear slipped free. You nodded against him, too overcome to speak.
A few paces away, Steve’s voice dropped low. “Told you,” he muttered, a rare smile tugging faintly at his lips. “Not official, but come on.”
Sarah huffed out something that was half laugh, half sniffle. “I know,” she whispered back. Her eyes never left you. “Look at her, Steve. Look at Y/N.”
You didn’t hear. You were too wrapped in the cocoon of Bucky’s arms, too lost in the feel of his hand in your hair, the steady press of his body against yours. You drew a shaky breath and dared to tilt your face up, just enough to meet his eyes.
They were the same storm-gray you remembered, but darker now, shadowed with things you didn’t know yet, things you weren’t sure you wanted to. But when they locked on yours, something softened. A flicker of the boy you’d grown up with broke through.
Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, you pressed your forehead back against his and let yourself breathe him in.
The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It was thick, charged, stretching taut like a string that might snap if either of you pulled too hard. You could feel unspoken things vibrating there—questions, confessions, years of everything left unsaid. But neither of you reached for it. Not yet.
Bucky’s hand threaded deeper into your braid, anchoring you to him. He let out a shaky exhale, then pressed another soft kiss against the crown of your head.
You closed your eyes, and for the first time in years, you let yourself believe you weren’t dreaming.
