Hello. Name’s Tessa. I’m a huge Bucky Barnes… Sebastian Stan fan. I’ll be posting all my Bucky Barnes fanfics here. Feel free to give me writing prompts. I’ll work on writing them when I can. 🩵
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Here’s an idea… Bucky has to pretends/is forced to be the Winter Soldier again because his gf/readers life is in danger. (Like HYDRA has her, and uses her as an insurance policy… and if he doesn’t do as they say, his GF dies) 😭
The first time Bucky hears the name Winter Soldier again, it’s spoken softly. Almost kindly.
It comes through a burner phone left on the kitchen counter while he’s making coffee—your favorite mug, chipped at the rim, still sitting in the sink from last night. He freezes mid-pour, metal fingers tightening around the handle as a calm, unfamiliar voice says it like a benediction.
“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”
His chest locks up. His brain doesn’t go blank anymore—not the way it used to—but something cold and ancient coils at the base of his spine, waiting.
They don’t threaten him right away. They don’t need to.
A screen lights up. Grainy footage. A room he doesn’t recognize. Concrete walls. A single chair bolted to the floor.
You’re tied to it.
Your face is bruised, lip split, eyes furious even through the pain. You’re alive—he can hear your breathing, see your chest rise and fall—and that almost makes it worse.
“You will comply,” the voice continues, still soft. “Or she will die.”
Bucky doesn’t remember moving. One second he’s in the kitchen, the next the phone is shattered against the wall and he’s on his knees, hands shaking, breath tearing in and out of his lungs like he’s drowning on dry land.
They send the rules an hour later.
No Avengers. No Wakanda. No missions deviating from orders. Absolute silence.
And no contact with you.
The gear arrives in a black case that smells like oil and ghosts. He stares at it for a long time before touching it—black tactical fabric, the mask, the gloves. A version of himself he swore he buried.
He thinks of your hands on his face the night before. The way you’d pressed your forehead to his and said, You’re safe. You’re here. You’re mine.
He puts the mask on anyway.
The world becomes narrower after that. Cleaner. Sharper. He moves the way he used to, muscle memory taking over where his heart refuses to function. He follows orders because every time he hesitates, another video arrives—another bruise, another cut, your voice thinner but still stubborn.
“I’m okay,” you say in one of them, like you’re trying to convince him. “Don’t—don’t do anything stupid, Buck.”
He breaks a man’s arm that night for saying your name.
Between missions, they let him watch you. Sitting alone in that room. Sleeping upright because the chair doesn’t recline. Whispering his name when you think no one’s listening.
He memorizes every detail. Every breath. Every blink.
It’s the only thing anchoring him.
Weeks pass. Maybe longer. Time doesn’t work right when he’s like this.
Then something shifts.
A mission goes wrong—too much heat, too many witnesses—and for the first time, HYDRA’s grip slips. Just a fraction. Enough for Bucky to notice.
Enough to plan.
The next video they send isn’t punishment.
It’s a mistake.
The camera angle is wider. He sees the door. The guard placement. The way the man holding the gun gets lazy when he thinks the Winter Soldier is obedient.
That night, Bucky disobeys orders for the first time.
It’s surgical. Brutal. Silent.
When he reaches you, the door explodes inward and the guards barely have time to turn before they’re down. He’s across the room in seconds, ripping restraints apart with shaking hands.
You don’t scream.
You just sag into him like your body recognizes him before your mind does, fingers curling desperately into his jacket.
“Buck,” you whisper, like it’s a prayer.
“I got you,” he chokes, ripping the mask off and pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here. I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry—”
You don’t let him spiral. You cup his face with trembling hands, thumbs brushing under his eyes.
“They didn’t win,” you say hoarsely. “You didn’t let them.”
Extraction is chaos. Fire. Sirens. The kind of noise that used to erase him.
But he stays present the whole time, arm locked around you like a lifeline.
Later—safe, clean, wrapped in blankets that smell like detergent instead of blood—you finally see him break.
He sits on the edge of the bed, hands buried in his hair, voice wrecked.
“I became him again,” he says. “I did everything they asked. I—if you can’t look at me the same way—”
You grab his wrist. Hard.
“I’m alive,” you say. “Because of you.”
He looks at you then, really looks, and the Winter Soldier finally dissolves under the weight of your gaze.
“You didn’t go back,” you tell him softly. “You went through. For me.”
He pulls you into his chest, arms shaking as he holds you like he’s afraid the world will steal you again.
“I’d do it again,” he admits into your hair, voice raw. “A thousand times. I’d burn everything down if it meant you breathe.”
You tilt your head up, press your forehead to his.
“And I’d wait for you,” you whisper. “Every time.”
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You sit in the hospital's grievance room, numb after hearing the final words from the doctor. Ears were ringing. Vision blurry. Head pounding. Your hands were clammy. Sweaty. Shaky.
Maybe you misheard? The doctor could have spoken to the wrong person…
The world feels muted. Voices blur. Footsteps echo. But nothing reaches you. The silence… it was deafening… unbearably loud… suffocating.
Maybe if you called Bucky, he could clear things up. Maybe he can tell you it was all a big misunderstanding… With forced hope, your hit Bucky’s contract number. Your words come out all jumbled.
"Take some deep breaths, beautiful. Talk to me."
With a choked sob, you manage to form coherent words.
"B-b-bucky... I need you. I need you."
Bucky arrives quietly. His presence steady, not forcing you to speak, just sitting beside you. You hug him and didn't let go. With glassy eyes you look up at him, with a hopeful, disoriented look. You shook you head with a pleading look.
Bucky pulled you into a hug. His heartbeat steadily against your ear. He took deep slow breaths, hoping that you would copy him. You did your best to match his breathing pattern, but your breaths were shaky and you were still trembling, trying to deny the horrible truth. You convinced yourself that you misunderstood what was going on.
Bucky carries you bridal style out of the hospital. You were still trembling. Hands were wringing. Eyes were swollen and your lip was bleeding from biting it. The car ride back to his apartment was silent, save for your broken sobs.
Bucky held your hand the whole car ride home. He rubbed the back of your hand and squeezed it gently, hoping to keep you present. The ringing in your ears and the nausea in your stomach was unbearable. You leaned against him, eyes closed as he pulled into driveway.
You weren't aware of being carried out of the car. You weren't aware as he helped you out of your clothing. You weren't aware as you were placed into bed. It was only until he pulled you against his chest when you came back to reality. You pressed your face into his chest before you glanced up to look at him.
With that familiar, glassy look in your eyes, you let out the words you’d been holding back.
"Tell me he's lying Bucky."
"Doll, I-,"
"Bucky please! Tell me he's lying!"
"Doll... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
A guttural scream tore from your throat. You curled up and clutched your chest as a sharp shooting pain. It felt like your heart was being torn to shreds. The pain. The grief. The agony. It was all eating you from the inside out. Bucky's heart clenched as he pulled you into a tight hug. Your screams eventually turn into heart wrenching sobs. Glassy eyed and numb with grief, you let out a scream again, fueled by pent up rage, agony, and confusion.
Eventually you lapsed into hiccupping sobs. He gently stroked your hair, humming a gentle song. Planting kisses on your head and rubbing soothing circles on your back, Bucky began sharing memories of his own losses, not to overshadow yours, but to remind you that grief doesn't have to be carried alone.
His voice is low, steady. "You don't have to be strong right now. Just breathe. I've got you."
Bucky rocks you back and forth, holding you protectively. He wished he could take your pain away. Your throat was sore from the primal screams that still threatened to tear out. His heartbeat steadily against your ear. His deep controlled breathes were grounding. He knew he had to stay strong for you. He continued humming his soothing song. You closed your eyes, doing your best to match his breathing.
As you lay in bed together, you realize that while the pain is still raw, you're not facing it alone. His quiet strength is a shield against the emptiness.
Bucky wandered the tower, quietly asking Steve about his opinion of the Christmas present he had bought you. His hands trembled as he reached into his sweatshirt pocket. Bucky pulled the gift out and showed Steve.
The small object seemed to weigh more than it should, heavy with meaning. His fingers brushed over it as though it were fragile, his breath catching in his throat. The quiet of the hallway made the moment feel even more intimate, as if the whole tower was holding its breath with him.
"Do you think she will love it?" Bucky's voice wavered.
The question carried more than simple curiosity. It was layered with hope. Fear. Vulnerability. The vulnerability of a man who rarely let his guard down. Steve’s widened eyes reflected both surprise and admiration, his silence stretching just long enough to make Bucky’s heart pound harder.
"Bucky, she will love anything you give her." Assured Steve, resting his hand on Bucky's shoulder, grounding him.
The weight of Steve’s hand was steady, a reminder of their bond and shared history. His words weren’t just reassurance... They were a lifeline. A lifeline that was pulling Bucky back from the spiral of doubt. For a moment, Bucky allowed himself to believe in himself. His shoulders easing under the comfort of Steve’s certainty.
At the same time, you found yourself asking Peter if he would be interested in tagging along when you go to get Bucky’s Christmas gift. Peter enthusiastically agreed to go with you. His eyes lit up instantly, the idea of being part of a secret mission filling him with uncontainable energy. 
Peter practically bounced in place. He was already imagining the adventure ahead. His enthusiasm was contagious, making you smile despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.
The air smelled of sugar and spice as everyone gathered around the long table, decorating gingerbread houses, laughing together, and teasing Thor when his roof collapsed. The kitchen echoed with joyful chaos as Wanda and Peter helped you with your gingerbread house.
Peter's face was smeared with frosting and Thor was sneaking some liquorish. They both gave Steve a sheepish glace when he snapped a photo of them.
Gumdrops and other cadies littered the table. Laughter spilled into every corner of the room. Thor’s booming voice mixed with Peter’s quick chatter. The scene felt like a snapshot of family. Imperfect, yet so full of warmth.
Bucky finally steps in, settling beside you with quiet confidence, his metal arm gleaming under the kitchen lights. His shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches for some frosting, his movements deliberate and careful. He continues decorating with steady hands. He glances at you briefly, then focuses back on his gingerbread house, deliberately creating small details that remind him of you.
The brush of his shoulder was subtle, but it sent a ripple of awareness through you. His careful movements spoke of a man who wanted to contribute without disrupting. His focus was sharp as he added tiny touches. A favorite color here, a familiar shape there. All the details that mirrored pieces of you. It was his quiet way of saying he was thinking of you, even in something as simple as frosting.
“Anyone want to see my gingerbread version of the tower? It's got everyone's faces!” Said Wanda excitedly.
Her voice rang out like a bell, pulling everyone’s attention at once. The sparkle in her eyes matched the festive lights strung across the kitchen, her excitement bubbling over as she lifted the creation with both hands, proud and eager to share her masterpiece.
Wanda’s announcement sent a ripple of curiosity through the room. Everyone turned to see her proudly holding up the gingerbread tower. The structure was whimsical yet impressive, with candy canes spiraling upward and gumdrops on the walls like festive lights.
The tower leaned slightly to one side, but that only added to its charm. The candy canes twisted like magical spires, and the gumdrops glowed under the kitchen lights, transforming the gingerbread into something that felt alive. It was less a dessert and more a piece of holiday art.
Laughter broke out as the group leaned closer, recognizing their own faces carefully etched in frosting. Some charmingly accurate, others hilariously distorted.
Voices overlapped as everyone pointed out details, teasing each other with good-natured humor. The distorted faces drew the loudest laughs, while the more accurate ones earned impressed nods. The room buzzed with shared amusement, the kind that stitched everyone closer together.
Tony squinted at his gingerbread likeness and muttered something about looking like he’d been through a toaster. His complaints only fueled the laughter. Wanda grinned mischievously, clearly enjoying their reactions, while Peter nearly doubled over at the cookie that looks a little like Thor.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, amused at how intimidating her gingerbread counterpart looked. Vision tilted his head thoughtfully before declaring it uncanny.
Natasha’s smirk hinted at pride, as though even in gingerbread form she couldn’t escape her aura of intimidation. Vision’s calm declaration added a layer of seriousness to the fun, his analytical tone making the comparison sound like a scientific observation rather than a joke.
Steve leaned in, studying the neat frosting lines that made up his gingerbread face. A small smile tugged at his lips as he said, “You even got the jawline right. That’s… impressive.”
His words carried a mix of humor and genuine admiration, the kind that made Wanda beam with satisfaction. Steve’s smile was rare but warm. And in that moment, he looked less like a soldier and more like a man enjoying the simple joy of holiday traditions.
Beside him, Bucky gave his own cookie a long look before chuckling. The sound was low and rough, but it carried warmth. His eyes softened as he studied the silver icing detail, a reminder of the part of himself he could never escape. Yet instead of bitterness, his chuckle held acceptance, even amusement, as though he’d finally learned to see the humor in it.
“Mine’s got the metal arm detail,” he noted, tapping the silver icing with amusement. “Guess I can’t escape it. Even in gingerbread form.”
His words drew a ripple of laughter from the group, the lightheartedness easing the heaviness that sometimes clung to him. The silver icing shimmered under the lights, and for once, it felt less like a burden and more like a badge of belonging. Even in gingerbread form.
The two exchanged a glance, Steve’s expression warm and nostalgic, Bucky’s edged with humor, before Wanda’s grin widened at their approval.
The glance carried years of history, unspoken understanding passing between them. Steve’s warmth met Bucky’s humor, a balance that had carried them through countless battles. Wanda’s grin widened, proud of the way her creation had sparked not just laughter, but connection.
The sweet scent of ginger and cinnamon filled the air, wrapping the moment in warmth and holiday cheer as Wanda beamed at their reactions.
The kitchen felt alive, every corner buzzing with joy. The scents mingled with the sound of laughter, creating a memory that would linger long after the gingerbread was gone. Wanda’s smile was radiant, her happiness reflecting the shared spirit of the season.
Chapter 2
After everyone was done decorating, they went to sit down and have their Christmas movie night. The glow of the string lights reflected off bowls of popcorn and mugs of hot cocoa, casting the room in a cozy warmth. Laughter still lingered from the gingerbread chaos, but now the atmosphere softened into something more relaxed. You glanced at Peter. With just a subtle tilt of your head, you silently communicated that it was time to go pick up the gift. His eyes lit up instantly, the unspoken plan sparking excitement between you.
You rose from your seat, stretching your arms overhead as though it were nothing more than a casual break. “We’re going to take a walk,” you announced lightly, keeping your tone breezy. Peter practically leapt to his feet, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he bounded toward the door with uncontainable energy.
His enthusiasm was so obvious it drew a few chuckles from the others. Behind him, Bucky moved at a slower, steadier pace, his protective instincts guiding him to follow. His gaze flicked toward Peter, narrowing slightly. Not in suspicion, but in the way an older brother might eye someone who was too eager around someone he cared about.
"I am coming with you." Bucky's voice was firm and unwavering. Bucky’s gaze flicked between you and Peter, his jaw tightening. You stepped closer. Softening your voice to reassure him.
“We’re just going to stretch our legs, clear our heads a little. Nothing dangerous, nothing secret. Just a walk.”
You offered him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension. “You’ve been watching over me all day, and I appreciate it more than you know. But right now, I need a little space to breathe, and Peter’s practically vibrating with energy. We’ll be back before you finish the next round of popcorn.”
Bucky crosses his arms, his protective instincts clearly battling with the desire to respect your wishes. His stance was strong, but his eyes betrayed the conflict. He wanted to follow. To guard. Yet he also wanted to honor the trust you placed in him.
“I'm your favorite Avenger, aren't I? Shouldn't I be involved in all secret missions?”
His words carried a playful edge, the faintest hint of hurt wrapped in humor. It wasn’t suspicion. It was longing. The desire to be included in whatever mattered to you. His eyes softened even as his tone teased.
From across the room, Steve chimed in, his voice calm and steady. “Bucky, sometimes a girl needs her space. Even from her favorite assassin.” His words were light, meant to ease the tension, and his smile carried the warmth of someone who understood both sides.
Bucky turned his head sharply, shooting Steve a look of mock betrayal. His lips pressed into a thin line, though the expression was more dramatic than truly angry. Meanwhile, Peter bounced impatiently at the door, his energy practically spilling into the hallway as he waited for you to join him.
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” You met Bucky’s eyes with sincerity, your voice carrying the weight of truth. The promise wasn’t empty. It was a vow that tomorrow would bring something worth the wait.
Bucky’s expression softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he let out a quiet breath. He still looked slightly wounded, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed his trust in you. “You better. And it better be a good promise,” he muttered, though the words carried more affection than frustration. With that, you and Peter slipped out the door, the cold air rushing in briefly before it closed behind you.
Bucky remained in the lobby, his arms crossed as he grumbled under his breath. The others tried to distract him with another Christmas movie, tossing playful comments his way, but his attention lingered on the door. His eyes stayed fixed on the spot you had disappeared through, his thoughts circling around you. Protective, restless, and quietly hopeful. He waited, knowing tomorrow would bring answers, even if tonight left him pacing.
Chapter 3
Peter practically vibrates with excitement at the thought of helping you shop for Bucky. He starts listing off all the cat facts he knows while you walk toward the shelter entrance. Inside, the shelter worker gives a cheerful greeting with a warm smile.
"Welcome, Happy Holidays! Looking to adopt today?"
Peter bounces on his heels, already scanning the room for cat toys. Peter’s energy is practically contagious, his sneakers squeaking lightly against the polished floor as he shifts from one foot to the other. His eyes dart around the room, catching on every brightly colored feather wand and jingling ball.
“That white one! She’s so cute and adorable!”
Peter’s voice rises with unrestrained enthusiasm, his finger pointing eagerly toward the small cage in the corner. His words tumble out in a rush. Each syllable was brimming with awe. With affection. The sheer joy in his tone makes it clear that, in his mind, the search is already over. This kitten is the one.
"Bucky would absolutely adore her! I think we found the perfect kitty" You blinked away tears, agreeing with equal excitement.
The worker’s gentle smile matches the softness of the kitten inside the cage. Nestled against the bars, the tiny creature looks up with wide, crystalline blue eyes that seem to shimmer under the fluorescent lights. Her fur is a cloud of white. So pristine. It was almost as if it glows. Her delicate whiskers twitch as she studies the newcomers with curiosity.
“This little one is indeed adorable. She's very playful and loves attention.”
The worker’s voice carries a note of fondness, as though they’ve already grown attached to the kitten themselves. They describe her personality with warmth. They painted a picture of a lively companion who thrives on affection.
“She's perfect! Look at those tiny paws! Bucky won't know what hit him.”
Peter’s voice is filled with glee. His words tumbling out between bursts of laughter. He gestures toward the kitten’s minuscule paws, marveling at their delicate size. The thought of surprising Bucky with this bundle of joy makes him grin even wider, his excitement bubbling over.
The worker starts preparing the adoption papers while you watch the kitten nestle into Peter’s arms. As the worker gathers the necessary forms, the kitten leans into Peter’s embrace, her tiny body curling against his chest. She lets out a soft purr. The sound vibrated faintly against his shirt. Peter beams down at her, cradling her with a gentleness that contrasts his usual restless energy.
The worker handed you the forms and you began signing them. As you fill out the forms, Peter keeps making kitten noises to entertain the little one, while you concentrate on the forms.
Peter helps pick out a cute carrier for the kitty, as you finish filling the forms out. Once you were done, the kitten was officially yours! Peter helped put the kitty in her carrier he picked out, along with some cat toys.
Peter’s enthusiasm extends to every detail, from choosing a carrier decorated with cheerful patterns to selecting toys that promise hours of fun. He insists on adding a jingling ball and a feather wand, declaring them “essentials.”
You and Peter carefully place the kitten into her new carrier, tucking the toys inside like treasures. Peter even grabs a bag of food, determined to make sure she has everything she needs.
The kitten meows curiously at her new surroundings. On the way back to the tower, the kitten makes soft sounds in the carrier. Inside the carrier, the kitten shifts and explores, her tiny nose pressing against the mesh as she takes in the unfamiliar sights and smells. Each soft meow is a blend of curiosity and comfort, as though she’s announcing her presence to the world. The gentle rhythm of the car ride seems to soothe her. Her sounds become a quiet melody that fills the space.
“I can't wait to see Bucky's face tomorrow! This is going to be the best Christmas ever!” Peter keeps glancing at the carrier with barely contained excitement.
Peter’s voice bursts with anticipation, his grin stretching ear to ear as he imagines Bucky’s reaction. He leans forward in his seat. His eyes flicking constantly to the carrier as though he can’t resist checking on the kitten every few seconds. His excitement is so palpable it feels like the air itself is buzzing. The promise of tomorrow’s surprise making the moment glow with holiday magic.
Chapter 4
Back at the tower, Bucky is pacing near the entrance. He paced like a caged wolf. His boots echo against the polished floor with each restless stride, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet lobby. His jaw is tight, his shoulders rigid, and his hands clench and unclench as though he’s trying to squeeze the unease out of himself. He hated not knowing where you were. He hated the distance. The uncertainty. The gnawing thought that if something went wrong, he wouldn’t be there to shield you. That helplessness was unbearable.
When you and Peter return, Bucky is already waiting near the entrance. His pacing slows as soon as he sees you, relief softening the tension in his shoulders. He’s been restless, not because he suspects anything, but because he hates the quiet ache of not knowing where you are.
You rushed upstairs without explanation, the carrier tucked close to you. Bucky blinked in mild confusion, watching you disappear up the staircase before turning to Peter with a raised brow. “What’s she hiding up there?” he asked, his tone more curious than demanding.
Instead of pressing further, Bucky let the question hang in the air, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. He trusted you, even if his instincts made him restless. The way his voice carried was less about suspicion and more about wanting to be included, a gentle reminder that he cared about where you were and what you were doing.
Peter grinned, rocking on his heels with playful energy. “Classified holiday business, Sergeant. You’ll find out soon enough.” His words carried a teasing lilt, making it clear this was all in good fun.
Bucky rolled his eyes at Peter’s theatrics, but the corners of his mouth softened. He knew Peter well enough to recognize when the kid was enjoying himself, and that alone eased any tension. If Peter was this cheerful, then whatever was happening upstairs couldn’t possibly be anything bad.
Bucky sighed, shaking his head with a faint smile as he crossed his arms loosely over his chest. He leaned back against the wall, resigned to waiting even though patience had never been his strong suit.
Still, there was comfort in the waiting. The tower was filled with warmth, laughter drifting from the common room. The faint smell of popcorn lingering in the air. Even if he didn’t know exactly what was happening, he knew it was something tied to the holiday cheer that had been buzzing through the team all evening.
Upstairs, you placed the carrier gently on your bed, adjusting the toys inside and making sure everything was perfect. The kitten shifted, her tiny movements rustling against the mesh, a secret heartbeat waiting to be revealed. The anticipation warmed your chest. You could already imagine Bucky’s reaction tomorrow.
You paused for a moment, listening to the soft purrs and tiny mews, and felt a rush of excitement. This wasn’t just a gift. It was a piece of joy you knew would melt Bucky’s guarded heart. The thought of his smile tomorrow made you tear up in the eyes. The secrecy. It was suddenly worth every second. From downstairs, his voice carried up the hall, threaded with impatience but softened by affection.
“You’re making a lot of noise up there. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
He wasn’t angry. Just eager. His words echoing like a reminder that he was still there, still watching over you, even if he didn’t yet know what surprise awaited him. Beneath the impatience was a steady reassurance. He trusted you, even if he couldn’t quite hide how much he wanted to be part of whatever you were planning.
You quickly ran back downstairs and sat next to Bucky in the common room. He instantly wrapped his arm around you protectively and pulled you closer as the next movie began. The glow of the screen lit his features in soft blues and golds, and you felt the steady rhythm of his breathing as he settled beside you.
Steve passed around a giant bowl of popcorn, the buttery scent filling the air as kernels spilled into eager hands. Thor, of course, grabbed more than his share. His booming laugh echoed when Wanda scolded him for hogging the bowl.
Tony had ordered enough pizza to feed an army, boxes stacked high on the coffee table. Thor snatch the first slice, prompting a round of teasing that made Wanda giggle. Vision poured sodas into glasses with meticulous care, while Peter bounced on the couch, juggling a slice of pizza and a fizzy drink, nearly spilling both in his excitement.
The room was alive with chatter and laughter, the kind of noise that felt like home. Wanda curled up in a blanket, Steve stretched his long legs across the rug, and Thor loudly declared that the movie needed more battle scenes. Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled. She leaned back with a slice of pizza balanced in one hand, her sharp eyes softening as she watched the chaos unfold.
You nestled closer to Bucky, his arm tightening around you as though anchoring you in the midst of the joyful chaos. His metal fingers brushed lightly against your shoulder. A silent gesture of comfort. Every so often, he leaned down to murmur a quiet comment about the movie, his voice low and warm, meant only for you. Your lips twitched and you whispered a response in his ear that made him blush.
As the night wore on, the pizza boxes emptied. Soda cans clinked together in a pile on the ground. Thor, Peter, and Tony were buried in popcorn and pizza crumbs, looking like survivors of a food fight. Thor roared with laughter. He brushed the kernels from his beard and calling it a “glorious feast.” Peter giggled as he tried to flick pieces off his hoodie, while Tony groaned dramatically, muttering that gods and kids should never be trusted with snacks.
One by one, the Avengers began to drift off. Thor was snoring loudly in an armchair. Wanda slipped away to her room with a sleepy smile. Steve offered a soft “goodnight” as he disappeared down the hall. Natasha gave a small wave before vanishing into the shadows, and Peter bounded upstairs, still buzzing with energy despite the late hour.
Finally, the common room grew quiet, the glow of the movie screen casting long shadows across the walls. Bucky turned to you, his expression softening in the hush of the moment. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, and leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead.
“Goodnight, doll,” he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of affection and promise. “Sleep well. You’ve got me right here, always.”
His words wrapped around you like a blanket. Steady and sure. With one last squeeze of his arm around your shoulders, he let you go, watching with quiet devotion as you headed off to bed. The warmth of his kiss lingered. A reminder that tomorrow held more than just Christmas cheer. It held him. And the love he carries for you.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Christmas Day dawned with a soft golden light spilling through the tower’s windows. Snow continued to fall heavily outside of the tower.
The common room was alive with excitement. Steve was already brewing coffee in the kitchen. Peter was practically bouncing with anticipation. His hands moving faster than his aim. In his rush, the hot cocoa mix scattered across the counter like a sugary snowfall, completely missing the mug.
He froze. Cheeks flushed. He then shot Steve a sheepish grin as he tried to sweep the mess into the cup. Steve chuckled, shaking his head, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile at Peter’s clumsy holiday enthusiasm. The rich aroma drifting through the halls. Wanda padded in with a blanket draped over her shoulders, her smile sleepy yet radiant
One by one, the Avengers gathered. Natasha leaned against the doorway, her sharp eyes softened by the glow of the lights. Tony arrived in a robe. He was holding a glass of orange juice like it was champagne.
You entered the room with a spark of anticipation, your heart racing at the secret you held in your arms. You had transferred the kitten from the carrier to a cute box.
Bucky was already there, seated near the tree, his posture relaxed but his gaze immediately finding you. The sight of you made his expression soften, the tension of last night replaced with quiet warmth. He gave you a small smile, one that carried both affection and curiosity, before patting the spot beside him. You set Bucky's gift down at his feet, before distributing your gifts you made for everyone else.
The tower hummed with holiday cheer! Voices overlapping, laughter spilling into the air, and the promise of gifts waiting to be unwrapped. It was the kind of morning that felt timeless. Wrapped in warmth, family, and the magic of Christmas.
Bucky watches you open your gifts, his heart racing as he waits for the right moment to give you his. He could feel it in the way your eyes lingered on him. The quiet anticipation tucked behind your smile.
Bucky knew you were holding onto something special, waiting for just the right moment to place it in his hands. The thought made his heart race. Because if your gift carried even half the care, he felt for you, it would be unforgettable.
Steve receives a new shield from Tony, while Natasha opens a set of high-tech throwing knives from Bucky. The atmosphere grows more festive with each unwrapped present. Peter shouted with excitement as he opened new enhanced web shooters from Tony. He vibrated with uncontainable joy.
Steve’s presents were simple but heartfelt. He drew sketches of each of the avengers, made scarves for them, journals, and little keepsakes he’d made himself. Each one carried his quiet care. Every smile he received made his own grow brighter.
Tony’s gifts were clever and dazzling. From sleek gadgets to a polished shield. Gasps and laughter followed each reveal, and Tony basked in the joy like it was his own invention brought to life.
Peter nearly bounced out of his seat when he opened his new web shooters. His excitement was contagious. His handmade doodles and bracelets, though small, lit up faces with genuine delight.
Natasha’s gifts were sharp and thoughtful. Knives, gadgets, blankets, charms. She didn’t say much, but the rare curve of her smile told everyone how much she cared.
Bucky’s gifts carried deep meaning, each one chosen with trembling hands and a hopeful heart. His nervousness melted into pride as friends thanked him.
Wanda’s gifts shimmered with magic. Enchanted arrows. Charms. Cozy blankets. Her gentle smile glowed brighter with every thank‑you, her warmth wrapping the room like a spell.
Thor’s gifts were bold and Asgardian. Pendants, mugs, relics, and runes. His booming laugh filled the room, shaking the walls with joy as each gift was revealed.
And yours... Yours were heartfelt and personal. Hand crafted ornaments, sketches, and notes. Each one carried your warmth, and every Avenger’s smile reflected it back to you.
You and Bucky saved each other's gifts for last. He watches as you retrieve his gift, his curiosity piqued. Bucky could hear a faint mew from the box. His eyes widen, his expression shifting from curiosity to realization.
“Is that... a cat?”
He kneels down to get a better look at the box, his heart racing with excitement and disbelief. Bucky carefully opens the box, his hands trembling slightly. Inside is a small kitten with mismatched eyes and a fluffy tail, meowing up at him.
“It's perfect. Just like you.”
He gently picks up the kitten, cradling it in his arms as tears of joy form in his eyes. The kitten snuggles into Bucky's chest, purring contentedly.
“She's adorable. And she looks like she's already found her favorite person.”
He scratches behind the kitten's ears, completely enamored. Bucky thinks for a moment, then looks at you with a soft smile. He had the perfect name in mind.
“I think we should name her Alpine. Because she's as pure and beautiful as snow.”
The kitten seems to respond to her new name, purring louder and nuzzling against Bucky's metal arm. Bucky felt his heart swelling with happiness as Alpine settles comfortably in his embrace.
“Just like you picked the perfect cat for me. For us. Our little Alpine.”
He leans over to kiss your forehead, holding both you and the kitten close. The room fell quiet. Everyone watched with tender smiles as Alpine nestled deeper into Bucky’s embrace. It wasn’t just a gift. It was a piece of love. A reminder that even in the chaos of their lives, there was space for joy this pure.
Bucky hands you one of his gifts and watches intently as you reach out for them.
“Go ahead, doll. This one's from me.”
He leans forward. His eyes filled with anticipation and love. The brushing of hands made your heart thump, as you reached to take the gifts. And the way that Bucky was looking at you? You have never seen him look at you that way before. The room falls quiet as you carefully peel away the wrapping paper. Bucky's breath catches in his throat, his hands fidgeting nervously as he waits for your reaction.
Inside the wrapping, you find a beautifully crafted leather journal with your name embossed on the cover. Bucky speaks softly, his voice slightly shaky. His eyes, bright and full of love.
"I know you like to write and draw. I thought this would help you keep your thoughts and creations organized."
The journal is decorated with subtle star patterns, a reference to his nickname for you. Bucky's face breaks into a warm smile, relief washing over him as he watched you hug it to your chest. You set it back on your lap to take a better look at it.
"I'm glad you like it. I wanted to give you something meaningful."
He reaches over and gently touches the journal, his metal fingers tracing the star patterns. He opened the journal to the front page and there was a sketch of you with a handwritten note.
"You deserve the world. And maybe this is just a start."
He placed Alpine inside his sweatshirt and zipped it up and held your hand, guiding you to his car instead of his motorcycle since it was freezing cold. You allowed him to pull you along, heart fluttering with anticipation for whatever he had planned. Bucky waved goodbye to everyone but not before giving a subtle look to Steve, reminding him about the plans for the rest of that evening.
Once you stepped outside, Bucky was already circling around the car, moving with that steady, purposeful stride of his. He reached your door first, pulling it open with a little half‑bow that was more instinct than showmanship.
“After you, doll,” he murmured, his voice warm and low.
He offered his hand—not rushed, not casual, but gentle, like he was inviting you into something sacred. You took it, and he helped you settle into the seat as if you were made of something precious. He even made sure your dress didn’t catch on anything before he closed the door with a soft click.
A moment later he slid into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under his weight. He didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he reached for your hand. Slow. Deliberate. He threaded his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, warm and steady.
“There we go,” he said quietly, giving your hand a small squeeze. “Got you.”
And only then did he turn the key, the engine rumbling to life as he kept your hand in his, like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
The drive up to the cabin felt like slipping out of the world for a while. The sun was brushing the tops of the trees with that soft, golden light, making everything even more breathtakingly beautiful.
Bucky had the windows cracked just enough for the cool lake air to drift in. It swept through the car in little bursts, playful and crisp, catching your hair immediately. A few strands lifted and fluttered across your cheek, and you laughed under your breath, brushing them back. Alpine mewed and poked her head out of Bucky's sweatshirt, earning her a few scratches behind the ear.
Bucky glanced over, and the wind seemed to steal his attention more than the road. “You okay over there?” he asked, smiling like he already knew the answer.
“Wind’s got opinions tonight,” you said, trying to smooth your hair again.
He reached over, warm fingers brushing a loose strand behind your ear. “There,” he murmured. The wind immediately tugged it free again, and he huffed a soft laugh. “Alright, alright. You win,” he said to the breeze, shaking his head.
The road curved along the lake, the water shimmering like liquid silver. Your hair kept lifting and dancing in the wind, catching the fading light, and Bucky kept sneaking glances like he couldn’t help himself.
“You look happy,” he said quietly.
“I am.”
He smiled at that. A small, private smile that softened his whole face. “Good. I wanted today to feel… peaceful. Just us.”
The closer you got to the cabin, the quieter the world became. Trees arched overhead, the lake glowed through the branches, and the wind kept brushing through the car, lifting your hair like it was greeting you both.
“You’re beautiful.” he said softly.
As soon as you were parked outside the cabin, he helped you get out and made sure you didn't slip on the icy sidewalk. When you both stepped inside. Lamps were on low. The lights were a warm color.
Before you could even take your coat off, he was already moving toward the stone fireplace with that purposeful ease he had.
“Let me get this going,” he murmured, rolling up his sleeves a little.
He knelt by the hearth, stacking the logs with practiced hands. Careful. Efficient. Like he’d done this a thousand times. A moment later, the fire caught with a soft whoosh and sparks dancing upward as the flames began to glow.
Bucky stood, brushing his hands together, and glanced back at you with a small, satisfied smile. “There,” he said gently. “Nice and warm for you.”
The firelight flickered across his face, softening the sharp lines, making him look almost boyish for a moment. And just like that, the cabin felt cozy. Safe. And entirely yours for the night.
The lake outside caught the streaks of sunlight. Bucky hovered behind you, hands tucked in his pockets in that shy, hopeful way he got whenever he’d planned something big.
Once the fire settled into a steady glow, Bucky tugged you toward the couch with that quiet, hopeful look he got when he wanted closeness but didn’t quite know how to ask for it. Alpine was already there. Curled into a fluffy ball on the blanket like she’d claimed the spot hours ago.
Bucky eased down first, patting the space beside him. “C’mere, doll,” he murmured, opening his arm.
You nestled against his side, your head resting on his shoulder. Alpine immediately climbed into your lap, purring like she’d been waiting for this exact arrangement. Bucky chuckled under his breath, rubbing the cat’s head with the back of his metal fingers.
“Traitor,” he teased her softly, though he looked pretty pleased with the whole picture.
After a moment, he reached for the small, worn leather journal from his inside coat pocket. The edges were frayed. The cover softened from years of being handled. He hesitated for a second, thumb brushing the spine, before glancing at you.
“Been… working on some things,” he said quietly. “Nothin’ fancy. Just… thoughts.”
You nodded, giving him that gentle encouragement he always responded to. He opened the journal, flipping past pages filled with neat, careful handwriting. When he found the one he wanted, he cleared his throat softly.
His voice was low as he read. Steady. Warm. A little rough around the edges. The kind of voice that made even simple words feel like they carried weight.
The poem wasn’t polished or dramatic. It was honest. Little lines about peace, about warmth, about finding something soft after years of sharp edges. About hands that felt safe. About a laugh he didn’t know he’d missed. About a home that wasn’t a place, but a person.
When he finished, he closed the journal gently, like the words were fragile. You looked up at him, and he met your eyes for only a second before glancing away, cheeks faintly pink.
“Didn’t think I’d ever read that out loud,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But… I wanted you to hear it.”
Alpine stretched across both of you, purring louder, as if giving her approval.
Bucky wrapped his arm tighter around you, pulling you closer into the warmth of his chest and the crackling fire. And for a long, quiet moment, the three of you just stayed like that. Soft, safe, and completely wrapped up in each other.
You must have dozed off, because you woke up to warn kissed on your forehead. Bucky's eyes held something raw and vulnerable.
“I, uh… got you something else,” he murmured, pulling a small box from the table. The wrapping paper crinkled as you ripped it off. Inside was a dress. Soft and elegant. The exact shade that made your eyes look like they were lit from within.
You looked up at him, and he was already smiling. That quiet, proud smile he only ever wore around you. “Go on,” he said, voice warm. “Try it.”
While you slipped into the bathroom to shower and change, Bucky finally let out a breath he’d been holding since he handed you the dress. The moment the door clicked shut, he moved with quiet purpose...
He laid out his outfit on the bed first. A crisp button‑down, dark slacks, and a deep navy tie that brought out the blue in his eyes. He hesitated over the jacket for a second, smoothing the fabric with his palm before nodding to himself.
“Alright, Barnes,” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t screw this up.”
He changed quickly but carefully, adjusting each piece like he wanted everything to be perfect for you. He rolled his shoulders back, tugged the shirt into place.
When he finally straightened the tie, he paused. He looked… good. But more importantly, he looked like a man who wanted to be worthy of the moment. He heard the bathroom door open behind him. There you stood. Soft hair and dress flowing. His breath caught somewhere in his chest.
“Sweetheart…” His voice dropped to a whisper as he stepped toward you, eyes tracing every detail like he was memorizing it.
When you stepped back out, Bucky forgot how to breathe. He straightened his tie like it might help him recover. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, stepping closer, “you look… unbelievable.”
The tie didn’t help him recover at all. He helped you with the zipper, fingers gentle, almost reverent. Then he opened another small box. This one holding a delicate necklace that shimmered like starlight.
“May I?” he asked, already brushing your hair aside. His metal hand was cool, his other warm, and the contrast made you shiver in the best way.
When you turned around, he kissed your forehead. “Perfect,” he said softly. “Absolutely perfect.”
“You look incredible, Bucky… really. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this handsome.”
He took your hand in his and kissed each and every knuckle, and led you out to his car. Alpine was placed in her large kitty house with some toys, food, water and a kitty bed.
“Sorry Alpine. You’re staying here”
He walked over to your side of the car and helped you get in and gently tucked your dress neatly inside the car and buckled you up. He planted several kisses on your face, before he walked over to his side.
"Where are we going?"
Bucky remained silent but had a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes had that soft spark again. The kind that spoke louder than anything he could’ve said.
"You'll have to wait and see but I think you are going to love it, doll."
The restaurant he took you to was tucked near the water, candlelit and cozy. You were led to your own private area. You didn’t notice the Avengers at first. They were at a separate table, trying to look inconspicuous. Bucky pulled your seat out for you.
"Baby, you don't have to-"
Bucky interrupted you with a soft kiss.
“Let me, doll. I know you can do it, but… just let me take care of you tonight.”
Steve, of course, had a camera out, photographing Bucky's special moment, just as he had requested yesterday.
Bucky's attention was solely fixed on you. He Leaned in when you spoke. He constantly brushed his thumb over your knuckles. And he smiled like he’d been waiting years for this exact moment.
At one point, he squeezed your hand. His voice trembled with something raw. His lips hovered near yours.
“Thank you,”
“For what?”
“For letting me do this right.”
And with the soft music, the warm lights, and your friends pretending not to spy on you… it really did feel right. Sweet. Simple. Yours. Time slowed down for the beautiful moment you both shared. Every second stretched. There was no rush. You wished that this still, perfect moment would last forever.
The candle between you flickered, casting warm light across Bucky’s face, softening the sharp lines and making his eyes look impossibly blue.
Bucky handed you a menu and watched as you started to peruse to fine something you'd like. The waiter came back a few minutes later and asked if you were ready to make your orders. Bucky let you order first, listening intently, chin propped on his hand. After you were finished, he gave the waiter the order of his own, finishing it off with a nice surprise.
“A bottle of the Starlight white wine… for the two of us.” Bucky gave you a soft glance at you, tracing lazy patterns on your hand.
Waiting for dinner felt effortless. You and Bucky talked in low, warm tones, trading stories and smiles like the rest of the room didn’t exist. When dinner arrived Bucky immediately began dishing your favorite foods onto your plate. You were about to protest but remember that Bucky wanted this moment. This special little moment. A moment where he could take care of you in. Every. Way. Possible.
During the meal, he reached across the table, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. And the look that was in his eyes? He was mesmerized. He noticed a piece of food on your face and wiped it off with a napkin. He began to refill his and your wine glasses with the Starlight.
“You havin’ a good time?” he asked, voice low, almost shy. You nodded with a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, and he exhaled like that answer meant everything. It did mean something.
You continue to eat while having casual conversations until you were both satisfied and full. Bucky flagged down the waiter and paid for the meal. He then helped you out of your seat and guided you towards the exit.
The moment you both stepped out of the restaurant, the cold air wrapped around you. Bucky immediately pulled you closer without a word. Just that small, instinctive gesture that said “I’ve got you.”
The car ride was slow, peaceful. Snow drifted lazily across the windshield, catching the glow of the streetlights like falling stars. Bucky kept one hand on the wheel. The other was resting over your knee, thumb brushing back and forth in a rhythm that felt like he was still dancing with you.
“Where are we going this time?”
You ask, even though you know Bucky wouldn’t tell you. Bucky remained silent but had a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Be patient, doll.”
Every now and then he glanced over at you. He still couldn’t understand how he got so lucky to have you in his life.
When he parked near the shoreline, the world was almost silent. The beach was covered in a thin layer of snow, untouched except for the soft waves rolling in and out.
Bucky stepped out first, then opened your door like it was a ritual he’d been waiting all night to perform. He offered his hand, and when you took it, he held on a little longer than necessary.
“Careful,” he whispered, guiding you down the small slope toward the sand.
“Snow makes everything slippery. And I’m not letting you fall tonight.”
Your footsteps crunched softly as you walked side by side, your arm looped through his. The air was cold enough to make your breath visible, but Bucky stayed close, radiating warmth like a living furnace.
The waves were gentle, rolling in with a soft hiss. Snowflakes drifted down, catching in your hair. Bucky brushed one away with the back of his fingers.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly, almost like he was confessing something.
You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he immediately tucked you closer.
You walked like that for a long time, not talking much, just existing together in the hush of winter. Every so often he’d stop, turn you toward the ocean, and wrap both arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.
“Could stay here forever,” he murmured into your hair. “Just you and me. Snow, waves, quiet.
Then he stepped closer, cupped your cheek gently, and kissed you. Slow. Warm. The kind of kiss that made the cold disappear entirely.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered. “For letting me have this. For being… you.”
The sun was still lingering low on the horizon, that perfect winter sunset where everything looked dipped in gold and rose. The snowy beach glowed softly. The waves shimmered like they were holding the last light of the day.
You and Bucky walked slowly along the shoreline, your hand tucked into his, your breath mingling in the cold air. You were focused on him. The warmth of his path. The way he kept glancing at you with something tender and nervous in his eyes.
Bucky knew Steve was somewhere, taking pictures of this perfect, special moment just as requested.
Steve stayed well back, half-hidden behind a drift of snow-covered grasses, the sunset catching on the lens of the camera he held ready. He moved quietly, deliberately, keeping his distance so you wouldn’t see him. The other avengers were also watching from a distance, holding their breaths.
Bucky squeezed your hand a little tighter, guiding you subtly into the best light.
Steve lifted the camera, the shutter silent, capturing the way the sun haloed around you both. The way Bucky looked at you like he was holding a secret in his chest. The way your smile softened when you leaned into him.
All you saw was Bucky. And that was exactly how he wanted it.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in deeper pinks and purples, Bucky slowed his steps. His breath hitched just slightly. You felt it more than heard it. Steve saw it too. He adjusted his stance, ready. Bucky turned toward you, brushing a snowflake from your cheek with trembling fingers. It was just a sweet moment.
But behind you, unseen, Steve captured the exact second Bucky’s expression changed. The moment he gathered the courage. The moment everything in him settled into certainty.
Bucky brought out one last gift for you that he had been saving for last. He handed it to you with care. You unwrapped it and started opening the small jewelry box. Bucky got down on one knee.
Bucky takes your hand, his eyes shining with emotion as you hold the small box. His thumbs rubbed the back of your hand. His steel blue eyes pierced into your soul. Into your heart. Into your mind.
“I’ve carried these feelings in my heart for so long, and they’ve only grown stronger with time. You’ve brought a kind of light into my life that I didn’t even know I was missing. You’ve shown me what love looks like. Steady. Gentle. Real. You stood by me when everything felt heavy. Your presence became my safe place. There is truly no one else I could imagine walking through the rest of my life with. It’s you. It’s always been you. Always have, always will.”
He looks up at you, his heart completely exposed. His heart hammered in his chest as he prepares himself.
“Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”
The world went silent for a heartbeat as Bucky searched your face. His breath came in faster. Every second felt like they were stretched out into agonizing minutes. A second heartbeat.
Your throat tightens, but you manage a trembling smile. Your heart fluttered on the inside and your head felt light and fuzzy.
“There’s no future I want if you’re not in it.”
Bucky's face lights up with pure joy. as he slides the ring onto your finger.
“I love you, my star. Forever and always.”
He stands up and pulls you into a passionate kiss. Bucky keeps you close. His arm wrapped protectively around your waist as he trembles with pure joy and love. His lips clash against yours. He deepens the kiss as he lifts you up bridal style and carried you back to his car.
“I can't believe you said yes. You just made me the happiest man in the universe.”
He whispers against your ear, his voice filled with wonder and disbelief. He planted another desperate kiss.
“Can’t wait to get back to our cabin. Cuddle with you and Alpine.” Bucky’s voice was filled with love and passion.
Alright my marvel fans… what does everyone think this means? This was part of the Avengers: Doomsday trailer and want to know your thoughts of this “glitch” on the countdown clock. I don’t think it’s an accident. I think it is very intentional…
I heard your inbox was empty. I was thinking about a story about me being held hostage by one of Bucky’s enemies and then he has to try an rescue me. 🩵
this man goes absolutely feral
--------
You’d always known dating an Avenger came with risks, but you never imagined this.
Your wrists ache from the zip ties digging into your skin, your cheek stings from where you were shoved to the ground, and the warehouse is so cold your teeth click when you breathe. But even through the fear and the freezing metal floor, one thought repeats in your head:
Bucky’s gonna come for me.
He promised he always would.
Across the room, your captor strides back and forth like he’s rehearsing for an audience. Ivan Kress. Ex-HYDRA. One of the few still stupid—and desperate—enough to go after the man who tore that organization apart from the inside.
“You know,” he calls, his accent thick and mocking, “Barnes was always predictable. Loyal. Soft.” His eyes drag over you. “And now I see why.”
Your stomach twists. You clench your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.
He steps closer, crouching in front of you. “Do you think he’ll make it in time? Or will you die here—because of him?”
Your voice shakes, but you meet his eyes anyway. “He’s coming. And when he gets here… you should run.”
Kress laughs, loud and ugly. “I have a dozen armed men. He is one.”
You lift your chin. “That’s twelve too few.”
His smile fades.
There’s a beat of silence.
And then—
A single gunshot cracks through the warehouse.
Then another.
Then a scream.
Kress’s face drains of color. “Impossible,” he whispers.
The lights flicker once. Twice.
And then the large steel door at the far end of the warehouse rips off its hinges like it weighs nothing.
Bucky steps through.
You’ve never seen him like this—eyes sharp, jaw tight, body coiled with lethal precision. Tactical black gear clings to him, his metal arm glinting under the fluorescent lights. He looks dangerous. Terrifying.
He looks like salvation.
His gaze snaps to you instantly, like he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. Relief floods those ice-blue eyes—relief and something far darker.
Kress yanks you by the arm, dragging you upright as he pulls a knife to your throat.
“Stay back!” he shouts, voice cracking. “One more step and—”
Bucky doesn’t stop walking.
“Put it down.” His voice is low. Controlled. A tone you’ve only heard in nightmares and mission briefings.
Kress presses the blade harder to your skin. “I’ll kill her—”
“No,” Bucky says, calm as a storm. “You won’t.”
Three things happen at once:
A shot rings out.
The knife clatters to the floor.
Kress drops, screaming, clutching his shoulder where Bucky’s bullet tore clean through.
And Bucky is on you—holstering his gun, ripping the bindings from your wrists with shaking hands.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes, cupping your face so gently it threatens to undo you entirely. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Tell me.”
You shake your head, and suddenly you can’t breathe around the relief. “Bucky—”
His forehead meets yours, his breath trembling. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’m right here.”
Behind him, you hear the remaining men fleeing, scrambling, shouting. Bucky doesn’t even look back.
He only looks at you.
“Can you walk?” he asks softly.
You nod even though your legs feel like water. Bucky slips an arm under your knees and lifts you to his chest anyway.
“This okay?” he murmurs.
You grip his vest, burying your face into his shoulder. “Yes.”
He carries you out of the warehouse with one arm around you—his other hand steady on his gun, ready to eliminate anything in your path. But there’s nothing left. He already cleared the way.
Outside, cold air hits your skin, but Bucky shields you with his body immediately. The quinjet waits at the far end of the shipping yard, its ramp open, Sam standing guard.
The second he sees you, he lets out a breath. “Damn, girl. You gave us a heart attack.”
Bucky shoots him a glare. “Not helping.”
Sam lifts his hands. “Just saying I’m glad you’re alive. And I’m glad he didn’t go nuclear.”
Bucky mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to I could have.
He doesn’t put you down until you’re inside the jet, sitting on one of the padded benches. His hands don’t leave you—not for a second. They skim your arms, your waist, your jaw, like he’s making sure every part of you is still there.
“Bucky,” you whisper, resting your hand over the metal plates of his left arm. “I’m okay.”
“You’re shaking,” he argues.
“So are you.”
He pauses.
Then he drops to his knees in front of you, pressing his forehead to your hands. “I thought—” His voice cracks, something you rarely hear. “I thought I was gonna be too late.”
You tilt his chin up gently. “You weren’t.”
His eyes soften. “I’ll never let anyone take you again.”
“I know,” you whisper. “I wasn’t scared of dying. I was scared you’d blame yourself.”
He squeezes your waist. “Sweetheart, you’re the best damn thing in my life. Anyone who touches you? They don’t get to walk away.”
The words should scare you.
Instead, they warm you.
Because you know what they really mean:
You’re mine to protect. Your life is worth everything to me.
You lean forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, trembling kiss. A thank you. A grounding. A promise.
When you pull back, Bucky pulls you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you. “We’re going home,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next week.”
“A week?” you tease weakly.
“Minimum,” he says, kissing your temple. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“You scared me too,” you admit. “I’ve never seen you like that.”
He exhales, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “That wasn’t the Soldier. That was just me—a man who loves you more than his own damn life.”
Your heart stutters.
You curl into him, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest soothe the last of your terror. He holds you tighter, safer, closer, as the quinjet lifts off.
You’re bruised. Shaken.
But wrapped in Bucky’s arms, you’ve never felt more protected.
