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greatmistakes · 26 days ago

Note

i have an idea for a fluff drabble.. like bucky is on anesthesia and hes sooo out of it and now reader is touchin is chest or his hair and he says tells her to get off or his wife/reader will see, then reader tells him that she’s his wife the heart monitor speeds upp and he flirts with her

Heart Monitor

husband!bucky barnes x wife!reader

tags: fluff and humor, clingy bucky who loves his wife so much, hospital, super soldier on anesthesia.

word count: 1k

A/N: THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA??? I’m so giggling at this oh my god! Had to write it almost immediately.

Normally, your super soldier husband wouldn’t need surgery. Bones mended themselves in days, bruises vanished overnight—he’d once sprained his wrist and been fine before you could even grab the ice pack.

Apparently, though, even a super soldier’s body has limits. And as you’d both learned the hard way, if a bone heals wrong… it still has to be re-broken and set the old-fashioned way.

And anesthesia? Oh, anesthesia worked on them just fine. Bigger dose, sure… but still worked.

That was a new discovery.

Now here he was, laid out on the hospital bed, hair mussed and hospital gown looking far too flimsy for someone who could take down a room full of people in thirty minutes.

His pupils were huge, his cheeks flushed, and there was a slightly crooked grin on his face—like he was in on a joke no one else knew.

You sat down beside him, brushing your fingers lightly through his hair just to smooth it back from his forehead. His eyes followed the movement lazily before he frowned and lifted a weak hand to push yours away.

“Hey—hands off,” he slurred.

You blinked. “What?”

“My wife’s gonna see,” he said, dead serious.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. “Your wife?”

He nodded, still glaring at your hand like it was the problem. “Yeah. She’s gorgeous. Way outta my league. Wouldn’t like you touchin’ me like that.”

Your heart melted a little at that, warmth bubbling in your chest. Leaning in close, you whispered, “Bucky… I am your wife.”

There was a pause. His brows furrowed as if his brain was trying to work overtime, gears turning painfully slow under the anesthesia haze.

“No way,” he breathed, eyes going wide. The heart monitor at his side immediately began to beep faster. “You’re my wife?!”

“Yes,” you said through your laughter, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “I’m your wife.”

His mouth dropped open, and for a beat he just stared at you like he’d been handed the moon.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, “you’re… you’re like… stupidly beautiful. Like illegal beautiful. They should arrest you.”

You tried not to laugh. “Arrest me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded gravely, then winced at how slow the motion was. “Put you in… in hot girl jail. Life sentence. I’ll visit every day.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, shoulders shaking. “Buck—”

“Wait, no,” he interrupted, eyes widening. “I’ll break you out. Yeah. I’m the Winter Soldier. I’ll bust you out of hot girl jail. We’ll run away together and then live together.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold it together. “We already live together.”

His brows furrowed like this was brand new information. “We do?!”

“Yes,” you laughed.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, leaning back against the pillow. “I really married you? I’m a genius.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re delirious.”

“I’m romantic,” he countered, the heart monitor beeping a little faster. “God, you smell good. Like cookies… The ones with sprinkles and stuff…”

You lost it, laughing so hard a nurse peeked in to check.

Bucky squinted at her like she’d just interrupted something important. “Hey. Hey—do you see her?” He pointed at you with the determination of a drunk man about to start a bar fight. “That’s my wife. Isn’t she the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen? Tell her.”

The nurse’s lips twitched. “She’s very pretty.”

“Very pretty?” Bucky scoffed, appalled. “She’s—she’s like… a flower—no, not a flower. A whole bouquet of beautiful flowers.”

You covered your face with your hands. “Please stop.”

„Or a cheesecake.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “Cheesecake?”

“Yeah,” he nodded solemnly. “So sweet... A little dangerous if I have too much of you. But worth dying for.”

You burst out laughing again.

“I’m not even joking,” he went on, his tone growing almost conspiratorial. “If someone put you in the middle of a Hydra base and told me it was a trap, I’d still walk in. I’d kick the door down.”

“Bucky…” you groaned, shaking your head.

“And then I’d carry you out over my shoulder while explosions go off behind us,” he continued, clearly on a roll. “Slow motion. Like in an action movie…”

You gave up trying to hide your grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smiled lazily, heart monitor still beeping faster. „Yeah. No. Maybe. But I’m yours. Like completely yours. All yours. Like, you own all the rights. Trademarked. No one else can have me. You’d have to sue them.”

You snorted. “Sue them?”

“Yeah,” he said seriously. “Take ‘em to court. I’ll testify. ‘Yes, Your Honor, I belong entirely to this woman. No refunds.’”

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing again.

“Don’t laugh,” he said, trying—and failing—to glare. “I’m deadly serious. You’re my wife. You’re my… my greatest treasure. Like… like the Infinity Stones, but sexy.”

You completely lost it.

Bucky just smirked smugly, letting his eyes drift shut again. “That’s right. Sexy Stones.”

“Yeah, okay,” you finally managed between laughs, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “I think you’ve had enough, Sergeant. You better go back to sleep, okay? You’re embarrassing me, sweetheart.”

His eyes flew open like you’d just suggested abandoning him in enemy territory. “Nooooo,” he groaned, dragging the word out, “I don’t wanna sleeeeeeep…”

“James Buchanan Barnes—”

“Oh no, not the full name. It’s getting serious. Isn’t it? Ugh. I just wannaaaa kiss youuuuu,” he whined, pouting like a sulky teenager. “Pleeeeeease… just one. Little one. Tiny smooch. Doctor’s orders. Makes me heal faster.”

You raised an unimpressed brow. “Oh, so now you’re a doctor?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, slurring through his grin. “Doctor… uh… Handsome. Specializing in… kissing my wife.”

You laughed so hard you had to turn away for a second. “Sweet dreams, Doctor Handsome. I love you.”

You leaned in and pressed a soft peck to his lips and he grinned stupidly.

“I love youuuu…..,” he mumbled, eyes already closing again.

⋆⁺₊✧ MAIN MASTERLIST

divider: @cursed-carmine

💌 tag list: @iamthatonefangirl @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @buckybarneswife125 @peanutbutt3rcup @avengemepercy @gottareadthosefics2

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greatmistakes · 28 days ago

Text

Grocery Shopping [One-Shot]

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Reader

Summary: A chaotic family grocery trip turns into a heartwarming reminder that even a cereal box can't compete with the love and chaos of everyday life with Bucky and your three kids.

Word Count: 2.8k+

Content: Light romantic banter and kissing , Mild language , References to past violence/injury , Domestic chaos , Fluff-heavy family content

masterlist --

It's a regular Tuesday afternoon , with slightly-too-warm weather and a handwritten grocery list scribbled hastily with a pen that was dug out of your youngest elmo backpack.

The poor list had already been crumpled and smoothed out again–three times since being in your back pocket.

The goal was just a simple , normal grocery trip.

But with three Barnes’ kids under ten and their father who is currently on medical leave and home from any missions…“simple” , “calm” and especially “normal” didn’t really apply to anything in your life anymore. Including a quick trip to the store.

And you wouldn't change a thing about it.

Not when your youngest daughter , Lyla insisted on wearing blue sparkly butterfly wings over her captain america hoodie , your middle Sophie was trying to convince you that rainbow ice popsicles counted as healthy with the argument “they’re fruit-flavored , Mommy, that’s close” , and then there's your oldest son Jack who was currently hanging off the edge of the shopping cart pretending to be an astronaut pointing at the stars.

And their dad , your husband Bucky ; ex-assassin , semi-retired Avenger , proud dad—who was trying to push , said cart , while having a very serious conversation with you about why hes on his current “bed rest” – while also fielding a barrage of questions from the kids about chips , pets , and whether or not Iron Man’s suit had a bathroom in it.

“I’m just saying…” Bucky muttered under his breath , navigating around an endcap display of marshmallow fluff with his perfected military precision

“...when the mission brief says ‘non-lethal,’ maybe don’t drop me into a pit of electrified sand and expect me not to punch someone in the face.”

You blinked up at him , glancing over from where you were comparing the prices of generic and name brand pasta sauce . “Wait. Electrified sand?”

“Yup.” Bucky popped the 'p' dramatically , keeping one hand securely on the cart and the other gently on your son's lower back , silently and instinctively redirecting him as he was about to body-slam a shelf of Gatorade.

“I’m still finding it in my work boots. And my hair and the grooves in my arm.” He gestures his metal hand proving the point.

“Hmm.” You reached for the glass jar you decided on and dropped it into the cart gently. “So basically , just another Friday for you.”

He shot you a look that said so much and at the same time nothing said at all. “I had sand in places where sand should never be.”

“Daddy?,” your five-year-old daughter piped up loudly from the front of the cart , now cradling a watermelon like a baby, “what’s elec- ectrifcfry mean?”

“It’s a pain in my as-,” Bucky went to answer but you elbowed him lightly in his ribs.

“Don’t curse in front of her ” you said through a smile as he let out a huff from your hit.

“Sweetie, it’s just another thing Daddy complains about , like his meetings…and the kitties fur on our clothes.”

“Why do people talk about sand?” she asked , tilting her head , big blue eyes filled with wonder , squishing the watermelon against Bucky. “Sand’s boring , I hate sand”

“See? She gets it,” Bucky said proudly , tugging the cart forward as your son ran ahead toward the cereal aisle.

You were about to bring up dinner plans or lack there of , when suddenly– a shout cut through the noise and chatter of the store-

“DADDY!”

Everyone in the entire grocery store turned and faced your family.

At the end of the cereal aisle , your eight-year-old was frozen like a statue , one finger dramatically pointing up at the shelf he couldn't quite reach.

“YOU’RE ON THE BOX!”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks , cart wheels screeching to a halt.

You turned toward the shelf seeing what the commotion was about.

A brightly orange colored cereal box , part of some promotional “Avengers Assemble Breakfast” series , with a cartoonish splash of stars and milk… and right there , front and center, was Bucky Barnes. Serious faced. Gleaming vibranium arm displayed.

He groaned so loud , a woman down the aisle turned her head. You waved at her mouthing everything was okay.

“Oh no,” he grumbled , dragging a hand down his face. “Not again.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the laugh that threatened to pour out. “Babe,” you choked out between giggles, “you look so handsome! Like a stern grumpy blueberry.”

“It’s blue raspberry-flavored,” your son read off the box , after he crawled up the shelving grabbing it. “It’s got marshmallows shaped like thunderbolts and stars!”

“And Daddy’s face,” your daughter whispered , wide-eyed with awe. “He’s on a real box. That’s like , famous”

“I hate it so much,” Bucky grouched.

You took the cereal box from your son , holding it up for closer inspection. “Why does it look like you’re scolding the consumers?”

“It was a test photoshoot! I didn’t even know they were gonna use it for this! Val said maybe promotional video game type stuff , not this” he said , already reaching for a plain oatmeal box.

“Oh , come on , you’re adorable.” You flipped the box around. “Look—there’s a trivia section! ‘Which Avenger once punched an alien in space while falling from a helicarrier?’ Hmmm...That’s you , right?”

“Nope,” he deadpanned. “That was Steve. I was too busy being brainwashed.”

“Ah yes , good times,” you replied wincing slightly then easing , kissing his pouty lips and patting a hand on his chest.

Your kids were all now begging to get the cereal , climbing halfway up the shelves in excitement not wanting their usual anymore which included but not limited to–

”Loki Charms” , “Iron Bran” and your personal favorite “Cap’N Ameri-Crunch”.

All while Bucky looked like he was being slowly eaten alive by the attention and embarrassment.

“Please tell me they didn’t make another toy out of me,”

“Oh they definitely did,” you said cheerfully. “Remember that action figure our daughter bit the arm off”

“She bit me?,” Bucky questioned as the kids proceeded to load the cereal boxes into the cart like it was a national treasure.

You leaned closer , bumping your hip against his. “Maybe this..” You pointed to the boxes.. “ is all karma for making fun of me for crying at the dentist commercial last night.”

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “It was literally about toothpaste.”

“It had a golden retriever reunion and a grandma! That’s uncalled for emotional warfare as I'm trying to do laundry in my own living room!”

Bucky smirked , finally breaking into a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“You married me.”

“Still questioning that decision every time you call me ‘Sarge’.”

You gasped , glancing at the kids to make sure they were still distracted by the cereal’s cartoon maze on the back of the box.

“You love when I call you that,” you whispered , narrowing your eyes teasingly.

He leaned in more. “Only when you say it like–”

“Gross!” your son suddenly yelled cutting him off , little nose wrinkled as he turned around. “You guys are doing that weird stare thing again!”

“Yeah,” your daughter added , “No more mushy faces. Get more snacks instead!”

You and Bucky exchanged a silent , knowing look—one full of amusement and a quiet kind of love that only parents of little chaos goblins shared.

“Fine,” you sighed , moving along through the aisles again. “But I’m picking the ice cream this time.”

“Only if I get veto power over all cereal boxes with my face on them,” Bucky added , pushing the cart following you.

You grinned , “No deal. In fact, I think I’m gonna buy two. One for the pantry , one for the mantle.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You already said that , sarge” The name again made him roll his eyes at you and ruffle Jack’s hair as you all continued..

You made it exactly thirty steps past the cereal aisle before the box started a war between your children.

“I’m holding it!” your daughter shrieked , clutching the orange square like it was made of gold and unicorn glitter.

“But I SAW IT FIRST,” your son growled , grabbing the other side of the box.

“I was the one who YELLED!”

“I pointed!”

Bucky sighed so deeply it echoed. “I’ve negotiated with terrorists,” he squatted down to eye level with both kids. “This is worse.”

You were right behind him , your youngest on your hip watching with big eyes , as you casually tossed green apples and cheese sticks into the cart , marking them off the list like you weren’t witnessing the cereal version of the Civil War in real-time.

“Okay, listen up,” Bucky put on his “dad tone” , his hands out like he was diffusing a bomb. “You—” he pointed to your son, “—can hold the cereal for five more aisles. Then your sister gets it until checkout. That fair?”

“No!” they both shouted at the same time.

Bucky blinked at his minis as they showcased the same stubbornness he had. “Okay. New plan then. If anyone cries or argues over it , the cereal goes to me.”

Your daughter gasped like he’d stolen air from her lungs.

“You already have a whole METAL ARM!”

Bucky stood there in confusion , brows crinkled as he stammered to find words. “Babydoll….w…what does that have anything to do with….cereal?”

You nearly lost it right there in the baking aisle.

Eventually , peace was restored. The cereal was balanced precariously on the handle of the cart—neutral territory. And your toddler, oblivious to all , was busy whispering to her stuffie.

By the time you made it to the checkout line , your cart was overflowing with snacks , juice boxes , frozen waffles , and enough Goldfish to feed a small preschool.

Bucky unloaded the cart while you herded your flock of sheep and handed out an emergency fruit strip to keep the kids from melting down right there on the grocery store floor.

“You okay?” he checked in , reaching across you for the carton of eggs.

You nodded , sliding a few items down the belt. “Yeah. You?”

These little moments were what made you not just a couple or married but a team.. Always checking in where the other was at.

He gave you a tired smile , his hair a little messy now , dark grey henley sleeves pushed up to his elbows , arm flexing as he moved a bag of flour. “I don’t know. It’s been a weird week.”

You looked at him. Really looked squinting a bit.

Who you were looking at wasn't the man on the cereal box. Not the guy who’d spent years clawing his way back from darkness. Just your husband. Your partner. Your best friend.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked gently , head counting your kids again in your head making sure everyone was calm and accounted for.

He shrugged. “Not now. Not here. I’m too busy thinking about how many security briefings I’ll get dragged into next week. And how we made it here and still forgot to grab the milk.”

You laughed and reached into the cart behind a tall bag of tortilla chips , holding up the gallon jug. “Got it covered , Barnes.”

He exhaled laughing, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably buy a different kind of cereal.”

“You’re never letting that go , are you?”

You both laughed as the cashier rang up your items. The kids were now half-asleep all managed to crowd together in the cart , curled against one another , tired from their own sugar-fueled and argumentative chaos.

⟢

As you loaded the bags into the trunk of your car, the sun was beginning to dip below the Brooklyn skyline , Bucky opened the back door and peeked inside. All three kids were passed out cold in their car seats , slumped over with open mouths and sticky fingers.

He closed the door softly and leaned back against the rear of the car beside you.

His voice low and steady. “I forgot how quiet the world can be,”

You looked up at him, smiling. “They’ll be awake again in twenty minutes.”

“Don’t ruin it for me.”

You handed him the cereal box , which had somehow made it out unscathed.

He groaned , turning it over again looking at his face. “I look like a teacher or something like I’m about to give a lecture.”

You grinned. “I love it.”

“You would.”

“I love you. Even in cereal form.”

He smiled , soft and crooked. The kind of smile that only you and the kids got to see.

He reached over and laced your fingers together. “Let’s go home.”

⟢

The moment you stepped through the front door , the quiet spell of naps shattered.

“Shoes off!” you called out , toeing your own off onto the welcome mat. “Groceries to the kitchen , and no one touches the cereal box until we get the fridge packed!”

The older two groaned like you’d asked them to walk through fire.

Your toddler? She had already sprinted down the hallway—box clutched to her chest like it was her teddy bear.

“Lyla!” Bucky yelled after her , juggling grocery bags. “That is not a bedroom toy!”

“IS TOO,” came the tiny voice from her room.

You sighed , grabbing a bag of frozen carrots. “I should’ve let her hold the broccoli instead.”

Bucky looked at you , deadpan. “She threw the broccoli at me.”

“Oh…Right.”

⟢

Between snack unpacking and bubble bath bribery , bedtime happened in stages.

Jack fell asleep mid-book with his face in Bucky’s shoulder. Sophie demanded two songs and a lullaby before finally flopping back dramatically , declaring she was "too tired to exist."

But Lyla? Lyla was still standing in the hallway in her footed pajamas , clinging to the cereal box like it might disappear.

“I sleep with Daddy,” she said stubbornly stomping her little foot.

You crouched beside her , brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Baby , Daddy on the box doesn’t have fluff. He’s made of hard cardboard.”

“I love him,” she whispered , blue eyes huge and unwavering.

From the other end of the hallway , Bucky snorted.

“Please let her,” you whispered through a laugh. “She’s had a long day. And so have we.”

“Fine,” Bucky sighed , surrendering. “But if she wakes up chewing on the box we are going right back to Mr. Bear.”

Ten minutes later , Lyla was finally all tucked in. The cereal box was resting beside her like a sacred artifact , her tiny hand resting on Bucky’s cartoon image as she snored softly.

You and Bucky stood in the doorway , arms folded , watching her sleep. “She’s got your stubbornness , they all do” , you whispered.

“And she has your inability to let things go.”

You smirked. “We’re a dangerous combo.”

The both of you made it back to the kitchen silently , dimming the lights and stacking leftovers in the fridge. The house was still , rare and moonlit. You moved on autopilot running on only muscle memory , the kind of quiet dance you’d learned over years of late nights and exhausted routines.

You handed Bucky a mug of tea , and he took it with a soft hum.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Then , he broke the silence, “I hate that box.”

You laughed , leaning your head against his shoulder as he leaned back against the counter.

“I know you do,” you murmured , running your hands through his hair as you talked.. “But she doesn’t. And for once, the world sees you as something good. Not a ghost , or a threat , or a news story”

He was quiet again after your words , his free arm looping around your waist , holding you against him. “It's just weird., I spent most of my life trying not to disappear altogether and…now I’m on a shelf next to chocolate-covered marshmallows and cupcakes?.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re also perched up on our kid's pillow right now. That matters more.”

His eyes softened. “You think I’ll ever get used to this?”

“Being loved?” You reached up and brushed your thumb along his stubbly jaw. “I hope not so i continue to show it to you and surprise you….but you’re allowed to be.”

He leaned in slowly connecting your lips , kissing you slow and steady , one hand pressed gently to the back of your head. It wasn’t heated or rushed. Just soft. Safe. Home.

When you pulled back , you whispered against his mouth, “I still think you look hot on that box.”

He groaned , dropping his forehead against yours.

⟢

Later that night , you both crawled into bed , he reached over and turned out the lamp.

You flopped over rolling onto your side , facing him in the dark.

“Hey,” you hushed in the dark room , your voice half-sleep, “You know I’d still pick you , right? Metal arm , grumpy scowl , past and all?”

His hand found yours beneath the blanket , raising it and kissing right where your wedding ring lay. “Yeah,” he said softly. “And I’d pick you, even if you keep buying twenty-dollar oat milk , laughing at my photos and crying during dental commercials.”

You smiled in the dark. “Rude.”

“Its true.”

And with your fingers intertwined, the hum of the fridge down the hall , and the sound of your youngest snoring with her arms wrapped around a cardboard Bucky, the two of you drifted to a peaceful rest.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

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greatmistakes · 1 month ago

Note

bucky barnes is the kind of man to get his woman flowers every week. anyone who disagrees can argue with the door!

SHUT UP

----------

Every Saturday, without fail, there was a new bouquet waiting on the kitchen table. No wrapping. No price tag. No store label.

Just Bucky’s big hands and his ridiculous heart, arranging blooms he picked himself—sometimes from the farmers’ market, sometimes from the green patch beside your building, and once, infamously, from the abandoned lot two blocks over (“They were just growing there, doll, no one was using them”).

You never asked for it. You never expected it.

But God, you loved it.

Because every bouquet was different.

And every bouquet said something he didn’t always know how to put into words.

— Week 1: Daisies and hydrangeas. You smiled at them like they were a puppy and kissed his nose. He saved it in his phone:

☀️ Week 1: Hydrangeas = good. Nose kiss = level 8 excitement. Daisies = “cutest ever.”

Week 4: Lavender, rosemary, and tiny wild roses. You put your face in the bundle and sighed. “I want to live inside this smell.” He wrote:

💜 Week 4: Lavender = maybe top tier. Rosemary = earthy = “like the smell of your hoodie.” Wild roses = tiny love explosions.

— Week 7: Snapdragons and Queen Anne’s lace. You stared at them, confused, then said, “It’s giving haunted Victorian attic.” He deleted them from the running:

🥀 Week 7: Never again. We don’t haunt. We flourish.

—

Bucky never told you he was keeping track.

He didn’t need to, really. Watching your face when you spotted the bouquet was the highlight of his week. It was soft, domestic magic. The kind he never thought he’d deserve. And he built it one stem at a time.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him every Saturday, smiling so hard it made your cheeks hurt.

“Maybe,” he’d shrug, stealing a kiss. “But you’re mine. So.”

— It was just something he did.

Like leaving the porch light on if you were out late. Like tying the grocery bags twice so they didn’t break. Like reaching for your hand when he’s half-asleep on the couch.

It was love—unassuming and intentional. Bucky-style.

Which is why you weren’t expecting to find anything.

But one lazy Tuesday, when your phone died mid-zoom and you grabbed his to check your calendar, it happened. You opened his notes app. Thought nothing of it. Just looking for the shared passwords note at the top.

Until your eyes caught a folder labeled:

Doll’s Bloom Report 💐

Curious, you clicked.

And suddenly, you were face to face with a log that went back months.

Week 3 Poppies and chamomile = absolute hit. Called them “pocket sunshine.” Wore yellow dress next day.

Week 6 Peonies = huge win. Took 73 photos. “Soft like your heart.” (Note: she means mine.)

Week 8 Daffodils = tears. Not sure if happy or emotional but immediate hug. Try again near birthday?

Week 10 Dahlias = engagement vibes??? She whispered “I’d marry you with these.” Act cool. Don’t propose yet.

Your throat tightened as you kept scrolling. You couldn’t stop smiling. Or blinking. Or breathing properly.

Every flower. Every reaction. Every tiny murmur you hadn’t realized he heard—he had remembered it. Written it down like it was gospel.

Like you were gospel.

“Doll?” His voice carried from the kitchen. “You seen my—oh.”

He stopped in the doorway.

You were still holding his phone. Still staring at the screen. Tears pooling in your eyes.

Busted.

“…Shit,” Bucky whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh—I can explain.”

You looked up at him.

“You have a bloom report, James Buchanan Barnes?”

He winced. “It sounds weird when you say it out loud.”

You stood slowly, crossing to him with the phone still in hand.

“I thought you just liked flowers.”

“I do,” he said defensively. “But I like you more.”

You blinked up at him, heart thudding.

“I wanted to remember what makes you smile the longest. Which ones you stare at without knowing. Which ones you keep by the bed instead of the table.” He hesitated, then added, “I just wanted to keep getting it right.”

You didn’t say anything. Not right away.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest.

And then—you started laughing.

Not because it was funny. But because it was so Bucky. Sweet in ways no one ever saw coming. Devoted in the quietest, loudest ways.

“I was gonna delete it before the wedding,” he said, sheepish. “Start fresh for marriage.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re not deleting it.”

“I’m not?”

“You’re expanding it. Every week. Forever.”

He smiled, bashful and brilliant. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Because I plan on giving you a lot of reactions to log.”

He leaned down to kiss you, slow and soft.

And just before your lips touched, he whispered, “Week twenty-two: Found out she knows. Reaction: full-body tackle hug. Possible tears. Will require new folder: Married Blooms.”

You laughed into his mouth, arms tight around him.

—

That Saturday, the bouquet waiting for you on the table was made of white tulips and forget-me-nots. He’d added a handwritten card this time. It read:

I still don’t know all your favorite flowers yet. But I know how you light up when you love something. And that’s enough. —Bucky Week 23 💙

And yeah—maybe you tackled him all over again.

Maybe the vase nearly tipped.

Maybe the neighbors heard your laughter through the walls.

But Bucky just kissed your nose, tugged you onto his lap, and added another note to the list:

Week 23: Forget-me-nots = peak softness. “You are my favorite flower, Barnes.” I’m so gone for her.

And he was.

Happily, hopelessly, permanently gone.

For you.

For every bouquet.

For every Saturday yet to come.

Forever.

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greatmistakes · 1 month ago

Text

☁︎ ⋆｡˚ first class ⋆｡ ☁︎ ˚｡

pilot!husband!bucky barnes x wife!reader

Mentions: 18+, grumpy but soft buck, tooth-rotting fluff

Summary: Bucky is the pilot everyone knows. Top of his game, perfect safety record, and no room for nonsense on his flights. He doesn't chat much with the crew—rarely even cracks a smile. He's respected, but also feared. But when you—his wife—is on board, he turns into complete mush.

Word Count: 2.1k main masterlist credit to @adalvsseb for the idea

The tension in the crew lounge was so thick, it felt suffocating.

Two flight attendants hovered near the galley doors, whispering and gossiping like teenagers—as the crew always did to pass the time.

“Captain Barnes seems like he’s in a bad mood today,” one of the flight attendants, Yelena, muttered, glancing toward the cockpit door where Bucky’s silhouette could be seen just faintly.

He had his arms crossed, shoulders tense, and jaw clenched as he stared down at the controls like he always did before his flights.

“When is he not in a bad mood?” the other attendant, Ava, scoffed, patting down her uniform.

They both immediately went silent as the man in question stepped out of the cockpit, his black pilot jacket open to reveal his crisp white shirt, his tie slightly loosened like he had half-assed putting it on.

His cold blue eyes scanned the cabin—sharp and dangerous.

One of the flight attendants, John, was down the row helping a passenger put their bag up. Poor Walker nearly dropped the luggage when Bucky shot him a judgmental glare, muttering under his breath.

“Incompetent,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “This plane’s never leaving the gate.”

Ava and Yelena gave each other a look—fear and the same desperate thought they didn’t say out loud.

Please, let this be a short flight.

But before either of them could retreat, the sound of rolling luggage wheels and soft footsteps on the carpet drifted up the aisle.

Bucky turned his head toward the sound instinctively, and just like that, his entire demeanor shifted before anyone could blink. His shoulders relaxed instantly, arms uncrossing as he turned towards the door.

And there you were—his wife—standing in the frame of the open cabin door, a bag slung over one shoulder, your smile warm and bright despite the early hour.

“Hi, sweetheart,” your voice came out soft and gentle.

The scariest captain in the fleet nearly tripped over his own feet as he stepped forward to reach you.

“Hey, doll,” he said just as softly, tilting his head down to press a kiss to your temple, not even caring that the whole crew was staring.

Everyone did a double take, their eyes wide as they watched Bucky brush a strand of hair away from your cheek and tuck it behind your ear. He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against your hair.

“I didn’t know you were on this flight, baby,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple as his arm snaked around your waist. “You missed me that much?”

Bucky didn’t even look back at the open-mouthed crew as he pulled you close against him—like you were a fragile little thing and he only trusted himself to hold you.

“Of course I did,” you said softly as you nuzzled against him.

He let out a quiet chuckle, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he looked at you like you were the only person that mattered. He spoke even softer, the crew barely making out the words. Something like “Long morning?” he asked, and you hummed, resting your head briefly on his shoulder despite the sharp line of his crisp uniform.

One of the attendants gasped.

If someone so much as brushed against Bucky’s shirt, he would have scolded them alive for wrinkling it.

“Did you eat?” Bucky asked, already steering you toward an empty row at the front of first class. “I told you I’d bring you breakfast.”

You waved him off with a sleepy grin. “You did, but I wanted to be with you. Besides, I brought my own snacks.”

He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh.

But Captain Barnes?

Laughing?

Bucky turned to the nearest flight attendant, his eyes flicking down to the name tag because he couldn’t be bothered to remember the new hire’s name.

“Bob. Could you get my wife some tea? Chamomile, if you’ve got it.”

He didn’t say please, but the polite tone was clear enough to indicate it—because this was Bucky asking. Not ordering.

“Y-yes, Captain,” Bob sprinted to the galley—practically stumbling over his own feet.

You settled into the seat Bucky guided you to, and he grabbed your bag, stowing it in the overhead bin in one smooth and easy motion.

“You comfortable?” he asked, voice low and soft, like you two were the only people on the plane.

“I’m perfect, James. Go fly your plane,” you chuckled softly, buckling your seatbelt in.

Bucky chuckled too, bending down as he leaned in closer, feeling your giggle warm against his lips. “Not until you kiss me.”

Somewhere behind him, the co-pilot cleared his throat loudly. “Captain, we do have a schedule…”

Bucky shot him a look that could have crashed the plane on its own. But you just laughed, tugging him closer by his already messed up tie and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his mouth. When you pulled away, Bucky was the one smiling, the faintest shade of pink brushing the tips of his ears.

He stood and turned to the crew, all of whom had suddenly found very interesting things to look at on their clipboards.

“Take care of her,” Bucky announced, voice back to that demanding cold steel. “She’s the only thing on this plane I care about more than getting you all there safe.”

“Haha,” Bob let out a nervous chuckle and clapped awkwardly. “Captain Barnes—you’re so funny.”

Yelena leaned in, giving him a warning look. “He’s not joking, Bob.”

Bucky looked back at you one last time, all warmth again. Soft eyes, softer smile as he brushed his knuckles along your jaw. “Call me if you need anything. Anything, babydoll. Okay?”

You gave him a reassuring smile, taking his hand and pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckles. “Go on, Captain. And don’t crash.”

Bucky let out a soft snort and pressed one last kiss to your head before heading back to the cockpit. Once he disappeared behind the door, the cabin came back to life. Boarding announcements echoed overhead, the sounds of carry-ons ruffled through the overhead bins, and passengers settled in for the flight.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆

The crew kept stealing glances at you.

“Thank God Mrs. Barnes is here,” Ava muttered, peeking her head out to watch you. “Makes our work day so much easier.”

Yelena snorted. “Yeah, right. Captain Barnes will be on our asses, telling us to check on her every five seconds.”

Ava shrugged. “I don’t mind. It keeps the Captain happy,” she added, glancing at you again, “and she’s the nicer Barnes.”

The seat belt sign blinked off, and passengers were already dozing off or flipping through in-flight movies.

Yelena perked up at the sound. She nudged Bob gently in the elbow. “That’s our cue,” she said, nodding her head toward you. “Go check in with her if you want to get on Captain Barnes’ good side.”

Bob stood up straight and nodded eagerly. He slipped down the aisle and stopped by your seat. “Mrs. Barnes?” he asked sheepishly. “Can I get you anything? More tea? A snack?”

You lowered the book you were reading and gave him a soft, easy smile. “I’m okay, thank you, Bob. You’re all taking such good care of me already.”

Bob’s shoulders dropped in relief. “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am…”

“You can call me by my first name, you know,” you laughed, warm and gentle. “No one has to ‘ma’am’ me.”

Bob jumped at the sound of Captain Barnes’ muffled voice through the crew interphone. He scrambled to grab the handset hanging by the galley door, nearly dropping it as he pressed it to his ear.

“Bob. Is everything alright up front?”

“Y-Yes, Captain!”

Bob stammered, voice squeaking a little too loud.

“All good up here. Mrs. Barnes is comfortable and doesn’t need anything right now.”

There was a brief, tense pause on the line. Then Bucky’s voice came low and extremely protective.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Bob swallowed hard, glancing back at you with a nervous smile.

“Of course, Captain. Will do.”

He carefully placed the handset back in its cradle, then he wiped his clammy hands on his pants.

Ava peeked around the corner, fighting back a grin.

“Careful, Bob. If she’s not satisfied, he’ll toss you out at 30,000 feet. Here,” she grabbed a tray of snacks, “watch and learn.”

You barely had time to open your book again before Ava appeared beside you with a warm smile and a tray balanced on her palm.

“Mrs. Barnes,” she smiled warmly, “I know you brought your own, but I also brought you some extra snacks just in case. I didn’t know what you liked, so… I just brought a bit of everything.”

Meanwhile, Yelena was fighting back a chuckle as she and Bob watched at a distance.

You glanced at the neat rows of crackers, fruit, cookies, and a tiny bowl of mixed nuts. “Oh, Ava, that’s so sweet. You didn’t have to do all that!”

Ava’s eyes darted to the cockpit door and back again. “It’s really no trouble at all,” she said quickly. “If you want anything else, just ring the call button. Or don’t. We’ll check on you anyway.”

You laughed softly and took a cookie from the tray. “Thank you. You’re all spoiling me.”

Before Ava could answer, a ding rang from the intercom by the galley. Yelena grabbed the handset, pressing it to her ear.

“Flight deck.”

“Yelena. My wife, how is she?”

Yelena rolled her eyes, but forced her voice to sound chirpy.

"Yes, Captain. She's fine. She's having a snack right now."

"Perfect. What is she having? Chamo—"

"Yes, Chamomile. She likes the cookies, too. Alright, Captain. Yes, Captain. Goodbye, Captain."

She hung up the phone and turned to Ava with a dramatic sigh. “That’s the third time in an hour. I’m really about to tell him to come check himself if he’s so worried.”

“Does he really call that much?” you asked, half-embarrassed. “I’m sorry if it’s such an inconvenience to you guys—”

Yelena grinned, shaking her head. “Not at all. The big scary Captain turns into a golden retriever if you’re here. So even though he’s pestering us every ten seconds, it’s actually a good day for the crew.”

Bob appeared next to you, offering a warm towel in his hands like it was gold. “I brought you a hot towel, Mrs. Barnes,” he said shyly.

“Oh, Bob, thank you,” you said, taking it and gently pressing it to your face. “You’re all too kind, really.”

Before they could scatter back to work, the intercom crackled again. Yelena snatched the handset before Bob could fumble it again.

“Captain, again? She’s fine—she’s using the hot towel Bob gave her. Yes, Bob. The new one. He’s doing fine, Captain. Yes, she’s smiling. Okay. Okay. Bye, Captain.”

She slammed the handset back into the cradle and gave you a look. “If he calls one more time, I’m throwing this stupid headset out the window.”

Ava leaned closer, whispering. “He wants you in the cockpit, you know. If you aren’t in his line of sight, he’ll go crazy.”

You laughed, trying to hide your grin behind your hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in line when we land.”

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆

The landing was smooth—smoother than usual, according to Yelena, who nudged Ava and whispered, “He only flies this soft when she’s on board.”

Passengers were already filing out, and when you finally reached the front of the plane, your bag slung over your shoulder, Bucky immediately bolted to you and pulled you into him. One big hand cradled the back of your head as he pressed a deep kiss to your lips, a kiss that went on way too long for it to be considered appropriate in a workplace.

Behind him, the flight attendants froze mid-task. Bob nearly dropped a stack of folded blankets. Ava turned away dramatically, pretending to check the overhead bins. Yelena made a gagging sound that she didn’t bother to hide.

Bucky pulled back slightly to brush his nose against yours. “Did they take good care of you, doll?” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek.

You giggled softly, your hands resting in the front of his uniform shirt.

“They did. They were perfect. Almost as good as you.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against your lips.

“Almost? Don't worry. I'll show you how good I can take care of you tonight,” he leaned in and kissed you again, this time more possessively, his hands cupping your jaw. "You ready to go home, sweetheart?"

At a distance, Bob whispered to Yelena, “Should we… clap or something?”

Yelena elbowed him. “Don’t you dare. Just… get your bag and let's get the hell out of here.”

And as the crew bustled around you, rolling their eyes or pretending not to peek, Bucky pressed one last kiss to your temple, and despite him being exhausted from his long day, he took your bag off your shoulder without asking and slung it over his own. He laced his fingers through yours, ignoring the way the crew pretended to gag behind him.

“Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly. “Let’s get you home.”

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

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---

📎 Family: Unexpected – Chapter Eighteen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Rating: G

Warnings: Fluff overload, found family feelings, Tony Stark being Tony Stark

Summary: One last calm before the storm — a warm Christmas, shared between nations and hearts.

---

Chapter Eighteen

Tony Stark didn’t do Christmas quietly.

He rented out the entire Stark cabin estate in upstate New York, filled it with automated snow generators, thirty-five pre-lit trees, twelve drones that dropped candy canes, and an AI-controlled playlist that rotated between jazz remixes of carols and a playlist he titled “Winter Soldier Wholesome Mode.”

(Yes, Bucky heard it. Yes, he glared.)

But you?

You loved every minute of it.

—

The Wakandan royal family arrived in style — escorted by Dora Milaje and welcomed by a dozen Avengers in ugly sweaters.

Queen Ramonda stepped into the great hall, regal as ever, and made a beeline for you and Nathan.

“There’s my grandson,” she cooed, gathering him into her arms with a softness that melted the entire room. “He is bigger already.”

Bucky blinked. “Wait— your what now?”

Ramonda lifted her chin with a smile. “My grandson. Do not argue with me, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky didn’t argue.

(He later muttered, “She terrifies me,” into your shoulder.)

—

The tree sparkled with lights.

Nathan, barely able to sit up by himself, smacked his tiny hand against a wrapped box and accidentally lit up the entire bottom third of the tree with golden-blue energy.

Wanda and Shuri clapped.

Tony cursed. “Okay, who gave the baby power-access again?”

Pepper gently handed him a present labeled To Uncle Tony, From Nathan (Via Mom). Inside: a bib that said “My Godfather’s a Genius.”

Tony wiped a suspicious tear from his eye and said nothing for twenty minutes.

—

Later that night, you sat beside Bucky on the couch, Nathan tucked between you, wrapped in a blanket that Steve had knit himself (“don’t laugh,” he said, “*it’s soft.”).

Outside the window, snow drifted silently down.

The room was warm, golden, full of laughter and clinking mugs and the kind of peace you never believed you’d have.

Bucky leaned over and kissed your temple.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

Nathan yawned between you.

And for a brief, perfect night — the world was quiet.

And whole.

---

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

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bucky barnes alphabet head canons

a/n: if someone wants a fic based on this alphabet let me know

A – Affection Bucky is reserved in public but deeply affectionate in private. He loves subtle touches—brushing his fingers against yours, hand on the small of your back. Once he feels safe, he’s always touching you somehow.

B – Bedhead He’s not a morning person, and his bedhead is chaos. Soft brown waves sticking up in every direction. You tease him about it, and he just grumbles, pulling the covers over his head.

C – Cooking He tries. He burns toast and under-seasons everything, but he’s stubborn about learning because he wants to cook for you. Eventually, he masters breakfast—pancakes, eggs, and your favorite coffee blend.

D – Dark Past He struggles with guilt and nightmares. There are days he disappears into himself, and on those days, your steady presence is everything. He doesn’t need you to fix him—just to be there.

E – Envy He gets quietly jealous. Not possessive, but if someone flirts with you, he’ll hover a little closer. His arm around your waist says, “She’s mine,” without needing a word.

F – Flirting Dry, deadpan sarcasm is his love language. He doesn’t even realize he’s flirting half the time—just says something sharp and smirks when you laugh or blush.

G – Gifts He gives simple, meaningful gifts—an old book you once mentioned, a dog tag necklace with his initials, a scribbled note tucked into your bag. Thoughtful and deeply personal.

H – Hair He keeps it long because you once said you liked it. He lets you braid it sometimes. It calms him. He’ll never admit how much he loves your fingers in his hair.

I – Injuries He’s reckless with himself, especially in missions. When he gets hurt, he brushes it off unless you’re upset—then suddenly he’s letting you patch him up, eyes on you the whole time.

J – Jokes He’s dry and sarcastic, but surprisingly funny once he warms up to people. Dad jokes? Only to annoy Sam. With you, his humor is gentler, quieter, often delivered with a tiny smirk.

K – Kisses He’s a very good kisser—slow, intense, hands in your hair or gripping your hips. But forehead kisses? Those are sacred. He gives them when he’s feeling protective, soft, or scared.

L – Love Language Acts of Service and Physical Touch. He does things for you without being asked—fixes stuff, walks the dog, learns how to make your favorite dinner. He touches you like he needs reassurance you’re real.

M – Music He has a secret vinyl collection—mostly ’40s and classic rock. Music calms his mind. He’ll play Nat King Cole or The Ink Spots when he’s nostalgic. He lets you pick the playlist on road trips, even if it’s pop.

N – Nicknames He calls you “Doll” when he’s flirting, “Sweetheart” when he’s soft, and “Trouble” when you’re being sassy. You calling him “Buck” melts him. He pretends it doesn’t.

O – Overprotective Yes. Absolutely. He watches your six on every mission. If someone raises their voice at you, he’s immediately tense—but he respects your space and lets you fight your own battles unless you’re hurt.

P – PDA Minimal in public. He’ll hold your hand, maybe press a kiss to your temple. In private? He’s all about holding you, especially from behind. He likes feeling you against his chest.

Q – Quirks He talks to his plants. He has an irrational hatred for self-checkout kiosks. He’s meticulous about his knives but constantly loses his phone. Also: sleeps in dog-pile formation with Alpine if you let him get a cat.

R – Regrets Too many. He thinks he’s damaged, not good enough for you. Some nights he can’t sleep because he’s sure he’ll lose you too. He needs reminders that you chose him, and you’re not going anywhere.

S – Soft Spot You. Everything about you. Especially your smile and how you say his name when you’re half-asleep. Also: kids. He pretends he doesn’t know what to do with them, but they adore him.

T – Tattoos You convince him to get a small tattoo after a mission. He chooses something minimal—a star, initials, coordinates—hidden beneath his shirt. He lets you design it.

U – Unwinding Post-mission, he wants quiet. He decompresses with music, a shower, and curling up with you on the couch, preferably under a weighted blanket. Your presence soothes the static in his brain.

V – Vulnerability It terrifies him, but he lets you see it. You’ve seen him cry in the dark, tell stories about the Howlies, admit things he’s never said out loud. You never run. That’s how he knows it’s real.

W – Workouts He’s a machine in the gym but tries to convince you to spar “just for fun” so he can be close to you. He always lets you win. (Okay, almost always.)

X – X-Factor His quiet strength. He doesn’t need to shout to command attention. He carries so much pain and still chooses love, loyalty, and softness. That makes him powerful—and irresistible.

Y – Yearning Before you were together, he watched from afar. Never thought he had a chance. He wrote your name in his journal, not as a mission but a wish.

Z – Zzz (Sleep) He’s a light sleeper—trauma made sure of that. But your presence helps. He wraps himself around you at night, flesh arm draped over your waist, metal arm cradling your head.

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

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We are in this together...

Warning- Angst, martial problems, assault at workplace, mean boss, miscommunication.

You never imagined that love could feel like this.

Raw, tender, and yet so fleetingly out of reach. The first six months of your relationship with Bucky had been nothing short of magical. He was sweet, attentive, and utterly devoted. When he proposed, it felt like your heart had found its forever home. Marriage only strengthened that bond, and for the first year, life together was a dream.

After every mission, Bucky would come straight home, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting for him. He’d sweep you into his arms, murmuring how much he missed you. The nights would be filled with whispered stories of his day, and the mornings with lazy kisses.

But then, something changed.

At first, it was subtle. One night, instead of coming home after a mission, Bucky texted, “Gonna hang with the team for a bit. See you tomorrow, doll.”

You smiled at the message, reminding yourself that he’d had a rough few weeks. Surely, he deserved some time with the team. When he came home the next day, you greeted him with open arms, brushing aside the faint sting of his absence.

But it didn’t stop there.

Every mission began to follow the same pattern, a quick text, a brief explanation, and days spent waiting for his return. He’d still come back eventually, wrapping you in his familiar warmth, but the rhythm of your lives had shifted.

The bed felt colder without him. Dinners grew quieter. You found yourself pacing the living room, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for an update.

When you finally gathered the courage to ask him about it gently and carefully, he dismissed your concern with a frustrated sigh.

“I just need some time to unwind with the team, alright? You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is!”

The sharpness in his tone cut deeper than you expected.

So, you stopped asking.

You told yourself it was okay, that this was just a phase. He needed space, and you wanted to respect that. But the loneliness crept in like a cold draft, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice. At the compound, the team talked about how happy and in love you both were. Natasha teased Bucky about how eager he always seemed to get home to you.

You wanted to laugh at the irony.

You didn’t tell them the truth. Not because you didn’t trust them, but because you didn’t know how to put it into words. How could you explain that the man who once couldn’t wait to be by your side now seemed so distant?

One night, after waiting for hours, you curled up on the couch, his favorite blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The television buzzed faintly in the background, but you weren’t really watching.

You stared at your phone, willing it to light up with a message. Anything. But the silence stretched on.

When Bucky finally walked through the door the next day, you greeted him with a soft smile, hiding the hurt deep within your chest. You didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to push him further away.

“Hey doll…” he said, dropping his bag by the door.

“Hey…” you replied, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart.

And so the cycle continued.

The cracks in your marriage weren’t gaping fissures, they were small, subtle fractures that had begun to quietly chip away at everything you’d built together.

Bucky had been so adamant about having a home, just the two of you. You’d offered to live in the compound, even reassured him that you didn’t mind being surrounded by the team. You loved them like family, and the energy of the compound had always made you feel safe.

But he’d been resolute, “I want a place that’s ours, doll. Somewhere quiet, away from the chaos.”

You’d smiled at his determination, thinking it was sweet. You didn’t need the white picket fence or the quaint suburban dream, but if it made him happy, it made you happy.

For a while, it did.

But now, it felt like you were living in a shell of a dream.

Bucky didn’t realize how hollow the house felt when he wasn’t there. How the silence pressed down on you like a weight. You spent your days going through the motions, trying to fill the void he left behind after every mission.

And it wasn’t just his absence, it was the loneliness that followed you everywhere, even when he was home. He didn’t ask about your day anymore, didn’t notice the way your shoulders slumped or how you fidgeted with your hands when you were nervous.

The one person you’d always relied on was slowly slipping away from you.

You thought about bringing it up again, about telling him how you felt. But the memory of his irritation the last time held you back. You didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to seem needy or clingy. So, you buried your feelings, telling yourself that this was just a rough patch.

Meanwhile, work was becoming a nightmare.

Your boss had started making comments. Offhand, seemingly harmless, but enough to make your skin crawl. A hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. Compliments that felt less like appreciation and more like something sinister.

You wanted to tell Bucky. You wanted to see the fire in his eyes, the way his protective instinct would flare up whenever he thought someone was mistreating you.

But he wasn’t there.

When he did come home, his mind was elsewhere. You’d try to start a conversation, but his replies were curt, distracted. He’d drop into bed with a heavy sigh, barely sparing you a glance before falling asleep.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, you knew he did. But somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten how to show it.

And you couldn’t blame him entirely.

You saw the way his face lit up when he talked about the team, about the camaraderie they shared after a successful mission. It was the kind of joy that used to fill your home, too.

You wondered if he missed his bachelorhood, those carefree days of laughter and bonding with his friends. Maybe he didn’t realize how much he’d given up when he chose this life with you. Maybe he regretted it.

The thought clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him.

So, you stayed quiet.

You carried the weight of your days alone, retreating further into yourself. You told yourself you didn’t want to burden him, that he had enough on his plate. But deep down, you were terrified of what his answer might be if you asked him outright.

“Are you happy with me? With us?”

The house was no longer a home. It was a waiting room, a place where you counted the hours and days until he came back, only to feel lonelier when he did.

You stood in the kitchen one evening, staring at the untouched plate of food on the table. Your appetite had long since disappeared, replaced by a gnawing ache that no amount of distraction could soothe.

The sound of the front door opening startled you. Bucky walked in, his hair damp from the rain, his expression tired.

“Hey.” he said, barely glancing your way. He dropped his bag by the door and headed to the bedroom without another word.

You didn’t follow him.

Instead, you sank into the nearest chair, your head in your hands. The weight of everything you’d been holding inside finally broke through, tears spilling silently down your cheeks.

The worst part wasn’t that he didn’t see you crying.

The worst part was that he didn’t even notice.

The compound buzzed with life, laughter echoing through the halls as the team celebrated yet another successful mission. For Bucky, this had become his sanctuary, a place where he could unwind, shed the weight of his past, and lose himself in the camaraderie of his friends.

Natasha sat across from him, swirling a glass of wine, her sharp eyes trained on him. She noticed the way he laughed at Sam’s jokes, how relaxed he seemed, but something felt off.

“Where’s Y/n?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the chatter.

Bucky blinked, momentarily caught off guard, “She’s fine. At home.” He shrugged.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, “Alone?”

He waved her off, “She’s okay. She likes her space.”

Natasha didn’t buy it, “You’ve been here more than usual, Barnes. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze, “It’s fine, Nat. Don’t make it a thing.”

She narrowed her eyes but let it drop for now.

Meanwhile, at your workplace, everything fell apart.

Your boss’s behavior had been escalating, his comments growing bolder, his touches more invasive. You’d tried to ignore it, to handle it on your own, but today he crossed the line.

He cornered you in the break room, his hands gripping your arms as he leaned in too close, his breath hot and disgusting against your skin.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

Panic surged through you, but you fought back. Your hand found the edge of your laptop, and without thinking, you swung it at him, the sharp crack of plastic and metal connecting with his head echoing in the room.

He stumbled back, cursing, calling you slut and many other things but you ran.

Your feet carried you to the one place you thought you’d be safe.

The compound.

The drive was a blur, your heart pounding in your chest as tears blurred your vision. All you wanted was your husband, his arms around you, his voice telling you it was going to be okay.

But when you arrived, your world shattered all over again.

Through the large windows of the common room, you saw them. Bucky, relaxed and laughing, a drink in his hand. He was surrounded by the team, but your eyes locked on the young trainee leaning too close to him, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed at something he said.

Your breath hitched.

You’d never doubted Bucky’s loyalty, but seeing him like this, so carefree, so oblivious to the storm inside you, broke something in you.

You froze, rooted to the spot as the trainee leaned in, clearly flirting, her hand lingering on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t push her away, though he didn’t encourage her either. He just let it happen, a small smile tugging at his lips as he sipped his drink.

Your chest tightened, the air around you feeling suffocating. This wasn’t the man who used to race home to you after every mission, who couldn’t wait to tell you how much he missed you.

You turned and ran.

Back home, the silence welcomed you like an old friend. You stumbled into the bathroom, your clothes still clinging to you as you sank to the shower floor. The cold tiles bit into your skin, but you didn’t care. You turned the water on, letting it cascade over you, freezing and unrelenting.

The tears came in waves, the events of the day crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Your boss’s vile hands, the fear that gripped you, the look on Bucky’s face as he laughed with his team, it was too much.

You wrapped your arms around your knees, your sobs lost in the rush of water.

Back at the compound, Natasha had had enough. She watched the trainee closely, her sharp instincts picking up on every calculated move she made toward Bucky.

When the girl leaned in again, Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “That’s enough!”

The trainee blinked, startled, “What? I wasn’t…”

“Out!” Natasha ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The trainee stammered something, but Natasha’s glare silenced her.

“You’re done here. Pack your things and leave the compound by tomorrow.”

Steve watched the exchange, his brows furrowed. Once the trainee scurried off, he turned to Bucky, “What the hell, Buck? You didn’t think that was inappropriate?”

Bucky shrugged, clearly annoyed, “It’s not a big deal. I wasn’t flirting back.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, “It is a big deal. You’re married. What the hell is going on with you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “I’d never cheat on her, Steve. You know that. She knows that.”

But Steve wasn’t convinced, “Does she? Because from where I’m standing, you’re barely around to remind her.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t respond.

Neither Steve nor Natasha knew just how deep the damage had already gone.

The days blurred into a haze of hollow routines and sleepless nights. You’d managed to get through the aftermath of your boss’s attack in one piece, but the scars it left on your mind and heart were harder to ignore.

It was Tony who first noticed something was wrong. You hadn’t intended to tell him, but when he called to check in on you, his usual playful tone laced with genuine concern and you broke.

Between sobs, you told him everything.

The line went silent for a moment, and then his voice came through, steady but seething with anger, “Pack your things. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Tony, no. I can’t…”

“Sweetheart…” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “You’re family. Do you hear me? Family. And no one gets to treat my family like that.”

The next day, Tony and Pepper arrived at your doorstep. You were still raw, trembling as you recounted the incident in more detail. Pepper wrapped you in a warm hug, her soft words of comfort threatening to break down the walls you’d built around yourself.

“We’ll get you out of there.” she promised, her hand stroking your hair, “You don’t have to go back.”

Tony, true to his word, handled everything. He contacted your company’s HR department, made sure your resignation was swift and final, and ensured your former boss faced the consequences of his actions.

Pepper offered you a job at Stark Industries, something she said would align perfectly with your skills. But you hesitated.

“I can’t… I don’t want to burden you…” you said, wringing your hands.

Tony rolled his eyes, though his expression softened, “Burden? You’re like my sister, Y/n. You don’t ‘burden’ me. Now, take the damn job, or I’ll be forced to invent one just to keep you around.”

His words tugged at your heart, but you made them promise one thing, “Don’t tell Bucky. Please.”

Tony’s jaw tightened at your request, but he nodded reluctantly, “Fine. But only because you asked. He doesn’t deserve you keeping this from him, though.”

Unbeknownst to you, Tony confided in Natasha, unable to shake the worry gnawing at him. The moment she heard what had happened, her eyes flashed with fury.

“She doesn’t want him to know?” Natasha asked, pacing Tony’s workshop.

“Apparently not.” Tony replied, leaning against his desk, “And judging by the way Barnes has been acting lately, I can’t blame her.”

Natasha’s lips thinned. She vowed to keep your secret but decided to keep an even closer eye on Bucky.

Meanwhile, you tried to piece your life back together. You took the job with Pepper, though it felt like every step forward was weighed down by the nightmares that now plagued your nights.

The dreams were vivid, cruel reenactments of the attack. In them, you weren’t fast enough, weren’t strong enough. You’d wake up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, your hands trembling as you clutched the sheets.

You wanted to reach for Bucky, to feel his arms around you, to hear him tell you it was just a dream. But the bed beside you was empty.

Most nights, you stayed awake, unable to face the terror that waited for you in sleep. You buried yourself in work, trying to keep your mind occupied, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on you.

Bucky’s absence only made it worse.

He came home occasionally, offering you a distracted kiss on the cheek or a tired smile before retreating to the bedroom. He didn’t notice the dark circles under your eyes or the way your hands shook when you handed him a cup of coffee.

You tried to hide it, plastering on a brave face whenever he was around. But the weight of carrying it all alone was crushing.

One night, after yet another nightmare, you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. The silence of the house was deafening, pressing down on you like a suffocating fog.

You thought about calling Natasha or even Tony, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to remind them of how weak you felt.

So, you swallowed the pain and carried on, day after day, night after night. But inside, you were unraveling.

The knock on your door was unexpected. You hesitated for a moment before opening it to find Natasha standing there, her sharp green eyes scanning you with concern.

“Hey, love.” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, “You didn’t answer my texts.”

You’d forgotten. Your phone had been buried under a pile of papers for days, silenced to avoid the world.

“Sorry, I’ve been… busy…” you mumbled, brushing a hand through your disheveled hair.

Natasha’s gaze swept over you, taking in the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, and the slight tremor in your hands. Her expression softened, and she gently placed a hand on your arm, “Tony told me...”

Your stomach dropped. You turned away, the shame curling in your chest like a vice, “Nat, I…”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, her voice steady but kind, “Your secret’s safe. I’m not here to push you, but I am here to help.”

The dam broke. You sank onto the couch, tears spilling down your cheeks as you finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. Natasha sat beside you, her presence steady and grounding, letting you cry without judgment.

When the tears subsided, she spoke, “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. You don’t have to, Y/n. Let me help you.”

With her encouragement, you agreed to see a therapist she trusted, someone discreet, someone who understood the unique struggles of those close to the Avengers.

The sessions were hard, each one peeling back layers of pain you’d buried deep. But for the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Natasha stayed in close contact, checking in on you regularly. She didn’t push, didn’t pry, but her quiet support was a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

Meanwhile, Bucky returned from his latest mission, tired but in high spirits. He dropped his bag in the common room, greeted by the usual banter from the team.

But Steve wasn’t smiling.

“Hey, Buck. Got a minute?” Steve’s tone was calm, but his eyes were serious.

Bucky shrugged, “Sure, what’s up?”

Steve led him to one of the quieter corners of the compound, his arms crossed as he faced his best friend, “Why don’t you go home anymore?”

Bucky blinked, surprised by the question, “What are you talking about? I go home.”

“Not after missions. You stay here, hanging out with us, but you never invite Y/n. And when you do go home, it’s for a day or two at most.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his defenses rising, “She doesn’t mind. She likes her space.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, “Does she? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you don’t feel guilty?”

Bucky frowned, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face before he brushed it aside. “Steve, it’s not a big deal. She knows I’m not going anywhere. She’s fine.”

“Is she?” Steve pressed, his voice rising slightly, “Because I don’t think you’ve even noticed what’s going on with her. You’re so caught up in the team, in reliving your ‘bachelor days,’ that you’ve completely forgotten what it means to be a husband.”

The words hit Bucky like a punch to the gut, but he masked it with irritation, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve stepped closer, his blue eyes sharp, “Don’t I? Y/n was willing to live here in the compound, to be part of this chaos with you. But you wanted the house, the space, the life you said you both deserved. And now, you’re the one ignoring it.”

Bucky looked away, his jaw clenched, “I’m not ignoring her. I just… I need this, Steve. The missions, the team, it’s the only thing that makes me feel normal.”

Steve sighed, his voice softening, “I get that, Buck. I really do. But you’re not the only one in this marriage. You made a commitment to her. And right now, you’re breaking it.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding.

Bucky didn’t respond, his thoughts swirling. Deep down, he knew Steve was right. But admitting it was another thing entirely.

At home, you sat by the window, staring out at the darkened street. Natasha’s words echoed in your mind, urging you to take things one step at a time. But as the days stretched on and the nights grew colder, the loneliness crept in again.

You wondered if Bucky even noticed you were gone, not just physically, but emotionally.

And for the first time, you wondered if he ever would.

The thought struck Bucky out of nowhere during breakfast at the compound. He realized he hadn’t been to your workplace in months, hadn’t seen where you spent your days or even asked how things were going. Guilt prodded at him. He decided to surprise you, to make amends for all the time he’d been away.

Pulling up to your old workplace, he entered with a small smile, half-expecting to see your familiar face light up at the sight of him. But as he approached the reception desk and asked for you, the receptionist gave him a puzzled look.

“Y/n? She doesn’t work here anymore.”

Bucky blinked, stunned, “What do you mean? When did she quit?”

The receptionist shrugged, “A couple of weeks ago, I think. You’d have to check with HR.”

Bucky left in a daze, the receptionist’s words looping in his mind. You’d quit? Why hadn’t you told him? Where were you working now?

What happened to you, that he missed so much? Was he really that absent?

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

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Being away from Sylus for like a week on a mission or visiting family or something. He's waiting for you at the airport, leaning against his car as he keeps an eye out for you. Completely ignoring people who want to take pictures with his car because he doesn't want to miss seeing your face light up when you spot him

He can pinpoint the exact moment you see him, too. The furrow in your brow as you scan the crowd, walking uncertainly, just trying to keep moving so people don't get upset with you. And then the bright, beaming smile when your eyes lock onto him, onto a familiar leather jacket and white hair

He holds back chuckles as he watches you weave through the crowd, running, pulling your luggage behind you as you sprint toward him. He leans off of his car and opens his arms just in time to catch you leaping into him

His arms feel like home as he uses your momentum to spin you around. He presses his cheek against yours to feel the curve of your smile. Even when he finally puts your feet back on the ground, he's hunched over to keep hugging you tight. You don't blame him; you don't want to let go either

"Did you miss me, kitten?" he teases beside your ear

You squeeze him tighter, push yourself onto you toes to press yourself further into him. "Nope," you tease right back. Your giggle warms his soul

He chuckles as he pulls back to kiss your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose, between your brows - absolutely anywhere but your lips until you drag him into a proper kiss. You don't care about the crowds of people. The jetlag. The unpacking you have to do. None of it matters when you're back home, holding and being held by the man you love

He pulls away slowly. Red eyes all warm and soft looking into your own. "I missed you, too," he says softly, like it's a secret shared between you both

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

Text

Wife?!

Pairing: Sylus x MC

Summary: When you receive a call in the middle of the night after an exhausting mission and are met with overwhelmed twins and a drunk Sylus, you were tempted to kick the three to the moon. All you want is getting some sleep!

Luckily, a delicious apology awaits you in the morning.

Author's note: This idea is so random. I don't remember how late it was when I had it, but I would be pissed if I were in MC's situation - and being Sylus wouldn't save you. I need and love my sleep XD

************************************************************************

You had just fallen into your well-deserved sleep after a successful hunter mission when your dream was interrupted by a loud noise. Hoping it was merely a glitch in her brain, you ignored it, but it did not stop. The tune was all too familiar and with a groan, you rolled over to where your bedside table was. Your phone fell silent and upon checking, you noticed the missed call from Sylus. The nerve of that man! To call you at 3:40 AM, when you had gone to bed merely an hour ago!

“That will have to wait until morning, sweetheart.”, you mumbled and yawned. “Right now, sleep is the priority.”

Just as you rolled over again, the phone began chiming again and that was the last drop. Briefly, you saw it was Sylus again before answering the call.

“Sylus, do you know how fucking late it is?! You have a nerve calling at ass in the morning, when I just got back from a mission! I will not come over now, whatever it is can wait until morning when the sun is high in the sky, because that’s when I will be awake. Or find someone else to go to the auctions with!”

The line was silent for a second and you sighed inwardly. Just as you were about to end the call, an unexpected voice meekly answered.

“Um, I’m sorry for the disturbance, Miss Hunter.”, Kieran said and you almost dropped your phone.

“Kieran? Oh my God, I’m so sorry for shouting at you. What do you need? Why are you calling from Sylus’ phone? How do you even have his password?”, you asked and felt like crying. Before Kieran could explain anything, a loud commotion was heard from the other side of the call.

“Boss man, please calm down. Kieran, save yourself!”, you heard Luke distantly shout.

“What on Earth is going on?”

“Boss man was at an auction, ack, and we’re trying to - I thought you’re holding him back - get him to - boss man, please calm down - calm down. Hold him back!”

“I’m trying to!”, Luke wailed in the distance.

“Is he hurting you?”, you asked, wide awake and already on your feet. The question tasted wrong in your mouth. Sylus would never harm the teenagers, not even if he was mad with fury.

“I almost wish he was.”, Kieran grumbled. “It would be better than this. Ahh, the boss man has found me!”

“Kieran!”

“Hello, kitten.”, Sylus slurred through the phone and you froze.

“Are you…drunk?”, you tonelessly asked. You had never witnessed him drink more than one or two glasses. Sylus didn’t seem like the type of person to get inebriated.

“Only a little bit.”

“‘Only a little bit’ in a different reality, perhaps.”, you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Do something, Miss Hunter.”, Luke shouted from somewhere in the back. You felt your irritation spike. Now was not the time for tomfoolery. You were exhausted and just wanted to go to bed.

“Sylus, are the twins still near?”

“Yes, kitten.”

“Where exactly?”

“On the floor and against the wall.”

You exhaled through your nose. You had to play your cards well.

“Sylus, dear, could you do me a favour?”, you asked sweetly. You cringed mentally at the knowledge that the twins were still present.

“Anything, sweetie. What do you need?”, Sylus eagerly asked and a pair of embarrassed groans were heard.

“Please free the twins from your evol. It is late and they should be in bed. And you, dearest, please get ready for bed as well.”

“...No.”

“What do you mean ‘No’?”, you sputtered. You were beginning to resign yourself to getting no sleep tonight.

“No to the latter.”, Sylus clarified. “I’ll come to you.”

“Absolutely not! Do you hear yourself? You cannot walk in a straight line!”

“I can.”, Sylus slurred.

“He can’t.”, Kieran laughed and you heard a smack followed by a grumbled “Ow” from Kieran.

“Sylus, be reasonable, okay? We can see each other tomorrow.”

“I’m coming now.”

“If you put your drunk ass on the motorcycle, you’ll get no kisses for a month.”

“Kitten!”, Sylus said, utterly scandalized. “You wouldn’t be so cruel.”

“Watch me.”, you grumbled. Somehow it was not going as well as expected.

“I’ll call the chauffeur.”, Sylus suddenly said.

“You. Are. Not. Leaving. Your. House. You’re wasted and an easy target for your enemies. Do you want me to worry, Sylus?”, you asked, sounding close to tears and not everything was faked. You would be terribly worried about him, and on top of that, you have always been an easy crier when you were frustrated and you blinked to keep the tears at bay. Any more of this and you'd break down crying and then there was no force in the world which could stop Sylus. Keep it together.

“I’ve had an exhausting mission.”, you started dangerously calm, “I went to almost two hours ago and had one hour of sleep when the twins called me. If you must, call a chauffeur to get me. You, Sylus, go to your room and prepare for bed. For sleep. When I arrive, I don’t want to see a soul walking around, am I clear?”

“Yes, Miss Hunter.”, Luke and Kieran simultaneously said.

“Fine.”, Sylus grumbled.

Done with the world, you fell back onto your bed. Who would have thought drunk Sylus was a chore to deal with? It’s probably because I’m sleep-deprived. I was a bit harsh. I’ll apologize tomorrow.

You packed only some essentials and spare underwear. The journey to the N109 zone was over quickly - probably because you napped in the back of the car. You thanked the chauffeur and bid him a goodnight.

The inside of Sylus’ home was quiet. Not one soul was in sight and you quickly made your way to Sylus’ bedroom. Carefully, you opened the door and spotted Sylus sitting on the bed. He had managed to rid himself of his shirt and shoes before seemingly falling asleep. You bit your trembling lower lip and inhaled shakily to get a grip before you would burst into tears of exhaustion and frustration. You'd just have to wake him, tell him to get rid of his trousers and use mouthwash for a semblance of dental and oral hygiene.

However, the universe seemed to hate you that night. Before you could reach out and shake him awake, his fingers closed around your wrist with the precision of sobriety.

“Don’t touch me.”, Sylus slurred, though he sounded a tinge more sober than before. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“What?”

“You…cannot touch me. Only my…wife can, so get…lost.”, Sylus mumbled almost incomprehensibly as sleep threatened to overtake the drunk man.

Wife? Wife?! For a second, you genuinely thought there was someone else out there, a secret you weren't supposed to know about. Sleep-addled brains were astonishingly susceptible to nonsense, for you knew there was hardly anyone more loyal than Sylus. The twins themselves had admitted that you were his first relationship and that it had seemed as if he had been waiting for someone.

This meant that there was only one candidate for this ‘wife’: you. Your face burst aflame at the implication and you hastily turned 180° to hide from him. He considered you his…wife? He wasn’t considering proposing already, was he? Your relationship was still relatively fresh and while you did date with the intention of settling down at some point, it was still far too early. Gods, would you have to reject Sylus’ proposal?

You fled into Sylus’ private bathroom and splashed cold water in your face. Calm down, don’t overthink this. He’s drunk. It’s a slip of the tongue of the drunk man who I am currently in a loving relationship with. Don’t overthink, don’t overthink.

Once you deemed yourself composed enough, you grabbed the mouthwash. Sylus opened a lazy eye. His wariness was the last straw. You burst into tears.

“Go fuck yourself.”, you sobbed. “I really don’t have the nerve to deal with this right now. Just let me go to bed.”

You threw the mouthwash at him, grabbed your bag and slammed the bedroom door shut. There were more than enough guest rooms, and tonight, you would have to use the one you had been unofficially assigned to in the beginning, before you and Sylus started dating. It was strange. The bed seemed too big for one person, but you didn’t think too much about it. Seconds after your head hit the pillow, you were out.

In the master bedroom, the alarm bells were ringing in Sylus’ head. He groaned as his head was swimming. You were crying. Why were you crying?

“Kitten. Sweetie.”, he mumbled and wobbly rose to his feet. He stumbled out of his bedroom through the corridor. His feet carried him to the guest room, but he didn’t enter. Clumsily, he slid down to the floor, his back resting against the door. Tucking his knees against his chest, Sylus let his head fall into the crook of his elbow and succumbed to the welcoming unconsciousness.

When he opened his eyes, he ran a hand over his face. His head was pounding and his body was stiff. With a quiet grunt, Sylus pulled himself to his feet. The fact that he had been in the same position meant his kitten was still asleep. Carefully, he opened the door and peeked inside.

You were sprawled out on the bed and seemingly still fast asleep. Sylus snuck into the room and knelt down next to the bed, simply admiring you. His crimson eyes were impossibly tender and he ached to kiss you, but he didn’t want to wake you and his mouth tasted filthy. His expression darkened when he spotted the remnants of dried tear tracks on your cheek catching the light. While his memory was fuzzy, he knew he was the culprit, the reason for your tears and Sylus loathed himself for it.

Sylus left the room and went to his own. His head was still pounding, but he ignored it and cleaned up. Once he was showered and his teeth were brushed, he went to the kitchen. The twins were already there.

“Morning, boss man.”, they simultaneously greeted him.

“Lower your voices, will you?”, Sylus groaned and downed a glass of water.

“Miss Hunter was quite aggravated yesterday…today.”, Kieran bluntly said and Sylus scowled at him.

“Very helpful, thank you.”, he sneered and grabbed the ingredients for waffles. “Where's the strawberry sauce?”

“We don't have any.”, Luke said and twirled his seat. “I think Miss Hunter finished it a few days ago.”

“Then go and buy a new bottle!”

“On it, boss man.”, Luke saluted and sprinted out of the kitchen.

Soon, the smell of fresh, warm waffles filled the kitchen and spread through the house. You blinked and your joints popped when you stretched. A glance on your phone showed you the time: 11 AM. You groaned and slumped over. It smelled so good, but you were still a little tired.

“Damn it.”, you cursed and got up. You brushed your teeth and combed your hair a bit to get rid of most of the bedhead. You stayed in your pjs when you left the room.

The sight you were met with melted your heart. The table in the dining room was decked with sweet-smelling waffles and every topping imaginable. A pot of coffee stood next to a pack of milk. One of the twins was attempting to fix the flowers in the vase standing at the centre of the table. The other was helping Sylus clean the kitchen.

“My, is today an important day? Or is this an apology for what my poor, exhausted soul had to go through a few hours ago?”, you snickered and the three men jumped.

“Miss Hunter.”, Kieran exclaimed and almost knocked over the flowers. “Please accept this as an apology for -”

“Any day with you is an important day.”, Sylus smoothly interrupted as he entered the dining room.

“Charmer.” you sighed and shook your head. Walking over to him, you cupped his face and planted a fat kiss on his lips. Stunned, Sylus dropped the clean bowl in his hands.

Embarrassed, the twins turned away. You really had their boss wrapped around your finger and as much as they liked the Hunter, they didn't want to see their boss this love-struck. They were still teenagers, after all.

Sylus chased your lips when you pulled back and caught your bottom lip with his teeth. He smirked triumphantly, and you blushed when he pulled you back into another kiss. Fearing he might get carried away, you tapped his cheek and Sylus huffed in annoyance, but complied. The small pout was adorable.

“Time for breakfast!”, you cheered and clapped your hands in delight. “Why is there only one plate, though? You cannot expect me to eat all of this?”

“These waffles are for you, of course.”, Sylus said, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He arched his brow at the glint in your eyes.

“Well, since they’re mine, I can do as I please, right? And since this is an apology, I can do as I please as well.” You patted the seat next to you. “You three, join me, please? There are more than enough for all of us.”

The twins cheered and before Sylus could say a word, they stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a plate and plopped on their seats. Despite their crow masks, they seemed more like happy dogs. You chuckled at the thought. At your expectant look, Sylus also took a plate from the cupboard, put the bowl back and sat down next to you.

The N109 Zone was dangerous and shrouded in darkness no matter the hour. People fended for themselves, for human bonds could be exploited. Sylus’ house was not a welcoming abode with its dark walls. Red was the only colour to be found beside black and perhaps grey. It was cold and empty despite the treasures along the walls.

Yet this morning, none of that cold and emptiness was to be found. The dining room was warm and happy and Sylus dazedly stared at you as you happily munched on your waffles. He still had to redeem himself, but it was a beginning.

However, duty called and the twins grabbed a few more waffles on their way out, ignoring Sylus’ glare in favour of your amusement. With you present, they knew nothing would happen to them. Sylus was aware as well and mentally grumbled at the growing cheekiness of the twins. They were being spoiled.

“Bye, boss man. See ya, boss lady.”, they shouted and slammed the door shut behind them.

“Oh my, another new nickname.”, you chuckled, a rosy hue on your cheeks. “That must be my…sixth, I believe.”

“Six?”

“Mhm. Kitten, Sweetie, My lady, Miss Hunter, boss lady and…wife.”, you coughed and Sylus almost choked on his spit.

“And where have you heard that last one?”, he asked, sounding relatively composed compared to the internal chaos. Your blush darkened.

“You called me that yesterday. You were asleep when I arrived and upon waking you, you didn’t recognise me. ‘You cannot touch me. Only my wife can, so get lost.’ Your words.”

Sylus ran a hand over his face and vowed never to get that drunk again. Meanwhile, you grew nervous and began rambling.

“It is reassuring that even in such an inebriated state, you would be faithful. Not that I doubted your loyalty - I would never, please, what a thought! - but I also have to admit you caught me off-guard. I mean, our relationship is still fresh, really fresh, and I do love you but I don't know whether I could marry already as it is a massive step in life -”

“Kitten.”, Sylus interrupted before your voice was the equivalent of a steaming teapot. “Breathe.”

“I am.”

“You weren't. Not properly.” Sylus sighed and sighed. You weren't sure whether you were imagining it, but it seemed as if there was a faint red colouring Sylus' cheeks. Suddenly, he grabbed your chin and forced you to meet his eyes.

“I do plan on marrying you, kitten. Be it tomorrow, next month or in 5 years. I don't care. However, you will be my wife one day - if it is your will.”

Your brain short-circuited. This man would give you a grey head in a few years. Gently, you took his hand off your chin and laced your fingers together.

“Well, I'm afraid that nickname will have to wait a bit.”, you softly said and Sylus smirked.

“That isn't a no, kitten. Why deprive me of calling you ’wife’ already?”

“Because we aren't married.”

“Unnecessary paperwork.” Sylus waved the argument away and leaned closer, your lips almost touching. Both exhaled in relief when the distance was bridged at last.

Wife, wife, wife…Please allow me to be your mate once more.

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

Text

hair wash day

⟡— an injured arm leaves you unable to wash your hair. luckily, your boyfriend is more than happy to help, sylus x mc/reader, domestic fluff, lots of kisses, pet names, self-indulgent, wc: 2.2K

⟡— a/n: this is a little something inspired by this post where i thought sylus would think that he could brush your curly hair dry. so this is for my peeps with curly hair routines! i know some of you have routines that take up 3 hours because of different curl patterns, porosity levels and whatnot but let’s just pretend that this is a condensed version. and if you have straight hair, be grateful that you don’t have to deal with this and keep on reading /j.

p.s. if i got the steps wrong just know that i only apply mousse and call it a day, so don’t come for me.

⟡— read on ao3.

“Come here so I can brush your hair. It’s messy.”

You’d whack him on the head if you could. Anything and everything sets you off lately, especially with how itchy your scalp feels. You can literally feel every single hair follicle on your head—painfully.

Before your arm had to rest in a cast, you used to wash your hair once every week, dedicating half a day to maintain your curls. It’s been well over a week and more, and your boyfriend who has set foot in your place for the first time today, now scrolling on his phone on the couch, thinks he can brush your curls dry. Completely clueless about how much time it actually takes to make your hair look remotely presentable.

“You absolutely cannot brush my hair, Sylus.”

Turning off his phone and chucking it between you two, he leans in, his competitive side bearing its head. “Why, you think I can’t do it?”

“Not that. If my hair was straight, I’d let you brush it any day. You can’t brush curly hair. I mean you can, but it would look terrible and the brush would literally get stuck in there. I need to wash it first.”

“And how are you going to do that with that arm, sweetie?”

“I’ve been putting it off,” you admit with a sigh, letting your head fall back against the couch.. “I don’t know, I’ll manage. I need to do it like yesterday. My head hurts and I feel disgusting. Maybe I’ll go to a hair salon tomorrow.”

“Let me do it.”

Your head snaps up. “You can? I mean, it takes a lot of time. You’ll be here for a while. And you’ll get tired.”

“That just means more time with you.” His thumb gently smooths the crease between your brows, releasing the tension there. “I doubt I’ll get tired from washing your hair.”

Oh, how wrong he was.

Sylus somehow manages to fit a chair in your cramped shower stall for you to sit. He has you tilt your head back to make washing easier, then positions himself outside the shower doors. Crouching slightly, he reaches in to turn on the water.

“You need to make sure all of my hair is wet,” you note. “it may look like it’s wet enough from the outside but the very middle part declared its independence and doesn’t want to soak up the water.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And he does. His large hand forms a shield around your hairline, making sure water doesn’t get in your ears or eyes. You try to keep your eyes open as much as possible to see your boyfriend’s focused face, though the whole thing feels like you’re getting your hair washed in a salon, so you keep closing your eyes once in a while. Especially when Sylus lifts the shower head higher and unintentionally gets water on your forehead, despite his best efforts.

Once he’s sure that your whole hair is thoroughly soaked, he shuts off the water. “How’s your neck?”

“Fine.” It isn’t, the weight had started to pull on your neck towards the end, but you don’t mention it. You’re used to it.

Sensing the white lie, he cradles the back of your neck, lifting it just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. His fingers gently squeeze the muscles beginning to tense.

He’s so considerate.

“Now which one’s the shampoo?”

His big hands are a gift sent from heaven, you think. Firm yet gentle, working through the stubborn itches on your scalp, even scratching behind your ears with his knuckles. If he keeps this up, you’re going to fall asleep right here.

“Sweetie, you with me?”

“Mhm.” You melt into the chair but manage to open your heavy eyelids. “How are you so good at this? Did you do this before?”

He meets your eyes then, an indulgent smile playing on his lips. “No, you’re the first. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The sound of soapy friction fills the bathroom again. You can’t take your eyes off Sylus, your gentle giant of a lover. Reaching out to cup his cheek with your free hand, you stop his fingers in your hair, distracting him from his task.

“What is it? Want to take a break?”

“No, please continue. I just wanted to touch you,” you murmur, stroking your thumb across his cheek. “let you know I appreciate you.”

When your thumb presses down on the corner of his mouth, he bends down, and your lips are already puckered, eager to welcome the tender kiss.

“Is this how you usually treat your hairstylist?” he chuckles against your lips. “Does seduction get you a discount?”

Playing along, you smirk and hook your index finger to the collar of his shirt. “I only seduce the ones who are stupidly good-looking. You’re the first.”

He grabs your hand from his collar, raises it to kiss it, forgetting the shampoo coating his fingers. “Using my lines against me, huh?”

The second round of shampoo is even more touchy. You nearly poke his nostril. Nearly. He keeps your finger away by pretending to bite it. “Behave.”

“But I love your nose,” you whine.

After the shampoo is rinsed off, you can feel the hanging weight of a big clump. Of course, your hair was a tangled mess, with how long you’ve put off washing it. You tell Sylus to reach for the detangling brush and he spends a good minute trying to choose the correct brush from the rack.

His first mistake is starting from the roots of your hair. He was too quick for you to catch on.

“Ow! No, that’s not—start from the ends, please. And work your way up until you can smoothly brush it down.”

A kiss to your forehead again. “Sorry, sweetie. That was stupid of me.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

This part takes forever because Sylus diligently plucks the dead hair from the brush after each stroke, making sure nothing is preventing him from smoothing your hair down, asking every now and then if he’s hurting you.

“Look at how much hair you shed. You’d think I brushed a cat.” He straightens his back. Even if he feels a strain, he doesn’t let it show on his face. “The next step is conditioner, right?”

“Yup,” you hum. “right next to the shampoo.”

Cupping the back of your neck with both hands, he lifts it carefully, alleviating your own strain. “Let’s take a break first.”

“Tired this soon?” you tease.

“I don’t need a break, sweetie. But you do.” You think he’s about to kiss you again when he leans in, warm breath brushing your lips, his eyes low and intent. “You haven’t had water for a while.”

And he leaves you there waiting with a pout while he gets a glass of water.

After that, Sylus thinks you’re finally ready to sit upright. The conditioner only needs to be applied to the ends, after all. But trying to explain that you still need to bend your neck? That’s a sport in itself.

Bottle in hand, he tilts his head. “I don’t understand. What’s the catch?”

“I usually do this step with my head upside down. Since I can’t do that now, I still need to throw my hair back, so you can do it for me.”

“Upside down?” His confusion is adorable. However, thinking about the bajillion steps that still remain after the shower, you take a deep breath.

“Yes, with my hair in front of my face. For volume. Otherwise my roots stay flat. Now lightly squeeze the water out. Not all of it. We still need moisture—no, not like a towel!”

You teach him the praying hands method, he’s appalled by the amount of conditioner in his palms. “Sweetie, are you sure you need this much product? This is almost half of the bottle.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now you know where all my money goes.”

He looks at the brand name on the bottle, making a mental note to stock it up for you.

“Okay, thank you.” You bat your eyelashes at him, luring him in for a smooch. He obliges immediately, a big wet smack sound echoes in the bathroom.

The following step is scrunching the hair up to the roots with the excess product left on his hands. Yet again, he’s confused about why you need to do this. For the curls to form, of course.

“And when you scrunch all the way up, keep squeezing but not too hard.”

“Not too hard…” He murmurs to himself.

You skip the hair mask, because you’ve already been in the shower long enough, and tell Sylus to find a soft cotton T-shirt instead of a towel for drying, after he rinses about seventy percent of the conditioner out. Gotta keep the moisture, after all.

You’re sitting on the floor, pillows propping you up against the couch. Laid out in front of you on the coffee table are a spray bottle, leave-in curl cream, mousse, gel, oil, a curl brush, claw clips, and a dryer with the diffuser attachment. A handheld mirror rests in your hand.

Once he’s finished taking pictures of each product—including the different brushes and the diffuser attachment, “since you’ll need them back at the base”—Sylus settles behind you on the couch, legs bracketing you as he gets comfortable.

You guide him through the next steps: clip your hair into sections, begin with the bottom strands, mist them with water, and smooth in the curl cream. Later, he’d be applying mousse. The gel cast step is skipped. You’re not in the mood for that kind of commitment today.

He picks up the brush with the odd indents, combs through the section, then shakes the strands gently between his thumb and index finger.

Voilà. The curl forms on its own.

“If you tried this on straight hair, it wouldn’t hold,” you explain while he’s still figuring out how to flip the brush properly. “But this way, the curls last about a week.” You tilt the mirror higher, amused as his elegant long fingers wrestle with the brush.

His lips brush your temple as he asks, “You really do this every week?”

“If I have to be perceived by people—which is always—then yes.”

Sure, it takes him twice as long as it would take you, but the quiet “Poor thing,” he mutters, followed by another kiss to your temple while you watch through the mirror, makes it more than worth it.

Eventually, the styling phase is over. Time to diffuse. Your least favorite. Yay.

“This thing looks like a space weapon,” he says, inspecting the diffuser attachment like he would a gun.

“It sure does drain my life,” you groan, using his knee as leverage to stand.

Here you are again, head thrown back in the chair, while Sylus butchers the tune with a grin:

“Rapunzel, let down your haaaair.”

You squint your eyes at him. “I’ll see you with your sore arm when you’re done, mister.”

With the dryer on the lowest setting (two words from you: “heat damage”), your hair nearly takes one hour to fully dry. Sylus does not complain one bit, keeps humming a tune. Relaxed but focused.

The final step is softening the curls with a bit of oil by scrunching again.

“We are done?”

You laugh. “Why do you sound disappointed?”

“With the way you were exaggerating, I thought it would take longer.”

“Well, we skipped a couple of steps.”

His hand comes to rest over his heart as he gasps mockingly. “When I asked you to teach me everything? You wound me.”

“Next time,” you promise. “You know I’m stuck in this cast for a while.”

“Plenty of time to perfect the routine.” He nods. Coming to stand in front of you, he examines his work, seemingly satisfied with the result.

“Do you prefer cash or credit, sir?”

Gripping the back of your chair, his mouth is on yours again. A content sigh escapes his lips when he pulls back. “My preferred form of payment is cuddles, miss. No discount.”

Your fingers dive into the hair at his nape, scratching affectionately as they drift toward his ears. You roll and pinch his earlobe. Just because.

(It’s so soft.)

With the perfect amount of pressure, he begins to massage your neck.

“I’m so down,” you whisper against his lips. “How about we cuddle, order food, watch a movie, cuddle some more… and then you stay the night?”

“I was waiting for you to ask.”

Later, curled up on his chest and halfway across his lap, you drift off to the sounds coming from the movie. His nose rests in the crown of your head as he murmurs, “You smell divine, sweetie.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Don’t hesitate to ask me for help,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

His voice, quiet and warm, draws you back from the edge of sleep. You giggle. “Okay, I’ll call you next week for a hair wash. You asked for it, don’t regret it later.”

“I never would.”

“Big words,” you sneer.

He nuzzles deeper into your freshly washed hair and presses a kiss into it, almost without thinking. “You know what I learned today?”

“Hm?”

“That I need to think twice before ruffling your hair again.”

“It’s okay. You get a free pass.” You turn your head toward him and meet his ruby eyes. A beat, maybe two, passes in silence before your smile takes over. “Thank you Sylus, I needed this.”

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

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Oh, to actually be his kitten 🥺

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

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At a Crossroads

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Best Friend!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky has lunch with one of his best friends. He wants more than friendship, but is he too late or is there hope?

Word Count: Over 4.7k

Warnings: Friendship, longing, pining, idiots in love (of sorts), tension, bit of angst, thoughts of smut, nicknames, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Oh, look. Another new AU, and I'm excited. We're calling this one True Love and Loyal Friends. Thanks to the @starlightcrystalline for letting me scream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @societyfolklore and @soelstress, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The diner was quiet as Bucky sat in the booth, only lifting his head to occasionally glance at the door. He could’ve selected a song to play on the jukebox to fill the silence, but he liked the quiet. It gave him time to gather his thoughts without the usual demands and chatter that surrounded him. A couple of his closest men insisted on being in the diner, but he ordered that they keep a reasonable distance. They knew better than to interrupt his time with you, his best friend.

His everything.

He smiled to himself as he checked his phone and saw that you were getting closer, so close he could almost smell your sweet perfume and see your bright smile. Ava was close by too, keeping an eye out. It felt wrong having a tracker on you and people watching you, but it was for your safety. That was what he told himself time and time again since being connected to him meant danger. With the tracker and the security, he or one of his people could reach you quickly if something went wrong, if you were in trouble, or if you needed him.

He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you. If anyone ever tried to lay a hand on you, he’d destroy them. And he'd watch with cold eyes as they turned to ash.

The bell above the door dinged, alerting Bucky of your arrival. He didn’t stand right away since he was too in awe of the way the sun rays behind you cast a soft glow around your body. Solnyshko. Seeing you for the first time was like watching the sun rise, warm, beautiful, and full of hope. And whenever you walked away, it was like the sun set, leaving him in a world of darkness and cursing the moon and stars to bring you back to him.

You spotted him easily since he was the only patron in the place and your smile made the place that much brighter. You were dressed down, but so beautiful and he couldn't help but stare as you walked over. “Hey, Jamie.”

Jamie. Not James, not Bucky, not Buck… Just Jamie. It sounded right coming from you, but not anyone else. One of his men said it in passing once after you left and he threatened to cut his tongue out if he did it again.

“Hey, Solnyshko,” he replied, standing so he could pull you into a hug once you were close enough. You always greeted him with a hug, and he didn’t let many people touch him. He never felt fear when you were in his embrace, only acceptance and care.

As he wrapped his arms around you and breathed you in, his eyes slipped shut and he imagined dragging you to his car and taking you far away, somewhere where no one would interfere in your lives. It was easier to breathe when you were close, but there was still pain in his chest because you were so far away. Every time you had to say goodbye, he worried it was the last time

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” you teased, your lips dangerously close to his skin. He had to suppress a shiver you’d no doubt feel if he didn’t stay in control.

“Never,” he whispered. You’d always be his sun, even if it was an intimate sort of nickname for a friend. Because Bucky didn't love you the way a best friend should. “Been too long since I’ve seen you.”

“You saw me two days ago,” you said.

“Still too long,” he half teased. If he had his way he wouldn't be apart from you because you’d be sharing a bed… a home.

“Please, tell me you didn’t rent out the diner just the two of us could have a meal together,” you said, sliding into the booth once he let you go. He hated letting you go.

“What if I told you I bought the place?” he asked, shrugging at the exasperated look on your face. “What? It’s a good investment, the food is fantastic, and I compensated the owner well.”

That wasn’t a lie. It was a good investment, and the owner had been looking to retire anyway. Bucky just sped up the timeline. And now he could come here with you when he needed an escape.

“All so we could have a quiet meal together?” You shook your head and looked over the menu in front of you. “You flatter me so, even if it is ridiculous.”

Bucky smiled to himself and sipped his water. There were clubs and upscale restaurants all around and he took you there, too, but they were all loud and messy. People around always wanted something from him. Quiet meals with you made him feel like he could truly breathe. And while he could be in his element just about anywhere, this felt better because you were there, steady, calm, and not demanding anything from him. You silenced the chaos around him.

“Anything for my best friend,” he said, a bittersweet feeling washing over him.

You were a friend first, but loving you was one of the easiest things in the world. It felt natural, like breathing. He needed you like the day needed light. No one else could control or sway him the way you could. The terrifying thing was that it didn’t terrify him at all for someone to have that much power over him. Maybe because you weren’t the type of person to take advantage of that kind of power or him. You were too good for the world, for his world.

“I think Steve would argue that he’s your best friend.”

“You're both my best friends,” he said, except he was completely and utterly in love with you. “You excited for your upcoming show?” he asked to pull himself away from his thoughts.

You giggled, a happy twinkling sound. “Yeah, and nervous as hell,” you answered.

Photography was your passion. You wanted to capture the beauty of the world and see things in different ways. You almost always had some sort of camera on you because you didn’t know when inspiration would strike. Whenever you stopped to take a picture with Bucky around, he watched you, even when you took photos of him. He was looking into your soul, not the lens.

“Nervous? You have nothing to be nervous about because there’s no better photographer out there,” he swore. He wasn’t telling you to blow smoke up your ass. Your work was that good.

“It’s nerve-wracking to put yourself out there,” you said.

He understood that because he felt nervous at the thought of confessing how he felt. “It’ll be great, and I’m always right,” he added with a smile.

“You are not always right, but keep telling yourself that,” you teased, your gaze so soft that his heart skipped a beat. “Though your support is greatly appreciated.”

“I’ll always support you,” he promised. He wanted all of your dreams to come true.

In fact, he offered to pull some strings and get you a showing in the top gallery in the city, to which you smacked his arm. You wanted your work to speak for itself, not have it shown because of his connections. He respectfully backed off, and you showed him that you didn’t need his connections at all since you worked hard and got it all on your own.

It shouldn't have surprised him. He thought you could do anything you put your mind to. Not just because you could be stubborn in the best way, but because you put your heart into everything you did. It was admirable and inspiring.

“And you’ll be there?” you asked hopefully.

Bucky was the first person you messaged when you got the news and you told him it would mean the world if he went. “As if I’d be anywhere else,” he told you, making you snort when he playfully rolled his eyes. If you needed or wanted him there or anywhere, he’d find a way to make it happen no matter what.

“You better or I’ll hunt you down,” you threatened with narrowed eyes before you giggled again.

He chuckled and leaned forward. “Wouldn't that be a sight, someone as sweet as you hunting me down?”

You crossed your arms with a huff. “You don't scare me, Barnes.”

“Don’t call me Barnes. I’m Jamie to you,” he said. He’d be your Jamie forever and always. “And I’m so fucking proud of you for getting that showing, Solnshko.”

He'd have to buy something special to congratulate you, which you deserved and more.

You bit your lip and looked in your lap with a small smile. “Thanks, Jamie,” you whispered, raising your gaze again with a larger smile. He almost wished he snapped a photo so you could see how beautiful you looked at the moment, in every moment. “Hey, do you remember when John Walker bumped into me at your birthday party?”

Bucky growled at the memory. You were getting ready to snap a photo of him and Steve together and John fucking Walker purposely bumped into you and made you drop your camera. Your eyes teared up instantly because you had bought that camera yourself and the fucker had the nerve to laugh. He would’ve seen red from the laughter alone, but your tears made him snap.

“I remember punching him very hard in the face a couple of times, threatening to cut his throat if he didn’t apologize, and I forced him to buy you a new camera,” he said. Some would call it overkill, but he called it protecting and caring for you. And while his reaction would've rightfully scared some, it didn't bother you at all. All you cared about was making sure his hand wasn't hurt from punching John.

“Except he didn’t buy me the camera. You made him give you money and then you bought the camera for me,” you said, resting your arms on the table with a knowing stare. “A much nicer one than the one I had before.”

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted unashamedly. John owed you a new camera. Bucky had taken it upon himself to buy you the camera and everything else you needed to go with it since he had no problem showering you with gifts.

“You didn’t want me to see John again, or accept anything from him, did you?”

Not many could read Bucky, but you could. He wondered if you could read his feelings for you or if he hid them well enough. Bucky didn’t want you accepting any sort of gift from John. “He’s a fucking asshole, so I didn’t want him close to you again,” he said honestly. John may have laughed when you dropped the camera, but Bucky saw him check you out more than once. “What made you think of that?”

“Because I used that camera for some of my photos,” you said softly, something warm just beneath the surface before you smiled.

The beat of Bucky’s pulse doubled in time. Did you use it because he gave it to you? Did you think of him when you used it? “I’ll bet the photos you took with that camera are the best ones.”

“I guess you’ll see,” you smiled and took a quick look around. “I don’t mean to be rude, but are there any servers here?”

Bucky winced a little and shot Sam a quick text message. “That’s my fault. I said I wanted a few minutes alone, so the server is in the back with Sam.” He should’ve messaged him sooner. All you had was the water in front of you. “I think he likes her.”

“Oh, Sam’s probably working on getting her number. He’s shameless,” you fondly said.

“If he’s lucky,” he chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know how you put up with us.”

Surrounding himself with people he trusted was key in his world. Steve and Sam were good guys. His entire crew was, despite some of the things they had to do.

“Because I love you guys,” you said.

His expression was caught between longing and sorrow. “We love you, too,” he said. Except Steve and Sam only loved you like a sister.

The server came out before he could say more. “So sorry about that,” she said, giving you both a smile. “Have you two decided on what you want or can I give you another minute?”

Bucky hid a grin when she glanced over her shoulder. She wanted to go back to Sam. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her and winked at you. “Don't know why you bothered looking at the menu when I know what you're going to get.”

You smiled because it was true. “I know what you're getting, too,” you countered. Both of you knew each other's favorites.

The server jotted down the order when Bucky gave it to her and looked between you with hearts in her eyes. “You two make a really cute couple.”

Your mouth fell open and Bucky knew what was coming. You were going to politely correct her and say you were “just friends”, which was bullshit. So he seized the opportunity and took your hand before nodding to the server. “Thank you. I’m very lucky to have her.”

There was a flicker of sadness in your eyes, but you managed a smile for the server before you two were left alone again. His gaze lingered on you and he didn’t look away even as the sadness faded. It had him wondering if he was blind. Did you see the two of you as only friends or was there more? Did you feel it, too?

“Lucky to have me, huh?” you asked, a wistful smile on your face.

“The luckiest,” he replied. He couldn’t imagine his life without you in it “I still have your letters,” he added. He didn't know why he said it, but he had to let you know.

You waited a beat and asked, “You do?”

He swallowed and nodded, knowing this was going into intimate territory, something stronger than friendship. “Every single one,” he said.

You said once that you didn’t understand why people didn’t write letters anymore, why everything was done through email and text. Handwritten letters were special because they took time and care. So Bucky wrote you a letter one day and you wrote him back. The letters were one of his most cherished possessions.

He imagined confessing his feelings in a letter, but it wasn't right. It would be a face-to-face conversation when the time came because you deserved to hear the words from his lips. He wanted to sweep you off your feet and then write you something romantic.

You blinked a few times, likely not wanting to cry in the middle of the diner. “I have yours, too.”

Bucky’s heart beat faster again. He wanted to ask you why you kept them. He wanted to see your eyes when you answered him. Was it for sentimental value or something more?

But you didn't elaborate and he didn't ask.

“You busy this Saturday night? Was thinking we could do a movie night,” he said. He already had your favorite snacks stocked up. He never would've thought to put Reese's Pieces or M&Ms in popcorn, but you could get him to try anything.

You shifted in your seat. “Oh. I don’t think I can,” you said.

Bucky tried not to feel disappointed. Your life didn't revolve around him. “Why not?”

You bit your lip and looked to the side, making him pay more attention. Everyone had tells for when they were lying, nervous, etc. He learned them well in his line of work, and he learned yours since he knew you so well. You sometimes bit your lip when someone complimented you, but your head usually dipped down with a smile like you had done just a bit ago. You only looked to the side when you were avoiding someone’s gaze, like you were in trouble or scared. You were avoiding his gaze. Why?

“Why not?” he asked again, willing you to look at him so he could see your pretty eyes and have your attention.

You took a deep breath and faced him. “I have a date.”

The statement washed over him like a bucket of cold water and he felt a pain in his heart like someone stabbed him. He exhaled slowly and had to put his hands in his lap so you wouldn’t see them curl into fists. “You have a date?” he asked, like was speaking with glass in his throat.

You were a beautiful woman, one of the most stunningly effortlessly beautiful women he had ever seen. He wasn’t lying to himself when he told himself you were his sun because you lit up every room you walked into and made people pay attention without trying. Beyond your beauty, you had a heart of gold, giving and open. Men wanted to ruin and keep you, and he knew that because he was one of them.

“Yeah, I do,” you said.

He wasn’t quick enough to hide his scowl and your flinch let him know you spotted it. His heart sank into his stomach. So many feared him and for good reason, but he never wanted to make you flinch for any reason. “A date. You have a date,” he said as evenly as he could.

You dated here and there and so had he, but you never had anything serious. So why the bad feeling in his gut? Why did this feel like you were slipping through his fingers?

“Yeah. A friend set us up,” you said, his jaw clenching when you pulled your hand away to get your phone. He may have to have a chat with that friend. “I have a photo.”

Bucky’s expression darkened when you showed him. He was admittedly handsome, his confidence oozing from the photo. He had to tamper down the rising rage he felt inside of him because he wanted to wreck his face and tell him exactly why people called him the White Wolf- because he hunted and used a variety of tactics to take down his prey. What right did he have to do that though?

You were his in his heart, but not yet in name.

“What’s his name?” he asked curiously.

You told him without hesitation and he hummed, subtly messaging Steve so he could look into the prick. If there was dirt on him, he wanted it.

Your gaze flickered between him and your phone. “You know, he kind of looks like you if you squint.”

Bucky scoffed. He’d be damned if he was going to be usurped by a knock-off version of him. “I’m way better looking.”

You giggled and put your phone away, making him sigh in relief since he didn’t have to keep looking at the photo. “Very humble, Jamie.”

It was petty and he didn't care. “Bet he tries to rent out the restaurant thinking it'll impress you,” he muttered.

“I'm sorry, but didn't you rent out this diner?”

“I bought the diner. There's a difference. And this isn't a date,” he said too casually.

You sat up straight and he regretted saying that when you leveled him with a glare. “What about your fiancé? Would you buy a diner for her?”

Bucky had braced himself for the inevitable topic, but he still felt the blow in his gut and had to take a moment to keep his breathing under control. He didn’t like talking about his fiancé. Hell, he didn’t like his fiancé at all. She was a stuck-up spoiled princess, and she couldn’t stand him either. Hate fucking would never be a thing because she had another thing coming if she thought he was ever going to touch her.

The arranged marriage was supposed to bring their families together and all it did was tear his heart apart. He got into the biggest fight with his dad when he was informed of the engagement and they still hadn’t recovered from it. Even his mom couldn't sway his dad. The poor woman was stuck between her husband and her son, but she defended Bucky when he delayed the wedding. There were only so many times he could postpone it.

“You know I don't like talking about her,” he said in a low voice.

He couldn't stand breathing the same air as her and hated saying her name. The very few times he made an appearance with her, he wanted to bash his head against the wall. He immediately went to see you after each outing to cool down. You took his mind off her, you always did.

“I know you don't like talking about her, but…” You swallowed hard. “You're going to marry her.”

He flexed his fingers and exhaled. He would've broken the table if this conversation took place with anyone else, but not you. But over his dead fucking body was he marrying her. He was going to find a way out of this mess. He had to.

“I’d prefer if she just married the bodyguard she’s fucking and stayed out of my life,” he said completely devoid of emotion.

Bucky wasn't an idiot and she hadn't tried to be discreet about the affair. It didn't bother him. She probably thought he was fucking you, but that hadn't happened.

Bucky thought about it. How could he not when he wanted you so badly? He imagined it so vividly— how soft your lips would feel against his, how you'd tremble under his touch, moan when you took every inch of him, cry his name when you came, beg for him to fill you up. He lost track of how many times he got off to the thought of you. It was enough to fill a lifetime of daydreams.

He could tell you were trying to think of a response, something witty or to cheer him up, but there was pain all over your face. “I didn't mean to bring her up.”

He nodded. You weren't trying to upset him. You weren't cruel. “I know. It’s okay.”

Silence stretched between you after that, but he offered you a small smile and you reached back over to take his hand. He looked at your joined hands and all the previous anger faded away. You were the only one who could calm the beast inside. He didn't want to let you go.

“I spoke to your dad,” you said.

His head snapped back to you. “You did? When?” he asked.

And why?

His parents adored you, always had, and they weren't easy to impress. The fact that his dad liked you and you weren't from a powerful family spoke volumes. His mom wept after the fight he had with his dad and she admitted she would've loved to have you as a daughter-in-law. He wanted to make that happen.

“A couple of days ago when you were in a meeting,” you said, looking at the tabletop.

His brows pinched as he repeated the day’s events in his mind. “You mean when you were waiting for me?”

You had been at his family mansion when his meeting ended and he thought nothing of the surprise visit since you frequently surprised each other. He assumed you chatted with his mom or one of the staff while you waited, but not his dad. The man wasn't usually one for casual conversation.

You nodded. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“I don’t think I could ever be mad at you,” he said. You two argued now and then, like a couple would, but he’d never be angry at you. “But why did you talk to my dad? What did you talk about?”

And why didn't his dad or you tell him?

You took a breath like you were steeling yourself. “I asked if you had to marry her because I didn’t think she was the right choice for you.” You still wouldn’t look him in the eye, so you didn’t see the stunned look on his face. “I also said that if you had to marry her that there was a chance that he’d lose you as a son. Or at least, he’d lose the son he knew and loved.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. It took a lot to surprise him and your answer would’ve put him on his ass if he hadn’t already been sitting. Not many had the balls to question his dad on anything, but there you were defending him and his choices and future. He loved you, he had for some time, and knowing you walked into the lion’s den for him made him love you all the more.

“Are you mad?” Your voice shook and he saw tears shimmering in your eyes when you lifted your gaze.

“No. Fuck no,” he whispered, going around to the other side of the booth so he could pull you close. “Not mad at you. I could never be mad at you for sticking up for me.” Some of his bravest soldiers wouldn't have had the guts to do what you did.

“I just know you don’t want to marry her, and I thought I was helping you,” you said, leaning into him and sniffling. “Your happiness means everything to me.”

“So does yours,” he said, rubbing your back. You were trembling. “What did he say to you?”

“He called me brave, and said the only way you could get out of it was if she betrayed the families in some way,” you replied. He was shocked all over again that his dad told you that. “And affairs don’t count. I asked.”

Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if his dad encouraged him to take a mistress since he knew he couldn’t stand his fiancé. The thought made him sick because he didn’t want a mistress- He wanted you. He wanted his ring on your finger and you by his side.

“I’m not going to marry her,” he declared. He didn’t just say it for himself, he needed you to hear it, too, in case there was any chance he had a place in your heart.

“Okay,” you said.

A single word and Bucky’s heart slowly cracked. There was no anger or sarcasm in your tone, but there was no hope either. “Do you not believe me?” he asked.

Thought he wouldn't blame you if you didn't. Hadn't he put his dad's wishes ahead of his own for some time? But if you didn’t have faith in him, what was he to do?

“I believe you can do anything, Jamie,” you said, pulling back to look at him. A single tear slid down your cheek. “I always have.”

He wiped the tear away with his thumb, wishing he could kiss you. “Don’t go on that date,” he whispered.

“Jamie-”

“I mean it, Solnyshko. Don’t go on that date,” he said more fiercely this time.

Bucky felt like a fucking asshole. He had no right to ask that of you. He should let you live your life and give this guy a try, but he couldn’t.

“Why not?” you asked, looking into his eyes and daring him to open his heart. “Why shouldn't I go on that date?”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair. Your parents were probably thrilled about your date if you told them since they didn't want you to be alone. And the words were there and ready, but he couldn’t tell you until he took care of breaking things off. It was the fair thing for both of you.

“I just need you to trust me. Please,” he begged.

You couldn’t hide your disappointment when your eyes searched his, but you nodded. “I’ll consider it,” you said.

He closed his eyes and reminded himself that you didn't owe him anything and that included your feelings. If all you wanted was his friendship he had to accept and respect that. But if there was a chance, he had to cling to that hope.

“I’ll convince you,” he said, urging you to rest your head on his shoulder. “Somehow.”

And if he couldn’t, he’d have no problem crashing your date.

So, what do we think? Is that date happening or not? And who is he? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

Text

the great war (bucky barnes x female reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: you get jealous and have a fight with bucky. inspired by the great war by taylor swift.

a/n: hey anon!!! sorry it took so long. i have no excuse. anyways, i hope you enjoy this!!! <333 also i am once again asking u to send me requests with marvel characters (natasha/bucky/loki) and taylor swift songs so i can write a one shot about it !!!! bye love u

masterlist

\\\\

you don't know how it all happened. one second, everything was perfect. the next, you were acting like a crazy person and saying horrible and hurtful things. and now you're pretty sure you've officially lost him forever.

\\\\

it all started with her. agent carpenter. pretty, blue eyed blonde, flirty, perfect agent carpenter.

“alright everyone,” tony begins and the people in the meeting fall into silence. “as you all know, a new member is joining us on the avengers initiative.” they all nod, including you. “her name is samara carpenter and she was personally recruited by fury. which means she's very good at what she does.” the billionaire looks at steve and he nods, taking the lead.

“alright, i want you all to be nice and welcoming. especially you buck.” he says, making most of the people there snort. you look at him.

“what did i do now?” bucky asks, incredulous.

“nothing yet, but if you just stare at her and don't greet her like a normal person she'll leave this team as fast as she came.” sam tells him. the grumpy super soldier rolls his eyes.

“whatever, bird-brain.”

steve shakes his head in disapproval of the two bickering idiots but soon enough he's back on track with the presentation.

bucky's rough gaze scans the room until it falls on you. his eyes soften when he sees that you are already looking at him. you give him a soft and playful smile, which he returns.

after the meeting is done and everyone is dismissed, you head to your room.

not five seconds pass until someone knocks on the door. you smile, because you know who it is.

“come in!” you sing-song.

when he enters, you can't help but stare at him. you've been together for a year now but you still couldn't believe that he was yours. he was so beautiful, so funny, so kind, so dumb sometimes, just so… him. you loved him so much. yet you still hadn't said it. you were trying to take things slow, for both of your sakes.

“hey.” you tell him as he closes the door behind him. he has a look on his face which you recognize. something's bothering him.

“c'mere.” you pat the spot next to you on the bed.

he wastes no time in dropping himself unceremoniously on the mattress and letting out a sigh.

you begin to run your hands through his hair.

“d'you think i'm scary?” he asks with a pout adorning his beautiful pink lips. god, you want to kiss him so badly. so that's what you do. you peck his lips and then immediately shake your head with a smile.

“do you think that adorable pout could be scary?” he purses his lips to stop himself from smiling, but still, a small smile plays on his lips.

“y/n, i'm being serious.” he sighs. you do too.

“maybe to some people you could be. not to me though.”

“but when you first met me-”

“i was too busy thinking about how hot you were to worry about you being scary.” he laughs. god, how you love that sound. you would ridicule yourself to hear it. “is this about what steve and sam said?”

he shrugs.

“i just… hate that i'm so socially inadequate.”

you hand in his hair stops. he furrows his brows.

“bucky,” you begin, “we are a bunch of weirdos, all of us. there is not one person on this team who is socially adequate.”

“but at least the others can fake it, you can fake it.”

“you know what my favorite thing about you was when we first started to become friends?” you ask and he shakes his head. “that your face said it all. if you weren't in the mood for something, i could tell from a mile away, and in return, if something excited you, it would be contagious.” you caress his cheek and he leans into your touch. “and when i couldn't pretend, i always knew you were there to just sit in silence with me. no expectations to be socially acceptable.”

“i don't know how you do it.” he sighs. you frown.

“do what?”

“make every bad thing about me sound so… good.”

your frown deepens.

“hey.” you straddle him and grab his face in between both your hands. “you are perfect. just like you are. don't you dare change yourself.” you tell him firmly. then you purse your lips. “unless you totally want to for whatever reason and i would totally support you because-” you suddenly fall silent. he looks at you, expectant for you to finish your sentence. “because you know i'm here for you, no matter what.”

he smiles softly.

“i know, doll. me too, i'm always here for you no matter what.” you purse your lips to stop yourself from spilling your heart out of your mouth as you caress his cheekbone with your thumb.

“how about we watch a movie? you can pick.”

he pecks your lips and nods.

you spend what is left of the day watching movies and cuddling.

\\\\

two days after that meeting, she arrives. you're all hanging around the common kitchen when steve appears with someone trailing behind him.

“everyone, this is agent carpenter.”

“please, call me samara. or sammie even.”

“sammie, nice to meet you.” sam is the first one to greet her. “i'm sam wilson, but the coolest avenger is fine too.”

you shake your head and roll your eyes. then, you take a step forward, but before you can introduce yourself and welcome her to the team, you see her eyes flicking over to something right next to you. or someone. her eyes shine with curiosity and attraction.

“hi, nice to meet you.” she smirks. you swallow slowly.

bucky gives her a nod, but then he seems to remember what steve and sam told him and attempts to give her a smile.

“hi, i'm bucky.”

“bucky,” she repeats slowly, almost tasting the name in her mouth. she's about to say something else but before she can, you speak up.

“i'm y/n. welcome to the team.” you smile as honestly as you possibly can, but dread fills your stomach.

“hi!” she smiles at you. “you're so pretty, oh my god!”

you give her a tight smile.

“thank you.”

“of course!”

the rest of the team introduces themselves, even though she insists she already knows almost all of them and then you all go about your day.

\\\\

it had been a month since she arrived at the compound. you had seen her a few times, mostly during training. but you didn’t particularly go out of your way to talk to her. there was something you didn’t like. maybe it was your intuition, or maybe it was the fact that she did seem to go out of her way to talk to your boyfriend. and he did not seem upset by that, the opposite actually. he seemed to enjoy it.

you were not a jealous person, least of all with bucky. but something about her irked you. something about her made you doubt yourself and everything you believed in.

“i like her,” natasha says while she paints her nails, laying on her stomach on your bed.

wanda hums in agreement while she flips through the pages of a beauty magazine. you don’t say anything.

“what about you, y/n?”

“um, yeah.” you try to give them a convincing smile but based on the looks they give you, you do not succeed.

“okay, spill the tea.” wanda tells you. had she been learning internet lingo?

you sigh.

“i just- i don’t know.” you shake your head. “doesn’t something feel off to you?”

“not really.” wanda says as natasha narrows her eyes.

“you’re jealous.” she finally decrees.

“i’m not.” you respond defensively.

“you’re jealous that she seems to be getting along with barnes.”

“i-“ you begin your sentence with the intention of uttering a lie, but it dies right on your tongue. “i am. but i don’t want to be.” you confess.

“explain yourself.” she tells you in a tone that could sound commanding and harsh to someone else, but you know it’s filled with care. she’s your best friend, she would never hurt you on purpose. so is wanda, who looks at you with a knowing look you can’t seem to pinpoint the reason for.

“i just- i don’t know. he’s never like that with anyone. since when is he the type to joke around with someone?” you shake your head. “i’m an asshole, cause i should be happy for him. he’s putting himself out there. but i can’t. i’m jealous. so cliche.” you huff.

“you’re not an asshole. an asshole would make a whole scene, give him an ultimatum or something like that. you’re just expressing your feelings to your friends.”

“and, y/n, we all have those ugly feelings. they are human.” wanda tells you, softly. “you should talk to him about it.”

“what if he gets mad?”

“y/n, please. that man adores you, he could never get mad at you. least of all for this.”

maybe they’re right. maybe that’s the healthiest thing to do. and even as you agree with them, you know you will not talk to him about this. because he will realize that you’re right, and that there is so much more to the world than just… you.

\\\\

“come on! you just have to put it in the oven!”

you hear her before you see her. you weren’t expecting to see him though.

right there, almost as if mocking you, they stand. cooking together. he looks so comfortable around her.

they seem to be wrapped up in their own little bubble, so you clear your throat. immediately, they turn to look at you. he widens his eyes, almost looking guilty.

“james found me and i asked him to join me.” she explains, but you stop paying attention the moment she says his name. she called him james.

“james?” you narrow your eyes in question.

he seems to want to say something because he opens his mouth like a fish out of water but you leave mumbling an excuse about training with nat before he can utter a word.

back in your room, you fall to the floor and break down. you knew she was trouble the moment she walked in, but you weren’t expecting this to happen so soon.

heartbroken, you get up from where you’re sitting and head to your bathroom.

the girl in the mirror looks defeated, but you feel angry. if he didn't need you anymore, then you didn’t need him either.

\\\\

the days after that, you ignore him, always having an excuse at the tip of your tongue to not hang out with him. he doesn’t seem to care that much. until, you suppose, after three days, he begins caring.

“doll, can we talk?”

“hm?” you play dumb. you encountered each other in the common kitchen. that damned place, you hated it now, but you were hungry.

“i asked you if we can talk. you seem… distant.” his brows are furrowed. you only know that because you turned to look at him only for a second. other than that, your gaze doesn’t meet his. “come on, y/n, i know something’s wrong.”

you look at him and smile sarcastically.

“you do?”

“yes. please, let’s ta-“

“hey guys!” you roll your eyes at her voice.

“have fun you two!” you tell them, smiling venomously, only looking at him before you leave.

“is everything okay?” she asks.

“i’m sorry samara, i can’t talk right now.” you hear him say before you hear his footsteps getting closer to you in the hallway.

“y/n!” he calls out to you when you get into the elevator without looking behind you. before the doors can close, you see his metal arm get in between them. he gets in and they close. once they do, he hits the stop button. then, he turns to you. he frows when he sees the hate in your eyes. “y/n, what is going on?”

you scoff.

“fuck off, james.” you tell him, your voice full of venom. he widens his eyes in surprise before narrowing them.

“oh, so that’s it? you’re jealous and that’s why you’re avoiding me and acting crazy now?”

“i’m not jealous, but i’m not blind either.” you clench your jaw. “and don’t call me crazy.”

“you are blind if you think something’s going on with her.” he tells you. you roll your eyes and then tilt your head.

“when was the last time you let someone call you james? when was the last time you cooked with someone who was not steve?” he begins breathing heavily. you laugh and bite your lip incredulously. “i think you took the whole being friendly thing too serious.”

“i can't believe you right now.” he shakes his head. “you're angry because i'm not being an asshole to her?”

you scoff.

“oh, please, james.” he clenches his jaw.

“stop calling me that.”

“oh, so i can't call you that but she can?”

“you know that's not-”

“you know what? go ahead. let her call you james. fuck her in the middle of the common room for all i care. lets see how long she puts up with you.” you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth but its too late, a deep hurt covers his face. still, you can't stop. you're too hurt, too scared. too goddamn stupid. “you think she's going to console you while you have your nightmares?” you laugh venomously. “you think she's going to accept you, all of you?” as you keep talking, his expression turns from pained to angry. resentful even.

he turns to the panel control of the elevator and pushes the stop button so the elevator will move again.

“you know what?” he glances at you and you're almost taken aback by the distant look in his eyes. “maybe i'll fuck her. maybe i'll even date her too. she's probably not as desperate and clingy as you.”

“fuck you.” you spit out.

the doors open, he steps outside. before he leaves, he turns to look at you.

“yeah, you too.”

after the doors close again, you fall to the floor and let out a heart-wrenching sob. you never thought it would end like this.

\\\\

four days. four fucking, horrible, long days bucky has been gone from the compound. you try to ask steve about it, because you know he knows where he is, but he won't tell you. even though you two are close friends and he never got in the middle of a fight between you two– even though you two never fought– he seemed angry. at you. you didn't know if he knew the reason for the fight, but he knew you were in the wrong, that much you knew.

these days all you do is cry, sleep, eat and repeat. you're way past heartbroken, you're miserable, inconsolable. it's all your fault. this prison of sadness was your own making.

you miss him. god, you miss him. you wonder how he is. did he already fuck someone else? did he regret ever being with you?

you don't dare text or call him. you're too embarrassed. you acted like a crazy person, and said awful, horrific things. and you're pretty sure he'll never forgive you. but what will you do then? how will you build a life without him? oh god, you're crying again. great, just great, you think as you turn around in your bed. who were you without him?

\\\\

its the sixth day of his absence when you go talk to steve. you drag yourself from your bed, with your swollen and red rimmed eyes and knock on his door.

“y/n…” he tells you, pity dripping from his tone.

“hey…” you try to give him a fake smile, but as soon as the corners of your mouth move, they turn downwards into a frown, and you start crying. sobbing really. inconsolable sobs leave you as steve wraps you up in his arms.

“hey, hey, it's okay.”

“no, it's not! i hurt him! i don't know why i did it, but i did!” you sob.

“hey,” he pulls away from you a bit to look you in the eyes, “come in. come on, come on.” he tells you as you slowly make your way inside.

you sit down on the edge of his bed and he sits down next to you.

“steve, is he- is he okay?”

he looks at you. you know him, so you know that that look means he isn't.

“he's safe though.”

“i really messed up.”

“i know.”

“he told you?”

“he didn't need to. i saw it on camera. wanted to know why the elevator stopped working for a while.”

you put your head in your hands and begin sobbing again.

“oh my god.” you sob. “i-i'm so sorry you had to see that. i dont… i dont know what-” a hiccup escapes you. “i can't-” another hiccup. “oh god…” your shoulders shake as you sob into your hands.

“hey…” he draws comforting circles on your back, but nothing can comfort you. not when he's hurt and hates you and it's all your fault. “hey.”

“steve, how can i fix it? can i even-” hiccup, “can i even fix it?”

he looks at you with pity.

“i don't know, y/n. i think he's gonna need some time.”

“oh my god.” you say. steve had always rooted for you two, so if he's saying it can't be fixed it really means it can't. “i'm going to die.”

“you're not going to die.”

“i can't live without him. i can't.” you shake your head frantically. “please, just tell me where he is. i need to-”

“i dont think it's a good idea.” he tells you sympathetically.

“please,” you beg him, “please, i need to- if it ends…” more tears fall from your eyes. “it can't end like that. please. he deserves more than that.”

he looks at you, seemingly pondering what you're saying. you look at him the whole time, pleading. he sighs. he's going to tell you.

\\\\

you look at the old building that seems to be deteriorating with each passing second. you straighten down your clothes (steve insisted you get properly showered and dressed) and take a deep breath. he's staying at a safe house in brooklyn. of course. it was so predictable and so him, you almost decided to leave. maybe you should let it end how it ended. what if this time it was worse? but you didn't have the luxury to think like that. it was over, but you needed him to remember you as the good times you shared, not that damned last time.

you enter the building and go up the stairs to the seventh floor, since there is no elevator.

when you reach his door, a green one who looked like if you blew on it it would fall down, you freeze. what are you even supposed to say to him? hi, bucky, sorry i told you she wouldn't be able to put up with you, insinuating that you are hard to love, hope everythings okay between us! ugh, you wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

you take another deep, slow breath, because you know otherwise he'll be able to hear you. then, you knock two times.

when the door opens he takes your breath away. this time not because he's gorgeous but because you're so scared that you fear you're going to pass out.

“what do you want?” he asks harshly. you feel tears prick your eyes but you blink them away.

“hear me out, please.”

“no, thank you.” he goes to close the door, but you swiftly get inside before he does. he slams the door behind him when he turns around to look at you, now inside the apartment, looking uncomfortable and out of place. “i told you i didn't want to hear you out.”

“just-”

“leave.”

“one second-”

“leave, y/n.”

“bucky-”

“oh, so now i'm bucky?” your lip wobbles.

“you're always bucky.”

“not last time we talked.”

“that's why i'm here.” he lifts his chin, looking at you with so much indifference you wonder if he ever looked at you with love in his eyes.

“i don't care to hear you explain yourself.” a tear escapes your eye. you dry it with your sleeve harshly. his face seems to soften for a second but then it goes back to its harshness.

“i'm not here- i'm not here to explain myself.” he looks at you.

“why are you here then?” you sigh.

“remember that time you took me to feed the ducks on that park?”

“yes. so?”

you smile softly as tears fall down your face.

“that was the time i told you i wanted to be your girlfriend. no one ever took me to such a silly date.” you chuckle softly. then you frown in pain looking at the floor now. he shifts his weight from one feet to the other, impatient.

“what's your point?”

“that's how i'd like you to remember me.”

“what?” you look at him. he's frowning.

“i know that the last time we talked i was… crazy. i just- i know theres no going back, but id like, for the sake of what we had, for you to not remember me like that.” you tell him. “because we were more than that.” the last word comes out broken to give way to a silent sob. you try to compose yourself. “I'm sorry. don't pay attention to that.” you give him a fake smile, which you know he can see right through.

“y/n-”

“okay, i'll leave. but… come back to the compound. i'll move out if you want me to, just, don't stay away from your friends just because of me.” you go to leave, walking past him, when he grabs your arm. when you turn around there are unshed tears in his eyes.

“i don't care about the compound. or about remembering you.” oh. you widen your eyes and heavy tears leave them.

“okay, i'm- i'm sorry for suggesting-”

“no.” you nod, understanding. “no, no.” he repeats. he grabs you by the shoulders and he crouches so he's eye level with you. “i don't want to have to remember you.”

you frown.

“but, bucky-”

“but i probably should.” he cuts you off.

“yeah,” you laugh humorlessly as you cry. “you should. i'm sorry. i never should've come here. i'm sorry.”

“stop saying sorry and explain to me what the hell happened.” you tilt your head.

“i… i got jealous.”

“that's it? that's why you hurt me?” he asks. you look down. this was it. he was giving you a chance. explain yourself like you never have before, you think to yourself.

“i never got why you were with me-”

“stop saying were. this could end today, but as of now, were still together.” you purse your lips. “hey, hey, its okay.” he says softly as he puts his hands on your cheeks and wipes the tears that begin falling again with his thumbs.

“im sorry-” he looks at you pointedly. you nod. “i just… i don't understand why you're with me. im not- im nothing like you.” you begin. he frowns. “you are kind and thoughtful and amazing and im- im not good like you.”

“what? y/n, you're the best person i know.”

“you can't still think that.” he looks at you honestly. he does? “see? you're so- and i'm so…”

“lets sit down.” he tells you and you both do, on the old couch thats near the window. he gestures for you to continue.

“i just- you'll never get it. and thank god you won't. but im not- im not a natural, you know? not like you, not like her.” you fidget with your hands. “you guys, the team, you like me because i'm fake. you wouldn't if you knew the real me. but i showed it to you pretty easily, i guess.” you laugh without a trace of humor. he frowns. then, he grabs your hand and caresses your knuckles. bucky takes a deep breath before speaking.

“y/n, i like- no, scratch that. i love you because i know you.” your face contorts in pain. you start crying heavily again. “hey, hey, come on baby, talk to me.”

“i just… she's so… perfect. for everyone, for you.”

“i don't want her, i want you.”

“you cant want me after what i said to you. i hurt you and i'll never forgive myself for that.”

“yes, you hurt me. but you were hurt too, i just didn't see it.”

“im so scared you'll wake up one day and realize there is so much more to the world than… me.” you sob and cover your face with your hands.

bucky pulls your hands away from you face and pulls you into his lap.

“listen to me.” he tells you firmly. “there is nothing more to the world than you. you are it for me, y/n. i love you.”

“bucky-” you hiccup. “i'm so sorry i said that about you. i promise you i just said it to you because i- i was lashing out. anyone would accept and love you, you are literally the most amazing-” hiccup, “person-” hiccup, “in the universe.”

he smiles softly at you and the unshed tears come back, but this time, he lets them fall.

“baby, listen to me. i love you. i'm not going anywhere.” you open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it. “and i forgive you. i promise you i don't resent you. i know what it's like to lash out when you're hurt.”

“bucky-” you sob against his chest.

“shh, baby, its okay.” he soothes you, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “it's okay, i got you.”

you take a shuddering breath and lift your head from his chest to look at him. you grab his face with both your hands.

“i promise you i'll never lash out again. im so sorry. i-” he gives you a pointed look. “i know. im not saying sorry anymore. sor-” you purse you lips and he lets out a laugh. then, he shakes his head incredulous and looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes you feel like you're going to pass out from all the love you feel for this man. “can i kiss you?” you ask him shyly.

“please.”

and so you do. the kiss is soft, vulnerable, you're telling him how sorry you are, how much you love him, and thats when you remember you didn't say it.

he whines when you pull away, something that makes you smile.

“bucky,”

“yeah, baby?”

“i love you. so much i feel like i'm going to throw up.” he lets out a loud laugh.

“i love you more, doll.”

you spend the rest of the day cuddled up on that couch in that old apartment, not ready to go to the compound yet. but you do send a text to steve before turning off your phone to spend time with the love of your life. you almost lost him, but you didn't, and as you lay in that old mattress on the floor, while he makes love to you and whispers of words of adoration and devotion fill your ears, you vow to him one thing. you'll always be his.

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greatmistakes · 2 months ago

Text

Walls

Summary : You never ask for help, even when your boyfriend wants to help you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Ex-Widow!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Watchtower fic. Reversal of the 'who hurt you?' trope. New Avenger!bucky and New!Avenger reader. Angst, Hurt/Comfort, reader was raised in the red room. trauma, injury, Cursing, non-sexual nudity and intimacy. bit of fluff!!!! Inspired by the song Walls by Kings of Leon.

Word count : 4.6k

Note : Bucky x red room!reader has been very heavily requested, so here it is! Taglist has not been updated but will be soon. Sorry, just been busy!!! Enjoy!

You never learned how to ask for help.

Not in the Red Room, where weakness was punished and silence was the only means of survival. Not when you were eight years old and pulled your own dislocated shoulder back into place. Not when you were fifteen and learned to kill without hesitation, or when Dreykov told you pain was just a minefield you had to run through.

By the time you escaped the Red Room and you were finally free—if anyone ever really was—some things were too late to unlearn.

You didn’t bleed in front of people. You didn’t cry. You didn’t ask for help, because help never came.

Then came Valentina. Then came the new Avengers. Then came him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He was a soldier like you, a spy like you. The was broken once, too, then built again from whatever pieces were left. You understood each other before either of you spoke a word. The bond was instant but slow to surface, like fossils buried under frost.

You loved him before you ever admitted it.

Bucky loved you like it hurt him. He loved fiercely, tenderly, constantly. But where you were quiet in your pain, he noticed it. Every bruise you didn’t mention, every limp you masked, every silence you brushed off with a dry joke—he saw it all.

Bucky wanted to protect you.

But you never asked to be protected.

So, of course, it naturally took you six months to even admit to yourself that you might have feelings for him.

It happened after a mission gone wrong.

Not fatally wrong — no one died, no one got captured — but wrong enough that your teeth were clenched so hard that your gums ached, your gloves were soaked in an enemy's blood, and the extraction window had nearly closed because someone didn’t cover the flank.

And that someone was Bucky.

You stormed off the jet the second it touched down at the compound, slamming your knives onto the bench in the gear room and with restrained rage.

Of course, Bucky followed.

“What the hell was that out there?” you snapped, spinning around before he could speak. “You were supposed to take the left corridor. Instead you—what? Decided to go solo because you saw a better opportunity?”

“I did what needed to be done,” he said way too calmly. “If I hadn’t looped around, John would’ve gotten pinned. You think I wanted to split off?”

“You left me exposed,” you accused. “I almost took a round to the head because I thought I had someone on my six.”

“But you didn’t,” Bucky snapped. “Because I took that into account.”

The two of you were standing way too close now. Whatever the hell had been simmering between you for months started boiling over.

You shoved him.

He didn’t budge.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “You’re so—so smug. You walk around like no one can question you. Stupid, righteous ass, annoying fucker who’s too good at his job and too cocky because he knows he’s right.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “That what you think of me?”

“I think—” You stopped, chest rising and falling, fists clenched. “Fuck. Fuck, this is so stupid. It’s childish.”

He waited.

You looked at him — at the way he stood there. He was always watching you. Always catching the things no one else noticed.

Your voice cracked, “I think I have a crush on you.”

Oh.

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Your heart thundered in your chest. You were ready for rejection, or laughter, or a dismissive shake of his head.

But all he said was, “How is that childish?”

You blinked. “What?”

“How is having feelings for me childish?” he said, stepping closer. His voice was low, and it lacked the heat, the sarcasm.

You looked away. “You don’t get it—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “I do. Because I’ve been trying not to say anything for months because I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same.”

You scoffed. “You what?”

He let out a sweet yet frustrated laugh, as if he didn’t believe you never noticed. “What gave me away? The way I dive in front of bullets for you, or the way I bring you coffee every morning and pretend it’s just convenient?”

That made your lips curve up ever so slightly, despite the heat still in your chest.

“You still piss me off,” you said, softer now.

“Sure,” he replied, stepping close enough that your breath hitched.

Then he kissed you.

It was hard, desperate. His hands were rough, holding your face, pinching your chin gently and tilting your head up. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, and the rest of the world just… dropped away.

When you finally pulled back, forehead to forehead, you muttered, “This is a bad idea.”

“Probably,” he smiled. “Still want to try?”

You nodded. “Of course.”

Still, it frustrated him—how your walls stayed up even after you'd let him into your bed, your trust, your life. You were his partner, but still you held most things alone.

You kept surviving on instinct.

Bucky wanted to be your safe place. And it maddened him that you wouldn’t let let him, even the part of you that loved him still didn’t know how to let him love you back.

Bucky had a lot of demons. You never scared him. But watching you flinch away from his concern terrified him.

—

Three months later…

You knew the mission was off the moment you stepped into the alley.

It was too quiet, like someone had already told them you were coming.

Still, you moved forward.

Two minutes later, it was chaos.

The intel carrier was a decoy, and you were ambushed by three mercs with military-grade weapons and more training than you were led to expect. Before you knew it, one pushed a knife just under your arm, driving up and in through the soft tissue of your side.

You didn’t scream. You bit down hard and twisted the blade out of your own skin with a grunt, turned the motion into an attack, and dropped him where he stood.

The other two didn’t last long.

But neither did your composure.

By the time you stumbled back to the jet, blood had soaked through your suit, and every breath was jagged.

You didn’t call for backup.

You didn’t radio Bucky or ping mission control, even when your hands started shaking.

You just activated autopilot, ripped open the med kit, and stitched yourself up with trembling fingers and an awkward angle.

No anaesthetic or mirror, just you and a needle.

You bit down on the fabric of your glove, sweat beading along your hairline as you worked the needle through skin. Too shallow and it would tear. Too deep and it would scar. Not that you gave a shit about scars.

You wrapped the wound tight, when you were done, when you sat back against the cold jet wall and stared at the ceiling, teeth clenched so hard your jaw ached.

It was fine.

You were fine.

Just like always.

When the jet landed back at the tower hours later, you pulled your jacket tight over the bandage and strode down the ramp like nothing had happened. You smiled at Bob in the common room and nodded at Ava in passing.

When Bucky caught your arm, eyes narrowing at the way your hand twitched at your side, you brushed him off with a look. “You okay?”

“Just jet lag,” you said, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth meant to calm him down. “Nothing serious, babe.”

He didn’t buy it. You knew he didn’t. But you kept walking before locking yourself in your room.

—

There was a knock on your door thirty minutes later.

You knew it was him.

You didn’t answer.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice came from the other side of the door after a beat, casual on the surface—but you could hear the tightening underneath. “Can I come in?”

You stared at the door for a moment, then turned back toward your bed.

“Later.”

There was a pause, before you heard the urgency in his tone. “Now, please.”

It was the kind of tone that didn’t push, but didn’t budge either.

You exhaled through your nose. “Fine.”

The door opened, but not fully— just enough for him to step in.

His eyes found you instantly, standing stiffly by the dresser, arms crossed, face taut with frustration.

“Hi,” he said, like he might still salvage this. “You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?”

“I said not now.”

“I heard you,” he replied, shutting the door behind him. “But I’m here anyway. So.”

You turned around, pain flaring at your ribs. “What do you want?”

He noticed, gaze dipping. “Who hurt you?”

For you — an injured animal caged into a corner — it landed like a punch and tasted like an accusation.

You stiffened. “Don’t do this.”

He tilted his head. “Please—“

“I’m fine.”

“Your side—”

“How do you even know that?” you snapped, flinching when you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself.

“You walked to one side,” he said. “And I saw the blood on the jet. You cleaned it up fast, but you missed some. You also used two syringes from the med kit and didn’t log it.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You keeping tabs on me now?” you asked, retaliating.

“I’m not keeping tabs, I live here—and I pay attention to you,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s what people do when they care.”

“Care?” You let out a bitter laugh, trying to deflect. “Is that what this is? Or are you just trying to babysit your girlfriend?”

Bucky’s eyes flashed. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” you challenged. “Don’t say the thing we’re both thinking?”

“I’m not infantilizing you.”

“You’re not? Because this—” you gestured to the space between you “—feels like you don’t trust me to handle myself.”

He was quiet for a beat, he was trying to find words that wouldn’t make you pull further away.

“I trust you,” he said, voice low. “But I saw you come back hurt, and instead of asking anyone for help— or go to the infirmary, you hid it.”

You clenched your fists. “I didn’t want to deal with you treating me like I’m fragile.”

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he said, exasperated. “I think you’re hurt and you’re acting like you don’t want me to care.”

“That’s not your job.”

The metal plates of his vibranium arm shifted, and for the first time, his voice raised. It was not loud, just… pained. “I’m not here because it’s my job, I’m here because I love you.”

That stopped you cold in your tracks.

Bucky stared at you, breathing hard. “So when I saw blood and you shutting me out, yeah—I panicked. Not because I think you’re weak, but because I want to help.”

Your chest tightened, but pride was louder than pain. “I don’t need saving.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is?” you bit out.

He let a deep breath through his nose, and for the first time, his voice broke a little. “I’m not mad you got hurt,” he said. “I’m mad you didn’t trust me enough to help. You didn’t even want me in here.”

You folded your arms across your chest and regretted it instantly when pain bloomed under your bandage.

“Maybe I wanted to deal with it myself,” you snapped. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you every goddamn thing!”

His eyes shifted. He didn’t argue.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

You both just stood there for a moment, locked in a kind of stalemate that didn’t quite feel like winning.

Bucky turned toward the door. “I care about you,” he said.

You didn’t answer or move.

And when he stepped out, you said, “I just need space.”

He paused—just for a second—but didn’t turn back.

And you pushed the door shut behind him.

—

The punching bag groaned under Bucky’s metal fist. He wasn’t pulling his punches—not tonight.

Thud. Thud. CRACK.

The chain creaked, and the bag swung violently to one side. Soon, he heard a slow clap echoing from behind him.

“Feel better?” Yelena teased.

He didn’t turn. “Not even close.”

She strolled in, wearing sweats and a sarcastic smile, and a half-eaten

protein bar in one hand. Typical Yelena—casual as hell, like the world couldn’t touch her. But Bucky knew better. They both had ghosts—just different corners.

“You’re going to break that thing,” she added, nodding to the bag. “And you should be careful with the way you ask that question.”

Bucky didn’t look up. “What question?”

“‘Who hurt you?’” she said, voice half-mocking, half-sincere. “Big mistake, Barnes. You ask that to a Red Room girl and you better be ready to duck.”

He sighed. “You heard us.”

“I think even Ava heard the argument, and she is three floors up.”

Bucky let out a bitter breath. “Do you think I screwed up?”

“She kicked you out of her room, yes?”

He nodded.

“Then yes,” she hummed. “You screwed up. Or she did. Or both. Probably both.”

“I was just trying to help. She was hurt, and she didn’t tell anyone. She lied about it.”

“She didn’t lie,” she corrected, “She withheld. There’s a difference.”

“She didn’t have to go it alone,” Bucky shook his head. “I was right there.”

“Yes,” Yelena’s voice softened. “But alone is what we’re good at.”

He sighed, not wanting to hear what he already knew to be true.

Yelena leaned forward, taking a bite of her snack. “By Red Room standards, I got lucky. Fake family, borderline functional spy-parents, annoying sister. I had… a taste of a family. people to remind me what kindness looked like, even if it was bullshit half the time.”

She shrugged. “But her? She didn’t get sent to Ohio. No fake American pie. No pretend bedtime stories. She had the real Red Room. Just… handlers.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “I just wanted her to let me in.”

Yelena stood and stretched, then nudged his shoulder with hers. “I know. You were trying to love her. That’s not the problem.” She turned toward the door, then paused. “You just forgot something.”

He looked up. “What?”

“You’re not here to fix her, Bucky. She has to do that herself.’ Her voice was kinder now — not condescending, not sarcastic. “You’re her partner. She doesn’t need you to ask who hurt her.”

Bucky tilted his head.

Yelena didn’t even look over her shoulder as she walked away. “She needs to trust that you wouldn’t.”

—

The morning after, you woke up sore.

Not just your side—though the wound throbbed like it was pissed at you—but in your chest.

You’d barely slept, and the silence in your room was louder than ever before.

You weren’t proud of how last night ended.

But you also weren’t ready to admit it out loud.

You sat on the edge of the bed in yesterday’s clothes, staring at the door like it might offer answers if you glared hard enough. It didn’t.

What did come, though, was the sweet scent of breakfast.

You opened your door and almost tripped over it.

There laid a covered tray, still hot.

You opened it and saw your favourite breakfast— toast with way too much butter and maple syrup, a few slices of crispy bacon, and even coffee—just the way you drank it.

You blinked.

A small folded note sat beneath the mug, written in neat block letters.

“Thought you might still be mad. But you still gotta eat.

— JBB”

There was no lecture or apology. Just… care.

Your first instinct was to leave it. To prove a point or maintain a boundary or whatever.

So you closed the door paced for a few minutes.

But the smell.

God, the toast was warm and golden and perfectly ruined in that way you liked.

You stared at the door from the inside of your room.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

Fuck, you were hungry— you didn’t have dinner last night.

You muttered under your breath like a gremlin. “Stupid stubborn super soldier.”

You opened the door again and very cautiously pulled the tray inside like it might explode. You sat down on your bed and your arms. Then you uncrossed them. You picked up a piece of bacon, sniffed it, and ate it.

It was perfect.

You didn’t want to smile. But you did. Just a little.

You whispered to no one, “Thanks, Buck.”

—

Down the hall, Bucky leaned quietly against the wall just out of view.

When he heard the faint scrape of the tray being pulled inside, he let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

—

The shower was supposed to help.

You stood under the spray with your forehead against the tile, letting the heat soak into your muscles. Steam curled around you, thick and humid. The kind that fogged the mirror and made your breath feel heavier. You watched a droplet trace its way down your wrist, vanishing into the edge of the drain.

You hadn’t washed since you got back from the mission—barely slept, barely spoken. Just bandaged yourself up in the jet and buried the pain like you always did.

It was stupid. You knew it. You just didn’t want to see the worry in their faces. In his face.

You squeezed your eyes shut, let the water run over your body, then grabbed the loofah.

It was muscle memory— Scrub, rinse, repeat. So you weren’t even thinking when you dragged it over your ribs—just moving on instinct, wanting to be clean. Scrub the blood. Scrub the tension. Scrub everything off.

And then—

You felt white-hot pain.

You hissed, froze, and looked down.

The wound was red— bright and fresh across the gauze, soaking into the water swirling down the drain— the loofah had latched on to a thread and tore it out.

The stitches were completely pulled out.

“Shit.”

You staggered out of the shower, dripping and trembling, gripping the sink for balance as steam spilled into the room. The mirror was a smeared blur, your reflection hidden behind a ghostly mask of condensation as a trail of red followed you.

You grabbed the towel with shaking fingers and wrapped it tight around your chest, pressing your palm against the fresh bleed at your side. The warmth of the water was already turning cold against your skin, and the throb in your ribs had gone from dull to searing.

You dropped to the floor with a grunt, pulling the first-aid kit from beneath the sink. Your knees hit the tile hard. You didn’t flinch as you opened the case and pulled the supplies into your lap: needle, thread, gauze, antiseptic.

The blood made your hands slick.

You tried to thread the needle. Twice. Missed. On the third attempt, it slipped from your grip and clattered against the tile. You cursed under your breath, picked it up again, finally got the thread through the eye.

You pinched the skin along the gash.

Just a few stitches. You could do this.

But when you tried to push the needle in, your hand shook too hard. It missed the edge of the skin and dragged instead, scratching you. You tried again, gritting your teeth, but your vision blurred with the steam and the sweat and the water still dripping from your hair.

The third time, the needle went in—then tore the skin when you pulled too fast.

“Fuck!”

Your chest rose and fell. Your heart thudded behind your ribs, against your wound. You looked down at the mess of gauze and blood, the trembling in your fingers, the way your breath caught in your throat.

This was nothing.

You’d been shot before. Tortured. Conditioned.

But right now—sitting half-naked on the bathroom floor, wet and cold and bleeding again—you weren’t fine.

For the first time in a long time, you thought, I don’t want to be alone for this.

So you got up, pressed the towel tighter, and walked barefoot down the hall toward Bucky’s room.

—

You didn’t knock right away.

You stood outside his door barefoot, one hand clutching the towel, the other pressed to the wound at your side, now throbbing with a hot ache. You hated how unsteady your legs felt, how your heartbeat was rattling inside your chest.

Finally, you raised your knuckles and knocked twice.

The door opened almost instantly, like he’d been standing just on the other side, waiting.

And maybe he had been.

Bucky stood there in a dark long-sleeved henley and sweatpants, barefoot, his hair damp like he’d showered recently. The second he saw you, his expression changed—not shocked. Not angry.

Just worried.

His eyes flicked down to the blood seeping through the towel. Then back up to your face. You expected a million probing questions, like how did this happen? Why didn’t you come to me sooner? How could you do this to yourself?

He asked none.

You started to speak—“I—”—but your voice cracked, and the word never made it out.

Instead, you just looked at him, hand tightened over your side.

Bucky stepped aside without a word.

And that was it. No demand. No scolding. No what were you thinking?

You stepped inside slowly, the door closing behind you with a click.

You stood in the middle of the room you were very familiar with— you’ve spent most of your nights here, after all— and tried your best to stay up.

He strode by you, looking at you like you hadn’t pushed him away last night.

His voice, when it came, was gentle. “Let me help.”

You nodded, just once, your chin trembling.

And finally, you like it hurt you to admit, you whispered, “I couldn’t do it on my own.”

“I got you,” he said simply.

Not I’ll fix you.

Not You should’ve come sooner.

His hands rose to take the edge of the towel from you. He waited—watched your eyes—for permission.

You gave it.

And as he peeled the fabric away from your ribs, his touch never faltered.

He studied the red gashing wound before helping you down to sit on his bed. He grabbed his first air kit from his bedside.

“I ripped the stitches,” you admitted the obvious.

He knelt in front of you without a word. The reopened gash was deep, but clean. No sign of infection, but it needed fixing.

“You scrubbed it open?” he murmured.

You groaned. “With a loofah. Like a genius.”

He gave a tiny huff of amusement. “A dangerous weapon.”

“I think it’s actually stronger than Walker.”

“Definitely smarter.”

You smiled despite yourself. Your arm dropped slightly, and Bucky reached for a clean towel and laid it gently across your lap before reaching for the antiseptic. You watched him work—his metal hand deft and practiced, his human one in a support capacity.

“This is gonna sting,” he warned. “But I’ll go slow.”

You nodded.

He cleaned the wound gently, pressing gauze against it in soft, rhythmic motions. It hurt, but not like before.

He threaded the needle and began stitching. The pull of the thread through your skin made you flinch, but his hand was there—resting gently on your thigh.

You let out a shaky breath and leaned back on your hands, letting him finish.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

When he tied the last knot, he set the needle aside and wiped the blood away with a damp cloth.

He looked up at you, eyes scanning your face. “You okay?”

You blinked at him—then dropped your eyes.

And for the first time, you didn’t say “fine.”

Your voice cracked when you said, “No,” followed with a quieter, “No, I’m not.”

Your lip trembled, and suddenly your face folded in on itself, hands rising to cover your eyes too little too late—too slow to hide the tears that came all at once.

You tried to stop it.

You tried to breathe through it, tried to hold yourself together because that’s what you’d always done.

But Bucky was already moving. He didn’t say anything and opened his arms.

And that was all it took.

You leaned in like gravity pulled you there, and you felt his arms close. Your shoulders shook and soaked his shirt through your tears.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t let go.

His hand moved across your back in long, rhythmic strokes. He rested his chin gently on your head, his metal arm gently circled your waist, holding you without trapping you. His other hand moved to your hair, fingers sliding through the strands in calming patterns.

Your knees tucked up against his and your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. You breathed in his scent, faint soap and aftershave and something familiar that made you fall in love all over again.

He adjusted you without a word, easing you down so your cheek rested against his chest. His thumb brushed your temple once, then again.

He held you until your breathing slowed. Until your hands unclenched. Until your shoulders stopped rising, until you were still.

And when the last of the tears had soaked into his shirt, you stayed like that for a long time.

—

That night, he found you one of his shirts—worn and too big. You slipped it over your head in the bathroom, careful not to pull your stitches, and returned to the room with bare legs and clean skin.

Bucky opened the covers and moved aside.

You climbed into the bed beside him.

And after a long stretch of silence, you finally found the courage to say, “Thank you.”

Bucky turned his head toward you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Anytime.”

“And in case you were still wondering who did this,” you sniffled, “The guy who was supposed to be my informant got lucky.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around you, though not too tight. “You take his knife?”

“Left it in his thigh,” you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, finding a comfortable spot. “His wound is definitely deeper than mine.”

"That's my girl," he whispered proudly, his hand still gently stroking up and down your back.

The room had gone quiet, save for the occasional creak of old pipes and the hum of the heater kicking in. Bucky didn't move, enjoying your weight pressed into his chest, your cheek warm against the curve of his shoulder. His fingers trailed through your hair absently — like muscle memory.

"You know," he murmured after a while, his breath brushing against your hairline, "I still don't understand how you do it. Take down someone three times your size."

He smiled a little, one of those soft, private ones meant just for you, even though your breathing had deepened into a slower rhythm.

"Yelena and Ava, do it, too, sure," he went on, lips barely moving. "But with you… It’s so much brute force." He chuckled a low rumble in his chest. "It even scares me sometimes."

No response. Not a shift, not a twitch from you. He tilted his head, finally noticing the way your breathing had slipped and steadied.

Bucky glanced down at you, as realization settled in. "You fell asleep on me, didn’t you?" he said, barely above a whisper. "Jesus, doll, you were that tired?"

One tiny, unmistakable snore answered him — high-pitched and fleeting, almost like a hiccup, and then another.

He couldn't help it — he laughed, delighted. "God, your snores are adorable."

He pulled the blanket up a little higher over your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Sleep, baby. I got you," he whispered. "Always got you."

And then, with you curled against him, still snoring softly into his neck, Bucky closed his eyes, too.

-end.

I have an idea for a part two that might never get written: Bucky genuine cannot believe it when you ask him if you could permanently move into his room.

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