[buckyslilalpine]

You’re Home Now

Summary: Ever since Bucky moved out to the woods, he’d grown used to his routine. He lived comfortably and without anyone around to bother him, and he liked it that way. Then you stumbled your way into his life and changed it forever. Instead of simply helping you and sending you on your way, Bucky starts to like the way you fit right into his life, and he realizes he doesn’t mind the sudden change that came with taking you in. The longer he spends with you, the harder it is to let you go, and luckily for him, the feeling is mutual.

WC: 29.6k | Warnings: 18+, coarse language, fluff, angst, smut, toxic family environment, mentions of abuse, descriptions of injuries, mentions of starvation, running away from home, use of guns, descriptions of hunting, ex military Bucky, shy/inexperienced reader, age gap, unprotected sex, gentle sex, needy sex, use of plan b, oral (f receiving), fingering, pining, size difference, protective Bucky, possessive Bucky, big dick Bucky, beefy Bucky one would say, let me know if I missed anything. | Masterlist

It was hunting season, which didn’t mean much to Bucky since he hunts all the time. Specifically, it was deer season, but despite him being quite successful during this season throughout the five years he’s lived out here, this year was really testing him. 

Either the deer were really shy this season, or there simply weren’t many around this year. He’d had very little luck over the last few days, sitting in the treestand he’d made a few miles away from his house and not seeing much movement in the forest at all. 

Usually by day three he’d have lost count of how many deer that were around, but it was pushing day five and he hadn’t seen a single one. 

Bucky lived, for lack of better words, out in the middle of nowhere. It was secluded, a tedious twenty five minute drive from the nearest town, and the majority of that drive was through the wooded and rocky terrain of the forest. As far as he knew, no one else lived close by, and he hadn’t heard any sounds of guns going off in the woods that would suggest someone else was hunting around the area too. 

He had a feeling this was just one of those unlucky years where the deer population decided to skip over the forest he’d lived in for almost six years now. It was smart, because he’d gotten extremely lucky the last few years with deer, and had enough meat frozen to keep him fed for a long time, so for them to not be around this year was a lucky call for them. 

It was unlucky as hell for Bucky, because that meant he’d have to settle for other options for food, which wasn’t the biggest deal, but still. He’d gotten used to the routine that had sort’ve fallen into his lap the year he’d packed up and moved out here. 

He’d been hunched over in the stand for the majority of the afternoon, and the prime time for deer hunting had long since passed, but he didn’t have anything else to do for the remainder of the day, so he stayed a little longer. 

It turned out that his patience had paid off since he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when Bucky turned his head, he saw the slow, careful steps of a deer passing through the trees, and he moved just as slowly as he lifted his rifle, being sure to not make a single sound. 

He dipped his head down and peered through the scope, noting the size and weight of the deer, and he knew he’d get a good few weeks of meat off of it to freeze, which was a better score than he thought he’d get at this point. 

The deer hadn’t noticed him, its eyes slowly blinking as it remained blissfully unaware of the rifle pointed at it. It bowed down to nip at the grass scattered all over the forest ground, and Bucky took that as his cue to press down on the trigger, but before he could fire, he heard shuffling to his left, and watched as the deer perked up, clearly having heard the sound as well. 

He tried to ignore it and secure his kill, but then more shuffling was heard, and when the sound of rushed footsteps, followed by the beam of the stand he was currently crouched in shaking with the force of something hitting it, Bucky flinched, his rifle firing off but missing the deer completely. 

He’d been caught off guard, his balance momentarily shifting, and the deer took off running, leaving behind the sound of leaves ruffling and twigs snapping as it disappeared into the distance. 

“Fucking Christ,” Bucky cursed under his breath, then moved over to the side of the stand, peering over the edge and preparing to rip into whoever had interrupted him and scared off his kill. 

What he saw had him freezing in shock, his brows furrowing together as he met your wide, terrified eyes. You looked up at him with nothing but fear on your face, and your chest was heaving with uneven breaths that told him you’d been either running or walking for quite a long time, and by the looks of it, with no water. 

You didn’t say anything as you braced your hand against the support of the stand, your other hand lifted in a way that looked like you were giving up a fight that wasn’t even happening.

There was no denying that you’d been out here for a while, if the dirt staining your clothes and skin was anything to go by. Your hair was messy and he could see dried leaves in it, and your cheeks were stained with sweat streaks, but it wasn’t exactly hot at the moment, so he assumed you had just been running to the point of breaking a sweat, or you had not too long ago. 

Standing up a little straighter, Bucky let his gaze sweep you up and down. There was really nothing to you, your legs all scratched up thanks to your denim shorts, and your shoes were muddy and worn out. Your t-shirt was covered in dirt, and there was a rip in the side of it, a scrape visible along your ribs. But the giant bruise that took up most of your left side was a lot more noticeable than that. 

There were other noticeable bruises on your body, some more faded than others, and he saw a healed scar just under your jaw on the right side of your neck. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and your body seemed to be running on the last of its adrenaline as you shook your head. 

You looked scared, like you were horrified of him and what he might do to you. Your lips parted then trembled, like you were struggling to speak as you lifted your hand higher in a pleading gesture, but no words left your mouth as you took a weak, unsteady step forward. 

“Hey,” he called out, concern lacing his tone as he lowered his rifle. Bucky was too high up to do anything about the way your legs buckled, and the way your hand slipped from its place on the beam before you stumbled forward and became completely unbalanced. 

The sound of your head hitting the trunk of the tree had him wincing and instantly putting the rifle down, swinging his legs over the edge of the stand and jumping down. 

His boots hit the ground with a thud, and he immediately crouched down, confusion and concern written all over his face. You were no longer conscious, your body too weak to keep going at this point, and Bucky frowned as he reached forward and brushed your hair out of your face. 

He didn’t recognize you from town, though he supposed he didn’t go there much with the intent to seek out pretty girls. He only went there every once in a while for supplies and to see his family, but he had a feeling he would notice you if he’d seen you before. 

You looked like a mess, your body beaten and bruised and your clothing torn and ruined to the point of almost being unwearable, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. 

What the fuck happened to you?

When Bucky carried you to his house, he discovered that you were extremely light in his arms, and it felt like he was carrying a few bags of groceries rather than a human who appeared to be in her mid twenties. 

He didn’t know what the hell to do with you, but he wasn’t going to just leave you out there. You’d clearly already been through hell, and he refused to turn a blind eye and mind his business when it was so obvious that you needed help. 

It had just started to rain when he began making his way home with you in his arms, and he had a feeling that you would’ve probably died if he’d left you out there, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let that happen.

You were cold, your skin clammy and splotchy, so the first thing Bucky did when he got home was lay you down on the couch, sacrificing the soft throw blanket that was thrown over the back of it, and draped it over you. 

He lowered the strap of his rifle down his arm before setting it aside on the coffee table, then crouched down in front of the couch. You were out cold, your body limp and unresponsive as he examined you a bit closer now that you were safe inside and away from the harsh elements outside. 

Your lips were dark, and he knew you were probably even colder than you felt, your body fighting to keep itself warm in the minimal clothing you were wearing. You didn’t have a bag with you, nor a phone or wallet, so he had no clue who you are or what your name is, or even where you lived. 

He’d never seen you in the woods before this, and by the small silver hoops you had in your ears, it was clear you were from the nicer part of town, which helped make sense as to why he’s never seen you around before. 

But that didn’t answer any of his questions, one being how the hell you ended up all the way out here.

Bucky reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, and he couldn’t deny that you were very pretty. You had a certain innocent look to you, like someone as sweet and fragile as you had no business being out in the middle of the woods, looking like you’d been to hell and back. 

His eyes focused on the gash on the side of your head, and he knew it was from when your head hit the tree and what had caused you to lose consciousness. He guessed you’d been out in the woods for a while, the exhaustion in your bones obvious since you hadn’t moved at all since you passed out on the forest floor. 

He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, where he grabbed the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. As he walked back into the living room, he shrugged out of his damp jacket, setting it aside on a chair as he passed by it, then he was on his knees in front of the couch once again. 

The first aid kit was open on the coffee table, everything he needed messily stored inside of it. He’d been careless a few times during hunting or fishing or wood cutting, resulting in him needing to patch himself up, and he never bothered to tidy up the kit. 

He huffed as he rummaged through the kit in search of peroxide, and he found it a few moments later, then grabbed a cotton pad, pouring some of the liquid onto it. The gash on your head didn’t look too bad, but he also couldn’t see much since you were bleeding. This was one of many injuries he knew was on your body, but it also appeared to be the worst and the easiest one for him to access, so it was his priority at the moment. 

Bucky pressed the cotton to the wound, and the white fabric turned red quickly, the sound of the peroxide sizzling its way into your flesh barely being heard. He cringed, because he knew that would fucking hurt when you wake up, so he tried his best to limit that pain as best as he could. 

After cleaning up the wound, he taped a clean cotton pad to your head that had some sort of healing gel he’d used countless times before on it, then sat back on his knees. He couldn’t see much of you, your shivering body hidden beneath the blanket and your head turned in a way that only allowed him to see half your face. 

Now that he’d cleaned up your head, he had no fucking clue what to do next. Your head would probably be pounding in a few hours, so he stood up to go grab some aspirin and a glass of water, and he set them down on the coffee table. 

Your blood had dried on your face, and for some reason he felt the need to clean that too, so he grabbed a wet cloth, then cleaned you up as well as he could. And then he just simply looked at you. 

There was concern in his eyes, but mainly he was just confused. How did you end up here? What happened? Why were you wearing bruises and marks that seemed like you’d gotten before you ended up in the woods? 

He felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, something he had no business feeling for someone he didn’t even know, but he couldn’t help it. You were broken, bruised and in need of help, and you could’ve died had you not stumbled upon him and inadvertently forced yourself into his life. 

Why had you been running? Who were you running from? Were you in danger? Was he in danger now that he’d taken you into his home and rescued you from the woods?

That should’ve had him feeling a little on edge, but as he looked at you and took in the way you already looked a little more relaxed as you slept on his couch at seven in the evening, he didn’t give a shit if he’d just accidentally put himself in danger. 

There was no way, in any life, that he’d just leave you out there.

It’d been almost two hours since Bucky had taken you in when you finally woke up. 

Your body moved before your eyes slowly opened, and he watched as they instantly landed on the rifle that was still on the coffee table, then shifted over to the water and aspirin, before they flickered up to him.

He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his arms crossed as he looked down at you, and he could see the flicker of realization in your eyes before they filled with the same fear he’d seen in them out at the hunting post. 

You tried to push yourself upright, your head shaking slightly as you held up your hands in a defensive gesture. “I-”

“It’s okay,” Bucky quickly assured you, his own hands lifting in a similar way as he refrained from touching you, knowing it would just freak you out even more. Of course the first thing you see after waking up in a stranger’s house being a fucking gun would scare you. He should’ve moved it after he’d cleaned your wound. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You squinted at that, your hand moving to your head where the makeshift bandage is, and you winced when you pressed your palm against it. “Ouch. Shit,” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Bucky stayed still, lowering his hands and bracing them on his thighs as he watched you take a few shaky breaths. “Are you okay?” he asked after a few seconds. 

You glanced over at him, your expression guarded and on edge. “What happened?” you asked, slowly sitting up, making the blanket fall around your waist. 

“You fell. Hit your head on a tree and passed out. I brought you to my house, cleaned you up a bit and got you warm,” Bucky answered, tilting his head as he looked at you. “That’s all I know. Might need you to fill in the rest for me.”

You pressed your lips together as you kept your hand against your head, most likely trying to will the throbbing to go away. “I fell?” you asked, closing your eyes again as you swayed slightly, even though you were still sitting on the couch. 

Bucky nodded slowly, his brows furrowing together. “What happened to you?” he gently asked, “How did you… end up out here?”

You took a few more seconds to answer, then lowered your hand to your lap. “I ran away from home,” you simply answered, your voice low and your words mumbled. 

Bucky sat up a bit, making you flinch, and he quickly reached out a reassuring hand. “It’s okay,” he said, giving you a small smile as he tried to look as least threatening as possible. “Why did you run away?”

You shrugged, looking so small and miserable on his couch. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” you said, and those five words somehow managed to answer a handful of his questions. 

He softened his gaze, his lips turning downwards in a frown. “You have bruises on you,” he stated, watching the way you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. “They’re not all from running away, are they? You didn’t get some of them from just being out in the woods?”

You slowly shook your head, and you ending up out here was starting to make a little sense. 

You’d run away from an abusive home, got lost in the woods, and had probably been out here for days before you found him, but how exactly you ended up here was still one question that hadn’t been answered. 

But Bucky didn’t pry. This was a delicate situation, and even though he hadn’t been in one quite like this before, he understood that he had to be the level headed one out of the two of you, and not push you into a mental breakdown. 

He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath in as he braced his elbows on his knees, moving to be at your eye level. “What’s your name?” he asked, watching the way you seemed to instantly be thrown into an inner debate with yourself. He had no idea what was going through your head, and he knew you had no reason to trust him at the moment, but he wanted you to know that he wasn’t going to hurt you. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna do anything, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you or force you to answer me. You don’t need to be scared of me.”

You swallowed harshly, blinking away tears as you lowered your gaze to the floor. “Isn’t that what every serial killer says to their victims?”

Even though you were still so on edge and uncertain, your voice still held a hint of humor, and Bucky felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t know,”

That had your own mouth curling upwards, and even beaten and bruised and bandaged, you were still quite pretty. You looked down at the floor for a few more seconds before you gave him your name, then looked up at him again when he repeated it. 

“I’m Bucky. Well, James, actually, but I’ve always gone by Bucky. Did you take anything with you? A phone or ID or… anything?” he asked, wondering how you’d managed to stay alive for as long as you did with just the clothes on your back. 

You shook your head. “No. No phone or ID. I had a bag with me, my old school backpack, and I had some food in there, but I had to leave it when it started attracting… unwanted visitors,”

Bucky lifted his brows. “You mean, like… bears? Or wolves?”

“Both?” you answered, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark when I had to leave it behind. I heard footsteps and growling, but I couldn’t see anything, so I got up and ran. That was… I don’t know, a day ago?”

Bucky tried to mask his surprise as best as he could, but it was extremely hard to believe that you’d gotten that close to being mauled or eaten alive just a day ago, and had somehow ended up in his part of the woods afterwards. “When did you run away?” he asked.

“Um… I don’t know. I don’t really know what day it is or how many have passed,” you said, glancing at the glass of water next to him with interest, and Bucky reached over to pick it up and hand it to you. “Four or five days ago? I think…”

“Jesus,” he muttered as you sipped on the water, and you almost finished it in one go, revealing just how dehydrated you must be. “You’ve been out there for five days? Have you slept at all? When was the last time you ate?” he fired off questions, still in shock that you were even alive right now after what he just heard. 

“I slept here and there. I was too scared to sleep for long, and it was really cold at night,” you mumbled, setting the now empty glass on your lap. “The last thing I ate was a granola bar, and that was before I had to ditch the rest of the food in my bag.”

Bucky shook his head, sitting up straight as he ran his hand over his mouth. “You must be starving,” he said, and you shrugged, shyly meeting his eyes. He gestured to the glass, and you let him take it from you as he stood up and walked over to the kitchen, filling it once more. 

When he came back, you took the fresh water from him with a grateful smile, sipping on it this time instead of gulping it down. “Thank you for helping me,” you murmured, looking over your shoulder at the window. It was dark out, and the temperature had dropped even more, the cool breeze coming in from the screen door. “I won’t stay long or… intrude anymore than I already have.”

Bucky furrowed his brows. “You can’t go back out there. Your head is injured, and I know other parts of you are too. It’s late and dark, and I… I can’t let you go back out there,” he said, propping one hand on his hip as he gestured at you with his other. “Not like this.”

You gave him a look that had his knees buckling, and one that made him want to do everything in his power to help you, because who the fuck would ever drive you to the point of running away and putting your life at risk?

“You don’t need to help me anymore,” you whispered, tearing up again as you gave him a tight lipped smile. “You’ve already done enough.”

Bucky took a step towards you, then crouched down in front of you so he wasn’t towering over you. “You’re not intruding. You need help. I can help you,” he said, using his softest tone of voice. “If you’ll let me.”

You were a bit more timid now as you held his gaze, then you slowly started to nod, holding onto the glass with both of your hands. “Okay,” you whispered, and Bucky gave you a small smile as he nodded towards the hallway. 

“Why don’t you go clean up? You can use the shower and anything else you need in there,” he offered, taking the glass from you and setting it aside on the coffee table. “I’ll make some dinner.”

You quickly waved him off, “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Please. Let me help you,” he cut you off, watching the way you deflated a bit, as if being offered help was something completely new to you. You nodded again, and Bucky offered you his hand. “I’ll set aside some clothes for you and get started on some food.”

You looked at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and before he could let it fall back down to his side, you reached up and took it. “Okay,” you said again, letting him assist you to your feet. You were still a little unsteady, your body still weak from what he now knows is a lack of food and rest. He helped keep you steady for a few moments, his hands gently holding onto your arms, and when you were stable, you looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Bucky felt his heart clench again at how broken you sounded, and he had to hold off on locking his jaw as he felt a surge of anger build up inside him at the fact that someone had obviously mistreated you so horribly for you to end up here. 

“C’mon,” he said, guiding you towards the bathroom. “I’ll show you where everything is.”

You’d been in the bathroom for quite a while, and dinner had been ready for some time now, but Bucky refused to rush you. 

It was obvious that you didn’t trust him, at least not fully, but he could tell you were already warming up to him, and he didn’t want to backtrack in any way and risk you leaving before your body could actually rest and heal. 

Bucky had set out a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt for you, but also told you where everything is in his dresser in case you needed anything else, then he let you take a shower and no doubt take in all your body had been through over the last week in the mirror.

He’d been sitting at the kitchen table for the last ten minutes, having heard the shower turn off five minutes before that, but again, the last thing he wanted to do was rush you. 

While he waited, he went over his options for this unusual situation he’d found himself in. 

You’d run away from home, and there was no way you’d willingly go back, and Bucky didn’t want you to go back, because he was sure the abuse would only intensify since you’d taken off. But how realistic was it for you to start over somewhere with little to nothing to your name? Bucky would drive you into town, pay for a bus ticket for you, and he’d even give you some cash so you could get by, but where would you go from there? Why was he wondering that if you weren’t really his concern?

And why did the thought of you being out there on your own with only a handful of cash and no stable home make that protective feeling from before come back in full swing? 

You’re a stranger to him. Simply someone who needed help, and he’d given that to you and more. Where do you and he go from here? After he’s fed you and given you a place to rest your head for a while, what the hell happens after that?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening, and he quickly sat up straight, his head instantly turning in the direction of the hallway. 

You slowly walked into the kitchen, clad in his sweats and shirt that looked huge on you, and now that you were clean, he was able to get a better look at you. 

Your arms were littered in bruises and your face was blotchy in certain spots, and even though you were a lot cleaner, your body was still, for lack of better words, a mess. 

The fabric of his shirt was damp from your hair that now had no leaves in it, and you’d somehow managed to keep your bandage mostly dry, but he would still offer to change it later anyway.

Bucky gave you a warm smile as he stood up and gestured to the chair across from his. “I’ll make you a plate,” he offered, and you returned the smile as you moved to sit down. “You scared off what was planned to be on the menu tonight,” he said as he began putting grilled peppers, chicken and scrambled eggs on a plate. It was the best he could do for now, and he’d used up the last of his eggs he was saving for breakfast tomorrow, but he honestly didn’t give a shit that he’d have to go pick up some more sooner than planned. As long as you had options. “I hope this suffices.”

You perked up in the chair as he turned and set the plate down in front of you, and you fidgeted a bit as you looked down at it. “Wow,” you said quietly, and Bucky fought off a grin as he made another plate for himself. 

“What, never had eggs for dinner before?” he teased as he moved back to the table and took his seat across from you. He’d never actually cooked for a girl before, or for anyone other than himself, really, so he was kind of nervous to have his culinary skills on full display right now, but he hid it as best as he could. He was pretty decent in the kitchen, as far as he could tell, but he’d also never gotten someone else’s opinion, so really, what did he know?

“No,” you answered, curling your fingers into your hands where they rested on your lap. “Well, no, and… no one’s ever cooked for me before.”

That had Bucky pausing, his hand halfway to grabbing his fork as he looked over at you. Not only had you come from a place that physically abused you, but also potentially kept food from you, or at least let you fend for yourself food-wise. 

He swallowed harshly, finally picking up his fork as he looked away from you, not wanting you to see the sudden anger he felt taking over his expression. “Well… I’ve never cooked for someone before,” he said back instead of pushing for answers to the questions that had begun forming in his head. “You get to be my first customer.”

Your lips curved at that, and you looked back down at the plate. “I have to pay for this?” you asked, and there was a playful edge to your voice he was surprised to be hearing from someone in your state. It calmed the anger down inside of him. 

“You get to be my first critic,” he corrected himself, then nodded down to your fork. “If you actually eat, that is.” 

Your face flushed at that, and you picked up the fork quickly, a small smile on your lips. You started with the eggs first, and he tried not to watch you the whole time, but this was feeling strangely domestic, and he tried not to think about how good you looked in his house and in his shirt. 

“It’s good,” you said as you chewed, your eyes flickering to meet his, and when you caught him staring, your smile only grew. “But then again, I have nothing to compare it to,” you trailed off as you swallowed, reaching for the glass of water in front of you. You brought it up to your mouth as you added, “Still, it’s very tasty.” 

Bucky hummed, finally tearing his eyes away from you as he began eating as well. “I was kind of rushing,” he said, “You should see how good it is when I’m taking my time.”

You laughed quietly at that as you bit down onto a pepper and chewed slowly. “I’ll take your word for it,”

Fuck, this was really starting to feel domestic. Why was this so… comfortable? Why are you and he already talking as if you’d known each other for more than a few hours?

Bucky cleared his throat as he chewed, his brows furrowing as he nodded at the bandage taped to your temple. “How’s your head?” 

You lifted your free hand and ran your fingers along the cotton, wincing slightly. “Hurts,” you answered, “I tried to not mess with it in the shower, but… yeah, it’s really sore. I have a raging headache too.”

“You might have a concussion,” he said, then nodded behind you at the coffee table in the living room. “There’s some aspirin over there you can take after dinner to help with the pain.”

You nodded at that, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you,”

A few moments of silence passed after that, and Bucky spent most of it trying to find the right way to offer you a place to stay for the night without it sounding too forward or creepy. 

He braced his elbows on the table as he leaned forward, his dinner momentarily forgotten. “I don’t… feel comfortable sending you on your way tonight. You need rest and an actual place to sleep. And your head isn’t in the best shape,” he said, watching as you stopped eating as well and looked up at him. “You can stay here tonight. Take the bed and get a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow or… whenever you’re feeling better, I can drive you into town, get you a bus ticket or something.”

You gave him a look of surprise that you tried to suppress, but he caught it anyway. “You don’t have to do all that, really,” you said quietly, “I can just… maybe sleep here tonight, and I’ll see myself out tomorrow morning.”

Bucky let out a sigh as he shook his head. “I want to. I want to help you,” he said, “I have to go into town anyway to get some stuff. I’ll give you a drive anywhere you want to go, alright? You don’t need to be stumbling around the woods again on your own.”

Your shoulders dropped at that, like you were relieved to hear that you wouldn’t be forced to travel on foot again in an unfamiliar place. “Okay,” you agreed, poking at the eggs on your plate with your fork. “But I don’t need to sleep in your bed. I can sleep on the couch.”

Bucky felt one side of his mouth curve upwards at that, and he looked down at his own plate. “We’ll see about that,” was all he said, then the two of you went back to eating.

After dinner, you offered to clean up, but Bucky just shook his head, saying he’d do it later, then he led you to his room. 

“I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed,” he offered, already starting to pull off the current ones as you quickly shook your head. 

“Really, you don’t have to. It’s fine,” you insisted, but when he turned his head and gave you a look, you deflated a bit and pursed your lips. “Thank you.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh as he shook his head as well, gathering up the sheets, pillow cases and blankets into his arms. “You don’t gotta keep thanking me. I’m just doing what anyone else would,”

You gave a small, defeated laugh as he walked past you. “No, you’re not,” you said, and he realized that you must’ve been wronged countless times in the past by countless people to truly believe that what he was doing was him going above and beyond for you. He really didn’t think he was doing that much, he actually thought he wasn’t doing enough, and he wanted to do more for you, he just didn’t know how. 

Bucky didn’t say anything at that, and headed down the hall to the laundry room, where he grabbed some fresh sheets. 

Once he’d returned to his room, he made the bed and tidied up the clothes scattered around on the floor as you stood glued to the spot beside the closet. You were looking at his bed as you chewed on your fingernail, wincing slightly as you turned to face him. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sleep in here? I mean, it’s your bed and you’re a tall guy. That couch out there isn’t small, but it probably won’t be very comfortable for you. I don’t mind sleeping on it,”

Bucky huffed out a laugh of disbelief. Here you are, a broken human being who’d suffered unimaginable things over the last few days, and probably the last few years, and yet you were still putting his comfort over your own. A stranger’s over your own. “I’ll be fine,” he assured you, stuffing his clothes into the laundry bin inside his closet. “I’ve slept on that couch many times now. It hasn’t done me wrong yet. Besides, after all you’ve been through, I think you could use a night on an actual bed.”

You nodded at that, scratching at your arm. “Thank y-” you cut yourself off when he lifted his brows at you, and your face flushed once again as you looked away. 

Bucky felt a smile form on his face as he gestured to your head. “Let me look at that one more time before bed,” 

You nodded, then moved to sit down on the edge of the bed as he walked past you to go retrieve the first aid kit from off the coffee table. He sat down in front of you on the bed, setting the kit between you and him, then got to work on slowly peeling the cotton away from your wound. It didn’t look much different from before, which was expected, but it looked cleaner, probably because you’d gotten water on it from your shower. 

He replaced the bandage, neither of you speaking the whole time as you let him patch you up once again, this time with you being fully conscious. You winced when he pressed the new one against your head, but you didn’t move, fully trusting him to be as careful and as gentle as he could, and he was sure he’d never been this careful in his entire life. 

“What’s the verdict, doc?” you asked a little awkwardly, like this was your way of distracting yourself from the pain. “Am I gonna live?”

He fought off a growing grin, smoothing down the cotton before pulling back. “You’ll live,” he answered, “Ninety eight percent certain of that.”

That had you fighting off a smile of your own, and you quickly looked away.

Bucky had refilled your water glass and grabbed the aspirin from off the coffee table when he’d gone to get the first aid kit, and after he was done replacing the bandage, he handed you both the water and aspirin. 

He waited until you’d taken them before he stood up from the bed, putting the kit on the dresser, as well as the bottle of aspirin in case you needed more later. After that he turned to face you, and he propped his hands on his hips, pressing his lips together. 

What does he say to the girl who’s about to spend the night in his bed? This wasn’t the first time a pretty girl has spent the night in his bed, though he’s usually in bed too, but he’d be spending his night on the couch instead. What was an appropriate way to end the interactions with you for the night?

“I’ll leave you alone now,” he said, holding back a cringe at his words. He wasn’t usually this way around girls. He’d been with his fair share of women, and even though he hadn’t been super close to any since moving out here, he liked to think he still knew how to talk to one. You made it hard to think though, let alone speak. “I’ll just be on the couch. If you need anything.” he added for good measure. 

You nodded at that, your lips pursing to the side as you didn’t say anything. 

Fuck, was this as awkward for you as it was for him?

“Goodnight,” Bucky said, giving you one last look before starting to turn around, but then you quickly stood up and reached for his arm. 

He turned back to you instantly, and you didn’t say a single thing as you moved towards him and wrapped your arms around his middle. You pressed your head against his chest, and he felt the way you trembled with nerves. “Thank you,” you whispered, and he knew he’d let that one slide, because he could only imagine how much it took out of you to hug him after everything you’d been through. 

Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around your much smaller body, his big hands splaying along your back. “Of course,” he said back, pressing his chin against the top of your head. 

The moment ended not too long after that, with you pulling away first, and Bucky noticed the tears in your eyes but he didn’t comment on them. Instead, he gave you a tight lipped smile. “Get some rest,” he said, and you nodded again as you backed away and got into his bed, and he quickly turned and left the room, closing the door almost all the way behind him. 

He lingered in the hallway for a few moments, not wanting to leave you alone just yet for some reason, before he forced himself to walk into the living room, choosing to leave the hall light on for you in case you needed to go to the bathroom, or wake him up for any reason.

Bucky naturally wakes up super early, despite him sometimes really needing a few extra hours of sleep. 

Like today. He’d ended up staying up for a few hours after he’d left you in his room and got comfortable on the couch, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall asleep. 

He’d been on edge, constantly keeping one eye open and listening out for any noise coming from the bedroom. He was worried about you, not wanting you to need something but be too shy to come out and ask him for it. He’d tossed and turned all night, and even though he’d been telling the truth when he told you that he’d comfortably slept on the couch countless times before, he just couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. 

If he had to guess, he assumed he’d gotten about four hours of sleep in total before he was fully awake at six in the morning. 

Bucky stayed up after that, not bothering to try and get a couple more hours of sleep and instead deciding to turn the TV on as a distraction. 

He kept looking down the hall, wanting to go in and check on you, but that would probably freak you out if you were to wake up just as he was peeking in, or worse, you already being awake and seeing him poke his head in. 

His eyes were a little sore from lack of sleep as he crossed his arms, his mouth opening in an unflattering yawn as he looked at the TV mounted on the wall. His head tipped back as his throat made a sound he had no control over, and just as the yawn began to fade, he heard the sound of a soft laugh to his left. 

Bucky looked over immediately, seeing you standing at the entrance of the hallway, and you already looked so much better than you did yesterday. 

You looked more rested, more light and happier, and the sight brought a smile to his face as he sat up, pulling the blanket off his lap and setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted, the TV now completely forgotten about. 

“Morning,” you said back, shifting on your feet. 

“Morning,” Bucky repeated, then nodded towards the loveseat a few feet away. “You wanna sit?” he offered, and you nodded before making your way towards the seat and sitting down on it. You brought your knees up to your chest as Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the messy strands he knew were sticking up from when he was asleep. “Did you, uh… sleep okay?”

You nodded again, wrapping your hands around your shins. “Yeah. I slept good,” 

Bucky nodded, huffing out a breath of air. “That’s… that’s good,” he said, and he was growing more and more convinced that his natural, charming way of talking to a woman was fading by the day. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

You shrugged a bit, his shirt slipping down your shoulder just an inch or two. “I’m feeling… better. I’m still a little tired and sore, and my head still hurts. But I feel better,” 

He smiled at that, leaning over and bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s good,” he repeated, much softer this time. He watched as you gave him a small smile before turning your attention to the TV, and he let his eyes linger on your side profile for a little longer before he looked away. “I, uh… I can give you a ride into town if you feel up to it. I have some cash I can give you to, you know, help you get started somewhere else.”

You looked back over at him, and your expression faltered a bit as you pressed your lips together. You shifted, reaching up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear as your lips parted, but Bucky quickly spoke up before you had a chance to. 

“If you’re not feeling well enough, that’s okay too,” he said, watching the way your shoulders fell a bit, and he hadn’t realized how tense you’d gotten at the thought of being alone again. “If you still need some rest and time to heal, you… can stay here. For as long as you need.”

He wasn’t sure if he was being too forward or offering too much, or simply not offering enough, but the smile was back on your face now, and that made one form on his own as well. “I don’t want to intrude. I know this,” you waved a hand around the living room, “is what you’re used to. Your normal way of living doesn’t involve looking after a girl you found in the woods,” you trailed off, hesitating briefly before you let out a shaky breath, “I’d like to stay… for a few days, maybe? If that’s okay. I won’t bother you or get in the way, and I can help out around the house if you need it. I don’t want to freeload. But… I’d like to stay. Just for a bit.”

You were rambling, as if he didn’t offer you the choice to stay in the first place. And now you were offering to do chores around his house? While sporting a nasty gash on your head? Where the hell had you come from?

“It’s okay,” he said, putting your rambling to a stop as you met his eyes. “You can stay. I don’t mind,” he leaned back on the couch, draping his arm on the back of it. “But that means we’re gonna probably be scavenging for food since I won’t be going into town today after all. And maybe we’ll see if you’re any good with a fishing rod, if you’re up for it.”

You let out a soft laugh as you nodded, “I think I can handle that,”

Bucky was standing on the dock at the lake that was a short walk from his house. It was later in the day and much warmer than it had been yesterday, but the air still had a chill to it, so he’d given you one of his jackets to wear while by the lake. 

He was standing close to the edge of the dock, putting bait on the hook of his fishing rod while keeping a careful eye on you. You were standing off to the side by a tree, your arms tense at your sides as you watched him with interest he found oddly adorable. 

You still looked a little tired, even though Bucky had put this off for most of the day, letting you rest some more on the couch while he did some chores around the house. 

When he mentioned heading down to the lake to try his luck at fishing, you perked up at that and asked if you could tag along, and then you slid on your muddy shoes and accepted his jacket when he agreed. 

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was doing. He’d lived a pretty normal life prior to taking you into his home and patching you up. He’d wake up early every day, make himself a hearty breakfast, do some house work or some yard work, then either go hunting or fishing, eat dinner, call his sister and chat with her for a while before going to bed. 

He’d served in the military for a while before moving out here, and he’d received quite a large amount of money during his time he served, and he’d been getting cheques every few months that allowed him to live comfortably. He’d go into town maybe once or twice a week, stock up on things he needed, maybe stop at a bar and let loose for a bit, then go home. 

His priorities had shifted drastically over the last few years. When he was still living in the city, he’d have no problem spending his evening at a bar, chatting up a pretty girl, then spending the rest of the night with her, and that was something he’d done many many times. 

But as he got older and reached his early thirties, he realized random hook ups and money wasted on bars wasn’t what he wanted in life, and he wanted a change. 

So he’d moved out of his apartment and relocated to where he is now, and he’d been living a much healthier and efficient lifestyle, and he hadn’t looked back since. 

With that being said, it’d been a while since he’d had a woman around for as long as you’ve been, with the exception of his sister. He didn’t quite know what to do or how he could go back to normal now that he’s taken it upon himself to try and heal you and help you in any way he could. 

Bucky didn’t know how long you’d be here, in his home and in his life, before you decided you needed to get a move on and try your luck on your own, but the thought of you heading back out into the world with essentially no one at your side didn’t sit well with him. 

He doesn’t know you very well, but there was an obvious trust between you and him that was growing more and more. It’d been over twenty four hours since he met you, and already he’d found that, despite him being on his own for quite some time now, you kind of fit in just right here. 

But that seemed crazy to think about, and way too fucking soon. Realistically, how long would it be appropriate for you to stay with him without it becoming weird? He’d found you in the woods and taken you in, which was already weird enough. 

But Bucky had always wanted to help people. He was good at it, and he didn’t like the thought of someone struggling when he could so easily help out. 

The whole situation was weird and unexpected and kind of overwhelming, and yet he didn’t mind the odd addition to his life - that being in the form of another person he had to look after rather than just himself. 

Once the bait was securely attached to the hook, he cast it out into the water, then turned his head to look over at you as he waited for a bite. “How are you doing?” he asked, and you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I’m fine,” you answered, gesturing to the lake. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

Bucky let out a laugh, “Well, that’s really nice, but it wasn’t what I meant,” he said, watching the way you became flustered at the teasing tone in his voice. “I mean, how are you feeling? You don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to. You can head back and rest some more if you need to.”

You shook your head slowly, giving him a grateful smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said, then gave him a small smirk, “I need to learn how to do this if I’m gonna pull my weight around here.”

He poked his inner cheek with his tongue, then nodded, “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he agreed, though he didn’t expect you to do really anything since you’d already been through enough lately. You deserved to have someone do things for you for a while, and that person was obviously Bucky. 

A few minutes pass with not much else being said, and as Bucky looked out at the setting sun that was making the water look orange and pink instead of blue, you moved a little closer to the dock. “How long does this usually take?”

Bucky shrugged, keeping his eyes on the sun as it slowly moved towards the water. “Depends. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours,” he answered. You walked a little closer until you were standing next to him, and he instinctively looked over at you. 

Despite the bruises marring your skin, it still looked almost flawless in the orange glow of the sun. You looked soft, if that made any sense at all, and innocent in a way that had him questioning how anyone had ever treated you so badly in the past. 

He almost commented on how beautiful you look, but quickly caught the words before they could leave his mouth, and he cleared his throat. “You wanna give it a try?” 

You quickly met his gaze as your lips parted, your eyes widening a bit. “I’ll probably be terrible at it,”

Bucky shrugged as he started to reel in the line, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to teach you,”

He moved to stand behind you, then offered you the rod, which you hesitantly took. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said as you held it awkwardly, only further proving that you’d never gone fishing a day in your life. 

Bucky laughed as he lifted his hand. “It’s okay. I can show you,” he said, then paused once he’d moved a little closer to you. “Can I… is this okay?” he asked before he pushed you too far. 

He didn’t know your limits, didn’t know how you’d react if he just suddenly touched you. This was a lot different than him cleaning your wound and changing the bandage for you, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way. 

You looked over your shoulder, saw how close he was, then hesitated a bit before you started to slowly nod. “Yeah. It’s fine,” you said quietly, “Gotta show me somehow, right?”

He nodded in agreement as he moved closer to you, then wrapped his arms around your frame and guided your hands into the proper position on the rod. “Just tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

You gave a slight nod and allowed him to position your hands, then he guided your arms back a bit, the line coming with it. 

“Let go of the line as soon as it passes the edge down here,” he said, knocking the edge of the dock with his boot, and he waited until you looked down and nodded before he guided your arms into a swinging motion. 

You’d caught on fast, your finger releasing the line as soon as it crossed the water line, and then it was cast into the lake, reaching almost as far as his had before. “Did I… do it right?” you asked, and Bucky felt his lips curl up as he took a step away from you.

“Yeah, that was good,” he said, letting his arms drop back to his sides, and when you turned your head to look over at him, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a flicker of disappointment on your face as you glanced down at his hands, but it was gone before he could question it too much. 

“How will I know if I caught anything?”

“You’ll feel something start to tug, then you’ll have to reel it in,” he said, and as if you’d predicted that very thing happening, there was a tug on the line, and you let out a gasp. 

“Oh, fuck,”

Bucky couldn’t even take a second to reflect on how funny that word sounded coming from someone as seemingly innocent as you since you’d reached for his arm and tugged him to you as you pulled on the fishing rod. 

He helped you reel the line in, then got to see how excited you became when he pulled on the hook and lifted it out of the water, a decent sized trout stuck to the end of it. 

Your mouth opened in surprise as you held onto the end of the rod, and you looked so happy, it was hard to believe that you’d been so close to death just yesterday. “I caught a fish?” you asked, as if he wasn’t currently unhooking the proof right now. 

Bucky stood up straight, holding the fish in one hand as he looked at you. “You caught a fish,” he confirmed, and couldn’t stop the grin that took over his face at the squeal you let out.

It had still been pretty early in the evening when you’d caught your first ever fish, but you and Bucky still returned to his house soon after. 

You were giddy as you stood next to him in his kitchen, still wearing his oversized jacket and sweats as you watched him clean the trout, because of course you and he were having it for dinner. You were so excited that you’d managed to catch a fish on your first try, and he wanted you to be able to reap the benefits and see for yourself how good it feels to prepare and eat something you’d caught all on your own.

He’d found out himself the very first year he lived here how much better something tasted when he actually worked for it, and he wanted you to experience that as well. 

You ended up getting in his way quite a bit the entire time he was making dinner, pairing the trout with fresh vegetables and rice, but he didn’t mind. Of course he was used to being alone and having no distractions as he made dinner, but you were a welcoming one. 

You’d finally calmed down a bit as he began plating the food, and you took it upon yourself to set the table, with him needing to tell you where everything was in the drawers and cupboards. 

“Thank you,” you said when he set a plate down in front of you, and Bucky laughed as he sat down in his seat across from you. 

“For what? You’re the one who provided dinner tonight,” he pointed out, and a warm feeling filled him at the fact that this was the second dinner you and he are having together, and you were evidently a lot happier during this one. 

“I just caught it,” you said, as if that was easy for someone to do on their first try. “You’re the one who cooked it.”

Bucky hummed, picking up his fork. “It was a team effort,” he decided, and you nodded in agreement. 

After dinner, neither of you made any move to quickly get up from the table. You’d been in the middle of explaining how you’d almost failed Math in grade nine since you had massive crush on the teacher and couldn’t focus every time he taught something, and Bucky just let you talk, because the version of you in front of him right now was so different from the version he met and saw last night. 

You seemed brighter, like the darkness he’d seen in your eyes and face yesterday had faded throughout the day, leaving behind someone who seemed far too sweet to have ever gone through any form of abuse at all. 

There was a certain light in your eyes, a happiness in your voice that had him leaning closer and letting you say anything that came to mind, because your voice was soothing to him. It was beautiful, and it seemed out of place in his home that had been quiet and void of anything but his own presence for so long. 

That domestic feeling he’d noticed before was coming back, and it didn’t help that you propped your elbow up on the table, and his shirt had slipped off your shoulder once again, revealing a glimpse of your skin under it. 

Bucky had to tear his eyes away from you as he stood up, beginning to gather the plates and utensils as he fought off the growing heat he felt building up inside of him. You weren’t here to stay. You were merely a guest he was helping out. He had no business feeling the way he currently is. 

“I can help,” you offered, beginning to stand up, and when Bucky tried to protest, you’d taken the dishes out of his hands and gave him a small grin before you moved past him and began washing them, and he had to lean back against the table for a sense of stability. 

Those feelings didn’t go away. They only grew tenfold.

“It’s not about how fast you hit it. It’s about how you swing and how much force you put into it,” Bucky said as he demonstrated what he’d just finished explaining to you. 

He lifted the axe above his head, keeping his eyes firmly on the log in front of him that was placed on the trunk of a tree that had fallen over way before he’d even moved here. He swung the axe down in one smooth, quick motion that had the blade hitting it dead-on, the wood easily splitting into three pieces. 

You watched from your place a few feet away, his shirt rolled up with one side tied in a knot at your hip to keep it from reaching your knees. His sweats were rolled up as well, reaching just below your knees as you observed him, your head tilted curiously. “That looks really hard,” you said, and Bucky huffed out a laugh as he reached down and put the newly split wood into a pile next to the trunk. 

“It’s not super easy,” he said, placing another one in its place. “But it’s not super hard either.”

You’d been here for a few days now, and your head had healed up quite nicely to the point where you could ditch the unflattering white bandage for a smaller, less obvious one. Though you still somehow managed to make the bandage look good, he didn’t tell you that. 

Most of the bruises on your body had faded, leaving behind faint purple spots that would also be gone soon enough, and you’d gotten more rest in the last couple days than you had in the last couple years, or so you’ve told him. 

The heat was quite noticeable today and the sleeves of his Henley were rolled up to his elbows, and he took note of the way your eyes kept lingering on his forearms every so often, but he didn’t comment on it. 

He’d be a liar if he were to say he hadn’t been looking at you in the way you’d been looking at him more than a few times now. 

Just as Bucky began lining up the axe again, you took a step towards him. “Can I try?” 

He paused, the axe lifted above his head, and without thinking much about it, he lowered it and nodded. “Sure,” he said, gesturing for you to come stand where he is. 

You and he had grown rather close in the short time you’ve been here, so he didn’t feel like he was going too far when he wrapped his arms around you after handing you the axe.  

He helped guide you into a few practice swings, his front pressed quite close to your back, but you weren’t tense like you had been the first night you were here. You almost welcomed it now, and you didn’t shy away from him. That was progress, and he was really fucking proud of you. 

Once he thought you’d had a good handle on it, he stepped back to give you some room. “Just stay still and put some force into the swing,” he instructed, and you nodded, squinting at the log for a moment before swinging the axe down. It didn’t break the log, but got stuck in it, and you looked over at Bucky for help. He laughed under his breath and reached over, pulling the blade out of the log before stepping back again, propping his hands on his hips. “It’s okay. Try again. Aim for that same spot.”

You let out a deep breath and nodded, then swung again. The axe got stuck in the log once more, and you huffed. “I’m terrible at this,” you said, letting go of the axe, leaving it stuck in the log. 

Bucky laughed again, moving past you to retrieve it as you stood off to the side. “It’s alright. It’s not easy for someone just trying it out for the first time,”

“Yeah, but I caught a fish the first time I went fishing,” you said, and he scoffed. 

“Oh, so that made you think you’d be good at every new thing you try for the first time?”

“I was hopeful,” you said back, and he shook his head. But he could feel you looking at him as he positioned his hands on the handle of the axe, and before he swung, he looked over at you, noticing the frown on your face. “What? What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, looking down at your shoes that weren’t as muddy as they were before since he’d taken it upon himself to clean them for you. “I feel useless just standing here,” you confessed. “You’ve done so much for me. I want to help as much as I can.”

Bucky lowered the axe, then looked around as he tried to think of something you could do that didn’t take a whole lot of effort since your body was still healing. “Why don’t you stack what I split?” he suggested, nodding towards the already stacked wood pile against the side of his house a few feet away. “That way I don’t have to do it after.”

You smiled at that and nodded, “Okay,” you said, then bent down to retrieve a couple pieces of wood he’d just split before heading towards the pile, and Bucky let his eyes linger on your backside before he lifted the axe again and swung, splitting the log you’d failed twice at with ease.

Later that night, it’d cooled down and since he’d had the windows open all day, it was kind of cold in his house. 

Bucky had lit a fire in the living room, the fireplace lighting up the room and making shadows flicker all over the walls. You were sitting on a blanket on the floor, your back pressed against the side of the couch as you watched him, a small smile seeming to have a permanent place on your face. 

You were wearing one of his hoodies, his wardrobe having become yours as well since there was no saving your old clothes. He’d tried to get the mud stains out of your shorts and debated on whether or not it was worth trying to sew your shirt, but it was a hopeless cause. And Bucky rather liked the way you looked in his clothes, almost as much as you seemed to like wearing them.

The orange glow from the fire made you look like something that’d fallen straight out of heaven and landed directly in his path, inserting yourself into his life without a second thought about it. And yet you fit right in. 

You’d only been here for almost a week, and yet Bucky had already become used to having you around. Every time he cooked, you cleaned up, and every time he busied himself with work around the house, you were right there, offering your assistance and taking it upon yourself to help in any way you could. 

You and he sit together for every meal, and you end up staying at the table well after you’ve finished eating and talking for hours, and he’s made you laugh so many times now, he’d gotten used to how it sounded in his usually quiet house. 

It felt like you’d known each other for a lot longer than you had. You’d fallen asleep on the couch yesterday while you and he watched TV, your head falling to his shoulder as your soft breaths fanned across his cheek. 

And, obviously, Bucky didn’t move a single muscle the entire time you slept, earning him a sore arm that was well worth it. 

You and he ended up messing around by the lake yesterday, splashing at each other, which resulted in both of you becoming completely soaked but also not giving a fuck about the uncomfortable walk back home in wet clothes. The smiles on both your faces never faded once.

He rather liked the little bubble you and he had been living in for the past week, and he didn’t want to think about what it would be like when you inevitably had to go. His life would return to normal, but what would that feel like when he’d already gotten so used to having you in his space and in his life?

You and he had pretty much gone through all the food he had in his cupboards, and while he had a pretty nicely stocked garden around the back of his house, eating just peppers and tomatoes and onions wasn’t sufficient. 

That meant he would have to drive out into town tomorrow to get some groceries and other things he needed, and that meant you’d probably be taking him up on that offer to drive to the bus stop. 

Bucky sat next to you on the blanket, lifting one leg and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he forced himself to not look at you. The hue from the fire made you look achingly pretty, but that wasn’t saying much since he’d found you pretty in every type of lighting. 

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, with both you and Bucky watching the fire flicker and create harsh shadows all around his dark living room. 

He knew he was a little tense, because he had to bring up the trip to town he was planning, and that would bring up the topic of you tagging along and getting a bus ticket. 

You shifted next to him, and he had a feeling you could tell something was on his mind, but you didn’t push him to tell you. You’d been as patient with him as he’d been with you, and Bucky was growing more and more aware of the fact that if you were to leave town tomorrow, he’d really fucking miss you. 

Even though it would mean you’re starting a new chapter in your life somewhere nicer than where you had been before, and you’d be happier, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to be in that chapter with you. 

Maybe you and he would be able to stay in touch, though it wasn’t likely. 

Bucky swallowed harshly, looking down at the small space between your thigh and his. “I’m, uh… heading into town tomorrow. You’ve managed to empty out everything I had in my kitchen,” he started, trying to keep the mood light, and it worked as you let out a soft laugh. He lifted his gaze to you, and he found you already looking at him. “Have you thought more about maybe getting a bus ticket? Just… getting away from everything that happened?” 

He held back a wince when he asked that, because the thought of you being all alone again after this made his heart clench in his chest. The thought of him being alone again was even worse.

You pressed your lips together and looked away, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, I’ve… thought about it,” you confessed quietly, and Bucky’s heart clenched again. 

Because as much as he liked having you here, you’d been thinking about leaving him behind and disappearing. And you weren’t selfish to think that or want it, but he sure was for wanting you to stay. 

Fuck. He wants you to stay. 

He cleared his throat harshly, tearing his eyes away from you. “So you, uh… accepting that drive to the bus stop?”

You looked over at him at that, but he didn’t look at you in return. He could see the way you deflated a bit out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re still offering it,” you answered softly, and Bucky wanted to take that offer back so badly. 

“I am,” he said instead, shifting a bit on the blanket. “We can leave tomorrow morning after breakfast. If I can find any food to make for breakfast, that is.”

That had you huffing out a breathy laugh, and he couldn’t stop the way his head turned to look at you. He couldn’t help it. He liked the way you looked when you laughed. 

You turned your head and met his eyes, and your expression softened. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, then slowly, hesitantly, you reached down and placed your hand over his where it was on the ground between you. “For… for everything. You… saved me. Took me in and you made me feel like I’m not just… a punching bag. So thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for that.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, because he felt it starting to tremble a bit, and you’d trusted him to be the strong one up until this point. He didn’t want to let you down. “I already told you,” he said just as quietly. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with yours, giving them a soft squeeze as his eyes held your gaze. “You don’t have to thank me. I couldn’t just… leave you out there. I couldn’t. I knew you’d been through hell and I couldn’t add to it. I couldn’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

You smiled at that, but your eyes started to water, and you started to turn your head when his other hand instantly lifted up. His fingers cradled your jaw, halting your movement and making your breath get caught in your throat. 

“Is that… is this okay?” he trailed off, guiding your gaze back to his, and he watched the way your eyes darted down to his mouth as you nodded slowly. “Words, sweetheart.”

You inhaled at the name he hadn’t used until right now, and then you leaned a little closer. “Yes. It’s okay,” 

Bucky grinned softly at that, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip as he leaned in as well. “I can stop,” he said, meaning it with everything in him. 

But you shook your head, and before he could remind you to use your words again, you spoke up, “I don’t want you to stop,”

And that had him leaning all the way in until his lips brushed along yours in the softest, most gentle kiss he’s ever had. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips and making him smile right back, his hand moving to cradle your jaw. 

It ended all too soon, but it was still already high on the list of the most intimate moments Bucky has ever experienced in his life, and that was bad. 

Because you were leaving tomorrow, and he wouldn’t get to experience that again.

There was a heavy feeling weighing down Bucky’s chest as he sat with you in his truck that was parked on the side of the street. 

A few feet behind the truck was one of the bus stops around town, and in approximately four minutes, a bus would come and take you out of his life just as quickly as you fell into it. Literally. 

His elbow was propped up on the window frame, his fingers covering his mouth as he looked at the street with a bitterness he couldn’t remember feeling for quite some time now. 

You were sitting in the passenger seat, wearing an old pair of jeans that didn’t fit him anymore since he’d gained quite a bit of muscle since he started living on the outskirts of town, and one of his flannels. At your feet was one of the many bags he had lying around his house, and in it were a couple of his shirts and sweats and jeans, as well as a couple snacks and water and the extra toothbrush you’d been using at his house. There was also a stack of cash he’d slipped in without you noticing, because you refused to take his money when he offered it to you back at the house. 

You felt guilty for taking his clothes, but Bucky honestly didn’t care about that at all. As long as you had something to get started with, he didn’t care how many shirts he’d need to replace in the future. 

The truck was off, not even the sound of the radio able to fill the silence that filled the cab. There was tension in the air, but it wasn’t angry or uncomfortable or heated. It was more sad than anything else, because even though you hadn’t been in his life for long, this was still a hard goodbye. 

Bucky had grown attached to you. He’d taken on the role as your protector, and he wanted to keep that role for much longer. He had, like you told him last night, saved your life, so he was feeling protective over you, and the thought of wishing you well then sending you on your way made him feel like he was throwing you out to the wolves.

He shifted in his seat, glancing over at you. You were sitting comically still, the bus ticket he’d bought you sitting on your lap, ignored as if you didn’t want to hold it in your hands or even look at it. “You sure you’re… well enough to go off on your own?” he asked, more than ready to take you right back to his place. “It’s okay if you’re not. You won’t be intruding or anything like that. You don’t even have to stay with me if you don’t want to. I can give you some money and you can stay at a hotel for a bit. I just… don’t want you pushing yourself into something if you’re not ready for it.”

You looked over at him, forcing yourself to smile. “I’m ready,” you said, and you sounded truthful, and yet that didn’t help soothe the ache he felt in his chest. “I don’t want to take up anymore of your time. You’ve been amazing, Bucky, and I truly meant it when I said you saved me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to pay you back.”

Bucky frowned and shook his head, “Sweetheart-” he started, but the bus rounded the corner and began slowing down, and his time with you was up. 

You gave him a small smile as you grabbed the bag and opened the door, hopping out of his truck with a lot more grace than you’d moved with before. He’d healed you. And you healed him too, in a way. 

He’d been content by himself before, willing to spend the rest of his life alone in the woods and preparing meals for one and sleeping by himself in the big bed in his room. 

But you’d opened a part of him up, and he no longer saw himself being alone forever. He saw himself settling down, living his life with someone by his side. And he wanted that someone to be you so fucking badly. 

His heart physically ached as he watched you stand on the side walk and close the passenger side door. “Bye, Bucky,” you said quietly, and there were tears in your eyes that matched the ones he felt forming in his. 

You turned and started walking towards the bus stop, your grip so tight on the straps of the bag he could see your hands starting to shake. 

Bucky stayed in the truck, not trusting himself to step out and walk with you to the bus stop. He was afraid you’d turn to hug him like you had done the first night you spent at his house, and he wouldn’t be able to let go of you. 

So he just watched as you walked towards the bus shelter, then stopped just as the bus pulled up to the stop. He watched with a heavy heart, his knuckles pressed to his mouth as he suppressed the tremble he felt in his lips. 

But when the doors of the bus opened, you didn’t get on. Your back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see your face, but he could see how tense you were as you stayed completely still on the sidewalk. 

Before he could realize what he was doing, Bucky tore off his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out onto the street without even checking to see if any cars were coming. He rounded the truck and got onto the sidewalk, moving towards you and stopping just a few feet away. 

You hadn’t turned around to face him yet, but you did turn your head when the bus driver let out a huff. “Are you on or off, Miss?” he asked impatiently. You didn’t answer him, and the man let out another annoyed sound. “Ma’am, are you staying or getting on?” 

That hit Bucky hard, because he wanted you to stay. Maybe it wasn’t realistic, and maybe it was way too soon, but he didn’t fucking care. He didn’t want you to go. 

You turned your head even more until you were looking at him, and when your eyes met his, your shoulders dropped, the tension leaving your body instantly. You turned to face him fully, your grip on the bag loosening, “Stay,” you said quietly, “I want to stay.”

That had Bucky closing the remaining distance between you and him, and you met him halfway, dropping the bag in your hurry to get to him. Your body collided with his just as the bus pulled away from the curb, and Bucky cradled the back of your head with one hand, his other arm wrapping tightly around your middle. 

He pulled your body flush against his, and your arms banded around his shoulders as you leaned up and connected your mouth to his. He lifted you up just slightly so you could kiss him a little better, and he deepened it instantly. This was even better than the one you and he shared on his living room floor last night, and he had no doubt that he’d just become obsessed with you. 

Bucky couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his lips when he pulled away for air, “You want to stay?” he breathed, his hands cupping either side of your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “With me?”

You nodded slowly, keeping your arms locked around his shoulders. “Yes, I do. Can I?”

Bucky let out a soft groan, his lips covering yours once again. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, you can stay,” he muttered against your mouth, and you broke the kiss as you laughed. You laughed even more when he pressed a series of fast kisses to your cheek before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking you with him as he walked the few steps to retrieve your discarded bag, then he guided you back to his truck. 

He opened the passenger door for you, helped you inside, leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back and shutting the door, tossing the bag into the backseat as he did so. 

“First stop, the store so we can stock up on food,” he said when he got back into the driver’s seat. “Then I’ll take you back to my place.”

“Then I’ll help you put all the groceries away,” you added, and Bucky couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried.  

This was fucking crazy, but as he looked over at you, sitting in his passenger seat and looking so much happier now than you did before now that you’re staying, he didn’t give a single fuck about how crazy this was.

Bucky stocked up on things even more than he normally does, his counters littered with grocery bags that were filled with food and other things he was running low on. 

He didn’t want to go back to town for a while now, though he would have to sooner rather than later because he planned on buying you some better clothing options - ones that actually fit you, but this was just fine for now. 

Bucky had just finished bringing in the last three bags, and he set them down onto the table as he looked over at you. His flannel was tied around your waist now, his white shirt hanging loosely off your body as you placed the eggs and milk into the fridge. 

You must’ve felt him staring, because you leaned against the counter beside the fridge after you closed it, a teasing smile on your lips. “You should think about investing in livestock,” you suggest, crossing your arms. “It would save you a fortune on eggs if you were to have your own chickens in the backyard.”

Bucky laughed, slowly starting to close the distance between you and him. “I live in the middle of nowhere, sweetheart,” he said, “I don’t have a backyard.”

You pursed your lips, suddenly becoming a little fidgety as he stopped right in front of you and lifted his hand. But instead of touching you like he knew you were expecting, he reached into the bag behind you on the counter, pulling out the bread. “That might be true,” you said, a lot less confidently than before, and Bucky smirked a bit. “But my point still stands.”

He hummed, “Which was?”

“That you’d save a fortune on… on eggs,” you said, your eyes flickering down to his mouth for a few seconds. 

Bucky had a lazy smile on his lips as he turned a bit and opened the breadbox that was next to the sink, putting the two loaves he’d bought inside before closing it again. “I appreciate your concern. It’s quite sweet you’re worried I’ll break the bank on eggs each month,” he said, and you flushed, leaning further back against the counter. “But it’s not needed, sweetheart. I think I made sure I wouldn’t be stressed over whether or not I could afford eggs every month before I moved all the way out here.”

You pressed your lips together, reaching behind you to hold onto the edge of the counter, as if him towering over you like this was making you unsteady, but you didn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest, so he didn’t move away. “Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty logical,” you mumbled, and Bucky’s smirk softened, his hand lifting up again, but this time to cradle your jaw. 

The way you leaned into his touch immediately, like you trusted him so much to never hurt you, like you’d grown accustomed to it, made Bucky feel a little feral, and he closed the gap between yours and his mouth before he could voice that to you. 

You kissed him back quickly, your fingers tightening on the counter for a brief moment before you reached up and curled your fingers into his jacket, pulling him closer. 

Despite you and he only doing this twice before, the first time being only last night, you and he had already found an easy rhythm. He was slowly memorizing the way your lips feel against his, and as he deepened the kiss, he was starting to memorize your taste as well. 

The way you were kissing him told him that you were trying to memorize his taste and the feel of his lips too. You’d been so shy, so timid and closed off for days, but you were letting him in now. You trusted him, and somehow that made him feel better than anything else ever had. 

Bucky’s hands were on your waist, gripping you still so gently as he pulled away from your lips, his breathing having already picked up drastically. “Is this okay?” he asked, his lips brushing along yours with each word. 

As much as you seemed to be completely comfortable and relaxed with him now, he didn’t want to accidentally get caught up and touch you in a way that brings you right back to the very thing you’d run away from. He knew any touch could take you back there, reset your progress, and drive you away from him since he’d reminded you of that dark place. 

But then you nodded your head, the tip of your nose gently bumping against his each time it passed by. “Yes,” you breathed, and then you were reaching down and grabbing onto his wrists, slowly pushing his hands further down. 

His palms smoothed over your ass, then slid lower and grabbed onto the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, setting you down on the counter. Your breath hitched as he did so, your hands coming up to grab onto his shoulders while his grabbed onto your waist.

He kissed you again, this time a little deeper than before as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, and you all too eagerly parted them. He stepped between your thighs, his hips pushing them apart as he pressed closer to you, one hand sliding up into your hair. 

Bucky had, without a doubt, become addicted to kissing you. Even just this felt so much better than anything else he’d done with a woman before you. There was something about you being so shy on the outside, nervous and fidgety when simply talking to him, but so eager and needy when it came to him kissing and touching you that turned him all the way on.

You had a dirty side to you despite your innocent persona, and he wanted to discover every single other side you might have. 

But he could feel himself starting to throb, his jeans growing just a bit tighter, and he broke the kiss with a sigh. He pressed his lips to the band aid on your temple, his eyes closing briefly as he tried to get ahold of himself. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a soft laugh at that. 

You didn’t initiate another kiss after that, thankfully, because Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d be able to will his dick to not get hard, or harder. It’d been some time since he’d been with a woman, and even then he knew you were definitely the sexiest one he’s seen. 

And while you and he were no longer kissing, you still wanted to be close as you wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his chest. Bucky wrapped his own arms around you, pulling you against him and burying his face in your hair. 

As much as you are sexy, you are also so fucking sweet.

It’d been a few days since you decided you wanted to stay, and while you and Bucky probably should’ve had a talk about where to go from that, you simply hadn’t. 

Because even though you were new to each other’s lives, you fit right in, and you’d become each other’s new normals. 

It was hot today, and instead of sweating all day doing things around the house, Bucky had pushed aside the house and yard chores, opting to spend the afternoon by the lake instead. 

He’d given you a pair of boxers and a shirt to wear, the two acting as a makeshift swimming set since he still hadn’t taken you out to town to get you some clothes of your own. 

Tomorrow, he’d do that. 

Right now, he liked seeing the damp fabric of his shirt stick to your body.

You were standing in the lake with him, the water up to the middle of your thighs while it was only up to his knees. He didn’t know how long you and he had been out here, but the sun was just starting to set, the heat not nearly as bad as it had been before. 

The water felt nice, and it cooled you both down tremendously. You and Bucky were both soaked, your clothes sticking to your bodies as you simply let the world pass by. 

You’d begun collecting a bunch of rocks that were at the bottom of the lake. You’d set them aside on the dock, and there was a growing pile of… pretty normal looking rocks starting to form. But you found them pretty, so Bucky didn’t judge you for it. 

Bucky left you to do that, bending down and grabbing at rocks you’d felt along the sand with your feet, and turned around to watch the sun as it began slowly lowering down towards the waterline. 

As he took a step forward, he felt his foot brush against something sharp, and he winced, pulling back before he fully stepped on whatever it was. He looked down and through the ripples of the water, he saw part of what looked like a beer bottle sticking out of the sand. 

He grunted and reached into the water to carefully grab it, then looked around the area for a few moments in case there were other pieces nearby. When he couldn’t find any, he moved back towards the dock, shaking his head, “Be careful, sweetheart. There might be glass around where you are. I almost cut my-” but the words died on his tongue when he looked over at you after setting the piece of glass on the dock. 

Bucky shouldn’t be looking. His eyes shouldn’t be lingering where they currently are, but they’d dropped down there without his permission, and he was having a hard time looking away. 

His throat went dry and he stuttered a bit as he tried to finish what he’d been saying, but it was no use. 

It was bad enough that you looked unbelievably hot in his clothes, but the air had gotten cooler, and the water was naturally cold. He knew you couldn’t help the way your body reacts to the cold, more specifically, the way a certain part of your body reacts to it. 

His shirt clung to you, wet and heavy, and he could see the peaks of your breasts pressing against the fabric, and the sight was really doing something to him. 

You furrowed your brows, giving him a look of confusion as you stayed still, and you either didn’t know about the way your nipples were straining against his shirt, or you didn’t think it was a big deal. And it wasn’t, really. That was a natural and normal thing and yet… it had Bucky swallowing harshly as he started to move a little closer to you. 

“You almost what?” you asked, your arms hanging loosely by your sides. When he didn’t answer, you shifted a bit, letting out a soft laugh. “What?” you asked again, then followed his gaze to your chest, and you pressed your lips together tightly. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize I- the water’s cold and I’m wearing wet clothes and the air is kinda chilly.”

You were rambling now as Bucky stopped right in front of you, and the fact that you thought you needed to give excuses for your own body and its reactions had that protective feeling taking over him. 

When you went to cross your arms, he reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough from the growing arousal he felt building up inside of him. “Don’t be sorry. And don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to be either of those things. Not with me.”

You looked up at him and swallowed quickly, and he could feel the goosebumps that had formed on your skin - ones he wasn’t sure were just from the cold water and air. “Bucky,” you said, and he dipped his head down and kissed you before you could get another word out. 

His hand released your wrist as he wrapped his arms around you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened the kiss right from the start, and you moaned into his mouth as you melted against him. Your arms wound around his shoulders, and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, trying to get as close to him as possible. 

Bucky’s hands slid down and grabbed your ass, lifting you slightly so you weren’t straining yourself as much, and you moaned against his mouth again, making his cock twitch in his shorts. “Fuck. Let me take you home,” he grunted against your mouth, his hands greedily bunching up the fabric of his shirt that hung off your body. “Please. Can I?”

You let out a needy sound, your fingers tangling in his damp hair as you nodded, whispering a soft, “Please,” against his lips. 

And that was all Bucky needed to hear before started to walk you backwards towards the shore, and he was so caught up in the moment, he forgot to keep an eye out for any other pieces of that bottle. Thankfully, you and he made it out of the water with no incidents or injuries, and he kept one arm around your waist, keeping your body against his as you walked the short distance back to his house. 

The front door swung open, the force of it hitting the wall making a few pictures rattle before he shut it loudly behind him. His hands were on your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you against his body, his lips finding yours once again in a deep kiss. 

Your hands slid up his arms, your nails skimming along his skin and making him feel feral. He licked into your mouth as he guided you backwards towards the hall, and you clung onto him a little tighter, fully trusting him to get you to his room without letting you back into anything. 

When you and he entered his room, Bucky’s hands slid down the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. He didn’t care that both you and he were still wet and your clothes were soaked as he walked you over to the bed and laid you down on it, his hips settling between your thighs. 

You leaned back on the pillows as he pulled away from your mouth, his hands reaching down to pull off his shirt, and he dropped the wet fabric to the floor before leaning down towards you. 

One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours as your other hand splayed along his abs, and he felt you grin against his mouth. “You’re so big,” you mumbled against his mouth. 

Bucky smirked against your lips, his biceps instinctively flexing at that as he pressed his hips to yours. “Am I?” he questioned, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice as he ran his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Maybe you’re just really small.”

You shook your head at that, your hands wrapping around his biceps, but they couldn’t wrap all the way around them. “No,” you murmured, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. “The guys I’ve been with before, they weren’t nearly as big as you. You’re so much broader and wider and… bigger.”

Bucky’s smirk grew at that, and he was surprised he didn’t feel that jealous at you mentioning you being with other guys, because you just told him that he’s bigger than all of them. That made him feel superior, and he wanted to erase those guys from your memory and replace them with just him. 

“Yeah?” he hummed, giving a slow, experimental roll of his hips against yours. When you let out a soft moan, he did it again, pressing his growing hard-on against you. “Seems like you’ve been with some scrawny dudes then, huh?”

You blushed at that, your teeth digging into your lip as you shook your head. “Maybe,” you whispered, “Or maybe you’re just fucking huge, Bucky.”

He felt his cock twitch at that, and he groaned as he buried his face in your neck. “You have no right to make swearing sound that fucking hot,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a laugh as you tipped your head back on the pillow. “You just look so sweet and innocent. Doesn’t seem like this sweet mouth is capable of saying things like that.” he murmured, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, and his thumb brushed along your lower lip. 

You hummed, turning your head and nipping softly at the shell of his ear. “I think you’d be surprised at some of the things that come out of my mouth,”

Bucky perked up at your words and he lifted his head, meeting your eyes with a smug grin on his face. “Oh yeah?” he rasped, leaning in and pressing kisses along your cheek. “My sweet girl’s got a dirty side to her?”

You shrugged, reaching down to guide his hands to the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “Guess you’ll just have to find out,”

Bucky groaned, and he kissed you harshly as he bunched up the fabric of his shirt and lifted it up your body, breaking the kiss to rid you of it entirely. He pulled back and looked down at you, feeling his desire spike at the sight of your bare breasts and the full view of your nipples. “Fuck,” he grunted, shaking his head as he moved down a bit. He kissed along the tops of your breasts, gently sucking at your skin as he grabbed onto your hips. “I don’t believe you. You’re far too fucking sweet.”

You bit down on your lip, your eyes locked onto his every move as you shifted under him, your hands sliding up his shoulders and into his hair. “Bucky,” you whimpered, and the sound of you saying his name like that had him bucking his hips against yours. 

He dipped his head down even lower. “You look sweet. You sound sweet,” he mumbled against your skin as his lips brushed along your nipple. “You taste sweet,” You let out a weak moan at that, and he smirked against your skin once more. “Think my sweet girl is incapable of being dirty. But I’ll get you there. I’ll make you mine in every way.”

You moaned louder, your back arching a bit as you tried to push your chest closer to his face, just as greedy for him as he is for you. 

“You want that?” he asked, his voice deeper than before as his big hands came up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing along your nipples. 

“Yes,” you gasped, writhing under him. “Please, Bucky. Please.”

As pretty as you sounded when you begged, Bucky didn’t want to make you wait any longer. He wrapped his mouth around your nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth. He grunted, his eyes closing as he sucked on the peak, his tongue running along the bud as you let out a moan. 

His other hand continued to roll your other one, tugging gently as your head fell back on the pillow, your own eyes fluttering shut. When he switched to your other nipple, you whimpered, pushing your chest up against him more firmly. “You’re so responsive,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses all over your breasts as his hands slid down your body. “You gonna let me touch you down here?” he asked, running his finger along the waistline of his boxers. 

You pressed your lips together as you opened your eyes, your gaze instantly meeting his. “Yes,” you answered softly, “Please.”

Bucky grunted, kissing his way down your body. “Listen to you. You’re so fucking sweet,” he muttered, his fingers hooking into the damp fabric. He slowly pulled it down your thighs, then your legs, then let it fall to the floor to join the other shedded clothing. He leaned in close, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he settled in between them. Before he did anything else, he looked up at you, his eyes focused while his mouth watered with need to taste you. “You let me know if I need to stop, okay? If I’m doing anything that makes you uncomfortable or if you don’t feel good, you stop me, yeah?”

Your eyes widened at that, as if you’d never had someone say anything of the sort to you before, and you nodded slowly. “Yeah. I will. Promise,”

Bucky smiled, small and genuine, before he let himself look at the most private, and in his eyes, one of the most beautiful parts of you. He leaned in close, his lips dragging along your inner thigh before the tip of his nose brushed against your clit, and you jolted at just that. “Sensitive, hm?” he teased softly. 

“Been awhile,” you breathed, lifting your hips as you looked down at him with a pleading expression on your face. 

Bucky smiled up at you, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’ll make you so spoiled, baby.”

Your breath hitched at that, and he finally allowed himself to taste the part of you he’d been dying to taste for a shamefully long time. He ran his tongue along your folds, collecting the wetness that had gathered there on the muscle while also leaving behind some of his own. 

A deep, pleased grunt came from the back of his throat, and just from that first taste alone, he was hooked. 

Bucky grabbed onto your thighs with gentle hands and guided your legs over his shoulders, then buried his face in your pussy. He basked in the string of moans you let out, your body shifting while you tried to push yourself closer to him. 

He pinned your hips down, his thumbs running along the bones as he slid his tongue along your seam yet again, then dipped it inside. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he grunted, breathing you in as his fingers curled around your waist. “Taste so fucking good, baby. Could stay down here for the rest of the night.”

You whimpered, already greedy for him as you shook your head. “No,” you moaned, “Want you to fuck me, Bucky.”

He let out a pleased hum, purposely bumping his nose against your clit. “And I will, baby,” he promised, “But I need my fill of you first. I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart. Make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

You squirmed at that, your body heating up as your hands fisted the sheets at either side of your hips. “You already do that. You’ve been doing that since the night I met you,”

Bucky felt his heart clench, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “I want to keep doing it,” he said, sliding his hands up your body until they were covering your breasts. “If you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” you moaned, nodding quickly afterwards. “I will. I want you, Bucky. I only want you.”

He grinned, turning his head and giving your inner thigh a chaste kiss before he slid his tongue between your folds again then wrapped his lips around your clit. He gently sucked it into his mouth and he could practically feel the way your nerves throbbed against his tongue. “That feel good, baby?” he asked when he briefly pulled away and watched as you nodded again, just as fast as before. 

“So good,” you moaned, “Keep going. Please.”

Bucky had a feeling he’d never deny you of anything, especially when you begged him like that. He was already so down bad for you, he was certain he’d do anything you wanted, and right now you wanted his mouth back on your pussy. 

His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you down to the bed as he buried his face in you, his eyes shutting as he drank you in. Your taste, your scent, the way you sounded when he slipped his tongue inside of you. 

Your hips tried to lift off the bed, but he held them down, easily overpowering you in a way he knew you enjoyed rather than felt threatened by. You only shared a little bit of your past with him, short stories here and there that gave him a glimpse into the way you were forced to live before. You didn’t have a choice, but now you do, and he wants you to always know that. 

A soft, needy sound left your lips, and it went straight to his cock. Bucky refrained from thrusting into his bed, opting to hope that he’d get his relief later after he’s made you cum on his tongue. 

Your hands slid down into his hair, and your fingers tangled in the strands as you moaned for him. The feeling of your nails gently scratching along his scalp felt unbelievably good after not feeling it for so long. You mentioned it being a while for you since you’d last done this, and it had been quite a while for him too. 

When he returned his mouth to your clit and sucked on it, you jolted in his hold, your fingers pulling on his hair. “Fuck,” you moaned, looking down at him with worried eyes. “Is that okay? Did I hurt you?”

You’d suffered unimaginable pain, so it made sense that you were cautious when potentially inflicting pain onto someone else, but in all honesty, Bucky didn’t think you’d ever be able to hurt him. At least not like that. Your hands felt like heaven, and he was greedy to feel them all the time. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. More than okay,” he promised, removing one hand from your hip and sliding his fingers along your folds, collecting your wetness. “You didn’t hurt me. You can do whatever you want to me, okay?”

You pressed your lips tightly together at that, looking down at him at the same time he lifted his gaze to you, and your fingers ran along the length of his cheek as you gave him a look that told him everything you didn’t say. “Okay,” you whispered, your brows furrowing when he slowly pushed two fingers into you. 

The tight, wet walls of your cunt stretched around his fingers, only further proving that it had definitely been a while since someone touched you. That or you were just tighter than normal. Either way, Bucky was more than willing to get you prepared and to make sure he didn’t hurt you in any way.

You gasped when he pushed his fingers in all the way, your tight walls clinging to him as you let your eyes flutter shut. 

Bucky kept his eyes on you as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, trying to read your every expression. “You like that?” he asked, his voice a lot deeper than before as his own desire built more and more. He was unbelievably turned on, and the sounds you were making for him weren’t helping his case at all, and yet it would be even worse if you were to stop making them. 

You nodded slowly, going silent with your words as you gently scraped your nails along his scalp. And while he liked to hear you confirm how you’re feeling with words, you’d been incredibly vocal about it since the very beginning, so he didn’t feel like he was overstepping this time. 

His mouth returned to your clit, his tongue gently flicking over the bud a few times before he wrapped his lips around it once again. Your body jolted, your fingers tightening in his hair as you let out soft sounds and whimpers that only fueled his desire for you. 

When his teeth grazed your clit, you gasped, your hands tugging at his hair seemingly out of instinct. He could feel how you were tightening even more around his fingers, your moans becoming louder and more consistent. “You’re close,” he murmured, not a question but simply an observation as he thrust his fingers into you a little faster than before. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding quickly as you arched your back and bucked your hips, trying to get impossibly closer to him. “Please… please.”

Fuck, you sounded so pretty. 

Bucky worked his fingers in and out of you, his tongue running over the pulsing, sensitive bud above where his fingers are. “Want to feel you cum for me,” he rasped, his other hand sliding up your body until it reached your breast, and he covered the soft mound with his palm. “Want to make you feel so good, sweetheart.”

A sharper, more desperate sound tumbled out of your mouth at that, and you were starting to shake, your legs beginning to tremble at either side of his head. Your back arched even more as your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucking them in deeper as he felt you grow warmer and wetter. “Fuck,”

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky praised, keeping the pace of his fingers for a few more moments before he pulled them out, only to replace them with his tongue. He licked you all over, cleaning up your mess while leaving behind one of his own, and he only relented when you cried out and jerked away from his mouth, your fingers scratching at his head as he worked you to near over stimulation. 

He pulled back, sitting up on his knees and bringing his hand up to his lips. He sucked his wet fingers into his mouth, cleaning them of your wetness with a deep, satisfied and shameless groan, all while looking at you like you were the single most hottest thing he’d ever seen. You definitely were. 

You writhed on the bed, and he wanted to burn the image of you like this into his head, because you looked undeniably sexy and sated but also needy and desperate. 

When his hands moved to your thighs, your own came to cover them as your chest rose and fell unevenly, your eyes hooded and your bottom lip puffy from how hard you’d bitten on it. 

Bucky smiled down at you, his hands running up and down your smooth skin that was now void of bruises, and only had faint scratches that were almost fully healed. “Anyone ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are?”

You blushed at that, writhing more as you wrapped your hands around his wrists and tried to bring him closer. “Not very often,” you mumbled, and Bucky shook his head. 

“Too bad for them,” he muttered, spreading your thighs once more and guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he settled his hips between them once again. “‘Cause you’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Every single fucking part of you.”

He leaned in and kissed you after that, not letting you say anything in return as he shared your taste with you. His hips rolled forward, the rough material of his shorts rubbing against your bare, sensitive core and making you whine into his mouth. “Bucky. I need you,” you breathed, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck. “I want to feel you. Want to make you feel good now.”

Bucky hummed against your mouth, kissing you deeply again. “Sweet girl,” he mumbled in between kisses. He placed a few more before pulling back. “Trust me when I say that what I just did to you made me feel good too. Never wanted to see someone cum so badly before in my life.”

You huffed out a gasp at that, your legs locking tighter around his waist as you pulled him closer. “Bucky,”

He smirked softly, pulling back just enough to be able to reach in between yours and his body. “Alright, baby,” he murmured, unzipping and pushing down his shorts and boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and long, already slick at the tip with pre-cum. 

Bucky hadn’t been this painfully hard in a long time, to the point where even the pressure of his own hand stung a bit before it faded to relief. He saw the way your head lifted to look down at him, and his smirk grew when he saw the way your stomach muscles fluttered a bit. “Oh… shit,” you breathed, your hands coming up to wrap around his biceps. 

He kept one hand around his cock, giving himself a slow, almost teasing stroke as his other hand grabbed your hip, his thumb rubbing gentle circles onto your skin. “What’s the matter?” he murmured, having a feeling he already knew exactly what you were thinking. 

You confirmed it when you whispered, “You’re… really big,” in a voice that held both need and obvious shock. 

“Yeah?” Bucky cooed softly, his hand raising to your face, and he tucked some of your messy hair behind your ear. “You don’t think it’ll fit?”

You shook your head, your grip on his arms tightening. “No, I really don’t,” 

Bucky guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing its length along your folds. “But you’re so wet for me, baby,” he said, his voice holding a hint of teasing as he watched himself become coated in your slick. “Bet I could just slide right in and you’d just take me.”

Your body shuddered at either his words or his actions, or possibly both, before you looked up at his face. “Okay. Just be slow, please?” you asked, as if he’d rush you into anything after you’ve already told him it’d been a while since the last time you had sex. 

“Of course,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Do you… have a condom?” you asked, making him wince, his lips turning into a frown against your skin. 

He pulled back and groaned, shutting his eyes tightly, “No. Fuck,” he grunted, pulling back even more. “I haven’t really been with a lot of women while living here, so I never bothered to have those around. Really wish I did now though.”

You gave him a small smile as you cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs rubbing along his stubbled cheeks. “It’s okay,”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. We kinda rushed into this without thinking of that, huh?” he muttered, “I can get you off with my mouth and fingers again, and then I can… jerk off or something. I didn’t think I’d be having sex anytime soon, sweetheart. I’m sorry I wasn’t prepared for this.”

You let out a quiet laugh as you shook your head in return, guiding his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. “Bucky, it’s okay,” you said again, pulling him back to you so he was flush against your body once again. “I don’t… I’m okay with not using a condom tonight, if you are. You said you wanted to take me into town to get some stuff at some point, maybe we can go tomorrow and get, like, Plan B or something? And condoms.”

Bucky felt his shoulders drop at that, shamelessly feeling relieved that, despite the absolute lack of protection between you and him, he was still allowed to fuck you. He braced himself on one hand beside your head, his other one trailing down your body. “You got it all figured out, huh?” he teased, watching the way you squirmed a bit under him. 

“I want to feel you,” you said simply, shrugging after, “I want you to fuck me.”

And fuck did he want that too. It sounded so good coming from your mouth, and he had a feeling you wanted it nearly as much as he did, which was an ungodly amount. 

“Yeah?” he said lowly, reaching down to grasp his cock again, and he guided himself to your entrance but didn’t push in yet. “Good. ‘Cause I want to fuck you too.”

You whined at that, bucking your hips against his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, as if you were trying to push him in yourself. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, tugging him into a kiss, and he was done for. 

He slowly pushed the tip of his cock past your folds, sinking the first few inches inside you and feeling the way your walls already fluttered around him. “Fuck,” he grunted into your mouth, sliding his hand up to your hip and holding onto you tightly. His other hand fisted the pillow beside your head, his jaw clenching as he held back from thrusting all the way inside you. 

You were tight. Really fucking tight, and it felt impossible to push any further without hurting you. Your cunt was gripping him like a second skin, clinging onto him as tightly as he was clinging onto you, and he broke the kiss to bump his forehead against yours. 

“You… you gotta tell me if I hurt you, okay?” he said, sounding a little desperate as he twisted the pillow between his fingers. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. I don’t wanna… fuck, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly, your body tense under his as you squeezed your eyes shut. “You’re not hurting me, Bucky,” you breathed, knees digging into his hips as he stayed still. “You’re just… big. Really big.” 

Bucky smirked softly, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You need a minute?” 

Shaking your head, you slid one hand around to his back, pressing on it gently. “No. You can keep going,”

He nodded, burying his face in your neck as he pushed in deeper, going all the way until his hips were against yours, and his cock was buried all the way inside of you. He stilled once again, letting out a deep, strangled groan against your skin as he felt you tighten around him, your hand sliding up his back and into his hair. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, slowly pulling his hips back just a bit before pushing forward again, his eyes closing at the feeling. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

You moaned at his words, then again when pulled his hips back and repeated the motion, your head falling back on the pillow. “So do you,” came your quiet reply, your fingers tangling in his hair. 

After a few moments, he found a deep, steady rhythm, one that had him pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in again to the hilt. Each thrust allowed him to see how tight you were, your walls stretching around him every time he pulled back. His cock was covered in your slick, making every slide back in easier than the last. 

Bucky’s fingers dug into the soft skin of your hip, his deep groans lost to your neck as he kept his face buried there. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to physically stop himself from coming way too soon if he were to pull back and watch you - the sounds you were making already being too much to begin with. 

He kept his pace slower than he’s used to. Usually he has no problem with a quick fuck with a girl that left him and her satisfied and straining himself just enough to fall asleep afterwards. 

But he wanted to savor this with you, even though you’d made it clear that you wanted to do this many more times in the future, as did he. 

His hips rolled against yours, knocking gently against your own with every thrust. Your moans were going directly into his ear, each one making him push a little harder every time he pulled back. 

Your hands grasped at his face, pulling his head away from your shoulder. “Bucky,” you moaned, and he grunted instantly in response. “Look at me.”

He shook his head, his cheek pressing against yours as his hand finally released the pillow and grabbed onto your other hip. “I can’t,” he rasped, his eyes falling shut as he fucked into you a little faster. “You feel too fucking good, sweetheart. Too perfect. I can’t-”

“Please,” you begged, your heels digging into his lower back and trying to pull him impossibly closer despite him being as close as he could physically be. “Please, Bucky, look at me.”

And he couldn’t deny you. 

He pulled back, his eyes opening and meeting yours. The way you were looking at him was the exact reason he refused to look at you before. You were looking at him like you trusted him more than anyone else in the whole world, like you were willingly giving him your heart and letting him do whatever he wanted with it. 

Your brows were pushed nearly all the way together, your eyes were hooded and glazed over, and your lips were curved upwards in a soft, lazy smile. 

The way you were looking at him made him feel unlike anything he’d ever felt in his entire life, and he knew right then and there that he had fallen in love with you. He didn’t care that it was fast, and he had no idea when he’d fallen in love with you, but somewhere along taking you in, healing your wounds, and becoming your safe place, he’d fallen in love with you. 

Bucky dropped his forehead to yours, his breath gently fanning along your lips as he rocked into you quicker, his hand sliding around you to your backside. “I need you to cum for me, baby,” he breathed, his hand covering one side of your ass as he pulled you against him with every thrust. “Need to feel you cum for me, sweetheart. Want to make you fall apart again.”

You moaned at that, pulling his chest down against yours so he could feel the way your breasts bounced softly every time he bottomed out inside of you. “Don’t stop, Bucky,” you murmured, keeping one hand tangled tightly in his hair while your other one raked down his back, your nails barely dragging along his skin. 

He leaned in and kissed you deeply, swallowing each and every moan you let out for him like the greedy man he’d become for you. His teeth bumped against yours as he started to fuck you a little faster and a little harder, his hand squeezing your ass while the other one slid up your back and tangled in your hair. “Cum for me,” he grunted against your mouth, the sound of the bed beginning to creak alongside yours and his moans. “C’mon, sweetheart, let go for me. I want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his skin as he felt your cunt clench tightly around him. “Fuck,” you moaned against his mouth before detaching your own from it. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tensing up in the way it did before when you came on his mouth and fingers, and only a few seconds later he felt the way your walls became slicker, warmer and tighter, squeezing and sucking him in deeper. 

Bucky grunted, keeping the same pace as he watched your every move and reaction, wanting to memorize the way you look right now and keep the sight locked away for the rest of his life. He held off as long as he could until you were whining and writhing, then he was there too. 

You insinuated before that you were okay with him coming inside you, and he’d planned on asking you again before he did it, but the only thought on his mind was how perfect and wet and tight you are, and any rational thought left his mind as he buried himself inside you one last time before he came. 

He filled you up, his hips jerking a little out of his control as he dropped his forehead back to yours, deep, tired groans leaving his mouth. His chest heaved unevenly against yours as he stilled, feeling the excess beads of cum leak from the tip of his cock as your walls fluttered around him. 

You looked like you were in a daze under him, your lips kiss swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your body covered in a light layer of sweat. He could only assume he looked similar to the way you do right now. 

Your arms locked around his shoulders, your legs staying around his waist as you pulled him down onto you, his body completely covering yours as you kissed him again, a lot less deeper than before but just as needy.

Neither of you said a word for a long time after that. You stayed cuddled in each other’s arms, kissing each other’s mouths and bodies as you both came down. 

It wasn’t until what felt like an hour later when he finally pulled back and almost fully detached himself from you when he asked if you were okay, and if he had hurt you at all while being caught up in the moment. 

But you’d simply shook your head, pulled him close again, and then fell asleep with your head on his chest. 

And after that, his bed became his bed again, and it also became yours.

It was late in the morning since you and Bucky had both become quite worn out after the intense night you’d both had, you ended up sleeping in longer than either of you thought you would. 

He had no idea what time it was. All he could think about was you, more specifically, the way you felt around him. 

After last night, he’d become addicted to you like he knew he would. You’d completely fucking ruined him, and now he was sure he’d never be able to get into this very bed without thinking of the first time he fucked you on it. 

You were on your side, your fingers laced loosely with his as he filled you with his cock over and over again from behind. You told him you were a bit sore, so he was being as gentle as he could right now, his hips rolling slowly against your ass. 

His arm was wrapped around your middle, holding your body flush against his. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in as your cunt swallowed him over and over again. 

While the sex had been quite passionate last night and nothing short of amazing, this time it was much slower, much lazier and less desperate. He was still just as fucked up on you now as he’d been last night, but he felt more assured that this was it for him, that he’d get to do this with you for a long time. Last night gave him all the reassurance he needed. 

He squeezed your fingers between his, turning his head and pressing kisses all along your bare shoulder, trailing them up to the scar just under your jaw. It’d been a long time since he’d woken up with a woman in his arms and an ache on his chest from where your head had been resting all night, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted to wake up just like that for so long now. 

Bucky had been by himself for so long, purposely distancing himself from too much interaction with people he wasn’t close to, he’d denied himself the privilege of allowing someone into his life to change it for the better. He’d never allowed himself to find his person, never gave anyone a chance.

Until you fell over your own two feet and stumbled head first into his life, and it didn’t get any more literal than that. 

But he has you now. He wants you, and he wants to wake up with you like this every day now. 

He wanted to watch as you slowly woke up, see first hand how beautiful you look first thing in the morning after fully relaxing all night. He wanted to share his bed with you every night, share his house with you every day, and become as important to you in your life as you’d become to his. 

He wanted to start and end each day with you, feel the way you squeezed him so tight whenever he’s buried inside of you, watch how you become even prettier each time you fall apart for him, and he wanted to watch you blossom into a happier, confident and more carefree version of yourself that was so unlike the one he’d met what felt like months ago. 

Because even though he’d fallen in love with that version of you too, he was head over heels for the one currently shaking in his arms and coming on his cock. 

You buried your face in his arm as your body trembled against his, and Bucky wasn’t far behind you as he filled you up just like how he did last night. 

He huffed out a laugh when you turned in his arms and cuddled up against his warm chest, and he pulled you close as he caught his breath. “I think we need a shower first,” he said, propping his chin on the top of your head. “Then I’ll take you to town and we’ll get you some new clothes and whatever else you need.”

You hummed, placing your hands flat against his chest. “And condoms?” you teased, making him laugh again. 

“Yes, and condoms,”

It took you and Bucky another two hours to pull yourselves together, detach yourselves from one another, get ready and go into town. 

He didn’t really know where to take you since he’d never gone out shopping with a woman solely in mind, but he did know that the part of town with all the shops attached together along the street was a good place to start. 

A pharmacy was across the street from where he parked his truck, and the first store he saw on the right side of the street was a clothing store, so he guided you into that one. 

“I don’t need much,” you quickly said as you and he walked through the doors, one of his arms wrapped around your waist as he let you lead. “Just, like… maybe a new bra? The one I’m wearing might rip before we even make it home. And maybe a couple pairs of underwear? And a couple shirts, and a pair of jeans.”

Bucky held back his laugh as he looked down at you with a lifted brow. You were wearing his jeans that were held up by a belt he had to poke a new hole into since the tightest one still didn’t keep the jeans up on your hips, and they were baggy at the bottom. You were also wearing one of his shirts and a jacket, both of which looked huge on you since none of his clothing would ever fit you, and yet you thought you just needed a single pair of jeans and some shirts?

“I think you need a bit more than that, sweetheart,” Bucky said, giving your hip a gentle squeeze. “You can pick out some outfits you like and some jackets too, so you can have options.”

You winced, shaking your head as you stopped just in front of a table stacked with different sized jeans. “I don’t want to spend all your money,”

Bucky actually did laugh at that, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, right on your healing wound that no longer needed a band aid on it. “We’ve been over this. I won’t be breaking the bank from buying eggs every month, and I won’t break it by buying you more than one pair of jeans either,”

“That’s different. Eggs are food and you need food-”

“And you need clothes to wear that don’t make you trip every time you walk. Though I do find you very hot in my clothes,” he said, smirking when he saw you shrink a bit at his words. “I can afford to buy you things you need too, like clothes and hair products that don’t smell like pine and whiskey and… whatever else you might need.”

You bit down on your lip, looking down at the various different shades of blue jeans in front of you. Your hand reached out and ran along ones that were close to the same shade you were wearing right now, but in your actual size, then you looked up at him. “Okay,” you relented, giving him a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”

Bucky smiled back, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back and nodding towards the back of the store where the shoes were. “Pick out some new sneakers and boots too,”

After that, you became less shy and appeared to be feeling less guilty about having him spend money on you, even though he assured you that he had more than enough to cover anything you might need. 

You’d picked out three pairs of jeans, a couple shorts, eight shirts, five sets of pyjamas, a new jacket, sneakers and boots, and you had to look away when the total came up on the register, but Bucky simply swiped his card before taking your hand and the two bags and pulling you along. 

You looked at the various choices of underwear, but you felt a little self conscious for some reason, and he offered letting you go into the store just up the street that was full of just bras and underwear by yourself with his card so you could get an update on your size and pick out some stuff without him hovering, and you agreed. 

Just before you left the store, you stopped when you saw the display for the jewellery. There were rings varying from engagement rings to ones you’d wear around the house, some bracelets and some necklaces, and you paused when you caught sight of a silver necklace with a charm of a tree on it. 

Before you could look at it for too long, you tried to pull away and tug him with you towards the exit, but Bucky stayed still, tugging you back to him. “You can look at these, sweetheart, it’s fine,” he said gently, guiding you back over to the display case. 

You gave him a grateful smile as you stepped towards it again, standing just in front of it. “Just a look,” you agreed, your eyes going back to that same necklace with the tree charm. You smiled a bit bigger as he came up to stand behind you, wrapping one arm around your middle as he leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder. “This is pretty. Reminds me of your place since it’s surrounded by trees.”

Bucky hummed in agreement, his hand splaying along your lower stomach. “That’s true. It is pretty too,” he said, “Maybe you should add some accessories to all these new outfits you got-”

But before he could finish his offer, you turned your head and tensed up in his hold, your body going rigid against his. He turned his head instantly, looking in the direction you were before you pulled away and grabbed his hand. “We should go get that Plan B,” you said, surprising him with the sudden change of subject, but he didn’t resist as you pulled him with you towards the exit. “The sooner you use it, the more effective it is, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said back, looking over his shoulder in another attempt to see what had set you off like that, but he only saw the backside of an older woman further in the store, then he couldn’t see anything as the door closed behind him. He turned to you, noticing the way you didn’t meet his eyes as you looked across the street at the pharmacy. He frowned as he hesitantly took your hand in his, and you thankfully didn’t pull away, instead lacing your fingers with his. “Everything okay?”

That made you look over at him, and your worried expression softened just a bit as you nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yes,” you answered, “Just realized we had sex twice in the last twelve hours, and I don’t know if that will impact the pill at all. And as much as I strongly believe you’d make some really cute kids, being a mother right now is not high on my list of priorities.”

Bucky laughed at that and nodded in agreement, guiding you with him as he walked across the street once it was safe to do so. “Yeah, as much as I want to be a dad someday, I’m also not in a rush,” he said, pulling open the door to the pharmacy and holding it open for you. 

After buying both a Plan B pill and a twenty four pack box of condoms, Bucky took the pharmacy bag from you and led you back across the street where his truck is. “You can head to that store down there and pick out some stuff,” he said, opening the backseat door and putting the bags inside. He turned to you and handed you his card, giving you a smug smile. “Get whatever you need. Maybe something pretty for me too,” he added, loving the way you got all flustered whenever he said things like that to you despite him finding out for himself that you have a dirty side to you as well. “You can just tap it, but if it doesn’t work, the code is 1977.”

You pressed your lips together at that, taking the card from him, “I can’t believe you trust me with that. What if I were to run off with your card and steal all your money?”

Bucky shrugged, shutting the truck door and locking it afterwards. “Guess I’ll just have to give all the stuff in my backseat to the next girl who gets lost in the woods and scares away my dinner,” he said back, and you glared up at him before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a firm kiss. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you said against his mouth, and he grinned, kissing you again. 

“Take your time,” he said back, “I’m in no rush.” 

He watched as you turned and made your way down the street, and he waited until you entered the store before pushing himself away from where he was leaning against his truck, and he walked back into the store you and he were in only ten minutes ago. 

He forgot about the woman or whatever you’d seen that made you leave the store so quickly before, his eyes locked onto the display case with the necklace you were eyeing inside it. 

Bucky stopped an employee as she was walking by and asked if he could see the necklace, and she all too happily unlocked the side of it and pulled it out for him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around town, James,” the woman said, and he looked up at her when she placed the necklace on top of the case. 

He kind of recognized her from when he lived closer to town, and he was sure he’d talked to her a couple times at one point if she knew his name. “Oh, yeah,” he said, reaching for the dainty silver chain and picking it up. “I don’t go shopping very often, especially not around here, no offense,” he added, but she just waved him off. “Just needed to grab some stuff for my… girlfriend.” he finished, unsure if he should be calling you that since you and he hadn’t actually talked about what you are yet.

“Yeah, I saw you with her when you first came in. She’s really pretty, seems sweet too,” she smiled, looking down at the necklace in his palm. 

“She’s so fucking sweet,” Bucky agreed, forgetting to use his manners for a second as he gave her an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I meant… she’s way too sweet for me. But I think I’ll keep her around anyway.”

The woman laughed and waved him off again, then nodded at the necklace. “Well this is a great way to ensure she’ll stick around,” she teased, “It’s a beautiful necklace.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, dangling the chain from his fingers as he looked at it for a few more seconds. “I’m gonna surprise her with it,” he said, setting it down as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. 

“Perfect,” the woman said, reaching back into the case and pulling out the box the necklace had been placed in before. Once it was secured in the box, she nodded for him to follow her to the register. “She’s one lucky girl you got there, James.” she added as she took the cash he’d handed to her. 

Bucky smiled at that, sliding the box into his jacket pocket. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” he said back, giving her a kind nod before telling her to keep the change as he left the store to go back to his truck and wait for you.

You were in the bedroom, changing into one of the new outfits you’d got today while Bucky was in the kitchen, sipping on the coffee he’d picked up on the way home. 

He stripped himself of his jacket, draping it over the back of one of the chairs as he opened the fridge and looked inside to see what he felt like making for dinner. The windows were open, letting the chilled evening air fill the space of the living room and kitchen and create a comfortable temperature throughout the house. 

Just as Bucky took a step towards the open fridge to pull out the chicken he decided he wanted to cook, the sound of the bedroom door opening made him pause, and he looked over at the hallway just as you stepped out. 

You were wearing a pair of your new jeans that were a baby blue shade and fit you perfectly, and a white fitted top, and on your feet were the new pair of sneakers you’d picked out that were pristine and clean compared to your old, dirty ones. 

The outfit was simple, and yet to Bucky you looked hot, especially when he let himself think about what was hiding under those clothes. He let the fridge door close as he stepped away from it, letting out a low whistle as he moved towards you. “Damn,” he said, making you laugh as you met him halfway. “You look good, sweetheart. Real fucking good.”

You smiled up at him, draping your arms around his shoulders at the same time his own wrapped around your waist, and he pulled your body against his. Before you could say anything, he leaned down and kissed you, making you sigh against his lips as you kissed him back. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled back just a bit, smiling against his mouth, “Just wait until you see what I picked out when you weren’t with me,” you said against his lips. 

Bucky groaned, already prepared to forget all about dinner and just take you to bed now, but just as he grabbed your hips and turned you so he could walk you right back down that hallway and into the bedroom, the sound of the front door opening made him stop. 

“Oh,” he heard the sound of his sister’s voice, and he groaned against your mouth again, pulling away from you. He looked over and watched as she shut the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well. This is a surprise. Hello.”

You pulled back even more, looking over at her with wide eyes. “Hi,” you said, giving her a kind but confused smile before looking up at Bucky. 

He gave you a tight smile, dropping his arms to his sides. “That’s Becca, my sister,” he told you, and you looked over at her again with a bigger smile. 

“Oh,” you breathed, “I didn’t know Bucky had a sister. Hi.”

Becca laughed, looking between you and Bucky with equally confused eyes. “Hi,” she said back, “That’s okay. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend either.”

Bucky winced, closing his eyes as you let out a sound of shock. “No, we’re… well, I guess we kind of are? Maybe? Probably?” you said, looking over at him again for help, and Bucky just propped his hands on his hips. 

“You staying for dinner, Becs?” he asked, “I’m making chicken parm.”

Becca lit up at that, and she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it aside onto the couch. “Oh, well, I couldn’t say no to that,” she said, striding over to you. “It gives me time to get to know your kind of, maybe girlfriend.”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, and Bucky instantly noticed the way you jumped a bit at the contact. He’d been the only person to touch you since you ran away from home, so to have someone you didn’t know grab you like that was probably very alarming for you, even if Becca’s intentions were nothing but good. 

Bucky stepped forward, gently pulling your arm free and guiding you over to the couch. “Here, sweetheart, why don’t you sit with Becca and talk while I get started on dinner?” he said quickly, looking over his shoulder and noticing that the confused expression was once again on his sister’s face. 

“Okay,” you agreed slowly, sitting down on the couch he’d put you on that very first night. You looked up at him, and you must’ve been able to see the concern in his eyes, because you gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You’ll let me know if I can help?” you asked, and Bucky smiled and nodded. 

“Of course,” he said, leaning down and kissing the side of your head. He turned back to Becca, then wrapped his arms around her in a hug, finally properly greeting her as he muttered, “She’s been through a lot. I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Becca nodded, not understanding fully but agreeing anyway as she returned the hug before pulling away and walking over to you. He watched her sit down next to you, and he smiled at the way you already seemed to have calmed back down and were smiling at his sister again. 

He let himself watch for a few more seconds before he walked back over to the fridge to get started on dinner, the sound of you laughing at something Becca said filling the space that had been quiet for far too long.

“Sorry for interrupting earlier,” Becca said as she leaned back in the chair, her plate empty like yours and Bucky’s were. “If I had known my brother finally landed himself a girl, I would’ve knocked or something. I usually come by twice a month since Bucky grows the best tasting tomatoes ever, and I steal them from him.”

You smiled at her as Bucky scratched the back of his head, but the smug grin on his face told you both that he wasn’t embarrassed at the interruption at all. “It’s okay,” you said, wiping your hands on a piece of paper towel. “I’m really happy you came over. I was curious when I’d get to meet Bucky’s family.”

Becca perked up at that, looking over at him. “Is that so? Well, Buck, you need to bring her over to mom’s place and let her experience how good her cooking is,” she said, her gaze returning to you. “Our mother is a natural cook, and she’s probably one of the best cooks in the world, if I do say so myself.”

You smiled at that, nodding, “I’d love to meet her one day,” you said, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. He wanted to take you to meet his mother, too, which is something he never thought he’d do with anyone any time soon. 

He began gathering the dishes, but you quickly stood up and waved him off. “Bucky, leave it. I’ll clean up,” you said, but he shook his head. 

“It’s alright, baby, I-”

“Bucky, you cooked, let me clean, okay?” you cut him off, making him pause, and he heard the snort from Becca at the interaction before he set his plate back down. 

“Alright. Fine,” he said, stepping away from the table. 

“Thank you,” you said, already beginning to gather the plates and utensils. “Go give your sister your tomatoes and talk for a bit. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

Bucky smiled at that, trying to not show his sister how gone he already was for you as he gestured for her to get up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, reaching for his jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Becca gave him a teasing look, then cackled as he gently shoved her towards the door, but he stopped when he was close to you. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, watching how you instantly smiled. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You smiled bigger, then shooed him away. 

Outside, Bucky caught up with Becca, who was already rounding the house to his garden. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation he knew he was about to have with her, so he just said the first thing that was on his mind, “Thank you for being so nice to her,” 

Becca shrugged, bending down in front of the tomato plants. “She’s a nice girl herself,” she said, beginning to pick at the ripe ones. 

“Yeah, she is,” Bucky agreed, moving to kneel down next to her. 

“She must be special if you’re giving her things like that necklace you have in that jacket pocket,” she said casually, and Bucky paused. 

He looked down at his jacket, then back at her with narrowed eyes. “How did you-” but the look she gave him had him shutting up, because of course she somehow managed to snoop around in his things. She had been sitting on the chair he’d draped this jacket over, and he had no doubt she’d managed a peak at it while he’d been distracted by you. “Yeah. She is special,” he said, and she nodded, “How much did she tell you? About what happened?”

Becca shrugged, handing him the tomatoes before she started picking at the other plant. “Not too much. She just said that my brother helped her out of a really dark place and saved her, and how she wants to be able to spend the rest of her life making up for it,”

Bucky’s heart skipped at that, and he suddenly felt the urge to turn around, go back inside and take you into his arms. He blew out a soft breath, nodding, “Yeah, that’s part of it. She ran away from home, an abusive home, and she would’ve died if she didn’t find me that day. I took her home and let her stay until she felt like she was ready to be on her own again, but…”

Becca paused and looked up at him, “But you fell in love with her already, didn’t you?” she said, not a single trace of judgement or pity in her tone. Bucky nodded slowly, and she tilted her head. “And you didn’t want her to go, because you didn’t want to be alone again.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face. “Is that selfish?”

“She stayed, didn’t she?” Becca shrugged, “You didn’t force her to stay here, did you?”

“No,” he quickly answered, “Of course not. I was prepared to watch her walk right back out of my life if that was what she wanted to do, but… she wanted to stay.”

Becca stood up, making Bucky look up at her from his knelt position. “Then I see nothing selfish about that,” she said, and somehow those words made him feel ten times better about everything, because he had been worried he’d been keeping you from living your life, giving you a place to live in the middle of nowhere when you could be somewhere more lively. 

But you wanted to be here. With him. 

Bucky stood up too, giving her a small smile. “Thanks, Becs,”

She smiled back, beginning to walk back to her car so she could put the tomatoes in the basket she has in her backseat. As they passed by the kitchen window, Bucky looked over and watched you as you washed the dishes, looking relaxed and comfortable and safe inside his home. 

Becca nudged his arm with her elbow, making him tear his eyes off you. “I know she said you saved her, and quite literally at that,” she started, a genuine smile taking over her face. “But I’m pretty sure she saved you too. From a lonely life here all by yourself, with only your hand to keep you company.”

Bucky scoffed out a laugh at that, nudging her right back. “You’re the worst,” he said, but he knew the first part of her statement was true. He believes you saved him just as much as he saved you. 

“You love me,” she said, opening her car door and grabbing the basket. “I’ll get outta your hair soon so you two can get back to mauling each other.”

The sound of loud knocking at twelve in the morning woke both you and Bucky up, your body jumping against his under the sheets. 

It had been just over two weeks since that trip into town, and you and Bucky had been living in pure bliss. He’d ordered you a phone he planned to pick up in town soon, and you’d started to look for jobs on his laptop he rarely used, and you both discussed getting new forms of ID for you since you’d left all of your previous when you ran away. 

On your nightstand was the necklace with the tree charm he’d bought you two weeks ago, and had given you a week ago, and you only take it off when you go to sleep. The reaction he’d gotten when he gave it to you was priceless, and you started crying right then and there, and when you told him that no one had ever gotten you anything before, he almost started crying too. 

You and he had only gone to bed an hour ago before the knocking had woken you up, and Bucky let out a groan as he kept one arm around your waist and rolled onto his side a bit, reaching for his phone. “Who the hell knocks on someone’s door at…” he squinted at the harsh brightness from his phone screen. “Twelve eighteen in the morning?” he grunted, setting his phone aside again. 

But you were already half asleep again, cuddling up against his side. You were wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, the new sets of pyjamas in the dresser drawer being used as lounge wear instead of your sleep attire - something he secretly loved since he’d been very vocal about how good you look in his clothes right from the very start. 

“Ignore it,” you muttered, nuzzling your face against his chest. “They’ll probably go away soon.”

Bucky grunted, too tired to care at that point as well as he leaned back on the pillow. He was almost back to sleep when the sound of knocking jolted you both awake once again, and he cursed under his breath. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he muttered, sitting up in the bed and pushing the sheets off his body. 

You hummed, propping your head on your palm as you looked up at him with tired eyes, and Bucky wanted to quickly find out what the person at his door wanted so you and he could go back to sleep. 

He pulled on a pair of sweats, deciding that answering the door in just his boxers was probably not the best idea, before pulling open the bedroom door and making his way through the house. 

Whoever is at his door started knocking more consistently, and rather obnoxiously, and Bucky gritted his teeth. He forced himself to calm down as he peered through the window next to the door, pulling the curtain back to see who it was. 

It was a man he’d never seen before, and a woman who looked kind of familiar, but Bucky couldn’t place her anywhere specific. He wasn’t even sure if he’s ever seen her, but something about her was familiar, he just didn’t know what it was. 

He let go of the curtain and stepped back, unlocking the door and pulling it open with a neutral expression on his face. “Yeah?” he asked, bracing one hand on the door frame while keeping his other one on the door knob in case he needed to slam it in their faces really quickly. “Can I help you?”

The man lowered his hand, his eyes widening a bit in surprise as if he was expecting a much warmer greeting from someone who’d just been woken up at midnight. “Uh, yeah. I hope you can,” he said, moving to stand back beside the woman. “We’re looking for our daughter. She ran away from home a few weeks ago, and we can’t find her anywhere.”

The woman piped up with a fake sadness in her voice that was almost comical if Bucky hadn’t instantly picked up on what the man just said. “We’ve looked everywhere, and she still hasn’t turned up. We’re just worried sick about her,”

Bucky straightened up at that, his eyes flickering between the two before he shrugged causally and shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen her,” he said, and the man narrowed his eyes. 

“You don’t even know what she looks like,” he pointed out, and Bucky narrowed his eyes right back, then realized that if these were in fact your parents, he might be coming off a little too protective and guarded for them to believe him when he says he hasn’t seen you. 

“That’s true,” Bucky said, softening his gaze as he lowered his shoulders he didn’t realize had raised almost to his ears. “But I haven’t had anyone come by in months. Just my sister, so again, I don’t think I’ve seen her.”

The woman lifted a photo up and all but shoved it in his face, making Bucky reel back a bit. “This is her. It’s a little old, maybe two or three years ago, but it’s the best one we have of her,” she said, and Bucky held back a grunt as he took his hand off the door frame and plucked the photo from her. 

This was the best photo they have of you? Just one glance at the picture, Bucky could tell it definitely is you, but definitely isn’t from two or three years ago. You looked like a teenager in this photo, not twenty three or twenty four like you’d be if it were from two or three years ago. 

It looked like an old yearbook photo, maybe from your second year of high school. What pissed him off even more though, was the obvious black eye you had in the photo. It was faded a bit, like maybe you’d gotten it just a few days before the picture was taken, but still. The proof that you’d been putting up with this for years was staring right back at him with younger features, and even more innocent eyes. 

The photo was old, not only in regards to your age, but also physically. The edges were worn and the picture itself was dirty, like it had been sitting in an untouched drawer for years before someone picked it up again. It was given the same treatment you’d been given. 

Bucky pursed his lips instead of locking his jaw, and he handed the photo back to the woman. “Yeah, no, sorry. I haven’t seen her,” he said, beginning to close the door when the sound of the floorboard in his hallway creaked, and Bucky stepped in the line of sight of the hall just as your dad tried to peer over his shoulder at the sound. 

He flared his nose, his shoulders lifting slightly. “Does someone else live with you?” he asked, “Maybe they’ve seen her-”

“No,” Bucky said, standing firm when your dad tried to take a step into his house, and he found it very easy to lie to these people, especially after everything he knew they did to you. “No one else is here. That was just my cat, who will try to escape the longer I keep this door open. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

Your dad tensed up even more, visibly growing angrier by the minute, but so was Bucky. Before either of them could say anything else, your mom stepped in. “Of course,” she said, pulling on your dad’s arm to tug him away. “Thank you for your time. We’re sorry for coming by so late. Have a good night.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything. He simply stayed where he was and watched them get into their car, and he waited until the tail lights had disappeared beyond the trees before he shut and locked the door. 

When he turned, he saw you peeking your head out of the doorway of the bedroom, and you looked just as terrified as you did the day he met you. Bucky quickly walked over to you and tried to pull you into his arms, but you placed your hands on his chest, keeping a sliver of distance between you and him. 

“That was- they were- my… my-” you stuttered, clearly having heard that whole interaction. 

“Shh, hey. I know. I know, sweetheart,” he said, his hands gently grasping your upper arms. “It’s okay. They’re gone, okay? They don’t know that you’re here, I promise. They’re gone.”

You were shaking as you nodded your head, and you finally let him pull you into his arms, your face pressing up against his chest. You melted against him, and he felt the warm wetness of your tears against his skin, making him hold you a bit tighter. “I saw her,” you whispered, clinging onto him. “My mom. At the store a couple weeks ago when we went into town to get some clothes and the-the Plan B. I saw her, right before we left.”

Bucky tensed up at that, because that was where he knew your mom from. He’d only been able to catch a glimpse of her while you tugged him out of the store, but it was enough for him to remember what she looked like, and how scared you’d suddenly become that day. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other ran up and down your back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You cried quietly, shrugging. “I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to bring attention to myself or risk her seeing me and taking me back there and-”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning his head and kissing your temple. He could feel the way you were starting to get worked up, and that was the last thing he wanted right now, for you to be back in that place mentally. “It’s okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re not gonna go back there, okay? You’re home, baby. Here with me. You’re safe.”

You looked up at him with wet eyes, and he had to hold himself back from going after your parents and giving them both the same treatment they’d given you. “Okay,” you whispered, then wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly. 

Bucky picked you up and carried you back to bed, and he cuddled under the covers with you once more, letting you lay half of your body on top of his. He hoped you could feel the protective way he held you, and hoped you knew it was his way of telling you that he meant every word he said. 

You are home now, here with him. He’d never let anyone hurt you or take you back to that horrible place you’d come from. He’d never let you go through that kind of pain ever again, and he’d never let your parents near you ever again.

A week had passed since that night your parents came by, and it was still unsettling how they managed to stumble upon the very house you were now living in, even though Bucky had told them he’d never seen you. 

You’d come very close to being found by them that night, and you’d been a little on edge ever since, so Bucky suggested postponing the trip to town to get you a new phone and to get new copies of your ID, because it was obvious your parents had been snooping around the area in search of you. 

It was nice out, the last few weeks with good weather dwindling down before the fall chill took over and it became Winter. 

You were sitting under the canopy attached to the front of his house, your legs pulled up as you sat on the swinging seat he’d built with his best friend the second year he was up here after realizing he needed more places to sit on outside in case he had company. 

Open on your lap was a book, one of the many ones he had tucked away on the shelf in his living room he shamefully hadn’t touched in a very long time. It was okay though, because you’d become quite fond of the collection, and you were putting it to way better use than he ever had. 

He was cleaning up the area around the front of his house, putting things away to prepare for the harsher weather that would be coming his way in the following weeks. He was currently making sure he was stocked up on firewood so he’d be able to keep the house warm, and he was in the middle of chopping up what remained of a tree that had fallen over during the last bad storm when he heard the sound of tires on the dirt path that led to his house. 

Bucky paused, briefly wondering if he forgot that his sister was coming by again, but then he saw the same car your parents were in that night a week ago, and he stood up straight. “Sweetheart,” he called out to you, keeping his eyes on the car as it came closer to the house, still partially hidden by the trees. “Go inside for a minute, okay?”

He heard the way you put your foot down to stop the chair from swinging. “What? Why?” you asked, but then he heard your sharp intake of breath, and you quickly got up and headed inside, closing the heavy door behind you. 

Bucky rolled his shoulders just as the car drove up and stopped beside his truck, and this time he didn’t even try to be nice. “I told you, I haven’t seen your daughter,” he said to your dad when he got out of the car, your mother following his lead afterwards. 

Your dad flashed him a so obviously fake smile as he strode over to him, but paused abruptly when he saw the axe Bucky was still holding in his hand. It didn’t scare him away fully though as he nodded towards the house. “I thought you said no one else lived with you?” he asked, and Bucky froze for a second, worried that they’d actually been able to see you before he quickly told you to go inside. 

But then he saw how your dad nodded towards the swinging chair that was still swaying as if someone had just been sitting on it and had gotten up in a hurry. Bucky sighed deeply, before shrugging, “Must be the wind,” he said, “It’s pretty strong out here.”

Your dad’s smile faltered, and he took another small step forward. “And that book?” he asked, nodding towards the copy of Wuthering Heights you’d been reading before abandoning your spot on the swing to retreat inside. “I’m sorry, but you don’t seem like the type to read that kind of book.”

He was trying to get him to admit to having seen you, and possibly to hiding you inside, but Bucky was done at this point. Your parents had a lot of nerve to, not only treat you like shit, but to come onto his property twice and try to snoop around as if they had any right at all to do so. 

“I’m sorry too,” Bucky said, keeping his grip loose on the handle of the axe as he took a few steps of his own. “That you think you have any business coming onto another man’s property and sticking your noses into other people’s shit. You must think you’re royalty or something if you think you can do whatever the fuck you want, say whatever you want, when you’re on my land.”

Your mom visibly shrunk at that, and she stepped away instantly as your dad swallowed nervously. “Well-well, I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. I was just-”

“Accusing me of something? Trying to stick your nose in my business?” Bucky cut him off, coming to stand only a few feet away from your dad. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, man. Clearly no one has ever taught your old ass a lesson, huh? That you can’t just walk up to people and talk out of your ass and not expect to have it handed to you in return.”

Your dad took a staggering step back, his eyes wide as he pushed your mother around the front of the car towards the passenger side door. “You’re crazy. All I did was come by to ask-”

“You know exactly what you came by to do,” Bucky said, getting right up in your dad’s face. “It won’t work here. Now get the fuck off my property before I make you regret ever coming here in the first place.”

Your dad looked terrified, and Bucky held back a laugh at the sight as he watched him quickly turn around and pull open the door. “You’re fucking insane,” he spat, getting into the car. “I know my daughter is in there. I know it. But you can have that little brat. You hear me?” he yelled, looking towards the house again. “He can have you! Because we don’t want your spoiled ass anymore! You’re gonna wish you never left, because no one else will ever want to put up with you or want you! Good luck with that little-”

The sound of the blade of the axe hitting the left headlight of the car shut him up, and your dad scrambled to start the car just as Bucky swung the axe back and took out the other headlight. 

“You’re insane!” your dad scoffed, backing the car up rather carelessly and nearly hitting a tree. 

“I’m glad you figured that out,” Bucky called back, watching the way the car sped down the dirt path and disappeared beyond the trees again. 

He turned, planning to go find you in the house and promise you that they were gone for good, but then he saw you standing next to the swing, a small smile on your relieved face. 

Bucky dropped the axe instantly, meeting you halfway when you started to walk quickly towards him. He picked you up and held you against his body as your legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed you back as soon as your lips touched his. “I can’t believe you did that to my dad’s car,” you said against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair. “He’s spent more money on that thing than on anything else.”

He grunted against your lips as he held you tight, his forehead pressing against yours. “I was gonna do a lot worse,” he said, walking over to the swing and sitting down on it, making you sit on his lap. “They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. I promise you that. I have you now. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you ever again.”

You were in a much better mood this time than you were the night your parents swung by at midnight, and he was so happy you hadn’t slipped back into that mindset they’d put you in before. You didn’t look scared or worried or anxious, but happy. Genuinely happy and relieved. “I know,” you whispered, cupping his face in your soft hands. “I love you, Bucky.” you said, and he felt his heart spike at that, and the biggest smile formed on his face. 

“I love you,” he said back instantly, watching as an equally big smile formed on your face. “Damn it, I wanted to say it first.”

You laughed, pulling him into another kiss. “You did everything for me, and you saved my life,” you said against his mouth, “It’s only fair that I got to say it first.” 

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, “There’s nothing fair about that, but I’ll let you have it anyway,” he said, and you smiled even bigger before pulling him closer and kissing him once again.

I have returned with a stupidly long fic. I hope you enjoyed it.🧡

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name - Master List

summary: Special Agent Bucky Barnes has been known by many names. He’s used to taking on new identities and dismantling criminal enterprises from the inside. When he’s tasked with infiltrating Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife to the head of Hydra… you.  pairings: bucky x reader series word count: ~145k warnings: canon level violence, implications of sexual assault, arson, drug trafficking, torture, smut (18+, will be marked by chapter), slow burn

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title.  { William Shakespeare }

Keep reading

[likeahorribledream]

𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝚄𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

A bad break-up pushes you to move to a small town in California where you meet Natasha who offers you a job. You work alongside the men from the 107th motorcycle clubs who all welcome you with open arms. Amongst them there's a certain brunette who everyone warns you to stay away from, but as you’ll soon find out; it’s a lot harder to do than it seems.

STATUTS: Completed.

GENRE: Biker!Au. Angst and fluff.

WARNINGS: All warnings are identified on every chapter.

» ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: ɴɪɢʜᴛꜰᴀʟʟ, ᴄᴀ 8.9k

You move to Nightfall to start over and that's where you meet Natasha. A young woman who will help you heal and she introduces you to her coworkers: the 107th motorcycle club.

» ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ: ᴛᴏᴏᴛꜱ 7.1k

An unexpected phone call forces you to revisit some painful memories, bringing you and Bucky closer together.

» ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘᴏᴠᴇʀ 5.7k

Bucky doesn’t want to let you go, but it doesn’t seem like you want to either.

» ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ: ʜᴇᴀᴛᴡᴀᴠᴇ 5.3k

A heatwave hits Nightfall and Bucky's obvious attraction to you creates friction with his best friend.

» ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ: ʀᴇᴘᴜᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 7.6k

Bucky gets into a fight with Steve and you meet a new kind of trouble on your way home.

» CHAPTER SIX: SURPRISE 6.2k

Jace shows up at the garage and leaves a mark.

» CHAPTER SEVEN: BREATHLESS 5k

Bucky has locked himself up in the diner’s bathroom but it might not all be as it seems.

» CHAPTER EIGHT: BRUISES 4.7k

Bucky finds your bruises and sees red while a certain police officer realizes that you are more than just Bucky’s latest conquest.

» CHAPTER NINE: AWAY 6.2k

You spend the weekend with Bucky and some things are said that can never be unsaid.

» CHAPTER TEN: CONFESSIONS 5.9k

You experience a lot of firsts with Bucky during your weekend away and Brock puts his plan into motion.

» CHAPTER ELEVEN: PROBLEMS 6.3k

Bucky and Steve need to come up with a way to keep you safe while figuring out how to handle Brock’s recklessness.

» CHAPTER TWELVE: ALLIES 4.9k

Bucky and Steve confront Brock and alliances are formed.

» CHAPTER THIRTEEN: UNINVITED GUESTS 4.8k

Tension is at an all time high following Brock's threats, the whole club is on high alert.

» CHAPTER FOURTEEN: CAUGHT 6.5k

The club goes into full lockdown and Nat confronts Bucky about what she saw the previous night.

» CHAPTER FIFTEEN: CONTROL 7.7k

Brock goes against the club determined to be the only one walking out alive.

» CHAPTER SIXTEEN: AFTERMATH 4.1k

You help Bucky to deal with the aftermath of the fight with Brock and he reveals to you the involvement of Jace in Brock's plan. You have a difficult choice to make.

» CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: FORWARD/BACKWARD 6.2k

With Jace out of your life, you feel ready to move forward in your relationship with Bucky, but he might not be feeling the same.

» CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: UNCHARTED TERRITORY 5.6k

You go back home for the weekend.

» CHAPTER NINETEEN: HIS QUEEN 8.8k

Every story has to end but will you and Bucky get your happily ever after?

» DRABBLE: PRINCESS 0.79k

You get the fairytale ending you've been dreaming of.

[rainedravens]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[smorgaswhored]

null & void masterlist

pairing: sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut (p-in-v & unprotected, oral - f!receiving, fingering, creampie, lots of dirty talk, edging, p-pronouns, light p-inspection, mentions of somno and free use), dom!Bucky, power imbalance, sugar daddy / sugar baby dynamic, age gap (reader in mid-to-late twenties while Bucky’s in his early forties), mentioned illness/death of parents (minor characters), money troubles, i.e., debt, bills, etc., alcohol consumption, one instance of smoking, no mentions of y/n

word count: 31.8k

summary: The arrangement is simple enough: you give him friendship, he gives you a better life. But between the private dinners cozied up in a booth and the charity galas pressed to his side, it’s getting harder for you to hold up your end of the bargain when you’re starting to feel things for your sugar daddy that were not included in the contract…

PARTS:

part one

part two

part three

DRABBLES:

coming soon…

thanks for reading!🤍 check out more in my masterlist

[jamesbbcrnes]

PEOPLE WATCHING

SUMMARY: after the funeral of his sister, bucky finds himself sitting in a park. your dog crashes into him, spills his coffee, and the rest is history.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

WARNINGS: death, sibling loss, alzheimer’s disease, grief, angst, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n (lmk what/if i should add other tags, i’m so bad at it lmao)

NOTE: hi everyone!!! this is my first tumblr fic so a little nervous 🙈. this is sort of loosely based off of my own attempt at grappling at grief?? my grandad passed away a year ago this month, and he was my best friend. my interests were mainly from interests of his own, like marvel. he was my favourite person ever. grief truly is love with just no place to go, and especially this month i resonate with that so deeply. i could talk about him forever, but i don’t won’t trauma dump the past year on my first fic post lmao— just know i love him very much. anyway!! i hope you enjoy this, hopefully the first of many. thanks for reading!! 🫶🏼

inspired by sam fender’s song, people watching.

It's a beautiful day out in Brooklyn.

The sun peeks through the clouds, shining golden rays down into the park. People are soaking up the sunshine, there are teenagers running around with their friends like they own the place, children playing games with their parents, and others just passing through. Joy radiates throughout the park, and yet here Bucky sits; grieving, aching, longing.

He misses the life he used to live. He misses the hustle and bustle of the Barnes household, the laughing of one of his sisters and the reprimanding of the other, the soft and soothing voice of his mother and the rasp of his father's gravelly voice from indulging himself to one too many cigarettes. He misses being roped into playing games with little sisters, or hauling them onto his back when one of them complained their legs were tired and he'd pretend to be put out, groaning something about his back, and they would giggle at his theatrics.

He misses when his mother insisted Steve stay for dinner, and every time he tried to decline, Bucky's mother would shake her head and practically drag him inside.

Someone's got to feed you, she'd always say, guiding him in by his shoulders, I'm worried you'll wither away!

And today, Bucky had buried the last of his past.

Rebecca had been suffering with Alzheimer's for a few years. It started off with small lapses in her memory that were just written off as forgetfulness. But then it started to occur more frequently, and then confusion followed, her personality started to alter, and she was getting stuck in memories that had long since passed.

This day was inevitable, but it doesn't make it hurt any less than it does.

Bucky had been there when he could manage, when Rebecca's daughter, Sarah, had told him she was having a good day because seeing Bucky sometimes put her in distress. Sometimes she'd look at him and remember Bucky as he was now—six foot of pure muscle with a glinting vibranium arm. Then there were others where she would blink and suddenly she transported back to an earlier time, to just a little girl clutching onto her brother extra tight, making him swear to 'fight the bad guys and then just come back home.'

When she was that little girl from the 40's, more often than not she would be angry. Shouting and telling him that he lied, that she waited and waited but her big brother never came home. Then she'd catch the glint of sleek black metal under his left jacket sleeve, and tears would stream from her eyes and the anger would morph into horror of what had happened to him.

Who did that to you, Jamie?

Why would they do that?

Ma will be home soon, she'll be so happy you're back home.

That last one always made his heart ache.

But sometimes that little girl would be happy to see him. Sometimes that little girl would insist he sat on the edge of her bed whilst she chatted about her day, naming people and places that were from a time long gone, but he would sit and indulge her anyway. Bucky would nod like he understood, make a comment that would send her giggling, and suddenly his heart would crack wide open at the sound.

His little sister, sitting in her room in the nursing home, clutching his hand with her frail one whilst she spoke.

His little sister, dying before he did.

It shouldn't have to be this way, but it was.

Just another thing to add to the long list of things that Hydra had so cruelly stolen from him.

He had left the funeral feeling numb. Sam had attended with him, sat next to him in the church pew whilst Sarah and her brother presented their written eulogy to their mother. They talk about her passion for teaching and how they grew up in a house full of laughter and love, of park trips after school and Fridays that were exclusively for movies and pizza. They talk about the endless kindness that lived in their mother's heart that she extended to everyone she had crossed paths without fail. 

Proof that Bucky's little sister had lived a wonderful life, one that she so rightfully deserved. 

But looking at the service portrait of her made his chest tighten and his eyes burn. Weathered sunkissed skin, laughter lines etched into the corners of her smiling mouth, greying hair replacing the once dark chesnut brown that she shared with her brother. 

Everyone else looks at it and sees Rebecca as she had been before she died, but Bucky looks at it and sees a younger version staring back at him. He sees the girl before he was shipped off to England, her smooth porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and that signature Barnes grin that their mother always said they inherited from their father.

Bucky swiped a lone tear from his cheek and clenched his jaw tight, looking away from the portrait before he let himself break completely.

There was a wake after the service, but Bucky didn't attend. He didn't feel like he belonged, he felt like an intruder— even during the service, filled with so many faces he didn't know. Rebecca's family and friends, people she loved and who loved her back. 

At his own sister's funeral, he felt like a stranger.

When it came to a close, Bucky wished Sarah and her brother well and slipped out quietly through the church doors. Sam offered to drive him home, but Bucky declined. He'd done enough for him already, and Bucky wanted to be alone for a while. 

So, he walked. 

There was no end goal, just unsure of what to do with himself which is how he ended up here— with a coffee from the café a block away in his hand as he sat on a park bench, people watching.

A woman marches through the park in heels, clicking with a mild sense of urgency against the paved ground. She holds her phone to her ear, her expression pinched. Bad news, or maybe just an irritating coworker. Judging by her attire and the clip of ID on her blazer label, she looks like she works in an office.

Bucky's gaze shifts to a father who jogs after his small daughters. Two identical twin girls that evidently have a penchant of mischief, with rosy cheeks, honey-blonde ringlets that bounce wildly as they bolt down the path in a fit of giggles with a stolen bag swinging between them from their hands. He doesn't look upset, he just grins as he shouts out a promise of catching them as follows after them. 

A young couple then walks past him, a boy and a girl. His arm's wrapped around her shoulders and hers is wrapped around his waist, tucked under his denim jacket. They look happy, laughing at each other and grinning like they're know something nobody else does, fingers intertwined together at her shoulder. 

He doesn't know how long he sits there for, observing the people strolling through. His coffee stays untouched, his hand curled around it still as he rests it on his knee. Bucky's attention is suddenly caught by someone's dog, a golden retriever that is seemingly on the mission of its life, as it slips through someone's spilt puddle of water on the path. The dog careens right into his knees with a yelp as its head barrels into solid bone. Cooled coffee from Bucky's takeaway cup spills and stains the dog's golden fur with espresso.

He barely has time to blink and register what just happened before the dog is scrambling back up onto four paws and tilting its head, ears perked at the sound of a voice yelling, "Daisy!"

Bucky follows Daisy's line of sight to see you jogging down the path, out of breath and swiping hair that's fallen from your ponytail away from your face. Daisy sits by his feet and wags her tail like she's the best girl in the world. Your gaze catches Bucky's, and then lowers slowly to the bitter liquid that drips down his fingers and the side of his cup, the stain on his trouser leg and then the damp patch of fur on the side of Daisy's neck.

You rub at your face with a resigned sigh.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," You breathe out, "That's... I can pay for that—"

"It's all good, it's cold anyway," Bucky dismisses quietly, "I'm sorry that Daisy smells of espresso."

You laugh softly, "Well, honestly, there's worse things that she can smell of trust me."

"I'll bet." He murmurs, watching Daisy sniff at his coffee-soaked fingers and deciding that she should lick off the excess.

Bucky cracks the first real smile he has in days, and scratches behind her ears. Daisy wiggles happily.

You huff at her audacity, gesturing weakly to the space beside him, "Mind if I sit for a minute?"

Bucky shakes his head, "All yours."

You practically collapse into the space next to him.

"She must be half Whippet," You sigh, looking down at Daisy with furrowed brows as she wiggles closer to him and pushes her head insistently into his fingers.

"She looks very Golden Retriever to me." Bucky comments.

He stops scratching behind her ears for just a second, and Daisy snuffles as she whips around to look at him in betrayal.

Daisy nudges as his hand and he arches one amused eyebrow, fingers slowly resuming their gentle scratches. Her tail whips from side to side in a blur of happiness.

You smile, and there's a moment of silence where you both watch Daisy and her wagging tail before you offer him your name.

"James," He introduces," Well, Bucky— people usually call me Bucky."

"That's an... unusual nickname for James."

Bucky chuckles, tips of his ears turning pink, "Buchanan's my middle name."

"Old school, I like it." You quip.

Conversation slowly starts to flow, and there's an odd sense of familiarity between you. There's no rush to think of something to say to combat the usual awkwardness people sometimes experience when meeting new people. Instead, any silence between your sentences comes as a comfort more than anything else without having that need to fill the gap.

Daisy lays down between you, panting softly, her head resting on Bucky's shoe.

You smile, "She likes you."

Bucky blinks, "I'm sure she likes everyone."

"She doesn't actually," You tell him, "You must've passed her test."

"What test is that?" He chuckles, and you sigh with shrug, "I don't know, but she secretly judges people and stares into your soul with those brown eyes of hers. If only I could figure out what's on that checklist."

"Free pets," Bucky offers, "And scratches. Unlimited treats."

You click your fingers like he's cracked the code, and Daisy pushes herself up and whips around at the sharp sound but smacks her nose into your knee and you wince. But in true golden retriever fashion, she shakes it off and rests her head atop your knee instead like nothing happened.

You're not entirely sure how long the two of you stay seated on that bench talking, but it's enough time for Daisy to fall asleep under your legs for shade.

Bucky asks about your job and you tell him about your work as a kindergarten teacher and your love for it. The kids who look up to you and enjoy every class you teach and how they call you miss so sweetly when they want help. You tell him about that childlike determination that makes their eyebrows furrow and their tongues stick out the corner of their mouths when they want to get something right and how you find it endearing.

When you ask about his job, Bucky answers vaguely about a job within the government. He says he can't talk too much about it, and you respect that.

You both fall into the topic of reading for a while, and Bucky looks at you like you've grown three heads when you tell him you've never read the Hobbit.

"I'm just— I don't know," You laugh, flustered, "I've just never read it!"

"Well, you should," Bucky says like his words carries great importance.

You roll your eyes, "Maybe I'll give it a go, since you're so insistent."

"You should." He repeats simply, and you huff out a soft laugh.

"What're you doing at the park in a suit, anyway?" You ask him with a tilt of your head, "On your super-secret government job lunch break?"

Bucky thinks about lying for a moment. Laughing and saying yeah, and making something up. But he's tired.

He's so tired. Of trying to navigate the world as it was now, of missing home, his parents, his siblings and Steve.

He's so tired of the resentment he still holds in his chest for Steve leaving, the overwhelming guilt of what Hydra made him become, of trying to be normal when he was anything but that.

But in this park, on this bench with a dog napping on his foot and her owner sitting beside him, talking to him normally without walking on eggshells, Bucky feels that tension in him loosen. 

You've treated him like a friend, despite having only known each other for mere hours, as someone who deserves your kindness.

So, he tells the truth. 

"I had a funeral to go to," Bucky murmurs, "it was my sister's."

You blink.

"Oh," Your voice is soft as it quietens, a small frown starting to pull at your lips, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have. . ."

Bucky shakes his head, flashing you a quick smile, small and reassuring, "It's alright, you couldn't have known. My sister and I, we. . ."

His words trail off and then he shrugs, lowering his head, "It's complicated. She had Alzheimer's."

"That must've been difficult." 

Bucky nods, "Yeah, she. . . she had her days, good and bad, y'know? Sometimes she'd be present, and then others she'd be. . . stuck in her head, getting the days confused and not knowing where she was."

"Can't imagine what that was like." You whisper softly.

"Yeah," He breathes in deeply and holds it for a moment before he exhales shakily, catching the time fromt the watch on his wrist, "I've uh— I've got to go to her house actually, start going through stuff and help clear it out."

You frown, "Now?"

"No, but I'd rather get it over with, so it won't be hanging over my head like some dark cloud." He rubs his hands over his thighs, his jaw clenched, "I promised her kids."

"I get that," You nod, slow and soft, picking at a loose thread on Daisy's lead, "Would you. . . would you like me to walk you there?"

Bucky blinks, his head turning quickly at the offer, "You. . . that's, uh— you don't—”

You wave a hand lazily in the air, "It's alright, I'd like to. But, of course, I'd understand if you didn't want me to."

Bucky lets the offer sink in before giving a slow nod, "No, that would. . . be nice."

You wake Daisy up with a soft shake to her back, and she stumbles up to her feet sleepily, but her tail's already starting to wag ferociously.

Bucky tells you where you're going and then you both stand from the bench, Bucky throwing his takeaway cup in a trashcan, and start to walk. 

You fall into step beside him with Daisy's lead wrapped around your hand and clutched tight as she trots in front of you.

Neither of you talk now. There's no need to fill the silence with mindless chatter, you just accompany him to the house. A solid presence beside him, grounding and there if he needs someone.

Just to remind him that he's not alone.

After a few minutes of walking, Bucky clears his throat and slows to a stop outside a well-kept brownstone, "This is me."

A large door awaits him, No. 80 in gold lettering plastered on the glass pane above it. Two small flower pots of blooming red-and-yellow tulips stand on either side of the doorway with an old doormat between them.

Bucky looks up and swallows thickly at the sight.

You notice, "You can take a moment, before you go in."

He shakes his head, "If I don't go in now, I don't think I ever will." 

Bucky turns to look at you.

"Thanks, for walking me here."

You give him a small smile, "I actually just live on the next street over road, so it was no problem. . . good luck in there."

He huffs out a nervous laugh. Daisy nudges his hand with her nose, like she can sense the wariness in him. He gives her one last scratch behind her ears, and she licks his hand as he pulls away to grasp onto the stair railing, and mutters a quiet thank you as he starts up the stairs.

You take that as your cue. 

You continue down the street, hearing the click of Bucky’s shoes get quieter as the distance grows. You don't get very far until you pause for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. Daisy nudges at your leg when you stop. Your hand gently pats her on the nose before you turn on your heel.

"Hey, Bucky?" 

He head lifts from where he was staring at the lock, the key half raised, "Yeah?"

"127 is my door number, if you... ever feel like you need someone to talk to, to listen to you," You clutch Daisy's lead tighter in your grasp, "You don't always have to be alone, Bucky, you're welcome anytime."

His heart clenches at your generosity, "That's... thank you."

You nod, "It's okay. Take care of yourself!"

"You too." Bucky says softly.

You give him a wave and parting smile that turns into a huff of laughter as Daisy barks in his direction and jumps in the air, "C'mon, silly girl!"

A girl and her dog made of sunshine.

Bucky never would've thought the misery of the day would start to dampen, but it did. And he never would've guessed that the light peering through the darkness would be in the form of a kindergarten teacher and her clumsy golden retriever.

Everything happens for a reason, his mother used to say.

Bucky used to roll his eyes and wave her off like it wasn’t something worth remembering. But perhaps his mother had a point.

Maybe finding his footing in this new world wouldn't be so hard after all.

Maybe it would just take one bark at a time.

[juniebjonesin]

ᴄᴀʟʟ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ʟᴏꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ › bucky barnes doesn’t know what to do with freedom. so he does the only thing he can think of—he makes a flyer.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ › bucky x female reader ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ › mentions of alcohol/drinking, handyman bucky, post tfatws, lowk grumpy x sunshine, semi slow burn, some fluff, heavy banter, yearning to the max, acts of service love language, strangers to something more, domesticity, first kiss, soft bucky, reader is a little too trusting but it works out, not beta read we die like men. ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ › 10.9k

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ › guys if this is ass plz lie, ive lost my writers spark entirely and this is something i had to drag out from the bottom of the barrel so i apologize in advance.

Bucky's staring at a blank wall in his apartment.

It’s been blank for three months.

He hasn’t put up art, hasn’t mounted shelves. Hasn’t even leaned anything against it to pretend he might one day decide. The paint is that neutral off-white landlords choose when they don’t want tenants getting ideas, it reflects the late afternoon light in a way that makes the room feel larger than it is.

Larger. Emptier.

He folds his arms over his chest and studies the wall like it’s a problem he’s been assigned.

He’s “free” now. No handler. No mission briefs. No coded directives slipped under doors or encrypted messages lighting up burner phones, no one telling him where to go, who to be, or what mistakes to fix. He thought freedom would feel big. He thought it would be loud in a good way, like fireworks or a door kicked open. He thought it would feel like breathing after being underwater too long.

It doesn't.

It feels… empty.

The kind of empty that echoes. The kind that makes every sound in the apartment too sharp, the refrigerator humming, pipes ticking in the walls, the faint traffic noise drifting up from the street.

He shifts his weight.

Bucky knows what you need to have in today's world to do something, to be something that matters. He doesn’t have half of it. He never went to college, the war kind of interrupted that. He doesn't know where he would start with a resume, “Assassin, covert operative and international fugitive” doesn’t format well in bullet points. He tried LinkedIn, once, then deleted it in under five minutes after they asked what his minimum salary was at a past job.

He doesn't have a plan, he's got what he always thought he wanted from his life and now that he has it, it's collecting dust in his empty apartment.

He knows what he does have. A truck. Old yet reliable, rebuilt twice over with his own hands. Mechanical skills. He can fix almost anything with an engine. Most things without one. A terrifying resting face, that he’s been told scares even the brutalist of criminals away. More than once.

And time. So much time.

He runs a hand over his jaw, exhales, and finally looks away from the wall. He tried therapy. He still goes once a week where he sits on a couch across from a woman who asks him what he wants now that he’s allowed to want things.

He doesn’t have an answer.

He tried the gym. That just made him feel like he was waiting for something.

He tried walking around Brooklyn without a destination. That lasted two hours before he found himself counting exits and scanning rooftops out of habit. Freedom is supposed to come with direction, that’s what people imply. You earn it, and then you use it.

Bucky doesn’t know how to do that, how to do freedom. He moves into the kitchen, if you can call it that. It’s more of an open counter situation, and pulls open a drawer. Inside are exactly three pens, a rubber band, and a folded takeout menu.

He grabs a pen. Stands there for a long moment. Then he finds a pad of paper in another drawer that thick, slightly yellow, the kind meant for grocery lists and tears off a sheet. He sits at the small table by the window. The city moves outside. Car horns, voices, someone laughing. Someone arguing, a siren in the distance.

He stares at the blank page. He doesn’t need a career, per say. He needs… something to do. Something simple. Something useful. So he writes in block letters.

NEED HELP?

He pauses. That’s vague, he thinks, but maybe vague is good. He continues. Adding in things like, Protection. Heavy lifting. Fixing stuff.

He considers crossing out “stuff.” Leaves it. He taps the pen against the table thinking with a hum, people won’t call a stranger without reassurance.

He sighs and writes: Not a serial killer.

He leans back and stares at it. It’s terrible. And honest.

He adds his name and cut little strips into the page, writing his number on each one as a DIY tearoff. He learned that word from Sam when he told him he should look up some DIY key holders for his apartment.

He studies the finished product. It looks like something a bored teenager would tape to a telephone pole as a joke. So he makes another one.

And another.

By the time the light shifts toward evening, there are fifteen slightly crooked, slightly uneven flyers spread across his table. He stares at them like they might explain themselves. This is stupid, he thinks to himself. This is civilian nonsense. And it is defintely not a plan. But at least it’s something, and it's better than staring at a blank wall trying to guess how many layers of paint are on it.

He grabs a roll of tape from under the sink, shrugs into his jacket, and gathers the stack. The hallway outside his apartment smells faintly like old carpet and someone’s overcooked dinner. He heads down the stairs instead of taking the elevator, an old habit, and steps out into the early evening air.

Brooklyn hums.

He’s lived here long enough now that the rhythm of it doesn’t jolt him anymore. It’s background noise instead of threat assessment, mostly. He tapes the first flyer to a lamppost outside his building, presses the tape flat with his thumb and steps back.

It looks ridiculous, he moves on to the next one anyway.

He tapes one outside a laundromat, another near a bus stop, one by a small grocery store on the corner. He hesitates outside a coffee shop, then shrugs and sticks one to the bulletin board already crowded with yoga class ads and guitar lessons and “ROOMMATE WANTED” strips.

He doesn’t overthink it.

If he overthinks it, he’ll stop.

By the time he’s done, the stack is gone and his hands are slightly sticky from tape residue. He stands on the sidewalk, truck parked at the curb, and looks around. That’s it. That’s his grand re-entry into civilian life.

A handful of flyers that say “Not a serial killer.”

He huffs a quiet, humorless laugh and climbs into his truck.

Three days pass.

Nothing.

His phone remains silent except for spam calls and a pharmacy reminder. He tells himself that’s expected. That people use apps now, platforms and ratings with verified accounts. Not hand-scrawled paper tabs.

On the fourth day, he walks past the lamppost outside his building. The flyer is still there completely untouched. No numbers torn off. Rain has wrinkled the edges slightly, but the ink hasn’t bled. He stares at it longer than necessary thinking maybe he should take them down.

Before someone reports him.

Before someone thinks it’s suspicious. Before he has to admit that even offering help isn’t enough to make someone need him.

He leaves it up.

A few blocks away, you’re struggling with a box labeled “KITCHEN???” in thick black marker.

The label is inaccurate. It contains exactly one mug, three mismatched plates, and an alarming number of tangled charging cables. You’re sweating. You’re slightly overwhelmed yet feeling the most giddy you had in years.

You’re trying to balance the box against your hip while fishing your keys out of your bag with the other hand. That’s when you see it.

The flyer, taped slightly crooked to the lamppost.

NEED HELP? Rides. Heavy lifting. Fixing stuff. Not a serial killer. – Bucky 718-325-7038

You blink.

Then you laugh. Out loud and it echoes a little on the sidewalk, surprising even you.

“Not a serial killer,” you repeat under your breath. “Well. That’s reassuring.”

You shift the box to your other hip and step closer.

The paper is slightly damp at the edges. The handwriting is bold, deliberate. Careful in a way that suggests the person writing it wasn’t joking, exactly. Just… blunt. There are little handmade tear-off tabs at the bottom with a phone number.

None of them have been taken.

You glance up and down the street. It’s early afternoon. People moving, cars passing, no one paying attention. You tug one of the tabs free. The paper rips with a soft, decisive sound. You fold it once and tuck it into your back pocket.

“Just in case,” you murmur to yourself, like that makes it reasonable.

You don’t actually intend to call. But something about it, about the absurd honesty that makes this new neighborhood feel slightly less intimidating. Like there are real people here.

Like maybe you didn’t just move into a city of strangers.

You juggle your box again and finally get the building door open. Inside, the hallway smells like old wood and someone’s incense. You don’t know a single soul here.

Not one.

After six hours in Brooklyn you have a new apartment, new job starting Monday, no furniture besides a mattress you haven’t unwrapped yet. You drop the box inside your door and lean back against it, exhaling.

You did it. You moved. This means you’re brave now. It also means you’re also starving, sweaty and slightly terrified. You pull the little tab out of your pocket and look at it again.

Bucky. Not a serial killer.

You snort softly, slipping it into your purse that sat in the kitchen, if you can call it that, next to an array of takeout menus left littered on the counter by the previous tenant. Just in case. You sit back on your heels, breathing slightly heavier than necessary, and let your gaze drift to the small strip of paper sitting on the counter.

It looks small there. Almost insignificant.

Like it couldn’t possibly matter.

You push yourself up with a quiet exhale, brushing dust from your palms as you take in the apartment again—really take it in this time. The stacks of boxes are a little less intimidating than they were this morning. You’ve made progress. There’s a mug in the sink now, your mug. A hoodie draped over the back of the door. Your shoes kicked off by the wall like you plan on staying.

It doesn’t feel like a stranger’s place anymore.

Not entirely.

You move slowly through the space, opening a box here, shifting something there. You line your toiletries along the bathroom sink, straighten the sheets on the mattress you finally unwrapped, plug in a lamp so the corners don’t feel quite so shadowed. Each small action presses you further into the room, like you’re anchoring yourself piece by piece.

Like you’re proving to yourself that you’re really here.

Brooklyn.

You pause in the middle of the living room, hands settling on your hips as the quiet settles around you again. It’s different now. Not as sharp. Still unfamiliar, but… softer at the edges. Outside, the city hums. Car horns, voices drifting up from the street, music faint and distant like it’s being carried on the air just for you.

You step closer to the window, the one you’ll later learn sticks, and peer out at the street below. People move like they know exactly where they’re going. Like they belong to the rhythm of it.

You want that.

Not just the city. Not just the apartment.

The feeling.

You glance back at the room. At the half-unpacked boxes, the bare walls, the life that hasn’t quite settled into place yet. You could stay in tonight. Finish unpacking. Eat something out of a container balanced on your knee and fall asleep early.

That would be the easier choice, the safer one. Your fingers tap lightly against your thigh as you consider it. Then you shake your head.

“No,” you murmur to yourself, quieter but firmer. “That’s not why you came here.”

You didn’t drive hours and sign a lease you can barely afford just to sit in silence and wait for your life to start. You didn’t leave everything familiar behind just to recreate it in a smaller space.

You came here to live.

Even if it’s messy, even if it’s uncomfortable, even if you don’t know what you’re doing yet. Especially then. Your gaze drifts back to your purse for a second, to the place where you tucked the little tab away. Something about it lingers in your mind, faint but present. Not a plan. Not even a real option.

Just… a possibility.

You grab a different jacket from one of the boxes, tug it on over your clothes, and glance at yourself in the reflection of the darkened window. You look a little tired. A little overwhelmed.

But there’s something else there too.

Something brighter.

“Okay,” you say softly, like you’re making a deal with yourself. “One drink.”

You grab your keys, hesitate only a second, then head for the door. The lock clicks behind you with a soft, final sound.

Hours later, the city feels very different.

Louder, warmer, brighter.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. It just sort of… happened. One conversation slid into another. Someone bought you a round because you mentioned you’d just moved. You laughed more than you expected to. The music felt good in your chest.

You wanted to feel like you belonged.

Now you’re standing on a sidewalk that looks vaguely familiar but not enough, the neon sign behind you flickering slightly, the night air cooler against your flushed skin.

Your phone battery blinks 4%.

You squint down the street.

How do people get taxis here? Do they just… appear? You raise your arm experimentally. Nothing happens. A group brushes past you, laughing. You step aside too quickly and nearly trip off the curb.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself. “Okay.”

You could Uber.

You open the app only to find surge pricing.

Of course.

You check your wallet. Not nearly enough cash after buying that last round and leaving a surmisable tip for the bartender, who was kind enough to let you know that you had put your jacket on inside out after your third drink.

You glance around again, the city suddenly less charming and more overwhelming. Your stomach dips and fear spreads low and cold. You don’t know where the nearest bus stop is, or which line to take, you don’t actually know which direction your apartment is from here.

The alcohol in your system stops feeling warm and starts feeling inconvenient. You dig through your purse, fingers fumbling past lip gloss, receipts, keys.

Your hand closes around paper. You pull it out.

Slightly crumpled.

NEED HELP?

You stare at it.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, half laughing, half mortified.

This is insane. You shouldn’t.

You absolutely should not text a stranger who specified he isn’t a serial killer. Your battery drops to 3%. You hesitate for three long seconds.

Then you type.

Hi. Are you real?

You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.

Bucky’s phone vibrates against the table. The sound cuts through the apartment like a gunshot.

He freezes and for half a second, his brain does something old and dangerous—threat assessment, immediate spike of adrenaline, body already half-rising.

He grabs the phone to see an unknown number.

A text.

He stares at it. His pulse does not settle. Are you real? That could mean anything. That could mean someone found him, that could mean trouble.

Or—

Another text comes in.

I think I need help.

His jaw tightens.

He’s already standing. He doesn’t deliberate, doesn’t ask for clarification, just grabs his keys off the counter, shoves his feet back into his boots without tying them properly, and is out the door in under thirty seconds.

The truck engine roars to life beneath him, familiar vibration steadying something inside his chest.

He types one-handed at a red light.

Location?

Three dots appear. Disappear.

Then:

Outside Harper’s. On 5th I think. By the hot dog guy??

He knows exactly where that is. He’s there in four minutes.

He spots you before you spot him.

You’re sitting on the curb now, elbows propped on your knees, arguing mildly with a man behind a food cart about whether mustard counts as a vegetable.

You look… small.

Not in stature. Just in the way someone looks when they’re trying very hard to seem fine.

Bucky parks sharply at the curb and steps out. The night air hits him cool and sharp. The city noise presses in — laughter spilling from bar doors, the hiss of the food cart grill, bass thudding faintly through brick walls.

He scans automatically. No visible threat, no one crowding you. Just you. He approaches slower.

“You texted me?” he asks.

You look up and squint as if were the middle of the day and not half past one in the morning. Your eyes travel from his boots to his shoulders to his face.

“You’re not a serial killer, right?” you ask, entirely serious.

He blinks. “No.”

You consider him for another beat.

“Okay, good.” You try to stand. It does not go smoothly. Your foot catches the edge of the curb and you pitch forward slightly.

His hands are on your arms before you hit the ground. Gloved yet warm. Steady and solid.

You freeze for a second, looking up at him from far too close. He smells like clean soap and something faintly metallic. His grip is firm but not bruising.

“You needed help because you’re drunk?” he asks, voice flat but not unkind.

“I needed help,” you correct, wobbling slightly. “Because I don't know how New York works. And I also may be a little drunk.”

He exhales slowly.

“Why didn’t you take the subway?”

You blink at him. “…There’s a subway here?”

He just stares at you, something in his expression shifts and his irritation drains. Not completely but enough for a soft breath to leave his lips as he stands back to look at you.

“How long you been here?” he asks.

"What time is it?"

He glances at his watch. "Quarter 'til two."

“Like twenty hours,” you reply honestly.

That adds up, he thinks to himself and nods once.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “C’mon.”

He keeps one hand lightly at your elbow as he guides you toward the truck. You talk the whole way over-explaining where you live.

“Okay so it’s near a brick building over by a big brown bridge—which I know doesn’t help because they’re all brick—but there’s like… a plant in the window? I think? And the stairs creak.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

He already knows the building, he’s driven past it a hundred times just like he has every building in Brooklyn. He opens the passenger door for you and waits until you’re seated and steady before closing it gently. Inside the truck, the world feels smaller, quieter. You lean your head back against the seat with a relieved sigh.

“Thank you for being real,” you mumble.

He starts the engine. “You text random numbers often?”

“Only the ones that clarify they aren’t serial killers.”

A pause. Then, unexpectedly, he huffs a quiet laugh.

It’s brief. Quiet and low, but real. And you smile at the sound without realizing it. As the truck pulls away from the curb, Bucky glances at you from the corner of his eye to see you’re watching the city pass by, like it’s something you’re still deciding whether to trust.

He understands that feeling more than he’d like to. And for the first time in days, the empty space in his chest feels… lightly occupied.

He parks in front of your building with the kind of precision that suggests he’s memorized the street long before tonight. The engine rumbles low beneath you for a moment before he turns the key and everything settles into quiet. The sudden absence of vibration makes the world feel oddly still, like stepping off a moving walkway and having to find your balance again.

You peer out the window.

“Oh,” you breathe, surprised. “This is it.”

“I know,” he replies simply.

Of course he does.

He’s already out of the truck before you’ve fully processed that, boots hitting pavement with a solid thud. When he opens your door, the night air curls cool around your flushed skin, carrying the faint scent of rain drying on concrete.

You slide down from the seat carefully this time. He keeps a hand hovering at your elbow—not gripping, just there. Just in case.

The building looms a little taller than it had earlier in the day. Dark windows. Narrow staircase just inside the glass door. The porch light flickers faintly like it’s unsure of its commitment to illumination. You hesitate on the sidewalk. It’s not the alcohol now. It’s the strange awareness that this is the end of something. A brief pocket of safety in a night that could have gone differently.

He notices.

He always notices.

“Up you go,” he says quietly, nodding toward the door.

You move together toward it, footsteps uneven on your part, measured on his. The city continues behind you—cars passing, someone shouting down the block, a siren wailing faint and far—but here on the stoop it feels contained. Close.

You fumble slightly with your keys as your fingers don’t want to cooperate.

He waits.

Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t rush you. Just stands behind and to the side, broad shoulders blocking some of the street’s draft, presence steady and grounded like a wall you can lean against if you needed to.

The key finally slides into the lock.

You pause before turning it.

He’s close enough now that you can feel the residual warmth coming off him, the faint scent of clean cotton and motor oil and night air. You glance over your shoulder. His expression is carefully neutral, but there’s something softer at the edges. The crease between his brows less pronounced than earlier, the sharp lines of his jaw less guarded.

“You can call again,” he says, stiff but sincere. “If you need something real.”

Not judgmental. Not mocking.

Just… open.

And you smile. Not the bright, tipsy grin from earlier. Not the exaggerated one you’d been wearing in the bar to prove you were fine. This one is quieter and softer. It reaches your eyes.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

His name leaves your mouth gently, like it belongs there.

Something in his chest shifts. He hasn’t heard it like that in a long time. Not as an order. Not barked across a battlefield. Not attached to expectation or obligation.

Just his name. Warm. Human.

He clears his throat lightly.

“Welcome to Brooklyn,” he adds, almost gruff again as if to steady himself. “It’s loud. And it smells weird in the summer. But it’s… alright.”

You laugh softly.

“I’ll brace myself.”

He nods once, gaze drifting up to the building behind you.

“Hope the city treats you well.”

There’s more under that than the words carry. A quiet wish. A hope that it doesn’t chew you up the way it can. That it gives you something instead of taking.

You hold his gaze a second longer than necessary.

“Maybe it already has,” you say before you can overthink it.

His mouth opens slightly, like he might respond to that. Instead, you turn the key. The lock clicks open and you push the door inward and step across the threshold, turning back just before it closes fully.

He’s still there. Hands in his jacket pockets now. Shoulders squared against the night air. Watching to make sure you’re inside. Safe.

You lift your hand in a small wave. “Goodnight, not-a-serial-killer.”

A faint huff of breath escapes him, almost a laugh.

“Goodnight,” he replies.

The door shuts.

The sound of the lock sliding into place echoes softly through the stairwell. He waits, hums while he counts to five.

Listens for movement inside—footsteps climbing stairs, a door opening above. When he hears the faint creak of wood and the muffled thud of something being set down, only then does he step back.

Only then does he turn toward his truck.

The city hasn’t changed in the last five minutes. Still buzzing. Still alive. But something in him feels… different. Lighter, maybe.

Or at least less empty.

He slides into the driver’s seat and rests his hands on the steering wheel without starting the engine yet. You called, out of all the numbers in the world, you called him. Not because he was assigned, not because he was ordered, but because you needed help. And he showed up. The thought settles deep, warm and unfamiliar.

Upstairs, you lean back against your closed apartment door and exhale slowly. Your heart isn’t racing anymore. Your head still spins faintly, but beneath that is something steadier.

Safer.

You push off the door and wander toward your mattress, kicking off your shoes halfway there. The apartment doesn’t feel quite as cavernous now, the corners less shadowed, the silence less sharp.

You fish your phone out of your purse and glance at it.

2% battery.

You type quickly before it dies.

Made it upstairs. Thanks again.

You hit send.

Across the street, Bucky’s phone buzzes just as he turns the key in the ignition.

He looks at the screen, the corners of his mouth just barely ticking upwards, thumb hovering over the keyboard for a long moment.

Then he types back.

Good. Get some sleep.

He hesitates before typing out another message.

City’s easier in the morning.

He sends it before he can reconsider. Upstairs, your phone dies before you see it.

But somehow, curled up on your mattress with the window cracked just enough to let Brooklyn’s nighttime hum drift in, you sleep a little easier anyway. And downstairs, parked at the curb a moment longer than necessary, Bucky sits in the quiet of his truck and realizes that for the first time since he put those flyers up with his number—

He hopes it rings again.

The buzz of his phone comes just as Bucky’s settling into the quiet.

He’s halfway through reassembling the carburetor of a bike he doesn’t even own, just something he found on the curb and decided to fix because his hands need purpose the way lungs need air, when the vibration skitters across his kitchen counter.

He stares at it. Unknown number, again.

His jaw tightens automatically. Old habits.

It buzzes again. He wipes his hands on a rag before picking it up, thumb hovering like he’s about to disarm something instead of open a message.

Hi. It's me again. But it’s not a drunk emergency. I can’t open my window and I think I’m suffocating.

He blinks.

Then another message.

I’m not actually suffocating. Probably. But it’s very dramatic in here.

He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite not.

He types back with one thumb.

Be there in five.

A heart appears immediately.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The building looks different in daylight. Less romantic, with more peeling paint and crooked mailboxes.

He takes the stairs two at a time anyway. You door is already open when he reaches the third floor.

You're standing there like you've been pacing, hair pulled into a messy twist that’s given up in several places, socks on, oversized sweatshirt swallowing your frame. No makeup this time, no glittering party lights reflected in your eyes.

Just… you.

Sober. And clearly mortified.

“Oh my god, hi,” you blurt, words tripping over each other as soon as you see him. “I promise I’m not dying. I just—okay so I tried to open the window and it wouldn’t budge and then I panicked and convinced myself the oxygen was running out and—”

“You know that’s not how air works, right?” he says flatly.

Your mouth snaps shut. “…I did. In theory.”

He steps inside without another word, brushing past your shoulder. You smells like laundry detergent and something citrusy. The apartment is small and bare, boxes still stacked like uneven towers along the walls.

The window in question is in the living room. Old frame. Painted shut.

He walks over, studies it for three seconds.

“You tried pulling?”

“Yes.”

“Pushing?”

“Yes.”

He grips the bottom sash, metal fingers bracing, flesh hand curling over the wood. A small twist of pressure. A sharp upward shove.

The paint seal cracks with a soft pop and the window slides up. Cool Brooklyn air spills in within thirty seconds. He steps back.

You just stare at it, then at him. “…I hate you a little.”

“Join the club.”

You press a hand over your face, laughing despite yourself. “I swear I’m not helpless.”

“Never said you were.”

“You definitely implied it.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I implied you’ve never met a window before.”

Your eyes narrow, but there’s laughter dancing behind them. “You’re so mean.”

“I’m efficient.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Sometimes it is.”

You huff, crossing your arms—but you're smiling. Bright and unfiltered, the kind of smile that feels like sunlight hitting bare skin.

It’s… a lot. He’s not used to a lot.

He clears his throat. “You’re not suffocating.”

“Thank you, Doctor Barnes.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You grin. “Mechanic Barnes?”

“No.”

“Freedom Flyer Guy?”

He gives you a look and you laughs again, softer this time. “Sorry.”

A pause settles between you. Not heavy. Just… there.

You shift your weight. “So. I owe you.”

“You don’t.”

“I absolutely do. You just saved my life.”

“You were never in danger.”

“You don’t know that. What if I had spiraled? What if I started hyperventilating? What if I fainted and hit my head and then actually suffocated because the window was closed?”

He just stares at you. “…That’s not how any of that works.”

You point at him triumphantly. “See? You care.”

“I care about physics.”

You beam like he just confessed undying devotion, your eyes twinkling as they bore into his. He looks away first.

“I’m not charging you,” he says.

“I’m not letting you leave without compensation.”

His brows draw together. “Compensation.”

“Yes.”

“I fixed a stuck window.”

“You provided emergency ventilation services.”

“You’re impossible.”

You step closer, hands on hips now, chin tipped up in stubborn determination. “I’m ordering takeout.”

“That’s not payment.”

“It is if you stay and eat it.”

His instinct is to refuse.

He doesn’t linger. He doesn’t sit.

He doesn’t… stay.

But the apartment is quiet except for you and the faint rush of air through the open window. The city noise floats in—distant traffic, someone laughing on the sidewalk, a dog barking.

You look at him like you expect him to bolt. Like you're used to people bolting.

He exhales slowly.

“Fine,” he says. “But nothing fancy.”

Your face lights up like he just handed you the moon. “Yes!”

He winces slightly at the volume.

“Sorry!” you whisper immediately, clapping a hand over your mouth. “I get excited.”

“I can tell.”

You grabs your phone, already scrolling. “Okay, what do you like?”

“Food.”

You snort. “Wow. Insightful.”

“Anything.”

“Any allergies?”

“No.”

“Any strong opinions about noodles?”

He blinks at you.

You gasp, soft yet dramtic. “You don’t have strong noodle opinions?”

“I was alive before noodles were complicated.”

“I don't know if that's a joke or not but that’s deeply concerning.”

He almost smiles. Almost.

You settle on something Thai. Spicy. “It’ll be here in thirty.”

He nods once.

Then you both look at the apartment. No couch yet, no chairs. Just boxes and hardwood floors.

You drop down cross-legged without hesitation. “Floor picnic?”

He hesitates a fraction of a second before lowering himself across from you, back resting against a stack of sealed boxes labeled BOOKS in loopy handwriting.

For a moment, you just sit there.

It’s quiet. Not the uncomfortable kind, just… new. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “So. You fix windows often?”

“Second one this week.” he deadpans.

“Wow. You’re basically a specialist.”

“I’ll update the flyer.”

Your laugh bursts out of you before she can stop it, bright and easy. “Please do. ‘Professional Window Hero.’”

“Hero’s a stretch.”

“You got here in, like, five minutes.”

“You were two blocks away.”

You blink, lips parting in light suprise. “You live that close?”

He nods and your smile softens. “That’s… nice.”

“Why.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Feels less scary knowing someone I’ve technically met before is nearby.”

He shifts slightly. “You shouldn’t rely on strangers.”

You tilt your head. “Are we strangers?”

The question hangs there. He studies you face, watching the open curiosity, no edge, no ulterior motive.

“Mostly,” he answers.

You nod slowly, accepting it without flinching. “Okay. Mostly strangers who eat Thai food on the floor.”

“Accurate.”

You lean back on your palms, looking around the half-empty room. “I know it doesn’t look like much yet.”

“It’s fine.”

“I moved here four days ago and everything still feels… unreal.” Your voice softens at the edges. “Like I’m house-sitting someone else’s life.”

He doesn’t interrupt. You glance at him, gauging if he’s listening.

He is.

“I was just…so tired,” you say, quieter now. “Of dreaming about things that only existed when I was asleep.”

He frowns faintly. “Like what?”

“Everything.” You laugh, but it’s not as bright this time. “The job I wanted. The city I wanted. The version of me that wasn’t waiting around for something to happen.”

The breeze moves through the room again, stirring the edges of unpacked papers.

“So I stopped waiting,” you continue. “Packed up my car. Drove here. Signed a lease I could barely afford. Figured if I was going to be scared anyway, I might as well be scared somewhere interesting.”

He studies you gently.

“You moved without knowing anyone.”

“Yep.”

“That’s reckless.”

You grin. “You know some people would call that brave.”

“Debatable.”

“See?” you say, pointing at him. “This is what I mean. You see the worst-case scenario. I see the possibility.”

“I see reality.”

“I see potential.”

“You see suffocating from a closed window.”

You laugh again, bright again and unashamed. “Okay, that one was dramatic.”

“A little.”

“But you still came.”

He looks down at his hands, the metal rubs againt the glove as the leather glints under the overhead light.

“You asked me too,” he says simply.

You watch him for a second too long, stirring something warm and heavy that starts to press at his ribs when the knock at the door saves him.

You scramble up, nearly tripping over a box in your haste. “Food!”

He hears your cheerful thank you through the doorway, the rustle of paper bags, and the quick shuffle back. You set everything between you two like it’s treasure and the smell fills the apartment. You eat straight from the containers, knees occasionally bumping.

It shouldn’t feel like this.

Easy.

But it does.

Bucky watches you, the way that you talkswith your hands, animated, telling him about the tiny coffee shop you found that morning. About the subway map that “looks like abstract art.” About how you got lost for forty minutes and ended up discovering a park you now claims as yours.

“You got lost on purpose,” he says.

“I absolutely did not.”

“You just said you walked in circles.”

“That’s exploring.”

“That’s inefficient.” he grumbles.

You grin around a bite of noodles. “I bet you would’ve hated it.”

“I would’ve brought a map.”

“I had one!”

His face falls. “And you still got lost.”

You points at him with your sauce stained chopsticks. “You’re missing the point.”

“Enlighten me.”

“The point is I was somewhere new. Alone. And it didn’t feel lonely.”

He pauses mid-bite. You don’t seem to realize what you've said until a second later. Your eyes flick to him, softer now.

“Not entirely,” you amend gently.

The air shifts and he swallows the rest of his bite.

“You won’t always feel new here,” he says.

“I know.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope not completely.” You smile faintly. “I don’t want it to stop feeling like possibility.”

He doesn’t have an answer for that, he’s still figuring out what possibility even looks like. You finish eating slower than necessary, even when you're done neither of you rush to stand.

Eventually, you gather the empty containers, stacking them neatly.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For what?”

“For showing up. Even when it’s just… windows.”

He nods once. “You can call again.”

The words come out stiffer than he means them to.

“If you… still need something real,” he adds.

Your smile this time is different. Softer, bright but less blinding, more intentional.

“Okay,” you say. “I will.”

He stands, brushing imaginary dust from his jeans and you walk him to the door. The hallway light flickers overhead as you unlock it fully, stepping into the frame like you're guarding it.

He lingers on the threshold.

“I think you'll fit in just fine here,” he says, the words awkward but sincere. “It’s loud. And expensive.”

You laugh softly.

“And,” he adds, after a beat, “it’s not the worst place to start over.”

Something in your expression shifts.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

It lands somewhere deep in his chest just as last time. Warmer than he expects. He nods once, because he doesn’t trust his voice.

“Goodnight,” you say.

“Lock the door,” he replies automatically.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Yes, sir.”

He turns and heads down the stairs. Halfway to the landing, he hears the soft click of your lock sliding into place, and the ghost of a smile curves across his lips.

Only then does he keep walking.

The third time you text him, you stare at the screen for a full minute before hitting send.

Hi. Hypothetically— If someone bought shelves and then realized drywall is apparently not just… wall… what would that someone do?

Three dots appear almost immediately.

That someone would wait.

You grin.

For?

Me.

He shows up with a drill slung over his shoulder like it belongs there.

You open the door before he knocks this time, already smiling. “Hi.”

He pauses just slightly at the sight of you barefoot in paint-splattered shorts and one of those oversized band tees you sleep in. Your hair’s half-clipped up, pencil tucked behind your ear like you’ve been architecting something serious instead of arguing with brackets.

“You didn’t start without me,” he says.

“I considered it.”

“It's good you didn't. You would’ve hit a pipe.”

“I resent that.”

“You should.”

You step aside to let him in, eucalyptus and mint no longer the dominant scent of your place—now it smells like sawdust and fresh coffee and something citrusy you insist on spraying in the mornings because it “feels productive.”

He surveys the wall you’ve chosen. “What’re these for?”

“Plants, books, maybe a tiny ceramic frog. I don’t know yet. It’s about potential.”

He huffs. “Everything’s about potential with you.”

“And everything’s about worst-case scenarios with you.”

“It keeps you from flooding your apartment.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He levels you with a look.

You grin.

He gets to work, movements efficient, measured. Flesh fingers steady, metal ones precise throught the stretch of their leather glove. The hum of the drill fills the apartment, and you sit cross-legged on the floor watching like it’s a live performance.

“You know,” you say over the noise, “most people would charge for this.”

“I’m aware.”

“You don’t?” You ask curiously.

“You fed me.”

“That was one time.”

He glances at you. “You planning to stop?”

You blink. “…No.”

“Then we’re square.”

The shelves are up in under twenty minutes. You clap softly when he finishes, which earns you a flat look from Bucky.

“What?” You mutter.

“It’s a shelf.”

“It’s a level shelf!”

He exhales through his nose, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

You don’t mention it. You just notice.

The dresser comes next.

You absolutely could’ve waited for building management to help. Or ordered professional movers.

But instead:

I have made a mistake. The dresser is winning.

He’s there in seven minutes. You open the door breathless, like you’ve been wrestling furniture for sport. “It’s heavier than it looked online.”

“They always are.”

He takes one look at the narrow hallway, the impossible angle to your bedroom door, and just nods once.

“Lift when I say,” he tells you.

“Yes, sir,” you reply brightly.

His jaw tightens. “Don’t.”

You bite back a smile.

The two of you maneuver the dresser inch by inch. Your hands slip once and he steadies it without thinking, metal arm braced, body angled to shield yours from the corner.

“Careful,” he mutters.

“You’re the one who said lift.”

“You’re the one who didn’t bend your knees.”

“You sound like a gym teacher.”

“You’d have hated school with me.”

You laugh, breathless, as the dresser finally slides into place against your bedroom wall before you collapse onto the floor dramatically.

“We did it,” you declare.

“I did it.”

“You emotionally supported.”

“I told you what to do.”

“Exactly.”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t leave. Not right away.

“Okay,” you say one afternoon, holding up the subway map like it’s an ancient scroll. “Explain this.”

He stares at it. Then at you. “It’s color-coded.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“It literally does.”

You’re standing at the entrance of the station, the late afternoon rush building around you. The air smells like hot concrete and something metallic.

“I get on the blue one,” you say slowly, “unless it’s express? Or local? And then it skips my stop? Why does it skip my stop.”

“Because it’s express.”

“Why would I want that?” You ask.

“So you get somewhere faster.”

“But not where I need to go.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

You beam at him behind the map. He steps closer, crowd pressing in around you. His shoulder leans into yours as he points at the map. “You take the local during rush hour if you’re only going a few stops. Express if you’re crossing boroughs.”

You squint. “And how do I know which is which?”

He gestures to the small black circles versus the white ones.

Your head tilts. “Oh.”

“You didn’t see that.”

“No.”

He sighs, but it’s softer than it used to be. “Stay to the right on the stairs. Don’t stand in the doorway, and if the train’s packed, wait for the next one.”

“I don’t mind packed.”

“You will.”

You grin up at him. “You’re very protective over public transit etiquette.”

“I’m protective over not getting shoved.”

The train roars into the station. You hesitate for half a second before stepping forward, his hand finds your elbow without thinking, guiding.

“Move with the crowd,” he says quietly near your ear. “Don’t fight it.”

You nod. Inside, it’s warm and loud and close.

You look up at him, eyes bright. “This is kind of fun.”

“It’s not.”

“It is if you decide it is.”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t let go of your elbow until your stop arrives. After that, he walks you through shortcuts like he’s revealing state secrets.

“Cut through here if it’s raining.”

“Take the side exit after ten p.m.”

“Don’t get on the empty car.”

“Why?” You ask.

“Just don’t.”

You salute dramatically. “Yes, subway sargeant.”

“Don't call me that.”

You grin. You don’t stop.

You teach him photography in payment.

“Okay, your turn,” you tell him one evening, camera strap looped around your wrist.

He eyes it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“My livelihood.”

“It looks old.”

“It’s film.”

He pauses. “They still make that?”

You gasp. “You wound me.”

You press the camera into his hands, guiding his fingers over the body. “Manual focus. No screen. You have to feel it.”

He studies it carefully, brow furrowed in concentration the way it does when he’s fixing something delicate.

“You adjust the aperture here,” you say, stepping closer. “Shutter speed there. It’s slower. Intentional.”

He glances at you. “Like you.”

You blink and find his eyes, his gaze like a soft sky blue with a dark edge that held the color in, looking at you like you were the eye of the storm. You look back. He looks away first.

You swallow your smile. “Exactly like me.”

You teach him how to look for light instead of just objects. How shadows tell stories. How grain makes things honest. He listens, really listens, so you start bringing the camera everywhere. To the bodega. To the park. To the subway platform at golden hour.

And somehow—he’s in half the frames. Leaning against brick walls. Looking out over the water. Brow creased at something you said.

He notices eventually.

“You take a lot of pictures,” he says one afternoon when you snap another shot of him sitting on the stoop outside your building.

“I’m a photographer.”

“Of me.”

You lower the camera slowly. “You’re in good light.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t tell you to stop.

You don’t tell him that you’ve started a folder at work labeled The Brooklyn Study. That half of it is just him, that your boss called the shots “intimate” or that you flushed all the way to your ears and clutched the folder to your chest.

You keep that part to yourself. For now.

Over the next few weeks, the calls keep coming.

Is this radiator supposed to sound like it’s screaming?

He arrives to find you crouched in front of it like it’s a wild animal.

“It’s air in the pipes,” he says.

“It sounds haunted.”

“It’s not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You watch him bleed it carefully, steam hissing softly.

“You’re very calm around loud, angry noises,” you observe.

He doesn’t answer that.

Sometimes you call and you don’t actually need help.

I think the shelf is… slightly crooked.

It isn’t. He adjusts it anyway.

The hallway light flickers weird.

He tightens the bulb.

Sometimes you just say:

Are you busy?

And when he answers no, you say:

Good.

You sit on the floor again. Or on your fire escape. Or at the small kitchen table you finally bought.

You talk. About work. About how strange it is building a life from scratch. About how sometimes the quiet feels too loud. He pretends he doesn’t notice that those are the nights you text the latest. He pretends he doesn’t notice that you hover a second longer when he stands to leave.

He pretends a lot.

But he starts remembering. Your coffee order—oat milk, no sugar. The way you wrinkle your nose when something’s too spicy. The fact that you hum when you’re editing photos. He starts bringing tools without being asked. A level. Extra screws. A small toolkit he leaves under your sink “just in case.” He checks your building door after you close it.

Always.

You start saving him leftovers.

Tiny labeled containers in your fridge. For Window Hero. Emergency Noodles. Do Not Skip Dinner.

He pretends he doesn’t see the notes but he eats every single one.

One afternoon you hand him a stack of redesigned flyers. His brows lift.

“They were tragic,” you say unapologetically. “No tear-off tabs, no clear services listed and a terrible font choice.”

He flips one over. It’s cleaner and more organized. Still blunt, but somehow warmer.

FREEDOM HELP. Need something fixed, carried, explained? Text. I show up.

Your number added beneath his in smaller print: Subway translations available.

He looks at you slowly. “You added yourself.”

You nod. “I’m your marketing department.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

“You needed one.”

A beat.

“…They’re better,” he admits.

You beam like you just won an award.

You start calling him before small problems become big ones. He starts answering before the second ring and soon the loneliness shifts. It doesn’t disappear, not all in one big fell swoop. It settles between you instead of sitting on your shoulders, in shared silence instead of empty rooms. One evening you sit beside him on the stoop, camera resting in your lap.

“You know,” you say softly, “I thought moving here would fix everything.”

He stares out at the streetlights flickering on. “Did it?”

“No.” You smile faintly. “But it gave me something to build with.”

He nods once. You bump your shoulder against his.

“Thanks for showing up,” you add quietly. He doesn’t look at you, but his shoulder presses back.

“Thanks for calling,” he says.

It starts small. So small to the point you hadn't even realized anything, until you did and now it's all you can think about. A brush of his shoulder lingering a second too long. The way your apartment feels less like a temporary landing pad and more like a home when his boots are by the door. The way silence doesn’t scrape at you when he’s sitting in it too.

You try not to think too hard about it at first.

You tell yourself it makes sense. He’s the only person you really know here. Of course you call him. Of course you look for him in a crowd on the subway platform without meaning to. Of course your camera finds him before it finds anything else.

It’s proximity. Convenience, familiarity even.

It’s not—

It’s not the way your stomach flips when he says your name like it’s something fragile he doesn’t want to drop. It’s not the way you start cooking too much on purpose. It’s not the way you check your phone at night hoping for a text that never comes because he doesn’t text first.

You sit with that realization longer than you’d like.

Because if it’s not just circumstance…

Then it’s choice, and you know what choosing feels like now. It feels like packing your life into boxes and driving toward something uncertain, it feels like standing in a city that doesn’t know you exist and deciding you belong anyway.

It feels terrifying.

The night you call him, nothing is broken. There's no screaming radiator, no crooked shelf, no stuck window. You’re standing in your kitchen staring at two bowls with steam curling up and realizing you only need one, your thumb hovering over his name for a long moment.

Then you press it. He answers on the second ring.

“What broke this time?”

You huff a soft laugh despite yourself. “Hi to you too.”

A pause. “…Hi.”

You swallow. “I don’t need anything fixed.”

Silence stretches across the line. You can almost picture his face—brows drawn together, jaw tight, waiting for the catch.

“…Then why am I coming over?”

The words slip out before you can overthink them. “Because I don’t want to eat dinner alone.”

You don’t try to make it lighter, you don’t fill the quiet with a joke. You just let it sit there. On the other end, you hear him breathe in slow and measured. You almost backtrack, almost say never mind, it’s stupid, forget it.

But then:

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The line clicks dead and you stand in the middle of your kitchen for a long moment, heart beating louder than it should.

When he knocks, you’re suddenly aware of everything. The new couch you finally unpacked and assembled, the lamp casting soft amber light across the room, the way your hair looks, the way you look.

You open the door.

He’s in a dark Henley tonight, paired with his usual leather jacket, hair slightly wind-tousled from the walk. There’s a crease between his brows that smooths when he sees you standing there, not panicked. Not flustered.

Just… waiting.

“You’re not bleeding,” he observes.

“Disappointing, I know.”

He steps inside anyway. The apartment smells like garlic and sesame oil. Like home, almost.

“I made too much,” you say, gesturing to the dishes in the sink behind you like evidence. “Again.”

“You always do.”

“I don’t.” You pout.

“You do.”

You shut the door behind him, softer than usual.

“I have a couch now,” you announce, like it’s a milestone.

He looks at it. “You assembled it yourself?”

“Yes.”

“…Is it going to give out under me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Sit down and find out.”

He does, carefully, like he expects it to collapse out of spite.

It doesn’t. You sit beside him with a ghost of a smirk, knees brushing for a second before you both subtly adjust. The rest of dinner rests on the coffee table. The TV stays off as the city hum drifts in through the cracked window he fixed weeks ago.

For a while, you just eat. Not rushed, not quiet in a strained way, just something simple and easy.

You steal a glance at him when he’s not looking. The soft concentration when he untangles chopsticks, the way his shoulders don’t seem as tight here. You realize something slowly, like stepping into water and not noticing how deep you’ve gone until it reaches your ribs.

You don’t just call him because he’s helpful, you don’t just want him around because he’s familiar. You want him here.

Specifically. His dry comments, his steady presence, the way he fills space without overwhelming it. You want more than borrowed time and fixed shelves. The realization settles in your chest, warm and terrifying.

You clear your throat gently. “Can I ask you something?”

He glances over. “You usually do.”

“Why did you put up the flyers?”

His jaw shifts and you watch the way he looks down at his hands, at the faint scuffs on metal and skin.

“I didn’t know what to do with my time,” he says finally.

You wait but he doesn’t elaborate. “That’s it?” you ask softly.

His mouth tightens, like you’ve stepped near something he doesn’t show people.

“I spent a long time not choosing anything,” he says after a moment. His voice is quieter now. Less deadpan. “Where I went. What I did. Who I was.”

The words land heavy between you, thickening in the air, you don’t interrupt.

“I was… useful,” he continues. “Just not in a way that was mine.”

Your chest tightens.

“When that stopped,” he adds, “there was just time. And I didn’t know what to do with it.”

The room feels smaller, the air growing warmer.

“So you made yourself available,” you murmur.

He nods once. “That’s it.”

You study him carefully, the rigid line of his spine, the way he holds himself like he’s bracing for impact even now.

“You’re not bored,” you say gently as his eyes flick to yours.

“You’re just not used to choosing.”

The words hang there and something shifts in his expression. Something almost… soft. Not dramatic, not loud. But it hits, hard. You see it in the way his throat works when he swallows, in the way his gaze drops, then lifts again slower this time.

He looks… startled, like you handed him something he didn’t know he’d been missing.

“I didn’t want a job,” he says, almost to himself.

You stay very still.

“I wanted…” He exhales through his nose. “Purpose.”

The word settles between you like a fragile thing.

“You have that,” you say quietly.

He shakes his head faintly. “Fixing windows isn’t purpose.”

“No,” you agree softly. “But showing up is.”

His eyes meet yours again, steady and searching for something. You wonder if he sees it in you.

“You wanted someone to need you,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper.

The truth is there, plain and unadorned. He doesn’t deny it. And you realize something else at the same time, something that makes your pulse stumble.

You do need him. But not because you can’t lift a dresser, not because the subway map confuses you, not because you don’t know anyone else. You need him in the way you need someone to witness your life as it unfolds. To sit beside you while it’s messy and unfinished and becoming.

“Well I need you,” you add softly. "Not… just to fix a shelf or move a heavy dresser."

His shoulders loosen a fraction and you feel your heart let out a beat that you didn't know could make. You don’t know who moves first. Maybe neither of you. Maybe it’s just gravity curling around you both and pressing in on you, but when your knee presses fully against his this time, and neither of you pulls away.

The city hums outside, your couch holds steady beneath you. There's a beat that passes between you two, and when your eyes find his he looks at you like he’s seeing you differently now. Not as a problem to solve, not as a task to complete. But as a choice, and you realize, heart thudding slow and certain—

You want him to choose you, not because you’re the only person here, not because you called first. But because he wants to sit on this couch, eat these noodles, share this quiet.

And because he wants to do it wth you.

He exhales slowly.

“I don’t mind,” he says, voice rougher than usual, “not eating alone.”

Your chest warms. “Good,” you whisper.

The quiet after your words doesn’t feel fragile anymore.

It feels aware. He’s still looking at you differently—like the ground shifted half an inch and he’s recalibrating his balance. The takeout cartons sit forgotten on the coffee table, noodles going cold. Your gaze drifts, hesitant at first. To his hands. You’ve seen it, of course. Noticed it the first night he fixed your window. The glint of metal under warm apartment light when his jacket would slip past gloved wrist he seamless line where steel warms.

But you never asked. It felt like staring, like something earned, not taken.

You swallow softly. “Can I ask you something else?”

One brow lifts faintly. “You’re on a roll tonight.”

Your eyes flick down again, then back up to his face. “Your arm.”

He goes very still. You feel it instantly—that subtle tightening, the way his spine straightens like he’s bracing for something sharp.

“I’ve noticed it,” you add quickly, gentle. “Obviously. But I didn’t want to… I don’t know. Make it a thing.”

His jaw shifts once.

“It is a thing,” he says evenly.

“I know.” You tilt your head slightly. “But it’s yours.”

That makes something in his expression soften. Barely. You shift on the couch so you’re angled toward him more fully. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

He studies your face carefully, like he’s searching for pity. You don’t give him any, just curiosity, quiet and steady. After a long moment, he flexes his metal fingers once. The faint whir of internal mechanics hums low in the room.

“Lost… the original,” he says, voice stripped down. No performance. No deflection. “A… long time ago.”

You nod once, not pressing.

“It was replaced,” he continues. “Not exactly by choice.”

There’s weight there. History and shadows you don’t ask him to drag into the light tonight, you don’t need details to understand it wasn’t simple.

“It works better than the first one,” he adds, almost wry. “Stronger.”

“I’ve noticed,” you murmur, thinking about the dresser. The effortless way he steadies things. The careful control he uses so he doesn’t break them.

He glances at you. “Doesn’t always feel like mine.”

The honesty in that lands softly against your ribs, you hesitate, then softly murmur. “Can I see it?”

The question hangs between you. He searches your face again, slower this time.

“Yeah,” he says finally.

He turns slightly on the couch, resting his forearm along his thigh. The metal catches the lamplight—dark grey and golden seams, subtle scratches from use. Not polished or pure ornamental but real. You lean closer without thinking, breath slowing. Up close, it’s intricate, not just plating but delicate etchings along the fingers, tiny grooves and segments that shift when he flexes.

“It’s…” You shake your head faintly, almost in awe. “It’s kind of beautiful.”

He huffs softly. “That’s a new one.”

“I mean it.”

You lift your hand slowly, giving him every chance to pull away. He doesn’t. Your fingers hover for half a second before brushing lightly over the plating of his knuckles. Cool and solid, smooth in some places, faintly textured in others. You trace the seam where metal curves into the back of his hand, mesmerized by the craftsmanship of it, by the contrast of it against the warmth radiating from the rest of him.

He watches you instead of your hand. Your touch is careful, not clinical, just… curious.

“It doesn’t scare you?” he asks quietly.

You glance up, still brushing your fingertips lightly over the steel.

“No,” you say simply.

He studies you like he’s trying to understand how that’s possible.

“It’s part of you,” you add. “Why would that scare me?”

Something shifts in his breathing. Your thumb grazes the edge of his knuckles again, softer this time. Not examining, just feeling as he flexes his fingers once under your touch, almost experimentally.

You smile faintly. “Does… can you feel that?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Everything?”

“Mostly.”

You nod slowly, still tracing the lines like you’re memorizing them, you don’t flinch, you don’t hesitate. You just let your hand rest there a moment longer than necessary. When you finally look back up at him, you realize how close you’ve gotten.

Your knees are pressed fully against his now, your hand still resting over metal and seam and strength. There’s no fear in his eyes, just something open, something quietly undone.

“You don’t have to be useful all the time,” you murmur.

His throat moves when he swallows.

“I know,” he says.

But the way he says it sounds like he’s still learning how to believe it, your fingers slide gently from his knuckles to his wrist, resting there feeling the vibrational hum where a pulse used to sit.

The air between you feels warmer now, denser, like fog settling in over rolling hills. The radiator ticks softly in the corner, no longer screaming—just settling into itself. The lamp beside the couch casts everything in gold, softening edges that usually feel sharper in daylight.

You’re still sitting close. Close enough that the heat of him bleeds through denim and cotton, close enough that you can feel the faint shift of his breathing when you inhale.

“I like coming here,” he adds after a moment.

It sounds almost reluctant. Like admitting it costs him something, but he says it anyway. It makes a small smile pull at your mouth.

“I know that too.”

The words land gently between you, the kind of truth that doesn’t need to be dressed up. You shift on the couch, turning toward him fully now. Your knees slide against his thigh, your shoulder brushes his arm.

You shift closer without standing, without moving anywhere but forward.

“You’re the first person I called when I didn’t know what to do,” you say quietly.

You hadn’t meant to say that tonight, it just feels like the right place to put it. His jaw tightens, then loosens as he swallows.

“You’re the first person who’s called me because they just…” He exhales slowly, eyes flicking down to your mouth and back up again. “Wanted me there.”

The air shifts. Not into anything heavy or suffocating but charged, like the moment right before a thunder cloud in a summer storm breaks but, softer. You can hear your own heartbeat now. It doesn’t feel frantic, it feels certain.

He moves first. Slowly, so slowly you could stop him if you wanted to. His hand lifts, hovering near your waist. Not touching yet, just lingering there giving you time.

You don’t shift back, you don’t flinch. Instead, you lean the smallest fraction closer in silent permission. His fingers settle at your side, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your shirt, you can see the hesitant question in his eyes.

You answer it by closing the distance. The first brush of his mouth against yours is careful. Testing, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he presses too hard, but you don’t. You tilt your head slightly, lips parting just enough to deepen it. It’s not dramatic, there are no fireworks, no sweeping orchestration.

Just warmth. His hand shifts at your waist, thumb pressing gently like he’s confirming you’re real. Your fingers slide up to his shoulder, curling into fabric. He kisses you like he’s learning something new, like he’s memorizing it. Soft, unhurried and a little uncertain but real, very real. You can feel the exhale he lets out against your mouth, the way tension leaves him in slow increments. When you pull back, it’s only an inch.

Foreheads nearly touching, his breath mingles with yours and it's like the seconds slowed around you, the whole world dipped into this sedated ease.

You’ve been kissed before. In doorways, in cars, in moments that burned bright and faded just as fast. This isn’t that. This feels like sitting on your couch with noodles growing cold, like subway maps and crooked shelves, like someone showing up every time you asked.

Like belonging. His thumb brushes lightly against your side again, almost absentminded.

“You sure?” he murmurs, searching your face one last time.

You smile, softer than usual.

“I didn’t call you because I was lonely,” you whisper.

His brows knit faintly.

“I called because I wanted you.”

Something in him settles at that, deep in his chest and curling through his ribs. He leans in again, and this time the kiss is less hesitant, still gentle but more sure. Fuller as you let out of a soft breath against him. Your hand slides up into his hair. His metal fingers flex slightly at your waist, cool through cotton but steady, controlled.

Then you feel it, something blooming behind your heart, not sparks or chaos. Just the steady warmth of something choosing you back. Outside, a car passes, someone laughs down the block. Inside, on your newly unpacked couch, with half-eaten takeout and lamplight glowing gold, you kiss him like this was always where you were headed.

[the-bau-quinjet]

23

Summary: What will you do when Bucky figures out your biggest secret?

Warnings: self inflicted wounds/suicide (see notes at end for more information if you'd like to know more before reading!), drunk driver, aliens that are like bees

Word Count: 8964

a/n: AHHH I've been writing this for forever! Every time I thought it was the end, I realized I had more to say lol. Another fic where we pretend everyone is alive and living happily together 🤷🏻‍♀️ Also, please ignore all the fake shit I made up about these freaking aliens and bees and the like... it just kind of happened. I tried to stick to the comics and it really just snowballed.

Masterlist

"Hey, Y/N," Sam greeted you as you boarded the jet. "You ready for this one?"

"Shouldn't be any different from the last five," you quipped back having grown used to the team of four. You, Sam, Steve, and Wanda had gone on five consecutive missions together, getting in and getting things done quickly. Sam eyed you curiously, seemingly confused. "What?"

"Steve isn't the only super soldier coming on this one," Wanda cut in. "Bucky is too."

"Oh," you stilled in your movements, the shock of Bucky going on a mission with you throwing you off. He's been with the team for a little over a year, going on missions for the last three months of that time. In those three months, you are the only one he has never gone on a mission with. "Should be fun."

Sam and Wanda both looked like they wanted to say more, but just then Steve and Bucky boarded the jet. Steve glanced around, verifying everyone was present, before closing the hatch.

You barely listened as he explained the mission. Your eyes kept flitting between the file in your hands and Bucky sitting next to Steve, distracting you. Bucky has been sort of an enigma to you since he joined the team.

After all the time and research you put in to find the Winter Soldier, you definitely admired Bucky. You read through countless files about what he'd been through in your efforts to pinpoint his location, learning way more about the pain and torture he'd endured than you ever thought you would.

When you tuned back into the current conversation, Steve was wrapping up the mission details. Thankfully, you were already familiar with the file. It was a simple op. Get in, download the files, get out. Sam would provide air support while the rest of you split into two teams, downloading files from two separate computers on opposite sides of the facility.

In hindsight, it made sense to have a fifth person on the mission. You should have seen it coming. Still, even if you had seen it coming, you wouldn't have expected it to be Bucky, not with how he steadfastly avoids you at all costs.

Shaking off the weird feeling, you focused on going over your plan for infiltration. You and Steve were paired, likely because Bucky refused to work with you. Again, you shook it off. His feelings made no sense to you, but now was not the time to figure it out.

"Everyone ready?" Steve asked, preparing to open the hatch now that the jet had landed. With nods from the team, he pressed the button and everyone took off.

-

"Shit!" you yelped as you dodged another spray of bullets, the thumb drive with the files you needed secured in your pocket.

"Bucky, Wanda, what's your status?" Steve called into the comms, using his shield to deflect the bullets back toward your assailants.

"Files secured," Wanda shouted back. She sounded just as out of breath as you, clearly in the middle of something. A few seconds later, Bucky chimed in.

"Wilson just took out the last of them on our side," he said cooly. His voice was completely level, no sign of exhaustion present. "On route back to the jet."

"Swing by the west side, we're surrounded," Steve asked, still trying to figure out a way out. Thankfully, it didn't take long for them to get to you.

Their arrival drew some of the fire, giving you and Steve the opportunity you needed to escape the corner you'd been backed into. You were sprinting through an open area when you noticed a lone sniper aiming for Wanda.

"Wanda, duck!" you screamed, jumping in front of her just as he fired the gun. You fired your own weapon, hitting the agent square between the eyes as you dropped to the ground. "Mother fucker," you grunted, hand already reaching for the wound in you leg. The sheer amount of blood told you all you needed to know. You didn't have long.

"Y/N!" The rest of the team was suddenly at your side, their faces portraying various panicked expressions. You barely registered the pain on Bucky's face as the whole world faded to black.

-

The first time you died you were 16.

Your friend Cheryl had just gotten her license, and despite your parents rules about not riding in the car if any of your friends were driving, you went with her to the mall. You were only six minutes from your house when a drunk driver swerved into your lane, sending you and Cheryl careening off the road and into a tree.

You would've both been fine if another car didn't follow your path off the road, crash into your car, and send you flying into the lake. The last thing you remember was desperately trying to remove your seatbelt as water filled your lungs.

Next thing you know, you were back in the parking lot of the mall with Cheryl as if you hadn't left yet- the one key difference being your inability to breath properly. Your sporadic coughing fit caught her attention as the two of you buckled up to leave.

"You good?" she questioned, eyeing you with worry. Your coughs tapered out, confusion riddling your own expression.

"I don't... yeah. I'm fine," you answered, shaking off the sense of deja vu as she pulled out of the parking lot. Your lungs were still burning when the same crash happened again. You were six minutes from your house, once again desperately trying to free yourself and Cheryl from the car and then, bam. You were back in the parking lot.

"What the fuck?" you mumbled, through the coughing fit.

"Are you okay?" Cheryl asked, patting your back in an effort to help.

"Fine," you grumbled, still confused by what was happening. "Can we stop at CVS for some cough drops?"

"Sure thing," she answered as she pulled out of the parking spot. You ran into CVS quickly, getting back in the car and making your way home. Six minutes from your house, you saw the car that crashed into you.

"Stop!" you abruptly yelled, practically jumping out of the car when you noticed the car crashed into the tree where you and Cheryl should've been, the car that swerved into your lane crashed into a light pole on the other side of the street. "Call 911!" you shouted at Cheryl as you ran to check on the people in the car.

It wasn't long before the police and ambulances arrived, calling your parents to pick you up from the scene. From what you could tell, everyone involved would make a full recovery, especially since no cars were sent into the lake.

Your parents were quick to lecture you about riding in the car with Cheryl, but your mind was a million miles away.

"Y/N! Are you even listening? That could've been you!" your mom shouted, maybe a bit out of anger for you ignoring her rules, but mostly out of fear. Little did she know how close it was.

-

"Swing by the west side, we're surrounded," Steve's voice sounded from next to you, cluing you back into your surroundings. You leaned slightly, favoring your right leg as the feeling of a bullet tearing through your left thigh lingered.

Once again, it didn't take long for your backup to arrive. Sam, Bucky, and Wanda gave you the chance you needed to move back toward the jet. This time, when the opportunity came, you took out the sniper before he could even aim the gun in Wanda's direction.

Before long, all five of you were safe and sound in the confines of the jet, treating minor scrapes instead of bullet wounds.

"Nice work," Steve said to everyone. "Y/N, I don't know how you noticed that sniper so quickly." He shook his head as he spoke. Despite years of working together, the team was always impressed with your quick thinking. Or at least, what they thought was quick thinking.

"Luck was on my side, I guess," you shrugged off the compliment, still slightly favoring your right leg as you shifted in your seat. Bucky stared at you as if he could see right through you, but when you met his eye he looked away.

It seems like this mission wouldn't do anything to change Bucky's avoidance of you.

-

The third time you died was in college. You had chalked your high school experience up to trauma, and moved on. It took a few years, but you figured you were remembering it wrong or something. It just wasn't logical to assume you drowned and then came back to life only to relive it.

In fact, you chose not to think about the experience ever again. Until, one day, on your way to class you noticed a little boy playing with a bouncy ball while walking with his parents. The ball must've hit a crack, because instead of bouncing back up into his hand, it flew into the street. Without a thought, he chased after the ball. It wouldn't have been a problem if not for the truck coming down the street at that exact moment.

It was an easy decision for you to try to save the child. You pushed him out of the way of the vehicle, taking the hit yourself. Pain coursed through your body as multiple bones cracked and the world slowly faded to black amidst the sound of sirens and screaming.

You woke up fifteen minutes before it happened, walking down the street as if you had just left for class. Your body ached as the injuries lingered. You felt that familiar deja vu as you came upon the child and his parents once again.

It felt like everything was happening in slow motion as you watched the boy bounce the ball. You sped up your walking, just barely catching the ball before the kid could decide to walk into the street. Instead of being hit by the truck, you simply felt the wind on your face as it sped by.

You quickly gave the child the ball, practically running to your lecture hall so you could freak out in the privacy of the bathroom. Even in a world where people like Captain America exist, you never thought you would actually have some sort of super power.

So, you ignored it. For as long as you could, you pretended it didn't exist. You didn't tell a single soul about what happened. Either time. You just continued on with college, trying to study for your tests and live your life like a normal person.

Then, the battle of New York happened, and ignoring it no longer seemed possible.

It felt like any other day in New York. Of course, you'd heard about the attack in Germany, but it seemed like an isolated incident. From what the news was showing, the threat had been handled. It wasn't until aliens burst out of the sky in New York that anyone outside of government intelligence really knew anything serious was happening.

Now, living in New York City has its pros and cons. You just never thought dealing with an alien invasion would make the list. At first, it was only slightly out of the ordinary. It certainly wasn't unusual for bright lights and loud noises to emanate from Stark Tower. Afterall, everyone knows who Iron Man is.

Tony Stark falling through the sky without the suit, though? Not exactly your typical day in the city. Of course, today of all days was the first time in months your friends had managed to convince you to go to brunch with them rather than making it at home. New York was expensive enough. You didn't need to add exorbitant meals out on the town to your list of expenses.

Even more of a coincidence was the location of the chosen restaurant: one block east of Stark Tower. So, when the aliens came pouring out of that hole in the sky, you were there. When the explosions started and people panicked, you were there. When Steve Rogers started calling out instructions, you were there.

"Ma'am, civilian extraction is happening through the subway," the Captain called after you, seeing as you were running the wrong direction. Honestly, by the time he spoke to you, you had already died. Twice. Once by explosion and once by alien weaponry.

"Extraction isn't what I was going for, and you don't seem to be in the position of turning down volunteers," you replied, grabbing a discarded alien gun and taking aim. Surprising yourself and the Captain, you managed to hit a few stray aliens. "Y/N L/N, nice to meet you."

"Steve Rogers," he nodded in your direction, accepting the help despite his better judgement. "Just don't die."

"You got it, Captain."

And that's how you managed to join the Avengers. Unbeknownst to Steve, you weren't able to follow his one instruction. During the Battle of New York, you died three more times. Of course, each time you came back you managed to save the people around you.

By the time you finished, you felt like you could sleep for a year. Each death brought with it the residual pain of being stabbed, beaten, and bruised. Your lungs felt full of smoke, and your entire body was in pain. Still, you were able to help at least a little bit.

After that, you started actually training to fight. It seems Shield was impressed with your ability to survive - ha, jokes on them- throughout the fight. Before long, you were going on missions with the team, none of them the wiser about your hidden ability.

You settled into a new normal. Training, missions, living in the tower. Just when you were finally getting the hang of things, everything went to shit. Again.

-

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

Everything seemed to freeze for Steve. In the short time you've known Steve Rogers, you've never seen him freeze during a fight. He's always prepared for the next attack. Seeing him completely stop fighting was enough for you to second guess yourself as well.

Nat and Sam were not so easily swayed. Sam attacked first, catching the man off guard. Just as he was about to shoot Steve, Nat launched a grenade to throw him off. His shot ended up off target, but still struck someone.

You felt the bullet rip through your abdomen, the sensation still causing you immense pain despite the numerous times you've died via gunshot wound.

"Shit," you cursed, the blood already seeping through your clothes and spreading.

"Y/N!" Steve ran to you, putting pressure on the wound. You could feel the world fading, the familiar feeling of dying beginning to take over. Nat and Sam surrounded you, paying no attention to the various cars full of Hydra agents coming to collect them. "I- I'm sorry," he mumbled, eyes tearing up.

It never got easier for you to watch your friends when they think you're dying. A part of you wanted to just tell them, but another part thought they wouldn't believe you. Even with all of the crazy things they've seen, how can you prove to them you can't die? They won't realize it ever happened since you seem to travel back in time.

The first time it happened, you tried to explain it. A mission went bad, the intel too outdated. Steve and Nat were by your side as you bled out. You explained as much as you could in the little time you had left, but when you woke up fifteen minutes earlier they had no recollection of the conversation. It was easier if they didn’t know.

"Steve, I'll be right back." You had just enough time to see the confusion on his face before you were suddenly waking.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

This time, you were prepared for the stray bullet. You ducked out of the way just before the bullet went flying through the place you just stood.

-

That was your first interaction with the Winter Soldier, but definitely not your last. The two of you fought while trying to take down the helicarriers. Being in charge of air support was definitely made more difficult by the Winter Soldier. Every craft you had was either shot down or prevented from even taking off.

"Bucky, right?" you called to him, figuring you could at least try to distract him from making things harder for Steve. He didn't reply, merely taking out another gun and aiming it at you. You relied on your training to guide you through the fight, doing your best to disarm him with each new weapon drawn.

"Seriously?" you muttered when he took out a fifth gun. You were just barely too slow to stop him, a bullet flying straight through your head.

"Bucky, right?"

The words escaped without a thought, restarting the few minutes you managed to stay alive. Your head pounded with the residual pain from the bullet, but you didn't have time to waste. You went through the fight again, this time dodging the fifth gun and kicking it out of his hand.

"Out of guns?" you quipped, more hopeful than joking. As if on cue, he pulled a knife from the side of his tactical suit. "Of course." You dodged his first strike, doing your best to avoid the blade. His attack was relentless, never letting up even as you grew more and more fatigued.

Eventually, the knife connected. The pain radiated through you, only growing when he twisted the knife. You couldn't hold in the scream that escaped you, the voices in your ear unable to help.

"Y/N, status?" Sam called, having just deactivated the second helicarrier.

You didn't have time to reply as the world once again faded to black.

"Bucky, right?"

It was more of a groan than anything this time around, your head still pounding and your side on fire. Still, you fought as hard as you could to prevent him from getting to Steve.

You made it past the guns, shivering at the sight of the all too familiar knife. It was easier to predict his moves this time, having grown more and more familiar with his fighting style with each iteration. Somehow, you managed to rid him of the knife, purely fighting hand to hand.

"Y/N, status?" Sam once again asked, his task complete.

"A little busy at the moment," you yelled, crouching at just the right moment to avoid a metal fist to the face. Your attempt to turn out of his grip was blocked, trapping you between him and a wall.

"Bucky, you don't have to do this," you nearly begged trying to figure out a way to just stay alive. There was no recognition in his eyes as he choked the life out of you, ignoring your desperate pleas for your life.

"Bucky, right?"

Your throat screamed at you as you coughed out the words, earning the slightest look of confusion from him before he once again aimed his gun.

It may have been your own exhaustion, but it almost felt as though he was fighting with more determination than before. It sort of seemed like he was feeling the deja vu you've grown so familiar with.

"Y/N, status?" Sam's voice in your ear drew you back to the present.

"A little busy at the moment," you yelled, crouching and spinning the opposite way from your previous fight. The escape worked, allowing you a few seconds reprieve. It was enough time for Sam to join you in the fight.

Unfortunately, the Winter Soldier seemed prepared for his arrival, using a seemingly specialized tool to rid Sam of his wings. It wasn't long before he had the two of you thrown across the air strip, giving him enough time to get away.

"Fuck," you winced. "He's coming for you Steve." You barely made it through the sentence before you were collapsing on the ground.

-

"On your left," Steve's voice garnered your attention. Looking to your left, you noticed Steve in a hospital bed next to you, Sam sitting in a chair between you.

"Look at that, you're both up." Sam smirked, although you could see the joy behind the expression.

"What happened to you?" Steve asked, his voice showing the concern his face was too beat up to express.

"Oh, you know. Got into it with a guy with a metal arm. Hard fight to win," you joked. You were still recovering from the trauma of dying three times in a row like that. Even with the Battle of New York you managed to spread them out more. "We gonna find him?"

Steve wasted no time in admitting the truth you and Sam were already expecting. "We're going to try."

-

And try you did, until you found him. It took months and months of research, tracking down leads that got you nowhere, and many late nights. There were even a few times you were certain he had been in the location, and you missed him by days, maybe even hours.

Still, after nearly a year and a half of searching, you found him. There are very few moments in your life that can compare to the joy on Steve Roger's face as you finally found his best friend.

Of course, Bucky fought you on it. It was nothing like the last time you fought, leaning more verbal than physical. Bucky didn't know how long he'd be free. All they need to do was say the words and he'd be forced back into that life. Running seemed easier.

"I might be able to help with that," you piped in. It was the first thing you said during the whole conversation, surprising the men. Bucky looked at you like he'd seen a ghost, but you brushed it off.

You went on to explain how during your research into the Winter Soldier, you got into contact with some new people. The same people who helped you track Bucky down, actually. "I may have anticipated this exact problem, and I know someone who could help you."

Eventually, you convinced them all to go with you to Wakanda. The world still thought of Wakanda as a third world country, but you knew better. Their resources and technology are unmatched. During the flight, you explained as much as you could about the country.

When you landed, T'Challa and Shuri were more than welcoming. Shuri even seemed excited about the idea of helping Bucky, glad to show off her skills to someone new. She had already started on an algorithm to remove the trigger words from his mind and restore his memory, but there would be some trial and error along the way.

"You sure, Buck?" Steve asked, knowing Bucky needed this, but still desperate to just have his friend back.

"I can't trust my own mind," Bucky lamented, confirming his decision.

"We'll be here for you when you're ready," Steve promised, hugging him before letting him go. Bucky merely nodded at you, still unsure about the lingering feeling he had that he knew you.

Several months later, you watched as Steve took a phone call, the look of joy on his rivaling the only other time you'd seen anyone so happy. You knew what it was about instantly. You were ready to fly back to Wakanda before he even hung up the call.

You thought it would be easy enough to befriend Bucky now that he would be joining the team, but things couldn't be further from the truth.

-

"Steve, please!" you begged, desperate for anything. "Just send me somewhere, I can't keep doing this."

"Y/N, you can't avoid your problems and hope they solve themselves," he reprimanded. Steve was just as hopeful as you were about you befriending Bucky.

"I'm not avoiding my problem!" you glared, muttering under your breath. "My problem is avoiding me."

Ever since Bucky joined the team, he has said all of two words to you. You'd only ever been on one mission with the man. Despite your many attempts to even just say hi, the two of you could barely be considered colleagues, let alone friends.

Just before Steve could respond, both of your phones chimed. Steve rolled his eyes at your excitement, but you both started off toward the quinjet after reading about the emergency mission. Upon arrival, you realized Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Bucky had also been called for the mission.

It's been a while since any single mission required this much man power, so your nerves were instantly on edge. Not to mention, the way Bucky steadfastly avoided any and all interactions with you certainly didn't help.

"What have we got?" Steve asked, turning to Fury.

"A nest of Brood have been discovered in Texas. Intel says they will continue to consume any and all resources they can find unless they're stopped." Fury glared as he spoke, nearly seeming uninterested.

"How do we stop them?" Steve questioned, eyes scanning the file folder for information.

"Find the queen," you answered, already having read through the file. "They're like bees, can't survive without a queen. Only, it's instantaneous." Fury's grim nod was enough confirmation for everyone to get moving. You all boarded the jet, going over the files to learn as much as possible about the newly discovered alien species.

"They enjoy the suffering they cause?" Clint questioned, his grimace quickly being mirrored by the rest of the team.

"This is so highly disturbing," you muttered, more so to yourself than anyone in particular. "Giant fucking bees, dead set on killing you." Still, everyone hummed in agreement.

Before long, Steve was laying out his plan. Sam and Clint will take the high ground, warning of any surprises. He and Wanda are going to cause a diversion while you and Bucky search for the queen, using a specially designed weapon to kill it. Taking out the queen will send the rest of the Brood into chaos, effectively shutting down the entire nest.

You glared at Steve when he paired you with Bucky, but it wasn't hard to understand his decision. Maybe working with Bucky will help the two of you get past whatever it is that's causing the awkwardness. Plus, with his stealth skills and your, albeit unknown, ability to not die, it made the most sense for the two of you to tackle that part of the mission.

-

"Status?" Steve asked through the comms, wanting everyone to check in now that the team had split up. Thermal satellite images showed the building that contained the most Brood, signalling where the center of your attack would take place

"The nest seems confined to this block for now," Sam checked in first having completed his initial aerial surveillance. "Clint's in position to the northwest."

"Copy," Steve muttered in between hits to the stragglers he and Wanda had come across.

"I think we found the eggs, but they don't look normal" you muttered. Even through the comms it was easy to hear the disgust in your voice. You and Bucky had made it a few floors up in the building. "There must be thousands in here."

"We seem to be collecting a crowd out here," Wanda chimed in. You could hear the faint sounds of her attacking the aliens as they came up to her.

"The queen must be near the eggs, keep us updated," Steve instructed, effectively cutting off the conversation for now.

You and Bucky traversed through the eggs, doing your best to avoid crushing any. You'd already made that mistake, and the smell was foul. As you scanned the room for any sign of where to find the queen, you couldn't help but let your mind wander. Eventually, the thoughts were too loud to keep inside.

"Why do you always avoid me?" you asked bluntly, eyes widening when you realized you said it out loud. Thankfully, you didn't have to look at his reaction, pretending to be too focused on searching the eggs.

"I don't avoid you," Bucky muttered unconvincingly. Despite your best interest, you turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He rolled his eyes, about to say something else when you noticed a door on the other side of the room. You could just barely make out movement through the small glass windowpane.

"There," you pointed. "There's... something in there." You and Bucky were instantly focused back on the mission, approaching the door in an eerie silence.

He looked in first, signalling for you to do the same. The room was filled with even more eggs, but you could spot a few full fledged aliens as well. It seemed they were all focused on something in the corner to the left of the door, just out of your view.

You moved to either side of the door, trying to come up with a plan. If you couldn't confirm the queen was in the room, it would blow the surprise you currently had. Steve and Wanda's distraction would only hold if you found the queen on your first shot.

It seemed you were at an impasse, needing to know what was in the room, but not able to check.

"I'll go in," you told him confidently, hoping he wouldn't question you. "You stay here." Apparently, you caught him off guard because you were two steps into the room before he started protesting.

The room was much larger than you anticipated, but the queen was definitely inside. She seemed to be fertilizing the eggs, whatever the Brood equivalent of male drone bees was helping her. Only, the fertilization process was nothing like that of bees. The eggs weren't eggs at all, but embryos.

Each embryo needed a host, some other living creature. All of the ones you’d passed in the hall were rotting because they didn’t have a host. There was a variety of animals throughout the room, all seemingly under control of the embryos that were infecting them. They all seemed to be in different stages of the reproduction process, morphing into Brood but still half resembling the creatures they were before. It was easily the most horrifying thing you'd ever seen.

You were quick to draw the attention of the Brood, but that's what you were expecting. You pushed Bucky back into the hall as they surrounded you, leaving him with no choice but to start beating down the door.

You fought them as they approached, but it was too many for you to handle. They were quick to overtake you, except they didn't kill you outright. No, they wanted to use you as a host for the parasitic reproduction process.

You screamed as they latched onto your limbs, holding you still for the queen to implant an embryo in your neck. You did everything in your power to escape their hold, thrashing and kicking more and more as you felt an agonizing pain in your neck. They simply fed on your fear, genuinely enjoying the activity just as the file said.

Just as the embryo was implanted, Bucky burst through the door. You were screaming, an absolute agony spreading through your body as you felt the foreign parasite start infecting you. It leached through your blood, only causing more and more pain as it spread. You could feel your control slipping away, but if this plan was going to work you needed to die.

You made eye contact with Bucky as the Brood switched focus. The distraction was all you needed to pull your gun and shoot yourself in the head, Bucky's panicked expression the last thing you saw.

-

"I don't avoid you." You once again heard Bucky mutter the words, but you could barely focus on him. You paid no attention to the confusion lingering in his voice this time around. You paid no attention to the way he looked at the door behind him and then back at you. You paid him no attention at all.

You could still feel the poison flowing through your veins, an unbearable fire burning through you as you tried to come down from your latest death. The pounding headache from the bullet felt like a paper cut compared to the lingering pain from the Brood.

"Y/N?" Bucky approached you slowly, concern etched in every feature on his face. His lips turned down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes showcasing emotion so deep you could dive into them and never reach the bottom.

You desperately looked around the room, trying to find something to remind you that you were indeed alive. Your hands desperately scratched at your neck, feeling for any sign of the embryo being implanted. Your skittish movements slowed when you couldn't find the slightest of bumps, but your breathing was still labored.

Bucky made it to you, reaching out a hand to ground you in reality. Once your breathing slowed a bit, he gently helped you to your feet. With one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, and the other holding your own to his chest, he helped you follow his own breathing pattern. In and out, in and out.

You couldn't say how long you stood together like that, but soon enough Steve was in your ear asking for another update.

"We found the queen," you supplied, voice strained ever so slightly. You expected Bucky to look confused, but he merely nodded in response.

"Starting phase two now," Bucky added when he realized you were done talking.

Once again, Steve asked for you to keep him posted, but you barely understood the words in your ear. Why was Bucky acting like he knew where the queen was? He shouldn't remember that...

"We'll go through this wall," he gestured further down the room. "I'll aim the sensor, when it locks you can shoot, okay?"

You barely managed a nod. Not wanting to screw up the mission, you followed Bucky's lead. It was easier to ignore the confusion anyway- to just pretend like his behavior made sense even if it seemed impossible. Because you knew the exact location of the queen, you could pinpoint which Brood to hit. Bucky aimed the target, counting you down to when it would lock.

"3... 2... 1, shoot!" Bucky yelled over the noise of the machine, startling you back into action. You pressed the button, a fairly simple task, and watched as the miniscule weapon fired through the wall and into the queen.

The sensor allowed you and Bucky to watch as the queen convulsed. The body spasmed as the weapon took effect, destroying the queen from the inside. Eventually, the movements stopped and everything was eerily quiet for a moment. You waited with bated breath, expecting something else to go wrong.

"I take it you got the queen?" Steve questioned, continuing when there was no immediate response. "Every Brood out here just collapsed."

"Yeah, we got the queen..." you muttered, still reeling from everything that just happened.

"We'll meet you back at the jet," Bucky once again picked up where you left off. Neither of you said anything as he lead you outside of the building and back toward the jet. You both boarded in silence, barely even glancing at everyone else as you sat down. Bucky sat on the opposite side of the jet, his eyes flickering over to you every few seconds.

"That was the nastiest thing I've ever seen," Sam groaned, shivering as if it would clear his mind of the memories of the Brood.

Wanda nodded, getting read to reply when she froze, eyes focusing on you. Sam followed her line of sight, quickly understanding what had her so concerned.

"You okay, Y/N? You look pretty freaked out," Sam asked, concerned over your blank stare.

"I-I, um..." you stuttered, twitching slightly. You were still recovering from the feeling of the queen implanting an embryo under your skin. "I'm fine."

Of course, nobody believed you. They could see the fear in your eyes, the pain lingering under the surface. Your stuttering only increased their concern. Even in the most dire of situations, you've never been anything but confident. It comes with the territory of knowing you won't die.

"I killed you," Bucky whispered, the words bursting out of him as realization dawned. His mouth hung open slightly, jaw slack with surprise. Steve had just come to sit with the group after setting the coordinates for autopilot, hearing Bucky but not understanding.

"What?" Steve looked at Bucky, confusion lacing his features. It seems Clint, Wanda, and Sam were too focused on you to hear Bucky's mumbled whisper, but Steve caught it. Bucky merely stared at you, his heart breaking as he came to actually understand the gravity of what he just saw.

Steve looked between you and Bucky, trying to figure out what happened. You both seemed frozen, a million emotions playing across your faces.

"I killed you," Bucky repeated, louder now that he understood what he was saying. Your eyes met his, and you could feel your heart breaking from the pain in his eyes. Immediately, you started shaking your head.

"No, Bucky. No. It wasn't you." Bucky jolted, surprised by the conviction in your voice when you could barely whisper a few minutes ago. The rest of the team looked between you, confused and distraught.

"I thought they were nightmares... I thought it was my own mind punishing me for wanting something good. But it really happened... I really killed you." Bucky's voice broke, emotion overflowing with each word. Tears pooled in his eyes, his jaw still slack with surprise. He was so focused on you, on the pain he must have caused you.

"Bucky, no. I'm fine!" You struggled to remove your seatbelt, hands shaking. You barely had the capacity to comprehend what his words meant, your heart only aching more with the thoughts. When you finally got free, you quickly moved to kneel in front of him. You held his face in your hands, your own tears pooling as you tried to explain. "You didn't hurt me."

"I did," he whispered, voice utterly broken. The rest of the team had retreated, still trying to follow the conversation, but too clueless to make any sense of it. "You can feel the pain. I don't know how, but you can feel the pain after you come back. I just saw it."

You desperately tried to wipe the few tears as they fell, shaking your head in disagreement. Your own tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let go of him.

"You felt everything I did to you,” he choked out. After months of convincing himself to work up the courage to even talk to you, Bucky was ready. After this mission, he was going to change things. He was going to be "stronger than the nightmares" in Steve's words. But now? Every time he looks at you, he hears you begging for your life while he chokes the last breath from your lungs.

"Bucky, I-” You were at a loss for words. Nobody else had ever figured out your power before. Even after you explained it to them, nobody else remembered. It wasn’t a conversation you ever saw yourself having. You had no idea how to help him. Eventually, you just started talking, desperately saying anything that could soothe him.

“This time was different. It's not normally so... traumatic. I'm not normally so afraid. The Brood- when I went in there, I thought they would kill me. I thought it was the only way, and then we would know where the queen was. I didn't think they'd... do that. That's why it hurt so bad this time. Whatever they did made it hurt. I swear, it fades away really quickly." You were gearing up to keep explaining when Bucky's voice drew you out of your own head.

"How many times?" he asked, his grief turning to worry.

"What?" you countered, not following his train of thought.

"How many times have you died?" His question hung in the air, everyone on the jet seemingly holding their breath.

"Bucky, I don't-" you shook your head, not seeing how that information could help.

"Please?" he pleaded, voice breaking. "How many times?"

"23," you whispered. Your hands fell from his face as you thought about each time you've died. You retreated into yourself, still kneeling on the floor. "The first time was when I was 16."

You had closed your eyes when you answered him, the feeling of sharing the one thing you'd never told anyone too overwhelming. You were surprised when Bucky reached out to help you up, not even realizing he had moved from his seat.

He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, before pulling you into a hug. He held you to him tightly, one hand across your back and the other buried in your hair. You clung to him just as tightly, drawing comfort but trying to provide it as well.

"It's not your fault," you whispered in an attempt to convince him. "You have to know it wasn't you." You felt him nod against you. You wanted to hear him say it, but a nod would suffice for now.

Suddenly, the jet was touching down at the compound. The slight jolt was enough for you and Bucky to separate. The rest of the team was still staring at you, nobody making a move to exit. You jumped when the hatch opened, Nat and Tony popping in with concerned expressions.

Nat looked between you and Bucky, one eyebrow lifted at your close proximity. Tony didn't seem to notice. He was too busy wondering why nobody had gotten off the jet yet.

"I heard the mission was successful. Why the long faces?" he joked, unaware of the tension. It didn't take him long to catch on.

It was as if his words shocked Bucky into motion. In the blink of an eye, he was out of the jet and in the elevator. You stared after him, mouth agape and eyes watering once again.

"Y/N?" Tony asked, concerned over your wellbeing. Suddenly, everyone was looking at you again. "What happened?"

You sputtered out a few syllables in response, unable to form anything coherent. Your mind was moving too fast for you to understand anything you were feeling. Random thoughts were running through your brain, eventually providing one that could answer Tony's question.

"I shot myself in the head."

Once again, the jet was silent. Nobody knew how to respond to a statement like that. Tony was especially confused, having missed the previous conversation.

"You what?" he balked, frantically looking you over for any wounds. "But... you're fine?"

"We needed to find the queen..." you whispered. Your fingers brushed over your neck as your entire body began shivering with the memories of the Brood. "The embryo..."

"Hey, why don't we go inside?" Steve asked, leading you off the jet without waiting for an answer. He finally overcame the confusion and shock of the previous conversation, recognizing the panic in your eyes.

"Bucky..." you mumbled, still reliving the story. "Bucky saved me."

He lead you to the med bay, facing no resistance from you. Everyone else followed behind, Sam, Clint, and Wanda filling in Nat and Tony. You didn't hear any of their conversation. The only thing you could hear was Bucky's voice when he realized it was all real. By the time you reached Bruce and Helen, you were catatonic.

"What happened?" Bruce asked, his concern revolving around the potential for an unknown alien illness. Once again, Sam, Clint, and Wanda explained the conversation from the jet. Bruce's worry shifted, his concern now revolving around the trauma and pain you've endured alone.

Eventually, your lack of physical injury lead to the team of doctors deciding to give you a sedative. You needed rest before anything else could be done. You didn't protest as you they laid you down in a hospital bed and started an IV.

-

Bucky was panicking. He couldn't get the look on your face as you died over and over again out of his head. He didn't detour as he left the jet, heading straight for the gym. Maybe it wasn't the best coping mechanism, but punching things is something he's good at. Every time he heard your screams, he pushed himself harder.

That is where Steve found him a couple hours later. He made it through four punching bags in that time, hanging a new one when Steve stopped him.

"You gonna spend the rest of your life in here?" Steve asked, trying to lighten the mood. Bucky glared at him, but set the punching bag aside nonetheless. Steve decided on the age old approach for helping Bucky. "Buck, it wasn't you."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have the image of her dying ingrained in your memory." Bucky replied, fingers twitching, itching for something to hit.

"How do you remember?" he asked, trying to circumvent the topic until Bucky was more willing to talk about it.

"Whatever Shuri did to fix my memory, it made it better. I remember everything. All four times." He could barely get the words out. "I- I thought it was a nightmare. I mean, it felt so real, but it didn't make any sense. How could I have killed her if she was standing right in front of me?" he scoffed. "Now I know."

"You wanna know what I said to her the day we met?" Steve questioned, trying to say anything that would get Bucky to stop blaming himself. Bucky merely raised an eyebrow in his direction. "It was the Battle of New York. She came to help, despite no real training. Said we weren't in the position of turning away volunteers. I told her not to die," he scoffed at himself. "Can't help but think she didn't listen. If I had known, I never would have let her-"

"You didn't know. It's not your fault she's just as self-sacrificing as you. She wouldn't want you to blame yourself," Bucky cut in, his fervent need to protect Steve kicking in. The lingering silence let him realize what his own words implied about himself when Steve grinned. "Punk."

"Jerk." Steve's grinned widened. "Don't let this set you back. You've been living with the nightmares for long enough. I know the reality of it all is hard to come to terms with, but you can't let it take over your life. Be grateful."

"For what?" Bucky balked, completely thrown off by Steve's new approach. He sounded more like Sam than himself.

"That she came back," he shrugged. Bucky stared into the distance, thinking over what Steve said. The conversation was not anything like he thought it would be.

"You been talking to Sam?" he finally asked, a small grin on his lips.

"Maybe," Steve smirked.

"He's pretty smart for a birdbrain," Bucky relented. "Where is she?"

Steve walked with Bucky back to the med bay, still trying to talk to him about everything on the way. He wasn't delusional enough to think one conversation would fix everything, but he was hopeful it was enough for Bucky to talk to you. Even just in the brief conversation on the jet, Steve could see the way you helped each other.

-

“Are you sure she’ll want to see me?” you heard Bucky's voice ask, your eyelids feeling heavy as you tried to look around.

"I'm sure." Steve replied. “The only coherent thing she said was your name and how you saved her.” The memories of your mission and the conversations that followed came hurtling back.

"I didn't save her,” Bucky protested. “I-”

"Yes, you did,” you spoke up, finding your voice after finally being able to open your eyes. You slowly sat up, taking a sip from the cup of water on the table next to you. Bucky stopped talking, merely staring at you. “You saved me when you broke down the door and distracted the aliens, but you also saved me after…”

Steve quietly slipped from the room as you and Bucky stared at each other, a million emotions floating between you. Bucky moved to stand by your bed, stopping just out of reach.

“Y/N , I didn’t-” he shook his head, still denying your claims

“Yes. You did. Bucky,” you took a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves as you thought about what happened. "I was losing control When you broke through the door… any later and I would've been gone... Still alive, but not really there. You saved me.”

"You shot yourself in the head,” he whispered. He was still reliving his own memories, watching you die, but also reliving the times he killed you.

"I had to," you whispered. “I had to die so we could start over, back in the hallway, away from them. When I came back, I panicked. I could... I could still feel it. Whatever they tried to do to me, I could still feel it. The poison burning through my veins.” you shivered. “The only reason I made it out of there is you.”

Silence settled over the room, Bucky seemingly at a loss for words following your speech. You stared at each other, both trying to find anything to say to break the silence. After a few minutes, Bucky dropped your gaze.

He ran a hand through his hair, a deep, fortifying breath rattling through his lungs. "But, I killed you.”

'"No, you didn't." Before even finishing the short sentence, you could tell he was gearing up to argue with you. “Am I still alive?" you glared.

"Technically, but-"

"Yes or no. Am I alive?” you asked again, cutting off whatever argument he was going to start. He hesitated, trying to find a way to get his point across. You merely raised an eyebrow while you waited.

"Yes,” he relented with another deep sigh.

"Then you didn't kill me. Death is final, not temporary.” You knew what his next argument would be before he opened his mouth. "Sure, maybe it hurt, but it's nothing worse than what happened to Nat or Sam or Steve. And, besides it wasn't you. You're not the Winter Soldier. Nothing you did under that persona was your choice. It's not who you are. I know you, James Bucky Barnes. You would never hurt me.”

"How do you know?” he whispered, feeling too many things to put any additional volume behind the words. "How can you be so sure?"

You reached for his hands, gently pulling him closer to you. You waited for him to meet your eye before answering. “Because you’re a good man, Bucky. It's that simple. I could give you a list of reasons a mile long, but it all boils down to you being a good man. You care about people. I mean, you didn't even hesitate when it came to joining the Avengers. You could've been done with this world. You could’ve healed and moved on, but the thought didn't even cross your mind."

You heaved a breath as you finished your speech. You were still looking into his eyes, growing more embarrassed by the minute as he stared back with his mouth agape.

"Um. Yeah, that's why I'm sure. You're a good man and you care about people. Even if you put off a grumpy facade," you mumbled, trying to break the silence. You dipped your eyes, getting ready to pull your hands away when he suddenly squeezed them. You're head snapped up, relief flooding you when you saw his smile.

"'You're incredible, doll,' he whispered, one hand moving to up to hold your cheek. "I'm not good with words, but even I could spend hours listing all the things there is to love about you. You are stronger than anyone I've ever met, going through this completely on your own. You have done so much to help all of us, and we didn't even have a clue as to what was actually happening.”

It was as if there was a magnet pulling you toward each other. You were so captivated by each other, the sounds of the rest of the team piling into the med bay couldn't stop you. Bucky pulled you into a mind blowing kiss, holding you close even after you needed to break apart for air.

"Friday said she was awake!" Tony practically yelled as he pushed through the door. Before he could even see you, he was asking questions. "You've died 23 times? And you never told any of us?” He finally turned the corner, the rest of the team hot on his heels. “Why didn’t - oh.”

Tony froze when he saw you and Bucky holding each other close. Your foreheads were pressed together, cheesy smiles spread across both your faces. The rest of the team froze behind him, everyone wearing matching smirks.

"Let's go Tony. You can quiz Y/N over dinner.” Steve sighed when the billionaire didn't move. "Let's go,” he said again, this time louder. Eventually, he decided to just drag Tony from the room, knowing his barrage of questions would start as soon as the surprise faded.

You giggled when you were once again alone in the room with Bucky, sporadically pressing feather light kisses to his lips. He reciprocated your actions, smiling wider than you've ever seen.

"You're going to be interrogated at dinner, doll.” Bucky smirked.

"Not if we go out to eat," you grinned back.

“Are you asking me out?” he asked, smiling somehow widening.

"Well, good men deserve to be asked out," you replied cheekily.

He looked at you lovingly, a blush spreading across his face. “If you say so.”

Taglist: @averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @strawberryspence @andrwgxrfield @jswessie187 @ellobruv @alohastitch06266

Marvel: @leyannrae @livstilinski @oceaniamaddness @justreadingficsdontmindme @freyathehuntress

Notes: The trigger warning and warnings at the beginning are because technically the reader shoots herself, but she can't die so it's just to escape the situation not to actually die. I didn't want to not include the warnings, because I know it can be difficult to read about even in this scenario.

[alyofababwa]

Find A Way Masterlist

James Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are a shapeshifting mutant that has an alter-ego of a cat. Bucky is a quiet man. Cats like quiet places. Probably a good match.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes x Shapeshifter!Female!Reader

Themes: Mythology

Status: Finished

Introduction: The Lazy Cat

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

[pellucid-constellations]

Undisclosed - Masterlist

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either. 

Warnings: Beefy!bucky, angst, references to death/crime, injury, toxicity, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **), a bit of slow burn!!  

a/n: This series is now complete 🤍

Series playlist ⍋

❆ Chapter One 

❆ Chapter Two 

❆ Chapter Three 

❆ Chapter Four 

❆ Chapter Five

❆ Chapter Six**

❆ Chapter Seven

❆ Chapter Eight 

❆ Chapter Nine 

❆ Chapter Ten

❆ Epilogue

Series art!!

🤍 Bucky

🤍 Bucky and Alpine 

🤍Scenery 

🤍 Bucky at the diner

Extra content!!

Reader gets sick (drabble)

Spring in Stowe Mills (oneshot)

The bear attack (drabble)

Come Home (oneshot)

Comfort (drabble)

[juniebjonesin]

ꜱᴏʟɪᴛᴀʀʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ › being a single mom wasn’t exactly one of your top three life goals, but shit happens. now all you want is to do the best you can for your son, which consists of working 24/6 and spending the rest of your free time with him. that leaves little room for anything else these days, especially going on a date with your beloved regular from work.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ › bucky x single mom!reader ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ › 18+ MDNI fluff, slow burn, slight au, eventual smut, p in v, unprotected sex, crying during sex, dirty talking bucky barnes, he fell first she fell harder, kinda friends to lovers, feelings confession, more to be added with time ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ › 55.6k

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ › did i cry while writing this? maybe. is this just me projecting? maybe. do i just need bucky to kiss me on the forehead and say it’s okay? maybe. yes. definitely yes.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ › ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ › ᴘɪᴘᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ › ʙᴀʙʙʟɪɴɢ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ › ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀᴏᴏʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ › ᴅɪɴᴇʀ ᴅᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪx - ᴇᴘɪʟᴏᴜɢᴇ › ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏꜱ, ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ, ᴀ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴍɪɴɪ ᴍᴏᴏᴅʙᴏᴀʀᴅꜱ › ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ › @earthsmightiestbenders || @okaytrashpanda || @straight4buckybarnesbutimgay || @gh0stst4r || @boomyoulookingforthis || @etherealanddoeeyed || @galaxygoddess30 || @xmiaacxio || @adalvsseb || @iliestillandstraight || @arrowbarnes || @idontknowwhatimdoinginiife || @delusionalwomsn || @sebastians-love || @sergeantsebastian || @star-yawnznn || @mrsnikstan || @counterstr1ke || @daydreamgoddess14 || @crazyunsexycool || @pinksplace || @escapefromrealitylol || @jeshomie || @buckyandyelena || @vicmc624

[redgillan]

Breaking the Rules - Masterpage

Summary: Modern!AU You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.

Warnings: Hate to Love, Fake Dating, Snarky Remarks, Mention of Cheating, Mention of Emotionally Abusive Relationship ao3 link

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

if you’ve enjoyed this story, please consider supporting my work by buying me a Ko-fi

Moodboard by @barnesndnobles Moodboard by @the-canary

[w1nter-fairy]

I've been spending the last eight months thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end… but on a Wednesday in a café, I watched it begin again.

pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x reader

word count: 28.9 k

summary: after a messy divorce, you try to find yourself again in a new town—between streets smelling of salt and sun, workshops and a pond full of boats slowly mending, life starts showing you that beginnings aren't always loud; sometimes they're just the world asking you to try again.

warnings: +18 MDNI! explicit sexual content/ implied smut — divorce trauma, PTSD mentions, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of cheating (by ex husband), mentions of grief, slow burn, fluff, domestic fluff, nightmares, panic attacks.

part 1 — autumn When old things fall away. The season of endings, of letting go, of learning that some chapters must close so others can begin.

part 2 — winter When the world grows quiet. A season of healing, fragile beginnings, and learning to survive the cold with someone beside you.

part 3 — spring When everything starts to bloom. New feelings, new roots, and the slow realization that hope can grow again.

part 4 — summer When everything feels alive. The season of warmth, belonging, and choosing the life you’ve built.

a/n: I might eventually come back to the finale because it’s bugging me a little + I have some blurbs to be added as well as a special request from my dearest bubu, so hopefully I’ll be updating this soon.

[justreadingfics]

Bad Match - Series Masterlist (Finished)

*banner by @average-asgardian-avenger

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14 

Part 15 

Part 16 

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19 (The End)

[cassiemaebarnes]

Drunk Confessions

Bucky x reader

Summary: You're the quiet new girl, but when you stumble home drunk from the bar after going out with some old friends and start yapping to Bucky as he takes care of you, things shift between you two.

Word Count: 11,319

You’re not really the “life of the party” type. Everyone at the compound knows you’re quiet – even among Avengers, who run the full spectrum of weird and loud, you’re known for hovering at the back of the room, listening more than speaking. Bucky especially seems to get it. He’s quiet too. You’ve always liked that about him, even if it means you don’t actually talk to him much.

So when you agreed to go out tonight with old friends in the city, everyone was surprised. Hell, you surprised yourself. But it was fine. Fun, even. A little too much fun.

When you get back to the compound, it’s well after midnight. You fumble with the door code, giggling at your own clumsiness. Finally you get it open and stumble inside.

Bucky is the only one in the kitchen. He's leaning on the counter in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking broody and tired. Typical Bucky. Probably another night he couldn’t sleep. He glances up at you, expecting you to nod at him shyly and disappear to your room like you always do.

Instead you beam at him.

“Buckyyyyyy!” you squeal, far too loud for the hour.

His eyebrows jump. “Uh…hey.”

“Oh my God,” you say, immediately plopping onto one of the stools at the island. “You’re awake! Good. Hi. How’s your night going? I went out with Abby and Bailey and their friends – I mean I didn’t know the other people but it was fine – actually some of them were weird, but it was fun, y’know? I think I had like five drinks? Wait, maybe six. A margarita. And something with elderflower? Do you know what elderflower is?”

He’s blinking at you. You. The person who never says more than five words at once. Now you’re talking a mile a minute, eyes bright, hair mussed from the wind outside, cheeks flushed. You don’t even wait for an answer. You keep going:

“And my feet are killing me, oh my God, these shoes are awful. I can’t wait to get out of this outfit, everything is digging in the wrong places and the zipper is evil and–”

Bucky clears his throat, pushing off the counter. “Okay. Yeah. Uh…why don’t you…drink some water, huh?” He fills a glass for you and sets it down carefully in front of you like you’re a small animal he’s afraid will bolt.

You beam at him. “You’re so nice,” you say, picking it up with exaggerated care. “I was so thirsty. Wow. You’re like…thoughtful. Super thoughtful. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Drink,” he says gently, nodding. You take a big gulp, then set it down, your attention immediately going to your shoes.

“Ugh these heels are the worst idea I’ve ever had,” you groan, trying to unbuckle one. You almost slide right off the stool with the effort.

“Hey – whoa.” He steps forward and braces your arm. “Don’t fall, doll.”

You giggle at the nickname. “You called me doll.”

He sighs softly, but there’s amusement behind it. “Just…hold still, okay?” He kneels down in front of you, big hands surprisingly gentle as he undoes the straps on your shoes.

You watch him with a goofy grin. “You’re like a prince. Like Cinderella but in reverse. Prince Barnes. Has a nice ring to it.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath. “Sure. Let’s go with that.” He slides the shoes off one at a time and sets them aside. Your toes wiggle in relief.

“Thank you,” you say, sing-songy. “You’re so good at this. Have you done this before? You seem like you have. I bet you’re great at tying shoes too.”

He raises an eyebrow at you as he stands. “You’re real talkative tonight.”

You blink at him, offended in the mildest way. “Am I not usually? Wait – don’t answer that. I know I’m not. But you’re quiet too! That’s why I like you. You’re…you’re easy to be quiet with. But also you’re so good to talk to, Bucky. Like, you’re listening, I can tell.”

He rubs his jaw. “Yeah. Listening. Definitely listening.”

You lean your elbows on the counter, still babbling. “We should do this more often. Me talking, you listening. Actually you should talk too. We could both talk. Or both not talk. I’m very flexible. Also why are you making that face?”

He has turned to rummage in the kitchen and comes back with a slice of bread. He sets it on a napkin in front of you. “Eat,” he says simply.

You squint at the bread, then at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re drunk, and you need something in your stomach.”

You pick up the bread obediently. “You’re so bossy. I like that. Thank you.” You take a dramatic bite. Crumbs go everywhere. “Mmm. Sober bread.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head with a tiny, disbelieving smile. “Sober bread. Got it.”

You point at him with the bread. “You’re the best, Bucky. Really. The best.”

He grabs a towel to wipe the crumbs from the counter, side-eyeing you but clearly trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay. Finish that, drink your water. Then let’s get you out of here before you wake up Steve.”

You gasp. “I would never wake Steve. He’s so serious when he’s mad.”

“Exactly.” He pats your shoulder carefully. “Drink up.”

You grin at him, impossibly happy despite your discomfort. Despite your usual shyness. Because Bucky’s there. Taking care of you.

You chew another bite of bread and raise your water glass in a toast. “To Bucky Barnes. My very bestest quiet friend.”

He snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Cheers, doll.”

You finish the bread (half of it, really – crumbs go everywhere), gulp down the rest of the water, and plant your palms on the island like you’re about to make a big announcement.

“Okay,” you declare. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Bucky just stares at you for a second, arms folded. “Go…where?”

“My room, obviously,” you say with all the dignity of someone who just nearly fell off the chair earlier. “I can’t sleep here, Bucky.”

He rolls his eyes, exhaling in that slow, resigned way he does when he’s about to do something he never asked for but will absolutely see through. He holds out a hand. “Come on.”

You slap your palm into his with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Yay! Thank you.”

He helps you slide off the chair carefully, keeping a steady hand at your waist when you wobble. You don’t even notice – you’re too busy talking.

“So I told Bailey she’s too good for that asshole, right? Because she is. And she was like noooo, he’s nice and I’m like girl no, and then Abby wanted shots but I was like nope, and then – wait, do you have my shoes?”

He holds up the heels in his free hand. “Got ’em.”

“Good,” you say solemnly. “They’re evil. Don’t let them trick you.”

“Right,” he mutters, guiding you slowly down the hall.

You keep chattering. “Anyway, they said I should go out more but I don’t know, bars are so loud, you know? But it’s nice seeing them. But I like it here. It’s quieter. And you’re here. And you’re nice. Did you know you’re nice?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You’re rolling your eyes at me,” you accuse.

“Not yet,” he lies flatly.

You snort. “You’re so serious, Bucky. I bet you were fun once. Before the whole…murder stuff.”

He actually coughs a laugh at that, then tries to hide it behind a scowl. “Jesus, you’re a menace tonight.”

“Thank you,” you say brightly.

He herds you to your door, but when he opens it and gently tries to nudge you inside, you immediately start fumbling with the zipper at your side.

“Ugh, this stupid thing – help me get it off,” you mumble, twisting around clumsily.

He freezes. “Nope.”

“Pleeeease,” you whine. “I can’t reach – just – zip – down–”

“Bathroom,” he orders, steering you bodily toward it.

“But why?”

“Because you’re drunk and I’m not undressing you in the damn hallway.”

You laugh so hard you hiccup. “You’re so proper. Such a gentleman. It’s fine, you can see my bra, it’s not even a good one–”

He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face, then takes you by the shoulders and turns you firmly. “Bathroom. Go.”

You shuffle in, still talking. “Seriously it’s okay, I trust you, I don’t care if you see – Bucky? Bucky come help me.”

He leans in the doorframe, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not looking. Turn around.”

You do as you’re told, pouting at the mirror. He sighs, steps in, and very carefully, very briskly, zips it down just enough. “There. Finish it yourself.”

You grin at him in the mirror. “You’re so blushy. That’s cute.”

“Finish. It. Yourself.” He flees to stand outside the door.

You giggle the whole time you’re wriggling out of the outfit and pulling on your oversized sleep shirt, narrating through the door.

“Almost done…okay – wait – stuck…okay now I’m done…are you still there? Bucky? Buckyyyy.”

“Still here,” he calls, voice flat but amused.

“Good. Don’t leave.”

When you open the door again you’re in your giant t-shirt, hair a mess, eyes sleepy and happy. He eyes you critically. “Better?” he asks.

“Much,” you say, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him before he can dodge. You rest your head on his chest. “You’re so nice. Have I said that?”

He sighs but his hand lands on your back automatically. “Once or twice.”

You pull back enough to look up at him with droopy, happy eyes. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

He snorts. “Yeah. Anytime.”

“Really?”

He hesitates, then nods. “Really.”

You grin so wide it hurts your face. “You’re my favorite.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, gently steering you toward your bed. “Get in.”

You flop in without grace, giggling again. He sets your evil shoes by the door. “Stay until I fall asleep?” you ask, voice small now.

He gives you a look that’s half fond, half resigned. “Yeah. Okay.”

You snuggle under your blanket, finally quiet except for one last mumble: “Best quiet friend ever.”

He chuckles softly and sits in the chair across from your bed, arms folded. Watching over you. “Go to sleep, doll.”

You lie there in bed in your room for a while, watching the shadows on the ceiling. You’re quiet now, but your brain is buzzing. The alcohol’s made you warm, restless, too aware of everything.

You hear the chair creak quietly as Bucky stands up. He hesitates by your door, then softly closes it behind him. You don’t say anything. You could. But you don’t. Instead you lie there listening to the silence, willing yourself to sleep. It doesn’t work.

After a few minutes you shove your blanket aside and get up, padding barefoot across the hall. You pause at his door, debating for all of half a second before knocking. It takes a moment. The door opens partway, revealing Bucky in that same t-shirt and sweatpants, hair a little mussed.

He squints at you. “What.”

You blink at him owlishly. “Hi.”

He rubs a hand down his face. “Hi. What’s wrong?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say immediately, stepping closer like you’re about to just invite yourself in.

He leans on the doorframe, looking so tired you almost feel bad. Almost. “Did you even try?” he asks flatly.

You scowl. “Yeah. I tried so hard. It’s not my fault it didn’t work.”

He just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But you’re already slipping past him into his room.

“You have so much space in here,” you say, immediately looking around like you’re on a tour. “It’s so tidy. It’s very you. Oh my god, you have books on your nightstand. What are you reading? Wait, are those socks on the chair? Bucky, did you actually leave something out? That’s so unlike you.”

“Can we not do this right now?” he mutters.

You spin to face him, all innocent. “Do what?”

He crosses his arms. “You. Talking. In my room. When you should be in your room.”

You blink. “But I want to stay here.”

“No.”

You pout. Then you lower yourself onto the floor with dramatic flair.

He stares. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Staying here,” you say primly, folding your hands in your lap. “I’ll sleep on the ground.”

He closes his eyes like he’s praying for patience. “Jesus, doll. Come on.”

You don’t move. You just keep talking.

“Your floor is really hard, you know. You should get a rug. Maybe a nice patterned one. What’s your aesthetic? Vintage murder shack? Ex-assassin chic?”

He tries not to laugh but you see it twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.

“Thank you,” you say brightly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose again. “Get up. Come on. At least sleep on the bed.”

“No,” you say immediately. “I’m fine here.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, voice low but exasperated. “You’re gonna wake up with your back wrecked. And then Steve will yell at me. Get. Up.”

You look up at him and give your best pleading eyes. “Please?”

He groans. “You can have the bed.”

You grin and scramble to your feet. “We can share.”

He holds up a hand. “No–”

But you’re already crawling onto the mattress and flopping onto your side. “It’s fine, there’s space. Come on. Don’t be weird.”

He just stares at you for a long moment. Then sighs. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He crosses the room and closes his door, then finally, finally gets into the bed, clearly against his better judgment. He crawls in slow, facing you, looking at you like you’re an unpredictable animal. You just beam at him, eyes heavy-lidded but too happy to stop.

“Your bed is comfier than mine,” you say immediately.

He sighs. “Uh-huh.”

“And it smells like you.”

He flushes. “Stop.”

“I’m serious!” you insist. “It’s nice. Like aftershave and laundry. Very Bucky. Very safe. I like it.”

He covers his face with one big hand. “Doll. Please.”

You giggle and poke his arm. “Your hair is messy. I like it like this.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not. I mean, maybe a little. But I know what I’m saying.”

He drops his hand and glares at you halfheartedly. “Can you shut up now?”

You snort. “Nope. Sorry. No can do.”

He huffs. You’re quiet for two seconds. Then:

“Do you think Steve would let me paint my room? I want a different color. Yours is all dark and broody but in a good way. I bet you picked it on purpose. It suits you. Like your shirts. You wear a lot of black. Is that a Winter Soldier thing or just personal preference? Also your metal arm is cool. Is it cold right now? Can I touch it? Wait, can I braid your hair someday? I bet you’d let me if I begged. Or maybe not. You’re stubborn. But I am too–”

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, cutting you off.

You just laugh, cheeks warm, eyes bright. And finally, finally, he shuffles closer under the covers, face to face with you, voice dropping. “Doll. Please. Sleep.”

You grin and nod, but your eyes are still wide open. He watches you for a moment. Then sighs. And he reaches out, brushing your hair back gently.

Your voice goes softer. “Okay. I’ll try. But don’t go anywhere.”

He huffs. “Not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

You finally relax a little. But your voice still comes out in a sleep-slurred mumble. “You’re the best, Bucky. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He just shakes his head, amused. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

You’re quiet for maybe thirty seconds. Bucky actually dares to hope you’re out. Then your eyes blink open again in the dark. “Bucky?” you whisper.

He exhales. “Yeah?”

“I can’t fall asleep.”

He huffs, barely a laugh. “Shocking.”

You pout at him, your bottom lip catching the light from the crack under the door. “Don’t be mean. I’m trying.”

He shifts closer on the pillow, close enough that your noses almost touch. His voice is low, careful. “Just…close your eyes, doll.”

You obey for a second. Then they flutter open again. “Your room is warmer than mine,” you whisper conspiratorially.

“Blanket’s the same.”

“But your room is warmer,” you insists softly. “You like it warm, don’t you? That’s so weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s a little weird.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t move away. He can feel your breath fan against his cheek every time you talk. Your voice goes even quieter. “Your arm isn’t cold though. Is it warm because of you? Do you think it feels your body heat?”

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Doll…”

“Sorry,” you murmur immediately, contrite. “Sorry. I’ll stop talking. I promise.”

He lets out a long breath. “Okay. Thank you.”

Silence. For about five seconds.

“Do you think Sam would let me use his wings if I asked nicely?” you whisper.

His eyes fly open. “No.”

“Even if I said please?”

He’s biting his lip to keep from laughing. “Absolutely not.”

You snicker softly, then wiggle a little closer under the blanket, forehead bumping his.

“I like your room,” you mumble.

“Yeah, you said that.”

“It’s nice. Safe.”

He swallows hard at that, voice going gentle despite himself. “Good. It’s supposed to be safe.”

You blink slowly at him. “Your eyes are pretty.”

He sighs, trying to scowl, but it doesn’t work. “You’re gonna kill me, doll.”

You smile, all sleepy and proud. “Good.”

You go quiet again, breathing slowing. Then, barely above a whisper: “Bucky?”

He opens one eye. “Hm.”

“I still can’t sleep.”

He breathes out slowly, resisting the urge to laugh. He shifts just enough to rest a heavy arm around you, metal fingers splaying across your back. “Try anyway,” he says softly.

You squirm in closer until your forehead rests against his collarbone. “Tell me to sleep,” you mumble.

“Sleep,” he orders, deadpan.

You giggle again but it’s muffled against him. “Say it nice.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, then lowers his voice until it’s almost tender. “Go to sleep, doll.”

Your eyes droop. “’Kay.”

Silence. Your breathing evens out a little. He’s almost convinced you’re out. Then, even softer:

“Bucky?”

He nearly groans. “What, doll.”

“…you’re nice.”

He closes his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t leave,” you mumble, finally sounding truly exhausted.

He tightens his arm around you. “Not leaving.”

Your breath hitches once, like you might keep going – but this time you don’t. Your body goes limp, settling completely against his. Your breathing steadies. Finally asleep.

Bucky sighs. Lets his head rest against yours. “Goodnight,” he whispers so quietly you can’t hear it.

And for the first time in days, he thinks maybe he can sleep too.

--

You wake up slow.

Everything feels…heavy. Your head is pounding. Your mouth is dry. Your eyes don’t want to open. It’s too warm, too close. You shift a little and feel an arm tighten around you.

Wait.

You blink blearily, eyelashes dragging against someone’s shirt. Your brain is slow, cottony. You register warmth, the scent of soap and clean clothes. Solid muscle under your cheek.

You go still. You’re in someone’s bed. There’s an arm around your waist. You can feel the hard line of a metal arm over your back. Your heart jumps. Your breath hitches.

Your head is killing you but now you’re wide awake, eyes darting around even though your vision is blurry and you’re half buried under the covers. You manage to turn your head, squinting up.

Bucky Barnes is there. Asleep. Kind of.

One blue eye cracks open when you move, fixing on you. His stubble scratches against the pillow. “…hey,” he rasps, voice wrecked from sleep.

Your brain stops. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. You try again.

“…Bucky?”

He just grunts. Tightens his arm slightly around you, like it’s automatic. You freeze.

“Why am I–” You wince at how hoarse your voice is. Clear your throat. “–why am I in your bed?”

He closes his eyes again. “You don’t remember?”

You’re about to say no. Absolutely not. Because it’s so absurd. But then–

Bucky I can’t sleep. Your room is so warm. I want to stay here. Your bed smells like you. Do you think Sam would let me use his wings?

Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh my God,” you whisper.

He cracks an eye open again at your tone. You’re staring at him, horrified. “I – did I – oh my God I wouldn’t shut up, would I?”

He huffs. It might be a laugh. He looks exhausted. “Nope,” he says simply.

Your stomach sinks. You bury your face in his shirt for a second in pure mortification, but you’re also so hungover you can’t move too fast or you’ll puke.

He sighs. His metal arm strokes your back absently.

You squeak. “Bucky – your arm – you’re holding me.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “You kept trying to get up last night. This was the only way to make you stop.”

Your mouth drops open. “You restrained me?”

He actually laughs this time, low and rough. “You wanted to sleep on my floor, doll. What was I supposed to do?”

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “I want to die. Please let me die.”

He huffs another laugh. “Stop.”

You peek at him between your fingers. His hair is messed up from sleep. He has pillow lines on his face. He’s still holding you. Your head is killing you.

You squeeze your eyes shut again. “I’m gonna be sick.”

He groans. “You better warn me first.”

“I feel gross.”

“I know.” He shifts carefully, loosening his hold just enough so you can move if you want. “I was gonna get you water when you woke up. Didn’t think you’d panic immediately.”

You let out a strangled sound that’s half laugh, half whine. “I’m so sorry.”

He sighs, but his thumb rubs your side gently. “It’s fine.”

You swallow. Your voice is small. “Did I really…talk that much?”

He gives you a look. You groan again and bury your face in his shirt.

You mumble against him, voice muffled. “I remember some of it. Not all. Oh God. I asked to braid your hair, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

You let out another pained sound.

“You called me ‘bestest quiet friend,’” he adds helpfully.

You whimper. “Bucky please.”

He’s trying not to laugh at you, but it’s not working. You peek up at him, squinting.

“You’re way too amused for someone who didn’t sleep.”

He just shrugs, eyes heavy-lidded. “You’re cute when you’re drunk.”

Your jaw drops. He uses the moment to shift, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at you.

“Want that water now?”

You nod miserably. Your head is pounding. You stare up at the ceiling, replaying every stupid thing you remember saying. By the time he’s back with the water, you’re so red you can feel it. You sip it miserably.

Finally you mutter, voice hoarse: “...I can’t believe you let me stay.”

He snorts. “Couldn’t get you to leave.”

You peek at him over the rim of the cup. “...Thank you,” you say softly.

His expression softens. He reaches over to brush a strand of hair off your face. “Anytime, doll.”

You feel your heart do something dumb in your chest. You turn your face away to hide it, still sipping the water. Your voice is smaller, shy now. “...I’ll shut up now.”

He just chuckles, warm and rough. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “I like hearing you.”

And you think you might actually die after all. But for now, you sip your water and try to keep breathing, grateful he’s still here.

You’re still cringing into your cup of water when Bucky finally sighs and shifts beside you.

“Come on,” he says, voice gentler now that you’re clearly miserable. “Let’s get you up.”

You groan. “No.”

“Bathroom first,” he orders.

You try to burrow under the covers. “I’ll live here now. In your bed.”

“Not negotiable,” he says, pulling the blanket back.

You let out a pathetic whine but let him help you sit up. The world wobbles dangerously and you press a hand to your head with a hiss.

“Jesus, doll,” he mutters, steadying you with a hand on your back. “Easy. C’mon. Bathroom’s right there.”

He keeps one arm around you as you shuffle toward the bathroom. You stand in the doorway, glaring at the tile floor like it personally offended you.

“You gonna go in?” he asks dryly.

You make a face. “Don’t watch me.”

He snorts. “Please. Just don’t fall in. I’ll be right here.”

You manage a halfhearted scowl before closing the door. When you come back out, you’re pale but slightly more functional. He’s waiting, arms folded, leaning on the wall.

He eyes you. “Better?”

You nod miserably.

“Kitchen?”

“Coffee?” you plead.

“Yeah.”

He puts an arm around your waist like you’re injured, which you basically are, and half-guides, half-drags you down the hall. You’re grateful but mortified the whole way. When you get to the kitchen, it’s worse.

Everyone is there. All of them mid-conversation, laughing over mugs of coffee. They all stop talking when they see you two appear in the doorway, Bucky’s arm around you, you clinging to him with glassy, hungover eyes.

“Ohhhhhh,” Sam says immediately, eyes going wide with delight.

Clint whistles low. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, sipping his coffee, gaze sharp but amused. “Rough night?”

You immediately hide your face against Bucky’s shoulder with a muffled whimper. Bucky just sighs, giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. “She’s fine,” he announces. “Just hungover.”

Steve, ever the Boy Scout, looks you over with worried blue eyes. “You okay?”

You groan into Bucky’s shirt. “No.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “She’s fine,” he repeats, guiding you to a chair.

Wanda is grinning. “You look adorable.”

You squint at her. “Stop.”

Sam leans back in his chair, arms behind his head. “So…how was it?”

You squint at him in confusion. “How was what?”

He smirks. “Last night.”

You let out a sound between a gasp and a groan and drop your head to the table.

Bucky is annoyingly calm as he moves to pour you coffee. “She was very talkative,” he says dryly.

Clint nearly chokes on his drink. “Talkative? Her?”

Nat’s eyebrow goes higher. “Do tell.”

Bucky sets the mug down in front of you, looking completely unbothered. “Didn’t shut up for hours.”

“BUCKY!” you squeak, horrified.

He pats your shoulder, pretending sympathy but absolutely smirking.

“I was in the kitchen when she got back, and she wouldn’t stop talking. Then she came into my room in the middle of the night. Knocked on my door and started rambling. Refused to go back to bed. Tried to sleep on my floor.”

Steve’s jaw drops. Sam’s cackling. Wanda’s covering her mouth to hide her laugh.

Tony is nearly falling off his chair. “Oh please tell me you let her.”

Bucky deadpans. “I tried to get her back to her room. She wouldn’t go. So yeah. She stayed.”

You let out a strangled whine and cover your face with both hands.

Nat’s voice is all mock-sweet. “Aww, you two had a sleepover?”

Bucky shrugs, completely throwing you under the bus. “She wouldn’t stop talking. All night. About my room. My arm. My hair. She wanted to braid it.”

Sam’s actually wheezing now. “Oh my god.”

Wanda leans over to squeeze your arm. “That’s so cute!”

You let out another mortified groan, peeking at Bucky with betrayal in your eyes. “You’re evil.”

He just slides the coffee mug closer to you. “Drink.”

You take it with shaking hands and hiss at the heat, glaring at him over the rim.

He just leans against the counter, arms folded, watching you with smug amusement.

Steve clears his throat, trying to look stern but his lips are twitching. “You okay now?”

Bucky glances at you, softening just a little. “Yeah. She’s okay.”

Your heart gives a little flip at that despite how embarrassed you are.

You scowl at your coffee. “You’re all mean.”

Sam claps the table, still laughing. “We love you!”

Tony grins. “Next time invite us to the sleepover.”

You shriek. “NO!”

Everyone laughs.

Bucky just reaches over to ruffle your hair like you’re a misbehaving kitten.

“Drink your coffee,” he says, softer now.

You huff. But you do.

--

A couple of weeks pass, enough for you to almost live down the embarrassment of that night. Almost.

They don’t let you forget it. Clint teases you every time you open your mouth. Sam does dramatic impressions. Nat just smirks knowingly. Bucky is the worst because he doesn’t tease at all. He just looks at you, eyebrow raised, like he’s waiting for you to start talking his ear off again.

But eventually the heat fades.

So when the team declares a night out – no missions on the schedule, no training in the morning – you’re determined it’ll be different.

Spoiler: it isn’t.

The bar is crowded, pulsing with music, low lights, and the tang of spilled beer and perfume. The team claims a big table. Everyone’s relaxed for once.

You promise yourself you’ll pace your drinks. But Tony orders a round of shots “for morale.” Sam insists you can’t waste a good margarita. Nat slides you something neon and evil with a sly grin.

By the time you realize you’re tipsy, it’s too late.

Bucky’s nursing a beer at the edge of the group, eyes scanning the bar out of old habit. He’s relaxed, though. Talking in low tones to Steve.

You spot him and beeline.

“Buckyyyyy,” you sing-song.

He looks over. Eyes narrow immediately.

“Oh no.”

You crash into his side, arms going around his waist, face burrowing against him like a clingy cat.

“Hi,” you slur, beaming up at him.

“Hi,” he says slowly. “How many have you had?”

“Dunno,” you say cheerfully. “But I feel great. Do you feel great? You should feel great. You look great.”

Steve chokes on his beer. Bucky side-eyes him murderously, then huffs down at you.

“Christ. Again?”

You just giggle and tug on his shirt. “Come onnn. Dance with me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

He plants himself more firmly. “Doll, I don’t dance.”

You make a dramatic wounded sound. “You have to. It’s team night. I’m the team. Come on.”

He doesn’t move. You start tugging harder.

Sam strolls by and claps Bucky on the back. “Dance with her, man. Don’t be cruel.”

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

You gasp. “Language!”

Bucky closes his eyes like he’s praying for patience. “You’re literally drunk.”

“And you’re boring.”

Steve almost snorts his beer out his nose.

Bucky growls. “Fine.”

You squeal in triumph. He lets you drag him to the dance floor, which is sticky and packed. The music is too loud to talk. You don’t care at all. You spin in front of him, giggling, arms up around his neck. He plants his hands firmly at your waist, holding you still.

“Stop squirming,” he yells over the music.

“Dance with me!”

“This is dancing,” he deadpans.

You pout. He tightens his grip. You lean in, voice muffled against his ear. “You smell good.”

He makes a strangled sound. “Jesus.”

You pull back enough to beam at him. He gives you a look of pure exasperation but his hands are gentle. He’s watching you carefully for signs you’re going to fall over.

You sway dramatically. “Buckyyyyy, don’t let me fall.”

“Not gonna.”

“Promise?”

He sighs. “Promise.”

You grin. You dance a few songs that way – mostly you clinging to him, occasionally trying to get him to spin you, nearly falling over, him catching you every time.

Finally he mutters something about getting water in you and starts to tug you back toward the bar. You immediately latch onto his arm.

“Bathroom first.”

He stops. “No.”

“Please,” you whine.

He rubs his temples. “Can you even go by yourself?”

“Nope!” you say cheerfully.

“Jesus Christ.”

He actually escorts you to the bathroom hallway. He’s standing outside the door waiting, arms folded, glaring at anyone who even glances at you too long.

When you come back out, you immediately grab his hand.

“Thank you,” you sing. “Best bodyguard ever.”

He sighs but doesn’t let go. You lean your head against his arm as he drags you back to the bar. Sam immediately cackles when he sees you clinging to Bucky like a koala.

“Look at you two! Married already?”

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky growls.

You just wave at Sam happily. “Hi Sam!”

He cheers you with his glass.

Bucky maneuvers you onto a stool and shoves water at you. “Drink,” he orders. You obey, but keep one hand fisted in his sleeve.

“You’re not leaving,” you declare.

“Didn’t say I was.”

“You’re the only one I want to hang out with.”

He goes still. “…yeah?”

You nod seriously. He tries to fight it but his mouth twitches.

“Fine,” he says gruffly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You sigh happily, still holding his sleeve while you sip water. And the team watches you both, absolutely delighted, as Bucky resigns himself to being your chosen human for the rest of the night.

Bucky tries to reclaim his arm once, experimentally tugging. Your eyes immediately go wide and wounded.

“Don’t go.”

He huffs. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want my arm back.”

You tighten your grip. “No.”

He mutters something under his breath – probably a swear – but lets you have it. You beam and scoot closer on the barstool until your knees knock into his.

“See? You’re so nice.”

He sighs and rests one hand on the bar, but the other hovers protectively near your waist in case you lean too far. You lean even closer.

“You know, you’re really warm,” you whisper like it’s classified information.

“Yeah,” he says blandly.

“Like a furnace.”

“Uh-huh.”

You squint at him suspiciously. “Are you listening to me?”

He glances down at you, deadpan. “Am I ever?”

You gasp in outrage and swat his chest, nearly falling off the stool when you overbalance. He catches you immediately, his hands firm around your waist.

“Easy,” he warns.

You giggle breathlessly. “You’re so strong.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

Sam wanders past and laughs, “She’s gonna regret all of this tomorrow.”

You immediately scowl at Sam. “Don’t be mean to Bucky!”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at you. “I think he was talking about you, doll.”

You blink.

“Oh.”

Then you shrug and turn back to Bucky, patting his chest like you’re reassuring him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

You frown at him. “Stop being mean. You’re nice. You take care of me.”

You emphasize this by petting his arm, fingers tracing the seam of his shirt. He glances at your hand, then at you.

“Can you not do that here?” he mutters, voice rough.

“Why?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

You squint at him like that’s a stupid excuse. “So?”

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “God.”

You smile and lean into him even more, both hands on his arm now. “I like your arm,” you say, running your fingers over the metal plates. “It’s cool.”

“Stop,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t actually move you.

You look up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky.”

“What.”

“Do you think I’m annoying?”

He groans.

“Buckyyyyy.”

“No,” he admits reluctantly.

You immediately brighten. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes.

You grin and hug his arm tighter. “Told you you’re nice.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh but you catch the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don’t stop there. When you finish the water (which he makes you drink entirely), you demand another. He gets it for you without complaining. You thank him by resting your head on his shoulder while you drink it. He’s stiff for a second, then relaxes, shifting so you don’t slip off the stool.

You keep talking. About everything.

“You have really blue eyes. Did you know?”

“Mm.”

“I think you’d be good at painting.”

“Nope.”

“Yes you would.”

“Doll–”

“You should try it. I’d help you. We could paint together.”

He breathes out slowly. “Maybe,” he allows, just to shut you up.

You gasp. “Promise?”

“No.”

“Bucky!”

He side-eyes you, but there’s a softness there that he can’t hide.

Later you try to get off the stool to go back to the dance floor. He immediately snags your waist. “Where are you going.”

“Dancing,” you declare.

“No.”

“Come with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

He gives you a look.

You throw your arms around his neck right there at the bar. “Pleasepleaseplease?”

“Doll…”

You bat your eyelashes exaggeratedly. He closes his eyes and sighs. Tony, watching from the other side of the bar, is dying laughing.

Finally Bucky sighs in defeat. “Fine.”

You squeal with delight and press your face against his chest. “You’re the best,” you slur.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.

He lets you hang onto him all the way back to the dance floor. You’re worse this time. You keep your arms around his neck, fingers in his hair.

“Bucky.”

“What.”

“Don’t let go.”

“I’m not.”

“Ever.”

He sighs. “We’ll negotiate that later.”

You bury your face in his chest again. “Promise.”

He rubs your back, voice low. “Promise.”

You’re so content you don’t even notice the rest of the team watching you both, exchanging knowing looks. Because all you know is Bucky’s arms are warm, and safe, and he’s not letting you fall. And he’s still listening. Even if he rolls his eyes every time you open your mouth.

But eventually, Wanda and Sam approach, grinning like devils.

“Mind if we steal her?” Sam asks, voice innocent in the way it never actually is.

Bucky gives them a flat stare.

You blink up at Sam. “Steal me?”

“Yeah, c’mon, sweetheart,” Wanda says, gently prying your hands off Bucky’s shoulders. “Let’s dance.”

Bucky huffs, but you giggle and let them lead you away. He just shakes his head and retreats toward the bar like a man finally released from captivity.

Wanda and Sam keep you busy on the dance floor for a good while. Wanda spins you in easy, graceful circles. Sam hams it up, showing off ridiculous moves that make you laugh until your ribs ache. You’re warm and dizzy and happy. You shout-scream the lyrics to whatever pop song is blasting. Wanda twirls with you dramatically, both of you howling with laughter when you almost fall. Sam’s whooping and clapping like you’re in a club contest.

You forget about Bucky for a minute. But not for long.

Eventually another song ends and you’re panting, hair sticking to your forehead.

“Wanda,” you slur a little, clutching her arm. “Water.”

She laughs. “Yeah, let’s get you hydrated.”

You stumble toward the bar, Sam at your other elbow. Your eyes immediately find Bucky. Seated on a stool, long legs sprawled out, watching you with arms folded and that resting murder face that you know by now doesn’t actually mean he’s mad.

Your whole face lights up. “BUCKYYYY.”

Sam snorts. “Here we go.”

You break into a messy run-walk and practically dive at him. He startles, but reacts fast, catching you under the arms and hauling you the rest of the way onto his lap before you can faceplant. “Jesus.”

You settle right down, straddling one of his thighs without shame, arms wrapping around his neck. He’s frozen for one second. Then sighs.

“Really?” he grumbles in your ear.

You ignore him completely, beaming like you’re sun-drunk. “Hi.”

He flicks a glance at Sam and Wanda behind you. “Thanks for the break.”

Sam salutes him. “Anytime.”

Wanda just giggles and waves.

Bucky rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. You immediately start talking.

“Bucky, they’re so much fun. Sam’s the worst dancer ever, did you know? And Wanda’s like a ballerina. She’s so pretty. She smells really good too. Like fancy witch perfume. I want perfume like that. Do you think I could pull it off?”

He gives you a look. “Breathe.”

You suck in air dramatically and keep going.

“I’m serious. I need new perfume. Or maybe lotion. My skin’s so dry. Feel it.”

You grab his flesh hand and press it to your bare shoulder. He scowls but doesn’t move it.

“Soft,” he allows grudgingly.

You beam. “See? You’re nice.”

He snorts. “Stop saying that.”

“But you are. You let me sit here.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t have a choice.”

You huff. “You always have a choice. You chose to catch me.”

He grumbles but his arm tightens around your waist. “Only so you didn’t break your damn neck.”

You grin, nose brushing his cheek. “Bestest bodyguard.”

He closes his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

You lean back just enough to waggle your eyebrows at him. “Dance with me again.”

He actually glares. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pleasepleaseplease?”

He tilts his head back with an audible ugh, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch. Sam’s watching the whole thing, laughing so hard he’s crying. Wanda’s just smiling at you both, all soft and knowing. You ignore them all and rest your forehead against Bucky’s, whispering like you’re sharing a secret: “Bucky. You’re my favorite.”

He huffs a laugh. Just one. But you hear it.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now, quieter. His arm flexes around you, steady and warm. “I know, doll.”

And you sigh like you’re the happiest person in the world, snuggling in closer. “You know, I think Steve could beat Sam in an arm-wrestling match but Sam would cheat. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You literally just said it in front of him.”

Sam, two stools over, is laughing so hard he almost spills his drink.

“Hey, that’s slander!” he yells.

You gasp dramatically and clap a hand over Bucky’s mouth. “Shhh! He’ll hear us!”

Bucky stares at you over your fingers. “Doll,” he says flatly against your palm. “I’m begging you.”

You ignore him.

“Your stubble is scratchy,” you note, pulling your hand back to rub his jaw.

He flinches just a little, eyes narrowing. “Stop.”

“Never,” you say proudly.

Clint cackles. “She’s relentless, man.”

Bucky gives him the most murderous glare he can muster while you’re actively petting his face. “Barton, go away.”

“Love you too, Barnes.”

Eventually the bartender calls last call. Steve’s already rounding everyone up like a camp counselor. “Alright, everyone. Let’s go. C’mon, up.”

You immediately wrap your arms tighter around Bucky’s neck. “No.”

Bucky groans. “Get up, doll.”

“Carry me.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

He sighs, braces a hand under your thigh, and practically lifts you off the stool. You squeal and cling tighter.

“I was kidding!”

“Too late,” he mutters, half-carrying, half-dragging you toward the door while the team hoots and hollers.

You nuzzle into his shoulder. “You’re so strong. Do you work out?”

Steve snorts so loud he chokes. Bucky closes his eyes and keeps walking. Outside the bar, the night air is crisp and cold. You shiver immediately, pressing even closer to Bucky. He sighs and drapes his leather jacket over your shoulders without even thinking about it. You make a pleased little sound. “See? Nice.”

He ignores that and starts steering you toward the cars as Steve’s calling out assignments. “Bucky, you got y/n.”

Bucky gives him a look that could kill a lesser man.

Steve just grins and slaps his shoulder. “You’re the best, Buck.”

Bucky finally manages to get you to the car. You refuse to let go of him even when he tries to buckle you in. “Sit with me.”

“I’m driving.”

“Sit with me.”

“Jesus. Let go.”

You whine but finally slump into the seat. The whole drive back you talk. And talk. And talk.

“Your car smells like you. Is that weird? I don’t think it’s weird. It’s nice.”

“Bucky, you drive really good. Like, safe. Steve drives like an old man. Sam drives like he wants to kill me.”

“Your hair is so shiny. Can I braid it now? Please?”

He just grunts noncommittally, eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel. But the other is resting on the console. You keep your hand over his the entire time.

When you get back to the compound, you refuse to get out on your own. “Carry me.”

“Walk.”

“Carry.”

He glares at you for three seconds. You give him the biggest puppy eyes you can. He caves. You squeal in triumph as he lifts you bridal style.

“Bucky. Bucky. You’re the best. I love you.”

He nearly trips. “Jesus Christ.”

You make a show of glaring. Then immediately ruin it by grinning. “Your eyes are really blue,” you whisper conspiratorially.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned.”

“Did you know? They’re really blue.”

He’s trying not to laugh at this point. He gets you to the hallway outside your room and tries to set you down. You hold onto him tighter “No.”

He groans. “Doll. It’s your room. Go in.”

“Come with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

He closes his eyes. “You’ll just talk the entire time.”

“Promise.”

“...promise what? That you’ll talk?”

You nod solemnly. “Promise I’ll talk. To you. Forever.”

He snorts despite himself, shifting you in his arms. “God help me.”

“Please. Sit with me.”

He sighs. “Just for a minute,” he grumbles.

You squeal in triumph. He finally manages to deposit you on your bed, but you refuse to let go of his hand. So he sits on the edge, looming over you. You immediately tug him closer. “Lie down.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Doll–”

“Pleasepleaseplease?”

He drops his head with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally he caves, shifting so he’s lying next to you on top of the blankets, boots still on. You immediately roll into his side, arms going around him, your face pressed to his chest.

And you don’t stop talking. Not for one second.

“You smell so good. I’m so comfy. Don’t leave. You’re my favorite. Nat’s scary. Wanda’s so pretty. Clint’s funny but so mean. Steve’s so big. Sam’s loud. You’re perfect.”

He’s silent, just staring at the ceiling, one arm around you, thumb brushing your shoulder gently.

“Bucky?”

“Hm.”

“You’re my favorite,” you whisper again.

He sighs. “Yeah, doll. I know.”

And even though you keep talking for another ten minutes, slurring and mumbling and giggling, he doesn’t move once. He just listens. Because it’s you.

Eventually you’re too warm, too squirmy, too everything. You roll halfway off Bucky’s chest with an exaggerated groan. “Hot.”

He huffs, adjusting his arm so you don’t actually fall off the bed.

“Yeah. That’s what blankets do, doll.”

You squint at him. “Take my shoes off.”

He sighs like you’re the biggest burden in the world but he sits up. “Give me your foot.”

You grin and stick your leg out like a demanding princess. He wrestles the shoe off and drops it on the floor with a thunk. “Other one.”

You giggle and present the other. When they’re both off, you flop back dramatically.

“Thanks,” you slur, batting your lashes.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You tug at your shirt. “Sticky,” you whine. “Need pajamas.”

His eyes narrow immediately. “No.”

“Buckyyyyy,” you drawl.

“Bathroom. Go.”

“Carry me.”

“For fuck’s–”

He cuts himself off and just sighs, standing. “Come on, up.”

You let him pull you up off the bed, wobbling as you try to find your balance. He steadies you with both hands.

“Bathroom,” he orders again.

You point in the wrong direction. He physically turns you the right way.

“Bathroom.”

You shuffle toward it, turning at the doorway to blink at him. “Wait there.”

He crosses his arms. “Not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

He rolls his eyes. “Promise.”

You come back out in your soft pajama shorts and one of your ancient shirts, hair all mussed from changing.

You’re blinking sleepily but still talking. “Bucky.”

“Yeah.”

“My bed is cold.”

He snorts. “That’s what blankets are for.”

You scowl. “No. You’re warmer.”

He groans. “Doll–”

“Please?” you whine, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a pitiful slur. “Please stay? Please don’t leave. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

You sniff dramatically. “You hate me.”

He actually looks pained. “Don’t start.”

“You hate me!”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

You immediately brighten. “Prove it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose again, breathing in slowly. “How.”

“Stay,” you say simply, eyes wide and pleading.

He closes his eyes in defeat. You see the exact moment he caves.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But you’re sleeping this time.”

You let out a delighted squeal and launch at him, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your face in his chest. He grunts at the impact but his arms come around you automatically, steady and solid and safe.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Yeah.”

You tilt your head back, blinking up at him, eyes glassy from booze and exhaustion. “Bucky.”

“What.”

“I love you.”

He freezes. Your mouth keeps going before he can even react.

“Like, love love you. You’re so nice. And warm. And you listen to me. And you’re strong. And you smell good. And you have pretty eyes.”

He’s silent. You blink at him expectantly. “Bucky?”

He clears his throat roughly. “Doll–”

“I love you,” you say again, like he didn’t hear.

“Stop.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“I love you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw working. You touch his cheek with both hands. “Hey. Bucky. Look at me.”

He opens his eyes, reluctantly. You beam, sloppy and sleepy.

“Love you,” you whisper again, like it’s the biggest secret in the world.

He sighs, voice husky and low. “Yeah. I know.”

You grin and immediately lean up to kiss his cheek, missing slightly and getting the edge of his jaw instead. “Thank you,” you mumble.

“For what.”

“For staying.”

He huffs out a breath, exasperated but so gentle. “Come on.”

He guides you back to bed, steadying you so you don’t trip over your own feet. You crawl under the blankets with absolutely no grace. When he tries to stand, you immediately grab his sleeve. “No.”

He sighs.

“I’m not leaving,” he promises.

You tug harder. “Then get in.”

He hesitates. You blink at him, face scrunching, voice going quiet and wobbly. “Please?”

He mutters something like a curse under his breath. And then he does. He kicks off his boots and lowers himself next to you, carefully pulling the blanket over you both. You immediately roll into him, burying your face in his chest, arms around his ribs. You sigh so loud and happy it makes him want to laugh.

“You’re so warm,” you mumble.

“Go to sleep.”

“‘Kay.”

Silence. But only for two seconds.

“Bucky?”

He groans. “What.”

“Love you.”

He breathes in deep. Lets it out slow. His arm tightens around you.

“Yeah,” he rumbles quietly against your hair. “Love you too, doll.”

You finally go quiet after that, a smile still on your face. And he doesn’t move at all, holding you steady and safe the entire night.

--

You wake up to the soft grey light of early morning pushing in through your curtains. Your head is pounding in that unmistakable oh god I drank too much way. You squint, groaning, and immediately pull the blanket over your head to block the light. Except…

You can’t.

Because something big and heavy is in the way. You freeze. Blink. Shift your head just enough to see.

Bucky.

He’s on his side facing you, arm thrown over your waist, metal fingers splayed against your back. His other arm is bent under his head like a pillow.

He’s asleep. Actually asleep. And you’re in his arms. Very in his arms. Like – your face is smushed into his chest, one leg tangled over his.

You go perfectly still, trying to process. Then memory starts trickling back in pieces.

The bar. The dancing. Clinging to him like an octopus. Begging him to stay.

Telling him–

Oh God.

You squeeze your eyes shut in horror. You told him you loved him. Multiple times.

You want to sink into the bed and die. Your face is burning even though you’re freezing everywhere else.

Bucky stirs at your movement, brow twitching slightly, then slowly opens one eye. He blinks blearily at you. “Mm.”

You hold perfectly still, refusing to breathe. His voice is wrecked from sleep, low and husky. “Stop movin’.”

You squeak. His eyes open properly at that, focusing on you. Recognition flickers. Then amusement. “Morning.”

You immediately want to die. “Um,” you croak.

He hums, like this is the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t let go. “Head hurt?”

You nod miserably. He smirks, barely there.

“Good. Serves you right.”

You scowl weakly, trying to shove at his chest. He doesn’t budge.

“Bucky,” you whisper harshly. “Let go.”

“No.”

Your mouth falls open. “No?”

He closes his eyes again, like he’s going back to sleep.

“Warm,” he mutters.

You’re speechless. You shift again and his arm just tightens, pulling you flush.

“Buckyyy,” you whine.

He huffs a laugh and tucks your head under his chin. You want to complain. You should complain. But he’s so warm. And you’re so hungover. And God, he smells good. So you grumble and go still.

He hums approvingly.

“Good girl.”

You freeze. He definitely smirks at that.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” you hiss, voice cracking.

“Why not?”

You open your mouth and then close it again. He snorts softly and shifts, nuzzling the top of your head in a way that makes your heart stutter.

“You remember last night?”

You shut your eyes in humiliation. “Some.”

“Yeah?”

Your voice drops to a mortified whisper. “I, um. Might’ve…said…some stuff.”

He’s silent for a second. Then his chest rumbles with a low chuckle.

“Yeah,” he says. “You did.”

You groan and hide your face in his chest. He wraps both arms fully around you.

“Stop,” you mumble. “Let me die.”

“Nope.”

You squirm. He doesn’t let go.

“Bucky, I was drunk.”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “You were.”

You glare up at him. “So you can forget it.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Not gonna.”

Your breath catches. He leans in just a little.

“Say it again.”

You go absolutely still. He’s watching you, blue eyes half-lidded, hair a mess, voice still rough with sleep.

“Say what?” you whisper.

“You know.”

Your stomach flips so hard you think you might be sick for an entirely different reason than the hangover. You swallow.

“...I love you.”

He smiles. Slow. Real.

“Good,” he rumbles, voice low.

Then he tilts his head down, brushing his nose against yours, lips ghosting over your cheek.

“Love you too, doll.”

Your heart does something physically painful in your chest. You blink up at him, wide-eyed and speechless. He just huffs a laugh and tugs you closer.

“Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue. But you’re too warm. Too safe. And his heartbeat is steady under your ear. So you close your eyes instead, smiling helplessly. And for once, you don’t say another word.

You don’t fall back asleep. Neither does he. You’re too wired, too embarrassed, too happy, all at once. After a few minutes of lying there in silence, his arms snug around you, you peek up at him, squinting.

“Bucky.”

“Hm?” He doesn’t even open his eyes, but you can tell he’s listening.

Your voice is mortified. “I can’t believe you let me do all that last night.”

He finally cracks one eye open, lazy, amused. “‘Let you’?”

You glare weakly. “You carried me.”

He snorts. “You wouldn’t walk.”

“You put me to bed.”

“You wouldn’t shut up.”

You groan. His mouth twitches, fighting a smile.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble, trying to wriggle free.

His arms tighten immediately. “Nope.”

“Bucky!” You stop moving. Your face is burning. “...I was so annoying.”

“Yeah,” he agrees cheerfully.

You gasp, smacking his chest with your palm. “Bucky!”

He huffs a laugh, catching your hand and pinning it to his chest, his thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“But,” he adds, voice going quiet.

You go still. He looks right at you.

“It was cute.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “Cute?”

He nods, completely serious now. “Real cute, doll.”

You whimper and bury your face in his chest again. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your cheek.

“Stop laughing,” you mumble.

“Can’t.”

“Bucky.”

“Hmm?”

You look up slowly.

“...I really said I love you?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Which time?”

You groan in humiliation. “Jesus Christ.”

He’s definitely smiling now.

“First when you were hugging me,” he recites, counting on his fingers with your hand still caught in his. “Second when I was trying to put you in bed. Third when I was laying with you – like twenty times.”

“Stop!”

“And fifth–”

You slap your hand over his mouth. He raises both brows at you, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Shut up,” you beg.

He licks your palm. You shriek and yank your hand back. “BUCKY!”

He’s full-on laughing now, pulling you tight against him so you can’t escape. You squirm, shoving at him weakly.

“Ugh. I hate you.”

He leans in, nose brushing your cheek. “Liar.”

You go still at that, swallowing. He lowers his voice, brushing his lips along your jaw.

“You love me.”

Your breath hitches.

“Say it,” he murmurs.

You glare at him. “No.”

He smirks. “Say it.”

“No.”

He shifts, rolling you onto your back gently, leaning over you with his hair falling in his face. His voice drops to something even softer. “Please.”

Your heart hurts. You swallow hard, looking up at him. “I love you.”

His eyes go all warm and bright.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He dips down and kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Like he’s got all the time in the world. When he pulls back, you’re breathless. He presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you too,” he murmurs.

You squirm under him, embarrassed and delighted all at once.

“Stop saying it,” you mumble, but you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Not gonna,” he says smugly.

“Bucky.”

He nuzzles your nose. “Love you.”

“Bucky.”

“Love you.”

You’re giggling now, trying to push him away weakly. “Stop.”

He just holds you tighter, voice dropping low and certain. “Not gonna stop, doll.”

You whine but there’s no heat in it. “God, you’re so embarrassing.”

He kisses your cheek. “Love you.”

You let out a squeaky laugh. “Stop!”

He kisses your other cheek. “Love you.”

“Bucky–”

He kisses your nose. “Love you.”

You’re laughing so hard you’re wheezing, hiding your face in his shoulder. He wraps you up, burying his face in your hair, voice muffled but so, so warm.

“Love you,” he whispers one last time.

And you finally sigh, melting into him completely.

“...yeah. I love you too.”

He just hums in satisfaction, holding you like he’ll never let go.

Eventually, after way too long tangled up in bed, you groan and shove at his chest.

“Bucky. We have to get up.”

“Nope.”

“Come on.”

“Don’t wanna.”

You roll your eyes but your smile is stupidly fond. “Seriously. I need coffee. My head is killing me.”

He finally opens one eye, squinting at you.

“You okay?”

You blink at how soft his voice goes.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Just hungover.”

He hums and shifts closer, pulling you against him again. “You were a menace last night.”

You let out a horrified whine and bury your face in his chest.

“Don’t remind me.”

He chuckles and kisses your temple. “‘Love you’ every five seconds,” he teases.

You slap his arm. “Stop!”

He grins against your hair. “Never.”

You groan again. “Coffee.”

He sighs theatrically. “Fine.”

He finally lets you go and you both drag yourselves out of bed. You’re a mess. Hair everywhere, makeup smudged from last night.

Bucky doesn’t look much better – hair sticking up, t-shirt rumpled, eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep.

You catch him watching you as you fumble for your slippers.

“What?” you grumble.

He just shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

“Bucky.”

He shrugs, crossing the room to kiss you.

“You’re pretty.”

You go bright red. “Shut up,” you mutter, pushing at his chest again – but not really trying.

He just huffs a quiet laugh and keeps you close. “Come on. I’ll make your coffee.”

You finally make it down the hall toward the kitchen, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders the entire way.

You try to shrug him off once, feeling self-conscious. “People are gonna see,” you hiss.

“Good.”

“Bucky!”

He squeezes you closer, chin hooking over your head. “Let ‘em.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart does a ridiculous little flip. When you round the corner into the kitchen, of course everyone is there. They all turn at once.

Sam bursts out laughing immediately. “Look at these two.”

Nat raises one eyebrow. “Well, well. Morning, lovebirds.”

You make an embarrassing noise in the back of your throat and try to wriggle free. Bucky just holds you tighter.

“Mornin’,” he says easily, like it’s nothing.

Wanda smiles, warm and a little smug. “Rough night?”

You squeak. “Don’t–”

Bucky interrupts.

“She was fine,” he says with absolutely no shame. “Just wouldn’t stop talkin’.”

Tony snickers. Sam looks delighted. “Oh really? About what?”

Bucky shrugs, but you feel him grin against your hair.

“Everything. How much she loves me. How pretty I am. How nice I am.”

You punch his side. “Bucky Barnes, I will kill you.”

He just laughs and kisses your temple again, arm iron-tight around you.

Steve’s trying not to laugh but failing. “Glad to see you two worked things out.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says smugly. “Worked it out real good.”

You groan, hiding your face in his chest. “God, just give me coffee.”

“Already on it, doll,” he murmurs, steering you gently to a stool.

He actually makes it for you. Exactly how you like it. Sets it in front of you. You’re too mortified to look at anyone else, hands curled around the mug for dear life. He stands behind you the whole time, big hands rubbing slow circles on your shoulders.

You hiss at him quietly. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Being nice.”

He leans down, mouth next to your ear.

“Not gonna,” he whispers, voice low and smug.

You shiver. Tony howls laughing. “Oh my God, they’re disgusting now.”

Nat smirks.

“Finally,” Wanda says, all serene approval.

You whine again, slumping over your coffee. Bucky just chuckles and bends to kiss your hair again.

“Love you,” he says softly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

You groan into your mug. “Bucky–”

“Love you,” he repeats, sing-song.

You peek up at him, cheeks on fire. But you can’t help it. You smile.

“...love you too,” you mumble.

He grins like he just won the world, and he doesn’t move an inch from your side for the rest of breakfast.

After breakfast – where Bucky refuses to let you have even one minute of dignity – everyone eventually wanders off to the common room to do absolutely nothing.

There’s no mission coming up. No real plans. Just a rare, lazy day off. You trail behind the others, clutching your second mug of coffee like a lifeline, eyes still half-closed.

Bucky has an arm around your waist the entire way. You try, once, to nudge him off.

“People are looking,” you hiss.

He doesn’t budge. “Good.”

“Bucky–”

He leans down to kiss your cheek mid-stride. You groan, smacking his chest.

“Stop being gross.”

He just grins, satisfied. “Not gonna.”

When you make it to the common room, there’s a whole squabble over the big sectional. Nat, Sam, and Clint are all arguing about who called the corner first. Steve is trying to play diplomat. Wanda is curled up in an armchair, looking thoroughly entertained.

Bucky ignores them all. He steers you to the couch, drops onto it like he owns the place, and then drags you down with him. You land half on top of him with an undignified oof.

“Bucky!” you whisper-shriek.

He wraps both arms around you. “Get comfy,” he says, smirking.

You struggle for half a second, embarrassed. Everyone is definitely watching.

Nat raises an eyebrow. Tony wolf-whistles. Clint snorts. Steve’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh. Wanda just smiles serenely.

“Bucky,” you hiss again.

He just tightens his grip, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “Sit still,” he rumbles, voice low.

You go quiet immediately, shivering. Which really doesn’t help your embarrassment. He notices and smirks against your neck. You elbow him lightly.

“Stop it,” you mutter.

“Stop what?”

“Being like this.”

“Like what.”

You scowl at him, but your voice goes a little weak. “All…clingy.”

His arms flex around you.

“Deal with it,” he says, completely unbothered.

Tony cackles from the other side of the couch. “Look at Barnes being a big ol’ teddy bear.”

“Shut up, Stark,” Bucky growls.

You groan and hide your face in Bucky’s chest. He laughs quietly and just holds you tighter. It’s so embarrassing at first. Any time you try to shift, he drags you back. If you try to sit up, he physically hauls you back down into his lap. If you so much as lean away, he makes this absolutely pathetic grumbling sound in his chest until you give up.

You keep hissing at him under your breath. “Stop it.”

“No.”

“People are watching.”

“Good.”

“Bucky.”

“Doll.”

Eventually…you just give up.

You melt against him, arm curling around his waist, face buried in his shirt.

He goes quiet and smug.

You can feel him smiling against your hair.

“Comfortable?” he drawls.

You grumble something incoherent.

He kisses the top of your head. “Thought so.”

After a while the movie goes on. Everyone pretends they’re not watching the two of you, but you can feel the occasional amused glance. You try not to squirm. But you don’t move away, either. His fingers start tracing lazy circles on your back.

You let out an involuntary sigh. He smirks.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“Didn’t say anything,” he says innocently, but his fingers keep moving, soothing and warm.

Eventually you shift, squirming around until you’re properly sitting in his lap.

He raises both eyebrows. “Oh?”

You flush but lift your chin stubbornly. “Shut up.”

His hands settle on your hips like they belong there.

“Not complainin’.”

You bury your face in his neck. He hums happily. And you stay like that. Nat snarks about it at some point:

“Get a room.”

Bucky doesn’t even look at her. “Maybe we will.”

You smack his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He just laughs and nuzzles your temple. “Love you,” he murmurs.

You go still. Your heart thumps. You press closer.

“Love you too,” you mumble.

He squeezes your hips in answer.

By late afternoon you’re both hopeless. You’re giggling at everything he says. He’s got his arms completely around you, thumb brushing your waist.

You’re playing with the collar of his henley, fingers slipping under it to trace his collarbone. At one point you actually kiss his jaw, right in front of everyone.

There’s a collective groan of disgust from the team. “Oh my god, stop,” Sam begs.

“Gross,” Clint mutters.

Nat just smirks. Steve hides his smile behind his hand. Wanda is beaming. You bury your face in Bucky’s neck, mortified. He laughs and holds you even closer.

“Get used to it,” he says smugly.

Then, lower, just for you: “‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you go.”

Your heart skips. You squirm closer, pressing another kiss to his jaw.

“Good,” you whisper.

And you don’t move from his lap for the rest of the day.

----

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd @navs-bhat @starstruckfirecat @yes-ilovetowrite @bonnyclydecat @knowingnothingnoel @muchwita @hanniebee33 @awesompawsum @knoxic @miss-chuchu @writtenbydianna @rnurse-kole @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @beanzwritez @barnesandbouquets @buckysgirl-12 @butnotmontana @ifuckwithyouanyday @baguwagu @vibraniumavenger @jainaeatsstars

[castielscaplan]

Mine Baby Masterlist

Summary: Sitting at a bar one night, long after you'd abandoned your friends and even Bucky at the tower, you'd finally gained the courage to explain to him why you'd left months ago. The results weren't at all what you were expecting. The reunion had all but been a terrible feat....until.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, angst, fluff, reader's struggling, bucky's a douche canoe, accusations of cheating (only in part one), happy ending

Word Count: 14.4K

A/N: i WAS NOT planning on having this be a series... but you heathens inspired me. So i have a few more parts written but im willing to continue this IF y'all reblog & leave comments.

Castiel's Version here (only has two parts, will not be getting more, sorry)

Read on ao3!

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Final Chapter]

[imnotjustreadingg-volume-two]

Lexi - part two

pairing: chubby!bucky barnes x fem!reader genre: fluff | angst | bucky sad | cheating if you squeeze (emotionally) | reader confident | smut (very soft) | body shaming | reader angry | violence word count: 18k summary: Y/N and Bucky are in love with each other, everybody knows but they don't yet… or maybe they do. Y/N is beautiful and she’s not afraid to tell it. Bucky stopped being the HYDRA experiment and now is a little chubby, but still handsome. Someone want to destroy this balance.

part 1 | part 2

Two months of Lexi.

It all came crashing down on a quiet Wednesday. Y/N didn’t plan to find anything. She was heading to the common room when she passed by the conference area. The door was cracked. Nat’s voice drifted out, sharp and low. “I have the audio, Tony. Lexi lied to Bucky. Told me and Y/N were mocking him behind his back. It was deliberate.” Y/N froze. “It’s been too long, Tony. We need to stop her…” Nat said.

“Mocking him?” Tony replied, voice uncharacteristically serious. “You’re sure?”

“Word for word. And Barnes believe it. That’s why he’s been pulling away. That’s why he’s with her.” Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs. “…Barnes and I are just friends, we only work together. But Y/N?” Nat stopped. “There’s more, and she knows that.”

For a second, she couldn’t breathe.

All those nights she waited for a knock on her door. All those unanswered messages. The ache she’d swallowed every time she saw them together. None of it had been real. It was a lie. Lexi had lied.

Turned Bucky, her Bucky, against her.

Without thinking, Y/N shoved the door open. Tony and Nat both looked up, startled. “Where is he?” She demanded, her voice trembling but loud, sharp. Her hands were clenched at her sides, knuckles white.

“Y/N-”

Natasha started, standing up but Y/N shook her head. “No. Where is he? I need to talk to him. Now.”

Tony looked like he wanted to say something, to calm her, maybe to protect Bucky but he saw the fire in her eyes and stepped aside.

She found him in the kitchen, alone drinking tea like the world wasn’t falling apart.

“Hey,” she said, controlling her anger.

Bucky looked up. His expression flickered guarded, tired but not angry.

Just cold.

Y/N stepped closer. “I need to talk to you.” He said nothing. She inhaled. “Lexi lied. She told you Nat and I said things we never said... I heard Nat talking to Tony. There’s proof… some audio recordings. She made it all up, Buck. I would never say those things about you. Never.”

He stared at her, unreadable. “You don’t have to explain.”

Y/N blinked. “Yes, I do. Because you think I played with you… with your feelings, and I didn’t.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does-!”

“No, Y/N, it doesn’t!” He snapped, louder now. “You don’t get it.”

She froze, flinching.

She never flinched.

He stood too fast, the scrape of the chair legs biting into the kitchen floor, echoing through the suddenly too-silent room. His eyes were dark. Not just with anger, but something older, heavier.

Resentment.

Confusion.

Hurt.

“She likes me, Y/N,” Bucky snapped. “She wants me. She doesn’t look at me like I’m broken. Or like I’m some charity case you’re trying to save.” Y/N flinched like she’d been slapped. “She doesn’t care that I’m not Steve or Sam or anyone else you joke around with but never really see. She doesn’t act like I’m some war-stained burden who needs fixing just to be tolerable.”

The words spilled from him too fast, too loud. Like he’d been holding them in for too long and now they were cutting through her one by one.

Y/N stared at him, arms slowly dropped to her sides. She didn’t step forward nor argue. Just stood there, like if she moved too quickly, she’d shatter. “Is that really what you think?” She whispered. “That I only ever saw you as something broken?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, breathing hard like the act of speaking hurt him but not as much as looking at her did. “You never said anything,” he muttered. “Not once.” Bucky’s eyes flickered. A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he didn’t say a word.

“You really believe I’d do that to you?” She asked again, softer this time. “Mock you? Dismiss you? Use you?” Her voice broke now, the tremble impossible to hide. “After everything?”

Still, nothing. That silence was louder than any accusation. Her breath caught in her throat. She gave the smallest nod, once, and smiled. Not with warmth. With heartbreak. “Okay.”

He turned and walked away.

No tears or anger or begging.

Just… silence.

The sound of his footsteps receding down the hallway rang in her ears louder than gunfire ever had. She sank into a chair, like the fight had finally drained from her bones.

In the darkened room across the compound, hidden behind multiple security feeds, Lexi watched it all unfold. She leaned back in the chair she wasn’t supposed to be in, sipping from her tea like a queen with her victory in hand. She watched as Y/N’s figure disappeared from the camera angle, her shoulders squared even though her world had just fractured.

Lexi didn’t blink. She just smiled.

In her room, Y/N didn’t cry. She stared at the unread messages still sitting in her phone. She remembered the way Bucky looked at her, like she was the one who’d broken him.

No, she didn’t cry. She just stopped... with everything.

Stopped showing up for movie nights.

Stopped teasing Sam in the kitchen.

Stopped making fun of Tony’s ridiculous mug collection.

Stopped meeting Natasha in the gym, even when she showed up and waited.

She still trained and worked and did her job with clinical perfection, but the spark was gone. There had once been warmth fire, playfulness, now there was silence. Like a house where all the furniture had been moved out. The same walls and the same shape but empty.

And everyone felt it.

Tony noticed first stopping her on the way to the elevator. “Hey, kid,” he said, giving her a small smirk. “You ghostin’ me?”

Y/N smiled, a hollow little thing that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just tired.”

He watched her go, uneasy.

Nat tried next. She showed up at Y/N’s door with a bottle of wine and a raised eyebrow. “Come on. You need a break.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’ve got mission reports.”

Nat said gently. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Y/N gave her a look that broke something in Natasha’s chest. It was so quiet. So empty. “Yeah, I do.”

Steve brought it up to Sam one night, eyes clouded with concern. “She’s pulling away,” he said. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And you know who hasn’t noticed at all?”

They both turned toward the couch, where Bucky sat scrolling through something on his phone while Lexi leaned into his side, laughing softly.

“Bucky,” Steve muttered, jaw tight. “Jesus. I don’t recognize him anymore.”

And still, Y/N said nothing. She was now background noise.

She trained. Ate. Slept. Functioned but the girl who once lit up every room she entered? Who made Bucky Barnes smile without even trying? She was gone. And none of them knew how to bring her back.

The next day, Lexi started small again. The final part of her plan. “Did you see how she laughed with that new recruit?” Lexi asked offhandedly one day, tossing a file onto the table. “What’s his name again…Matt? Or maybe Milo. Hard to keep track with how many guys she chats with…”

Bucky had barely looked up from his sparring gloves, but Lexi didn’t need him to answer. She kept planting seeds, watering doubt with casual remarks and well-timed silences. “She looked great today,” she said another morning, sipping her smoothie as she passed by Bucky in the gym. “Guess someone has a date after training. Again.”

He’d tried to ignore it at first, but then he started seeing it too or thinking he did. The way Y/N smiled a little too warmly at a SHIELD agent in the hallway. If he had truly seen through Y/N's facade, he would have seen the fake smile, the fake laugh, the way she lingered onto other person just for human contact, but now Bucky's mind was corrupted and he only saw a beautiful girl once almost his, in the arms of another man.

Was it flirting? Or was it just… Y/N being kind?

The seed had taken root.

Doubt.

Jealousy.

Hurt.

They curled around his ribs like vines, twisting tighter with each passing day until his chest ached from holding them in. Bucky said nothing. He never did. The words rotted in his throat, souring everything, and still he stayed silent.

Y/N wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t even being particularly kind anymore. She was just keeping up appearances. Showing her face at team meals, giving the occasional polite smile, answering when spoken to. That was all. A shell of the warmth she used to radiate. The worst part? She didn’t even know he thought she was dating around. Didn’t know that the moment his back was turned, Lexi’s voice whispered cruelly in his ear. “She moved on. She’s over you.” Lexi kept saying to Bucky, and he believed it.

Because why wouldn’t he? Why would someone like her linger on someone like him?

She hadn’t gone on a single date. Had barely looked at anyone since him. Not because she couldn’t, but because she wouldn’t. Because her feelings for him, the ones she never said aloud, were buried under layers of caution, and a love she kept hidden like a wound she couldn’t let anyone touch. So, she kept to herself. Her heart, her reckless and stubborn aching heart, still belonged entirely to Bucky Barnes.

In the following days, Bucky was too busy convincing himself he was okay to realise that the world around him had shifted. But then came the small things. No more coffee mugs placed beside his before training. No more teasing in the gym. No more sarcastic remarks at briefing to break the tension. No more knock on his door at 2AM when she knew the nightmares had come.

She was there in the building, in meetings, doing her job but it was like she’d pulled herself out of the room before ever entering. And everyone felt it.

But Bucky? He missed it.

The silence didn’t feel peaceful any more.

It felt like punishment.

He started looking for her without meaning to. At breakfast, his eyes drifted to her usual empty chair. In the training room, he waited for her to walk in late, hair in a messy bun and earbuds half in, giving Nat that cocky grin before stretching but she never came. He passed her in the hallway once. Their eyes met. Her expression didn’t change. No smile. No spark. Just a nod polit and distant.

It hit him like a fist and for the first time in weeks, he looked at Lexi beside him.

The hand she slipped into his and felt absolutely nothing, maybe it alwasy meant nothing and how he was realising it.

Y/N didn’t confront Bucky. She meant to, but what was the point? He already made his choice. So instead, she let the silence speak for her. She stopped waiting. Stopped hoping. She answered Bucky’s nods with polite smiles, nothing more. She left rooms when he entered them. Changed her gym schedule. Laughed louder around Sam, clung tighter to Natasha in briefings, buried herself in the part s of her world that weren’t him.

Lexi saw it and used it. Slid closer to Bucky with every passing day at first with comforting glances, light touches to his arm whenever Y/N walked out of a room. Then came the late-night coffees. The casual way she leaned on his shoulder in the lounge, as if they belonged like that. The stupid diet she was forcing him. She didn’t press too hard. Didn’t need to. Not when Y/N’s absence left so much space behind and Bucky, lost in a haze of guilt and confusion, let it happen. He didn’t trust it, not fully but he told himself maybe it was easier this way. Maybe he deserved whatever scraps of comfort he could get. But somewhere deep down, something still felt wrong. Because no matter how close Lexi got, she wasn’t Y/N. And she never would be.

It got worse when he heard her laugh. Not the fake one with the recruit. Not the almost real with Tony. This was her real laugh. The most amazing sound in the world, after weeks of silence.

She was with Sam, off in the corner of the Tower’s balcony. The sun had just started to set, painting the sky orange and gold. Sam said something, and Y/N laughed. Bucky realised in that moment just how long it had been since she’d laughed around him. He stood there watching, Lexi beside him, talking about something he wasn’t hearing. Because all he could think was ‘She’s never going to look at me like that again’.

And the worst part? He didn’t blame her.

Lexi felt the way Bucky’s eyes lingered on Y/N across the room just a little too long. The soft pull of a smile, he couldn’t stop when someone said her name. The sudden silence that fell over him whenever Y/N walked by without a glance in his direction. It was happening. Y/N still had that power over him, her boyfriend. He was pulling away and that scared her because Lexi didn’t want to be second choice.

Not again.

Not this time.

So, she shifted tactics.

The next morning, she found him in the gym drenched in sweat after a brutal solo session. His knuckles were raw from the bag. He didn’t look at her when she walked in, just reached for his towel with a heavy breath. She approached with that practiced, soft smile. The one that promised she was safe, understanding, on his side. “Hey,” she said gently. “You’ve been distant lately. Everything okay?”

Bucky shrugged, wiping his brow. “I’m fine.”

Lexi tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Not like she ever did.”

That made him look up. Lexi was becoming really annoying. “What do you mean?”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice like they were sharing a secret. “She never really wanted you. You know that now, don’t you? The way she talked about you… like you were some lost cause.” His frown deepened. “Think about how she’s not talking with you anymore. She made it clear, you’re not part of her life.” She kept going. “But I’m here. I see you. The real you.” There was a pause.

Bucky muttered, almost to himself, “You don’t like the real me, though.”

Lexi blinked. “What?”

“You’re forcing me into a diet,” he said flatly, still not looking at her. The words hung heavy in the air.

He thought of the greasy cheeseburgers he ate with Y/N after late missions. Hair still damp from the shower, sat on the kitchen counter’s stool with ketchup on her cheek, tossing him fries and laughing. Of how she never judged him. Never made him feel like he needed to be anything but himself.

That night, Y/N leaned against the counter watching Bucky unwrap his second cheeseburger with a tired grin. “It took just a cheeseburger or two after a mission like that,” she said, her tone light.

Bucky chuckled, then glanced down at the food in his hands. “Yeah, but maybe I should slow down. I’m probably putting on weight.”

Y/N’s smile faded. She slid closer and looked him dead in the eyes. “Bucky, cut the bullshit.”

He blinked. “I’m just saying-”

“No,” she cut in gently but firmly. “You ran through gunfire today. You took a hit for Sam. You deserve this burger. Hell, you deserve ten.” Bucky gave a sheepish smile, unsure. She nudged his shoulder. “You’re not a number on a scale, Buck. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

He sighed, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But only because you said so.”

Y/N smirked. “Damn right.”

They finished their cheeseburgers in a comfortable silence. “Next time I’ll cook you lasagna” she said.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled. She indeed did cook him lasagna.

Bucky was almost smiling reembering that moment, but now it was Lexi the one with sparkled eyes but it was an evil sparkled. Lexi’s smile now faltered for just a second. “You said you wanted to feel better in your body-”

“No,” Bucky cut in, voice low. “You said it. You started swapping out my food. Said it was ‘for my health.’”

Lexi recovered quickly, her voice softening again. “I just care about you, Buck. I want what’s best for you. Don’t let her make you feel small.” His jaw tightened. “You deserve better than someone who doubts you.” Bucky looked away, throat thick. “I assure you, I’m not trying to make you feel smaller.”

His chest ached with the familiar weight of guilt and confusion, but it didn’t settle the way it used to. Because for all of Lexi’s soft words, now nothing she said felt true. She mistook silence for agreement and smiled to herself, thinking she’d won something but Bucky’s heart wasn’t with her. It had never really left the woman who met him in the kitchen at midnight with pizza and a grin, who touched his hand after missions without thinking, who never once made him feel broken.

An undistinguished amount of time later, now passed.

How many months? Two or three? Almost four?

She doesn’t remember how much time passed. How much time Lexi and Bucky become Lexi and Bucky.

Lexi was everything Bucky thought he wanted. Sharp, confident, always knowing what to say when his silence threatened to choke him. She carried herself like she owned the room, like she owned him too, and sometimes it was easier to let her. To nod when she spoke for him, to take the hand she slipped into his when eyes were on them. It was neat. Clean.

“You brood too much,” she’d tease, sliding into his lap uninvited, nails tracing patterns across the back of his neck. “But that’s okay. I don’t mind fixing you.”

Fixing him.

The words sat heavy. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted? For him to be fixed? To stop being a half-shattered thing? He never answered, only gave a half-smile, because disagreeing meant explaining himself and explanations cost energy he didn’t have anymore. Lexi filled the silence easily. She always had a story, a rumour or a sharp observation and her words curled into his ear.

“She moved on, Buck. You can’t still be hung up on that girl.”

He didn’t fight her. Couldn’t. The seed had been planted too deep and Lexi watered it with every casual shake of her head, every mocking laugh at the thought of Y/N waiting around for him. “She’s young,” Lexi would say, her tone clipped, like she was stating facts. “Pretty. She deserves someone who isn’t… burdened.” Her eyes flicked over his metal arm, the scars he tried to hide. And then, softer, she’d add, “Not like me. I choose you.”

Bucky swallowed those words like poison disguised as honey. He noticed, day by day, that Lexi made clear as the sun that her personal mission was talking bad about Y/N. He felt how the air, filled with tension, changed everytime she talked about her.

Is she won me over... why she kept talking bad about her? Bucky thought one day.

Lexi chose him and maybe that was supposed to be enough. Bucky wanted, craved being chosen but it was chosen by the wrong person. It never felt right. Not when her kisses were practiced, calculated, a performance for whoever happened to be watching. Not when her hand tightened around his wrist just a little too firmly if his gaze lingered elsewhere. Not when she leaned close and whispered things designed to make him doubt, to make him stay. He noticed she never said I love you.

Instead, she said you need me. She said you’d fall apart without me.

Sometimes, late at night when the silence pressed too close, he believed her. Other times, he saw through it. In the shadows, when Lexi was asleep beside him, his chest ached with the wrongness of it. Her presence didn’t soothe the hollow place inside him. It deepened it and in the back of his mind, Y/N’s face flickered like a memory he couldn’t burn away. The softness in her eyes, the way she’d once laughed at something small, the warmth she gave so freely without demanding anything in return.

Lexi stirred beside him, sighing contentedly. Her hand curled possessively on his chest. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, guilt and doubt gnawing at his ribs.

She knew exactly how to get under his skin. She always had. ì

At first, Bucky mistook it for charm, for confidence but now it was clearer. The way her words cut deeper than any knife, then smoothed over the wound with a smile. The way she left him questioning himself until the only solid ground he had was the hand she offered him. “You should be grateful,” she told him one night, her voice low, sharp edges hidden beneath the silk. “No one else would put up with… all of this.” Her eyes flicked to his arm, his scars, the restless way he shifted under her gaze. “Not like me. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Still here.

Like it was a favour.

Bucky said nothing but he pulled away when his silence stretched too long.

“Don’t think I don’t notice where your eyes go.” A mocking smile curved her lips. “You think she doesn’t already laugh about you behind your back? God, Bucky, she’s moved on. I’m the one standing here. Not her.”

He flinched.

Every time, he flinched and she saw it. Relished it. Lexi made a habit of comparing herself to Y/N, even when Y/N hadn’t done a thing. “She’s softer,” Lexi scoffed. “Weak. You need someone who can keep up with you. Someone who knows what it’s like to be broken and still fight. That’s me. Not her.”

It wasn’t dangerous, not really but everyone noticed.

Y/N wasn’t the same Y/N.

She hesitated more during debriefings, double-checked her comms too often, shifted just slightly out of formation. Tiny, harmless cracks in her rhythm. Nothing that would cost the mission, but enough for Lexi to pounce.

During extraction one night, when Y/N fumbled with the straps on the med kit, Lexi’s voice sliced through the comms. “Seriously? We don’t have time for this. She’s making more trouble than she’s worth.”

The silence that followed was thick. Natasha’s brow arched. Sam muttered something under his breath, irritation flashing across his face. Even Steve’s jaw tightened. Tony proposed to blast her with his suit.

They all knew Y/N wasn’t careless. She was steady and reliable. If anything, the pressure in her movements felt new and forced but Lexi didn’t stop there. “If she can’t handle something this basic, maybe she shouldn’t be in the field at all. Not everyone’s cut out for this work.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned. She bit her tongue, finishing the task without a word.

Bucky’s chest clenched, torn in two. Part of him wanted to defend Y/N, to shut Lexi down the way the others clearly wanted him to but Lexi’s hand brushed his arm as they moved, silent and possessive, like a reminder.

So, he said nothing. And Y/N pretended not to care. Pretended not to notice how, Bucky didn’t look at her at all.

Some nights, she pushed harder. “If you ever think about going back to her, I’ll know. You’re not subtle, Bucky. You never were.” Her hand traced the line of his metal arm, fingers digging in just enough to sting. “And if she ever tries to come between us? I’ll make sure she regrets it.”

He wanted to argue.

God, he wanted to tear himself free from her grip, to scream that Y/N hadn’t done anything, that she didn’t deserve Lexi’s cruelty but his voice betrayed him, trapped behind years of silence and guilt.

So, he stayed.

Lexi had built a cage out of words, and every time he tried to test its bars, she reminded him of what he was. Broken. Unlovable. Too much weight for anyone else to carry. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “I’m the only one who sees you for what you really are. Don’t forget that.”

In the darkness of their room, Bucky lay rigid beside her, shame and doubt gnawing through his chest. He hated her words, hated the way they echoed, but some traitorous part of him believed them. Because that’s what Lexi did best. She didn’t just chain him to her. She made him chain himself.

Natasha had been watching for weeks.

The way Y/N’s spark dimmed, how her laughter barely reached her eyes anymore. The only real laugh with Sam? Was now so long forgotten. Just like a sparkle of sun in a cloudy day.

Missions that once felt like muscle memory now left her second-guessing herself, shoulders tight, words clipped. It wasn’t like her and Natasha knew enough to recognize when someone was carrying weight that wasn’t theirs.

She found Y/N in the locker room after a mission, sitting on the bench with her gear still half on, staring at the floor like it might answer questions she couldn’t ask. “You’ve been off,” Nat said simply, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N looked up, startled, then forced a smile that was too quick, too brittle. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Nat raised a brow. “Don’t lie to me.”

The words cut through the quiet, sharper than Y/N expected. Her throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What could she say? That Lexi’s whispers, that she noticed, clawed into her chest every time she spoke? That Bucky’s silence felt like proof of everything she feared?

Nat stepped closer, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to tell me everything... but I see you, Y/N. You’re not the same. And whatever is going on…it’s eating you alive.”

For a heartbeat, Y/N almost broke. Almost spilled everything that pressed against her ribs but then she shook her head, pulling her armour back in place. “I can handle it.”

Nat didn’t look convinced. Her gaze lingered, steady and protective, like she already knew the truth Y/N refused to admit. And Y/N, biting back the ache in her chest, kept her silence. Because if Bucky didn’t believe her anymore, why would anyone else?

She didn’t mean to get drunk. She just wanted to forget for a few hours. To blur the ache in her chest, to drown out the echo of Bucky’s silence and Lexi’s lies. The bar was dim, faceless if it was a person. She nursed whiskey like water until her limbs felt light and her head heavier than ever. Someone reconised her eventually, of course they did, but they didn’t take pictures, didn’t call the press. Just a quiet stranger who murmured her name with a strange sort of reverence, then gently helped her into a cab, telling the driver exactly where to go.

By the time a taxi pulled up to the Tower, it was past midnight. The driver didn’t know what to do with her barely conscious, barely upright, until the front doors opened and Steve Rogers himself stepped out, eyes immediately sharp with concern. “Y/N?” He said, striding over, followed closely by Sam.

When she didn’t answer, just blinked at him through glassy eyes and muttered something slurred while Steve opened the door and carefully reached for her.

“Hi,” the driver muttered as Steve Rogers stepped forward. “I recognize her. So, I brought her here. Been cursing some woman out for the last five minutes. Loud about it, too. Kept saying, ‘That bitch thinks she’s got him’ Honestly, I was starting to get worried.”

Steve’s jaw tensed as he opened the back door. The moment the cooler night air touched her skin, Y/N stirred and blinked sluggishly up at him. “Got her,” he said softly, gathering her into his arms bridal-style and thanked the driver.

She was so light. Too light.

Steve had carried her into battle before injured, bloody, laughing from adrenaline but this felt different.

Now, he could feel every ridge of her ribs through her shirt. Her collarbones jutted out like warnings. Her wrists looked too fragile in his hands. “She’s starving herself,” he murmured to Sam, voice tight. Sam’s jaw clenched. “Shit.”

They carried her inside and gently settled her on the couch. Nat and Tony, called by FRIDAY, run into the common room.

Everybody was there.

Except one.

Y/N slumped back against the cushions, her head lolling to one side.

Her makeup was smudged, eyes glassy and lips part as if words were trying to crawl out and never quite made it. Then she started to mumble. At first, it was soft anintelligible. Then, clearer. “Didn’t want him to see,” she slurred. “Didn’t wanna look desperate.”

Steve leaned in. “Y/N…hey. You’re safe now, okay?”

She blinked slowly, like it took effort to understand the words. “Kept waiting,” she whispered. “Stared at the door… for weeks. Thought he’d come back...”

A tear slid down her cheek. Sam sat beside her, one hand gently gripping her shoulder. “Y/N…”

“Guess I wasn’t worth it.”

That broke something in Steve. “I love him so much, guys.” She cried.

Steve reached for a blanket, carefully pulling it over her, and exchanged a look with Sam.

Bucky didn’t sleep, but the girl, he was starting to hate, did.

So, when he heard the elevator moving in the middle of the night, he followed the sound on instinct. Something about it felt off. He stayed just out of sight near the hallway that led to the common room and then he heard her name.

“…you’re safe now, okay?” Steve’s voice.

Bucky moved closer, footsteps soundless, until he could see them... see her.

She was curled on the couch like she was trying to disappear into it. Makeup smudged, hands limp at her sides, her body almost swallowed by the blanket draped over her.

Sam sat beside her, brows drawn tight, and Steve hovered close, jaw clenched. And then she spoke.

“Didn’t want him to see… didn’t wanna look desperate.”

Bucky froze, heart thudding in his chest. Y/N’s voice was slurred, soft from alcohol and exhaustion, but there was no mistaking the pain in it.

“Kept waiting. Stared at the door… for weeks. Thought he’d come back.”

Steve looked like he was going to shatter. Sam didn’t say anything just ran a hand over his face, like he couldn’t bear to hear any more.

“Guess I wasn’t worth it.” A moment of pause, and then “I love him so much, guys.”

It hit Bucky like a bullet.

Y/N loved him? He leaned against the wall to stay hidden but suddenly he needed it to stand.

His chest felt like it was caving in.

He did that to her.

Believed a lie.

Let silence build a wall between them and walked away from someone who never once made him feel like less than he was.

And she waited. She waited for him.

Bucky’s hands shook at his sides. His throat burned. He took one step back, then another retreating into the shadows like the coward he suddenly felt like. But not before Steve turned, sensing his presence with his senses, eyes narrowing as they locked with his.

Steve said nothing. He still protect him, not reveling his presence to the other but Bucky knew what that look meant.

You broke her.

And now? He needed to decide what the hell he was going to do to fix it.

Lucky for Bucky, thanks to Steve's silence, neither of the others saw him. He got back into his room, Lexi still asleep. When he tucked himself in bed again, she rolled over him. He hated it.

The next morning, the pieces started falling into place faster than Bucky could stop them. Every look Y/N had given him, the hesitation, the distance, the hollow ache behind her eyes that flashed in his mind like a cruel slide-show.

Realisation hit him in an instant.

He remembered the nights she texted him and he never replied. The way she’d stopped waiting for him after missions. The warmth in her smile, slowly dimming until it disappeared altogether and he remembered Lexi’s voice.

Soft. Sweet. Twisting things just enough to sound true.

Fake.

“She doesn’t really care about you.”

“She was laughing behind your back.”

“You don’t need her.”

God. He’d believed it.

He let her get into his head, letting her lies become truth in the absence of Y/N’s voice and now he knew why she never got the chance to defend herself. Because he never gave her one. The guilt clawed at him day and night until he couldn’t hold it any more.

When Lexi was away at SHIELD, Bucky made his move. He walked into the conference room that morning where Steve, Sam, Nat and Tony were mid-discussion. Y/N probably still asleep.

“…yeah she was so drunk last night, when the taxi arrived.” Sam explained to Tony.

“I took her to her room when she fell asleep.” Steve said, looking at the couch where you were last night.

Suddenly, some footsteps. They looked up at him surprised but their faces quickly shifted when they saw the storm behind his eyes.

“We need to talk,” Bucky said.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “About?”

“About Lexi. And about Y/N.”

Tony stood from his chair, already tense. “Barnes, if you’re still here to defend that snake-”

“I’m not.” Bucky raised his hands, voice rough. “I was wrong. God, so wrong. About all of it.”

That shut them up.

Sam leaned back slowly, studying him. “Go on.”

Bucky took a breath. “Lexi lied to me. Now I’ve realised it. She twisted things. She said Y/N was mocking me…said she never really cared. That she just pitied me.” Nat’s face darkened, jaw locking tight. “I believed her,” Bucky continued, voice tight. “I didn’t ask Y/N. I didn’t trust her. I let someone else get in my head, and I walked away.”

He looked down, shame burning his throat. “I’ve been watching Lexi lately. The way she talks about Y/N. The way she acts when someone bring her up. She’s been pushing... manipulating things behind the scenes. And I let it happen.”

Silence. Steve’s fists unclenchingon the table. Sam exhaled slowly through his nose. Tony’s expression was unreadable.

“I just need to know…” Bucky said, barely above a whisper. “Is it too late?”

There was a long pause, then Steve stood. “You broke her, Buck,” he said. “But if you’re serious…if you really see what she’s been through, then we’ll help you.”

Natasha’s eyes softened. “But you don’t get to make this about just for fixing your conscience. You hurt her. So, if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right.”

“Nat, I swear. I love Y/N more than anything and I’ll do everything to make her forgive me.”

“Barnes you got only one chance.” The former spy told him.

“I know, Nat. And sorry if I didn’t believe you either.”

They all can see his honesty.

Tony crossed his arms, finally speaking. “Alright. Files. Audio. Surveillance. Lexi covered her tracks, but not well enough.”

“And we’ll get you to Y/N,” Sam said, voice quieter now. “But if you hesitate again…”

“I won’t.” Bucky said, already moving toward the door. “Not this time.”

He wasn’t sure if she’d forgive him but he’d fight for the chance to deserve her again.

Just as Bucky reached the door, Steve’s voice stopped him. “Wait.” Bucky turned slowly, eyes meeting the rigid line of Steve’s shoulders. His best friend. “You don’t get to just explain what she did,” Steve said, stepping closer. “But why did you let it happen?”

Bucky blinked, unsure if the question had been a punch or a plea.

“Yeah, why didn’t you go to Y/N in the first place?” Natasha’s voice was sharp, controlled but sweeter in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you ask her before cutting her off? Ignoring her?” Sam crossed his arms. “You know her, man. Better than most of us. How the hell did you think she’d ever say those things about you?”

Bucky looked at each of them, the weight of his mistakes pressing down harder with every heartbeat. “I was scared, that could have been the truth…” he said finally, his voice low and raw. Steve’s brows furrowed.

“Scared of what?” Tony asked. “Truth?”

“Scared she meant it.” Bucky replied. The silence that followed was deafening. Bucky took a shaky breath and pushed forward. “When Lexi told me Y/N and Nat laughed at me behind my back… that she thought I’d let myself go, that I was just some sad, washed-up soldier she pitied…part of me believed it. Because some part of me has always believed that.” He clenched his jaw, throat tightening. “I look in the mirror and I still see the monster I used to be. I feel the weight of everything I’ve done and I think… how could someone like her ever love someone like me? She’s light. She’s kind. She’s everything I’m not.”

Nat’s expression softened.

“And when she stopped knocking on my door, when the messages stopped coming… I thought maybe Lexi was right. That she’d finally seen me for what I really am.” Bucky paused, then added hoarsely, “I wanted to believe Y/N had feelings for me. But I didn’t believe I deserved it. Pus I'm not so pleasing to look at... and it's okay.”

Steve exhaled, eyes closing for a moment holding his tears. “You didn’t trust her,” he said quietly.

“No,” Bucky whispered. “I didn’t. And that’s what I regret the most.”

Natasha looked at him for a long time, unreadable. Then she said, “Good. Let it hurt. Let it burn. Because if you ever want a chance to stand beside her again, that pain better remind you of the cost of your silence.”

Tony nodded. “Don’t screw it up.”

Sam’s voice was softer. “She doesn’t need grand gestures, Buck. She needs the truth. All of it.”

Bucky nodded once, jaw tight, eyes glinting with something halfway between grief and resolve. “Then I’ll give it to her.”

Y/N didn’t mean to eavesdrop but when she heard her name from the conference room, low and aching in his voice, she paused. She hovered in the hallway, hidden just out of sight. An incoming headache. Bucky was talking again.

Nat, I swear. I love Y/N, and I’ll do everything to make her forgive me.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but entered the room. A trace of her old confidence back in.

The team stood frozen. She was there now. Y/N stepped into the room.

The shift was instant. Everyone straightened. Steve’s breath caught. Sam turned slowly, eyes searching hers. Bucky froze mid-sentence. She looked at him. He looked at her and in that moment, Bucky saw it all.

Her face was thinner. Her collarbone more prominent. The sleeves of her sweatshirt hung looser than before. He noticed and it crushed him, but he didn’t say a word. He wouldn’t make her feel exposed.

Y/N spoke first. Her voice was steady. Too steady. “I’ll help you take Lexi down. I don’t want her getting away with it.” Another pause. “But I’m not forgiving you.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. He didn’t beg. “I know.”

She didn’t say a word more. Her eyes, once bright enough to light up a room, weren’t the same. Duller now. Guarded. Like every piece of her had been scraped raw until nothing was left to shine. Bucky felt it like a blade to the chest. He used to be the reason those eyes lit up. Now, he was the reason they dimmed. He opened his mouth, closed it again.

Words crowded his throat, but none of them were good enough.

Sorry felt cheap.

I love you sounded selfish.

Please, don’t look at me like that was the truth but he couldn’t say it.

He had no right to.

Y/N stood there, unreadable, her arms crossed lightly over her chest, as if she was holding herself together. He wanted to reach for her. God, he wanted to but the space between them was too wide, too broken. One by one, the others began to file out of the common room.

“Everybody in my room,” Steve said, Captain America’s tone. “We need to take her down.”

Sam gave Y/N’s shoulder a gentle squeeze in passing. Steve offered her a small nod, his jaw still tight with anger he hadn’t yet released. Natasha lingered the longest, her sharp eyes scanning Y/N’s face as if looking for cracks but said nothing. She didn’t have to. Her loyalty was understood. Tony didn’t speak either, but his glance toward Bucky held a silent warning ‘You break her again, and you’ll answer to more than just your guilt’

It was just the two of them. Y/N stood near the window of their first kiss arms folded and gaze fixed on something outside. Bucky realized in that moment, from her looks, that she saw his kiss with Lexi.

Bucky’s throat worked as he forced himself to speak. The words burned coming up, scraping against everything he’d buried. “Y/N…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. For everything. I should’ve-”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes blazing with a fury he hadn’t seen in years. “Don’t!” She barked, the word sharp enough to cut through the air. “Don’t you dare say sorry!”

He froze, stunned by the intensity. His chest tightening with a mix of guilt and fear. Y/N’s arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stepped closer to him, glaring as she could burn the truth into his skin.

Her voice was low but shaking, each word jagged, snapping like a whip. “You don’t get to apologize like it erases what you did! You don’t get to stand there and pretend you didn’t know! You knew, Bucky. You chose to believe her over me! You let her twist your head, twist your heart, while mine was breaking right in front of you!”

Bucky opened his mouth, tried to speak, but the weight of her anger pinned his tongue. Her gaze cut into him, icy and merciless. “You think a stupid ‘I’m sorry’ is enough?” She stepped even closer, voice rising, trembling with a mix of rage and hurt. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch that, Bucky?” The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Bucky’s apology on his tongue, useless and hollow.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes didn’t just feel just guilty. He felt powerless and terrified that he might have already lost her entirely.

The city lights flickered against the glass. Bucky didn’t move. He watched her, heart thudding, every nerve screaming to step forward and say something, anything.

Y/N’s head throbbed like a drumbeat in her skull and the remnants of last night’s drinks made the room tilt in uneven waves. Her stomach empty and every step felt heavier than the last. She barely noticed the rug until her foot caught the edge of it. Bucky, who had been silently following, reached out instinctively, his hand brushing her arm to steady her. “Whoa-”

She jerked away, yanking her arm back with more force than she intended. “Don’t touch me!” She screamed, the sound echoing harshly off the walls.

Bucky froze, startled. His hand hovered in the air, helpless. “Y/N, I’m just-”

“Just what?” She snapped, her voice sharper than usual, raw from anger and headache. But this wasn’t his moment to speak. It was hers. She turned and they stared at each other for a breath. Maybe two. And Y/N said, quietly, “For what it’s worth… I would have never done this to you.”

The words hit harder than anything Lexi had said. Harder than anything Bucky had told himself in the mirror for weeks. He swallowed hard, jaw working. “I know.”

She nodded once, like that was all she needed to say. Like anything more would’ve broken something fragile still holding her together.

In Steve’s room, Y/N and Bucky were the last to arrive. He let her entered first. Screens flickered as Natasha pulled up encrypted files, overlays of falsified footage, digital signatures, and intercepted transmissions.

Sam paced behind her, shaking his head. “She’s been playing all sides,” he muttered. “Planting false intel, shifting trust, even rigging our resource requests.”

Steve stood with arms crossed. “We always knew she was smart. We just didn’t know how deep her influence ran.”

Y/N stepped forward, gaze locked on the reconstructed timeline. “She started before she ever joined us. Every assignment, every favour… all groundwork.”

Tony dropped a folder on the table. “Lexi’s master file. It’s not just betrayal, it’s a blueprint for dismantling us from the inside.”

Nat found Y/N leaning against the wall outside Steve's room, arms crossed, head slightly tilted as if the ceiling could somehow answer the questions swirling in her mind. “You look like hell,” Nat said bluntly, but there was warmth behind it. “Come with me. Eat. Hydrate. You’re not invincible, and I don’t want you passing out before this gets interesting.”

Y/N groaned, stubbornness tightening her spine. “I don’t need-”

“You do,” Nat interrupted, cutting her off effortlessly. “So shut up and walk.”

The table was already buzzing with chatter. Sam waved a plate toward her with a small smile. “Here. Eat something, you’ll feel better.”

Steve offered a nod, still tight with the anger he hadn’t yet voiced, while Natasha lingered at her side, eyes scanning her for any sign of weakness but saying nothing. Even Tony spared a glance in Bucky’s direction, a silent warning that didn’t need words. Bucky was there too, seated across the table, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Y/N felt the old ache in her chest at the sight of him. She kept her eyes down, spooning food onto her plate mechanically, taking in bites without looking up. She didn’t say a word. Not to Bucky. Not to anyone.

The hot shower had done more than wash away the lingering headache. It cleared her head, sharpened her focus, and stripped away the remnants of yesterday’s exhaustion. Steam curled around her like a halo and by the time she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her hair damp and skin glowing, she looked every bit as formidable as she had always been.

Beautiful, sharp, and unyielding.

Nat, Sam, Steve, and Tony were gathered in the common room, giving her space but their presence grounding her. They had all seen how far Lexi’s manipulation had pushed her, how worn she’d been. But now, Y/N stood in front of them, composed and steady and ready to face whatever came next.

Bucky was there too, silent, tense, and impossibly aware of every detail. Her posture, the set of her jaw, the way her eyes glinted with determination. He wanted to say something, to reach out, but he didn’t. She didn’t need words from him. Not now. Not yet. The room held a quiet, tense anticipation.

Lexi wasn’t back yet but when she did return, they all knew what was coming.

Y/N’s resolve radiated quietly but unmistakably she was ready to confront her, to stand her ground, to reclaim what Lexi had tried to steal not just from Bucky, but from herself.

Every muscle in Y/N’s body was coiled, alert, prepared. Beautiful as ever, yes, but dangerous in her clarity and determination. The team exchanged small nods among themselves, a silent acknowledgment that she was ready to fight not recklessly, but with precision, and with all the fire she’d held in reserve. And Bucky, watching her, felt a mix of awe and fear. This wasn’t the Y/N he’d seen cowering in the aftermath of Lexi’s games. This was someone unstoppable. Lexi would return. And when she did, Y/N would be ready.

The plan was simple. Lure Lexi in. Catch her in the lie. Expose her. But nothing about it felt simple to Y/N.

She stood just outside the secured room in the sub-levels of the Tower, arms folded tight over her chest. Lexi thought she had time. She thought they’d never trace the ghost data back to her sub-server vault beneath the original Stark labs. Lexi stepped through the door like she belonged there, wearing that same practised, polished smile the one she always wore when she thought she was the smartest person in the room. She didn’t see Y/N, nor the team right away. But when they appeared, coordinated, precise, she knew it was over.

Across the room, Bucky stood by the far wall, silent and unreadable. Natasha near the computer, Tony cued up the audio on the tablet in his hand, Sam and Steve flanked the entrance in case Lexi decided to bolt.

Natasha stepped in, expression icy. “Funny. You always underestimated our ability to work together. And that? Was your downfall.”

Lexi backed toward the door. Y/N still, nowhere to be seen. Her jaw ached from how hard she was clenching it. Every inch of her body thrummed with restrained fury, her pulse pounding like war drums in her ears. Tony started the recording. Lexi’s own voice filled the space, clipped and calculated.

“She doesn’t really care about you, Bucky. She was laughing behind your back… you didn’t hear it, but I did.”

Lexi stiffened. Then the second tape played, a surveillance one from the training room two weeks ago. Lexi alone, smirking into a mirror “He’s so easy to sway. He wants to be broken. It’s almost pathetic.” She said mocking him.

Y/N’s anger began to rise.

Lexi turned, realization dawning but it was already too late. “You recorded me?” She snapped, looking to Tony.

“Funny thing about lying to the Avengers,” he said smoothly. “We usually find out.”

Then Y/N stepped into view, behind her.

Lexi froze.

For the first time since arriving, her confidence wavered. Y/N circulated her slowly, her eyes now locked on Lexi’s like a predator closing in. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, tension rolling off her in waves.

“You tore me apart,” Y/N said, voice trembling with rage. “You poisoned him against me. You made me feel crazy.”

Lexi opened her mouth, but Bucky stepped forward. “Don’t.” He warned.

“You made him think I was the problem,” Y/N hissed. “That he wasn’t enough. That he was nothing for me.” Lexi scoffed, a last-ditch defence.

“He made his own choices. You’re just angry you’re not part of his life.” Lexi said, again, in a mocking tone. “You’re upset he choose me.”

Y/N surged forward. Steve and Sam caught her mid-step, each grabbing an arm before she could reach Lexi.

“Let me go!” Y/N snapped, fighting them off. “I deserve to hit her!”

“Not like this,” Natasha said weirdly calm, stepping between them. “Not when we already have everything, we need to bury her.”

“The safe house coordinates you gave Y/N? A match to a known mercenary hideout.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed, looking now at Lexi in the face

“Which means Lexi, you set Y/N up.” Steve clenched his fists.

“An ambush, very classy Lexi.” Sam shook his head. “We’re lucky Y/N made it out.”

Bucky’s voice was low but steady. “She wasn’t supposed to get back. You tried to kill her.”

When Lexi was finally cornered in the common room, surrounded by the team’s watchful eyes, Y/N stood tall and unyielding. Lexi’s smug smile faltered when Y/N stepped forward, eyes blazing. Steve and Sam always ready to stopped her again.

“I have to admit,” Y/N said, voice low but laced with ice, “your attempt to kill me? Pretty pathetic.” A ripple of shocked silence spread through the room. Lexi’s face twisted half in anger, half in disbelief. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Y/N continued, a mocking laugh escaping her lips. “But you forgot one thing, I’m not that easy to break.”

Bucky watched quietly, pride swelling quietly in his chest. Y/N’s laugh rang out again, sharper this time, daring Lexi to say another word. And in that moment, everyone knew no matter what that Y/N, broken or not, was still the force no one could take down. Y/N’s eyes narrowed as Lexi’s defiant smirk lingered a moment too long. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and struck Lexi’s cheek with a sharp, stinging slap.

The sound echoed faintly in the room. Lexi’s head jerked sideways, surprise flashing across her face. The team held their breath, unsure if Y/N would go further. Steve and Sam bolted slightly but didn’t intervene this time.

Y/N stepped back, folding her arms behind her back with now quiet control. “That’s for thinking you could get away with it,” she said coldly. No one doubted she meant every word. Lexi touched her cheek, her smile gone, replaced by something thin and furious. Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Y/N was making her point.

“You think I didn’t remember you, Connor?” Y/N’s voice cut through the room, sharp, controlled, every word deliberate. The team went silent, sensing the storm about to hit.

Lexi’s smile came back, just slightly, she tilted her head. “Oh? And what exactly are you talking about?”

Y/N stepped closer, each movement precise and measured. Her confidence radiating like a shield. “Did she tell you guys she was in one of the training groups and failed miserably?” Her eyes flicked around the room, daring Lexi to respond, letting the team see the truth in her words. “I put her down in two seconds. Every single time she tried to act like she belonged here, I made sure she learned she didn’t.”

Lexi’s lips pressed into a thin line, the tension visible now. She had underestimated Y/N. Always had.

“You think showing off and playing the hero makes you clever,” she said, stepping closer, eyes locked on Lexi. “But all you’ve done is prove how small you really are. Manipulating him, trying to twist everything… do you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you think the rest of them wouldn’t see through you?”

Lexi’s composure cracked. Her smile, so carefully practiced, wavered. “You-”

“I don’t care what you think you’ve done,” Y/N cut her off, pointing a steady finger. “I’ve seen through your games for months. And I’m not letting you get away with hurting him. Or me. Or anyone else. Not anymore.” Y/N didn’t blink. Her eyes were sharp, focused, every word deliberate, every sentence a scalpel cutting through Lexi’s carefully constructed facade. “Let’s be honest,” she began, voice steady and cold, carrying across the room. “You weren’t here to help anyone. You weren’t here to contribute. You were here to twist things, to make yourself look better by making everyone else look small. You lied, manipulated, whispered in his ear, and for what? So you could feel important?”

The room went silent. For a moment, no one said a word. Lexi took a half-step back, realising her usual charm held no weight here. Not anymore.

“You’re done,” Tony said coldly. “Stripped of access, wiped from the system. SHIELD and the UN will get the tapes. You’re finished.”

Y/N didn’t move. Not because the fury had passed but because looking at Lexi now, trembling in a room of people who finally saw her for what she was, was almost better than a punch.

Almost.

Lexi looked at Bucky one last time, eyes narrowing. “She’s gonna destroy you,” Lexi said, her voice low and deliberate, carrying enough venom to make anyone in the room shiver. Every word was meant to unsettle, to plant doubt, to remind him that no matter what Y/N had said or done, she could break him. She leaned slightly forward, letting the threat linger between them like smoke.

Bucky didn’t blink. “Maybe I’ll let her do it.” Y/N wasn't looking at him, but took a deep breathe.

And with that, Lexi was escorted out by Natasha. Whether she will make it to the Raft safely, no one knew.

Steve, Sam and Tony exited leaving Y/N and Bucky alone.

Y/N stood in the silence that followed now breathing hard, shoulders shaking.

Bucky took a cautious step toward her. “You okay?”

She turned her head slowly, eyes still burning. “No,” she said honestly.

But she didn’t walk away. And for Bucky, that meant everything.

The door had barely shut behind Lexi when Y/N’s breath hitched.

The anger still pulsed under her skin, but it had nowhere else to go now. Her fists ached from being clenched too long, her throat burned from holding back every scream she’d swallowed over the last few weeks. She was unravelling slowly, breath by breath.

Bucky watched her with the quiet patience of someone who had no right to speak first. So, he didn’t. He just stood there and when she finally moved, eyes glossy and shoulders trembling, he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak. Just stayed there, unsure if she’d stop walking.

But she didn’t.

She walked straight into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

Bucky exhaled like he hadn’t been breathing since he left her. His arms came around her gently, the metal one hand at her back, the other cradling the back of her head. And for a moment, the world fell completely silent. No past. No betrayal. Just the feel of her in his arms again. The scent of her hair. The faint tremble in her breath. The shape of her body, still too thin and breakable, but hers. His eyes shut tight.

“I’m not gonna destroy you Bucky.” she said in his chest.

“I know” he replied sure.

“…By the way this isn’t a I forgive you hug,” Y/N whispered, voice still muffled against his chest. “Don’t get confused.”

Bucky nodded, not loosening his hold. “I supposed,” he murmured again. “But it’s a start.”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t pull away either. And that… was enough for now. She stayed in his arms, letting the weight of his embrace settle over her like a familiar blanket. His scent lingered in her nose, grounding her more than she cared to admit.

God, she’d missed this. Missed the feel of him, all of him. The way his chest always felt like stone wrapped in warmth, solid and still when she needed grounding. The way his arms wrapped around her like he could hold the world together if she asked.

After her arrest, Lexi hadn’t said a word. Not in the van, not in the cell, not under interrogation. But they should’ve known better. Lexi was never the kind of ghost that stayed buried.

Two weeks later, Lexi’s techs were pinging in an abandoned HYDRA facility. The mission briefing was vague. An old systems coming back online, encrypted transmissions no one could trace. Bucky recognized the pattern immediately and before anyone else could raise their hand, he volunteered to go. Maybe part of him felt he owed it, owed her. Or maybe he just couldn’t bear the thought of someone else getting hurt because of his past. But Y/N hadn’t trusted it. Not the silence. Not the location. Not the look in his eyes before he left.

Bucky was already strapping on his gear, silent, his jaw set like stone.

The weight of the mission hung heavy in the air. He’d been quiet all morning, methodical, preparing himself like he was walking into an execution rather than an op.

In the other corner of the room, Y/N stood with her arms crossed, watching him. Her pulse hammered, but she held her voice steady when she finally spoke to the others. Tony, Steve, Sam, and Natasha all listened to her.

“You see this, right?” She said, her tone sharp enough to cut through the silence.

“He’s planning to walk in there alone.” Tony’s brow furrowed. “Barnes has always had a death wish. But this? After Lexi? It’s a whole new level of stupid.”

“Exactly,” Y/N shot back. “Lexi already tore him apart once. Manipulated him, made him question everything and now he wants to go back in there without backup? Not happening.”

Steve shifted uneasily, glancing toward Bucky. “Y/N, you know how he is. If he thinks this is his mess to clean up-”

“Then he’s wrong,” she cut in, her voice shaking now, though she forced it steady. “Because it wasn’t just his. Lexi didn’t only get to him. She got to all of us. She poisoned the team. And if we let him walk into that base alone, after everything she’s done… then we’re just letting her win again. I still didn't talked and reselved things with him but... I know I can't lose him...”

Sam leaned forward, nodding. “She’s right. We can’t let him carry this alone, not anymore.”

Natasha’s eyes flicked toward Y/N, sharp but full of agreement. “If he goes in solo, he won’t come back. And we’re not losing him. Not to Lexi, not to his guilt.”

So, they followed, still bruised from Lexi’s venture but with a gnawing feeling they couldn’t ignore. Y/N was still mad at Bucky but she couldn’t stop her brain to create scenarios in her mind.

The Avengers on the jet still, while she entered the faculty. A solo mission like hundred Bucky already did. What Bucky didn’t know was that Lexi had built a trap using HYDRA's old weapon archives like a twisted, poetic echo of everything that once broke him. Behind the walls, scanners tracked his heartbeat. Lexi’s voice played softly through crumbling speakers.

“I gave you clarity. You gave me betrayal.”

Above him, Lexi’s voice echoed as he stumbled through the onslaught.

“You should’ve stayed in my arms.” Voice hard with fury. “Should’ve let me protect you from her lies. Now you’ll die in the place that made you. Without anything.”

His fingers trembled not with fear, but with rage.

Y/N, having followed Bucky, burst into the base calling Bucky’s name. “She set this up,” Y/N spat to herself.

A detonation suddenly blasted. Bucky fell on his knees. Into another room, Y/N was praying to hear her voice again.

“If I can’t have you, no one will.”

She recorded messages. She thought about this as a back-up plan. She rushed to the room where the explosion came.

Please be alive, Bucky she told herself.

Bucky’s voice cut through the room seeing her, hoarse but steady. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

Y/N didn’t blink. Her voice sliced through the tension. “Guess why, Barnes.” She lunged. “Bucky why did you came here alone?”

“Because I had to.” He replied.

“Come on mister, the others are on their way.” She said helping him.

“What?” Se asked stunned. “You didn’t think I came here alone?”.

Bucky struggled to hold his tears. Y/N was weirdly calm and kind to him.

The jet hovered outside above the field, engines roaring. The metal hatch yawning open like a mouth ready to swallow them whole. Dust and debris swirled in the wind beneath it, kicking up fragments of the ruined base as the team stood at the edge, watching, waiting.

Every second stretched long, taut with tension. Bucky knelt amidst the wreckage, one sleeve torn. Blood smeared across his temple, his body trembling, disoriented from the fight and the impact. His breath came in ragged bursts, each one a sharp reminder of how close he’d come to disaster. And then he really saw her.

“You’re lucky I followed you,” she said, her voice clipped and controlled but underneath it was a raw edge that made Bucky’s chest tighten. The light tone she used before, gone.

Bucky rose slowly, shaking, running a bloodied hand across his face as if to wipe away the shame he felt just for being alive. “You didn’t have to come… I’m not worthy enough…”

His words were quiet, desperate, self-deprecating. Y/N froze for a heartbeat, her gaze locking onto his. And then, in a single motion, her calm facade shattered. “YOU’RE RIGHT. I DIDN’T.” Her voice cracked like a whip across the open air, so sudden and fierce that Bucky’s heart sank.

His hands dropped to his knees, powerless under the weight of her words. “I didn’t know Lexi had gone that far,” he stammered, trying to catch her eyes, to find some sliver of forgiveness in the storm raging there.

Her eyes flared, striking, full of a fire that made even the scorched landscape around them seem dim. “YOU DIDN’T KNOW ANYTHING, BARNES. NOT ABOUT HER. NOT ABOUT ME. AND THAT NEARLY COST EVERYTHING.”

Bucky’s chest tightened further. He tried to speak again, to apologize, to explain, but she didn’t give him the chance. What she wanted to say, the words that burned her tongue raw, were clear.

That bitch almost killed you, and I would have died too.

The fear had mutated into something sharper, hotter. It was straight anger. She let that anger consume the words, letting Bucky feel the full force of what he hadn’t understood, what he hadn’t seen.

Natasha stepped forward gently, moving between them with the calm precision she always carried. She was the only one still quite mad at Bucky, but deep donw she understand why he was like tha. “Y/N…he was manipulated. Lexi-”

“I KNOW WHAT LEXI DID,” Y/N snapped, voice slicing through the din of the jet's engines. Her fists clenched at her sides, fingers white with tension. “BUT HE LET HER... HE LET ME DISAPPEAR OUT OF HIS MIND BECAUSE IT WAS EASIER THAN TRUSTING WHAT HE ALREADY KNEW.”

Silence fell over the field, even the team standing at the perimeter seemed frozen by the rawness of her words. She wasn’t lashing out at them, at anyone else. Her fury was laser-focused, sharp and controlled, honed into a blade meant only for him. “HE LET HER RUINED ME…US.”

Her voice caught slightly, raw with frustration, but she didn’t stop. That was the first time, she snapped like that. She talked to the air, but bucky was the one she was really talking to. She turned sharply toward the jet, the engines roaring louder now, reflecting off the metal walls and concrete around them. Then her tone softened, the fire tempered by clarity and purpose. “Get him stabilized,” she said to no one in particular, though her eyes briefly flicked to the medics running toward him. “Let’s go home.”

She stepped aboard the jet first, shoulders squared not looking back nor giving him the chance to reach for her, to apologize or to speak before she was ready. The anger simmered under her calm exterior, a warning that this was far from over.

Bucky watched, heart hammering as the doors closed behind her, leaving him surrounded by the ruin and chaos, but also by the knowledge that she had already claimed the upper hand. Natasha’s hand on his shoulder was grounding, a silent anchor but Bucky could barely hear her. His mind replayed the fury in her voice, the heat in her gaze, the way she had torn through the quiet he had taken for granted.

He wanted to reach for her, to say something, anything, but he knew it would have been pointless. Y/N had already made her point. She wasn’t just angry, she was resolute. Every calculated step she took had demonstrated her strength. She had been calm, collected, beautiful as ever, and yet her anger had shattered the air around them, leaving nothing unchallenged. He lowered his gaze as the team moved to stabilize him, his blood still warm on his temple, his muscles trembling from the fight. He had been reckless, but it was clear that recklessness had a cost. He now understood how close they had all come to disaster, and it was almost entirely because of his blindness to Lexi and to Y/N.

The jet lifted higher, engines thrumming in his chest. Through the open hatch, he caught one last glimpse of Y/N, standing firm. The glow of the setting sun casting a halo around her damp hair. The storm in her eyes hadn’t faded, but there was control now, precision. Every ounce of her fury had been harnessed. And Bucky knew, deep in his chest, that she was unstoppable not because she was reckless, but because she had learned to trust herself, to claim what was hers, and to face him not with vulnerability but with clarity. He swallowed, knowing he would have to earn every inch of her trust from this point forward. He was ready to face it.

As the jet ascended, the ruined base shrinking beneath them, Bucky felt the weight of what had been lost and the enormity of what was still possible. Y/N had not just come for him. She had come for herself, for what she deserved and in that moment he understood the full power of the woman he loved. The engines roared and she didn’t turn back. She didn’t need to. Her anger had already spoken for her.

Two months since Lexi’s gone, Bucky completely healed from the ambush. The chaos she brought was now just a distant memory forgotten, buried beneath the daily rhythms of the Tower.

Y/N did pay a visit to Lexi.

The Raft was a tomb of steel and echoing silence. Even the air smelled sterile, scrubbed of warmth. Y/N’s boots clicked with purpose as she followed the guard down the corridor. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, even though she could feel the weight of the place pressing against her chest. She had come here for one reason, and she wasn’t leaving without it. Lexi was waiting. She sat slouched in the chair behind the reinforced glass, cuffs locked around her wrists, hair falling around her face in messy strands. She looked smaller than she had in the field, without her theatrics, without her stage. But when she raised her eyes to Y/N, that smirk was already curling on her lips.

“Well, well,” Lexi drawled, voice soaked in mockery. “If it isn’t the perfect little soldier girl. Come to gloat?”

Y/N didn’t react. She stepped closer, folding her arms across her chest, gaze calm and unyielding. “I thought you deserved the truth.”

Lexi arched a brow. “About what? What poss-”

“Bucky’s still alive.” Y/N interrupted Lexi.

The words cut through the air like a blade. Lexi froze. For a heartbeat, her face was blank, caught between disbelief and panic.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, that’s not possible. He-he was in the blast-”

“You thought so,” Y/N replied, her tone soft but cutting. “But he isn’t. Because I saved him.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed, voice slow and deliberate. “Wait... how could you know about the blast?”

For a fraction of a second, silence pressed heavy between them.

Lexi froze, realization flashing too late across her face. Her lips parted as if to snatch the words back, but nothing came. Y/N tilted her head, a bitter laugh escaping. “You just told me everything I needed. You set it up.”

Lexi tried to recover, her tone sharpening with venom. “I didn’t say that. You’re twisting things.”

But Y/N didn’t flinch. She stepped closer to the glass, her gaze unrelenting. “You wanted him gone so badly you didn’t care who else burned with him. That’s not just manipulation anymore, Lexi. That’s attempted murder.”

Lexi’s mask slipped, fury flashing as she slammed her cuffed hands against the table, chains rattling. “He was supposed to choose! He was supposed to see me, not you! And if he didn’t… then he didn’t deserve either of us.”

Her voice rose, echoing off the metal walls, ragged and wild. Y/N stayed composed, her words sharp enough to cut through the air. “That’s where you’re wrong. He didn’t need to choose. He already knew. That’s why you lost.”

Lexi faltered again, her eyes wide, realizing she’d given away far too much. Y/N straightened, final and cold. “Thanks for the confession, it will add a couple more accusations.”

Lexi’s jaw tightened, desperation leaking through her polished mask. Her eyes glittered with spite as she leaned forward, almost snarling. “He kissed me.”

The words hung in the sterile air, meant to wound, meant to dig deep. Lexi waited for the flinch, for the crack in Y/N’s armor.

But none came.

Y/N tilted her head, studying her like one might study a venomous snake behind glass. Calm and cold. “And? Do you want me to congratulate you?” Her voice was steady, but steel threaded through every syllable. “That kiss was built on lies you fed him. Manipulation isn’t affection, Lexi. It’s poison.”

Lexi’s mouth opened, but Y/N didn’t let her speak. She leaned closer to the glass, eyes sharp. “You know what the difference between us is? He regretted every second with you. He’ll never regret me.”

That made Lexi falter. Her smirk cracked, her breath stuttered. The chains on her wrists rattled as her hands twitched against the table. Y/N straightened, voice softer now, but crueller in its certainty. “You can keep your kiss, Lexi. It’s all you’ll ever have. Meanwhile, I’ll keep saving his life. Again. And again. And again. That’s the part you’ll never touch.”

Lexi’s last shot missed its mark completely, leaving her staring after Y/N in stunned silence as she turned to leave, heels clicking against the concrete floor.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Y/N stepped into the common room, her hair still damp from the rain outside, her posture straighter than it had been in weeks. She carried herself with the kind of composure that made everyone sit up a little straighter.

Natasha was the first to notice. Her eyes narrowed, scanning Y/N as though checking for injuries. “Where were you?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She dropped her bag onto the counter and crossed the room. “The Raft.”

The effect was immediate. The chatter died. Tony froze mid-sip, his glass hovering near his mouth. Sam’s shoulders tensed, his smile falling away. Steve leaned forward in his chair, hands curling into fists on his knees. And Bucky looked like someone had punched the breath out of him.

Y/N’s gaze swept across them all, calm but unreadable. “She’s still alive. Don’t worry. It was necessary.”

Sam tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Necessary for what?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered, just for a second toward Bucky, who hadn’t moved since she said Raft. His hands were curled tight, his jaw locked, but his eyes never left her. “For closure.” Y/N said finally, her voice low but unyielding.

Nobody dared breathe.

After her visit to the Raft, Bucky tried everything to bridge the growing gap between him and Y/N. He left quiet notes, shared small moments, offered steady support without pressing too hard. He listened when she spoke, the rare occasions she let him listen to her, but forgiveness didn’t come easily.

Y/N’s walls remained firm, her trust a fortress still locked tight. Still, Bucky didn’t give up. He knew some things were worth fighting for, even if the battle was slow and quiet. And in every glance, they exchanged, brief and loaded with unspoken words, there was a flicker of hope. Y/N was the only battle to win now.

He began to cook for her.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner turning the kitchen in the Tower into his sanctuary. Part of him did it because he wanted to help. He felt responsible. Y/N’s body had taken a hit, the scars weren’t just on her skin but deep inside. He knew he hadn’t been there to protect her when she needed him most and it haunted him.

So, every meal was his silent apology, every carefully prepared dish a promise to try harder. He watched her eat quietly, never pushing, just waiting for the moment she’d let him back in. Some days, she looked up and smiled, just a little. Other days, she kept her gaze fixed ahead, distant and guarded but Bucky kept cooking. Because love wasn’t always loud. Sometimes, it was the quiet act of feeding someone back to life.

Silence stretched between them. Then, after a beat “You make really good pancakes,” she said, almost grudgingly.

He gave a small, relieved smile. He didn’t say anything worried to ruin the moment.

He began lending her his books, carefully chosen stories and histories he thought she might like. Inside each one, he left small notes on post-its.

Thoughts, questions, little jokes only they would understand.

Every time Y/N finished a book, she returned it neatly without a word about the notes. Bucky noticed the post-its were always missing.

One afternoon, he handed her another book, brushing his fingers against the cover before offering it. “This one’s a little slower, but the ending’s worth it,” he said. She nodded and took it gently, her fingers brushing his.

A few days later, she placed the finished book on the coffee table.

Bucky picked it up casually, flipping through the pages. The post-its were gone, again. He hesitated, then asked softly, “Hey… did you see the notes I left?”

Y/N didn’t look up. “Oh,” she said lightly, “...there weren’t any notes. Sorry.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Right,” he said, lips twitching into a half-smile. “Must’ve mistaken.”

She lied. Bucky feigned belief. He didn’t press.

Y/N kept every note. Every scribbled thought, every quiet observation he’d left tucked between chapters. After finishing each book, she’d carefully peel them off, smooth them out, and tuck them into a small wooden box in her room, her own private archive. A secret bridge between them. She never said a word. And Bucky never asked again.

Y/N began to slowly loosen up, the walls she had built around herself starting to crack.

One afternoon, she asked Bucky to keep her company during a walk outside the Tower. The moment she said it, Bucky stood up in an instant; muscles tense, eyes sharp like he was ready to fight Hydra all over again. He followed her quietly, protective and alert though she only wanted the simple comfort of his presence.

For the first time in a long while, they walked side by side, silent but together. As they walked side by side, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how tense Bucky still was like he was ready to spring into action at any second. She glanced at him, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Relax, soldier,” she teased softly. “I promise there’s no Hydra around.”

Bucky shot her a sharp look, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Just can’t help it,” he muttered, eyes scanning their surroundings.

Y/N nudged him playfully. “You’re such a drama queen.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away.

For a moment, the weight between them lifted, replaced by something lighter. Something like peace. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of fun.

The room was minimalist. Bucky sat stiff on the couch, arms folded across his chest. Across from him sat Dr. Leah, specialized in post-trauma cognitive therapy. She didn’t speak first. She waited.

He glanced at the walls, the floor, anywhere but her eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered.

Dr. Merrin tapped her pen gently. “That’s okay. Start with what you need to say.”

Bucky exhaled, rough and ragged. “I don’t trust my own thoughts. I hear Lexi’s words when I try to sleep. I doubt the people who saved me.” There was silence. “And I pushed away the only person who ever saw me without fear,” he added. “Because I thought I didn’t deserve her. Still do.”

Dr. Merrin leaned forward slightly. “What would deserving her look like?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky whispered. “But I know who I was when I broke her trust. And that version of me… should’ve been buried in that facility.” His hands trembled. He tried to hide it. “She’s talking to me,” he added. “Just barely. But I’m scared I’ll twist that kindness into hope too fast. And I’ll mess it up again.”

Dr. Merring nodded, voice calm. “Then we build habits that separate fear from truth. Not all at once. But over time.”

He didn’t respond. But he stayed for the full hour. And when he left, he looked more uncertain, but also slightly more awake.

The same day, Y/N sat under the pergola with a data pad in her lap, reviewing field notes. She wasn’t hiding, but she wasn’t social either.

A familiar rhythm of boots passed along the stone path slow, but steadier than usual. She looked up. Bucky was walking past the rows of ivy toward the south wing. Alone. Not toward the weapons bay. Not toward the gym. Toward the psychological services annex. He didn’t glance around, didn’t fidget. Just… walked. Y/N’s gaze lingered, heart tightening. She’d seen that posture before years ago, when he used to avoid mirrors and flinch at kindness. But this time, he wasn’t running. He was facing.

Later that evening, Natasha dropped into the chair beside Y/N, stirring her tea. “He’s been going three times a week,” Nat said, like it was casual.

Y/N didn’t answer at first. Then quietly, “That’s good.”

Nat watched her carefully. “You want to say something to him?”

“I want to stop hurting when I look at him,” Y/N murmured. “And this helps. Knowing he’s trying.”

Nat leaned back. “Then maybe tell him that. Doesn’t have to be forgiveness. Just acknowledgment.”

Bucky sat alone, wrapping his hands. Y/N appeared in the doorway. She didn’t speak for a full minute. “Therapy?”

He paused, then nodded. “Yeah.”

She stepped forward, placed a protein bar beside him on the bench. “You’re doing good,” she said, voice soft. And then, just before turning to leave… “I’m still proud of you.”

No promises. No sudden healing. Just honesty tucked inside silence.

Some day later, the base was quiet.

Just the hum of appliances and a half-working coffee machine. Y/N wandered in with sleepy eyes and a blanket draped over her shoulders, not expecting anyone else to be awake. Bucky was crouched in front of the fridge, frowning at a jar of pickles.

She raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

He stood, holding the jar like it had betrayed him. “I just spent five minutes trying to open this thing. I think it might be Hydra-sealed.”

Y/N smirked, approaching slowly. “You’re a super soldier, Barnes.”

He shrugged. “Apparently, I’m only strong when it comes to throwing people through walls. Not… condiments.”

She took the jar, twisted once, and it popped open with a soft click. “Here… isn’t a little late for pickles?”

He stared at it, horrified. “Nah… What if this was a trap? What if Lexi’s final revenge was gender humiliation via pickles?”

Y/N let out an unexpected snort and then laughed. Not a polite chuckle, not a closed-mouth escape. A full laugh. Uncontrolled and real. He smiled.

They sat at the counter after that. Quiet but no longer heavy.

Bucky chewing a pickle. Y/N sipped her tea, watching him with mild amusement. “Fun fact,” Bucky mumbled, mouth half-full. “I used to think pickles were just cucumbers that got sad.”

Y/N blinked. “Sad?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah, like… they soaked too long in their emotions and became tangy.”

Y/N snorted. “So basically, pickles are the emo phase of vegetables.”

Bucky pointed a finger. “Exactly. These are the My Chemical Romance of food.”

Y/N burst into giggles again, nearly dropping her mug. “Does that make relish the punk remix?”

Bucky looked at her like she’d cracked the matrix. “Relish is the chaotic neutral condiment. It doesn’t pick sides, it just shows up everywhere uninvited.” They were both laughing now free, effortless laughter bouncing off the cold tile and empty air. For the first time in a long while, the kitchen felt like home.

Tony leaned against the glass railing, watching Bucky and Y/N through the kitchen window. Steve stood beside him, arms folded smiling softly. Natasha sprawled across the couch with Sam perched near the window ledge, munching on a protein bar that absolutely wasn’t approved by the nutrition team, especially at night.

Inside the kitchen, Bucky was miming dramatic betrayal at the pickle jar, while Y/N fought to breathe through another round of sleep-deprived giggles.

“They’re speaking in snack metaphors,” Sam whispered.

“I think they’ve merged into a new species,” Nat replied.

“Late-night snacks. Extremely rare.” Steve tilted his head, smile deepening.

“I haven’t seen him laugh like that in… years.” Tony sighed. “Which, given the history, is a promising upgrade.”

Sam grinned. “This is how they do it.”

Tony raised his empty hand. “To midnight chaos and people who find each other even after breaking apart.”

Y/N, catching movement from the lounge above, glanced up. Her gaze met Steve’s briefly. He gave a small nod. She nodded back. It wasn’t approval. It was quiet understanding.

“They’re coming back,” Steve said.

Natasha nodded. “Bit by bit.”

Tony raised a brow. “Place your bets. I give them two weeks before the we’re in love phase.”

Sam smirked. “They already are.”

They all turned, quietly watching the kitchen glow like a heartbeat under the compound’s dark ceiling. Because sometimes, healing doesn’t announce itself. It hums in the corner. And everyone who cared could feel it.

The next morning, Fury tapped the screen, a quick sweep of mission parameters sliding into view. Simple recon. Low threat. Two agents needed.

“Y/N, you’re on of course,” he said. “Who do you want with you?”

The room paused. Y/N scanned the roster calmly. And then, with the kind of quiet confidence that made people turn their heads. “I'll take Barnes.”

A soft rustle passed through the room. Sam lifted his brow, Natasha blinked but smirked, Steve didn’t hide the small smile curling at the edge of his mouth. The rookie assigned as backup exhaled in utter relief, clearly not ready to tag along with Y/N’s precision. But Bucky? He didn’t move at first. Just stared. That simple line hit like a jolt to the chest. She could’ve picked anyone. She hadn’t picked him in a long time.

His throat tightened. “You sure?”

Y/N nodded. “I trust your instincts. And I know how well you work in silence.”

It still wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t warmth. But it was respect. And Bucky felt it like sunlight on frost.

Once on the mission's location, Y/N and Bucky moved through the treeline. No chatter, no over-briefing. Just eye signals, habit, and instinct. Y/N held up two fingers. Bucky instantly split left, checking the northern edge of the outpost. Her count was always precise; she didn’t need to repeat. When a metal sensor crackled in the brush, they both turned at the exact same moment guns half-raised, eyes scanning. No panic. No hesitation. Just flow.

Inside the outpost, light flickered from old generators. Bucky stepped forward first. Y/N covered the rear. When he found a rusted panel, he knocked twice and lifted gently his hand, same signal she always used to spot internal cameras.

“I thought you hated tight corridors,” he murmured, barely audible.

Y/N smirked. “Only with people I don’t trust.” He glanced at her, unsure how to hold that. But she’d said it. That was enough.

They sat across from each other in the jet, not quite close, but aligned. The report would be short. Mission success.

Back at the Compound, Y/N sat in her quarters, gear stripped off, fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea. She replayed the moment in her head. “I’ll take Barnes.”

She’d said it without hesitation, but the weight hit afterward. She didn’t choose him for nostalgia. Not out of guilt. She chose him… because it felt right again. He’d moved with her like breathing. No fumbles, no missteps. The rhythm was real. The trust still lived beneath all the wreckage. And despite her anger, despite the scars Lexi had carved into both, she hadn’t had to second-guess him in that field. That meant something. Y/N took a slow sip, exhaled deeply. She didn’t smile. But her jaw softened, just enough.

The city murmured below as the last light melted into pale lavender. Natasha leaned against the railing, sipping black tea, boots crossed at the ankle. She didn’t turn when she heard Y/N’s quiet footsteps. She stepped beside her, eyes tracing the skyline. For a few moments, neither spoke. Then, Y/N said softly, “I picked him.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You did.”

“He was good,” Y/N added. “Like… we never cracked.”

Natasha sipped again. “That rhythm doesn’t just die. It sleeps.”

Y/N smiled faintly, sad and honest. “When I saw him in the field… I wasn’t mad. Not for those hours. I just trusted again. It scared me.”

Natasha finally turned, met her eyes. “Because it felt natural?”

“Because I wanted it to stay,” Y/N whispered. “Even though I told myself I shouldn’t.”

Nat didn’t push. She just nodded once. “You know, Steve looked like he might cry when you said I’ll take Barnes.”

Y/N snorted. “Of course he did. Drama queen in a patriot costume.”

Natasha chuckled. “So… what’s next? One shared mission doesn’t fix the world.”

“No,” Y/N said, gaze distant. “But it reminded me I don’t have to hate him to heal. And maybe letting that feeling breathe is its own kind of strength.”

Natasha tapped her cup against the balcony edge. “Let it breathe then. I’ll be here for the exhale.” She said, voice low but unmistakably firm. “How long are you planning to keep this up?”

Y/N blinked, startled. “What?”

Natasha didn’t wait. “You’re dying to kiss him. You call yourself his girlfriend.”

Y/N blinked. “I heard you, with the recruit that invite you over dinner.”

It was true Y/N indeed said, ‘No thank you, I have a boyfriend’ to the recruit.

“Now you even picked him again for a mission.”

Y/N flushed, looking away. Her fingers tightened around the mug, as if it could anchor her. Natasha sighed, leaning back. “You can’t keep pretending none of it’s real.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her throat tightened. Natasha gave her a look. “Bucky made a mistake. Fine. He knows it. But you know he’s in love with you. And he’s dying, Y/N. Just… waiting. Hoping you’ll look at him the way you used to.”

Y/N’s hands clenched tighter. “I know,” she whispered.

There was a long pause. “Good. Because Bucky’s been waiting a long time.” She bumped Y/N’s shoulder gently. “So, unless you want me to swoop in, you better do something soon.”

Y/N laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You’d steal my man for pancakes, wouldn’t you?”

Natasha smirked. “My man, huh?” Y/N froze.

Natasha immediately grinned and leaned back on the couch like she was watching her favourite soap opera. She knew Y/N would react out of inmotivate jealousy.

They both didn’t realize, someone was hearing all of that.

“You’re dying to kiss him. You call yourself his girlfriend.”

“I heard you, with the recruit that invite you over dinner.”

Sam leaned casually against the doorway of Bucky’s room, arms crossed and that familiar teasing grin on his face. “Hey, Barnes,” he said, “You’ll want to hear this.”

Bucky looked up from cleaning his knife, half-interested. “What?”

“Y/N was talking to Nat earlier.”

That got Bucky’s attention. He tried to act indifferent, but the slight pause in his hands gave him away. Sam continued, clearly enjoying himself.

“Nat told her, and I quote, ‘I heard you, Y/N. You said no to the recruit that invited you over dinner.’”

Bucky blinked, the words echoing in his head.

She said no.

To him.

Milo?

The recruit that tried to ask her out… she turned him down.

Something warm spread through his chest, like a sudden burst of sunlight in the middle of a cold winter. He tried to hide the way his lips twitched into a smile, but it was useless. For the first time in a while, he felt something that made his heart race in a good way. Up until now, he’d been careful around her. Respectful. Hesitant. Watching her from a distance, thinking she deserved someone lighter, someone whole.

“She said no?” He asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but Sam saw right through him.

“Yep,” Sam said, laughing. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s saving that yes for someone else.” It wasn’t just hope anymore. It was real. Tangible. Close enough to touch.

“She’s been through a lot,” Bucky said quietly, staring down at his hands. “I don’t want to mess things up for her.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe she needs you to do something other than pancakes.”

The next morning, Bucky showed up at breakfast carrying a bouquet of deep red roses. He handed them to Y/N with a shy smile and a note.

“For the girl I’m dying to kiss”

Y/N’s face turned almost as red as the roses. For a heartbeat, the room felt warm and still. Then Bucky leaned in and kissed her gently on her forehead, right there over the breakfast table.

She didn’t pull away. And maybe, just maybe, forgiveness began to bloom.

Since that day, it was Y/N who sought Bucky out.

The fierce, confident Avenger everyone knew had softened into something else, almost unrecognizable. She became a lovesick puppy, her usual sharp edges melting away whenever he was near. She laughed more, lingered longer and found excuses to be close to him. The team noticed the change, exchanging amused glances. The badass Avenger who once ruled the room now looked like a girl completely enchanted, almost another person. But Bucky didn’t mind. In fact, he found himself smiling more than he had in years.

Y/N believed for a long time that waiting was foolish, that maybe she should have given up on Bucky months ago. But something inside her wouldn’t let go. She knew that beneath the distance and silence, there was still something worth fighting for.

One quiet evening, she found him in the library, his nose buried in a worn book as usual. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and called his name softly. Bucky looked up, surprised but not guarded.

They sat together in a corner, away from the noise of the Tower.

For the first time in a long while, they talked. She explained everything.

The pain she had felt when Lexi had come between them, the loneliness when he pulled away and the nights spent wondering if he even cared. Most importantly, she told him how she had never stopped forgetting him, even when she was angry and jealous.

Her voice trembled slightly as she admitted that her feelings for him had been there long before Lexi appeared quiet, steady, and real. Bucky stared at her, disbelief etched across his face. He had never imagined that Y/N’s heart had held onto him through all the chaos.

Y/N looked at Bucky, her eyes soft but filled with hurt. “You know what?” She said quietly. “It was never even your fault. Lexi did it all.” She took a shaky breath. “But you believing her? That hurt me so much.”

Bucky’s expression tightened, guilt washing over him. He reached out, but she gently pulled back. “I needed you to trust me,” she whispered. “Not just now, but always.”

He nodded, voice low. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

The weight between them was heavy but the honesty cracked the silence they’d been living in for so long.

Y/N’s voice trembled as she asked, “How could you believe her?” She looked at Bucky, hurt flashing in her eyes. “I thought I gave you plenty of signals about my feelings.”

Bucky let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “What signals?” He asked, a teasing sparkle in his eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “You know exactly what I mean,” she replied, nudging him gently. Y/N smiled softly, eyes sparkling with a mix of fondness and frustration. “The signals.” She repeated, folding her arms as if preparing to deliver a lesson. “Like the way I always found reasons to be near you. The way I remembered every little thing you liked, like your favorite coffee or that old record you couldn’t stop playing that I listened everyday... the way you liked your shirts folded.” She paused, watching Bucky’s expression soften. “I even cooked you lasagna.”

Bucky was on the verge of tears. “I made sure you never had to ask for anything because I wanted you to know I was paying attention. And maybe, sometimes, I’d brush my hand against yours just a little longer than necessary. Or catch your eye when I thought you weren’t looking.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, vulnerability breaking through the teasing tone. “Those were my signals. I thought you’d see them… or feel them. I was trying, Bucky. I was always trying.”

Bucky reached out and took her hand gently. “I see them now,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry it took me so long.”

For the first time in a while, they sat in silence comfortably, connected, and slowly healing. Slowly, he reached for her hand, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“You never lost me,” she replied, squeezing his hand gently. “Not really.”

In that moment, all the walls between them crumbled. The anger, the pain, the misunderstandings they faded into the background, replaced by something new and fragile, hope. They didn’t promise it would be easy. There would still be scars to heal and trust to rebuild. But for the first time, they faced the future together, honestly and openly. And that made all the difference.

“Y'know,” he said, voice low but teasing. “If I have to be honest... you weren’t exactly subtle.”

You glanced toward him, frowning. “Subtle about what?”

Bucky tilted his head. “The notes. Back then when I was trying to get you to forgive me. I’d slip them into books, you’d hand them back like you never found a thing. You lied.”

Your stomach flipped. You hadn’t expected that conversation tonight. “I… I didn’t lie,” you tried weakly, cheeks warming.

Bucky arched a brow. “Doll, please. I know you found them. Every damn one.” His grin softened into something warmer, almost shy. “You never told me.”

Affection tangled in your chest. “I was going to tell you eventually…”

“Sure you were,” he teased, but his voice was gentle. “You didn’t have to hide it, doll. You kept ’em because you cared. And that…” his gaze softened, blue eyes earnest, “…that means more to me than you’ll ever know.” Bucky grinned and teased, “You like this chubby super soldier...”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Please don’t start.” She smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “If only you knew all the unholy thoughts I had about you…”

He raised an eyebrow, amused and a little intrigued. “Well, now you have my full attention,” he said with a wink. He found back his 40's lady lovers confidence.

They both laughed, the tension between them melting away in shared jokes and quiet warmth. “They were about that quiet strength you have or the way you move, so controlled and powerful.” She paused, biting her lip. “About the way you look when you think no one’s watching… like when you’re lost in a book or when you’re just… being you.” Her eyes locked with his, honest and a little daring. “And yes, sometimes I imagined what it would be like to catch you off guard, to see that soft side no one else gets to see. To remind you that you’re more than just the super soldier.”

Bucky’s grin grew, clearly pleased. “Sounds like you’ve got me all figured out,” he said softly.

Y/N shrugged, still smiling. “Maybe I do.” Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was impossible to hide. “Ugh, Bucky, you’re so sexy…” She said with a teasing shake of her head, her voice dripping with playful exasperation. His scent got her almost drunk.

Bucky’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with mischief. He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her heart skip. “Oh really? You think I’m sexy?” He teased.

“Maybe I do,” she admitted, voice soft but bold. Without a word, Y/N crawled onto Bucky’s lap, finally straddling him. The playful teasing vanished from his eyes, replaced by a quiet vulnerability.

All his confidence slipped away, leaving him breathless and a little exposed. He looked up at her, heart pounding in a way only she could make happen. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the warmth of their closeness filling the space between them. Y/N’s hands slid down to rest on his broad shoulders, feeling the steady beat of his pulse under her palms. Slowly she leaned in. Her breath ghosting over his lips before she captured his mouth in a soft, hungry kiss.

Bucky responded instantly, his hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed flush together. The heat between them surged like wildfire, spreading through every nerve ending. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as his lips moved from hers down to the sensitive skin of her neck. She gasped, arching into him, craving more of that sweet, electric touch.

He nipped softly at her pulse point, his voice a low growl. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Y/N smiled against his skin, her hands exploring the hard planes of his chest beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She could feel the tension coiled in him, ready to snap and she wanted to be the one to unwind it.

With a teasing bite on his jawline, she slid her hands beneath his shirt, fingertips brushing over the warmth of his skin. Bucky shivered, his breath hitching as the desire in his eyes deepened. They moved together in perfect rhythm, a dance as old as time, every touch and kiss stoking the fire burning between them.

Gripping her hips, Bucky stood up. She squealed, shifting more against him. He kept kissing and nibbling her lips and jaw. She gripped his hair harder.

Once in Bucky's room, he laid her delicately on the bed. She perched on her elbows, looking at him with pleasing eyes.

“Shirt off, soldier.” She ordered him. 

He looked at her, almost it was the first time and quickly peeled the shirt off. As he gripped the edge of the shirt, she positioned better on the bed almost as she was trying to make herself confier and in a better position for the show.

“Damn.” She muttered when he took off the shirt. “Please c'mere Bucky…” 

He moved as she was controlling him, stepping to the edge of the bed, pants still on. He threw the shoes off and bending a knee on the bed, he began crawling to her. 

She arched the clothed leg, and he kissed her shin. She felt the pressure of his hand throught the pants. 

“You're so goddamn beautiful, doll.” He lifted the other leg on the bed, now fully kneeling on the bed. She looked at him, seeing him for the first time. “Need to tell me what you want now, love.” 

“Do what you want, Buck…” 

In a second, he launched himself. He still carefully perched himself on the arm, not to crush her, but his hips kept her caged against the bed. She rolled hers under his, feeling the bulge in his pants growing. 

“Care to help me?” He asked her. In that moment, she would have yes to everything. 

She began unbuckled his button and zip, and once it was open she rolled it down jeans and boxer in a shot. His erection sprung against his stomach and she drolled seeing it. 

In a ruch of adrenaline, she rolled them so he was the one caged under her. He gladly accepted it. 

His cock remained there, thick and leacking and wanted to be touched. 

She straddled one of his thigh. Hands gripping her t-shirt, she slowly rolling it off.

Bucky looked at her in awe. He followed the movement of her fingers, delicately uncovering his skin. His cock twitched again, as it sensed her presence.

Once the shirt was off, she unclasped the bra. “Touch me, Bucky.” She moaned.

His hands moved in a second, grabbing her boobs. He rolled her nipples in his fingers and she threw her head behind, as her fingers went down unzipping her pants.

She began to rolled her hips on his thigh, and her clothes core pulsed.

She stood for a second, leaving his leg empty without her weight on it. He starred at her, not leaving his eyes wandered anywhere else. His belly and chest up and down, his breath quickened. In a second she was naked. Now both bare and moaning, she climbed again on the bed straddling his hips.

She slid her core against his tip, already red and leaking.

“Doll… you’re killing me…” he rasped.

“Good.” She said as she sank onto him. She felt every inch, every vein and a delicate sting.

He groaned and grabbed her hips. His fingers digging into the soft skin. She pressed her palm on his chest, balancing herself. She grasped his pecs, feeling the hardness under the softness. Hunching down, she pressed her lips on his.

Now his belly, fully against her, gave her the warmth she was looking for.

“I love you, doll.” He whispered, grabbing her neck so her forehead was now against his.

A tear escaped. “I love you too, Bucky.”

He hugged her hips more, pressing his flesh hand in the middle of her back. With absolutely no space between them, he began to pound into her core from underneath. She held herself up, hands bracing around his head.

“Harder Buck… fuck… please…”

He needed absolutely nothing more. In a display of strength, he rolled them both still pounding into her. Once she was belly against the bed, he began again to push herself down. His stomach against her back, as the flesh hand held his weight. His metal one, gently lifted his hair from her face.

“Crush me, Bucky.”

He did, and she felt his weight on her. Delicious, heavy and beefy Bucky holding herself down. He snapped his hips more, skin slapping against each other. His cock reaching points she never thought of while his balls hit her clit. Every movement, a precise way to make her fall apart.

He grabbed her hips, slightly arching them and reaching deeply her.

She tried to balance herself but weakly she felt again on the bed.

Some more pushes and her orgasm reached its peak. She felt how her muscles grabbed him, how her warmth enclosed them both. On the other hand he came, harder than ever, spilling inside her.

Bucky and Y/N woke up, side by side.

Trace of the night they spent, still lingering in the air. Smell of sex in the air, her hair messy and her muscled sore. A metal arm on her hips and a red shirt hanging on her.

Y/N looked down at the sleeves of his Henley, a little too big for her, the fabric soft and familiar. She hesitated. Last night, after they both starred at the ceiling of Bucky's room trying to catch their own breath, he gave it to her.

“Did you and Lexi… ever…?” Bucky turned his head, eyes meeting hers gently. “Get together?” He asked.

Y/N nodded once, trying to keep her face calm and casual, like the answer wouldn’t matter as much as it did.

He didn’t answer right away. He breathed out, slow. “No,” he said finally. “She wasn’t someone I cared about enough.”

Y/N looked away, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. “It’s just…she was wearing this. Your Henley. That morning, I saw her in the kitchen.”

Y/N remembered well that day. It was, as far as she knew, their first night at the tower as a couple. Bucky lingered in the dining room having breakfast, while moment later Lexi arrived in his shirt ruining everyone's breakfast.

Bucky’s eyes softened with understanding. “I crashed on the couch that night. She was in bed, alone. I gave her the shirt... I'm sorry. That’s it.” He reached out, gently taking her hand. “I never gave her more than that,” he added quietly. “Because there was already someone else I couldn’t stop thinking about.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “Me?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a soft laugh. “You. Always you.”

They sat there in the dark room, too early to let the sun enter, for a few moments longer just staying there. Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder. They didn’t need anything else. Just that. “Am I someone you cared about enough, Bucky?”

“Y/N,” he said quietly, “You’re not someone I cared about. You’re the only one I care about.” Her eyes shimmered, but she didn’t look away this time.

The kitchen smelled like vanilla and butter, warm and thick in the air, clinging to every tile like a promise that today was going to be good. Y/N stood by the stove in Bucky’s Henley, humming softly as she flipped the last pancake onto the growing stack. Bucky sat at the island, fork already in hand, watching her with the same expression he used on missions, like she was the only thing in focus. His hair was still damp, pushed back loosely, and his expression… relaxed. Peaceful. Like, maybe for the first time in years, he wasn’t fighting ghosts in his head.

“Number three,” Y/N said, sliding the plate across the counter to him. “Try not to cry from joy.”

He grinned, full and lazy, the kind of smile he never used to wear unless he was faking it. “You know, sweetheart… I think I might.”

She rolled her eyes, but the blush creeping up her neck gave her away.

The door whooshed open. Tony was first, of course. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this domestic and weirdly smug looking,” he said, stepping into the room with his usual dramatic flair. “Is that gluten? Are you feeding him gluten, Y/N?”

Steve walked in behind him, eyebrows already rising. Sam and Natasha followed, but it was Natasha who clocked it first.

Y/N in Bucky’s shirt.

The third pancake.

The coffee mug already halfway drunk with the exact amount of sugar he liked.

The way Bucky’s metal hand casually rested on the counter beside Y/N’s.

Sam’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You two are-wait. Are we all pretending this isn’t happening? Because that’s Bucky’s usual pancake... and Lexi had this man on boiled eggs and guilt.”

“The bitch is gone,” Y/N said breezily, pouring herself some juice. “Forever. Her reign of kale terror has ended.”

“Thank God,” Steve muttered under his breath.

Bucky chewed calmly, completely unbothered. “Didn’t like that diet,” he added.

“Didn’t need that diet, Bucky.” She said, looking straight into his eyes.

Bucky reached out and looped an arm around her waist, tugging her slightly toward him, disgustingly in love.

Everyone laughed.

And Bucky? He looked down at the stack in front of him warm, messy, real and then up at Y/N, who was already pouring more syrup.

Lexi was gone.

This? This was home.

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[imnotjustreadingg-volume-two]

second reblog for the third taglist

@sleepy-k0i @sonicsmacks @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @erina00

if someone want to be add, comment here :)

special mention -> @chocolatemilkshakex @yrdsstiny @vicmc624 @caity1995