Hi Kennedy! Kinda feeling a little angsty today and i had an idea for a blurb!
The classic tale of reader being Bucky’s best friend, Bucky starts dating an agent who is secretly mean to the reader whenever they’re alone so no one is there to believe her if she ever tries to tell anyone. Reader starts pulling away slightly and of course Bucky notices but thinks maybe it’s just stress around the next mission or whatever.
On the next mission, reader, Bucky’s gf, Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Steve are all there and get split up into teams, leaving reader with Bucky’s gf and maybe Sam or Steve sees Bucky’s gf intentionally leave reader to fight alone knowing she would be outnumbered and before they can go to help, reader gets beat up pretty bad. So they get reader back to the compound and of course Bucky is flipping a fucking lid and then Steve or Sam tell him what happened and it’s a scene and when reader wakes up it’s apologies and love confessions and happy ending lol sorry this is so long I’m just feeling the cliche angst vibes today
-🍎
You almost convince yourself you’re imagining it.
Marnie Cross smiles at you in front of everyone—polished, sharp, all easy charm and knowing glances that make her look like she belongs beside Bucky. She laughs at Sam’s jokes, trades strategy notes with Natasha, even asks you for your opinion like it matters.
But the moment you’re alone, something shifts.
The first time it happens, it’s so subtle you barely register it. A comment slipped under her breath while you’re grabbing gear.
“Funny,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over you, “how he never shuts up about you. You’d think he’d want something a little less… predictable.”
You blink, caught off guard. “What?”
She just smiles, sweet as anything, like she didn’t say a word.
After that, it becomes a pattern.
Little things. Sharp things. Things no one else hears.
“You know he only keeps you around because you’re familiar, right?”
“You should see the way he looks at me when you’re not there.”
“You’re not exactly hard to replace.”
Each one lands softer than a punch but sinks deeper.
And the worst part?
No one would believe you.
Because Marnie is perfect on paper. Efficient. Respected. The kind of agent people trust without question. And you… you’re just the best friend who’s been around too long, maybe a little too close for comfort.
So you don’t say anything.
You just start stepping back.
It’s small at first. Sitting a little farther away during briefings. Letting conversations drift without jumping in. Skipping movie nights because you’re “tired.” Avoiding the way Bucky’s arm naturally drapes over the back of your chair like it always has.
He notices.
Bucky’s always been tuned into you in a way that borders on instinct, and it doesn’t take long before his brows start to knit together every time you slip out of a room too early or dodge his questions.
“You good?” he asks one night, catching you in the hallway.
“Yeah,” you say quickly, offering a smile that doesn’t quite stick. “Just tired.”
His eyes narrow slightly, not buying it. “You’ve been ‘tired’ for like a week.”
You shrug, already stepping back. “Mission coming up. Just in my head, I guess.”
He doesn’t like that answer, you can tell. But Marnie calls his name from the common room, and the moment breaks.
You pretend not to notice how easily he lets himself be pulled away.
---
The mission is supposed to be straightforward.
Infiltrate. Extract intel. Get out.
You, Bucky, Sam, Steve, Natasha, and Marnie.
It goes sideways almost immediately.
Alarms blare. Footsteps thunder down corridors. The team splits on instinct, falling into smaller units to cover more ground.
You end up with Marnie.
For a second, you think maybe this is a chance to prove something—to smooth over whatever tension has been building, even if it’s mostly one-sided.
You move together down a dim hallway, backs to the wall, weapons raised.
“Two guards ahead,” you whisper.
“I see them,” she replies.
You take one. She takes the other.
Clean. Efficient.
For a moment, it feels normal.
Then more footsteps echo—too many.
Your grip tightens on your weapon. “We need to regroup.”
Marnie glances around the corner, assessing. “You hold them here. I’ll circle around and flank.”
Your stomach twists. “That’s not—”
“I’ve got it,” she cuts you off smoothly, already stepping back. “Try to keep up.”
And then she’s gone.
You’re left standing there as five—no, six—armed men round the corner.
For a split second, you just stare after her, disbelief cracking through you.
She knew. She knew exactly how many there were, and she left anyway.
There’s no time to dwell on it.
You move.
You fight.
You’ve been in worse situations, you tell yourself. You can handle it.
But six on one is never a fair fight.
The first hit lands hard against your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs. You recover, swing, drop one, but another comes from behind, slamming you into the wall. Pain sparks across your vision. You taste blood.
You keep going. You have to. But it’s too much.
A boot catches your knee. You go down. A fist cracks against your jaw. Your head snaps to the side, vision blurring.
Somewhere down the hall, there’s shouting then gunfire.
Precise. Controlled.
The pressure around you disappears almost as quickly as it came.
You don’t even see who takes the last shot.
Everything fades to black.
---
When you come to, it’s quiet.
The sterile hum of the med bay wraps around you, steady and unforgiving. Your body aches in places you can’t even fully register yet, heavy and distant.
There’s a hand in yours.
Warm. Familiar. Bucky.
His head is bowed, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying something too heavy to hold. His grip tightens the second you shift.
“Hey—hey,” he breathes, voice rough, snapping upright. “You’re awake. Doll, hey, look at me.”
Your eyes struggle to focus, but you find him eventually.
He looks… wrecked.
“You’re okay,” he keeps saying, like he’s trying to convince himself. “You’re okay.”
Your throat feels like sandpaper. “Buck…”
He swallows hard, squeezing your hand. “I’m here.”
There’s movement behind him—Steve, Sam, Natasha—but Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off you.
And then Steve speaks, quiet but firm.
“Sam saw what happened.”
The words hang in the air.
Bucky stills.
“What?” he asks slowly.
Sam steps forward, jaw tight. “Marie left her. On purpose. There were six guys and she—she just walked away, man.”
The room shifts.
You see it happen in real time, the moment the pieces click into place in Bucky’s mind. Every unanswered question. Every time you pulled away. Every “I’m fine” that clearly wasn’t.
His grip on your hand trembles.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice breaking in a way you’ve never heard before.
You blink up at him, exhaustion pulling at you. “Didn’t think you’d believe me.”
The hurt that flashes across his face is immediate and devastating.
“I always believe you,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
Your chest tightens.
“I’m sorry,” he adds quickly, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve—God, I left you alone with her—”
“Buck,” you interrupt weakly. “Not your fault.”
“It is,” he insists, voice rising. “I was too busy—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “She’s gone. Nat dealt with it.”
There’s something final in that.
You don’t ask.
You don’t need to.
Silence settles again, softer this time.
Bucky leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his voice dropping to something fragile.
“I thought you were pulling away because you didn’t need me anymore,” he admits. “I didn’t think it was because I was letting someone hurt you.”
Your heart stutters.
“I could never not need you,” you whisper.
His eyes search yours, desperate, like he’s been waiting to hear that.
“Yeah?” he asks, almost afraid.
You nod as much as you can. “Yeah.”
Something in him finally breaks open.
“I love you,” he says, the words tumbling out like they’ve been trapped for too long. “I think I always have. I just—I didn’t want to mess up what we had, and then she—” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. You matter.”
Your breath catches.
Even through the pain, even through the haze, warmth spreads through your chest.
“Took you long enough,” you murmur, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
He lets out a shaky laugh, relief flooding his features. “Yeah. I know.”
His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, grounding, careful.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “Not ever again. You don’t have to fight alone. Not while I’m here.”
You tighten your grip on his hand, holding on just as firmly.
“Good,” you whisper.
And this time, when your eyes drift closed again, it’s not from pain.
There are two versions of this photo: one with Natalie and one without.
Being with her feels cold and distant. It doesn’t seem like a typical relationship. There’s no warmth, and they look like they’re negotiating if she is there.
There are invisible chains tightly bound to him.
Those sad eyes are heartbreaking.
His eyes lack happiness; he is solely burdened with responsibilities.
I wanted to represent what toxic friendships/love relationships are like with this drawing, the headaches, the eyes that don't see and what can be said when you are tied to someone by their threats and the lumps in your throat, I really don't know if I could express all that, c'est tiguidou.
Yes, I love being manipulative. I love playing with your silly, little heart. I love chipping away at it until it shatters for Me. I love helping you sweep up the pieces and try to figure out what happened. I love telling you it's all going to be ok. I love seeing you fall deeper in love with Me knowing I'll never truly feel the same way about you. I love watching you crash and burn. I love watching you make a mess of your life for Me. I love it when you feed My ego while I leave you starving.
This love isn't about you, beloved. It's all about Me.
