jaxrando

[jaxrando]

To my twin brother from another mother, will miss you forever

[jaxrando]

Hii, can I request an angsty fic with Eddie Munson, where he overhears Jason saying the reader (Eddie's secret gf) and him kissed and he believes it. So he ignores the reader and is a bit mean and the reader is sad and hurt when she finds out the reason. I'm not sure if I want it to end in fluff or not, so I will leave that to you.

✎���﹏ Rumors pt. 1

Next

✑ Pairings: Eddie Munson x f!reader

✑ Word Count: 4152

✑ Warnings: I don’t think there is any. Just angst and silent treatment. But let me know if I missed any!

✑ Authors Note: I’m sorry it took me a while to write this! I hope you like it, though, and it lives up to your expectations. Thank you for requesting it!! ♡

✑ Gif isn’t mine!

If someone were to watch the two for long enough and with a close eye, they would have noticed the sneaking glances Y/N Y/L/N and Eddie Munson shared as they passed each other in the hallways, or in the lunchroom, or even in class. They were always finding some way to look at each other, a silent acknowledgment of their presence— and their love— no matter where they were. No one noticed, anyway, so it didn’t matter and the couple persisted with the limited amount of public recognition and displays of affection. It wasn’t Y/N’s idea for them to be secretive about their relationship, but she also didn’t push Eddie on the matter; she understood where he was coming from.

As a school tutor, the one that most people, popular group included, sought out and paid for, Y/N had her own little business to protect. One that Eddie insisted would take a hit if they were to become public; “Since when were you such a businessman?” She had asked when he had first brought it up and he just shot her a charming smile and a “since your business was at stake.” She didn’t question anything after that, how could she? He was far too cute and she had to admit, his logic was sound. The moment word got out about them seeing each other, she knew a lot of people would suddenly find another tutor— or offer her less money. She wasn’t happy about it, no, but it did enable her to save up some money, especially so that she and Eddie could take a small vacation this summer, something that he was saving up for, too. Then after they went on their trip, they could be as public as they wanted.

It had been a good couple months since they started this secret relationship, making sure not to tell anyone and sneaking into each other’s houses late at night, giggling at almost being caught quite a few times. It had been hilarious watching Eddie try to scale her two story house to get into her window. All in all, it was going as amazing as could be expected when you weren’t allowed to run up to your partner in public and give them a kiss in front of everyone— but they were happy and that was what mattered the most.

Or Y/N thought, at least.

It was nearing lunchtime, the closest one could get to peace within a school day, when Y/N first noticed something going on. She noticed his mop of hair first thing as she entered the cafeteria, her heart skipping a beat and her trying to hide a grin that threatened to take over her face. It was nearly impossible to do, though. It always was. Eddie had been in front of her in the lunch line and, unlike usual, he didn’t do his casual lunchroom sweep to see where she was. He seemed intently focused on something and within a few moments, Y/N had located what, or better yet, who. Jason Carver stood a few people in front of Eddie, surrounded by his usual group of jocks, all of which was laughing unnecessarily loud, slapping Jason on the shoulder, and then glancing back to Y/N. She was still wearing the same smile that had formed from seeing Eddie, one that Jason returned rather quickly. Though she was confused on why their attention was directed to her and even more so when they delivered another round of slaps to Jason’s shoulders. Though nothing made her as confused as when Eddie looked back at her smiling face, his own morphing from disbelief to anger, and then storming away. The door would’ve slammed behind him had someone else not walked in, grabbing it right before it hit the frame, throwing looks back at Eddie, undoubtedly whispering some harsh words.

The call of her name was enough to bring her back into the present moment, worry gnawing at her heart and indecision at her brain: she couldn’t run after him without exposing everything, but her business was less important than his feelings. She didn’t get much time to think about it anymore before a hand was wrapped around her wrist and her body was being hauled forward. Jason was still grinning down at her as he settled her in line with him, ignoring the complaints of the hungry students behind them she had skipped.

“I did it.” He said with no further explanation. Y/N was a smart girl, whatever he was talking about should have clicked rather quickly, but she felt her mind blank of everything except Eddie. Her dumbstruck expression was enough for Jason to continue, “Well. Thanks to your help,” at this, his boys howled with laughter and passed each other knowing looks that once again sailed over her head, “I passed Mr. Hindleston’s exam.” At this, Y/N remembered exactly what he was talking about. He had been seeing her for a few days now to study for the test, seeming real worried that if he failed, his basketball career was in jeopardy. She thought that was an exaggeration, there was no way the coach would bench him, but she still felt pity— and maybe some excitement at the money he was offering— so she had cancelled on some dates with Eddie last week to really focus on this. She had told Eddie this, though, he knew who she was tutoring and he hadn’t been the slightest bit upset over it.

“Oh! That’s amazing, Jason! I knew you could do it, I’m so proud of you.” And she was, genuinely. He, despite acting like an ass most of the time in school, especially towards her boyfriend, had really been trying the few sessions they had together. And she knew firsthand how difficult Mr. Hindleston’s exams could be.

She hadn’t realized her eyes had wandered over the occupants of the cafeteria again until Jason slung an arm around her shoulder, jarring her back to him, “I could’ve never done it without you, N/N. How about you sit with us today? A little repayment for all you’ve done.” His friends behind him were leaning forward, all with expectant expressions and goofy grins.

They lost it in another round of laughs and high-fives when she responded with: “You’ve already paid me plenty.” He had paid her a bit extra money for all her time and cancelled plans, but that didn’t explain why his friends were acting like it was the greatest thing they’ve ever heard. Or why he was turning back to them with a mocking “Sh”, but it meant he had released her from his grip so she didn’t complain much.

“Oh, c’mon, I insist. Just for today?” He asked as he turned back to her, adding the charm on thick. She had started to shake her head, lips parting in a rejection. But before she could, he was shoving an empty lunch tray into her hands, “I’ll save you a seat.” The rest of the boys brushed past her, quickly making work of what they wanted on their trays while she just stood there, entirely lost. She was still concerned about Eddie, who still hadn’t made an appearance, and now she had to worry about Jason acting odd, his friends even odder.

“Hey, hurry up!” Someone behind her complained, slightly sticking the edge of their tray into her back so she moved forward. She was half aware of what she got from the food options, knowing she probably wouldn’t eat any of it.

She was right: she barely touched her food. Between Jason’s friends’ boisterous laughter, Jason himself trying to whisper things in her ear (which she soon picked up was more for the benefit of his friend’s humor than it was to talk to her) and her constantly searching for Eddie amongst the crowded room (which she had to lie about when Jason asked who she was looking for, saying just another student she tutors), she wasn’t in the mood to eat. She couldn’t run fast enough out of the cafeteria when the bell rang, signaling another class.

Despite being really good at the class, she hated it, the only good part about it was that she had it with Eddie. Who, for some reason, didn’t show up for that class, or their final one together, nor was Y/N able to find him in the halls in between. It was like he had entirely vanished. There was only one place Y/N hadn’t looked for him and she had to wait around in the library after the final class ended as students funneled out of the school and then she was able to slip inside the drama room, where Hellfire Club took place.

Right where she thought he’d be was Eddie, bent over a folder and furiously scribbling in it with a pencil. He didn’t even look up when she entered, but she knew he knew that she was there. No one could miss the heavy door swinging shut. The brief relief she felt when finding him was soon washed away.

“Eddie?” She addressed him just as she would anyone, not wanting her voice to carry out into the hallway if she called him something more personal. Though, when he still didn’t acknowledge her presence, she inched forward, eyebrows furrowing, “Babe?”

“I’m working.”

Now, Y/N was used to Eddie getting lost in planning campaigns and not paying attention to her or anyone— she knew it wasn’t personal. He simply got too caught up sometimes. But this was different. His voice held a hint of anger, like he was going to snap at any moment. Much like the pencil he held tightly in his hand, not moving an inch on the paper anymore, but still caught in the pressure of his grip.

She didn’t know what to do. He was obviously angry and had been since lunch, but she didn’t know what had set him off. She didn’t know how to handle his anger when it was directed at her— it had never been before. “What are you working on? Can I see?” She had thought that distracting him from the issue for a moment would help him take a breath, but instead, he closed the folder with a snap before she could peek over his shoulder, throwing the pencil haphazardly on the table, where it bounced and rolled off. She jumped back at the sudden movement of him standing up, shoving his seat back away from him.

He didn’t even look her way as he left the room. He didn’t offer her a small glance, or a smile, or even a whispered explanation. He just left and she stood there, watching as she felt her throat burning with the need to cry. Instead of allowing herself to break down over something she wasn’t certain of, she went to grab the pencil off the floor so no student would trip over it.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Over the next few days, holding back the tears was growing progressively harder. Silent treatment was an excruciating thing to experience when you desperately wanted to talk to someone, and Y/N’s mind was a never ending series of ‘what if’s’, none of them ending on a positive note.

The day after the lunchroom incident, she had tried to talk to him once again after giving him the entire night and day to cool off. But as she walked into the room of Hellfire Club, he had simply told her that it was club night and she needed to leave.

“What? Hellfire doesn’t start for another hour.” Silence was her answer, him suddenly acting very interested in setting up the game pieces and his folder, “Eddie, what’s going on? Talk to me, please. I can’t fix things if you won’t tell me what needs fixing.”

“The only thing that you need to fix is yourself. You are not in Hellfire, you don’t belong in this room. Go before someone shows up.” That was the first crack in the dam that held back her tears, though he didn’t look her way to notice how her eyes suddenly glistened.

“I’ve been in here plenty of times. You love showing me the set up. You love filling me in on the game.” If the crack in her voice wasn’t a give away to the fact she was about to cry, the fact that she was only seeing blurs was. Her throat was burning once more, her heart clawing at the inside of her chest as it raced against her brain, which was scrambling for an explanation to all of this. Last week he had been holding her in his arms beneath a starry sky, hidden in some abandoned parking lot so no one would spot them. Now he couldn’t even look at her.

She could barely make out the way Eddie tensed his shoulders, like he was preparing for an epic blow in the final campaign of the game. Like everything was about to be made or broken and he had to steel himself for whatever came next. “Things change, Y/N.”

The second crack ran deep, a single tear slipping from her eye before she could stop it. She wiped it away just as quickly. The silence hung between them for a few moments as she managed to take a few deep shuddering breaths to regain her composure, though when she did speak, her voice still cracked as it snuck past the painful lump lodged in her throat. “This isn’t funny, Eds. Come on. Tell me who this is, or this? What’s that mean?” She started firing off questions at him, grabbing random figurines and pointing to words in the folder that she definitely knew but was hoping for him to explain anyway. She had always loved listening to him talk, and he had always loved explaining DND to her.

“Leave, Y/N.” He didn’t wait for her to start objecting again before he was gently pushing at her shoulder, leading her back towards the door. He didn’t meet her eyes the entire time, keeping them directly ahead towards the wall. She heard the door opening behind her but didn’t realize that he had literally pushed her into the hallway until she saw the door start to close back.

She jumped forward, grabbing at the last straw that she could, one that would be cut in half if the door clicked back into place. “Wait! Am I, like, banished now or something?” She attempted the joke, twirling the invisible string around her finger, hoping to pull a smile from Eddie, anything to let her know it was all okay. She hoped he would open up the door, laugh and hold his arms out for her to run into like he did every time he successfully climbed through her bedroom window.

But the thing with hope is that failure always hits a lot harder afterward. The string of hope she had desperately clung to crumbled from her hand, falling to the floor beneath her as he finally met her gaze, saying a simple, “yes,” and then shut the door. She stared at it for a few moments, waiting for it to open back up for her. It never did. It wasn’t until she heard chatter coming down the hall did she finally turn and leave, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes never leaving her shoes. The last thing she wanted was to be stopped for a chat or a tutoring question. She had questions of her own that were waiting for answers.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Over the weekend, she had attempted to call him numerous times, losing count after she crossed over into the twenties. She knew it was annoying, but she had to talk to him. She needed to know what had happened between them, what had made him push her away.

He never answered.

The one time his uncle had answered, she could barely make out a muffled “tell her I’m not here” coming from Eddie. She had hung up before his uncle could deliver the lie.

She had even drove over to his place but to no avail. Either he truly wasn’t home this time or he wasn’t answering the door. But as she turned her car back onto the main road, she thought she saw a light flick on in his windows.

Despite her heart hanging heavy within her chest, she still carried on with tutoring, though her usual excitement and encouragement had taken a hit. It was worse when she’d stuff the money into her piggy bank, seeing what she had saved for a trip she felt now wouldn’t happen. She almost wished he would break up with her already so she at least had some form of an answer to her endless plague of questions. But he wouldn’t even talk to her long enough to say those simple words and save her the self-inflicted heartbreak she’s been egging on since this fight first started.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

On Tuesday, after being ignored for all of Monday and until the end of classes this day, she decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore. To hell with her tutoring, she thought as she marched right up to Eddie in the hall, halting his conversation with his favorite prodigy, Dustin. He seemed shocked as he looked at her but he quickly hide that expression behind indifference, raising an eyebrow at her as he waited for her to speak. This was the furthest she’s gotten with him in days so she took it in stride.

“I don’t know what’s happening, what I’ve done, but-“ Just as quick as she had his attention, she lost it. He looked past her for a brief moment, his jaw ticking in anger, but then slowly he met her stare once more. But she had saw it. She saw the jaw tick. She saw how his fingers curled into little fists at his side. She saw how the indifference wavered and let anger shine through. And when she turned to see what had caused it, she spotted Jason, leaning against her locker with his little friends in tow. They were all watching her with interest, Jason looking like he was about to head over and see what was happening.

“What-“ She started again as she turned back to Eddie, but her brain was suddenly grabbing at strings to tie together, fitting pieces of a puzzle into place. “Oh my god. You think I slept with Jason.” She couldn’t help but to laugh at first— it was preposterous. Her and Jason? Never. Not in a million years. Eddie jealous? As if anyone could ever catch her attention after him.

But her laughter cut off as she noticed Eddie not laughing, but instead watching her with the same blank stare he had been giving her for days. “Oh my god. You think I slept with Jason.” She repeated, the statement now holding a more hurtful meaning behind it. He wasn’t jealous. He fully believed she had slept with him. All those times she had told him she was tutoring Jason so they’d have to postpone their dates, he thought she was cheating. That hurt worse than the fight itself. Because the resounding meaning behind all of it was that he didn’t trust her. And he didn’t care enough to try to talk it out. He was okay with not speaking to her and keeping this image of her inside his mind, despite the months of her worshiping him and telling him how she loved him. He didn’t care to try to fix it. He didn’t know her enough to know she would never cheat, especially not with Jason.

She backed up a bit then, the realization hitting her like a blow. All those months of her trusting him with every secret, every thought, every feeling, was entirely one sided. Because she would never have accused him of something so ridiculous, not without listening to his side. Yet he had wasted no time in latching onto a rumor that painted her as some heinous whore. That was the third crack.

But the fourth was the final hit: “I don’t need your tutoring services anymore, Y/N. You’re free for other clients now.” It was the one that had her taking another step back, accidentally colliding with a random body. The hand on her waist didn’t register until Eddie scoffed, shooting her a look as if to say ‘was I wrong?’

It suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe, like everyone was staring at her. She wasn’t crying, and she couldn’t understand why. She felt like the rug had been pulled out from beneath her feet, she was free falling through the air and no one was catching her. No one was even trying except for herself, who was trying to cling to any semblance of normalcy and stability. But it was a fruitless fight. Jason was spreading a rumor that she had slept with him, apparently. Which made his behavior in the lunchroom make more sense. But it had gotten back to Eddie.

Eddie, her sweet Eddie. The boy who swung her over a puddle of water so she wouldn’t get her shoes wet, the Eddie who snuck into her bedroom with an expired can of soup when she felt sick, and then apologized for the next hour after she told him it was expired. The boy who didn’t care enough to figure out the truth behind the situation, who ignored her for days and then broke up with her in such a way that no one else could understand except her. But she did understand. That was the breakup she had been waiting for, yet she didn’t shed a tear. Her skin held goosebumps all over and she felt like she was two seconds away from losing the ability to hold herself up.

She barely processed it as she pushed away from Jason, who was trying to talk to her while throwing insults towards Eddie, and headed to the girls bathroom, or when her back hit the door, preventing anyone from following in after her. She didn’t process the fact that she still wasn’t alone, either, and that a redhead was squatting down in front of her, asking if she was okay. She felt her head shake, she knew she wasn’t okay, but when her mouth opened to say that, she just started laughing like she had been in the hallway. Her brain was disconnected from her body at the moment, maybe a coping mechanism to keep her from panicking in a school bathroom. But the slight logical side of her that was staying intact knew it was too late for that.

“Y/N, right? I’m Max. Are you okay? Do I need to get someone?”

And for a slight second, she thought of him. She thought of asking this girl to go fetch Eddie, her boyfriend, the one who could calm her down. But then his angry face filled her mind, his coded breakup, and the laughter stopped. And she cried.

She cried for her reputation being tainted by Jason.

She cried for all the money she had saved for a trip that she was now 100% positive wouldn’t happen.

She cried for the fact that she only got to learn a few chords on Eddie’s guitar and would learn no more.

She cried for the months of her legs being scratched up by her crawling through his bedroom window. And for the shirt she ruined in the same activity.

She cried for the man who didn’t trust her.

She even cried for the feeling of anger she now felt towards him.

But she cried more for the anger she felt towards herself, for crying in the first place.

Max sat with her the entire time, not saying anything more, which Y/N was thankful for. It took her a few minutes to stop crying, even more so to catch a normal breath without her chest shuttering, and yet Max stayed sitting right beside her— maybe because she couldn’t get out of the door, but Y/N hoped it was because she was genuinely concerned and cared. She even helped her stand up on legs that had fallen asleep, laughing as Y/N shook them awake, and then helped her walk out into the hallway, heading straight to the front doors. She couldn’t bring herself to look around at all the faces lingering in the hallway, or the not-so sneaky glances being thrown her way by Eddie Munson.

She turned her attention to Max, who’s hair seemed brighter in the sunlight than it had in the harsh fluorescent bathroom lighting. “Hey, do you want ice cream? I just so happen to have quite a savings and could really go for some right now.”

Pt 2 here

[jaxrando]

Looped

Summary: You are inadvertently trapped in a time loop without any memory of the last five years, including your relationship with Bucky. But Bucky would stay in the loop forever, explain everything again each day, if it meant getting to stay by your side.

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Word Count: ~15.2k

Warnings: memory loss, brief mention of sex (not smut, no description), angst, Bucky being self-depreciating

A/N: This was a labor to write but so so fun. Please let me know what you think!

You’re sweet and sharp, like the ripe flesh of summer fruit.

It’s the first thought Bucky ever has about you. It makes him want to know you.

You laugh loud and crack jokes that make Sam guffaw and Steve blush.

You are all honey warmth and gentle smiles, sarcasm and dripping truths. You whisper truths to him like a siren, like the call of the sea, late at night, early in the morning.

When you meet, he thinks he’d like to spend the rest of his days at your side.

It doesn’t matter in what capacity, though eventually he comes to hope for something more. Hopes maybe you could come to love him.

But friend, lab assistant, overly watchful co-worker will do too. If he can remain in your life, it's good enough for him. Bucky hopes for a more that he doesn’t deserve, and slowly, over years, more grows until it blooms love.

It’s how he discovers the give of your skin against his teeth is like the bruise of a peach, soft and tart.

It’s how he discovers your love, all of your love, is like golden light. Like a shining beacon to follow home.

It’s how he discovers he doesn’t quite mind being cared about, not if it's you, not if he’s allowed to tip it back to you, like a torch passed back and forth by children in the dark.

Your love goes down easy, like ice cream melting at the back of his throat on a hot day. It's uncomplicated, not like every other relationship he has to form and reform, shadowed by past deeds, Natasha and Steve, Sam and Tony.

He offers up his soul to you, and you pluck it out of the palm of his hand and examine it, before slipping it onto your finger like a ring.

Bucky is entirely yours.

He loves you more than he should, more than he should be allowed to.

He’s desperate and co-dependent and utterly in love.

And you don’t seem to mind at all.

Bucky starts wondering about your future, about your future together, about a house and some pets. About finding a real ring to give you and not just the imagined, misshapen rock of his soul.

Of course, when things go too well, the harder the descent is into hell, the harder the fall from grace.

Normally, usually, when the team goes on a mission, you stay back at base, at the Compound where you are safe and secure and protected. You are not an Avenger, you are Avenger adjacent. An intel analyst.

Still. You are close enough to bleed and hurt, still close enough to fall into Bucky’s toxic orbit, close enough for his being to swallow yours entirely.

But Natasha was unavailable, out on another assignment, and the threat level for this mission was supposed to be relatively low.

So, you had offered yourself up. Shiny and new, like the brass of a new minted penny. Like you weren’t all the fortunes in the world shuffled into the deck of one person.

Like you weren’t Bucky’s whole world. Like the planet of his being, the core of him, wouldn’t fall out of the sky if the universe of you suddenly dropped out of existence.

“I’m trained,” had been your only refrain, a gentle reminder to him that you were not as breakable and fragile as Bucky sometimes liked to believe. He knows that you’re not, that you are anything but breakable and fragile.

But the world so liked to rip and tear and take.

It liked most of all to rip and tear and take from him.

Bucky has never been a keeper of good things. They’re always taken from him, right when his damnably loyal heart finished stitching itself inside a new home, right when he thought this time it will be different. The world smiled and rubbed its hands together. Jackpot. There was no greater prize, no greater tragedy, than one soaked in love and loyalty and crushable hearts.

You had touched his cheek with fingers so soft he’d wanted to take a bite of you. “I’m trained,” you had repeated. “And most integrated with the team already. It will be fine.”

Steve had nodded, making the change on the tablet in front of him. “Y/N is right. You shouldn’t encounter any hostiles. Intel gathering only.”

Bucky had shot Steve a look, but said nothing.

It was like no one realized. That if something, anything, happened to you, he would shatter into a million pieces, that he would follow you into the ether, that his heart couldn’t be torn apart again. He simply wouldn’t survive it. It had been stitched together too many times.

This was his last heart and unfortunately for him, he had already given it to you.

But the mission goes fine. It’s so, so fine.

Until it isn’t.

He’s shuffling through a stack of papers in an abandoned lab when you open a drawer on the other side of the room. Just a drawer, nothing to indicate what might be inside. You’re clearing the lab together, because his stipulation to not having a meltdown about your inclusion in the mission was that you should not be separated.

Before boarding the jet he’d been staring at you silently, brooding and moody and a little mad. You had had a fond look in your eyes when you smoothed your thumb against the worried crease between his brows. “It’s going to be fine, Bucky.” He had nodded through the bad feeling clawing at the back of his throat and you had smiled.

A nasty blue vapor blows into your face. You splutter and wipe a hand across your nose and eyes, shaking your head to clear it away.

Bucky says your name, leaps across the room.

But how can he fight smoke? This is not the kind of danger he expected.

His hand on your arm, ready to catch you if you suddenly fall.

But you only sneeze, an adorable little squeak. “What was that?” You ask, rubbing your nose.

He grips your chin in his hand and turns your head to peer into your eyes but they’re clear and open as they always are.

“Dunno,” he allows for a little relief to seep between his bones, shoulders loosening as he releases your chin. You seem completely fine. You seem to shake it off. “We need to find out though. We have enough intel. Let’s go.” He presses the hard drive you had secured earlier into your hands.

His voice is gruffer than usual, demanding. Bucky presses a hand to your hip and gives you a gentle but firm shove toward the door. “Now.”

But you just smile, turn and touch the inside of his wrist where a sliver of skin peaks out between glove and sleeve. “I’m fine. It was probably nothing. Maybe just a lot of dust.”

Dust, Bucky thinks, is not a poisonous, neon blue. But he lies to himself because it’s easier, he lies to you because he can see just a hint of worry shining in your eyes. “Probably, doll.” He snags a box of files from the desk as you trundle out the door and into the hall. He swabs the inside of the drawer, where a mist of blue rings the edge, and drops it into one of the discarded sample collection tubes.

He finds you in the hall and guides you out of the dank underground lab, and when you get back to the compound and report what happened, you’re whisked away from him, swept to the medical wing and quarantined, blood drawn and tested.

The files and hard drive and collection sample are handed over to the rest of the intel team, to Stark and Banner.

Your blood tests come back normal. You joke with the medical staff and laugh like you always do, like a honey bee buzzing in his ear on a hot summer day, as he paces around the room. You seem totally and completely fine.

The only thing they can do, it seems, is wait. Wait and see if something happens.

Testing the blue vapor will take a little more time, he’s told.

So, you’re prescribed a night in bed, with Bucky as a jailer to monitor you. No one, it's reasoned, would look after you better, would notice something sooner, should something happen.

Bucky tucks you close in your shared bed, after, of course, a shower and dinner. He makes tea and hands you a bucket sized bowl of popcorn. He turns on your favorite movie and tries not to think about the thread of fear that had settled in your eyes in the med wing.

He doesn’t like seeing you frightened, even a little bit. He doesn’t like not knowing how to comfort you, how to protect you. Bucky does not like feeling like his world is fragile, like everything might fall apart at the seams.

Maybe he’s being a tad dramatic.

But strange things follow him, follow all of the Avengers team, and his world has fallen apart enough times that he’s come to expect it.

You are by far Bucky’s best reality, the best iteration of his life.

You had smiled at Steve and Helen and Stark, but it had not reached your eyes. You were worried and trying not to show it. For his sake or theirs or your own, he’s not sure.

But when you looked at him the fear melted away, eased out of the tension in your face. Like looking at Bucky, knowing he was close was enough to bring you comfort, security.

So, he holds you tight as the credits roll, you’re breathing even and slow, already lost to the world of sleep. Bucky presses his nose to your neck and inhales slowly, lets the unfiltered, raw scent of your skin anchor him to the world, feels your heartbeat through his lips, counts the beats of your pulse.

Even in sleep you clutch him close, your fingers pressed against the knot of his spine, your leg tossed over his hip, nose dipped to the hollow of his collarbone.

He isn’t supposed to fall asleep, and he doesn’t mean to, honest, but he does. Bucky is warm and safe and so cocooned with love that he falls asleep in the glow of the TV screen and you.

You’re okay. The mission went fine, neither of you even had to draw a weapon. And now, you’re home and safe, and he’s home and safe.

It feels like any other night.

The blue vapor was nothing.

Something like vapor…

was harmless.

~

The next morning, it happens.

Fears he didn’t know he should harbor, realized.

The first time it happens, you’re both confused.

The first time the loop resets, Y/N stumbles out of bed, your movements jerky and uncoordinated.

Bucky’s first thought is nightmare. You’ve had a nightmare. About the mission, about whatever you had inhaled, about him.

His next thought is stupid. Bucky should not have allowed himself to fall asleep. He should have stayed vigilant for this very reason.

Nightmare.

The barely suppressed fear as you smiled after the blood tests came back normal, flash through his mind. You had been afraid, whether you admitted it or not.

Your hip smacks against the bedside table in a loud thump as you stumble, only stopping when you come face to face with the bedroom door.

The sheets are warm from the heat of you, soft with your detergent, fragrant with the smell of the vanilla and peach of your body wash, your lotion, like a well-loved little cake on a warm spring day, ingrained into the fabric. The scent of butter from the popcorn bowl left on the table overnight.

He sits up, mind groggy with a hard sleep, dreamless and deep. “Hey, y’okay? ‘S just a dream-,”

You whirl when you hear the shuffle and shush of the sheets, back pressed against the door.

The room is a faint blue from the TV, but slowly lightening as the sun peaks over the horizon outside, flooding the room with the first threads of pale golden light. You’re never up so early and Bucky’s usually up earlier.

But you’re already talking, nervously chattering, not listening to him. “-s’ sorry, dunno how I ended up in here.” A nervous chuckle, weak with confusion. “I don’t remember…don’t remember coming in here. I’ll head back to my room-,”

You start to turn but freeze, your hands fisted in the hem of your shirt, his shirt, that you’d stolen years ago. It’s your favorite of his.

“What the fuck?” you whisper under your breath, eyes flicking between him and the shirt, brows furrowed like you don’t recognize the material between your fingers.

“Your room?” Bucky asks, sliding his legs from the warmth of the duvet, bare feet hitting the floor. “Why would you go to your room?” You haven’t slept in your room in…years. It couldn’t properly be considered your room anymore. None of your things were there. Your room, this is your room. His and yours together.

You don’t answer, your hands traveling surreptitiously up your body, tugging something from the collar of your shirt.

His dog tags, which you hadn’t taken off since he looped them around your neck after a disastrous date that you still kissed him at the end of. Your smile had been blinding. So happy he couldn’t look at you. You had pressed a hand beneath his chin and tipped his head up, to kiss him, to bring your forehead to his and promise Bucky, I’ll never take them off.

A picnic. He had taken you on a picnic.

It had been summer and warm and your skin had been soft against his and he had believed you.

He trusts you like no one else.

You stare at them now as though you can’t make sense of the gleaming metal. You yank them over your head suddenly, the chain dangling between your fingers. You look as startled as he feels.

Something akin to panic is starting to rake over your features.

The hardwood is cold against his toes, a chill that slowly bleeds up, seeps between his ribs to fist over his heart.

Your fingers drift down again and touch the top of one of your bare thighs.

“Did we sleep together?”

You sound shocked, maybe angry. But it doesn’t seem to be directed at him. Like you’re mad at yourself.

Bucky starts to say your name but you continue, closing your fist over his name. “I can’t remember anything. Did I go out? I don’t normally drink that much I-,”

Can’t remember anything.

The words refuse to register in his mind.

Something is wrong.

“Y/N,” he interrupts. “No. Sweetheart, I think you had a-a dream or somethin’. Come back ta bed.”

But his words don’t seem to soothe you. Your back hits the door again and you look sick, confused.

“Bucky, I think,” you start slowly, setting his dog tags down on the dresser to your left, your hand shaking just a little bit. “I think you’re confused.”

“What?”

“Look, it's okay. I’m not mad. You-,”

“Catch me up here, Y/N. What are you saying? Just come back to bed, we can sort it out after we’ve gotten some more sleep.” He’s desperate suddenly, to have you back in bed. If he can just get you back in bed, curl around you, burrow himself into the fleshy realness of you, things will make sense again.

Because something is not making sense.

But his words just cause you to reach a hand behind you for the doorknob. “Look ‘m just gonna go grab Steve and we can sort this out now.” Before he can respond, you’ve wrenched the door open and darted through the apartment and out into the halls of the compound.

It takes him a minute to gather his bearings, to slip on a shirt and sweatpants, before following you.

He hears you before he sees you.

“-think he’s relapsed or something. He seems to think we’re together. I know he has memory issues but-,” You stop abruptly, he can hear you shifting from foot to foot nervously.

There’s a long pause before Steve says, incredulous, “Seems to think you’re together? What are you talking about?”

“I mean I’m wearing his shirt, Steve. He put his dog tags on me for god’s sake.” Bucky can’t breathe as he rounds the corner into the hallway of Steve’s room. He thinks he might throw up when he hears you continue, “Like he’s claimed me. I don’t blame him, I know he’s been through a lot but-,”

“If you’re fucking around this is a really cruel joke, Y/N,” Steve says, stern, almost pissed off.

“Joke?” You ask, your voice shrill and tipped with panic. “Why would I joke about this?”

Steve glances back at Bucky when he emerges into the hall and you whirl.

“Y/N,” Steve touches your shoulder gently and you relax just slightly, like you have an ally at your back. Bucky clenches his jaw, head still spinning.

Because you don’t seem to recognize him. At least not this him.

The him that’s wholly yours. The Bucky that shared a bed with you, that used your peach body wash, that loves you and is loved by you in spades, in return, beyond all reasonable comprehension.

Steve’s frowning at the two of you, at the way you hold yourself hard and straight, uncomfortable and tugging down Bucky’s shirt to hide yourself, to preserve some kind of modesty, like Bucky hasn’t already seen all of you. Steve is starting to realize something is wrong. His spine softens just slightly, tender suddenly, careful instead of indignant.

You weren't being cruel. You’re confused and upset.

And Bucky is realizing with a slow creeping dread that being forgotten is far worse than being remembered.

His guts knot in his belly, sick threatening to crawl up his throat with a sudden surety of realization.

You don’t fucking remember him.

“Y/N,” Steve continues, cupping your elbow with one hand. “You and Bucky have been together for years.”

Betrayal flashes through your eyes. “Are you guys fucking with me? This isn’t fucking funny you know.” But the pitch of your voice tells Bucky that you don’t think it’s a joke.

You jerk away from Steve, fear that he’s never seen in you twisting your features.

He realizes he's never seen you truly afraid.

“We aren’t-,”

“Where’s Natasha?” You ask, pressing your back to the wall opposite Steve’s door, like you can’t trust either of them and desperately need an ally.

Your chest is falling and sinking rapidly.

You saw horrors everyday combing through terabytes of intel, but this frightened you.

Because to you, one of your most trusted friends has suddenly turned on you, is lying to you, gaslighting you, has seemingly given you up to his psychotic best friend.

But Steve seems to realize somehow, waving Bucky back as he takes a few steps back himself. “She’s still out on assignment.”

Your eyes are dilated with a fear that makes Bucky’s stomach curdle. To have a fear like that from you turned on him, is too much.

You’ve never looked at him like that, like he’s a feral dog about to bite.

“That’s not true,” you reply, voice a shake, like the last leaf from a tree. “We had drinks in the kitchen. I was telling her about-,” you stop yourself, eyes cutting to Bucky for a moment. “I saw her today before I went to bed,” you swallow. “In my room,” you add, with an accusatory look between the two of them. Like they planned this. Like Bucky’s the enemy.

Bucky shakes his head and replies, stepping closer to you, “No. She’s been on a mission for weeks. It's why you were on the mission with me yesterday.”

You look back at Steve, disbelieving. “He’s not lying. Nat hasn’t been here for weeks.”

You look like you want to scream. Or fall to the floor. “Bucky isn’t cleared for missions, Steve. He just got here from Wakanda. You expect me to believe we went on a mission together yesterday?”

Wakanda? He hasn’t been to Wakanda in years.

Steve is watching you, you watch back. Waiting.

“What’s today’s date?”

Bucky glances at Steve as your brow furrows. “The vapor,” he realizes with sudden clarity. The vapor had done something to you. “Fuck.”

“What are you-,”

“Just humor us, Y/N.” When you only look at him with skepticism Steve rolls his eyes. “C’mon. Everything we’ve been through together over the years? You’ve been asked stranger questions.”

You swallow and glance between them, seeming to realize you aren’t in danger, that you never were.

Slowly you nod and then whisper a date years in the past.

Bucky’s mind whirls, trying to remember what-

It was before, of course. Because here is the universe taking its just reward, ripping the stitches out of his heart. He closes his eyes as the room seems to tilt and roll, and tries not to let the sudden yawning hopelessness pull him under.

It was before you started dating, before you were even friends.

The date you name, is maybe a few weeks after he first arrived in upstate New York.

Your reaction in the bedroom suddenly made sense. To you, you had just woken up with a complete and utter stranger. A mentally unstable, sometimes inadvertently violent, one at that.

Did we sleep together? The anger in your voice for yourself, the possibility you’d taken advantage of him when he was mentally unstable. Like you’d ruined something.

You don’t remember him. But it’s worse. You don’t even know him.

“C’mon,” Steve beckons you with a jerk of his head. “Let’s get you to medical. Stark and Banner should have a look at you.” And you follow easily, stepping into Steve’s orbit.

Because of course you would. You were friends with Steve long before Bucky had showed up, long before Steve had even known he was still alive.

You don’t glance back at him once, though he follows closely.

Forgotten.

Was this what it felt like to be the one who remembered?

He tries smiling at you in the lab, once your blood has been siphoned away again.

Steve explains the year to you, the mission and that you were compromised, that you seem to have lost your memory. Or that you've been set back in the past. You accept it, when Stark and Banner confirm, Helen Cho too when she steps into the lab, iced coffee in hand. Bucky listens on, quiet and watchful of you. Steve explains the vapor in more detail, what had happened to you in the lab.

“And you were in Bucky’s room because you and Buck have been together for a couple years now.”

The look on your face is worse than shock, it's like ice water in his veins.

Not revulsion, no, you had never been cruel, had never turned your nose up at anyone. It’s disbelief, like you can’t imagine it. Not even a little.

And while he had known, he really had, that you hadn’t felt an immediate attraction to him all those years ago. You look as though you can’t even perceive the possibility.

You send him a crooked smile, apology on your lips. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

And how many times has he said that over the years?

The universe certainly did have a way with creating personal hells just for him.

“‘S okay, honey. We’ll get this sorted out.”

He doesn’t really believe it.

But you smile at him.

Like you always do.

~

You follow Bucky down the hallway back to your room.

It’s late now, nearing midnight.

A whole day spent in medical, in the lab. Now, he’s escorting you back to the apartment, so you can grab some of your things.

Clearly, you would be going back to your old room. You would sleep there.

Because Bucky is suddenly a strange man to you.

He doesn’t say anything to you, not wanting to frighten you further, even if it had been inadvertent. Not wanting to force you to interact with someone you barely know.

You surprise him though, like you always manage to do, by jogging to catch up with him. He slows his pace, so that you can walk together.

The scent of you washes over him, antiseptic from being in the lab all day, from being jabbed and having your blood drawn so many times. But underneath that, you still smell like you. Like peach body wash, the coppery tang of your blood, the fresh scent of unperfumed skin.

They’d drawn your blood so many times, you had started to become woozy. You hadn’t eaten anything since the popcorn the night before and they had taken so many vials from you.

You had been surprised at his outburst, when he snarled at lab assistant that you needed to eat couldn’t these fucking people see that?

You’d nodded at him, a tiny smile tugging at your lips, almost proud in your thanks.

“So me and you, huh?” You say now. He nods and tries not to mourn, tries not to let the pressure at the back of his eyes seize him.

He can’t look at you.

Already you feel lost to him.

They aren’t sure if your memories are gone or only hidden, if they could be retrieved or if the effects of the vapor could be reversed.

Hopefully analyzing the sample would yield something, reveal something helpful.

Something itches at the inside of his skin. The urge to bruise his knuckles against someone’s teeth, to bleed. So he can feel something else. A different kind of pain..

What would happen if your memory never returned? Would you fall in love with him again? Should you? Should he let you?

Steve slated the intel you collected yesterday as highest priority, maybe the information gathered would tell them something about what the defunct lab had been experimenting on, what it was that you had inhaled. If there’s hope, if there’s a way to reverse it, if it would go away on its own.

“Bucky?” You ask.

You.

You’re still here.

And hadn’t he been willing all those years ago to settle for any place in your life?

You were still here.

“Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart, I’m distracted.”

“Can’t imagine how hard this is for you if I…if we’re…”

You don’t seem to know what to call it. “Together?”

“Yeah. Together. I mean, last I know you just got here. You just got here from Wakanda and-,” you pause and seem embarrassed. “I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.”

He shrugs.

Like it hadn’t hurt to see you rip off his dog tags like they burned you. Like the fear in your eyes hadn’t sliced through his ribs right into the meat of his heart.

But what else should you have been expected to think?

“It’s not your fault,” he says, gentle as he always is with you.

Bucky tells himself it doesn’t matter if you remember, he does.

He remembers all of you. He’ll show you himself again. You would know him again.

“Still,” you say.

He jumps when you press two fingers to the inside of his wrist.

It’s a comforting gesture between you and apparently one that had not been taken with your memory.

“Still,” your fingers curl against his skin, warm. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it was jarring.” You swallow. Bucky doesn’t dare look at you.

You fill every corner of his being. He’s constantly only aware of you, the slide of your skin against his, the scent of your hair when the smell of your shampoo fades, the scar along the curve of your elbow from a childhood injury.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, “you seem so much better than I remember you.” You duck your head embarrassed again. “Healthier. Not so weighed down. Like you sleep.”

He hadn’t realized you’d been watching him all day too.

“All thanks to you.”

“Seriously?” You lift a disbelieving eyebrow.

“And rigorous state mandated therapy and mental de-programming.” He says drolly.

You laugh and Bucky lets a smile curl the corner of his mouth. He glances at you and finds you already watching him.

“Oh you’re funny huh?”

“Not usually.”

You hum, “don’t think I would fall for someone without a sense of humor.”

“Yeah I’m sure it’s my sunshine personality that won you over,” he deadpans.

You laugh again, loud.

Bucky opens the front door, lets you pass before him. He watches your eyes rove over a space that should be familiar to you.

“Can I-?” You point to a kitchen cabinet, indicating you want to snoop around.

He almost laughs again.

“‘S all yours anyways, honey. You need somethin’ specific let me know and I’ll find it for you.”

“You’re very chill about all this.” You say shuffling through the mugs in the cabinet. Examining a hand painted one he had brought you back from Budapest back when you were still just friends.

Your eyes are wide as you turn it in your hands. He thinks he hears you murmur pretty under your breath before reshelving it.

He’s glad you still think so.

“I’d do just about anything for you. Including whatever this is. We’ll figure it out.” He’s not so sure, but he can’t say that. For him and for you.

“Oh,” you say, turning and pressing another mug to your chest. “This not casual then?” You joke, but something is fractured in your eyes and he remembers the disbelief on your face in the lab. Like you can’t imagine loving him. “This thing between us is pretty serious, huh?”

The mug has a peach on it. You bought it in a tourist trap shop in Georgia when a layover had stranded you in Savannah overnight.

His throat is tight. “I’d say so. You’re, uh, takin’ this in stride yourself.”

You shrug and look a bit sheepish, setting the cup back down on its shelf carefully before pulling open the fridge and glancing inside. “Well, to me…it's like nothing has changed. I don’t remember anything so there’s nothing to lose.”

Your head is still stuck in the fridge so you don’t see the way his breath hitches with pain, with loss. You don’t see the devastation rip across his face. Don’t mourn, he tells himself harshly. Y/N is still here.

But he means nothing to you. Like a total restart, a do over.

Was this the universe giving you a chance to make a different decision?

How many times had Bucky begged for a redo in his own life? Another chance to do things differently?

Only for you to be given one, in the worst way possible.

You turn, shutting the fridge and Bucky schools his face into a neutral expression. “I can look around? Maybe something here will jog my memories?” You point to the door that leads to the bedroom.

He thinks it’s a little more complicated than needing to jog memories but doesn’t say so.

“Like I said, it’s all yours.”

You start toward the bedroom but stop when he doesn’t follow.

“C’mon? Might need your help or something.”

Bucky follows, stepping into the bedroom, where the sheets are still rumpled and the TV still glows an iridescent blue.

You deftly click it off before flicking on the lamp. “Which side of the bed is mine?”

“Closest to the wall.”

“Ah, makes sense. Farthest from the door.” You smile at him and when you turn to your bedside table, Bucky slides his dog tags off the dresser beside the door and stuffs them into the pocket of his sweatpants. He doesn’t want to look at them, doesn’t want to think about the horror that had passed over your face when you realized what they were.

You didn’t know, he tells himself. The you that knows who he is, would never have had that reaction.

It still hurts, burns and sears. His chest is full of holes.

You rummage through the nightstand.

A bottle of painkillers, your glasses, a book, the long coil of your phone charger, a couple of foil wrapped condoms. Your fingers pause over the condoms before you slide them back into the drawer and pluck out the book instead.

You sit at the edge of the bed and flick through the pages quickly. The book is creased, sticky tabs lining the pages, notes in the margins. “I started reading again.” Your fingers pause, surprise coating your voice, “And annotating. I haven’t done that since high school.” Twisting to look over your shoulder at him, you hold up the book. “You must be a good influence on me, Barnes.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Dunno about that.” He sits at the edge of his side of the bed, watching you flip the book in your hands. “You - that was-,” he pauses, not sure why it's so hard to say. Maybe explaining your relationship to a person who can’t remember you is just painful. He licks his lips, finds his throat dry, and for the first time in years, he finds himself on the verge of a panic attack.

But he pushes on, pushes the hot, tight feeling in his chest down. After you left he would have to go to the gym, break his knuckles against a sandbag. He feels itchy, misplaced and unmoored, adrift. “- it was something that brought us together. When we were friends, becoming friends. We started reading together.”

He can’t decipher the look that crosses your face. Surprise, joy, despair in a quick succession. He blinks and it’s gone. Something like disbelief again. He doesn’t know what it means.

“Do we still read together?”

Instead of answering, he turns to his own nightstand and pulls out another book. This one too is beaten up, tabbed and written in, his script and yours tangling together.

His fingers brush against yours when he hands the book over. He fidgets, swallowing against the panic in his throat.

While you stare at the book, flicking gently through it with a reverence he doesn’t dare read into, he stands and shuffles through the closet to find your overnight bag.

“Bucky?” You call, his name on your lips like a balm. His shoulders droop, tension that had been puncturing wicked holes in his chest melting away.

“Yeah, doll?” He sits the bag on the bed.

“D’we read together a lot?”

“Almost every night.”

You nod and set the book aside before making your way to the bathroom.

Bucky has no way of deciphering what just happened, what it means to you, as the you from five years ago.

He hears the shower door open, hears you shuffling bottles around. He plucks some of your favorite pajamas (that aren’t just his shirts) and stuffs them into your bag, before trekking after you.

You’re holding two of the body washes, eyes flicking back and forth between them. He leans against the doorway and watches you, the tilt of your head, the curve of your mouth.

“I feel like I shouldn’t leave you,” you say suddenly, looking up from the bottles, holding them to your chest like it’s his heart. “I-I, y’know, don’t know you, but I think - my body does? I feel like I shouldn’t leave you.” You purse your lips, jaw tight, “I feel anxious.” You shake the bottles at him, “I also feel bad for taking your things.”

“‘S your stuff, Y/N,” he says automatically, deciding that’s the easiest part of your statement to focus on.

You don’t want to leave him.

Bucky shouldn’t find happiness in that, not now.

You peer at him from beneath your lashes before shuffling closer, seeming to sense he won’t tell you to stay, not after that morning and the fear in your eyes. “I changed my preferences I guess. Never used to buy fruit scented stuff.”

Bucky blinks and looks down at the plastic bottles in your hands. Peach and plum. He only ever remembers you having used - but that’s not true. When he first met you - when you started waiting for him in the mornings, making him take walks with you, when you started reading together on the couch, his thigh pressed to yours, you had smelled like tea, like cinnamon and vanilla.

“Musta changed -,”

You’ve drifted closer to him, you’re so close, he could dip his head forward and touch his forehead to yours.

It's painful.

That feeling comes back, and he recognizes it this time, the feeling he used to get all the time, like he needed to bleed, like he was losing something that he wouldn’t ever be able to replace.

You touch his wrist.

“Bucky?”

“You changed for me. I never wanted to change you.”

And god, he’s always associated you with fruit. You were peach trees and sunshine and eternal summer.

“‘s just body wash.”

But it's not. It never is.

You’re too close. Far too close.

You’re familiar to him but he’s not familiar to you. Bucky wants to kiss you but instead he looks away. “Maybe it's just body wash but, you liked something else before-,”

Maybe I’ve taken something from you, he wants to say. Maybe I’ve taken more than just this.

“Y’know, maybe I don’t have my memories of the last couple of years. But I do know myself. I’ve never done a thing I didn’t want to. Besides, if someone doesn’t change over a five year period, something is probably wrong.”

He ducks his head, “Guess that’s true, doll, I just -,” Bucky meets your eyes, wide and clear, waiting, “this is just really hard for me.”

“Think you’re doing okay.”

“Yeah?” He laughs without humor, “Not how it feels. It’s hard not to be -,”

“Familiar?” You supply.

“Yeah,” his shoulders drop.

“Then be familiar,” you smile. “I’m familiar to you. It’s okay.”

You're so close, he can see flecks of light in your eyes. “I have this weight in my chest telling me not to leave, telling me to be honest with you.” You say, “It's telling me to be familiar too.”

He closes his eyes. You’re doing it again. It’s like falling in love all over again. It’s like the first time he admitted himself, his feelings, to you all over again. The truths, honesties you whispered like a siren. Your call is as potent to him as any drug.

You’re heat in his cheeks, wind in his hair, honey bees in spring.

“I should trust my gut, right? Natasha would have castrated anyone that mistreated me, right?”

“Right,” he says tightly.

“Do you want me to go?” You start to take a step back, “Am I making it worse?”

Bucky reacts on instinct, hand flashing out to grab yours and keep you from pulling away.

He hasn’t touched you all day, your skin is warm and soft as it ever is under his. Like the give of satin beneath his touch. “No. No, you aren’t making it worse.”

Worse, worse is when you aren’t around.

And because you seem to be encouraging it, he tugs you closer and lets his forehead fall against yours.

You touch his cheek, sliding your thumb along the arch of the bone, the pink that rises to the surface of his skin. You exhale softly, shakily, your breath cool against his skin. He wonders what it's like for you, to have feelings in your gut that your brain can’t make sense of, doesn’t have memories to connect to.

Probably a lot like when Steve talks about their childhood to him.

“I want to tell you,” You say suddenly, pulling back a little to meet his eyes, “that you’re so different from the you I know. You’re…seems kinda silly to say maybe but, I’m proud of you. For me, y’know, a huge step was that yesterday you let me drag you out on a walk around the compound with me for fifteen minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything, can’t find his voice.

“How did we get together?”

That’s easy.

“We became friends,” Bucky says, tucking one of your hands inside his. “We were friends for a long time.”

“Did I ask you or did you ask me?”

“I asked you. Took you to Coney Island, bought you ice cream and won you a stuffed bear.”

“That’s so cute,” you giggle.

He’s glad you think so. “It was until I kissed you.”

You stop laughing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, indignant and offended for another version of yourself. “Am I a bad kisser?”

Bucky snorts, “No, nothing like that. Just, I guess I didn’t make it quite as clear as I thought that we were on a date.”

“Oh.”

“Mm.”

“So I was surprised? Good or bad surprised?”

“Good I would wager since you let me keep kissing you after you punched me.”

You gasp, “I didn’t.”

“You did,” He tries to hold in a laugh, “On my left arm so you nearly broke your knuckles. And we had to find someone to give you ice while I explained myself.”

What he doesn’t tell you is that there were fireworks that night. That you lied together on the beach that night in the still cooling sand and kissed him until the world went gray and foggy and peaceful.

You’re smiling at him, “Bucky can I stay here with you tonight? I have questions.”

His chest seems to cave in with the pain that ripples outward, like a stone into a pond. “‘Course. Like I said, it's all yours anyways.”

“What is?”

“Everything.”

~

The second time the loop resets, it's better for you.

It's worse for Bucky, because he finds out its a fucking loop.

He stays up all night with you, talking, sharing his best memories from the last five years with you.

You’re enamored with him. Bucky thinks you tell him things that he would have never known otherwise.

“I always had this fantasy as a nerdy little girl. Of, like, reading with someone, someone I really loved. Sounds so stupid, right? But, it’s true. I had this image of listening to someone read, or reading to someone.” You look over to the pile of books you had pulled off the shelves in the living room, all tabbed and worn and scribbled with your writing and his. “Guess I got it.”

Maybe he had made you change your body wash scents but he’d also made a wish he didn’t know you had come true.

Bucky hadn’t known, you’d never told him.

You only fall asleep on the couch once the sun starts to peak over the horizon.

Bucky tucks a favorite blanket of yours around your shoulders, kisses your temple, and even though things with you are going well, he still feels out of control, like his life is flashes he can’t control.

So, even though he’s exhausted and hasn’t slept, he changes into gym clothes, stops by the lab for a progress update (nothing on the sample yet), and heads to the gym.

The first solid punch he lands against a punching bag is so satisfying he almost groans. His mind empties, the only thing he needs to focus on is the swaying bag in front of him.

Bucky doesn’t have to think about you. About you fascinated by him, trying to relearn him, even though you know everything about him already. He doesn’t have to think about you inching closer to him on the couch.

He doesn’t have to think about how he misses you so bad, the you that knows him, and it’s only been a day.

It all becomes worse, though, when Steve rushes into the gym. “Y/N reset.”

“What? What the fuck does that mean?”

“I mean…Y/N came into the lab and had no idea what was going on.” He explains that he had asked you the date again, and that you had answered with the same date you gave yesterday. When questioned, you did not remember the previous day at all. “No memory of anything that happened yesterday.”

And that’s how they discover that you weren’t just reset five years into the past, you’re on some kind of self setting loop.

“So, Y/N is stuck? Will it reset every day-? I-,”

“We don’t know. I guess we have to wait until tomorrow and see if it happens again. I explained everything again. Probably best if you come to the lab, explain yourself.”

Bucky nods, looks down at his bloody knuckles, his hand is swollen from the abuse and shakes.

Again.

He would have to explain to you again.

And what if you looked at him the way you did yesterday?

Not revulsion, but disbelief.

He imagines the disbelief as disappointment.

It can’t possibly be anything else.

“Want me to wrap your hand before we go up?” Steve asks, nodding to the blood running rivulets down his arm, concern crossing his face before he peers into Bucky’s eyes. “Did you sleep?”

“Y/N had questions, I-,” He swallows. “I can wrap it. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

~

They don’t make you stay in medical all day.

Stark and Banner have samples of your blood and samples of the vapor. Steve considers going back to the abandoned lab, to poke around again.

But no one wants anyone else set five years back into a seemingly unending time loop.

You don’t seem to despair about your situation.

“Stranger things have happened,” you say, smiling like you always do. You wrinkle your nose at Steve, “Could make friends with an ice man from the ‘40s after all.”

Bucky is exhausted but he still hoards you like a dragon with treasured gold, insists on explaining to you again.

You look surprised this time, when you're told of the relationship you have with him. He thinks maybe this time, you have a curious tilt to your head.

But it's there again, that disbelief.

He almost wants you to say it. Whisper, “How did that fucking happen? Where did I go wrong?”

In the apartment, you look through the same cabinets you did yesterday. You touch the hand painted mug from Budapest, the Georgia peach mug. You smile at the all pink cookware.

This time, maybe because it's so early in the day, you run your fingers along the bookshelf checking the titles, examine the stack you don’t remember leaving on the coffee table the night before, you unfold the blankets from their basket at the end of the couch and examine them, you flick through Bucky’s record collection next to the player.

Today, you find your phone tangled in the sheets of the bed.

You flick through the pictures, smiling at some of them.

“Wow,” you say. “We’re really in love, huh?”

You pause over a picture, your breath hitching in your lungs. Bucky can’t see the screen, so he doesn’t know what makes you click the phone dark and set it aside.

You discover again that you read together almost every night.

Bucky makes sure to tell you more this time, now that he knows it's so important to you. How did he not know before? “Usually you read out loud,” he says. “You curl up real tight next to me, with your head on my shoulder, sometimes you sit between my legs, and you read.”

“And the tabs?”

“If I have a comment you make me take a note,” he says, watching your eyes as he pulls out the stack of post-it notes, sticky tabs, and colored pens. “You always make me do it in my own handwriting so we know who thought what.”

And this time, the look that crosses your face is like he hung the moon and stars. You look away from him, nodding to yourself, just a little bit shy.

“You’re a dreamboat, huh?” You tease.

“Oh, yeah, sweetheart, a real ray of sunshine.”

“You seem like it,” you rag on him. “‘S a little weird to wake up with-,” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

“What?” He flops back on the bed horizontally, closing his eyes.

You’re on the other side of the bed looking through your nightstand again.

God he’s tired. It’s been a long time since he’s been awake for such a long period. There’s you to thank for that he supposes. He always sleeps when he has you next to him.

You touch a curl of his hair and he jumps. Bucky curses himself when your hand darts away.

“Dunno. Guess with a person,” You say. “You seem to care about me a lot. I’ve never had a relationship like this one before. That seems so serious and real.”

He doesn’t flinch when you touch his hair this time, fingers threading through the short strands. “When did you cut your hair?”

“Years ago,” he says, opening his eyes to look at you. “You never told me that. That you never had-,”

“Feels silly to be scared to tell you things. Maybe before I was scared, didn’t know what would happen, or if something would scare you away. Maybe I was afraid of saying too much. Besides, I won’t remember it anyways right? I get a redo tomorrow.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe tomorrow you’ll remember.”

“I’m sure. A one time loop reset.” You pause in threading your hands through his hair, “Feels so weird. To feel connected and have nothing inside to connect it to.” You had said something like that yesterday, but he doesn’t tell you so. “Was it like this for you? In the beginning?”

You lean over him, your face upside down. “Hard to tell,” he reaches up and touches your temple. “But I think so.”

Maybe if you can tell him things, he can tell you something too. He knows what it is to be afraid to be too much. He hadn’t realized it was possible for you to feel the same.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “you think this is weird. To me it's…like-,” Bucky hasn’t been good with words in a long time. For you, he’ll try. “-like-like-its devastating.” Your hands flatten along either side of his head, thumbs against his stubbled cheeks. He doesn’t look away. “You’re my whole world.”

You smile, “Do you normally tell me that?”

“No. Like you said. Afraid to be too much.”

“Do I know how much you love me?”

You seem to have a clarity of the feelings between you, that the other you doesn’t.

“God, I hope so.”

“Start telling me. It won’t chase me away.”

You flop down beside him, legs hanging off the opposite side of the bed, and Bucky turns his head to keep you in his field of vision, still upside down to him. You stare up and Bucky stares at the curve of your jaw. He inches closer to you. “I can tell you with all honesty, you are not too much. You’re…strangely perfect.”

He chuckles, “Expecting more of-,”

“A murderous maniac? Nah. Yesterday,” you lift one arm and draw shapes in the air against the canvas of the ceiling, “we went on a walk together. It was the first conversation I ever had with you. You were so quiet and withdrawn. Lonely, like the world swallowed you up. It was nice.” You drop your hand and turn to look back at him, “I thought you were very pretty. I have - had I suppose - a tiny little crush on you. I’m glad it all worked out.”

“Crush huh?”

“Don’t go getting a big head, Barnes,” you smile. “Told Nat about it and everything. She made fun of me so bad.”

The drinks you mentioned having in the kitchen with Nat. You’d been telling her, maybe gushing to her, about a walk with him.

He remembers thinking you’d never look his way again, that he was too broken to remember how to have a conversation. Still, he’d managed to catch you in the common area again the next day and ask you what you were reading. You’d smiled and patted the space next to you, I’ll show you.

It was the first time he’d been late to therapy. You made him late.

Bucky had only wanted to be your friend then, hadn’t had much capacity for anything else.

The love he felt for you had come on slowly as he recovered, like ocean stilt between his bones.

It feels odd but good, something like pride swelling in his chest, that you had talked about him, had a crush on him.

“S’okay. I’ve never stopped having a crush on you,” he answers.

You try to hide your smile and fail miserably and lean forward instead to press your forehead to his.

Bucky closes his eyes and swallows.

He can do this.

~

“The effects of the vapor should wear off on its own eventually,” Bruce says to the team, gathered around a conference table weighted with stacks of documents and cups of coffee.

“Should?” Bucky asks, incredulous.

It’s already been two weeks, and guesses are no longer good enough for him.

“Yeah. To the best we can tell. Obviously we’ll keep looking for an antidote in the meantime. It looks like it was developed for-,” Bruce stops, his eyes cutting to Bucky. “To be blunt it looks like it was meant to be a redo on the Winter Soldier program.”

“That lab wasn't connected to Hydra,” Steve says.

“Apparently they were. Or at least contracted by someone Hydra adjacent.”

“How long will it take to wear off?” Nat asks. She’d arrived back in the compound that morning, and as a result Y/N had spent most of the day with her, much to Bucky’s displeasure. “Without an antidote?”

“They were obviously going for durability, so maybe a couple months. If they were planning on icing Barnes again then one dose would be enough for years depending on how long they left him out for hits.”

Bucky digs metal digits into the flesh of his right hand until he breaks through skin, to the meat of his palm. Blood drips onto his jeans.

You shouldn’t encounter any hostiles. Intel gathering only.

He supposes there were no hostiles that day because he was supposed to have become one.

Before he can stop himself he’s out of his chair and putting space between him and that room, between him and what could have happened that day had he breathed in the vapor and not you.

Putting space between him and the notion that you might not remember for months.

Months.

For months you could be stuck in a loop of endless time, losing a real span of your life to waiting.

Would he have to explain to you every morning?

What if Banner’s wrong? What if it doesn’t wear off? What if you never come back? What if they stop the loop and you still don’t remember anything?

Y/N is still here, he corrects himself viciously.

You are here.

He’s so busy scowling and stomping that he doesn't notice the red trail he leaves behind him.

Bucky wants to rip the world to pieces, but he can only settle for his own mangled body.

He stalks to the gym, changes at the facilities there, before beating the shit out of a sandbag with a raw hand. The old wound splits open immediately, blood flecks the canvas fabric. Bucky doesn’t really give it a chance to heal these days.

When the punching bag swings off the hook, he growls and turns toward the treadmill instead.

Hours pass, the sun fades from the sky.

Despite the tales about him, he is human, and eventually he collapses.

He lies panting on the floor of the gym, his hand stained red, when he hears your voice. “You normally go psycho like that?”

God.

He hadn’t really gotten to talk to you today because of Natasha and this will be your only impression of him. Bucky swallows dryly. “No.”

“Good because it looks like it hurts.”

“Worried about me, sweetheart?” Bucky snaps. He means to be playful but his voice comes out like a punch, like a wounded animal snarling at the wind. He hears his words thump down around your ankles.

For a long moment, you don’t answer.

Then he hears your feet shuffle away.

“God-fucking-damnit,” he mutters.

He won’t even be able to apologize to you, if he doesn’t see you again today. And how could he apologize to you tomorrow when you won’t remember today?

Bucky groans and sits up, ready to track you down, just to apologize for his outburst. He won’t have anything bad between you, whether you remember it or not.

But before he can stand, you burst back into the room, dropping down beside him on the mat. You hold out a hand.

He stares, “What?”

“Hand,” you point. “Now.”

Gently, he sets his right hand in both of yours. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

For a moment you don’t speak, carefully lowering his hand to your lap so you can rip open a couple of alcohol pads. He grits his teeth while you clean the wound in the center of his hand, his bruised, bloody knuckles.

“You left a trail of blood in the hallway.”

“Oh.”

You snort, “Oh? Is that all you have to say? I may be confused and not remember you, but I don’t like seeing you bleed out all over Tony’s expensive floors.”

He sighs, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“You should be,” You say hotly. “According to Nat we’re like some kind of freaky soulmates so please try not to bleed to death while my memories take a vacation.”

Now he laughs, glancing at you and finding your eyes already on him. “Seriously, Bucky, promise me you’ll let this heal. Even if I can’t remember.”

The words stick in his throat, a fist around his neck. “Why do you care? You always care. Every day you…you don’t know me but you care anyway. I-,”

You shrug, and look down at his hand in your lap. Slowly, you start to wrap gauze around his palm and knuckles. “My body knows you, I think, even if I don’t. It's like reaching for something you’re so sure is real but it turns out to be a mirage.” It's the third time you’ve said some iteration of that. “We took a walk yesterday,” and you repeat the story he’s heard several times now. But he doesn’t interrupt you.

Your fingers circle his wrist when you finish bandaging his hand. “I don’t remember feeling this…affinity for you yesterday. But I do now. Suppose that’s the five years of memories stored up in my DNA but, I dunno I-I just don’t want you to hurt.”

He turns his hand to squeeze your fingers. “I promise, honey. I’ll let it heal.”

“Even if I don’t remember?”

“Even if you don’t remember.”

It’s quiet for a moment and Bucky isn’t expecting you to hug him. He’s damp with sweat and you’re supposed to be upset with him. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”

He buries his nose in your neck, circles his arms around your waist and tugs you close because god it seems like it's been forever since he’s gotten to properly hold you. It's only been two weeks but it feels like decades.

You go jellylike, molding yourself against him.

“God for what?”

“You’d think the universe has made you suffer enough, Barnes, but you seem to be her favorite victim. I’m sorry I don’t remember and that you have to. Can’t imagine what it's like to explain everything everyday.” You exhale against him, breath hot against his skin, “Have you tried not talking to me?”

He jerks back so you’re forced to look into his eyes. “Now why would I do something like that?”

You shrug, “You could get a day off. You’re stressed, I mean, you just had a fistfight with a punching bag and lost.”

Bucky scoffs but pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “That punching bag is the one lying on the floor.”

“Yeah,” you snark back, sarcastic, “but you’re the one bleeding.”

“You fixed me up pretty nice though, huh?” He says, curling metal fingers around your wrist so you don’t move away, holding out his flesh hand to examine your bandaging job.

For a moment you don’t respond, absently patting the back of his metal hand. “Seriously, Bucky, one day where I don’t know, so you can get some rest, won’t kill me.”

But he’d rather die than be away from you, than have you forget him entirely, even for one day. And Bucky’s sort of afraid, afraid that if he lets you forget for even one day, you’ll never get your memories back.

That if he lets you forget for one day, you’ll remember everything else and forget him entirely, muscle memory and all.

“Darlin’,” he says gently, cupping your face against his palm because you let him, may even lean into it a little, “no matter how much it hurts, being away from you, not seeing you, is worse. I would stay in this loop forever, if it meant I got to stay with you.”

“You really mean that too, don’t you? Like, it's not just empty words. You really would.”

“I promise.”

Bucky has never been one to break promises.

~

Bucky keeps his promise and lets his hand heal.

He tries not to be destructive, and finds it just a bit challenging.

Since you aren’t sleeping with him at the moment, he goes out and practices vigilantism when he probably shouldn’t.

Steve and Sam frown at him, but don’t stop him, don’t comment when he comes back to the compound bruised. He feels better and he can keep his promise to you even if you don’t remember it.

He sleeps for short bursts in the wee hours of the morning, before he goes to find you and explain everything again.

Most days, you’re shocked but take it in stride.

Some days, you take some convincing.

But that’s okay. It gives him more time to spend with you, to reveal moments of your relationship to you, like peeling back the skin of an orange to show you something ripe with potential. He tells you things about those moments, the feelings he had had, that he never would have mentioned otherwise, that he would have been too afraid to admit to.

He dreams about you, in the few hours he gets.

Bucky dreams of the first time you made love, of the way summer sunshine had played against your skin and the sheets, dabbled and fleeting, swaying with the trees outside.

You had smelled of honey, your skin so soft he wanted to bite into the warmth of it.

God, you had smelled like sunshine.

Sunshine shouldn’t have a smell, but against your skin, it had. Warm, like shea butter and coconut.

He really hadn’t thought he could love you more, thought that his capacity for love had already overflowed, but that morning proved him wrong. It proved that the sun was a burning force, that you were the sun, and that he wouldn’t mind being consumed whole, burned alive.

Bucky always breaks from the dream in a sweat, heart pounding, because it feels like it's an omen, like he should relive it because he’ll never get back to that moment.

This morning, he slips out of the dream and into reality like he always does. The sun is just peaking over the horizon, you’ll be up soon.

The timing is perfect, after weeks of practice. You open your front door, spot him waiting, new as the morning dawn, looking so different to you with short hair, a bruise across his cheek, and no peaceful sleep. “Mornin’, Y’N, I need to talk to you about something,” he says, like he does every day, like he would for the rest of his life if he had to.

~

You’re looking through the pictures on your phone again and this time Bucky can see the screen, though you don’t know that.

He can see the picture that gave you pause in a couple of your other resets.

To him, it's an ordinary picture. The two of you tangled together in bed, a selfie you’d snapped when he wasn’t paying attention to what you were doing.

Bucky is staring at you in the photo, a serious look on his face.

He can’t remember what he had been thinking about in that moment.

And he has to wonder what you’re thinking about it now, why it's captured your attention consistently throughout your resets.

He has to wonder if you’re disappointed. You admit to your crush on him, almost every reset, and it means everything and so little simultaneously.

The look on your face from that first time haunts him.

Disbelief.

He still doesn’t know what it means.

Probably, that you were disappointed. That a little crush could shape your whole life, bend it like a wire hanger to the shape of him.

Bucky clears his throat and you immediately lower the phone, a panicked look on your face.

He only smiles and treks around the couch with a cup of your favorite tea.

You take it from him and ask, “How long has it been? How many resets?”

“It's been six weeks. So forty-two resets in total.”

The look that crosses your face is one of grief. Bucky clenches his jaw and looks away, surely you would blame him for the lost time, the forty-two days you don’t remember. For not protecting you better, for letting you go on the mission in the first place.

But you set your mug on the table (he made sure to give you the Budapest one) and turn to him, one leg lifting to tuck in the space between you so you can lean close. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Sorry?”

“I think I would have lost it already, if I had to do what you’re doing.”

Bucky stares at you, his jaw aching from how hard he’s clenching it, like his mouth is suddenly razor wired shut.

You reach out and touch the inside of his wrist. “Are you doing okay? That’s a lot of days to do this.” With your other hand you gesture to the blooming bruise on his cheek. “Steve told me you’ve been sleeping little and fighting in the evenings after I go to sleep and forget again.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me,” he finds his voice. “You’re the one that-,”

“Barnes, listen to me,” you say sternly, and it reminds him of when you first started hanging around him, not balancing on your toes and treating him like already shattered glass, like he might cut you if you weren’t careful. He’s still sharp and pointed to you, you don’t know that his edges have been rounded out over the years, though you can probably guess. “I don’t remember anything. This is all new to me. Every day I guess it is. You could be lying to me and this could really be day one million.”

You squeeze his wrist. “But everyday, you have to do the same thing. And you have to remember the day before and I can’t think of anything more heartbreaking.”

Bucky sets down his own cup on the coffee table and takes your hand.

He wonders, if after you take the antidote or the vapor wears off on its own, you’ll remember all your past resets. Maybe you’ll forget everything and think it's that first night again. Maybe you’ll get stuck in the past and remember nothing.

Either way, he knows tomorrow you won’t remember, and so it makes it easier for him to say things he’d otherwise hide from you.

He tells you something that he’s said in none of your other resets. “I miss you. You’re here. I didn’t lose you. I keep telling myself I could have lost you, forever. It could be…worse. It could be so much worse. But I still miss you anyways.”

Your fingers are tight on his. “But you did, in a way. We’re…really close, like, so close. In love kinda close. We live together and we’re best friends. You did lose me. I’m still here but everything else is gone and maybe that’s worse.”

The spaces between your words are silent as caverns, as tombs beneath the earth.

Because you��re right, of course.

You usually are.

“So, I’m sorry. Have you thought about taking a day off-,”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. You-you’ve suggested that before. I won’t do it.”

“God, Bucky, why?” You peer into him, leaning ever closer, consuming his field of vision.

He takes a breath, “Sweetheart, it's painful, I won’t say it's not. It's been so fucking hard without you. But everyday I also get to - I get to tell you everything that made us, I get to tell you how we fell in love. I - and maybe it’s disappointing to you - but that’s been-,” Bucky doesn’t know what to call it and so he stops.

Bucky can’t very well say it's been good, because that isn’t quite right. But watching you puzzle through your life together has been fascinating, has made him love you even more, appreciate what he doesn’t deserve.

“Disappointing?” You frown. “Have I ever told you in any of my resets that I have a crush on you?”

Bucky licks his lips, carefully doesn’t move when you press your forehead to his, your eyes still open and peering into his. “Yeah, doll, you tell me every time.”

A teasing smile lifts the corner of your mouth. “Good. Then you know this is like a dream come true. To find out your super hot crush eventually likes you too and you - well you get a very perfect life.”

He snorts, “Wouldn’t say it's perfect -,”

“Ah, maybe life isn’t but this is. You.”

“Honey-,”

“Seriously, Bucky.” You pull away but it just forces him to really look into the heart of you, into the center of your conviction about this. Something tells him its the memories stored up in your DNA, the remembrance of something with no name, and he knows you really believe what you say. “I don’t know if you know this, but most people wouldn’t do what you’re doing. Forty-two days? That’s extraordinary.”

In almost every reset, you touch his wrist, the curve of his cheek, a lock of his hair.

But he hasn’t held you, hugged you close since the reset where you made him promise to let his hand heal. Almost four weeks ago.

He hasn’t kissed you since you fell asleep that first fateful night.

You wrap your arms around him, sliding easily against him like he wasn't a veritable stranger to you. It feels so good, to have your weight against him, that it's everything he can do not to break down.

“So why would I find anything disappointing?” He feels the curve of your mouth against his shoulder, the contours of your shape against his.

He presses his nose to your hair and inhales.

Peach.

Though he had made sure to find your vanilla and cinnamon stuff and put it in the bathroom in your room.

Still you had been choosing peach, though there was no way for you to know that you had changed scents.

“Dunno,” he says and then because he’s already spilling his guts he explains your reaction that first morning. The look that flashed over your face, the look that continues to flash over your face when you look at the books and the photos. “You just looked like you couldn’t believe it. About me and you.”

“Well, Bucky, I mean, c’mon, I probably thought you kidnapped me or something. Why wouldn’t I have that reaction?”

“You didn’t see your face.”

You laugh and rub your hand slowly up and down his back. “I was probably scared. But not for the reasons your mind is telling you. I promise. I know myself. And I can tell you now that I feel disbelief because apparently I get the chance to love you. That’s so strange to me. It’s not disbelief that it happened but that I got the fucking chance.”

Bucky squeezes you tighter when he feels you start to pull away. “You took my dog tags off.”

Your voice is so soft when you answer, “You gave me your dog tags?” When he doesn’t say anything you whisper, “I’m sorry I took ‘em off. But it doesn’t change anything. I get the chance to love you.” You repeat.

He doesn’t answer, throat tight.

This time you’re insistent when you pull away. “Bucky,” you touch his cheek. “I promise. No part of me, any me, is disappointed. Or upset. About this, about us. Okay?” He nods against your hand but finds it hard to believe anyways. “Do I change much each reset?”

“No,” he says. “You’re just you every time.”

“So I’ve probably wanted to kiss that sad little smile every single reset.”

You’re poorly hiding a smile, and Bucky doesn’t think as he cups your cheek and brings you in for a kiss.

The taste of you is like coming home, like the world ending.

And only slightly like the cinnamon muffin you had for breakfast.

You both sink to the side against the couch cushions, shoulders loosening, lips still connected. Bucky tries not to feel like he’s consuming you, tries not to let too much longing slip into the kiss.

But you hook your legs over his lap and cup your hand against the side of his neck and it becomes very hard to think, especially when your thumb digs into the hinge of his jaw.

Bucky presses his cheek against yours when you pull away, and listens to your panting breaths, his nose nudging against the curve of your ear.

“Wow. What a first kiss.”

He chuckles just a little, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“The other you had to wait three years.” This time he doesn’t mention the punch, the ice pack.

You gape at him, “Three years? Why’d it take so long?”

“I think,” he says, pressing his flesh thumb to the center of your chin. “We would have rather stayed friends than risk-,”

You’re nodding before he finishes speaking and kissing him again quickly after that.

“Why do you use the peach scent?”

“I thought you liked it better? You lean in when I use it and-,”

He kisses you a third time, because you shouldn’t remember something like that.

Maybe things will turn out okay after all.

~

Your memories fracture back into each of your resets after that, though you don’t seem to realize that they’re things you shouldn’t remember. Confusion has started to reign in you, when you can’t sequence events in your mind.

The day that Stark and Banner finish a solution that could possibly work as an antidote, you exit your room as you do every morning but with a confused look on your face.

It's day sixty-three.

Bucky is waiting for you like always, with hair still wet from the shower and a bruise over one eye, but healed hands.

Before Bucky can launch into his well practiced speech, you press a closed fist to your chest like you’re gripping something there. “Did you take your dog tags back? I can’t find them, I-I didn’t mean to lose them.”

You don’t give him a chance to answer, instead pressing your hand to your forehead, looking terribly confused. “I…but why would you have given them to-,”

“You want to wear them?” He asks.

“Of course,” you answer, indignant. “You gave them to me. I promised to never take them off.” Your voice fades again, “When did that happen? I feel-,”

“Hey,” Bucky strides forward and takes your hand, curling his fingers around your wrist. “It's okay. I have them right here. Got some things I need to explain to you.”

He pulls them out of his pocket, not having had it in him to start wearing them himself again. They didn’t belong to him anymore, they belonged to you. Bucky was just waiting to give them back to you.

You bow your head and Bucky slips them around your neck.

You take a deep breath and smile at him, like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

“What did you need to tell me, Buck?”

~

“We don’t know if it’ll work and there’s not really a way to test it,” Banner says later that day. “It’s up to you whether you decide to take it now, since your memories seem to be coming back. You could just wait it out.”

“But I could wake up tomorrow and know everything again? Remember everyone?”

“That’s the hope.”

Bucky grits his teeth and says nothing from his place across the table from you. “How many days has it been?” You ask.

“Sixty-three today.”

You swallow, and look like you might cry.

But before Bucky can reach out to you, Natasha has an arm around your shoulders, you blink and the tears are gone. “I’m sorry,” you say and meet his gaze before quickly glancing away. He’s not sure what you’re sorry for. “I want to take it.”

“Maybe you should think about it-,” Bucky starts but you scoff and the room goes silent.

“So I can forget again? So you can live another sixty-three days like this? And now I’m…I don’t like feeling confused. I don’t like not knowing what happened or when, or what’s real.”

He wants to scream. Instead he clenches his jaw and leans forward, staring you down across the table. “And what if it makes you forget everything? What if you’re reset one last time and start over five years in the past? And that’s it? You never get anything back? At least this way we know you’re getting your memories back.”

“You wouldn’t explain everything to me one last time?”

Bucky closes his eyes, presses the heels of his hands against the sockets until stars appear in his vision. Of course he’d explain it to you one last time, he’d explain it everyday for the rest of his life if he had to. All he settles for instead is repeating, “At least this way you can get all your memories back.”

“I’m not putting you through this anymore. Not when I don’t have to.You think I can’t see how much it hurts you?”

“Can you at least think about it for today?”

“Fine.”

With that the rest of the team departs the conference room as quickly as possible, sensing a coming storm. Bucky and Y/N stay seated until everyone is gone, staring each other down from across the table.

His dog tags glint at him from around your neck when you reach up to fist your hand around the name plates.

“Why do you want to keep being tortured?” When he doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at you, you lean back in your chair and cross your arms. “Don’t be stubborn about this Bucky.”

“I would rather go through this while you get your memories back, than risk you losing them altogether,” he says. “I want you to remember those moments. I know better than anyone that having someone tell you about something that happened doesn’t hold a candle to actually experiencing it. Especially when it's something you did.”

You take a breath, “Buck, listen, I can tell you’ve been running yourself ragged.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does!”

“Why aren’t you more concerned? Do you want to forget? Do you want to forget about me?” He stands, paces back and forth, before forcibly stopping himself and dragging his hands through his hair instead. He doesn't look at you, can’t.

So he stands there, clenching his jaw and staring at the wall like an idiot. You wait, not saying anything for a moment, until his shoulders relax.

“I don’t want to forget. I know how important memories are to you in particular, but seeing you hurting hurts me. Especially now that the reset memories are surfacing.”

Bucky still doesn’t turn to you, listening to the clank of the metal plates around your neck slide together and apart.

“I just don’t want to…I can tell you again. I always will if I have to. I just - I just don’t want to lose everything. I don’t want you to lose me.”

And that truth settles in his bones.

So, Bucky repeats it. “I don’t want you to lose me.” He turns and looks at you, meets your steady gaze. “I don’t want you to lose whatever feeling you had the first time I kissed you. Or the first time we made love. Or the exact thought you had when we - it doesn’t matter. I know only what I thought. I can’t tell you the whole story. I’m afraid we’ll never be the same. I don’t want to lose you, but god, honey, even if it makes me selfish, I don’t want you to lose me.”

You nod when he finishes, your lips trembling just a little.

When you answer, it's with a little gasp in your voice, “And maybe it makes me selfish, but I just can’t watch you do this. I can’t stand to keep forgetting you.”

Bucky knows better than most the fear of forgetting.

“I’m with you either way.”

You keep your eyes on his, entirely focused on him, “It will be fine, Bucky.”

But hadn’t you said that the last time?

And oh, the world did love to rip and tear and take.

~

You swallow the antidote all in one go, with your nose pinched and an uncomfortable look on your face.

You wince when it's all down and then smile at Bucky and tell him again how it's going to be fine.

He hands you a glass of water, which you down, and then just like before he’s tasked with watching you.

Bucky wouldn’t have let anyone else, wouldn’t have left the med wing were it necessary for you to remain there. So you walk together, this time to your rooms, just like the last time.

While you take a shower, he makes tea for you both.

It will be a long night for him, but hopefully you’ll sleep. Hopefully, you will sleep and tomorrow you will remember him.

If you come out of the loop but with memories missing and gone, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

Explain to you again, he supposes, and work from there.

Listen to your many stories for the hundredth time like it's the first.

Show you everything you don’t remember.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he should start again, maybe that was the point.

But he thinks of you never knowing about the way he’d kissed you on the sand at Coney Island, about how there had been fireworks, the roaring sound of the ocean in his ears, how he would have gladly drowned in you.

He needs you to remember.

The mug in his hand, a plain white one, fractures as he grips it. “Fuck,” he murmurs, tea dripping down his arm and onto the tiled kitchen floor.

You appear then, in a cloud of peach and mango, fresh and dewy from the shower. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“‘Course, honey,” he says, setting the cracked mug into the sink, sliding the unbroken cup toward you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He crouches with a paper towel to wipe the spilled tea off the floor and when he straightens you’re there, incredibly close, eyes peering into his.

“I mean with me. Lay with me.”

“No. I’ll stay on the couch.”

“Bucky,” you say. “I want you to.”

But you don’t know how you looked at him the last time you’d woken up in a bed with him. Confusion that had bloomed into fear. “No. It's best if-,”

“Please? I’m, y’know, kinda scared. If you don’t - I’ll just stay in the living room then, you can’t stop me.” You lift your chin, defiant, before you continue, “I have a weird little memory, of the first time you ever stayed over.”

You look confused saying it, time and events smashed together and reconfigured in your mind. You touch the dog tags around your neck and continue, “You didn’t want to stay with me then either. But I remember it's the safest I’ve ever felt.”

“Fine,” he concedes, pressing a guiding hand to your back. “It's just because you have a crush on me.”

You wrinkle your nose and mumble, “Pretty sure it’s a little more than that.”

In your room, he lowers the lights, tugs back your duvet, and lets you settle first.

It's quiet for a long time after that, as you settle down, sipping your mug of tea which you pointedly share with him, scrolling mindlessly on your phone.

Bucky thinks you believe yourself sneaky, inching closer to him until you’re pressed against his side, your head coming down against his shoulder.

He wraps his arm around you, tugs you closer.

You bring up the photo, the one of the two of you in bed together. You hold your phone so both of you can see it. “What were you thinking about?”

“Honestly? Don’t remember. Probably something self depreciating.”

“Like what?”

“How I don’t deserve you.”

You set your phone aside and close your eyes. He imagines you’re listening to the sound of his heart, counting the beats. “Maybe I was thinking about how much I love you.”

“Do you?”

“Is there any doubt?”

“No,” you murmur, voice slurred as you slip into sleep. “It's very clear when you love someone, Barnes. Even when you think it isn’t. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Bucky doubts that very much, but doesn’t say so.

Maybe you just know him.

Maybe in the morning, things will be fixed, or maybe they’ll be at square one again.

And then, like a new fighter in a ring, a new fear rises up.

What if you remember everything?

Every single moment of your life together and all of your resets?

The things he’d told you, the fleshy inner parts of himself he’d revealed. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too much, too many feelings, too much rawness to encapsulate.

Bucky tightens his arm around you, pulling you infinitely closer, and begs the universe to let him have this good thing.

~

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does.

Just like last time.

Running on little more than a couple hours rest for months on end, and without you, hasn’t exactly lent itself to his exhaustion.

With your weight against his chest, the duvet tucked around both of you, and the sound of your soft breath in his ears, sleep had been unavoidable.

He wakes to your hand against his chest, fingers tightening in his shirt. Bucky snaps awake, but doesn’t move, carefully let’s you come back to yourself. Your eyes peak open slowly, blinks that take so long he thinks you’ll fall back asleep.

But then you peer up at him through lashes thick with still dispelling sleep.

For a long moment you just look at him and he looks back, Bucky waiting for the look of disappointment or despair, confusion or horror. Your hand slides up his chest, cups behind his neck. You tug and bring his forehead to yours.

“Bucky,” you murmur. “James fucking Barnes.”

“Do you-?”

“I remember everything. Every second.”

Fear pierces his lungs, along with elation.

He pushes you back, back into the pillows and sheets, to hover over you and anchor his hands on either side of you, before he leans down to kiss you breathless and hard. You taste sweet and sharp. “Fuck, I missed you.” Bucky says against your mouth. “God, baby, I missed you so fucking bad.”

A tear escapes and you knock it away.

You hook a foot behind his knee. “You have been holding back on me. How dare you not wax poetic to me about love, our love? How dare you keep your thoughts hidden from me. You feel so much and you never say anything.” You pinch his side, cup his cheek in your hand, run your fingers inside his shirt and up his spine, counting the vertebrae. “How dare you wonder if I could love you back when you would tourture yourself for sixty-three days?”

“Had to get you back. Would have done it forever,” he presses kisses down your neck, over the edge of your jaw. Your skin is soft and you smell like the detergent you use on your sheets, like cotton and new life.

He wants to bite into you but settles for kissing you again, sliding his tongue along yours, tasting you.

Maybe he’s trying to distract you.

From memories of him trying to describe -

“Bucky?” You fist your hands in his shirt and push him away just far enough that you can properly see his face. “I fucking love you. Okay? I’ve loved you back the whole time. I had a crush on you before you even knew what a crush was. I punched you the first time you kissed me because I was so scared to be…I was just the first person you got close to. I was so afraid to crash and burn but you…you looked at me like, y’know, like I was about to kick you for kissing me. But I was afraid you were only kissing me because I was there and I decided it didn’t matter because you said you cared about me, that it was supposed to be a first date. And I thought, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t last, at least I will have gotten to be in your orbit.”

He tries to interrupt you, but you just keep chattering, “And I remember that picnic when you put your dog tags around my neck and I promised to never take them off.” You curl one hand around his tags, the other curving back to hook around his wrist pressed into the mattress beside your shoulder. “That day was a disaster. You were so pissed off because the wine bottle cracked and the sandwiches got wet and you forgot the blanket and the bees wouldn’t leave us alone. But all I remember from that day is thinking you looked like my future, you looked like a son of the moon. I wanted to devour you, I was so hungry for you, the love you showed even if you didn’t tell me. I would have gladly eaten those soggy sandwiches if it meant I could keep being that fucking happy.”

Bucky can only look at you.

You squeeze his wrist and Bucky turns his hand so he can squeeze his fingers through yours, hoping to never let go again.

“So how dare you, how dare you be afraid I would never find my way back to you? How dare you be afraid to escape the loop so I could come back to you, fully?”

“You really think you would have fallen in love with me again?”

You look like you’re going to cry but you smile so big your cheeks look like they might split, “Honey, I have news for you. I fell in love with you over and over, sixty-three different times. Every reset I fell in love with you again. I have fallen in love with you sixty-four different times.”

[jaxrando]

REDAMANCY

Summary: Just because something looks like it’s over doesn’t mean that it actually is.

Pairings: Bucky x reader(any race)

Word Count:4.5k+

Warnings: Angst, fluff, cussing.

Author’s Note: Here is my work for @bemine-bucky’s #1k sweethearts diner writing challenge. Thank you for giving me a chance to participate in your challenge. Hope you guys enjoy it and don’t forget to reblog and comment. I love hearing what all of you have to say about my work.

DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, TRANSLATE OR DO ANY OF THAT CHEAP SHIT.

Perfection is always a hoax. Something to elevate the pain when everything comes crashing down. If you really think about it, it’s also such a clever form of mockery in the way it dangles the falsity wrapped in such deceit right in front of you and has you believe in it, only to make a fool out of yourself when you’re laughed at in the face for even considering this so-called perfection to be true. Like your and Bucky’s marriage.

You and Bucky had survived through a few years of a roller coaster of a relationship and made it to marriage despite passive-aggressive efforts from both your and Bucky’s family to stop it but, living together in the small bubble of finally getting to call each other husband and wife, did not last long. You both just had to give in to both of your families’ disapproval and mind games.

It’s safe to say that you and Bucky were driven to the point of divorce with the constant subtle hate from especially Bucky’s mother who was a heart patient, which she always used to her advantage, and how he couldn’t find the courage to stand up against her, always expecting you to compromise. But you knew he never meant to do that. Bucky’s love and respect for you was the truest and purest thing and you would never question it. Then there was your family, having small talking sessions with you to somehow persuade you to leave him. Bucky heard them loud and clear most of the time, every single insult which he was forced to believe was true about him. For as long as you both could, you let your love overpower the demons trying to destroy it.

The bond of love that made you and Bucky one started to weaken the moment you both gave in to the demons too exhausted not feeling enough for each other. Every day the discovery of a new problem was made by the two of you just like how both of your families wanted when they started planting doubts in the heads of you and Bucky. There was no going back after every minute flaw was spread out. There was no unseeing. The marriage had already been tainted.

You could still remember the day the divorce was finalized. The cursed papers sat on the wooden table as you and Bucky stared at it with so much fear and hatred, afraid of what it meant if they were signed. You could still hear him trying to control the hiccups as he slid the signed papers across the table to you. You could still remember, still feel the pain that you went through caused by a few papers and your and Bucky’s signatures.

After that day the two of you tried to remain friends or at least acquaintances but how could either of you do that when everything the two of you have ever wanted in your lives was right in front of you yet so far away like if one or the other would reach forward their hand would go right through the other, never actually being able to hold the either ever again.

Giving your coat a hitch and tugging your hair behind your ear, you walk out onto the sidewalk. It was a beautiful sunny day quite the opposite of what you were feeling. Your eyes fell on the pretzel stand a few feet away and the way too familiar clutch around your heart by an imaginary fist welcomed you again.

It was the same pretzel stand where you and Bucky went for the first date and when you got engaged to him and then he took you there, after the wedding ceremony. There wasn’t an anniversary where the two of you didn’t visit the pretzel stand.

So why break the tradition on this anniversary even if you were alone with only his memories with you?

The old lady who sold the pretzels gave you an acknowledging smile but you could see the questioning look when she observed that Bucky wasn’t with you. This woman had watched your relationship like the city lights slowly lighting up a darkening night. How were you supposed to tell her that morning had arrived and all the lights had been shut forever when you yourself were having a hard time accepting the grim reality?

“ Hello, darling.” The old woman greets you and you muster up a smile for her sake. The spot you were standing on sent waves of memories with such great intensity that you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself up. As a breeze blows the unleashed tears in your eyes cool down letting you know that the clenching of your heart has squeezed them out, which you quickly blink away.

“ Can I have the jalapeno cheddar one?” You ask after clearing your throat. That was Bucky’s order. He had this weird obsession with jalapenos that quite frankly regaled you. Pizza? Extra jalapenos sandwich? Jalapeno ones. A small laugh bubbles in your chest at the memories where he would go red from all the jalapenos but doesn’t stop eating them as the old lady prepares the pretzel for you.

“ Here you go, darling.” Taking the pretzel from her with a smile you watch as she prepares for making what your order always has been.

“ Uh, this is my purchase. This is all.” You stop her before she makes your order. The lady pauses in her tracks, eyebrows furrowing before realization sets in and the frown on her face melts into a pitiful and comforting expression, in response to which you give a small nod without meeting her eyes. You knew what the look in her eyes would be. It was the same one you give yourself in the mirror.

Today was the first anniversary you spent without him and you didn’t know what to do, with whom to spend it, or if you should be doing anything at all. Should you call Bucky? Perhaps send him a small gift? Did he even remember what today meant? Your overthinking had you clutching the pretzel tightly before you bump into a stranger and drop it. Tears were quick to gather in your eyes as the stranger stamped on it unknowingly. You were looking for a reason to unleash your tears anyways.

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

Bucky knew it was about time he woke up but what? What was he supposed to do today? He was way too familiar with waking you up by making love to you. Now there was no you and no love except his part.

Groaning, he hugs the pillow on which he laid on his stomach, tighter. The way he slept on the pillow reminded him of how he used to lay between your legs with his head resting on your stomach or chest as you would run your fingers through his hair and kiss his face randomly. This was the only way he could at least get his eyes to close and body relax ever since the last time he laid his eyes on you.

Rolling over with his arms still around the pillow and against his chest, he let a silent tear slip. The two of you were supposed to be getting ready to go to that pretzel stand right now. You were supposed to be playfully threatening to haul his ass outside if he didn’t hurry up. He was supposed to be bending down to fix your poorly tied shoelaces.

Bucky was still supposed to be with you.

He was still supposed to be in your life. Be yours.

Bucky’s phone rings and he resists the urge to pull at his hair and scream because he knew who it was. His dear mother had been calling him ever since the divorce when he cut ties with his family. They don’t get to cut you out of his life and stay in it. The only regret he had in doing so was that he didn’t do it sooner. Perhaps you both would have been happily eating and chatting with the old lady who owned the pretzel, right now.

Bucky didn’t know if he could ever pull himself out of the bed with how heavy his heart was along with the heaviness of your absence that sat on him.

What even was the point of getting up anymore if dancing around the kitchen wasn’t the sight that greeted him every day? He was only going to zone around like a zombie. That’s all he has been doing ever since his life, his love, his light, was made to leave.

A few hours later, Bucky finally dragged himself out of bed. It just felt wrong to sleep and do nothing, especially on this day. It felt like a crime. So, he decided to go out for a bit. Revisit a few places but instead of you being there with him it was the shadow of your presence that he had by his side. The pretzel stand, being the first.

Bucky knew that you lived nearby and he was hoping to catch a glimpse of you or if he could wish bigger, run into you. He would settle for anything at this point.

Like always the stand was not crowded, only a kid and a man who looked like he could be her father standing on the stand’s side while the spot that you both used to occupy was left free as if it was waiting for its usual visitors to step on it. Too bad they weren’t there together.

As if the old lady could sense his presence, she looked up at him when he was only a few steps away from standing in front of her. An unusual smile spread on her face like she knew something that he didn’t, but he tried not to think too much about it and not bring any attention to it as he smiled at her politely.

“ Cinnamon pretzel, sweetheart?” Her question took Buck by surprise and his eyebrows shot up in a second. That was your order and it was exactly what he was going to buy. But how did she know that? He pushed the question aside since he was focused on getting his food and finishing rounding up the city without missing a place before the day ended.

“ Yeah, I would like that.” Her smile only grew at his lowly spoken voice. He didn’t think too much about it. Maybe it was just that he probably looked funny today which would make sense from the sleepless nights and crying in the showers or whenever he would see anything that reminded him of you.

The old lady hands him the pretzel which he took from her with a small smile before fishing out his wallet to pay for it. Opening the wallet, what he sees is a close-up polaroid of you, that has him pausing and throat closing with tears as he swallows thickly trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. With a sad smile, he snaps out of his daze soon enough and gives the lady the money for his food.

Bucky was just about to leave when the old lady clasped her hand around his wrist stopping him. He looks up to see her worried but hopeful eyes before she says, “ Take care of yourself, son. Everything will be fine.”

What she said sent a wave of comfort through him. It was like she knew something good was going to happen and he had to just wait for it.

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

Work was work and luck was not on your side today. Everyone expected you to have something sweet for them like how you did every other anniversary and when you went about your day like it was any other day and not a special one, pitying and questioning and judging glances were cast upon you. Just another constant reminder of your lost love.

You were left from work early today of all days and the fact that all your work was done and you didn't have anything to distract yourself with sent a jolt of panic and fear through you. There was no way you were going to walk around the place only to be haunted by the moments of lost time, the ghost of which still lingered everywhere.

The sun was just setting and the blush of the sky as the sun kissed it, was starting to get deeper. So, now you resort to going home and maybe find something to watch, preferably a long series that can keep you and your mind occupied. As you cracked your brain for anything that your friend recommended you to watch, you were interrupted by the buzzing of your phone.

It was Bucky.

Your breath was caught in your chest and your heartbeat accelerated as though it was going to take off from your body. Fumbling, you take the call.

“ Hi ” You hear him breathe out.

“ Hi,” You breathe out, stepping to the side of the sidewalk to not interrupt the rushing crowd.

“ Uh-um-how-what are you doing today?” Fumbling with words was something he did when he was extremely nervous and closed off. Your heart broke at the thought that you were no more the person he saw comfort, he was treating you like how you would see him behaving around strangers. You clear your throat before speaking to avoid any kind of quivering.

“ Nothing much. I’m heading home right now.” You say trying to sound unbothered.

“ Oh.” The awkward silence set in which was funnily louder than the noisy crowd around you.

“ I have to get g-”

“ Canwehavedinnertogethertonight?”

“ What?” You had an idea of what he actually said but there was no way that was what you heard.

“ Can-” he takes in a deep breath “-can we have dinner together tonight?”

Your heart had officially taken off from your body.

“ Yes.” You say immediately before repeating again in a patient voice not wanting to appear too keen, “ yes.”

“ Perfect. Yeah, that’s fucking perfect yeah.” He laughs out breathly like he was relieved to hear your answer and the same sounds fell from your lips.

“ That Italian place?” The two of you asked together which was followed by laughter again.

“ Yeah, the Italian place. At 8?” Bucky sighs

“ The Italian place at 8 then.”

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

Bucky knew he had to do something. If he was unhappy with how things were now, he had to do something about it. Delaying any kind of fixing was only going to prolong the pain and intensify it day by day.

So, he called you and asked if you wanted to have dinner with him tonight. And when you said yes and even better, when he heard the dulcet notes of your laughter, he was done for. He knew that he had to get you back at any cost.

Bucky stood in front of the mirror deciding whether he should wear the leather jacket or not. It did look good on him but it did look equally good when he took them off too.

He decided to keep the jacket on. It made him feel good-looking and with a few final touches, he takes a few deep breaths and heads out.

The restaurant looked exactly the same to him. The same wall pieces were there and the same decorative plants took their places. It gave him a sense of comfort knowing that nothing had changed. He wanted your relationship to be like that.

Taking a seat at the far corner where the two of you could be in your little safe space, he started his wait for you when a familiar face caught his attention.

It was Diane.

Bucky could never count on both his hands, the number of fights that you both had because of her. She was always around Bucky, touching him, flirting with him even after he politely asked her to respect his boundaries. He knew the effect her actions had on you and there was no way he was going to let anyone make his girl feel insecure. When the two of you got married she finally stopped after throwing a few curses at the two of you so, seeing her now only caused him to internally groan as she spots and walks over to him with a huge smile.

“ Bucky!! Oh my god, it’s been so long.” She had a hand hovering over her mouth as she squealed.

“Yeah, it has.” He says smiling politely and wishing silently for her to walk off soon.

Diane could sense his discomfort and decided to take the matter into her own hands.

“ I was just here with my girlfriend. What about you?” Bucky looked up at her with eyebrows raised high.

“ Oh, I’m waiting for someone.” He replied, looking at her curiously.

“ I want to apologize, Bucky. What happened with you was-” she takes a deep breath “-it was just me trying to convince myself that I like guys because of my family and whatnot.” Bucky was even more surprised hearing her apology and confession. He didn’t know how to respond to her. She did bring so much trouble to his relationship with you but he also felt bad that she had to hide and deny who she was.

“ You don’t have to say anything, Bucky. I wanted to get this off my chest. And where’s (Y/N) ? she deserves some major apology from me.”

“ Uh we- we are not together anymore. But we are supposed to be having dinner together now.” Diane looked shocked at hearing about the split and her eyes were overcome with pity. Bucky couldn’t look at that.

“ Oh, well, tell her everything I said, yeah? I have to go.” With that, she was gone after giving him a small wave and he resumed his wait for you.

Checking his watch he saw that it was 8:20 already but you were not there.

Where were you?

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

Stupid and naive. That’s what you were for even letting the thought of a reconciliation cross your mind. Of course, there wasn’t. After all, there was a reason why you and Bucky got a divorce.

You had yourself all dolled up and pretty with your flowy dress and hair let loose. All the way you walked to the restaurant, the impressed glances the passersby gave you had you feeling confident and you couldn’t wait to see Bucky’s reaction to you.

Then you saw them through the window. Diane and Bucky were all smiling at each other. He was with the one person who has always wanted him and he told you not to worry about but there they were while she smiled and touched his arm which he didn’t stop her from doing. The way all your happiness and excitement left your body had you feeling hollow and empty.

That’s when you realize, he didn’t ask to have dinner with you for sparking a long-lost fire, he was there to introduce her to you as his girl. He moved on.

You weren’t prepared for this. You couldn’t sit there as he talks about her, kisses her, loves her right in front of you. He could have at least warned you or given you a hint, a precaution before dropping the bomb. You needed some time to process all this. So, you head back home feeling exactly opposite to what you were feeling when you left your house, with your stomach churning and heart beating as if to pity you.

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

“ Sir, you’ve been here for more than an hour. There are other customers waiting for a seat.” The waiter informs Bucky who had his head in his hands as he hung onto the last thread of hope that you were coming. But, he had even called you multiple times only for you to decline the calls. By now he was trying to control the quiver of his lips and hold back the tears in his eyes waiting for a nudge to overflow.

“Y-yeah I’ll get going. No worries.” He says and watches as the waiter gives him a tight-lipped smile. A lot of customers had been watching him for a while and as he exited the restaurant he could feel their eyes on him.

Bucky has never felt so humiliated and idiotic. You probably understood that he wanted reconciliation and made sure to not come. It was his fault to think that you would want to do anything with him ever again. He should have left things how it was and not meddled with it, he should have just left you alone as you wanted.

When you finally got to escape from him, why would you want to be his again?

The moment he entered the door closed behind him, he crumpled down to the ground, the howls of his cries echoing in the cold and lonely apartment as tears drenched the carpet.

Bucky felt so empty, so hurt. He needed to know why you didn’t even tell him that you wanted nothing to do with him. He deserves that.

With the intention of getting some answers and mind eaten by grief, he pulls himself off the floor and out the door, heading to your place.

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

The tear-soaked pillow that you woke up on and the difficulty you had to fully open your eyes were evidence of the hours and hours of trying to accept the reality and preparing yourself to face him with his new girl the next time as the shrill sound of the doorbell has you groaning.

Wrapping your arms around your middle you waddle to the door with a frown on your face and open it to find Bucky who looked like he was doing the same things you were, with how blotchy and red his eyes and cheeks looked.

“ Not now, Bucky.” Your voice sounded like you had been swallowing nails as you tried to close the door only to be stopped by him.

“ We need to talk (Y/N). I’m not going away until we do.” He pushes open the door and enters your house as you give up trying to stop him and walk inside.

“ I DON’T NEED TO HEAR ABOUT YOU AND YOUR NEW GIRL. LET ME AT LEAST GET USED TO NOT BEING YOURS ANYMORE.” You were now openly screaming and sobbing while Bucky’s face softened and his own tears flowed down his face. He hated seeing his girl so hurt.

“ Babydoll.” He whispered walking towards your sobbing figure before taking your face in his hands. God, did it feel life-changing, finally getting to hold you even though the circumstances could have been different? His angel was here, her gem of a face in his hands.

“ I don’t know what you saw but-”

“ You were with-” A sob racked your body and Bucky’s hands went around you as he coos at you to calm down “-with Diane. She was there touching you and you were smiling that same way you haven’t in months.” Bucky felt his heart break with each tear that soaked his shirt and his own tears fell on top of your head. Only if he knew. Only if you knew.

“ Babydoll, she was there with her girlfriend and when she saw me she told me why she was there and apologized for everything she did. That was it, pretty flower.”

You stare up at him with your mouth agape at his words as he continues, “ I called you for dinner because I wanted you there. I want you back, dollface. Can’t live this life without you by my side. It’s too fucking hard.”

Taking in a deep shaky breath he adds, “ Marry me.”

A gasp left your lips at his words. Those words were all you wanted to live. But after everything why would anyone want to take a risk?

“ Why? Why Bucky? Haven’t you had enough of what we went through? Why would you want to relive that again? Why do you want to marry me again?” You ask

“ I wanna marry you because you’re the first person I wanna look at when I wake up in the morning, and the only one I wanna kiss goodnight. Because the first time that I saw these hands, I couldn’t imagine not being able to hold them.”

“ I cut ties with my family, you know? They don’t get to make me lose you and act as they did me a favour.” He continues and you look up at him with an adoring grin on your face as he expresses every ounce of love he had for you.

“ I did too, I don’t talk to them anymore.”

“ There’s no one to stop us now, pretty flower.”

“ Ask me again.” You say and he huffs out a teary laugh.

“ Can you get your ring, dollface?” You nod excitedly at which he chuckles before you’re bolting to your room.

“ Careful.” He calls at you when you accidentally slip with a giggle.

As he waits for you to come back, he sits on the couch with his head resting behind as he breathes in your scent that covers the whole house, and in a second he is whole again. Every drop of pain and sadness has vanished as it wasn’t even there in the first place. His pretty flower, His dollface was in his life again and they had finally done what they should have years ago, not let your families ruin something so pure and beautiful.

“ Here.” You pant as you hand him the ring.

“ Where's yours?” You ask after which he retrieves his dog tags and you see his ring on the chain.

“ I love you so fucking much,” You say before pressing a hard kiss on his lips.

“ I love you so fucking much, pretty flower but I really need to propose to you right now.” He chuckles and you give him an encouraging nod.

Bucky is on his knees as he speaks.

“ I love you so fucking much my pretty flower. I have lost you once and with you, I lost my whole damn life, my whole damn self too. And now we have gotten rid of everything that stopped us and we’re here right back with each other just like how we are meant to be. I promise on my whole fucking being to never let you down again, to never leave you. Marry me, pretty flower.”

“ Yes yes yes.” You sob happily as he slides the ring on your finger, his tears dripping onto your hand before he pulls you in for an intense kiss.

Every stroke of his tongue, an apology, a plea, a promise, and most of all gratitude.

The city lights that lit up the dark night were going to keep shining even when the morning arrived. Nothing can ever switch them off as long as your love is always there to keep them on.

A/n(2): phew here it is one and done. PLEASE DO COMMENT AND REBLOG.

tagging a few angels: @scxrletrecsmarvel @ambrosiase @sebsbrokentoe @broken-kitty1995 @silentkiller2374 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @bemine-bucky @christywantspizza @babyboibucky @multi-stann @sebs-oceaneyes @you-are-my-sanctuary @jobean12-blog

@buckybarneschokeme @samthemarvelfan

[jaxrando]

True story

[jaxrando]

Father of Mine – Masterlist

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is.

Part 1

Part 2

BONUS CONTENT

Big Sis

This Game of Ours

Childhood

Secret’s Out

Trauma

Stomping Grounds

Art & War

Exes

Thanksgiving

Talia

[aftermath of Bruce claiming Y/N as his daughter publicly]

[nightmares and missing her]

[smeared lipstick and hickys]

[lightly kissing their scars]

[near death experience]

[playing with their hair to calm them down]

[if jason got hurt or they couldnt find him after a fight]

🎧playlist

BatFam - Ages

Y/N's style

🏠Y/N's apartment

→ Father of Mine + bonus content

[jaxrando]

"Three Minutes"

Syverson AU - One Shot

Characters: reader x Syverson

Posted: Dec 4th

A/N: idk where this came from, not what i an supposed to be working on but here it is

Summary: neither of you know how to properly communicate.

Heed the warnings please

WARNINGS: mentions of pregnancy, bad mental health, bad past relationships, ANGST, negative self image.

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost My Work**

You stared in abject horror. 

Three minutes. 

Three minutes was all it took to change your entire life. 

You didn't know what to do. 

"Sweetheart-" Syverson started, stepping towards you.

You shook your head. "No."

He paused, the mix of emotions raging through him- he tampered it down as you seemed to be getting smaller in front of him. He had known you all his life- had been surprised you were still around when he came home and had pursued you immediately. 

You had been one that kept in touch with him via mail when he had shipped out. All through his training and most of his deployment, there had been a few months where things got shady up till you had sent a few telling him how you were dating. A few envelopes had found him while he was serving but eventually your mail had stopped and he had become focused on staying alive. 

You had laughed, unable to believe he wanted to see you, but easily accepting him. Syverson had been your friend throughout school and now that he was back it was easy to fall back in with him. First a few coffees and book dates, a few movies, your friendship easy to reestablish. 

It had been easier to fall into bed. 

And after six months you now stared at him as if he had grown another head. "Sy! T-this is wrong!" 

He swallowed. Because of him? Neither of you had brought up what was between the two of you, it was still too fresh. Both of you feeling it out, going slow. More than friends, friends from before. In you he had found friendship that was more than refreshing, acceptance he hadn't expected, he had found shelter in your gentle and quiet nature. He pursed his lips, brows drawing together in frustration. He wasn't good enough for you? Was that it? He hadn't thought so, but it wasn't as if that had ever mattered. He hadn't thought it had, not really.

He knew he came from money but he was hard working, his pops had raised him to be so. You had never given any indication otherwise but now? Now that… he stared at the stick in your hand. Positive.

"No. I still have two others. It's fine. This is wrong-" he watched as you grabbed the bag from the bed and barely heard you as you mumbled and cursed. But his head went from bowed to snapping up so god damn fast he almost gave himself whiplash when he barely caught your words.

"I'm no good. I don't know how to do this. It'll die. I swear!" You choked back a sob, hands shaking as you started towards the bathroom. "If it dies… oh my god. I will be a baby killer!" You gasped as Syverson caught you bout the waist pulling you flush against him. You shook your head. "Sy… no! Nobody wanted me- what if that… what if I curse it?" You finished in a horrified whisper. You couldn't look at him, these past few months had been more than you had asked for. Syverson being sweet and so caring. You had easily fallen for him, honestly that had been no surprise and each day you wondered if you would wake up and it would be the day he would tell you that he was done. And then you woke up realizing you were four days late and he had driven you to the store for the test in his Ford pick up.

He had been quiet and you hadn't wanted to look at him. Worried that he would be angry, afraid he would lash out. It wasn't as if you had planned for any of this. Oh, what if he thought you were trying to trap him? You swallowed the lump, you could do this alone. It would be hard and you were sure he wouldn't want any part of this. No one ever wanted you for that… 

"You cannot curse it," he growled, turning you in his arms so that he could catch your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears that fell. "Darlin'," you pressed your hands to his chest, keeping your face from his gaze.

"... I understand-"

He ducked his head, searching for your watery gaze, "hmm?" He smiled softly, reassuringly. "Look at me, what?"

You couldn't stop crying. It was over. He wouldn't want this. "If y-you… don't want it. I-" oh, he was angry. The thunderous expression that appeared told you so, you backpedaled, attempting to pull out of his arms, "I'll keep it-" you squealed as his grip tightened on your elbows slightly, making you flinch. "I promise to not tell anyone if you don't want to-"

He dragged you back into him, that was what this was about. He had heard about your past relationship, little whispers here and there when he had taken you out. The way you were nervous when he did, you had always pulled away slightly as if afraid of others seeing you two together, though he always caught your hand in his without saying a word. 

"I don't know who he is, but I am not him. I will treasure you and our child. I am not running away." He felt you shake in his arms and ran a hand up and down your back soothingly, "I probably should have said it earlier, but I love you and I don't want ya ever doubting that. Got it?"

You held still, if you moved it would be over. 

He shook you softly, grunting in your ear till you nodded. He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to tip your head back, his blue eyes softening, yet keeping that determined look. "I ain't going nowhere and you won't do anything alone. Understand me?"

You nodded, tears silently tracking down your face. 

How could he fall deeper in love with you? There were questions that he needed to ask, conversations that were going to be hard, but now that he was back home and with you there was time for that. He would show you that whoever had come before he did, that his words and his opinions were wrong. That you were more than sunshine and the air he was blessed to breathe. He would remind you that not only were you beautiful but you were loved.

"I l-love you."

He blinked, the soft words jolting him out of his thoughts, "if your not ready-"

You jumped, face flushing in embarrassment, "I DO!" You stared at his lips, afraid to meet his gaze. This was terrifying. Your heart hammered against your chest. You hadn't expected this. None of the past few months and for him to say it- was shocking. Just how much this bear of a man had buried in under your defenses, how easy it was. Being with him was easier than breathing. 

You had been afraid when he had first taken you out. You knew others would whisper, talk about you after who you had been with and that not only terrified you it made you worry. What would Syverson think once he found out? But he ignored it, said it didn't matter and his kisses made you believe it. You had been living a dream. All because of him. "I love you."

Syverson nearly melted at your soft words, gathering you up in his thick arms he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You sighed into it, fingers tangling in the material of his shirt, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip briefly. "Think I'll keep ya, since I like you so much."

You pressed your face to his shoulder, worries beginning to fade away. "Yeah? That so?"

"Mmm," he nodded as he slowly began to sway back and forth gently. 

You took in a deep breath, the comforting scent of his aftershave and cologne soothing you. "I'm sorry."

He grunted softly, "for what?"

You shook your head.

He sighed, tightening his hold on you. A kid. He was gonna be a dad. With you. He dropped his chin to the top of your head, "slow, we'll figure it out and I'll show you how to make the first mistakes."

You snuggled closer, huffing out a laugh. So, this is what it felt like.

[jaxrando]

After finishing Arcane I have realized that Vi is having me question my sexuality

[jaxrando]

The Two of Us - Masterlist

Summary: You and Bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in Westview, New Jersey. While attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into Wanda’s world of pretend. Now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married Mr. and Mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. It is up to you and Bucky to piece together what’s happening while dealing with one another inside the hex.

Pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

Warnings: descriptions of violence, mind control, angst, arguing, fluff, smut, and WandaVision spoilers.

Word Count: 39.7k

This series is planned to be updated 1-2 times a week. If you’d like to join the taglist for The Two of Us, please click here.

Part 1 (50s)

Part 2 (60s)

Part 3 (70s)

Part 4 (80s/90s)

Part 5 (90s/2000s)

Part 6 (late 2000s)

Part 7 (2020s)

Epilogue

Completed: November 13, 2021

[jaxrando]

Quiet is the Life

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve didn’t mean to fall in love with you—not when his life had become a high-speed chase, him against the law. But he did, and you brought a comfort he never thought he’d know. In return, he brought danger. You didn’t seem to mind. 

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst, injury, sexual themes, fluff with nomad!steve

a/n: I had an intense need to write some Steve so here we are. I loved writing this and I appreciate feedback so so much!! ♡

You can follow my library blog @pellucid-library​ for fic update notifications 🤍

Masterlist

The air on the quinjet was heavy. There was a statement to be made, and the two parties aboard were waiting for their captain to finally utter the words. 

Well, maybe he wasn’t a captain anymore. Not legally. 

But to Natasha and Sam, Steve was their captain, and captains were the ones to make hard and fast decisions. 

This wasn’t a hard decision for Steve. Seeing you—holding you in his arms for the first time in weeks—was the easiest choice he could possibly make. You were Steve’s peace in all of this mess. You blinked up at him when he arrived at your door, battered and bruised, and all he felt was warmth. You ran him a bath in the tub he didn’t have the heart to tell you he barely fit in, and the scents from your soaps would be something he held onto for weeks afterward. 

Keep reading

[jaxrando]

One in a trillion

Summary: Bucky is sterile.

Or, so they had been told, that was basically what he was.

There was a one in a trillion chance of them ever conceiving, completely impossible.

And yet, a positive pregnancy test.

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Word Count: ~15k

Warnings: Pregnancy related sicknesses, blood, pregnancy related anxiety, talk of abortions, smut (only under the heading week 20 so you can skip that part if you'd like), lots and lots of fluff, protective Bucky

A/N: The long promised pregnancy fic. This was a true labor to write. Please let me know what you think!

Week 6 - Discovery

She stares at the test in her hands, disbelieving.

Something heavy floats up from her belly to rest heavily in the back of her throat, but she refuses to cry.

A little pink plus to change everything staring back at her.

What would Bucky say?

What could he say?

They had been together for years, linked at hip and heart, never separated for long. Was she not a bit jaded, she might call them soulmates.

They weren’t married, had decided long ago that it didn’t matter, they didn’t want to go through the ceremony of it. They were together and that was all that mattered, matched in soul and purpose.

A piece of paper proclaiming it to be true didn’t make it anymore real.

But marriage is different than a child.

A child is complicated. A child is something that they’ve never talked about, have never even considered. The possibility isn’t supposed to even exist.

Bucky is sterile.

Or, so they had been told, that was basically what he was.

There was a one in a trillion chance of them ever conceiving, completely impossible.

With odds like those, why bother with contraception? Why bother with pills and implants and condoms if they didn’t have to?

So they never talked about it. They never thought that they had to. Somehow, through everything they shared, adoption and being a parent had never come up either.

An absurd laugh bubbles up to her lips suddenly, they thought they knew everything about each other. And yet, this. This glaring hole of importance, this blind spot in their all knowingness of their universe together.

She paces the bathroom for minutes, maybe hours, her shadow chasing her along the tile under the glow of the overhead light. Eventually, she comes up short, staring at herself in the mirror above the sink.

Does she look different? Did knowing make one look so haggard with worry? He would be able to see her anxiety, but would he know the source?

Would some minute change in her biology reveal the truth to his enhanced senses? He was so watchful of her, so careful, surely he would look at her and know everything.

She turns from the mirror abruptly and goes to the kitchen, positive pregnancy test still clutched in her hand, gets a glass of water, and then leaves it on the counter to sit on the couch.

Sweat coats her palms, her thoughts racing and leaping to conclusions not reached by any kind of logic.

Would he think she cheated on him, with chances like those? Would he believe he’s the father, with chances like those?

He would believe her, she’s sure. Bucky has never disbelieved her in anything.

She’s still clutching the test between her fingers when the door to their apartment opens.

Bucky smiles at her as she swallows hard and meets his eyes, not returning the grin. There’s no point in hiding it, no point in dragging it out.

“We need to talk,” she whispers and his smile fades away, like the sun behind a cloud.

~

Bucky twists his fingers together, metal and flesh, and listens to the clock on the wall tick away the minutes of his life. It’s been three days since Y/N had told him she was pregnant, three days since she said she needed time to think, that they should both take time to think.

Three days since his heart dropped out of his chest, since he left to stay with Steve while she took the time she needed.

To think about what, he had been too afraid to ask, too consumed with guilt and panic. Guilt that this is his fault, panic that she won’t want him around anymore.

Maybe she’ll break it off with him.

Maybe she’s too afraid to tell him she doesn’t want that thing inside her, the thing he unknowingly planted there and left to fester.

Maybe she does want it, maybe she realized the taint of the father could not transfer to something that would also come from the pureness of her, sun drenched and overflowing with love. That even he can’t make a monster out of a new life.

Maybe she does want the baby, but maybe she doesn’t want him around, some deep buried maternal instinct already shouting at her that she’s chosen wrong, that he’s wrong to have a child with.

But she checks in with him once a day via text message, otherwise he would have lost his mind after the first day, worried, anxious, sick without her around in a way that screams co-dependence.

Y/N has never minded his clinginess and so he hadn’t worried about it. Not until this, not until now.

It was good while it lasted, he supposes, this time he was allowed with his heart, the love of his life, the very center of his soul. He should have known that he wouldn’t be allowed to keep her forever.

When has he ever been allowed to hang onto anything good anyways?

He’s always been the cruel universe’s plaything, his life a puppet on a stage.

“Have you actually talked to her about any of this?” Steve asks, his arms crossed over his chest, Sam mirroring him where he leans against the kitchen counter.

“She said she needed time to think,” he repeats, gazing down at his wrist, at the tattoo of her initials etched there in dark ink, tracking his metal thumb over it delicately. The miracle tattoo that they had been surprised stuck to him at all. He remembers the way she grinned at him, offering up her own wrist to the artist for a tattoo of her own.

“And I didn’t want to take that from her,” he finishes, blinking away the memory. He won’t take anything more from her than he already has. The look on her face when she had told him had not been one of joy, or even neutrality. Instead, fear had been written on her face.

Naked fear, terror, as she told him in a trembling voice, her hands shaking.

Bucky, I’m pregnant.

“And you took this immediately to mean that she wants to end things with you?” He looks up sharply, glaring at Sam. “I’m just sayin’. Did she actually say that to you or are you interpreting ‘needs time to think’ as ‘I want to break up’?”

“What else could she mean? Its my fault she’s pregnant and-,”

“Takes two to tango, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, squeezes his fingers until they go white and bloodless, until his bones start to ache. If he snaps his own wrist with metal fingers, how quickly would it heal? He releases his hand, blood stinging as it returns to his hand. “You didn’t see the look on her face, like she was staring down death. I didn’t think I could...I thought I was infertile.”

He pauses, and shakes his head, “Which is what I told her. She thought I was sterile. She probably would have never if she knew-,” Hotblooded anger traces a betraying finger through his chest, warming him from the inside out, “I didn’t think I could do this to her.”

I didn’t think I could lose her this way.

“We all thought that,” Steve agrees before a silence stretches between the three of them again. “Listen, I don’t think she would have...I love Y/N but I have to ask...I don’t want to suggest-,”

Steve stops, stares down at his socked feet, clearly not sure how to continue and regretting having tried to begin.

“Spit it out, Steve,” Bucky snaps, suddenly acutely aware of what he’s about to ask.

He sighs and bites the bullet, “It's just so unlikely, Buck. Is there any chance it isn’t yours?”

“None,” he snarls, the thing in his chest that bloomed protection and love rearing up, the thing that caged his heart waiting to pounce in a bout of defense. “Absolutely none.” She wouldn’t do that to him, she who wears love and devotion on her face like a beacon. Bucky pauses and reigns his anger in, blowing out a hot breath. Steve is just trying to help, he tells himself.

“I know her,” he murmurs. “She didn’t. Its just karma fucking with me again. Too good to be true. One in a trillion chance, and it happens. And now she has to make this decision, whatever it is. Because of me. I should have insisted we use condoms,” He pauses, watching for a moment as Steve’s ears go pink.

Sam rolls his eyes, “C’mon, man, this isn’t something you did, it isn’t fate, it's just something that happened. You gotta deal with it now, one way or another. Sitting around here, moping to us isn’t going to help anything and it really isn’t going to make her feel like you aren’t already jumping ship if she isn’t thinking about breaking it off.”

Bucky’s eyes jump away from Steve’s spreading blush to focus on Sam. “What the hell are you talking about, Sam?” He growls, testy and edgy, worried about Y/N more than he ever has been before, reverting back to the anxious, worried person he had been years ago. He hasn’t felt this anxious since he first met Y/N.

Sam softens a little, “Look, Bucky, I’ve seen how she looks at you, like you’re some kind of miracle walking. And while I don’t personally understand or share the sentiment at all, I don’t think she’s going anywhere.” He shrugs, “And if you’re here with us, you aren’t there with her. Maybe she needed time to think, but you don’t know about what. The longer you’re away, the more it might seem like maybe you’re realizing something too.”

Before Sam has even finished speaking, Bucky has grabbed his jacket and keys and is slamming Steve’s front door shut behind him.

Whatever she’s thinking about, he won’t let her believe she’s unwanted, that he won’t stand by her no matter what.

~

Bucky finds her on their living room floor sorting through their old photographs. He quietly toes his boots off by the door, snapping the lock into place behind him.

Some of the pictures are recently taken polaroids, printed cell phone photos, and professional shots, mixed in with pictures that the Smithsonian had given him a while back, old, faded, yellow. The Howlies, his mother and sister, him and Steve, Brooklyn, home.

One of the more recent polaroids features him lying in bed, arm slung over his eyes, grin peeking out from under his elbow. Sun is slanted over him, the sheet slung low on his hips.

It makes him a little sick to look at, his own happiness, what he must have looked like to Y/N when she took the photo. He remembers her naked and smiling, perched delicately beside him as she held the camera up.

He swallows thickly and starts toward her, purposefully heavy in his steps so he doesn’t startle her.

She has two piles going and for a moment Bucky thinks she’s picking his out of the stack, separating their things already, before he circles the couch and realizes he has no idea what categories either of the photos could be going into. He sits behind her on the couch, watching over her shoulder for a moment as she decides on the photo in her hands, a printed groupshot of Sam, Steve, and Natasha at a bar in Manhattan.

It goes into the left pile, on top of a picture of the street he grew up on.

He’s still frowning at the piles when she glances back and up at him. A smile shifts onto his lips almost immediately. He can’t help it, not when she’s looking at him like that, like he shifts the balance of her whole world, like he wrote the stars into the sky. “What are you up to, doll?”

She transfers a picture of the two of them together at the top of the Coney Island ferris wheel to the pile with the group shot. “Organizing. I want to hang up our pictures but some of them aren’t exactly...for the public eye.” To illustrate her point she holds up the next photo, a semi-nude pinup photo of her that had been a gift to him during their second year together.

She slides the photo on top of the shot of him in bed.

“Gonna put some of them up in the living room, the rest we’ll keep to ourselves,” she winks, a gentle smile on her face. The knot in his chest loosens just a little with the knowledge that she saw them together far enough into the future that she would bother hanging up their photos. “But hey, you’re back.” Y/N wiggles back so her side presses into his leg

“Think I wouldn’t, doll?” he asks, trying for lightness.

“Well,” she says, turning to face him fully, elbows on the couch cushion next to him, her eyes clear and curious. “You were gone for three days.”

Bucky presses his flesh thumb to the hinge of her jaw, tracing a path down her cheek before settling his thumb in the center of her bottom lip, delicate in all endeavors Y/N. “Ya didn’t ask me to come home. I was trying to give ya the space you wanted.”

She leans into his palm, settling her chin there and tilting closer, closing her eyes against his flesh so he feels the flutter of her lashes against his wrist. A tiny kiss is pressed to the pad of his thumb gently. The trust she places in him always manages to surprise him just a little, her whole heart given over to him without hesitation. “Yes, and you did,” she agrees. “You’re so frustratingly accommodating sometimes. But I didn’t want to tell you to come home before you were ready. I thought maybe you needed some time too. It's...a lot to take in. It’s a shock, I know. Neither of us expected this.”

A cold finger traces up his spine suddenly, an unnamed, unknown fear sinking talons into the fleshy, soft parts of his soul that Y/N has managed to pry open. Its stupid, he thinks, considering he’s one of the most dangerous people on the planet, but it never occurred to him that he could lose her to something that he’s done.

Bucky had promised himself he’d never do anything to make her leave, would never let anything take her away from him besides by her own will, would never let harm come to her, that he would protect and care for her as long as she allowed.

The one promise he had granted himself to believe he could keep, he had inadvertently broken.

The dread and guilt rise up again, and nearly swallow him whole, biting cold teeth into the meat of his ribs.

“I’d do anything you asked me to, darlin’,” Bucky leans down, pressing his forehead to hers, desperate for contact after days spent apart. “What did ya think about while I was gone?”

She reaches up to take his other hand, slotting their fingers together against the sofa. “I thought a lot about you, and how much I missed you. Thought about what we should do.”

He whispers her name, fingers tightening on hers carefully, shame clawing its way up his throat to settle heavily on his tongue. “Listen, doll, I-I swear I didn't know. I-we...everyone thought I wouldn’t be able to...if I had thought that there was even a chance I would have insisted we use protection. I should have anyways but-,”

But when one of you was sterile and you were only sleeping with each other, what was the point?

He takes a deep breath, squeezing her hand, “I just want you ta know I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

“Bucky,” she says gently, pulling away from his hand on her chin to look up into his eyes. She searches his gaze for a long moment before something like understanding filters in. “Help me up?”

He immediately tugs her up from the floor, one arm circling her waist as she settles next to him on the couch, pressing herself as tightly as she can to his side, crossing her legs over his lap. Bucky nudges his nose against her temple, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin, relishing the contact, not sure if it might be ripped away. “Honey, do you think I...what? Blame you for this?” Y/N ducks her head, forcing him to meet her eyes as she slowly reaches up to cradle his face between her hands, thumbs sweeping over the shadows beneath his eyes. Bucky doesn’t sleep well without her anymore, the last few nights hell.

His silence speaks for him, betraying every guilty thought he’s had since she told him, every self-accusation and recrimination swirling in his mind for the last three days.

Eventually, when she doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, waiting patiently for a response, he nods slowly against her hands, averting his eyes but not able to make himself pull away, her skin against his is like air to a drowning man.

More than needed. Necessary.

He pats her thigh nervously where her legs rest in his lap, wondering if he’s about to have his worst fears confirmed.

“No,” she says, pinching his chin between her thumb and index finger, forcing him to flick his eyes back to her, demanding in that soft way of hers. She pulls herself closer to him, her other hand finding the back of his neck, forcing him to press his forehead against hers. Eye to eye, focused on nothing but him, she says. “No. I wanted to think, with a clear head, about whether I - about what would be best for us. For me and you. I’ve never thought about kids with any kind of seriousness and-,”

Bucky swallows, nodding against her as he smooths a comforting hand over her thigh, trying to calm her, trying to soothe himself too, tuning out whatever she’s actually saying, much too nervous to actually listen to her.

Maybe she hadn’t been thinking about blame, he thinks, but he was right either way - she’s thinking about her future now, about whether belonging to a hundred year old formerly brainwashed ex-assassin is really the best life choice she’s ever made. “You gotta do what’s best for you, Y/N,” he hears himself murmur from a distance, interrupting whatever she had been saying.

He winces at his own words. God, when had he turned into such a fucking mess again?

“Bucky,” she says, her voice a quiet demand, digging her fingers into the collar of his shirt to shake him gently. “I know where your head is at. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t take all that guilt and let it weigh on you. This isn’t something to bear guilt for, this isn’t your fault. This is something we did together. It's something we gotta figure out together. I just...I just needed to know what I really thought about it, without you around to cloud my judgement.”

He swallows around the gravel in his throat, focusing on the warmth of her curling around him, not letting him back down, not letting him retreat.

It’s exactly what he needs. No one else is able to manage him, and manhandle him when needed, like her.

But she said together.

They would do this, whatever it was, whatever he had missed her saying, together.

“Do I cloud your judgement, darlin’?” he manages to ask with a weak chuckle, tentative relief flooding him, drowning his blood in cottony warmth, together running circles around his mind.

She presses her nose to his cheek, one hand moving to cup a palm against his neck, “Yes, you know you do, dummy.” Y/N swallows against him. “Tell me where your head is at.”

“Though you were breakin’ in off, sweetheart,” he admits.

“Not yet,” she quips.

“Yet?”

She tucks herself under his arm, nestling close and Bucky obliges her by pulling her impossibly closer. “Never,” she corrects. “Never. Only if you really piss me off.”

For a moment, he’s reassured. This is a solvable problem, one they would work out together. She isn’t sending him off into the dark alone yet. “Well if accidentally getting you pregnant doesn’t do it, probably nothing will,” he snarks, self deprecating.

A smile unfolds against his neck when she buries her face there. Relief floods him at the feel of her smile against his skin, before she nips gently at the pulse in his throat. “Shut up, you ass.”

A laugh startles out of him. “Alright, darlin’.”

Bucky pulls away from her to meet her eyes again, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb, before he takes a deep breath and says, “Listen doll, I just want ya to know I’m not going anywhere, whatever decision you make. I’m not going anywhere, not unless you tell me to go.”

She glances down, taking his other hand in hers, pressing her thumb into the center of his metal palm, comforting despite the feeling being slightly removed from himself. “I wanna know what you want to do,” she says, almost shy about it.

He’s already shaking his head, “It’s you that’s going to have to be pregnant, Y/N. Or it’ll be you that’ll have to go through an abortion. You’re gonna have to do all the heavy lifting here, no matter what. It's your body, it's your health. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Never, he could never do that to her. Not after everything that had been done to his body without his consent. Bucky would never demand anything from her.

“I know. Bucky, I know. I know you wouldn’t do that to me. But I still want to know what you think, even if we don’t have the same ideal situation in mind.” She smiles at him. “Speaking of health though, I spoke to Dr. Cho and Bruce about this. Nice to have such smart people on speed dial. Maybe you wanna hear what they had to say first?”

His brows furrow, mouth tilting down, wondering why she’d spoken with them at all. “Why? What’d they say?”

She gives him a tight smile, anxiety immediately returning with a vengeance, worming its way into his heart, choking the air out of his chest. “What, doll?”

“Well, I had a few questions about carrying if that’s what we decide to do. Because...I assume it won’t be a normal pregnancy,” she squeezes his hand, reassuring and warm. “And they confirmed and said that if I decide to carry it might be a difficult pregnancy. Might be,” she emphasizes. “There may be complications but they aren’t totally sure because…well because this has never happened before.”

The anxiety again already firmly lodged in his throat melts into dread, horror, a cold hand dragging it down into the pit of acid that is his stomach. Before he can ask she continues on, “Meaning that it might be high risk for me and for the baby. Because of the-because of the-,”

“Because of me. The serum,” he murmurs, unable to look her in the eyes suddenly. He may have passed it on to the baby, and by proxy Y/N.

You did this to her, whispers the cruel voice that makes him doubt, that still taunts him despite the years and progress he’s made, despite the man he’s become, the voice that he hasn’t heard in years, happiness eating away at it. You did this to her. You’re going to kill her just like they killed you.

“Yes. A little supersoldier could be a bit to handle. Though they’re not sure if it would even be an issue since there’s never been a super kid before. It’s also possible everything will be totally normal. Totally fine.”

She giggles, smiling a little, but Bucky can’t laugh, can’t think of anything other than the world ending, of losing Y/N.

All he can hear is Y/N saying high risk and complications like they weren’t earth shattering words.

All he can think of is the word might and how everything might be totally fine, but it also might not be.

“What would we need to do?” He asks, not sure why. He should just tell her no, that his opinion is to get rid of it and be done with it, that nothing’s worth the risk of something happening to her.

“Rest,” she answers calmly. “Lots and lots of tests, lots of doctor’s appointments. Minimal stress. Probably a strict, heavy diet.”

“Heavy?” His brain feels itchy, like there’s some thought he can’t quite pull at, a ribbon to unravel. A web spins out in front of him, too many threads to follow, all the possibilities in front of them. Complications and fears are certain, joy and wonder a thing that remained to be seen. Probably everything good he’s built would fall down around him, crumble into ash.

He’s never been a lucky man, so why would he be now?

“Lots of calories, I mean,” Y/N says easily, “Think about how much you eat compared to a normal person.”

Bucky nods, like this is a completely normal conversation for them to be having, like it wasn’t possibly life altering. Like her life wasn’t being drained away before his very eyes.

It's quiet for a moment, the only sound the noise of traffic in the street below. “I don’t want anything that puts you at risk,” he says suddenly, words spilling out of him in a violent torrent, words he hadn’t planned to say. “I don’t. I won’t tell you to do this, not when it could be so dangerous. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you. I-I don’t want to gamble with your life for this, for-,”

For what? A child?

Nothing was worth losing Y/N over, especially not something that was currently nothing more than a couple of cells.

Bucky starts to stand, wants to pace, wants to run, wants to put his fucking hand through a wall for always being his own worst enemy.

“Hey,” she grabs his hand before he can move away from her. “Buck. It's gonna be okay. I’m going to be okay. We haven’t decided anything yet. And if we decide to keep it, we will have the best care, the best of everything. You won’t lose me.”

His voice is hoarse when he responds, “You can’t promise me that.”

“No, but neither could any woman who’s ever fallen pregnant. And we’re much more privileged than most when it comes to medicine and resources. You know the whole Avengers enterprise is going to be involved once they find out.” She keeps a firm grip on his hand, her mouth a delicate frown. “But we’ve never talked about kids before. Do you even want children? Do you want to be a father?”

“No,” he grinds out, almost a snarl. “Absolutely not.”

But already there’s an image in his mind that he can’t seem to dispel, a future so distant and unlikely it might as well be a dream. A little girl that looks just like Y/N, soft baby giggles, birthday parties and holidays, tiny smiles. Y/N in a lower case font.

He shakes his head, wants the image gone.

Y/N shifts then, pushing him back into the couch, her knees bracketing his thighs. “Buck, look at me.” His eyes snap to hers, fondness and love and understanding staring back at him. Everything he doesn’t deserve. “Nothing is set in stone yet. We’re just talking and I’m okay.” Lifting his flesh hand, she presses a kiss to his wrist, to the place the miracle tattoo had stuck, her initials, the beginning and end of his story.

Bucky catches at her other hand, thumbing over her wrist where a matching tattoo rests, his initials written on her skin in tiny letters.

“C’mon. Humor me,” she smiles, kissing his wrist again.

A long sigh leaves him, his chest deflating when she leans her forehead against his own, her thumbs tracing the underside of his jaw when she cups the column of his throat between her palms. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Bucky whispers against her, hooking his arm behind her back to draw her closer. “I helped take care of Becca when she was a baby, liked it even. Guess I did want them at one time, but then I got shipped off to war and it never mattered. I was never going to get the chance.”

“You have a chance staring you in the face right now, Barnes,” she says, stroking her hands through his short hair, feathering the ends lightly, tugging until he tilts his head back and she can look down into his eyes. “It’ll probably be our only chance. This way at least. It’s...apparently something close to a miracle that we managed this at all.” She smoothes her hands over his hair again, fingers nervous before she tracks her thumbs under his eyes. “So it's important we get this right. It’s okay to want this.”

Something clicks into place then, slots together in a moment of clarity. “You wanna keep it,” he says softly. “Darlin’ do you want to keep it?”

There’s a long pause, tension and worry thick in the air between them. Her mouth twists to the side, a pained smile. “I think I do. But I can’t do this without you. I don’t want you to hate me for this.”

Is she worried that he’ll leave? That it’ll change how he feels about her?

She’s his touchstone, the center of his galaxy. Nothing could change that.

“I’m with you, Y/N,” he murmurs. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Especially not when you need someone on your six.”

She would need more than just someone on her six. He would have to enlist help from Steve and Sam, Natasha and Tony. Bruce and Helen Cho were already a given.

Somehow, in the space of seconds, the idea is firmly planted in his mind.

They’re having a baby.

“But do you want this? Are you going to resent me for the rest of our lives if I want to do this? I don’t want things to change between us, because it's not worth it to me then either. You’re the most important thing to me.” Before he can even open his mouth, she’s pulling back and pointing a finger in his face. “Be honest with me, Bucky Barnes. We’re a team.”

He hooks his hand behind her neck, bringing her forehead back against his. “Yes,” he says with a sudden conviction, “Christ, doll, I’d follow you anywhere. I want what you want. I always wanna be where you are. I want to do this with you. It won’t change anything.” He pauses, “Fuck, I’m afraid but I’m with you.”

He holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to reply. “But I have a few stipulations.”

“Anything, Buck,” she breaths, some of the tension melting out of her shoulders.

“You always come first. Always. If it comes to that, we are choosing you. I won’t lose you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, honey. It won’t come to that but okay.”

“You have to follow every single instruction that we get to a tee.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it. No cutting corners, I know how you like to find loopholes around things.”

She grins, trying to hold it back, “So are we having a baby?”

He allows just a little bit of hope, happiness, to creep into his chest, the image of a baby girl with eyes the same shade as Y/N’s swaddled in pink back in his mind. “Yeah, Y/N. We’re having a baby.”

The way she smiles at him could end wars.

Week 9 - Fear

Bucky isn’t exactly entirely on-board with the pregnancy, she knows, not convinced it isn’t about to be the end of everything he holds dear. His uncertainty and fear are palpable in the weeks following their decision to keep the baby, eating up any room he might have in his mind for happiness or hope or excitement.

And he should be excited, at least a little. There’s a veritable miracle growing inside her, completely by accident. Something that should have been out of the realm of possibility for them.

But there’s still blame blooming between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite let go, guilt that he’s made a mistake, and a fatal one at that.

Y/N is determined to make him see the possibility, the good of the thing that’s happening.

“I’m going out,” she announces to a dozing Bucky, hand already on the doorknob, purse in hand. He looks peaceful stretched out on the couch in the afternoon sun, arms crossed over his broad chest. She almost feels bad for disturbing him.

He’s immediately awake and on his feet, reaching for his jacket tossed over the back of the chair. “Where-,”

“Alone,” she adds.

“Absolutely not, doll,” he growls. “No.”

She rolls her eyes at the alpha male attitude that suddenly guided his every move. While he;s normally protective of her, the instinct has gone into overdrive recently. “Yes, you dummy. It’s a surprise for you.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t need it. Forget about it.” Bucky snaps, voice still low and gruff. She wonders if he realizes what he’s doing. Y/N knows it's just how his worry has been manifesting lately.

She pouts at him, drifting away from the front door and toward him. She doesn’t fail to notice that he’s poised on the balls of his feet, as though to spring after her if she makes a run for it. A laugh tugs its way out of her mouth. “What can I do to convince you?”

“Convince me to what? Let my highly vulnerable partner go out alone?”

“Your age is showing old man.”

He rolls his eyes as she presses a hand to his bicep. “Seriously. This is important to me. You can’t keep me locked up in this apartment forever.” He doesn’t answer, clearly thinking that he could if he really wanted to. “What if I take another super person with me? Sam or Steve? Natasha maybe?”

“You would rather Sam and Steve go out with you?” He asks, fidgeting with barely suppressed anxiety, hands fluttering.

“Only because I’m picking something up for you, stupid,” she says affectionatly, trailing her fingers along the inside of his forearm, tracing over her initials on his wrist. His hands still almost immediately, stress easing out of his spine, lungs expanding to take a full breath. “It’ll be okay.”

He swallows and tugs her close, arms closing around her tightly, “You’ve been so dizzy lately-,”

“That’s what the assigned super person would be for. To catch me when I pass out,” she jokes.

Women normally experienced fatigue around week 9, but Y/N’s was extreme as was predicted. She sleeps much more than she used to, dizzy, disoriented and tired when she’s awake.

“Not funny,” he murmurs against her hair, but she knows he’s relenting, relaxing against the warmth of her body, against his need to please her. “Fine. Call Steve.” She leans up to kiss the line of his jaw, trailing her hand over his stomach, feeling the muscles clench beneath her fingers. “Thank you, Barnes. Maybe I’ll do something nice for you when I get back,” she winks at him.

~

Steve makes it to their apartment in 15 minutes, an amused smile on his face as Bucky demands, threatens, Steve to text him if anything happens, repeating her recent medical history, how she’s been feeling lately, that if he let anything happen to her Bucky would kill Steve himself.

“We’ll only be gone a couple of hours,” Y/N promises, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Please don’t worry too much.”

The look Bucky shoots her tells her that she’s just requested something impossible.

She giggles and grips Steve’s elbow, Steve shutting the door in his oldest friend’s face before he can start lecturing them again. “God he’s overbearing,” Steve gripes. “Used to be just the same with me when I got sick. He’s always been such a mother hen.”

“Yeah, that’s a good way to put it. You probably deserved the mothering though. You don’t know when to quit.”

“Gee thanks, kid,” he rolls his eyes, guiding her out onto the street where she directs him down the block.

“How likely is it that he’ll just follow us anyways?” She asks, looping her arm fully though Steve’s, leaning her head on his shoulder after glancing back at their apartment building.

Steve shrugs, tugging his baseball cap lower over his eyes. “Not high. He hates upsetting you and I think he trusts me to at least be able to monitor you for a few hours.”

“Thanks, dad,” she snips back at him, relishing in the way he rolls his eyes at her. Ever since she met Bucky, Steve has also become a permanent fixture in her life, much like the rest of the Avengers. Though it had been infinitely apparent when Y/N and Steve first met that Bucky was anxious for them to meet, almost like he was waiting for them to compare notes, waiting for a consensus from experts in all things broken to evaluate his worth, back when Bucky’s confidence could be best described as shaky.

Back when anxiety and nightmares were waking monsters, back when trigger words were to be feared.

But the consensus was still reached, Yes, Bucky Barnes is worth loving. The only conclusion that would ever be had.

She tugs Steve into the first bookstore they pass, quickly locating the pregnancy books. Her hope is that getting Bucky some pregnancy and child rearing books might help put him at ease, settle his racing mind.

If he knew, generally, what to expect over the entire duration of her pregnancy, then, she hoped, it might alleviate some of the worry he felt. Steve isn’t helpful in the slightest in selecting a book, but he does provide a soothing presence and catches at her elbow when a dizzy spell takes her and she sways on her feet, his hands firmly on her shoulders, asking if she’s okay.

Twice he dutifully makes her sit down, carrying over stacks of books for her to look through and discard instead. “Bucky would kill me if I let you stand the whole time,” had been his only comment.

After an hour, and a selection of three books, Steve suddenly speaks, breaking the silence between them, the crisp rustling of pages.

“He really wasn’t happy about this, huh,” She had been taking a break to rest her eyes, incredibly tired and only away from the apartment for an hour. Y/N blinks, watching Steve scan the shelves.

“No,” she agrees easily, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes, “He never is but especially not these days. Bucky’s very good about knowing when he’s being too overbearing and I’m good at compromising. Just protective of me I guess.” She hands Steve a pink book, some kind of new age thing for overly anxious expecting parents. “What do you think of this one?”

Steve tucks the book she offers under his arm without looking at it. “Seems good.” He looks to be working himself up to say something and so she waits, resting her elbows on the arms of the leather chair she sits in. “No guessing about it, is there?” He meets her eyes, “He’s crazy about you. Has been since he met you.”

Embarrassment wiggles in her belly and she has to look away. “Think so? I’m pretty gone for him too.”

“Yeah, not really any mistaking it. And for the record,” he clears his throat, a little awkward suddenly, “I’m really happy for you guys. I know how he can get but he’ll come around to seeing this as a good thing, a hopeful thing. Like with everything, he needs an adjustment period.” He pauses, “Never thought this would happen...didn’t think it was even possible but, if it happened to someone I’m glad it was to you and him.”

She looks up, meeting his gaze, “Thanks, Steve. Means a lot coming from you.”

“C’mon,” he holds out a hand to her. “I’ll take you to lunch and get you back to mother before he has an aneurysm.”

Steve insists on paying for the books, despite it being her idea, her gift of a path to solace and peace for Bucky. But he seems to be trying to make up some slight to her that she can’t even begin to guess at, and so she lets him.

When they return to the apartment after a quick lunch, Bucky is pacing the living room, eyes landing immediately on the books she and Steve carried as soon as the door opened, head cocking to the side.

He devours them in hours.

Week 12 - Morning Sickness

She’s still leaning over the toilet, throat burning, empty stomach clenching around nothing, when she hears the front door open and close, shoes being kicked off.

The purposefully heavy footsteps of Bucky Barnes tromp down the hall, the sound comforting in its own right, tension bleeding away from her shoulders where she’s slumped on the floor.

The bathroom door creaks.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky says softly, squatting down next to her as she closes the lid and flushes the toilet. His brows are drawn together in concern as he reaches out to touch her cheek, the back of his hand dragging over her forehead, surreptitiously checking her temperature.

Y/N immediately seizes his other hand and presses it against her forehead, sighing at the feel of the cool metal against her clammy skin. Nearing the end of her first trimester, she has to wonder how much of her raised temperature can be attributed to just being pregnant versus some kind of serum kicking around inside her.

Her temperature is never high enough to be considered a concern, just high enough for her to always be overheated and shivering, just high enough to make Bucky fret.

“How ya feelin’, baby?” His voice is gentle.

“Fine,” she murmurs, eyes falling shut as Bucky’s flesh hand tentatively moves from her forehead to her belly, pressing softly to the tiny beginning of a baby bump. “Really I am. Better now, just a little tired,” she says, covering his hand with her own, trying to reassure him with a gentle squeeze.

“Sure? Sorry, honey, shouldn’t have left ya here alone.”

She scoffs, peaking an eye open at him. “You were only gone for fifteen minutes.”

He has only gone down the block for coffee.

“Long enough, doll,” he says, fully settling beside her on the floor until she’s ready to move.

Bucky moves his hand away from her, dragging her shirt up a little to trail protective fingers over her belly again, brows knitting together. Sometimes she has to wonder how much he can tell just by touching her. She knows he can feel her heartbeat with ease, maybe he senses other things too. “I’ve been thinkin’...maybe it would be better if we moved into the compound for a bit, just ‘til you aren’t sick all the damn time.”

She’s already shaking her head, hates the idea. “Might be like this the whole time, Buck.”

“Even better we get a move on now.” His tone is light, joking, but she can hear the worry underneath, the ever present anxiety that something was about to go wrong.

Things had gotten better after Y/N bought him the pregnancy books, some of Bucky’s anxiety melting away, replaced with cautious hope and vicious protectiveness. He felt better, she could tell, knowing what symptoms to expect when, and what remedies could help. He had begun chatting regularly with Bruce and Helen about what may be exacerbated by the serum, by the baby.

While Bucky’s normally protective of her, the possessive careful nature he harbored has only grown stronger. It would almost be overbearing if she didn’t find it so endearing, and maybe just a little bit hot. Something inside her preening that he chose her, that he’s only ever like that with her.

He’s become almost primal in his obsession with her, with caring for her.

The first few weeks hadn’t been so bad as he adjusted to the idea of a baby and obsessively read the books she had gotten him. It had been a good transition period, no changes to her body affecting her just yet.

And slowly, he came around.

Asking her about her diet, about vitamins, about when they should start seeing an OB. She catches him speaking to her still non-existent baby bump more and more, when he thinks she’s sleeping. Everything she does becomes carefully cataloged. What she did and for how long, what she ate and when, if she exercised, how she felt.

As soon as she developed morning sickness, as soon as she started sleeping more, fatigued in a way she had never been before, all bets had been off.

Some strings had been pulled, likely by Tony, and she quickly found herself the patient of the best OB/GYN in New York. Y/N suspects part of the enthusiasm of the doctor taking her on as a patient might stem from the fact that she’s carrying the first and possibly only supersoldier baby.

Bucky had recited information about her habits that she hadn’t even realized he noticed or noted, anxiously listing off questions that hadn’t even occurred to her during their first appointment.

She hates the appointments, if for no other reason than they’re annoying and time consuming. Most women only went once a month during the first trimester, but she was not to be so lucky.

Bucky’s already such a nervous mess that she agreed to go once every two weeks, if only so he’ll settle, stop fluttering around like a nervous bird for at least a couple of days.

And that was before he suggested that they also see Bruce or Helen once a week, to make sure absolutely nothing is missed, that there’s as little risk as possible. “Besides,” Bucky had said, patting her knee gently as she scowled out the window of the car on the way back to their apartment from the compound, “they specialize in people like us. If someone’s gonna catch somethin’ wrong with you or the super kid, it’ll be them.”

“I just hate being poked on so much,” she sighed, rubbing at the inside of her arm where several needles had been stuck over the last few hours. “And I’m not special.”

“Sure you are. Likely you’ll feel the effects of the serum a little, since you’re having more severe symptoms. And I have something that’ll help with that bruise, doll,” he had said, worryingly rolling up her sleeve to examine the discolored spot, one hand still on the wheel. He had frowned, “Looks like it's already fading?”

“Maybe the supersoldier juice is helping for once,” she had said, patting her belly. “Instead of making me throw up.”

Bucky had looked a cross between stricken and amused. “Maybe.”

Now, though, on the bathroom floor at the end of her first trimester, she shakes her head, “No. I’m comfortable here. I don’t want to be at the compound all the time.”

“You’d be monitored around the clock-,”

“Pretty sure I already am.”

“Ha,” he deadpans. “Seriously though, Y/N, maybe we should think about this. There’s better security. You could wander off and I wouldn’t have to worry. Medical facilities literally down the hall.”

“More people,” she counters. “And they’ll all have so many questions and want to touch me, especially when I start to show…”

She trails off, watching his eyes go hard, that protective edge swimming in the blue. “Nice try,” he says. “All I’d have to do is make an example of some poor junior agent and everyone would know better.”

“And scare off all my friends.”

He groans, frustrated. “We’ll table it for now.”

“Good, now help me up,” she holds out her hands and Bucky immediately stands to tug her up gently, hovering in the doorway as she washes her hands and brushes her teeth. When she finishes and turns she can tell Bucky hasn’t tabled the issue at all. “What?”

He swallows, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “Look, darlin’, it may not seem like it lately, but I really am trying not to go completely psycho overbearing on you but...you’ve lost weight when you really should be putting it on, especially considering the extra calories you’re supposed to be getting.”

She grips the edge of the sink behind her where it presses into her back, “But I’ve been sick too-,”

“Then maybe you aren’t getting the-the nutrients you need!” It’s almost funny, if it weren’t for the anxiety radiating from him. He scrapes his hands through his hair, pacing in and out of the bathroom door. “I mean I - are we - am I doing something wrong?”

Y/N steps forward and captures his hands, stopping him in his tracks. “Tell me what you’re worried about? What specifically?” He opens his mouth to answer when she continues softly. “I need you to relax just a little bit, baby. We should be enjoying this time. My morning sickness should be going away soon. I’m fine, we’re at some kind of doctor at least once a week, they haven’t missed anything. I don’t want you to look back at this time and remember it badly.”

“Maybe-,”

“James,” his eyes snap to hers. “No. Everything is okay.” She pats his hand, “If anyone was concerned, we would have been told. Really, the morning sickness has been bad, but nothing that some women don’t experience anyways. We - me, you, and baby - are all okay. I promise.”

He still doesn’t move out of the doorway, running his hands through his hair as he sighs, mussing it until it stands up in little tufts. “I’m sorry, doll, I’m just so...this is something I don’t know anything about. Y’know I’ve stared down death more times than I can count and nothing has ever scared me like this.” He pauses and looks as though he wants to reach out to her but doesn’t. “Look I’ve just...I have this idea in my head now, of what the future is going to look like. Me and you, and a baby. Everything just feels so fragile and I’m doing my best not to be the one to break it.”

A soft coo leaves her, completely unbidden, as she steps forward and wraps her arms around him. “You aren’t about to break anything. We aren’t breakable.”

He presses his hand to her stomach again, “No, but you are. That’s what’s making me so crazy. And I can’t do anything about it. I can take down terrorist organizations but I’m powerless in this,Y/N. I don’t like feeling like...like you and baby could disappear.”

“Bucky, honey, I have news for you. You are going above and beyond. We’re okay. It's not time to worry yet. I’ll let you know when it's time to worry.”

Week 20 - Cravings

Midway through her pregnancy she finds she’s ravenous, hungry for everything. And Bucky is more than happy to provide for her, pleased that she’s eating enough.

He’d read somewhere that five small meals a day was the best method to keeping a consistent flow of calories, and so that’s what they do.

Bucky cooks and she’s more than happy to eat.

He manages to keep everything healthy and high in calories. And it all tastes fucking fantastic.

“Have I ever told you I love you?” She asks with a moan from her place on the couch, balancing a plate on her belly, larger than it should be at this stage in her pregnancy. Their baby is apparently growing quicker than a normal child would, and the conversation had started to come up at their appointments about the possibility of an early induction, or a scheduled c-section for both her safety and the baby’s.

Surprising everyone with how far he’s come, Bucky had only nodded and squeezed her hand. Listening intently but not worried.

Bucky turns from the sink to gaze at her, smiling. “A couple of times I think.”

She pouts, “And you aren’t going to say it back?”

“I love you, Y/N,” he answers immediately, placing the last washed dish on the rack to dry. “You done with that?”

“Yes,” she sighs contentedly, leaning her head back against the couch, a different kind of hunger growing in her now that she’s eaten.

She feels Bucky take the plate, his flesh hand tracking over her forehead gently, checking for an abnormal temperature. Satisfied that she’s at her normal overheated temperature, he moves away quietly, clearly thinking she’s about to fall asleep.

Cracking an eye open, she watches him at the sink again, broad shoulders hunched as he scrubs her dish, muscles coiling in his flesh arm. A smirk pulls at her lips as she stands with some effort and creeps close to him.

“You know, darlin’,” he says without turning, “ta me you’re about as quiet as a bull in a china shop.”

She frowns at his back. “Can’t you pretend for a second?”

He snorts and shrugs, “Anything for you, doll.”

So she resumes her creep to him while trying not to laugh. Pausing behind him she goes completely still and holds her breath.

She wants to be able to sneak up on him just a little bit but when he starts to turn with a frown she knows she’s worried him instead. Y/N wraps her arms around him then, squeezing his sides gently, Bucky giving an exaggerated jump for her benefit.

“Did I get you?”

He chuckles, “Suppose so. Please don’t just stop breathing though, Y/N.” He presses his hand over hers where it drifted to his stomach.

“I can feel you flexing,” she accuses, digging her nails into him a little. “You already know what I want so that’s playing dirty.”

When he turns and cradles her face between his palms he’s already grinning. “You’re just so predictable these days, baby. Need me ta feed you and fuck you.”

“I could manage without you, Barnes,” she grumbles, trying to pull away, not appreciating his teasing suddenly.

“Uh uh,” he hums, “don’t do that, Y/N. Its hot as fuck, baby.”

She tries and fails to hide her smile. “Even all round like this,” she runs her hands over her belly.

His gaze darkens just a little, biting his lip as he gazes at her, “Especially now.”

Desire suddenly floods her, need invading every cell of her body. “Help a girl out then?”

Bucky sweeps her up in his arms easily to carry her to their room, kicking their door shut with one foot before he deposits her on the bed carefully.

“Easy,” he says, keeping her in a sitting position at the edge of the bed, “you’re not supposed to be lying on your back.”

She rolls her eyes, and tugs her shirt upwards, struggling with the fabric, “Just take your clothes off, Barnes.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, kneeling in front of her instead to nudge her up so he can tug down the sweatpants she wears. She stares at the top of his head, the slope of his nose and angle of his brows. She wants to reach out and stroke his hair but she’s still struggling with her bra clasp. “Are these mine?” he asks, slipping the sweatpants off one ankle at a time.

“Mine don’t fit anymore, ass,” she says. “You feed me too much.”

“I was just going to tell you how sexy it is, ass,” he murmurs back at her, tugging her panties down next before he stands and steps back. “I like seeing you in my clothes,” his voice comes out as a growl that has his ears immediately turning pink.

The bra finally slips down her arms and she tosses it to the floor. “Maybe I like how possessive you can be,” she says, raising a brow.

His pupils are blown wide as he looks at her, lust darkened, lashes concealing the depths of his eyes.

She bites her lip, trying not to feel self conscious as she leans back to balance on one hand and spreads her legs, her other hand dipping between her thighs with a soft whine. “Don’t leave me high and dry here, Buck. I wanna see you.”

The blush spreads from his ears to the tops of his cheeks. He looks absolutely adorable.

Bucky peels himself out of his shirt, tossing it to the ground before reaching for the zipper of his jeans. Her mouth waters, watching him strip out of his clothes, watching golden skin and taut muscle appear.

While he’s busy with his boxers she moves to kneel in the center of the bed, wobbling a little as she settles back on her calves, a warm hand reaching out to steady her. “Careful,” he murmurs.

“Always,” she whispers, eyes trailing down to his half hard cock as she licks her lips. “C’mere.”

He joins her on the bed, pressing his lips to hers, lets her push him down so she can straddle his hips. She digs her fingers into his chest, hooking one finger into the chain of his dog tags when she grinds down on him.

Pregnancy has sent her libido through the roof, what Bucky had said was true. All she wanted to do was eat and jump his bones.

She grinds down onto him again, sighing, her pussy already wet just thinking about how well he would fill her.

“Lookit you,” he says, hungry hands trailing over her widened hips, her belly that’s just big enough to be considered a proper baby bump, her swollen breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.”

“You too,” she murmurs, leaning over him to kiss him, to kiss his pouty mouth. “So pretty.”

He chuckles against her, fingers trailing down to press between her thighs, slipping through her folds. “You’re so damn wet for me.” He drags one hand up her spine, cool metal fingers coming to rest against the back of her neck, bringing her closer as he dips one finger into her dripping core.

She whines, his thumb only barely brushing her overly sensitive clit.

He teases her entrance with a second finger before slowly pushing into her, curling them to seek the place inside her that makes her see galaxies. She sighs against his mouth, trailing her palms down his chest and over his nipples, balancing on one hand so she can tug his hand away from her cunt and kiss him at the same time.

“Want you to fuck me. Don’t need anything else,” she whispers against his neck. “Please, baby.”

Bucky brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck clean with a groan. “Don’t think so, doll,” he murmurs. “I think you should come on my fingers first.”

She licks her lips, gaze fastened on his pretty pink lips, the same color high in his cheeks. So pretty and warm, the color of a summer sunset. She leans down and brushes her nose against his cheek, inhaling the scent of his skin, clean, like city rain and smoke, lustful, like arousal and cooper tinged blood.

They would have a strong baby, she knows, because whatever filtered version of the serum that’s managed to affect her these last months is rather heavenly. She can smell so much more, taste more, feel more.

It’s good for moments like these, when she can feel everything he does to her in hypersensitive reality, horrible when the new blanket he buys is scratchy and she can’t explain why and it makes her cry.

She especially loves how he smells, and doesn’t know how she’ll cope when it goes away.

Now though, she doesn’t want to listen to him. Not in the slightest. She doesn’t want his fingers, she wants to feel the heavy drag of his cock inside her, wants to feel so connected to him she can’t bear the thought of being separated, so close she thinks she can see what his soul is made of.

She needs him buried deep inside her, wants to consume him and be devoured in turn.

With a grunt, she sits back and snatches up both of his wrists, shoving them back above his head with a huff. “No.”

When she meets his eyes, they’re wide, pupils dilated so far the blue has almost entirely disappeared. “Jesus Christ, doll,” he whispers.

“What?”

“What? You shouldn’t have been able ta manhandle me like that.”

She scoffs, “You let me do that.”

“No. I promise you I didn’t.” He smirks, “That’s hot.”

“Oh,” she whispers, giggling a little with the new found gift. She squeezes his wrists, “This okay?”

“Fuck, yes.” His voice is husky. “Yeah, this is perfect.”

She laughs louder then, releasing his wrists. “Just want you. Nothing else. Please.”

“I’m inclined to burn the world for you right now, honey. I’d bring it to its knees for you.”

She’s so glad in that moment, that he’s back to himself, that the anxious mess he’d reverted back to at the beginning of her pregnancy has melted into the man she knows. “You know,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his as he grips himself in one hand and guides himself to her entrance. “I’d do the same for you, James Barnes.”

He grips a handful of her ass, then guides her down with a hand on her hip.

A breath leaves her when he’s fully seated inside her, so deep it's a little hard to breathe. She sits back and swirls her hips, Bucky's hands roaming up her body to cup her breasts roughly. A shuddering sigh makes her eyes flutter back. Even with her heightened temperature he still feels so warm to her, like he’s burning her from the inside out.

He pinches her nipples, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers, urging her on.

Y/N moves in earnest then, rocking her hips against his. Bucky groans and digs his heels in to meet each thrust, slamming into her, making starbursts cloud her vision. He feels so good inside her, drags against her walls in the most delicious way.

She tries to extend the moment, make the full feeling last, but as soon as Bucky’s fingers touch her swollen, sensitive clit, she feels her walls contract around him. She tries to clamp down on the feeling but her orgasm is already washing over her in a hard wave, a wild moan passing her lips that only makes Bucky thrust harder into her, chasing his own high.

He sits up suddenly, holding her close to his chest, whispering, “Move, baby, c’mon, move, ‘m so close, sweetheart. Please,” he begs.

She can’t deny him anything so she does, sloppily moving her hips against him until he spills into her, shaking hard, one large hand splayed across the small of her back, the other pressing against the back of her neck, keeping her nose buried against his throat.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispers, biting lightly at her pulse point before knocking a kiss against the side of her head. “Like you were made for me, honey.”

“Don’t move,” she whispers, burying her nose against his neck, inhaling the heavenly scent of him again and again, filling her lungs.

He chuckles and shifts, his cock still heavy inside her. “It's more than just strength, huh? This why that blanket was so upsetting? ‘S okay. I get it. Everything can feel harsh.”

She sighs contentedly, only answering, “You smell so good.”

His only answer is to tilt his head back.

Week 28 - Baby Shower

Steve and Bucky are still carrying boxes into their apartment when Y/N collapses onto the couch with a groan, closing her eyes as the tension comes off her back.

“Hey,” Bucky says, immediately abandoning Steve by their front door to kneel next to her, “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t sound panicked, worried sure, that would never go away, but not like he was about to demand that they go to the hospital right that moment.

“Your kid is kicking my ass,” she moans into the pillow.

Bucky chuckles, stroking his thumb over her cheek. He presses his other hand over her belly softly. “Quit kickin’ your ma,” he says.

The thumping against her ribs immediately abates and she takes a breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you.”

“Lemme get the rest of these boxes, sweetheart. And then I’ll take care a’ you,” Bucky says with a laugh, lips ghosting over her forehead.

“Baby doesn’t like being away from you,” she murmurs, covering Bucky’s hand with her own. “That’s what I get for letting you talk to my belly all the time.” They had been separated by duty at the baby shower for most of the day. Still, it’s almost painful to be separated, even if they were still in the same room. And clearly the baby doesn’t like it.

He laughs again, kissing the top of her head before following Steve back down to the street where Nat waits with the car.

The door snaps shut and she finds herself alone for the first time in weeks. The apartment is warm with spring air, with the scent of new life.

She stands with some difficulty, larger than she should be at this stage.

Knowing she’ll give birth early scares her more than she lets Bucky realize. Anxiety makes her head swim with possibilities, of not knowing when it would happen or how, of not knowing if the birth would be more difficult than is usual. How painful it would be.

Despite all Bucky’s worrying and fears, her pregnancy has been relatively normal, her symptoms more exaggerated maybe, but nothing she couldn’t handle, especially when aided by the serum.

It was likely the only reason the baby hasn’t broken one of her ribs.

Other fears were creeping in now too, the closer to the end that they got.

When she wasn’t pregnant anymore, would Bucky still look at her the same, be as on-board with having a child as he is right now? Would the sleepless nights and difficult days make him drift away? Would he still find her attractive?

She shuffles down the hall, trying not to let the niggling worries consume her, murmuring to her belly as she waddles along, one hand against her back. The door to the nursery is open, the walls a calming pale yellow. There are still tools on the floor from where Tony had been upgrading some kind of advanced baby monitoring system and security.

Almost everything is in place though, everything draped in shades of gender neutral sunshine and mauve brown. They had decided to wait to find out the sex of the baby and Bucky had fallen in love with the idea of a sunshine room, bright and warm. And she couldn’t deny him that vision.

“Y/N?” Bucky calls, front door slamming closed.

“In the nursery,” she says softly, knowing he’ll hear her, flicking on the lamp by the door, the baby giving a gentle tap to her bump.

Bucky curls his arms around her suddenly, having moved silently down the hall, kissing the back of her neck softly and making her jump. “You okay? It was a long day.”

She leans back into him, “A good day though. Baby will be very loved.”

“Already is. Not sure we have room for all the shit Tony bought,” Bucky chuckles against her neck, pressing a kiss to her heated skin. “Think the room is ready?”

“Mhm,” she hums, turning in his arms. “We need to pick names though, honey.”

“Ah, we have time.”

She bites her lip, “But we don’t. I could pop any day-,” Y/N stops and takes a shaky breath, feeling stupid when her throat tightens suddenly.

Fuck. She’s going to fucking cry.

“Hey,” his voice is soft when she closes her eyes and a few tears sneak out, Bucky’s thumbs tracking over her cheeks, brushing the tracks away. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she tries to pull away. “Nothing. Sorry I’m ruining a good day-,”

“You aren’t ruining anything. Remember how anxious I was at the beginning of this thing? It’s okay if it's your turn now, baby.” Bucky pulls her close, tucking her into his chest as best he can. “Scary stuff coming up, something I can’t help ya with. You can be scared, but let me be here for you, like you were for me.”

Ironic, she thinks, how they’ve switched places.

She sniffles and glances up at him through webbed lashes. “I’m just scared I won’t be able to do it. Birth. Which is so stupid. It’s biology, baby will come out one way or another but-,”

A huff of a laugh leaves Bucky and she glares at him trying to squirm out of his arms. “Hey, quit that,” he nips at the shell of her ear. “‘M not laughing at you. It’s not stupid. Fear doesn’t have to make sense.”

She grips his fingers against her belly, turning again to look around the sunshine room, remembering all the love she had felt at the shower. How everyone wanted baby to be named after them, how the child is already loved by the world’s greatest, and how that’s scary in itself.

“Think you’ll still want me after baby is here?”

“Doll?” Bucky asks, a note of panic in his voice. “What-?”

“I’m afraid you’ll...I’ve just heard…men sometimes don’t find their partners attractive anymore after the birth, that they don’t want anything to do with the baby after-,”

He spins her around, cradles her jaw between his hands to desperately search her eyes, before he crashes his lips to hers.

Bucky kisses her like a man drowning, pouring love she didn’t know could well so deep into her. He’s furious in his love for her, it makes the tension slip out of her bones. He pulls away, pressing gentle kisses to her cheeks and chin and nose, still cradling her head between his hands. “You should know by now, Y/N. I’m no ordinary man. You’re my fucking soulmate. I’m not going anywhere.”

All she can do is stare at him, pressing her fingers through his. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. “God, I promise. You’re the bravest person I know, baby. You can do this. We can do this. I’ll be there through the whole thing, and I will be there after. For you and baby. For as long as you let me.”

Week 34 - Birth

Her water breaks while they’re out getting bagels at the shop around the corner from their apartment. Y/N had been about to ask if they could go home to eat, that she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to lie down.

She’s wearing a loose dress, hand tucked inside Bucky’s, when she feels something gush down her legs.

Shock makes her go still for a moment, afraid to look down. It can’t be. She isn’t ready.

Bucky hasn’t noticed yet, still talking to the women behind the counter about cream cheese.

She slowly looks down, blinking at the fluid pooled around her feet. That can’t be from her, she thinks distantly, separated from her body suddenly.

Y/N opens her mouth, meaning to tell Bucky they might need to go to the hospital or the compound or somewhere that is not a bagel shop. But as soon as she does, her knees wobble and give out.

Before she can collapse a pair of arms catch her, hauling her back to her feet. “Y/N?” Bucky’s voice, warm and concerned in her ear. A pair of blue eyes catching her gaze.

“I can’t do this, Buck,” she hears herself whisper, before a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her away from him.

It’s the man who held the door for her when they arrived, his hand had brushed her shoulder with a tiny prick.

Bucky’s eyes go hard instantly, flicking away from her. “Get your fucking hand off of her,” Bucky growls.

“Don’t think so, Winter Soldier. Why don’t you let her go?”

“Excuse me?”

Bucky reaches for her, but her hand is suddenly ripped out of his entirely and she’s deposited in a chair by the strange man. The panic already swirling around her mind intensifies. She can’t have the baby without Bucky. She looks down at the hem of her dress, tissue paper wet against her thighs and knees and calves.

Swallowing hard, she tries to make the fog clouding her mind disperse as she reaches down and cradles her belly. It feels like she has cotton in her ears, like everything in the world is very far away.

When she looks up, she’s shocked to find the shop in a disarray, patrons under the tables staring at her with wide eyes. The barista is shouting something as the man grabs Bucky by the front of his shirt saying something with a snarl, his mouth inches from Bucky’s ear.

There’s blood on Bucky’s shirt.

Dripping from his nose.

The other man looks far worse, but that doesn’t matter.

Because her self-proclaimed soulmate has blood on his shirt, the gray Falcon shirt that she had gotten him to annoy him.

It was worth it for the disgruntled look on his face and the way Sam almost cried laughing.

It doesn’t matter that the man clearly has a broken arm, broken glass in his face.

Because the last time she had seen Bucky with blood coming out of his nose had been when the trigger words still held power over him.

His fist goes arching through the air again, determined, and she suddenly finds herself between them, his fist landing on the center of her palm.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” she snarls, the sting in her hand tiny as she pushes him backwards with a violent shove that lands him across the room, sound and color suddenly crashing back into her consciousness.

Bucky catches her when she stumbles back. She can hear sirens now, the girl coming around the counter to grab her other arm, saying something to Bucky. She leans back into his chest, “Who is that?” She whispers. “Bucky?”

“An old friend from Hydra. Heard we were having a baby.” He kisses the side of her head, “Nice catch, doll. Think I had him though.”

Of course he had. He had handled much worse, but there was still blood on him and so she couldn’t have let it lie.

Bucky lets go of her to haul the man off the floor and shove him against the wall.

“Why don’t you sit down?” The girl asks as police flood the room suddenly, followed closely by Steve and Sam in full superhero garb.

“What’s going on?” She asks as Sam puts an arm around her shoulders, sending the girl off with an officer.

No one answers her.

The rage simmering just below the surface of Bucky’s tightly controlled facade starts to break. “-more of them around somewhere. He fucking injected her with something-,”

“-how-,”

“I can fucking smell it on her, Steve!” He’s running his hands through his hair. “To induce labor. They said the earliest she might go into labor was 36 weeks. She’s only at 34, its too fucking early-,”

She realizes then that she’s closed her eyes, that she and Sam are outside, that she’s being loaded into an ambulance. But she can still hear Bucky and Steve as though they’re next to her.

“We’ll take care of looking for the rest of them if there are any. You need to go with her. She can’t be alone for this. You’ll never forgive yourself if you miss it.”

“He tried to take her from me,” she hears Bucky’s snarled response. “They deserve to fucking die.”

Steve sighs, “If it is them then this is the most botched thing I’ve ever seen Hydra attempt, Bucky. It might not be them. Go be with Y/N. We’ll take care of it.”

“Sam,” she grabs at his hand, “Sam, please. Not without Bucky. I can’t.”

She takes a deep breath, feeling returning to her body in slow shakes, and she realizes that the pain in her belly is a long contraction. “We gotta go, Y/N.”

“Not without Bucky.” She grits out, wondering how much time has passed between the water on the floor and now? How much time had passed before she looked up and realized what was happening in the shop? Enough time that Bucky has been bleeding, that the shop had been smashed to pieces around her.

Another wave of dizziness spins through her mind.

What had she been injected with? What if it was hurting baby? What if she couldn’t push? What if she couldn’t get the baby out? What if-?

Another contraction splits through her, making her cry out.

Sam is yelling something, his hand still inside hers. Steve and Bucky are still arguing.

“James Barnes,” she shouts, the words ripped out of her throat. “Come with me right now or I will never speak to you again-,” she’s cut off by yet another contraction, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Now,” Sam says, letting go of her hand, “Go now.”

The ambulance doors are slammed shut and her heart breaks.

Never.

Bucky has never not answered when she called for him.

Alone.

Would she really have this baby all alone?

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice.

She’s hallucinating too now, tears streak down her cheeks.

“Y/N?” He asks again, cool metal fingers against her forehead.

Her eyes fly open to meet Bucky’s worried blue gaze.

“Doll, I am so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry. I got too comfortable,” he cradles her face between his palms gently. “I should have realized before he ever laid a hand on you.”

She wonders again what she was injected with, why she hadn’t realized someone had been in the ambulance with her.

Why did he seem like a dream?

“Bucky?”

“I’m here. Not goin’ anywhere,” he sweeps his thumbs over her cheeks. “I got you.” He smiles suddenly, “And you got me too, huh? Didn’t know you could move so fuckin’ fast. Although I’ll ask you not to intervene in a fight while you’re pregnant.”

She sighs, feeling sweat drip down her neck. “Couldn’t let ‘em hurt you again.” She touches his cheek, feeling more than delirious, her breaths coming in heavy waves. “Remembered before, when the trigger words still worked.” Y/N swallows back sudden tears, “Before you were mine. You had a bloody nose. You would have nosebleeds when they said the words.”

“I’m okay. It’s not like then, not anymore.”

“You made me worry, you ass.”

“I know,” he strokes her hair back. “I’m sorry. We’re almost to the Tower. Helen and Bruce and a couple of the other docs are going to meet us there. Hold on a little while longer.”

Another contraction rolls through her and Bucky reminds her how to breathe. “What if I can’t do it?”

“You can,” he whispers, clutching her hand hard. “You can do it. We’re going to meet our baby today.”

She feels the ambulance stop moving, the world spinning again. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers. “Don’t. Promise.”

“Promise,” he whispers. “Never.”

~

By the time they reach the medical facilities, she’s entered active labor. Someone is telling her that she needs to push but she can’t remember what that means, can’t remember how.

Bucky doesn't let go of her hand, growling that they needed to take a blood sample, that she was injected with something.

“Barnes, can you get her to focus?” A voice snaps. “She-,”

“Watch your fuckin’ tone.”

“We’re trying to get your kid here safely.”

“We are trying to get Y/N through this safely,” he snarls back before pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down, forcing her to meet his eyes. She feels a prick on the inside of her elbow and blinks slowly, starting to turn her head to find out what it was.

But Bucky grabs her chin, forces her to keep looking at him. “Don’t look at that, Y/N. Just look at me.” Someone is propping her legs up and open. “Baby is moving fast, honey. We need you to push.”

He’s so calm, she thinks. Wasn’t he supposed to be the anxious one?

Bucky looks unshakable, solid, in control.

She nods and looks to the end of the bed, watching the doctors fluttering around like nervous birds. They’re between her legs, talking about her like she isn’t there.

“Hey,” Bucky says when she starts to cry. “Just look at me. You don’t have to look at them.”

“I’m scared.”

It’s happening so fast, too fast. She doesn’t have any time to adjust, she thought she would have time.

“I know. But I’m here. Wish I had somethin’ as pretty as you to look at every time I was scared,” he smiles at her, his gaze steady. “You can do this, sweetheart. I’m already so proud of you.”

She nods.

“Remember how?”

She nods again, disoriented, not really sure how she’s come to be in labor. But she can do anything as long as Bucky is looking at her like that. Like she was about to pour the moon into the night sky.

“We need you to push now,” one of the doctors says, a little demanding.

Bucky’s jaw flexes at the tone, but doesn’t look away from her. She grits her teeth and pushes through a contraction, pain like she’s never known licking up her spine.

“Good girl,” she hears through a haze of pain, Bucky’s voice wrapping around her protectively, a warm blanket against the agony, a kiss pressed to her forehead. “Breathe. Keep going. Good.”

She only has to push for twenty minutes, Bucky’s hand never leaving hers. His eyes always on hers.

And suddenly there’s a before and an after.

Before her baby and after.

A cry cuts the air, Bucky going limp next to her with relief. “Thank fucking god,” he whispers, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. “Christ, thank god.”

She smiles.

~

Y/N looks around, the haze settled over her still not dispelling, confused. The light in the room is different. She pulls Bucky’s wrist to her nose and inhales, anxious suddenly, empty and afraid.

How much time has passed? She thinks maybe she passed out. Why does she keep losing time?

“Where’s baby?” She asks.

But Bucky isn’t listening to her, another doctor is speaking to him about her blood panel. He’s calm again, holding her hand. “-normal otherwise. It should be out of her system in a day. No lasting damage-,”

She tugs on Bucky’s hand hard, something primal in her telling her to start screaming until someone answers her about this. “Baby?” She demands, Bucky finally turning to look at her.

Y/N can tell by the look on his face that she had been asleep seconds before.

Before he can answer, Bruce is approaching the bed, something swaddled in his arms. “Sorry,” he says. “We wanted to make sure she was okay and clean her up a little.”

“She?” Y/N whispers. “A girl?”

She’s not sure if Bruce answers her, suddenly not able to focus on anything other than the baby deposited carefully against her chest, close to keep her warm, skin to skin to bond. Small and soft, already asleep like she hadn’t just ripped the world apart with her arrival.

“Buck,” she whispers when he carefully reaches out to caress her cheek with one flesh finger. “A girl.”

There’s a soft smile on his face, one she doesn't recognize. A new type of love that’s only just started growing lodged in his eyes. “A girl,” he echoes. “We have a daughter.”

“Is she going to be okay? Are we?”

“Yes,” he says, fierce, before the sharpness melts out of his voice again. “They said you’ll be just fine. Nothing that could hurt you or the baby.”

She nods, leaning her head against his shoulder, forcing him to slide an arm under her shoulders and hold them close. “She’s so beautiful,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Exhausted, she leans up to kiss his cheek. “We agreed on Becca.”

“We did.”

“Still think so?”

The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he presses his forehead to hers. “If it's s’okay with you, doll.”

“Becca,” she says firmly. “Becca Barnes.”

~

“Everything still looks normal for both of them. Y/N is likely going to be disoriented for a couple days but she’s fine.”

Bucky nods, eyes fastened on his daughter where she lies in her bassinet. “Thanks.”

The doctor leaves and Bucky’s gaze flicks to Y/N where she sleeps, her chest rising and falling steadily, slowly.

She had fed Becca for the first time and promptly fallen asleep, exhausted from the entire ordeal. Bucky had been amazed as he watched them, already so in tune, how easily the baby had latched and fed from her, suckling at her breast for much longer than most other babies would.

He doubts everything else will be as easy as that first feeding but it soothed him anyways, to know they were both safe and healthy.

Guilt eats at him now, for letting his guard down, for letting anyone get the jump on him. He tries to force down the feeling, remembering the way Y/N had darted in front of him, the way she sounded when she said don’t fucking touch him.

The center of her palm is bruised from catching that bastard’s fist, from literally hurling him across the room.

Steve was right, Hydra had never done anything so botched. The man had been a rogue agent, desperate, hoping to get back in someone’s good graces. He can’t begin to guess whose.

But Bucky remembers him, remembers him standing in the room while electricity snapped toward his head.

He swallows, pushing that memory away, doesn’t want to think about it with his daughter so near, like his memories might taint her.

Still.

It grates on him.

Becca fusses and he gently lies a hand against her belly, shushing her until the wrinkle goes out of her nose and she settles again.

He’s yet to hold her, afraid of how small she is, how very breakable.

Despite being early, even by her enhanced standards, Becca is a completely healthy, normal baby.

“Sorry, honey,” he murmurs. “I know they’ve been pokin’ around on ya a lot.” Becca’s eyes blink open, searching, like maybe she recognizes his voice. “Gotta make sure you’re okay, y’know? You’re special. Don’t just say that ‘cause you’re my kid. We don’t know how this is gonna go.”

He traces her tiny cheek, soft beyond anything he’s ever felt before. “Everything’ll be okay though. You got a whole team of heroes that would go to ground for you. And your ma? Don’t get me started on her. Not someone to bet against. And me too, ‘course. I’d do anything for you.”

Becca coos at him and he smiles.

“Have you held her yet?” Asks a sleepy Y/N.

Bucky turns to find her sitting up, watching them. “Hey, you’re up,” he murmurs affectionately, eyes sliding back to Becca. “No. She’s just so little.”

“She’s a baby, of course she’s little.” When he still doesn’t move, she nudges again. “C’mon. So you can bring her here to me. Said she’ll have to eat more often than other babies right? She might be hungry again.”

Becca would fuss or cry if she was hungry, he knows.

And he knows, he knows he could just wheel the bassinet over. That he really doesn’t need to pick her up, but he wants to, has been waiting to do it for months.

Slowly, he reaches for Becca, supporting her head, cradling her gently until she’s settled fully in his arms.

He’s rooted to the ground, completely in awe. Becca yawns, tiny pink tongue darting out, soft little baby coos vibrating against his chest. She doesn’t fidget like he expects her too in unfamiliar arms, but settles right in, eyes closing again.

She looks just like Y/N.

Y/N in lowercase font just like he predicted.

Bucky sucks in a hard breath, a love so wide and deep spearing through him he isn’t sure how to process it. When he looks back to Y/N, she’s laid back down.

She winks at him, her voice hazy again when she speaks, “Not so hard huh?”

And like that she’s asleep once more. Bucky walks carefully to the armchair, staring down at the miracle in his arms. It’s hard for him to remember now that she is, an accident and miracle, as unlikely as anything in his life.

A one in a trillion chance.

[jaxrando]

when it all falls apart

Summary: The fate of the universe was in your hands. Bucky and you had been sent to retrieve the soul stone, a seemingly simple task. Unbeknownst to you, there was a hefty price to pay for such an exchange. You’re able to return to Earth, but it’s soon apparent part of you was left in Vormir.

Pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

Warnings: major angst, some fluff, swearing, major character death.

Word Count: 8.1k

Disclaimer: In this AU, Bucky didn’t get snapped and you two got the soul stone instead of Nat and Clint. Natasha is still alive in this universe.

~

If it weren’t for the circumstances, Vormir would have been one of the most breathtaking places you’d ever been to. The cool sand seemed to slide off your shoes seamlessly and the eternal sunset that peaked over the land reflected a warm purple color off of Bucky’s and your skin. If Bucky tried hard enough, he could momentarily convince himself that this was just a stroll on the beach for you two, that the fate of the universe wasn’t dependent on getting that stone.

But it was. So there you were. Hand in hand, silently hoping to leave this majestic place for more familiar scenery back home.

“I love you,” Bucky spoke, eyes remaining at the rocky mountain ahead.

“Don’t say that.”

“I do.”

“You make it sound like we’re going to die. Save it for when we get back home.” You were trying your best to stay collected, keep cool, but you were hanging on by a thread. The weight of what you had to do hadn’t dawned on you until you got to Vormir.

His eyes travelled over to you, giving you a melancholic look. In return you gave him a weak smile. As you further trekked towards the mountain, you knew something was wrong. Where was the battle? Where was the fight? It felt too easy, too simple to just climb a hill and claim one of the most powerful items in the cosmo. You knew something was wrong. He did too.

If only you both understood the dire fate you were about to become entangled in.

“After this, we should get married.”

“Bucky-”

“I’m serious,” he confessed, stopping to look directly at you. “I know I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Why shouldn’t we?”

You halted your movements to return your lover’s gaze. Sighing, you corrected lightly, “You’re just saying that because you feel like the world is ending.”

“Maybe because it is.”

“It’s been ending for the past five years,” you said, taking his hand back into yours to pull him along to your final destination.

“All the more reason. Doll, say yes and we get back and ditch this life for something simpler. Just you and me.”

“Buck-”

“Welcome,” an unfamiliar voice spoke out as you reached the peak of the rocky structure. You both whipped out your weapons, taking a defensive stance. A shadowy figure emerged from behind one of the stones, cloaked in a cape of darkness, face blood red. Not an ounce of flesh clung to his body, revealing an unnaturally bony figure.

“Bucky, son of Winnifred. Y/N, daughter of-”

“Cut the crap, what’s your game?” you spat, still ready to attack.

“There’s no game. I’m just a guide to the soul stone.” Bucky lowered his weapons, detecting this man was no threat to either of you. Not here, at least.

“How about you show us and we’ll be on our way,” he said, placing his gun back into its holster.

The stranger with the velvet face shook his head lightly in disappointment. “If only it were that easy.” Turning, he approached the edge of the cliff, Bucky and you cautiously following.

You looked over, seeing nothing but a long drop to the bottom, filled with uneven ground and rough terrain. “So the stone is down there?”

“To obtain the stone, one must lose which they love. The other must lose their life. A soul for a soul.”

For a few minutes, Bucky and you assessed your options.

You now leaned against one of the rocky walls, gazing out into the lovely dusk. Bucky paced slowly, trying to figure out what to do, if there was another way.

“He’s lying.”

“I don’t think he is,” you replied, nervously fixating on your hands.

“Why not?”

“Think about it, Buck. Thanos came here with Gamora and left with the stone, but not his daughter. . .”

You two knew what had to be done, but saying it out loud is what made the weight fall upon your shoulders. Although not tangible, it was suffocating at best and harrowing at worst.

You now shifted your position from the wall and stood at Bucky’s side. You both faced out to the edge, only feet away from obtaining the soul stone, looking out.

“If we don’t get that stone. . .” he spoke quietly.

“Billions stay gone. . .”

“I guess we know what we have to do.”

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

You turned to face each other, slowly. His faded eyes beamed into yours. You took the moment to remember his face, bask in it just one last time.

The bluest sea.

The quietest breath.

The strongest jaw.

The saddest eyes.

You rested your foreheads together, lacing your hands with the others. Bucky was ready to crumble at that moment, but he refused to cry. He didn’t want the last memory you saw of him to be such a tragic one.

“The answer’s yes.” You let out a weak smile, eyes closed.

His eyes remained shut as well, but he heard the grin in your cadence. “We’ll have to start planning when we get back, then. You’ve just made me the happiest man alive.” His voice remained low, stricken with grief.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“Hey,” he cooed, “‘I love you’s are only for the dying.” You sniffled as you let out a defeated laugh in response. “I love you too.”

He pulled his forehead back from yours, studying you. His hand cupped around your cheek and wiped a silent tear that threatened to spill over. Don’t cry for me, now.

“Another lifetime maybe?”

“I’m just sad it couldn’t have been this one.” He gently laid a kiss upon your forehead, lingering for longer than he meant to; he was just making it harder for himself. It was supposed to make up for the words he’d never get to say, the moments you’d never get to share. Taking your hand in his, he gently laid a kiss upon the back of it. For later. Finally, he gave it one last squeeze before letting go.

Simultaneously, you both turned to walk towards the edge. Your heads snapped immediately into the direction of the other.

“I don’t think we meant the same thing,” he said lowly.

“Seems like we have different ideas of who’s going.” Your voice remained steady.

“You have to let me do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I won’t.”

Like machine work, he gathered all his strength to toss you as far back as he could to the ground before he started bolting towards the rocky ledge. Grunting, you shot up and ignored the pain in your side to pursue him. Your adrenaline began to surge as you pounced him, taking him down as he swiftly moved.

“Please don’t make me fight you,” he begged.

“Bucky, you’re not going,” you commanded, frustration and sorrow arising in your voice.

He shoved you off of him and went to regain his footing. Before he could begin to run again, you conjured rocks out of the ground and wrapped them around his feet, causing him to come to an aggressive halt midmotion. You surpassed where he was quickly and dashed off the side of the cliff, free falling for only seconds before Bucky collided into your body.

Bucky wrapped his flesh arm around you and used his remaining metal one to grab on for dear life to the side of the jagged rocks. Now there you were, dangling, Bucky’s arm being the only tether you had left keeping you from a long way down.

“Bucky,” you breathed, “you have to let me go.”

“There’s no me without you, I can’t.” Tears were beginning to brim his eyes as he desperately tried to think of a way to get you back home.

Bucky’s grip was slowly slipping on you. Your fingers were finding ways to escape his grasp, shuffling and twisting, making it harder to keep a study hold. This was the way it had to be.

“We’re going to be okay, I promise.”

It was hitting him, there wasn’t anything else he could do. Your hold was too loose, he’d never be able to pull you back up. In that brief second, as he stared down at the love of his life, he contemplated letting his arm go, falling with you. He knew it’d be selfish, that you would’ve died in vain, that they’d never get the soul stone, that the world would have perished because of him, but his mind was a cloudy mess. He couldn’t begin to fathom a life with you.

Before you started your spiral down, he took one final moment to take in all the features he’d never see again. The ones that kept him safe at night, the ones that’d now haunt his dreams.

The softest lips.

The starriest gaze.

The truest heart.

The warmest smile.

One by one, your fingers released themselves from Bucky's hold, try as he might to keep his grasp on you. You were now falling, making your way down. You felt the air slide between your fingers as they left the safety of Bucky’s. The smell of the cold wind stung your nose as your further plummeted. Even from halfway down, you could see a pair of desperate blue eyes looking down at you. The final thing you heard was the blood curdling scream Bucky let out, the swan song of your love. The last thing you tasted was the grotesque flavor of metal that came with blood.

-

The world was smiling again, in all her glory. Families had been reunited, friendships were brought back together, and the sun seemed to be shining on the Earth once again. All was well.

Well, for most anyways.

There were those who crumbled under the wait. Faces that used to be called home were different now, unfamiliar. Some learned to move on, starting new lives without those from before. Others suffocated in the waves of the past.

Bucky returned with the stone.

They saved the world.

You saved the world.

He was supposed to be happy, joyful as the rest of the Earth. You died a hero, a true martyr. People sang your name in praise and for generations to come children would learn of your sacrifice. You died for a cause and that was supposed to help coax the pain. It never did, though.

There were nights where he’d wake up, aching for your touch once more, whispering your name. No matter how hard he hoped or how much he tried, he could never conjure you. You were a memory, a picture in the hallway, a piece of the past.

Bucky had always been a reclusive person, but your passing amplified his hermit tendencies. He never ventured out anymore. He confined himself to the small house you used to share, barely leaving the bedroom most days. The coffee cup you last used remained on the counter, undisturbed. He refused to move any of your things out, despite what everyone suggested. He couldn’t corrupt the last remaining traces of you. The team sent their condolences, words of pity to try to console him.

They’ll never understand. They didn’t know her like I did.

Of course, visitors came, not in droves, but a fair amount. As the days passed, they stopped coming by and Bucky stopped asking for them. What was the point? They couldn’t give him what he wanted.

The last person from the team to see him was Wanda. It was a brisk early winter night, not a star in the sky or a flake of snow on the ground. She stood at his door, hands in pockets, shielding what she could from the cold. It had been two months since that day.

He creaked the door open, looking out to see a familiar face, red hair tucked inside her coat hood.

“You look like shit.” His face had noticeably grown gaunt and his flesh was a sickly pale color. He looked beyond exhausted.

“It’s nice to see you too.” He was too tired to quip back.

“Can I come in?” Without saying a word, Bucky turned around to enter back into his house, leaving the door ajar as her only invitation in.

“How have you been?” Wanda asked, stepping in, taking in the house around her. Unopened mail piled up near the door greeted her. As she passed by the coat hanger, her fingers quickly lingered at the fabric of one of your jackets. If she didn’t know any better, it was almost like you were still there. Your shoes were still neatly placed near the door where you’d left them, your keys still on their usual hook.

“Never better,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky,” she sighed, “I want to help, but you can’t keep shutting me out like this.” She followed him into the kitchen where he stood, opposite the counter to her.

“Maybe I don’t want your help!” he barked back. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he had grown so frustrated. He didn’t want sympathy, he wanted you. No amount of I’m sorry or this is what she would’ve wanted eased the ripping sensation in his chest.

“You’re not the only person who lost somebody,” she snapped.

Vision.

Steve.

Tony.

Gone.

Bucky sighed. He hadn’t realized how hard his hands were gripping onto the kitchen counter, knuckles turning white from the strain. She was right. “I’m sorry.”

“She was my friend too.”

“I know.”

Wanda sighed, rubbing her temples in frustration. “I don’t even know why I came here.”

“Wait.” Bucky released his grip from the counter, looking up at her. “Stay, please”

Wanda nodded silently. Bucky decided to concoct a small pot of tea to fill the silence. Despite being best friends with you, Wanda and Bucky never talked much. It wasn’t because they didn’t get along necessarily, they just existed as separate pieces of your life.

It wasn’t until now that they realized they were the closest thing the other had to a family left. The world had learned to move on without them. They were both caught in a state of purgatory, seemingly endless mourning. What bound them was that nasty sting of survivor’s guilt. The phrase it should’ve been me played in their minds like a broken record.

They sat on the couch, ignoring the piping tea Bucky made and instead opted to nurse a beer. It was times like these that Bucky really wished he could just get a little intoxicated, anything to ease his mood.

“Do you see it in your dreams too?” Wanda asked, taking another sip of her drink.

“What?”

“How she died.” A moment of silence paused. “I see Viz sometimes.” Her voice was quiet.

He simmered in the question for a minute. “Every night.”

Bucky heard a quiet sob come from her direction causing him to turn his attention away from his bottle and to her. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Your thoughts,” she sniffled, “they’re- they’re so loud. I can hear her, Bucky.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. That moment, those few minutes were on an eternal loop in his mind. He didn’t ever really stop thinking about it, but those few times the thought went dormant all he felt was numb. Wasn’t it better to feel sorrow than nothing at all, though? Doesn’t that just prove it was real?

Bucky went to gently place his hand on Wanda’s shoulder for reassurance. In a flash, he was back there, upon that rocky cliff reliving that awful moment. Except this time, Wanda saw it all too. Ripping his hand away abruptly he cursed under his breath. Wanda was now shaking, tears drowning her face.

“Bucky I saw it- I saw her.” She was crying too hard to form a coherent sentence but he knew what she meant. “Oh, Bucky, I’m so sorry.” She pulled him into an embrace, still sobbing. At first he wasn’t sure what to do, the last person he held being you, still trying to register how he felt. Soon enough, he settled into the hug.

Wanda pulled back after a few minutes, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, trying to regain her composure.

“She would’ve made a beautiful bride,” she smiled sadly, picturing her best friend adorned in a gorgeous dress.

“Yeah,” he ached, “she would have.”

“A soul for a soul.” She let the words marinate on her lips.

“A soul for a soul.” He let the words fester like a venom on his tongue.

They sat in the quiet of one another for a moment. Bucky felt awful Wanda had to watch her best friend die, but secretly it was oddly pleasant to share the burden. If he could’ve done the same for her, he would’ve. It was a strange comfort to know it hurt someone as much as it cut him.

“If you could, even if it was just for a while, wouldn’t you bring her back?”

“Wanda. . .” It was wishful thinking. You were gone.

“I miss her.”

“I miss her too.”

“Wouldn’t you do it?”

“You know I would.”

She then got up, excusing herself quickly. She left in a hurry, as if she were running late and thanked Bucky for the cup of tea she hadn’t even sipped. She had work to do.

He went to bed that night, dreaming of that day all over again. Except this time, it ended the way he wanted it; you safe at home and him at the bottom of a rocky tundra.

-

“Child, I am warning you, you’re playing with the natural law,” the Red Skull cautioned sharply.

“Are you going to stop me?” she asked, ready to face any obstacle that came in her way.

“I’m here to warn you. You cannot retrieve the soul. The exchange has been made.”

“You can keep the soul,” she hissed.

With those fateful words, Wanda had sealed your fate.

-

You didn’t know how long you’d been trapped inside the darkness, but once you were pulled from it, it was an abrupt awakening. Your ears continued to ring for a while longer, but you could make out snippets of a heated argument.

What did you do? I saved her. What if it’s no longer her? What did you trade? This is bad, this is bad. She’s back. This isn’t natural. None of what we do is natural.

Your mouth still had the slight taste of blood in it and your body ached, but besides that there weren’t many physical ailments you suffered. You began to open your eyes a little to assess the room. Bucky held tightly onto your hand, too busy ugly crying to see you had awakened. As you finally sat up, everyone in the room quickly turned their attention towards you. You used your free hand to shield yourself from the light.

“Is it really you?” Wanda asked, slowly approaching.

“I believe it is.” Something was different. Not physically perhaps, but you knew something had changed.

Bruce came over to look at your vitals, affirming that you would be fine. Wanda began to smile at you. Internally, though, she was panicking.

She knows.

“Y/N, I’ve missed you so much-”

“Wanda, I need to talk to you,” you cut off Bucky, not paying much mind to his tears. Everyone in the room was taken aback by your bluntness. Like a scorned child, Bucky slowly kissed your hand before leaving the room with the rest of the team. She just needs time.

“I’m different,” you commented, pulling and tugging out the many wires inside your veins to stand up.

“You’re back.” She embraced you, happy to see her friend alive.

“What did you do?” You didn’t bother to return the gesture.

“I got you back,” she sniffled, pulling away to look into your gaze.

You narrowed your eyes. “No, you did something else.”

“Y/N-”

“Fucking tell me, Wanda.” She wasn’t used to this version of you. You were distant, biting with your words. You normally would’ve never spoken to her that way.

“Don’t be mad.” Her tears were now ones of pain instead of joy.

“Fine. Tell me.”

“You don’t have a soul.” She was trying to hold back, not breakdown immediately. She was way in over her head with this one. But she couldn’t lose you and Viz, not if she could help it. You were all she had left.

You stared blankly at her. In your head, you knew that statement was supposed to warrant a reaction, some form of emotion. Nothing. No words came, no strong feelings manifested, so you just continued to look at her absent mindedly. What was there to say?

“But-” she continued.

“But?”

“I can fix this. We just need to ‘borrow’ a piece of someone else’s. It’s not perfect, but it can work.” Wanda wanted to sound convincing, but she wasn’t even sure she believed in herself at that moment. She wasn’t even really sure you would wake up once you were back.

You already had heard enough of her bargaining. You gave it a quick thought before responding. “No.”

“What?” Her face twisted into an expression of confusion and horror. Of all the reactions she pictured, she would’ve never assumed you wouldn’t want it back.

To her further surprise, you began to walk out of the room. There wasn’t anything left for you there, not that you could tell anyways. As you passed Bucky, he went to take your hand and get your attention.

“Doll, is everything alright?” His voice was gentle, eyes still puffy from the recent crying he had just endured.

“Yeah,” you answered, not stopping to look at him as you found your way to the exit.

Nat saw you were in pursuit of the door and casually stepped in front of it, creating a barrier. “Why so eager to head out?” she asked, careful in her tone.

You gave it a second of thought. “There’s nothing here for me.”

“Wanda, what did you do?” Clint wasn’t accusatory in his voice, but there was an underlying sharpness.

“She’s not dangerous, she’s just, she’s just-”

“You’re scared of me?” You asked everyone, inspecting the room. Footsteps were making their way to the nearest exit, others had their hands closed to their weapons, some just shifted nervously, unsure of what to do.

“Wanda, we need to figure out what’s happening or she can’t stay,” Bruce reasoned calmly.

“Like hell she can’t.” Bucky instinctively stepped in front of you. “Wanda is going to fix whatever this is. Right, Wanda?” He was desperate and was beyond horrible at hiding it. He wasn’t going to lose you again, not when he just got you back.

“I can, but-”

“See. She’s going to be okay.” He turned to look at you now, ignoring everyone else in the room. “You’re going to be okay. This must be really hard for you right now. Just like you said, we’re going to be okay, doll.”

“I am okay. Now if you don’t mind I’ll be on my way,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Love,” Bucky whispered dejectedly, “what are you talking about?”

They wouldn’t understand, but you knew you had to try to explain if you ever wanted to make it out without a fight. “My soul’s gone.” The room turned eerily silent. Some eyes turned to Wanda, others remained focused on you.

“Doll-”

“I don’t love you.” Every muscle in the room tensed with shock. This was not the same girl who died at Vormir. “Stop saying doll like it’s going to bring me back. She’s gone. I can’t care about you even if I tried-'' Suddenly, you were hit with a monstrous wave of fatigue.

As you were monologuing, Wanda snuck up behind you and was working her magic. She couldn’t continue to watch this, she didn’t need spells or sorcery to know this was killing Bucky all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before the world went dark once more.

-

“You said you can fix her.”

“I can. I think.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She wasn’t dead when I got there. She wasn’t alive. Her consciousness was in this sort of limbo state, neither fully in either state. I could pull her from that. But she didn’t have a soul, that was far gone once I got there.”

“That doesn’t sound like solving the problem.”

“I need someone else’s soul, even just a piece. Kind of like a transplant. It would morph into her and she could use it. I just need to find-”

“Use mine.”

“Bucky, I’ve never done this before and I don’t know what might happen. . .”

“Wanda. I said use mine.”

A silence fell between the two. It was only a matter of time before the team would find a way to return you. They loved you, but the person who came from Vormir was barely a shell of the girl they knew. They couldn’t have a mutant with no moral compass running around.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Bucky was really beginning to hate the concept of time. There was never enough of it, always slipping through the cracks of his palms. But there was nothing he wouldn’t do for more time with you.

-

The exchange happened in secret. It is quite a difficult thing to quantify a soul and even more challenging to find a way to split it into two. It was also unknown what the soul determined. You still had your memories without one and you still had desires, but no emotional regard for others. Would taking half of another person’s soul mean you were now that person? Did you feel emotions the way they felt them? Can you run off half of one?

The whole situation was messy, but Bucky and Wanda well knew they were past the point of no return. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t stay like this. This was the only viable option.

After what felt like centuries of darkness, your body was back once more. The lights, they were all too flashy, too proud. They mocked you, jeered in your face as they reflected off your pupils and announced I was here before you were born and I’ll exist long after you die. Light was a very prideful entity. But the way Bucky made you light up was warm, and soft. It was tender and its rays peppered I love yous along your flesh.

In many ways, having half of Bucky’s soul felt poetic. There’s no me without you. You were now tethered by a celestial bond, something deeper than what was written in the stars. You had a piece of him, you were a piece of him now.

Your eyes flickered open slowly, straining against the dim lamp. This time you were in your normal bed, no wires or needles poked or prodded into your skin. By your side were a nervous Bucky and Wanda, waiting with bated breath.

“Bucky?” your voice rasped.

“Y/N?” His voice was hesitant. He wasn’t sure what to expect anymore.

You immediately jolted up to embrace him. His arms were just as safe as you remembered, his hair just as soft as you ran your fingers through it.

“Buck, I’m so sorry,” you groveled. You had a crystal clear memory of all the hurtful things you had said, the image of a melancholic Bucky and Wanda etched in your mind. “Wanda, I’m sorry,” you hicked into Bucky’s chest.

“Shh,” he reassured you, “It’s okay. We’re okay now.”

“We missed you,” Wanda smiled, tears filling her wide eyes. You got up to hug her. A dizzy spell struck you as you got to your feet, Wanda having to bear some of your weight on her as you fell into a hug.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just a lot,” you smiled through joyous tears.

Life was beginning to look up. Sure, maybe you were a little tired, but that’s expected when you’re essentially resurrected from the dead.

“How long was I gone for?” you asked, sitting back down on the bed.

“Two months,” Bucky answered. Now that the excitement had waned, you saw how haunted he looked. His face was hollowed and his eyes were tinted an autumn red. He was by no means thriving, but he’d never looked so handsome to you.

As you looked at your best friend and your boyfriend by your side, surrounding you with warmth and hugs of reassurance, you knew things were going to be alright.

-

It was the fourth night you had returned. The team had greeted you, albeit hesitantly, and reveled in your comeback. The world knew of your return by your third. You were a hero, an emblem of greatness. It was a strange sight, walking around seeing portraits of your face along the city streets. What hurt most was learning of everyone who died along with you, their faces preserved in the same murals.

Peacefully, you slept next to Bucky, his arms wrapped firmly around you. He never let you out of his sight once you returned. Some would say it was overbearing, borderline clingy, but with the given circumstances you understood why.

You’d slept relatively with ease until that night. It all happened so quickly, rapid fire images. Their screaming. The blood. The horror in their eyes. The snaps and tears of their bodies. You woke up, breathing in deeply. In an attempt to regain your grip on reality you sat up and took a small sip of your water on the nightstand. Bucky felt your weight shift off of him and sat up alongside you.

“Everything okay?” he asked, rubbing circles on your back with his cool metal touch.

“Yeah, just a bad dream.”

“Was it about. . .”

“No. It wasn’t even mine,” you confessed.

Even in the dark, you could easily decipher that Bucky’s face was settled into a confused disposition.

You’d play this scene, many endless nights before. Except you’d usually be consoling Bucky, assuring him he was okay. They were all just dreams, not a reflection of his reality.

“I have your nightmares,” you whispered. It was strangely intimate, to not only hear about them, but live them. Borderline invasive.

“Oh, doll,” he lilted, holding you against his chest as you laid back down. He couldn’t help but feel horrified. He didn’t want you to see, to relive that part of his past.

“Do you have them often?”

“Not anymore.”

“Really?” you asked hopefully, eyes travelling to look up to him. “That’s good.”

“I have nightmares about Vormir instead.”

“I’m back, we’re alright,” you assured, nuzzling deeper into him.

“I know. I’m still scared I’ll wake up sometimes.” He rubbed light circles around your back. “And you’ll disappear again.”

“I’m here to stay.”

“Promise?” He knew you couldn’t.

“Promise.” You weren’t sure. But that was enough to hear for the night. It was all the convincing you two needed for the moment, even if it was capricious. You’d only been back for a few days, there were no signs you were staying or leaving. You fell asleep once more, being lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Bucky stayed awake, though. Every moment was precious, too irreplaceable to not enjoy. Sometimes he wished he could stay awake for every minute you shared. The cute face you made when you woke up, the way you tugged at his hand, how you sounded when you sang along with the radio.

You were right in his arms, but he couldn't help but dread this would slip from him again.

-

“I didn’t understand love until I met you. I love you when you’re happy and laughing and I love you when you’re angry with me. I love your messy hair in the mornings and I love your sleepy yawns at night. I love when you say my name loudly and I love when you take my hand mindlessly. There is not a piece of you I haven’t loved since the day I met you. You’re half my soul and my whole life. You’re my sun, my moon, my stars, and my everything. There’s not enough words to describe how much I love you with all my being. I love you, my love.” Tears streamed down his face as he spoke. He had prepared the vows the day you died and now here he was, saying the very same words to you.

Life was a dream, a ray of sunshine once again. He kissed your lips fervently, fearing he might perish if he had to stay another moment away from you.

You were his.

He was yours.

-

The sun peeked through the curtains and onto the kitchen floor. The snow was beginning to melt off the ground and the trees were collecting their green shades back. Birds chirped outside as you continued to make lunch. You heard the light sound of Bucky’s bare feet on the wooden boards as he sneaked up behind you, encaging you in his arms.

It had been three months since you returned. All was okay. You were finally going to be okay. It shouldn’t have happened and you sometimes didn’t believe it yourself, but you were here to stay. Your comeback didn’t come without its obstacles, of course. Running off of half a soul was not a particularly viable way to live. You’d began to grow weaker, slower in your movements. Unlike Bucky, you didn’t have super soldier serum to keep you running. You no longer had your previous geokinesis abilities which meant no more fighting. Bucky and you decided to retire from the Avenger’s because of that, but the extra time together took your mind off your fragile state.

You felt the tinge of Bucky’s stubble against your neck as he kissed it lovingly.

“What are you doing, Mr. Barnes?” you giggled, his beard hair tickling your skin.

“Admiring my wife, Mrs. Barnes.”

The wedding ceremony was modest. You two bought the first rings you saw and married the same night. You’d only been back a week, but you weren’t sure how much longer you had. Time, it was fickle as always. Wanda acted as your maid of honor. The rest of the team also attended. It was the happiest you’d seen any of them in a long time. Glasses clinked in celebration and well wishes were directed to the newly weds. It was the pick me up everyone needed.

Bucky continued to pepper kisses down your neck, shoulders, and collar bones. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

“How am I supposed to make lunch if my husband won’t give me some room?”

“Forget lunch, come cuddle with me,” he mumbled into your neck.

Before you could quip back at your husband, the breath was knocked out of your chest. If Bucky hadn’t been standing right behind you, you surely would’ve fallen to the cool ground.

“What’s wrong, doll?”

You went to answer him, but your words were stopped by a sharp inhale. You clutched at your chest, it felt like your heart was burning a hole inside your ribcage.

“Baby, c’mon stay with me now,” he pleaded gently. He lifted you up and tenderly set you on the couch to lay down.

“Bucky, I don’t feel so good,” you groaned, a light headed feeling settling into your skull.

“No, no, no, no,” he mumbled panickedly. “We’re going to get Wanda and you’re going to be alright. Okay?”

He went to dial her number, one hand still firmly gripped around your shaky one. Before the phone could let out its first ring, you were out cold.

-

“Bucky.”

“Yes, love?”

“We need to talk about it?”

“About what?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what you were referring to.

It was exactly two weeks since you passed out. Wanda came over to assess the damage. Maybe you just didn’t get enough sunlight or enough sleep. Bucky was hoping it was an issue of the Earthly medical realm. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t and instead called the only person who could possibly give answers.

You let out a sigh. Your fork mindlessly pushed around your food on your dinner plate. Recently, you’d lost your appetite. The days blended together, fading in and out of conscious understanding of your reality.

“You know what.”

Bucky swallowed and continued to stare at the plate in front of him. “She said she didn’t know.”

Your husband was never the optimist until you came back. He was strong headed, and resilient. At first his unwavering positivity was sweet. Quickly, you realized it was a state of denial. He was going to lose you twice and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. So he rather just not talk about it. He would rather make all the meals and do all the shopping and pretend that you sleeping eighteen hours straight was normal. Your new shivering habit was just a result of the cold wind and your lightheaded spells happened because you didn’t drink enough water. That’s what he tried to tell himself, anyways.

“What if I die tonight?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Bucky, you know as well as I do that it could happen.”

“I won’t let it.”

“You don’t get a say in that!” You yelled across the table. This forced Bucky’s eyes to peer up at you. “We have never gotten a say in any of this. Stop acting like we’re okay. Maybe Wanda can give you your other half back-”

“You are my other half. I don’t care about the soul, I want you.” He walked over to you and kneeled down to where you sat. He firmly looped your hands into his. “Can’t you see that?”

“Bucky, I’m dying.”

“We don’t know that.”

“We can’t stop it.”

“I know!” he cried. “I know.” He now put his face defeatedly into his hands. The usually large, intimating man looked pathetic crying on his knees on the kitchen floor. His body shook as his pulse raced.

Your fingers softly grazed through his hair to offer him some comfort. Maybe it was selfish, but you needed to hear him admit it. The fear that you’d leave and he wouldn’t be ready further and further crept into your mind at night.

“How about we go lay down?”

“Yeah,” he sniffled. “Yeah.”

“And you can tell me about your childhood.”

“And then you’ll tell me yours?”

“Of course, Buck.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he affirmed, and gently kissed your hand before helping you upstairs.

-

“Wanda, what the fuck do you mean?” Bucky barked.

Her tone was solemn. “I told you it might not work.”

“She was alright just three weeks ago.”

“That’s a funny way to put it.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Bucky. Look at her.” Bucky and Wanda both stood at your bedroom door. After the first time you passed out, they knew there was no use in taking you to a hospital. They couldn’t help you, why waste the trip?

“She looks fine.”

“If you won’t stop lying to yourself then I can’t help you.”

Bucky glanced over to you, cradled in the sheets. He had been absolutely blinded by the fear of losing you. You’d begun to look sickly since the day you’d returned. It was slow at first, maybe a weak moment here or there, but as the weeks progressed you were withering more rapidly. The past week was the worst. You looked empty, barely surviving.

“We both have half a soul. How am I fine and she’s not?”

“Bucky, that’s not even half her own soul.”

He looked over to the love of his life as he asked, “Did you know this would happen?”

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Give her mine.”

“You’ll die,” Wanda reasoned.

“I don’t care anymore!” His voice was forlorn.

Bucky’s booming voice disturbed your deep state of sleep. You slowly began to peel your eyes open. It hurt to know the two people you loved the most were always arguing. All because of you. Because the world had to be saved and there was no other way.

“I’m not losing both of you,” she answered plainly through gritted teeth.

Slowly, your body began to rise to a sitting position on the bed. The two stared at you with pitiful gazes, scanning your figure. You looked like a wilting flower, clinging onto the last few breaths life could afford you.

“Bucky? Wanda?”

“Hey, doll,” Bucky soothed. “You had me worried. You feeling better now?”

It was hard to meet his sincerely hopeful gaze. As you looked back into his bright blue eyes, you could see his judgment was clouded. He was delusional.

You shook your head slowly. “It’s happening.”

“What are you talking about?” He slowly stroked at your cheek.

Wanda left the doorway for the living room. She couldn’t watch this any longer.

It’s a strange feeling, to know your body is succumbing to itself. The funny thing about death is, no one really plans on it. You had known for weeks and had plenty of time to come to terms with such a fate, but now that it was here, you weren’t sure what to do.

You slowly took your hands into Bucky’s hand and sighed. For a moment, you both allowed yourselves to become engulfed in the silence. Absently, you traced your thumb around the back of Bucky’s hand. His voice may have remained calmed, but his body betrayed him easily. He was shaking, like a sick kitten forced to endure the rain.

It felt appropriate to say something, anything. But the silence was welcoming. For those few minutes in the quiet, you could pretend that everything was normal. You were his. He was yours. It would be alright.

“We’re on borrowed time, Buck.”

“Don’t say that. Please, we’re going to fix this.”

“James.”

“Y/N.”

“The only other option is living with no soul. I don’t want that. I don’t want to die not feeling love. Yes, there’s a lot of pain too, but that comes with it. And that’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

You began to lethargically inch off of the bed, tiredly tossing the sheets aside. Bucky couldn’t help himself, he immediately rushed over to try to help you lie back down.

“Doll, you’re sick. You need your strength. Please rest.”

“Bucky, I’m dying. There’s nothing we can do. I’m not spending my last few hours shut up in a bedroom.”

He nodded with a sense of understanding. “Okay.”

You hated putting him in this position, but he knew it was coming. There wasn’t anything left. It was your time and you wanted to spend it in a meaningful way. He aided you back into the living room. Wanda awaited on the couch, head resting in her hands. No exchange of words needed to happen, she already understood.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Wanda. Thanks for the extra time.”

You met each other in a warm embrace. She took in the scent of your hair one more time, the feel of your skin against hers. Wanda would miss the stories you’d never get to share, the laughs that would never happen, and most of all her best friend.

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t make it longer,” she smiled sadly. She wouldn’t cry until she got home. You’d been strong this whole time, the least she felt she could do was extend the same courtesy to you.

With a loving last squeeze, she released and excused herself out of the house. The door closed with a foreboding quiet and all that remained was Bucky and you.

“Do you want to see the team?” He was still staring at the door. This was truly the finale, it was all coming to a close.

“I don’t think they’ll make it in time. Let’s go somewhere.” Your eyes remained at the door as well.

“Where to?”

“How about the backyard. The sunset looks beautiful this time of year.” You took his hand in yours. With what strength you had left you squeezed it lightly.

“That sounds wonderful.”

Little by little, you made your way outside and took a seat on the small bench in the back. The air was that of mid spring, clean and welcoming in her wake. By now, many wildflowers had begun to pop up, decorating the green yard with soft pastels. You rested your head gently on Bucky’s shoulder, him still keeping a strong hold on your hand.

“What’s it like?”

“Death?”

“Yeah. Do you remember it?”

“Well,” you explained, “I wasn’t fully dead. I was in some in-between state. It was dark, but I wasn’t scared.”

“Are you scared now?”

You gave it a moment's thought. “No. Not when you’re here.”

The sun slowly made its descent and began to color the sky with beautiful hues in its path. There were swirls and combinations of magentas, lavenders, and oranges across the dusk canvas. The air settled into a cooler temperature, causing you to snuggle closer into Bucky.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” you pondered.

“I’m just sad it couldn’t be this one,” he answered. He was almost glad you couldn’t see him. Silent tears were violently making their way down his face.

Gently lifting your hand to his mouth, he kissed it lightly. For later.

The sky was almost the same shade as Vormir’s, illuminating your skin in a lovely violet. It was a halo around your image, beautiful enough to paint in a picture. Silence dominated most of your time left. There was too much left to say, so instead you expressed your last remarks to one another with your touches and sweet nothings. A quick kiss on the forehead, a longing gaze exchanged with the other, a tender I love you mumbled in the other's hair.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“All the time.”

“I don’t say it enough. You’re beautiful. Thank you for the privilege of being yours.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, doll?”

“We’re going to be okay.” You delicately placed a prolonged kiss on his cheek before returning to your previous position, your head on his shoulder.

“I know.”

The wind danced through the trees, the sun disappearing behind their jagged silhouettes. The sky faded to a deep lilac to finally a grand navy color. The sound of nature whizzed throughout the air and the steadiness of Bucky’s breathing was the only company it shared.

“Hey, Y/N?”

A distant animal pranced in the forest, crushing leaves as it travelled, filling the silence. The moon slowly began to take the sun's place, offering dim light to the tragic scene.

“Doll?”

The world went still. The blue in Bucky’s eyes travelled down to the girl leaning on him. Peaceful. She looked so peaceful. Weeks of fatigue and sleep deprivation had melted from her face and she looked content. Her soft hands still remained gripped around his, her eyelashes reflecting the beams of the moon off of them.

“I love you,” he whispered out into the lonely night.

-

The years went by. Your death wasn’t the only major one Bucky would suffer. He outlived many of his other friends, in fact. The super soldier serum kept him running longer than he intended. Still, everyday he would go to the small cemetery to talk to his lover. She was the greatest listener, the most fantastic person to cry to.

After two decades of her absence, he donated her items. To try to move on, to evolve from his past. But that didn’t help. She was everywhere. He still only slept on his side of his bed and made sure to come home at a decent time, subconsciously expecting someone to be waiting for him. There was a piece of her in everything he did. He hated it. He loved it. It was wonderful and the most horrendous feeling ever.

So there he sat now. Withered and grey on the coldest day of the year at your gravestone. He had lived a lifetime, desperately trying to remember the sound of your voice. The way it sang his name and how it lulled I love you. Your image was a fading photograph in his weary mind, a fuzzy picture of what could’ve been. As he took his final breaths, he thought of the girl he let fall, but just couldn’t let go.

~

A/N: I want to thank @cherry-season for the wonderful suggestion. I had a lot of fun (and a lot of crying sessions) writing this piece, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. All likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. Have a lovely day.

My masterlist.

Taglist: @itscheybaby @akaaaaashiiii @Dumbhead1

[jaxrando]

Anyone else craving Johnny Depp from the Depression Era, who’s a bank robber, and says things like: doll, sport, baby, and I’m gonna take you with me?

[jaxrando]

Convalescence

Pairing: Paramedic!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Recovery is a long process; Bucky knows that better than anyone. He just really needs to get you standing before he can get down on one knee.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Descriptions of injury

a/n: This is a part two to my fic ‘Flashing Lights’! Read part one here!! Sorry for taking ten years to write it, but here it is!! :)

You can follow my library blog @pellucid-library​​​​ for fic update notifications 🤍

Masterlist

Part One

The red lights filtered through your living room window before the sirens sounded off. They were quick—just a heads up that it was your boyfriend banging up the stairs to your apartment. You rushed to grab your things before he got inside, but with your legs still stiff from your surgery all those weeks ago, ‘rushing’ was nearly impossible. 

“Hey, pretty girl, you ready to go?” Bucky called out, his boots heavy against the hardwood.

“Just a sec!” you yelled. “I need to grab my jacket.” 

“The one at the top of the closet? I’ll get it for you, don’t move.” 

Keep reading

[jaxrando]

Random thought, but can they please get cast in a film playing sisters. I mean come on. Am I right? Or am I right?

[jaxrando]

Delicate Stages of Life: 29

The Soul Stone

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios; Platonic!Steve Rogers x Ana

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. A sprinkle of angst

Words: 7k+

A/N: (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts​​​​​ and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. (gif not mine) Sorry for the wait again! 

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[jaxrando]

What’s Said and Unsaid

Pairing: College athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: A stupid text thread. Tires he didn’t switch out. The New York snow. All things Bucky Barnes wished hadn’t ruined Christmas. 

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, Bucky is idiot, minor injury

a/n: This is the fifth one-shot/drabble for my series ‘For the Love of the Game’! Some insight on Bucky still being a little new to relationships. I’m a little too excited for Christmas. 

I discontinued my taglist, but you can follow my library blog @pellucid-library​​ for notifications 🤍

Series Materlist // Main Masterlist

You knew you shouldn’t have looked, but it just kept vibrating—one after another. Bucky didn’t usually get so many messages, not on Friday nights at least. Those were reserved for you, and he let the team know that as soon as you started dating. 

You were more worried than anything. What if something happened with his family, or one of your friends? Maybe you were missing something—plans that both of you had forgotten about. And Bucky was in the bathroom; if it was an emergency, there wasn’t any time to wait for him to come back. 

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