nya116

[nya116]

did an hour ish study based on the concept art yesterday

[nya116]

Sam Wilson

Avengers (2023) #25

[nya116]

#Love him

[nya116]

★ group grocery run

[nya116]

2025 vs 2016

[nya116]

🐹: Although I didn't say much and all I did was eat, I at least came to report that I'm alive. 🫡❤️

[nya116]

𝙶𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚆𝚑𝚘, 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader ✦ Genre: Fluff | Comedy | Team Shenanigans | Soft Clingy Love | Friends to Lovers (kinda) ✦ Word Count: ~4,081 ✦ Summary: Game night at the Compound turns chaotic when Natasha suggests a kissing game—blindfold Bucky, and see if he can guess which kiss belongs to you. He doesn’t stand a chance against Tony’s chaos, Sam’s dramatics, or the fact that you’re the only one who makes his heart do backflips. He swears he’ll get it right. He always knows when it’s you. (…Right?)

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ ✦✦ ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ ✦✦ ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You should’ve known it was going to be one of those nights the second Tony brought out the wine and Steve mysteriously disappeared.

Game night with the Avengers always started with harmless intentions, cards, maybe a movie, some snacks but somehow ended in chaos, team-wide embarrassment, or both.

Tonight was no different.

Everyone was lounging in the compound’s living room: Tony with two glasses of red (one his, one his “backup”), Sam scrolling through music, Wanda cuddled up next to Vision, and you? You were sitting suspiciously close to Bucky Barnes.

Not touching. Not talking.

Just that almost closeness that had been building for months now long looks across briefing tables, shared coffees, accidental naps on the couch. The kind of closeness that buzzed.

You liked him. He liked you. But neither of you had the guts to say it out loud.

Of course, that meant the entire team knew. Which is why this next part shouldn’t have surprised you.

✦✦✦

“Alright,” Natasha said, standing up and stretching. “We’re clearly all bored out of our minds, so I vote we spice things up.”

“Oh god,” Sam muttered. “Every time someone says that in this room, I end up regretting my life choices.”

Nat smirked. “Exactly the point.”

She looked around. “Truth or dare? Strip poker? Spin the bottle?”

“Absolutely not,” Steve called from the hallway without even being in the room.

“Party pooper,” Tony muttered.

“I have a game,” Natasha said, her grin widening. “It’s a sensory challenge.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds…vague.”

“Someone gets blindfolded,” she continued. “Everyone gives them the same physical cue—like a touch, a kiss, whatever—and they have to guess which one came from a specific person.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Like… guess which kiss was mine?” you asked slowly.

Natasha shrugged. “Exactly.”

Wanda giggled. “That actually sounds fun.”

Sam frowned. “Wait, so someone just sits there blindfolded while we all kiss them?”

Tony, without missing a beat: “Welcome to Avengers: Bachelor Edition.”

✦✦✦

Bucky groaned. “No way. Not it.”

“Oh, you’re so it,” Natasha purred.

You glanced at him. “Come on, soldier. Afraid you can’t tell my kiss apart?”

That made his cheeks pink. “I—what—no! I’d know it. Instantly.”

You grinned. “Prove it.”

And just like that, it was decided.

✦✦✦

💋 Round One: Bucky Barnes vs. Chaos

Bucky sat on the couch, arms crossed, clearly trying not to smile as Sam tied the blindfold around his eyes.

“If I catch anyone being weird,” Bucky muttered, “I swear to God—”

“You’re literally letting us all kiss you,” Sam said. “I think ‘weird’ is already on the table.”

You sat beside Wanda, trying not to look too giddy as Natasha clapped her hands.

“Rules are simple. Everyone gets one kiss. Then, Bucky has to guess which one was Y/N. If he guesses wrong—he owes her a favor.”

“A big favor,” Tony added with a smirk.

“Like cleaning out the quinjet toilets,” Sam muttered.

Bucky groaned. “Fine. But I swear—if one of you uses tongue—”

✦✦✦

Kiss #1: Wanda pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Gentle. Innocent. Kiss #2: Sam leaned in dramatically and smooched his forehead with a loud “mwah!” sound. Kiss #3: Natasha kissed the corner of his mouth. Quick. Purposeful. (He blushed violently.) Kiss #4: Tony kissed his temple with the precision of a smug AI-powered menace. Kiss #5: You stepped forward.

And you hesitated. Just for a second.

His face was tilted slightly toward you, lips parted. Like maybe… he knew.

Your heart flipped. You leaned in, placed the softest, sweetest kiss to his cheek lingering just a beat longer than the rest.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sexy. It was you. And you hoped he could feel that.

✦✦✦

“Alright, Barnes,” Natasha said, arms crossed. “Time to guess.”

He sat in silence, blindfold still on, brows furrowed. Then “Number five. That was her.”

Your stomach flipped.

Nat’s eyes widened. “You sure?”

“I’d know her anywhere.”

You bit your lip. “You’re right.”

He yanked off the blindfold and grinned. That grin nearly knocked you over.

Sam groaned. “Disgusting.”

Tony poured himself another glass. “I feel violated.”

✦✦✦

💋 Round Two: The Kisses Strike Back

“Okay okay okay,” Sam said, clapping. “Let’s up the stakes.”

“Oh no,” Bucky groaned.

“This time,” Sam continued, “we all kiss you again. Same idea. But one of us kisses you twice pretending to be Y/N. You have to figure out who the imposter was.”

“You’re making this up as you go,” Bucky accused.

“Yup!” Sam said, unapologetically. “Let’s go, hot stuff. Blindfold back on.”

✦✦✦

The second round was harder. There were kisses on both cheeks, on his jaw, his forehead. One was very dramatic clearly Sam again.

Then there were two that felt like you. One a little hesitant. The other, soft and sure.

He paused. “The first one was you.”

You winced. “Wrong.”

He froze. “What?”

“Wanda kissed you first. I was second.”

He pulled off the blindfold, looking betrayed.

“You hesitated!” he protested.

You laughed. “You said you’d know.”

“I did know! I just…” He looked flustered. “I panicked!”

Sam cackled. “Oh buddy. Hope you like scrubbing quinjet toilets!”

✦✦✦

💋 Clingy Soldier Activated

After round three (which he barely passed), you noticed something different.

He started clinging to you between turns. Subtle at first. A hand on your knee. Leaning close. A brush of fingers. But then he got bold.

Wrapped an arm around your waist. Rested his head on your shoulder. Nuzzled into your neck like he belonged there.

You didn’t complain “You trying to make up for guessing wrong?” you teased.

He mumbled against your skin. “I just don’t like when other people kiss me. Not if it’s not you.”

You melted. “That so?”

He nodded. “Feels wrong.”

You smiled into his hair. “Then stop letting them.”

He sat up. “What if I just… kissed you instead?”

You blinked. “Bucky—”

“Blindfold me again,” he said suddenly, grinning. “But this time, just one kiss. One person. If it’s you—I kiss you back.”

Your heart exploded.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “God, just date already.”

✦✦✦

💋 Final Round: No More Games

He sat back down. Everyone else stayed quiet. You walked up to him, slowly. He tilted his head. And this time, when you kissed him it wasn’t shy. Or short. Or careful.

It was soft. Warm. Deep. Your lips molded to his, hands curling gently into his shirt, and you kissed him like it wasn’t a game anymore.

Because it wasn’t.

He kissed you back instantly. No hesitation. No panic. Just Bucky and you.

✦✦✦

When you finally pulled away, he tugged the blindfold off and stared at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

“Definitely you.”

You smiled. “No more guesses?”

He shook his head, breathless. “Not anymore.”

You leaned in and kissed his nose.

“Good. Because I’m not kissing anyone else tonight.”

He grinned. “Me neither.”

Sam pretended to gag in the background. “I hate both of you.”

Tony raised his glass. “To domestic clinginess and Barnes being a simp.”

Natasha just smirked. “Took you long enough.”

✦✦✦

That night, as everyone wandered off to their rooms, Bucky walked you back to yours. His hand never left yours. Not once. And before you said goodnight, he kissed you again longer this time. Sweeter.

“I meant it,” he whispered “I’d know your kiss anywhere.”

You smiled, heart full “Good. Because now it’s the only one you’re getting.”

And he didn’t want it any other way.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ ✦✦ ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ ✦✦ ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Author’s Note 🩵

hi angels!! i’m kinda on a little vacation right now — taking time to heal, breathe, and calm my mind a bit. while traveling, this idea suddenly came to me (as they always do when i’m far from my laptop 😭), and i just had to write it down for you guys.

thank you for being here. i love you all more than words can say.

please take care of yourselves, okay? i’ll be back soon 🫶

— with all my love

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

💌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 💌

@nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @baguwagu @sunday-bug @murnsondock @7batsinatrenchcoat @overwintering-soldier @surebutwhy @embervelour @bananaminn @butterflies-on-my-ashes @thiscornerofmyfanficbrain @okaytrashpanda @aceofheartsssss @the-real-kellymonster @mars-in-a-cup @doilooklikeagiveafrack 🎀🩷

wanna be tagged in all upcoming theories + emotional damage + forehead kisses? ➝ reply or send me an ask and i’ll add you ♡

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

[nya116]

my day started off so well...

[nya116]

Haven't Lost Me

Joaquin Torres One-Shot

There was an absence when you woke. Not a sound, not a shift of sheets—just the cold stretch of the bed beside you. You blinked into the dim room, reaching instinctively to the empty space. Joaquin wasn’t there.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

3:42 AM.

You sat up slowly.

There he was. Standing by the window, shirtless, barefoot. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on something far away. The moonlight traced the edges of his face, and the longer you looked, the more you realized how tired—how sad—he looked.

“Joaquin?” you called softly, voice thick with sleep.

He didn’t turn. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said, barely above a whisper. Dull. Hollow. So unlike him.

You slipped out of bed and crossed the room, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. He leaned into you just slightly as you pressed a soft kiss to his bare shoulder.

His hand came to rest gently over yours. No words. Just the quiet. And him, watching the street. As if it had the answers.

“You okay?” you murmured, pressing another kiss to his shoulder.

He let out a quiet, dry laugh. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You brought one hand up and ran your fingers gently through his hair. His head tilted into your touch like instinct. “Thinking about what?”

A long pause.

“Nothing,” he said, finally.

You knew Joaquin. Knew the way he locked things down tight—but also knew, if you asked the right way, he’d let them out.

“Hey,” you whispered near his ear, standing on your toes, “Talk to me. We’re in this together, yeah?”

His breath caught. Barely—but you felt it.

“I just—I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. It’s dumb,” he said, voice a little shaky as he turned and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Joaquin,” you said gently, turning him to face you. You looked up into his eyes.

But he wasn’t looking at you. He was still looking past the glass, like it showed him something only he could see.

You looped your arms around his neck, grounding him. And finally, he spoke. “I’ve been in the military since I was nineteen.”

Joaquin took a slow breath, and you threaded your fingers gently through his hair. His hands came up to rest on your arms, and he finally tore his gaze from the window, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I missed birthdays,” he said softly. “Friends’ weddings. My little cousin graduated and I didn’t even know she was in high school yet.”

His eyes fluttered closed.

“I—” his voice cracked, “I forget how old I am sometimes. Isn’t that fucked?”

Your hands moved to cradle his face just as he shook his head and stepped back with a bitter, hollow laugh.

“Joa—”

He cut you off, turning back to the window. Arms crossed tightly again, jaw tense.

“I was supposed to visit my mom last month,” he said, voice trembling. “And I canceled. Again. She said it was okay. She always says it’s okay. But it’s not.”

You stepped toward him, but he recoiled slightly, swiping a hand across his eyes. A quiet sniffle followed.

“I’m being stupid,” he muttered.

“Joaquin, baby…” you whispered, reaching for him again. This time, you cupped his face gently, guiding his eyes to yours.

He looked down at you, lip caught between his teeth, eyes red and wet.

“You’re not being stupid,” you said softly. “You’re being human. And it’s okay.”

That’s when he collapsed into you.

Head buried in the curve of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, fists clinging to the fabric of your shirt like it was all he had left. He didn’t sob. He just… trembled. Silent, broken breaths against your collarbone. Fingers digging into your back like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“I don’t know who I am outside the uniform,” he whispered into your skin.

You held him tighter, hands running gently up his back. You pressed a kiss to his hair.

“You’re Joaquin Torres,” you said, steady and soft. “My Joaquin.”

His knees buckled beneath him, and you followed him down, guiding him gently to the floor. You sat with your back against the wall, legs tangled together, your fingers combing through his hair as he laid his head in your lap.

He cried until the weight in his chest gave way to quiet.

“I just wanted to be someone,” he whispered eventually. “Didn’t think I’d lose everyone on the way.”

You leaned down and kissed his temple.

“You haven’t lost me,” you whispered.

And that’s how he fell asleep—head in your lap, breath steadying in the quiet.

You stayed there with him, holding him through the slow shift of night into dawn, watching the sun rise as you stroked his hair.

[nya116]

Can you write a fic for Joaquin Torres x reader where he saves the reader after she gets tortured and after recovery shes suffering from PTSD but doesnt tell him and decides to hide it

Thx

Thank you for your request! I hope you like it! :)

Even When It Hurts

PART I – THE RESCUE

The moment Joaquin burst into the dimly lit compound, everything went red. He didn't remember barking the command. He didn’t remember taking down the guards or the way his wings scraped concrete in a desperate push toward the last room on the right.

All he remembered was the sound of your voice—hoarse, raw, barely audible through the comms—saying his name like it was the only thing keeping you breathing.

He kicked in the door and there you were tied to a chair, bloodied, bruised, barely conscious. He crossed the room faster than he thought possible, falling to his knees, voice cracking, “I got you. I got you, baby—I’m here.”

Your head lolled toward him. Recognition sparked in your eyes like a dying match catching flame. 

“Joaquin…” you managed to croak.

That broke him. He swept you up in his arms, shielding your body with his wings, barking for evac. You trembled in his hold. He didn't let go, not once, not even when they tried to take you from him at the hospital.

PART II – THE RECOVERY

It took weeks, multiple surgeries, months of physical therapy—Joaquin never left your side. You were quiet, but no one blamed you. They chalked it up to painkillers and exhaustion, but only you knew the truth.

The nightmares came first. Then the flinching—subtle things like pulling away from sudden touch, or freezing when someone raised their voice. You masked it well, though. You smiled when people visited, laughed when Sam made dumb jokes, ate what you were supposed to, took your meds … but inside? Inside, you were unraveling.

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, especially not Joaquin. You didn’t want him to see the version of you that woke up screaming in a sweat-soaked bed. Not the version of you that felt small in crowded rooms and couldn’t sit with her back to the door. Not the version of you that couldn’t even look in the mirror some mornings. So you lied—or rather, omitted.

“I’m good,” you told him when he asked.

“Just tired.”

“Just a headache.”

“Just a bad dream.”

Just. Just. Just.

PART III – CRACKS IN THE MASK

Joaquin noticed the little things a lot sooner than you realized. You stopped watching war movies with him; you used to love those. You startled when his boots thudded too loudly on the hardwood; you used to smile at the sound because it meant he was home, he was safe. You didn’t want to shower unless he stood guard outside the door; you used to never think twice. 

Joaquin didn’t push, but one night—one particularly heavy night, weeks after you’d been officially cleared for field duty (which you turned down, of course, claiming you “weren’t in the mood”)—your facade slipped.

You were supposed to meet him on the roof. He brought dinner, lit candles, hung up twinkling lights, and found your favorite records. He sat there waiting for fifteen minutes before he came back down, worrying gnawing at his ribs.

He found you curled in the corner of the bedroom. Eyes wide. Breathing fast. Shaking so violently your teeth chattered. You didn’t even hear him enter.

“Mi amor…” he breathed, crouching low.

You blinked. Then the mask snapped back into place. You jerked up, eyes averted, already scrambling to stand.

“I’m fine. I’m okay—”

“No estás bien.” His voice was low. Steady. Not angry. Not pitying. Just real. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I’m not pretending,” you snapped, too quickly, voice brittle.

His eyes softened. “You think I don’t see it?”

You flinched again and balled your hands into fists, eyes squeezed shut. Your throat closed tightly. The wrong word, the wrong tone, something in the cadence set you off. 

You shook your head and muttered, “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” He moved closer, slower now, like approaching a wounded animal. “I don’t know what they did. And I won’t ask. But I know what it’s like to carry things that don’t let you sleep. To lie just to keep the people who love you from looking at you differently.”

He reached for your hand and you let him. In fact, you laced your fingers with his tightly.

“You don’t have to hide this from me, cariño. Not your fear. Not your anger. Not your pain. Nothing.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you admitted in a whisper.

He brushed a tear from your cheek—one you didn’t realize had fallen.

“I’d rather see you like this than not at all.”

You broke then, and Joaquin caught you. He held you as you cried. No judgment, no pressure, just him and his heartbeat and the quiet promise in his arms that you were safe now.

PART IV – REBUILDING

Healing wasn’t linear. There were still bad days. There were still nights where the dark pressed too heavy, too loud. There were still moments you froze when someone moved too fast, but you stopped lying, stopped hiding from Joaquin.

Little by little, the weight got lighter. Because you weren’t carrying it alone anymore. Joaquin never once made you feel weak. He made you feel real, strong, brave, even when your hands trembled. Even when your voice shook. Even when you couldn’t speak at all.

He loved you through every quiet breakdown, every panic attack, every slow morning where all you could do was sit on the porch with a blanket and watch the sunrise. And through it all, he reminded you—with words, with touches, with his unshakable presence—that you were still whole. Still you. Still his.

[nya116]

All Night

summary: you knew what you were signing up for when you fell in love with joaquin. even after he became the falcon, you stayed. the late nights, the injuries, the missions halfway across the world— you stayed for all of it. that is until he lies to you about the stakes of his mission.

pairing: joaquin torres x reader

warnings: mentions of anxiety, mentions of death, mentions of an explosion, lying, crying, our man being a dumdum, slight descriptions of injuries, f!reader. i believe that's it

word count: 4.3k

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺

Y/N was curled up on the couch, blanket draped over her legs, coffee mug tucked between her palms. The morning light streamed through the windows, casting golden beams across the living room floor. She watched as Joaquin knelt by the door, tugging his boots on, his duffel already slung over one shoulder.

"Ughhh, don’t gooo," she groaned, dragging the last syllable out in a playful whine.

Joaquin chuckled under his breath, glancing at her over his shoulder. “You know I have to.”

“I know,” she sighed, setting the mug down. “I just wish you’d stay a little longer.”

He stood up and crossed the room, all soft footsteps and warm eyes. His bag and boots made him look too official. Too far away already. She reached for him without thinking, and he met her halfway, leaning down to press a slow, gentle kiss to her lips.

“It’s just recon,” he murmured against her mouth. “Quick and easy. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”

She nuzzled against him, her voice muffled in his jacket. “Only two days, right?”

He paused. It was the smallest thing— half a breath of hesitation.

But then he smiled. “Yeah… two days.”

Her smile lit up instantly. “Okay. Then when you get back, I’m making you dinner and you’re not allowed to lift a finger. And we’re watching that dumb movie you like—”

“Grown Ups is a classic,” he cut in, mock offended.

“—again,” she teased, poking his chest.

He grinned and kissed her again, longer this time, like maybe if he kissed her hard enough he could carry the feeling with him. Like maybe it could shield him from whatever was waiting.

She waved as he backed toward the door. “Be safe, Torres.”

He winked. “Always.”

But his smile faltered the moment the door shut behind him. His hand gripped the strap of his bag a little tighter.

Because this wasn’t recon. Not even close. This was classified international threat level, Sam’s voice tense over the phone when he called last night, “Suit up. It’s bad.”

Joaquin had no business pretending this was easy. But he also had no business scaring the woman he loved half to death. So he lied.

He lied because the image of her on that couch, coffee in hand, planning their movie night—

That was the thing he wanted to come home to.

The thing he had to come home to.

Even if it meant lying through his teeth.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N wasn’t thrilled about the silence in the apartment, but at least her phone buzzed every now and then.

Joaquin💚 [11:04 AM]Made it. Everything’s chill so far. Miss you already 😘

She smiled, replying instantly.

Y/N [11:05 AM] miss you more!! I’m so bored without you. come back soon, I’m begging 🧎‍♀️

A couple hours passed. Another ping.

Joaquin💚 [2:37 PM] paperwork + recon = actual hell. I’ll text when I can, mi amor. gonna be tied up tomorrow, so don’t worry if I go quiet, okay?

She rolled her eyes, but her heart stayed soft.

Y/N [2:39 PM] okayyy but you owe me cuddles when you get back I’m talking all day in bed, birdboy

Joaquin💚 [2:40 PM] Whatever you want hermosa 😌

The rest of the day passed as usual. She made dinner for one. Watched an episode of her comfort show. Fell asleep with her phone under her pillow.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N woke up to her alarm going off. She opened up her phone and sent a quick good morning, knowing he was probably busy and wouldn’t get the chance until later.

Y/N [8:02 AM] hope today’s not too rough. can’t wait to see you tomorrow😽

Hours passed. No answer. Then, around 5 PM—

Joaquin💚 [4:57 PM] I’ll see you soon, mi amor ❤️

Her whole chest warmed at the sight of it.

She didn’t even question it. It was just enough.

She started setting things aside for dinner tomorrow. Picked out a movie already. Even brought out one of the “fancy” candles she always saved for special nights. He was coming home. Everything was fine.

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Y/N woke up early, nerves fizzing in her stomach, but she chalked it up to excitement.

She vacuumed. She changed the sheets. She double checked the fridge. She even set out one of his old hoodies for him because she knew he’d come home cold like always.

She texted him mid morning:

Y/N [10:12 AM] can’t wait to see your face again. I miss you. call me when you’re on the way

No answer.

Y/N [1:47 PM] all good? 

Nothing.

Y/N [5:26 PM] quino?

Still nothing.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

By 9 PM, she was pacing. The candle lit earlier in the day had burned out. The food was untouched.

Her stomach twisted as she dialed.

Voicemail.

Again. Again. Again.

She tried Sam.

No answer.

Y/N [9:57 PM] hey! sorry to bother. just wondering if you’ve seen joaquin? he was supposed to be back today. I haven’t heard from him. just let me know he’s okay, please.

She tried to rationalize.

Maybe he got stuck in a debrief. Maybe he was too tired and crashed at the base. Maybe he dropped his phone in a sewer. Maybe.

But by 1:30 AM, she was curled up on the couch with her arms wrapped around herself, heart pounding like a war drum, staring at the door like she could will it open.

Still nothing.

Still alone.

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Y/N’s eyes blinked open before her alarm.

The first thing she did— before stretching, before getting up, before even breathing properly— was reach for her phone.

No new texts.

No missed calls.

No voicemail.

No Joaquin.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. She restarted her phone like it would magically receive texts from him when she turned it back on.

Still nothing.

Her chest tightened, that creeping sort of ache that made her stomach twist. She sat up slowly, dragging the blanket off her legs like it weighed fifty pounds.

She opened Sam’s contact.

Still just the “Delivered” timestamp under her message from last night.

She tried again anyway:

Y/N [6:21 AM]just let me know if he’s okay please. I’m really worried. I won’t ask for details.

Still nothing.

She made coffee, not because she wanted it— her appetite was gone— but because her hands needed something to do. The mug sat untouched as she curled up on the kitchen stool, thumb flicking through Twitter rappidly.

“Explosion in Eastern Europe.” “Rogue enhanced individual stopped in unmarked desert region.” “UN in emergency talks after intel breach.”

Obscure, glitchy livestreams. Reddit threads with two upvotes. Anything.

Anything at all.

But it was all too vague. No names. No cities. No confirmation. No Joaquin.

Then it hit her—

He hadn’t told her where he was going.

Not the region.

Not the climate.

Not even a timezone.

And Joaquin always told her.

Even when it was top secret. Even when he prefaced it with “you didn’t hear this from me” and made her pinky promise to forget.

But this time?

Nothing.

No clue. No heads up. He didn’t talk about it. Just told her that Sam had called and he needed to leave in the morning.

And she hadn't even noticed.

Because she trusted him. More than anyone.

Because he never lies.

Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the countertop with a dull thunk. She didn’t move.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

By now, Y/N had the news playing in every room.

Her laptop screen flickered between cable broadcasts. The living room TV was on low volume, looping CNN. Joaquin’s desktop buzzed with tabs full of military leaks and conspiracy forums. The bedroom TV played foreign news she didn’t even understand, but watched anyway, desperate for a face, a name, a shadow, a voice.

Still nothing.

No knock at the door.

No key in the lock.

No Sam.

No Joaquin.

Her body felt like it was humming with anxiety, but also numb. Her hands were shaking and her jaw ached from clenching so hard, but somehow she hadn’t cried. Not yet.

She was terrified.But she kept telling herself: “He’s okay. He has to be okay. He promised me.”

Then the worst thought of all crept in, slow and poisonous:

“What if he lied because he didn’t think he’d come back?”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N jolted awake on the couch, heart thudding against her ribs. She blinked into the glow of the still running TV screens, the dull sound of news anchors murmuring across the apartment like ghosts.

Then— BOOM.A sharp sound from the bedroom TV, followed by shaky handheld footage of a massive explosion lighting up the night sky.

She scrambled off the couch, nearly tripping on the blanket tangled around her legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the screen.

A foreign broadcast. Sirens wailing. Smoke thick in the air. Fires roaring behind a blurred reporter’s face.

But that wasn’t what made her knees buckle.

It was the words she barely caught in the flurry of English dubbed over the panic: “Captain America and The Falcon were seen at the scene—”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. A quiet, broken sound escaped her lips— a sob or a gasp, she didn’t know.

“No… no, no, no…”

She grabbed her phone with trembling fingers, redialed Joaquin again.

Voicemail. Again.

Sam. Voicemail.

“Please pick up,” she whispered, her voice cracking, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Nothing.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

She launched herself toward the kitchen, snatching up her laptop. Fingers moving too fast to type correctly, she started searching. Anything. Everything.

“Morocco explosion Falcon” “Captain America mission casualties July” “Military strike unknown agents Africa”

The articles were vague. Conflicting. Translations were barely coherent. One site said “terrorist interception.” Another said “rogue meta-human engagement.” One mentioned four casualties—“identities unknown.”

Y/N couldn’t breathe. She physically couldn’t breathe.

She was kneeling on the floor now, laptop open in front of her, chest heaving with uneven sobs as she tried to piece the puzzle together.

He didn’t tell her where he was going.

He didn’t tell her anything.

He lied.

He always told her. Even the top secret stuff. Even just a code word or a timezone.

But this time? Nothing.

And now it had been almost three days.

Three days of silence.

Three days of hoping.

Three days of pretending this was normal when it absolutely wasn’t.

Her voice cracked as she whispered to herself:

“Am I being dramatic? Am I—Is this crazy? This is his job, this is—he’s done this before. He always comes back.”

But it had never been like this before.

Not this long.

Not this silent.

Not after lying to her.

Her hands went to her head as she let out a shaky sob, rocking back slightly on her heels.

She stared blankly at her phone.

Debating.

Whether she should call his mom.

Whether she should call his aunt.

What would she even say?

“Hi… I think your son might be dead, but I’m not sure yet because no one will call me back and my boyfriend lied to me about where he was going and what he was doing and now I haven’t heard from him in three days.”

She almost threw the phone across the room.

The ache in her chest was so deep, it felt permanent now.

She didn’t know what she hated more— The silence. The not knowing. Or the fact that he left her in the dark on purpose.

Because the truth wasn’t just that he might not come home.

It was that, for the first time, she wasn’t sure he wanted her to be waiting.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The apartment was silent, save for the low hum of a news anchor still murmuring from the living room TV. Y/N lay on the floor, one arm tucked beneath her, cheek pressed to the hardwood. Her laptop screen had gone black, her phone still clutched in her hand, dead from overuse.

The doorknob jiggled.

Then— click.

Keys clinked softly against the kitchen counter. The door eased shut.

Y/N’s eyes flew open.

She shot up, breath caught, heart immediately racing, every nerve in her body screaming. For a second, she thought she was dreaming. Or hallucinating.

But then—

“Hey,” came a soft voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Her head whipped toward the sound.

Joaquin.

His silhouette was barely visible in the dark, but she could make out the outline of his duffel bag hitting the floor. He was trying to tiptoe. His boots thudded softly against the wood.

“Longer trip than planned,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/N stumbled to her feet, adrenaline crashing through her in waves. She crossed the room in seconds, throwing herself at him before she could even think.

Her arms wrapped around him tight, her face burying into his neck. She felt him flinch— not from her— but from everything else. His ribs. His arm. His busted body. He still hugged her back, good arm curling around her waist.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, like a prayer. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he murmured back. “I’m here.”

She started to cry softly. Quiet tears against his shirt.

She reached behind him and flicked on the kitchen light.

The relief shattered.

The first thing she saw was the sling.

Then the busted lip. The bruised jaw. The bloody scab on his brow. One eye darkening into hues of purple and black. His knuckles looked like they’d been dragged through concrete. His shirt was half untucked, torso taped up beneath it, bandages peeking out near his waist.

Even clean, he still smelled like smoke. Like fire. Like something had blown up way too close.

Her breath hitched. She stepped back, looking him over, really seeing him now.

He caught her gaze— and had the audacity to smile.

“Hey… it’s not as bad as it looks,” he offered, shrugging slightly, like maybe if he said it casually enough it would land.

Y/N just stared.

And then she snapped.

“You think this is a fucking joke?!”

Her voice cracked the silence, raw and choked.

Joaquin blinked, caught off guard. “Y/N—”

“No!” she snapped, stepping back and fumbling for her phone. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

She shoved the screen at him even though it was dead, her fingers shaking.

“Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past three days? Huh? Reading reports of explosions in Morocco and half translating articles about military operations and body counts! Four bodies, Joaquin! Four bodies they can’t identify and your name is nowhere and I thought you were one of them!”

His smile disappeared. His entire expression shifted— defensive guilt melting into realization.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he said quietly, voice breaking around the edges.

“I’m your girlfriend, Joaquin!” she screamed, chest heaving, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s literally my job to worry! You think lying makes it better?! You told me it was recon! That you’d be gone two days! And I trusted you—I didn’t even think it was weird you didn’t tell me where you were going because I TRUSTED YOU!”

He stepped forward like he wanted to hold her again, but she stepped back.

“I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I thought maybe you were hurt. Maybe you were dead. I didn’t know if I should call your mom. I didn’t even know where to look. And you come in here— smiling? Like this is just some stupid debrief?”

Her voice cracked then, shattering mid sentence.

“I’ve never felt so alone, Joaquin. Not even once. And that wasn’t a mission, was it?” A beat. “You lied to me.”

Joaquin didn’t speak right away. He couldn’t. His throat felt like it was full of broken glass. His good hand hung limp at his side, and the guilt that washed over his face was devastating.

“Y/N…” he whispered. “I didn’t know if I was coming back.”

Y/N’s breath left her like she’d been punched in the stomach.

She stared at him— this man she loved, this man who looked like he’d walked through hell and crawled his way home— and something inside her cracked.

“You didn’t… You didn’t know?”

Her voice was so quiet, it sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Joaquin’s eyes dropped. “It went sideways before we even landed. Intel was wrong. We were already in deep by the time Sam realized what we were walking into. We– we knew it was bad but it wasn’t nearly what we thought it’d be.”

Y/N’s hand went to her mouth. She was shaking again.

“So you knew. You knew it was dangerous. And you still lied to me. You still left me here with nothing.”

“I didn’t want you to live through that fear,” he said. “I didn’t want you waiting by the phone for a call that might not come.”

“I did that anyway!” she shouted, the scream ripping from her throat. “I did that for three days! Do you know what that felt like? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be left in the dark like that?!”

He flinched like her words hit harder than any of the bruises on his body.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he whispered, helpless. “I—I thought if I could just come back, everything would be okay.”

“Okay?!” She laughed, bitter and sharp. “I didn’t need you to make things okay, Joaquin. I needed you to tell me the truth.”

He looked at her like he’d give anything to rewind time. “I thought I was protecting you.”

Her eyes narrowed, heart splintering. “You weren’t protecting me. You were protecting yourself.”

That landed. He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“Because if you told me the truth,” she continued, voice trembling, “you’d have to accept what it meant. That you might not come back. That you’d leave me behind. And you couldn’t face me knowing that.”

Tears burned at his eyes now.

Y/N stepped closer, voice lower, sharper.

“And the worst part? You made that decision for me. You didn’t even give me the chance to worry, or to help, or to say goodbye if it came to that.”

Her hand hit her chest.

“You left me here with nothing. No location. No team contact. Just silence. And you’ve never done that to me before.”

He looked shattered.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, barely audible. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I thought—I  thought if I told you, it would just make it worse. I didn’t know what else to do.”

She exhaled shakily. “I’m not asking you to stop doing your job, Joaquin. I know what this life is. I knew it when I fell for you. But if we’re doing this— really doing this— you don’t get to shut me out when it gets hard. You don’t get to protect me by disappearing.”

She paused. Her voice cracked.

“Because I don’t want the version of you that only loves me when it’s easy.”

Joaquin didn’t say anything right away.

He just stood there, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, like he was trying to swallow back everything that wanted to pour out of him.

Y/N watched him, arms crossed, tears still clinging to her lashes. She was furious. Heartbroken. Done, if he didn’t give her something real.

His good hand went to his mouth, thumb grazing his busted lip. Then it dropped again, and his whole body seemed to sag beneath the weight of what he’d done.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked on her name.

She didn’t move.

He took a step closer, shoulders trembling.

“I thought I could do it,” he said. “Go out there, get it done, come home to you and pretend like it was just another mission. Just like always.”

His voice broke again. He laughed, miserably.

“But it wasn’t. It wasn’t like always. I saw shit out there that I’m never gonna be able to unsee. People screaming. People—” He stopped, jaw locking, tears welling behind his eyes.

“I thought I was gonna die. Like— I really, truly believed I wasn’t coming back. And all I could think about was you. About what I’d leave behind. About how I never told you— never gave you a chance to decide if you wanted to stay with someone who could be gone in a blink.”

Tears started spilling now, slow and hot. He didn’t wipe them away.

“I was so fucking scared, Y/N,” he whispered. “Not of the mission. Not of dying. I was scared that if I told you the truth, you’d realize this wasn’t the life you wanted. That you’d wake up one day and decide it wasn’t worth it.”

She shook her head, but he kept going.

“And that’s not fair. I know it’s not fair. I made that call on my own. I didn’t trust you to love me through the scary parts and you always have. That’s on me.”

He stepped forward again, close now, looking at her through wet lashes, shoulders shaking.

“I messed up. I messed up so bad and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But please, baby— don’t walk away. Don’t give up on me.”

His voice cracked as he choked out:

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Y/N stood there, arms still crossed tight over her chest, tears flowing freely now. Her lower lip trembled as she stared at him– bruised, crying, desperate.

She’d wanted him to break. She just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

“Don’t you ever shut me out like that again,” she whispered.

Joaquin nodded so fast it almost looked like a sob. “I won’t. I swear to you, I won’t. I’ll tell you everything— I’ll never lie to you again, I promise, just— just don’t leave.”

She reached for him.

Finally.

And the second her arms wrapped around his neck, he collapsed into her like his whole body had been holding itself up on guilt and adrenaline and her forgiveness was the only thing keeping him standing now.

He cried into her shoulder. Full on cried. The kind of cry he hadn’t let himself feel in years. His knees buckled, and they sank to the floor together.

And Y/N just held him.

Because even though she was still hurt, still raw—

She loved him.

Even through the scary parts.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The bathroom filled with steam, the tub half full and still running, the scent of lavender drifting into the air. Y/N sat on the edge of the tub, carefully checking the water temperature. Joaquin stood just inside the doorway, his body bruised, his arm still in a sling, looking at her like she was the softest, strongest thing he'd ever seen.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he murmured.

She looked over her shoulder. “Yes, I do.”

And something in her voice— soft but sure— shut down any further argument.

He let her help him undress. He let her steady him as he stepped into the warm water. Let her kneel beside the tub and wash the dried sweat and battlefield off his skin with slow, soft movements.

He melted into her touch.

Let his eyes flutter shut as she ran the cloth gently across his shoulder, his ribs, behind his neck.

No talking. Just breathing. Just existing in the same space again.

He leaned back in the tub, good arm reaching for her hand.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

Y/N squeezed his fingers. “You’re lucky I’m not holding that against you right now.”

That earned the smallest smile. Still bruised. Still tired. But real.

By the time they made it to the bedroom, the sun was starting to peak at the horizon behind the curtains.

Y/N helped him into one of his softest shirts, then into bed. They collapsed onto the mattress together, limbs tangling naturally like they always did. The room was dark, the A/C humming, blankets soft. It was the first time either of them had truly relaxed in days.

They were bone deep tired, but wrapped in each other, hearts still beating loud and close.

Joaquin lay on his back, Y/N tucked in close, her hand flat over his chest. His fingers lazily traced shapes on her spine.

It was quiet, and then Y/N whispered, “I’d never leave you.”

His hand paused.

“Not even when you took the wings. Not when I started seeing your face on the news. Not now. Not ever.”

He turned his head toward her. “You scared the hell outta me, you know that?”

She looked up. “You scared me first.”

He leaned down, kissed her— slow and tender, his lips ghosting over hers like a vow.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against her mouth. “For lying. For putting you through that. I just… didn’t realize what I had until I thought I’d lose it.”

She kissed him again, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “Well. Now you know.”

He nodded slowly, voice quieter, heavier. “This is all I want. You. Us. Our life. Even the quiet stuff. Especially the quiet stuff.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to his chest. “We’re not on a timer, Quino. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you have to fly halfway across the world… I’ll be right here when you get back.”

He swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around her.

And then, just as his breathing started to slow, his voice cracked through the dark one more time—

“I can’t wait for you to be mine… really mine.”

Y/N blinked, propping herself up slightly. “Wait—what?”

Joaquin, eyes already closed, mumbled: “not telling where I hid the ring.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Joaquin.”

A faint smile pulled at his lips.

But he was already asleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺

author's note: i need to give him a hug. this is inspired by that remix going around on tiktok of all night x tyrant by beyonce LOL i heard it and i was like "...wait"

also i feel like this man would def lie to you about something like this at least once in his life cause he wouldn't want you to worry about him🙄 he means well but he's kinda dumb. i still need him tho

[nya116]

thinking about how sam would absolutely love picking you up and setting you on top of the table/countertop/desk at any chance he gets. the way he'd step between your parted thighs just to feel you wrap your legs around his waist while he pulls you into the most breathtaking kisses. not to mention your reaction – it's so obvious that you love being manhandled and he's more than happy to give you what you want. hell, it makes him feel sexy that he can pick you up like that and that you'll eat it up every time.

it kind of becomes a ritual for y'all – any time he finds you near any flat surface he could conceivably lift you on top of, he'll do it. he finds you in the kitchen getting water? up you go. you come into his office to check on him? say hello to the desk while you're at it! sam just loves standing between your knees and kissing the sense out of you. loves the way your limbs envelope him and your fists twist into the back of his shirt.

[nya116]

DAVID CORENSWET Late Night with Jimmy Fallon | Jul 14, 2025

[nya116]

David Corenswet on the Buzzfeed puppy interview

[nya116]

Captain America Brave New World - Headers

like or reblog if save/use

[nya116]

Too Late | Part 2 | ــﮩ٨ـ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Yearning Protective!Bucky x Injured!Reader

Summary: Bucky refuses to leave your side. Grief, regret, and what-if's consume him. All he can think about- all he can want, is for you to wake up.

Word Count: 4.2k

Tags: Yearning, secret affection, physical touch, panic attacks, bucky being a sweetheart. Protective Bucky Barnes. Mention of violence. Serious injury.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: Sad sad boy. If you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Masterlist

“Can I come in?” Steve's voice is quiet from the door frame.

Bucky’s stomach curls bitterly, his gaze stuck on your still form. “Not my choice.” He mutters, his lips pressed to his scarred knuckles. 

There’s a sigh, then the sound of footsteps against tile. “I just wanted to check in…” 

“You think she’s made a miraculous recovery?” Bucky tries to stifle the venom in his tone, but it bleeds through his clenched teeth. The resentment is too potent to staunch. Too painful.

“I just wanted to see how she’s doing, Buck.” Steve approaches your bed carefully, as if one step too close to you and Bucky might snap. 

“Take a look, Steve.” He mutters, tracking the slow rise and fall of your chest. “I think it’s pretty clear.”

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Steve tries, the guilt basically seeping from his pores. 

“Then leave.” He finally looks at the blond, his blue eyes dark, cast beneath the shadows of his knit brow. Neither of the men can remember the last time such a rift was torn between them. Since the moment recognition sparked, since the wounds of time and captivity healed over. 

There had never been such a deep wound between them. 

But Bucky doesn’t know how to fix something like this. An accident, a preventable accident. One with consequences far more painful than either could imagine.

“Please,” the blonde whispers, his frown curling deeper. “I just- I came to check on you. “

“You’ve seen me.” His voice is cold, detached- wounded. He shifts his gaze back to your bruised face. 

“You haven’t eaten.” Steve shifts on his feet. “I just think-”

“I don’t care what you think.”

Steve flinches, the sting of those words burning deep. “She wouldn’t want you hurting yourself like this. Neglecting yourself won’t help her-”

“Don’t talk to me about what she’d want- about what’ll help her.” He hisses, sitting up straighter in his seat. “She doesn’t have wants anymore- not like this. If you want to help, then fix her!” He snaps, his throat bobbing with sudden emotion. “Huh? No, you can’t. No one can. So just get the fuck out.” 

Bucky slumps back in his seat, his knuckles pressing tightly to his lips. 

Steve’s jaw snaps shut, his lips pressed to a thin line. There's a moment of tense silence shared between the two, but it’s clear to them both that Bucky’s uninterested in talking. Nothing Steve could say would change that. 

So he lowers his head and leaves the room. 

The door clicks shut, submerging the room in silence.

Your unconscious form lays still, ignorant to the entire exchange. Ignorant to the rest of the world. Your battered body knows only the tube keeping your lungs expanding, and the needle stuck in your hand. 

Nothing else matters to you now.

Bucky blinks back tears, his knee bouncing anxiously. The resentment he feels towards his best friend brings him no satisfaction. It doesn’t help the pain in his chest, but he just can’t help it. He looks at Steve, and all he sees is regret. All he feels is grief. 

He hears Steve’s voice forming the words, telling him about your condition. 

Saying the words “You were right.”

“Fuck,” he chokes, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. He shakes his head, trying to clear the voices- the dark thoughts. It doesn’t work, of course. The silence of your room only drags him further into the darkness. 

And when he looks back at you, he can’t help but cry. Silent tears slip down his cheeks, cold against his heated skin. 

You look so different from the woman he knows. From the woman he longs for. 

Regret burns in his chest like an old friend, spreading like poison. 

He never should have let you go out there.

He never should have waited so long to tell you how he feels.

He never should have waited so long to ask you to dinner. To tell you how beautiful you are. To tell you how you make his heart stagger in his chest.

He never should have waited. 

Life is made up of choices, regrets and joys. But mostly regrets. Regret is what makes a person human. It makes them think about the past, about the future. About their next step, their next choice. 

Nobody wants to live a life of regret, whether it be because of a job, a child, a love, or a choice. Regret tears a person apart, makes a person bleed and drown. 

Bucky has known nothing but regret and suffering. He’s had nothing except memories to keep him going. The memory of his family, of his childhood, of Steve. 

Memories of what life could be.

Until he met you.

You were like a breath of fresh air. Like the smell of rain in a drought. 

The moment he saw you, he knew it was different. He knew you’d become something sore in his chest, perfect to torture him. He knew that smile, that laugh, that awkward tap of your fingers against your desk, it would kill him. 

It would bleed through him, like a drug. 

It was such a foreign feeling that it terrified him, you terrified him. He didn’t know how to talk to you, how to draw you closer. It wasn’t for the lack of trying, because on his part, he was always finding ways to be near you.

He was always finding reasons to wander into your office, to draw out conversations in the briefing room, to help you with anything you needed. 

And God, the soft smile you’d send his way whenever you caught his eye, it melted him. 

The quiet “good luck out there, soldier,” you’d whisper to him on the way out of the briefing room.

The sound of your chuckle in his ear, when you spoke to him over comms. 

Everything about you set him on fire. 

And all he wanted was to see that smile one more time. Hear that laugh, one more time. 

This fate was so preventable, and that just made it all the more painful. It would have been so easy for you to stay home- behind the desk, behind the scenes. But you didn’t know how to say no.

They needed a woman. They needed someone to blend into the background. Someone invisible. With every other female Avenger being a face even a blind man could recognize, you were all that’s left.

And you never said no to helping people. To helping the team. God, did Bucky wish you could have just been selfish this once. Been too afraid to go out there. Too cowardly. 

But you said yes. 

You had no idea what you were walking into, and you said yes. 

Bucky drags your limp hand into his, careful to not touch your IV. His tongue swipes over his lip, soothing the anxiously bitten skin. It’s been days, he thinks. Days of silence. Days of bad news. Days spent in denial.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart…” he whispers, his voice cracking. But no apology could make this better. “I don’t-” He sucks in a trembling breath. “I don’t know what to do,” he choked. “I don’t know how to make this better…”

Talking to you feels pointless. You can’t hear him. And even if you could, you shouldn’t have to listen to his pathetic ramblings. 

He swallows hard and drops his head to the mattress, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. His eyes squeeze shut, his breath fanning over your scabbed hand. You don’t smell like you anymore. You smell like antiseptic and papery sheets. 

Bucky tries to remember the last time he was close enough to smell you.

He thinks it was the last time the group of you and the team went out to the bar. You asked him to watch your drink so you could go dance, and when you came back you leaned into his space to sip from your straw. 

He remembers the feeling of his cheeks staining pink as he shamelessly smelled your perfume. Your conditioner mixed in, drifting into his space as your hair brushed his jaw. 

You hadn’t noticed, too tipsy and busy laughing. You were so happy that night.

You loved to dance. He liked to watch, fond and protective. 

He wishes he would have joined you on the dancefloor that night, taken your hand and followed your lead. But he didn’t, too afraid and too embarrassed.

Regret. Regret might as well be his middle name, engraved on his tombstone. 

Bucky doesn’t remember dozing off, but when he next opens his eyes, a nurse is checking your vitals. 

His head snaps up, his eyes squinting through the dark room. A single light over your bed illuminates the space enough for the nurse to read your chart. “Is she okay?”

The woman jumps, her gaze snapping to Bucky. “Oh-” she blinks down at the man. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’m just monitoring her.”

“Oh,” He slowly sits up, glancing back down at where your hand is clutched in his. “Nothing new?”

The woman shakes her head. “Nothing as of now,” her voice is soft, practiced in the art of bad news. “But no change doesn’t have to be bad, it means she’s not getting worse.”

Bucky nods solemnly, his hands absently playing with your fingers. “Right.”

“I’ll let you get some rest, someone will be back to check on her in about an hour.” She says on the way out. 

Bucky says nothing, his disappointment too heavy. A part of him quietly wished that the next time he woke up, you’d be there blinking back at him. But that was too hopeful. Instead, you lay there motionless. Silent, hopeless.

Bucky has handled a lot of bad news in his lifetime. He has dealt with some of the worst shit humanity could throw at a person. But this is different. Waiting like this? It’s killing him. 

It’s only been a few days and there's already no end in sight.

He doesn’t know what’ll happen to you. He doesn't know what tomorrow may bring. He just knows he’ll be with you when it comes. 

Days pass without change. 

Bucky stops hoping for good news. Instead, he hopes for the lack of bad news. Your condition fluctuates, every day something new worries your doctors, only for you to pull through. But nothing substantial changes.

You’re still unresponsive. Still sleeping.

Eventually Bucky eats. He doesn’t realize how hungry he is until he finally makes the trip to the cafeteria. The smell of food makes his cheeks sour in disgust- the kind that only comes when you’re starving. 

A grief only partially underway comes in pieces. It makes everything you do feel bitter and poisoned. 

It makes chewing and swallowing feel wrong, knowing you may never get the chance again. Bucky stares down at his sandwich blankly, his body heavier than it was that morning. 

So he chokes down a few bites and makes the trip back to your room. He knows there will be no change when he gets there, but there's still that dying hope you’ll be awake when he returns.

Instead, what he finds makes his stomach drop. “What are you doing here?”

Tony glances back over his shoulder, his brow twitching up. “Morning sunshine, I was wondering where you were-”

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Bucky repeats himself, his body stiff in the doorway.

The other man sighs, his hands tossing up in defeat. “I wanted to see how she’s doing. Doc said there wasn’t much change, huh?”

Bucky’s jaw flutters, his teeth clenching shut. His stomach turns, and suddenly the rest of the wrapped sandwich in his hand sounds a lot less appetizing. He silently returns to his chair at your bedside, his knee bouncing anxiously.

“Not gonna say anything?” Tony’s voice is grating to his ears.

“Got nothing to say.” He mutters, his gaze falling heavily to your hand- which he scoops back into his. 

“Right,” Tony mutters. “Look-” He sucks in a heavy breath. “I wanted to say you’re right.”

Bucky huffs, his lip twitching wryly.

“You warned us, and we should have listened to you. We-” Tony looks off to the side. “We should have had her back.”

The words feel like a kick to the gut. Nothing he didn’t already know, but god did it hurt to hear him say it. To acknowledge just how preventable this all was.

Bucky doesn’t respond, his silence toxic enough to send the message. Tony makes a quiet noise, then moves to the door. But then he’s speaking again- this time not to Bucky. 

“Good luck with him, he’s not exactly in a chatty mood.”

Bucky doesn’t have to look back to know who it is. He can tell by the quiet hum and careful footsteps. Then he’s watching Sam approach your bed side, a solemn look on his face. 

Neither men say anything at first. Sam just watches you, his hand hovering carefully above your shoulder. His frown curls deeper, and then he’s glancing at the other. 

“People are worried, you know,” he mutters, glancing at where Bucky cradles your hand in his.

“They should be,” he whispers, his fingers slowly playing with yours. 

“I mean about you,” Sam sighs heavily- in that knowing way he does.

Bucky frowns. “I’m fine.”

“And I’m Betty White,” Sam huffs. “You’re not fine, man. You haven't left this place since she got admitted.”

Why would he leave? What’s the point? And if he did- what if something happened? What would he do if you slipped away, and he wasn’t here?

“Got nowhere else to be.” He whispers, his thumb tracing your nail beds. 

Sam doesn’t say anything for a while, instead just lets himself stare at the both of you. At your yellowing bruises, your spikey stitches, your intubation tube. Bucky’s dark eyebags. The wrinkle forming between his brows. 

He notices the blanket in the corner, where Bucky tossed it aside nights before, frustrated and pacing. 

He notices the imprint in the blanket by your hip, where Bucky’s been laying his head- dozing off at your side. 

“She could pull through, you know. Crazier things have happened.” Sam mutters.

“People have died from smaller things.” Bucky responds bitterly. “People die every day.”

“And people survive every day too,” The younger responds, his voice strong. “You need to get it together, man. You’re not helping her if you can’t even believe in her.”

Bucky’s head snaps up, horror and injury flashing in his gaze. “I haven’t given up on her.”

“Sounds like you have. Sounds like you’re just waiting for her to die,” Sam responds, his frown battling the others. 

“Fuck you-” Bucky spits, his fingers mindlessly tightening around yours.

Sam doesn’t take offense to his venomous words. He knows he’s just angry at himself, at the situation. “I just mean, don’t give up on her yet. I’ve survived a lot of insane shit, and I’m still standing. Don’t count her out just yet.”

“She’s not-”

“An Avenger?” Sam lifts a brow. “I haven't taken any serum either, Buck. Neither has about eight billion people. And everyday people survive the impossible. Just give her time.”

Bucky’s lips press together, words dying on his tongue. He hasn’t given up on you. 

He’s just never been good with hope. 

With positive outlooks. 

He’s not used to things turning out well for him. For anyone.

Sam rounds your bed, his hand dropping to Bucky’s shoulder. “I know how much you care about her, Buck. So just hold on for her, okay?”

Bucky wakes to the sound of panic. 

His body shoots up right, his neck pinched from the awkward angle. A garbled noise drags his attention up your body. 

His pulse spikes, his eyes snapping wide. 

You make a choked noise, your throat constricting around your intubation tube. Your lashes flutter, your body twitches. Your hands are moving, your fingers twitching around your neck. 

Bucky is shouting, his hands trembling around the emergency control remote. He barely hears the words spilling from his lips, all he knows is he’s calling for help.

A nurse comes rushing in, shoves past Bucky and heads straight for you. “What’s-what’s happening?” He stammers, stumbling to the foot of your bed. Another nurse jogs into the room, her hand dropping to Bucky’s forearm. 

“Sir, just give us a minute-”

But he can’t hear her. All he can see is you, tears streaming down your bruised cheeks. Eyes rolled back. Saliva dripping down your chin. The other Nurse is quick with her hands, steadily pulling the tube from your throat. 

You choke on a gasp, your busted lips falling open.

Bucky’s swaying, he realizes. He has to grab the root of your bed for stability, a shaky breath of air stinging in his chest. Everything blurs together as your eyes roll open. It’s like tunnel vision sets in, and all he can see is you. Your chest rising on its own, your lashes fluttering, your brows pinching together.

He’s too scared to blink- afraid you might slip away. Afraid it might be a dream. 

But then the nurses brush past him, whispers of encouragement and reassurance on their tongues. Then the door clicks shut. 

You’re alone. 

A gasp slips from his lips the moment your eyes meet. He’s stumbling to your side, his hands hovering hesitantly over your body. Your lips shift, but only a wince climbs up your throat.

“Hey… hey…” he whispers, his voice hitched up a careful octave. His heart is thrumming in his chest, blood rushing through his ears- almost too loud for him to focus. “It’s okay- it’s okay, don’t speak…”

You whine softly, your expression melting into a grimace. 

Calloused fingers brush your cheek, a graze, too scared to touch you fully. A cold tear slips down your cheek. You blink up at him, your head rolling towards his hand. He has to swallow the choked noise that begs so climb out of his chest. 

“I don’t-” he carefully cups your cheek, your spikey stitches scratching his palm. “I don’t know what to do…” He whispers, almost to himself. Your fingers brush over the back of his hand, your movements sluggish and weak. You whimper softly, making his pulse spike. “It’s okay…”

Your eyes roll shut, and then your hand is falling away. For a moment, Bucky’s heart sinks to his feet. But he can feel your steady breath against his fingers. He can hear the slow beat of your heart monitor. You swipe your tongue over your lips again, wincing quietly.

“You’re here…” You whisper, your voice raw and chapped. Bucky nearly flinches from the sound. 

“Yeah…” He swallows, stroking his palm down your cheek. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

Your eyes roll open, staring up at him. You lean into his calloused hand, your face numb. “What…happened?” The words sound more like a whimper, your lip wobbling with emotion.

Bucky almost flinches at the sound. He’s never heard you sound so weak, so small. A pain blooms in his chest as he recalls the details of your accident. “You were spotted on your mission…” He starts, barely whispering as his gaze flickers over you. “You were attacked, you- you went through a wall on the second floor.” He blinks back tears, not wanting to scare you with his emotions. 

“You fell, landed on a car.” He has to clear his throat, his body coiling tense. As the words leave him, he can’t help but marvel at you. At how impossible it seems for you to be here, to be alive. But you are; you stare up at him, tears slipping down your temples, your eyes clear. 

You press your lips together and turn your face away from him, trying not to sob. Humiliation floods your system, and suddenly all you want to do is hide. 

You failed, so so painfully. You couldn’t do the one thing asked of you. And now? You don’t dare look down at your body, don’t dare wonder what you look like. You can only imagine. And the shame those images bring you is all consuming. 

You choke down a dry sob, your cheek pressing into the pillow. Bucky’s hands hover above you now, helpless of what to do. “Hey, hey,” he whispers, his fingers shaking. “It’s okay- You're-” He stops himself; he won’t lie to you. He has no idea if you’re okay, or if you ever will be again. 

You drag a bruised hand over your face, wiping salty tears. You gasp when your nails catch on spiky stitches and swollen bones. Your panicked gaze snaps to Bucky’s. The look in his eye is harrowing; something you’ve never seen from him before. 

The dread building inside you spikes, swelling in your chest, stopping your lungs from expanding. You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, your heart pounding against your ribs. Your fingers press a little firmer to the sealed gash in your cheek, making you wince.

Bucky snatches your wrist away quickly, panic building in him. “Don’t-” he blurts, his hands circling yours, encasing it. Sharp blue eyes snap between yours, eyebrows pinched and shot to his hairline. “Please don’t do that…”

You whine, wanting to turn away from him again. You don’t want him to see you like this. You don’t want his image of you to be stained with weakness and failure. 

You can barely grasp the thoughts floating through your head, barely keep yourself from hyperventilating. You don’t want anyone to see you like this.

Your teeth sink into your lip, smothering the sob building in your throat. But you can’t keep it down this time. Bucky’s careful voice, his strong hand trembling against yours, his unwavering gaze fixed on you- it hurts. All of it.

You can’t breathe, you realize, as your mouth falls open around a cry. Bucky winces above you. He leans over you, one hand falling to your shoulder, the other cradling your head. “Hey, look at me,” he whispers, his gentleness potent.

You blink up at him through tears, your eyes burning. Your chest rattles with each sharp gasp, your ribs aching. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he pets your hair out of your face. “Just breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth,” he guides you, taking a dramatically slow breath to guide you. 

He’s recycling actions used on him in his darkest moments, trying to follow the steps offered to him long ago. Because he has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to help someone, especially not you.

You, who was like a rock, every time he saw you. You, who always made him feel safe and calm. You, who always knew what to say. 

He’s never seen you like this. He doesn’t want to. But he refuses to leave you like this. 

You try to listen, try to calm down, but the pain in your chest only spurs your panic on. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus on the sound of his voice. 

“Just like that, there you go,” he quietly encourages, stroking your tangled hair back. You focus on the feeling of his warm hand, the feeling of his fingers tracing your hairline. “Doin’ so good,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder.

You breathe out a slow puff, your lips falling open. Bucky’s nails scratch gently at your scalp, then resume petting your hair back. Your eyes roll open, your body relaxing when your gaze meets his. 

His frown tugs deeper. The calloused pad of his thumb strokes the tears from your cheeks. You don’t flinch, don’t move. You just watch him, and the way he carefully frets over you. 

You take another slow breath, your chest aching a little less. Bucky continued thumbing at your tear tracks, his touch feather-light. Your brows twitch together in confusion, your fuzzy brain slowing down enough to make sense of your situation. 

There’s no one else here, no one but him. 

He looks exhausted. He looks distraught. He hasn’t stopped touching you since the moment your eyes rolled open. 

“How long since…?” You whisper, your throat dry as your swallow. 

Bucky snaps out of his daze as he blinks down at you. “A little over a week,” he mutters, frowning at his own words.

“How long…How long have you been here?” Your lashes flutter in a slow blink.

His thumb twitches against your cheek, his palm resting against your jaw. His throat bobs awkwardly, but he doesn’t turn away. “Since the accident.”

The words leave him easily, but the weight they carry is unimaginable. You stare up at him, unblinking, as you swallow everything unsaid. Your silence eats at him, spreading shame beneath his skin like a poison. 

He never once thought of leaving your side. Never once wanted to. He couldn’t- not you. 

But maybe this wasn’t his place. Maybe this was too much, maybe he was overwhelming you. 

Just as his hand begins to pull away, your fingers slide around his wrist. “Don’t,” you blurt. Bucky pauses, his brows twitching up. “Don’t leave.”

He swallows, his hand sliding back around your jaw. Your cold skin heats beneath his touch. Beneath his affection. 

“‘M not goin’ anywhere…” he whispers. 

You squeeze his wrist a little tighter. “Promise?”

For the first time since you woke up, his lips twitch in a soft smile. “I promise.”

A/N: Let me know if yall want more of them. Had some fun with this.

If anyone in the requested tag list wants to be tagged in all my upcoming Bucky fics, let me know in the comments and I'll add you to the regular taglist.

Requested to be tagged in this work:

@splooshdooshploosh @saucysasha2035 @vicmc624 @ordelixx @fadingcollectivenightmare @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @the-once-and-future-bitch @cherryandsugar @thefandomplace

Regular Taglist:

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[nya116]

Injured and Too Late ــﮩ٨ـ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Yearning Protective!Bucky x Injured!Reader

Summary: Reader- usually a desk agent- is sent on a mission and returns seriously injured. Bucky, painfully in love with you, loses his mind.

Word Count: 1.0k

Warnings: Mention of violence. Serious injury.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: I was listening to "White Blank Page" by Mumford & Sons and the rage of it reminded me of a tormented Bucky. If you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Masterlist

Bucky’s body trembles, vibrating like a live wire ready to snap. “I told you. I told you!” He shouts, slamming his fist into the polished wooden desk. “I told you this would fucking happen!”

“Buck-” Steve raises his hands, as if approaching a rabid animal.

“Don't.” He snarls, turning back to his friend, staring him down like a stranger.

“Barnes, you need to calm down. This wasn’t-” Tony’s infuriating voice makes Bucky’s pulse spike. 

“Don’t you dare,” He grits, his nails carving lines into the table. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me to calm down. I told you this would happen, you fucking asshole- I begged you not to do this.” His teeth ache with the force of his clenched jaw. 

“We couldn't have known,” Steve tries, his voice earnest.

“But you did! I knew, and I warned you! You did this to her!” Bucky swipes a fragile vase from the surface in front of him, the glass shattering with a crack against the wall. “This is on you, both of you! If you would have just listened to me- She never should have been out there.”

“She wanted to do it,” Tony huffs, his brows knitting together defensively.

Bucky’s head snaps to the side, his gaze flashing with anger. “She didn’t know any better!” He shouts, stepping into the man's space. “But you did! Look at her! Look at what happened to her-” Bucky slaps his palm against the glass separating them from your room. 

His pained gaze flits to the several wires hooked up to your body. To the tube down your throat. 

To the scans along the wall, showcasing cracked bones and your damaged nervous system.

“We didn’t have any other option, Buck,” Steve's soft voice- usually so familiar and soothing to Bucky- makes his skin ripple with repulsion. 

“You did,” He grits, his chin dipping to his chest. “You could have done anything else- instead you sent her in the field.” He blinks through the tears fogging his vision. “You sent an inexperienced civilian into the fucking field-” He gasps, his fingers curling into fists. 

“She’s not-” Tony starts- Bucky doesn't let him finish. He steps into his space so quickly, Tony has to stagger a step back.

“She is. She is a civilian.” Bucky spits, their chests bumping. “She’s never been trained for this. She’s never been evaluated. She never even signed up for it-” His voice shakes from anger or grief, he doesn’t know. “She is a desk operative, Stark! She’s not a field agent!”

“She’s a grown woman, Barnes, she made the decision to go out there- we had no one else!” Tony shouts back, his expression stained with poorly masked guilt. An expression Tony is far too familiar with. But he can’t back down, he doesn’t know how.

“Then you find someone else! You don’t do this!” Bucky’s lip trembles, his strength wearing with each word. He blinks through the fog, but the sting of tears becomes too strong. “She didn’t know-” He gasps, smacking a calloused hand over his face. 

“She’ll pull through, Bucky-” Steve tries.

“She may never walk again!” Bucky spits, his head snapping to the side to stare at Steve with abject horror. “She may never speak again! She might not-” He stopped himself, his jaw snapping shut.

You might not wake up.

“I came to you- I told you this was a bad idea.” Bucky hiccups, his throat closing in an attempt to stifle his emotion. “She trusted you two to have her back,” he grits.

“That’s not fair-” Tony scoffs, but his hands curl up defensively, guilt seeping into his bones. 

“If she were Pepper, you wouldn’t have thought for a second about letting her go out there- If she-” Bucky’s agonized gaze sticks to your still form. To the stutter of your heart monitor. “If she meant to you what she does to-” his chin dips to his chest, his lip pinched between his teeth.

Scorched tears slip down his cheeks. 

If you meant even a fraction to them what you do to him, they never would have even thought about it. Your name would have never come across their desk. It wouldn’t have mattered that they needed a female operative, or that they had no one else available. It wouldn’t have mattered, because putting you at risk would always be a far greater tragedy than anything else imaginable.

But it doesn’t matter now. It's done. It’s too late. 

It doesn’t matter that he still hasn’t asked you to dinner, or to dance. It doesn’t matter, because now he may never get to.

“She’s not one of us-” Bucky whispers. “She’s not a soldier. She’s not a spy- she’s not enhanced. She’s-” His tearful gaze shifts to your face, slack and still. Lips wrapped around the tube helping you breathe. Cheeks bruised six different shades. Eyes swollen shut. “She’s not an Avenger. She was never supposed to be out there.”

You have no special abilities, no regenerative healing, nothing that could have shielded you from being blown through a solid wall of concrete. Nothing that could have softened the blunt force trauma dealt to your skull and back. 

You are not an Avenger.

You were never supposed to be in the line of fire.

Bucky was never supposed to be afraid of losing you.

Bucky was never supposed to watch you wither away before him. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” Steve whispers, his voice weighted with shame.

Bucky’s stomach twists with acidic rage. “Tell that to her.” He grits. “If you ever get the chance.” The venom in his tone isn’t lost on the pair as he leaves them, his shoulder shoving past Steve's with force. Bucky slams the door to your room shut, the glass trembling with the force. 

Blinds drop down over the window, blocking you from view. 

They don’t deserve to look at you.

They don’t deserve to feel guilty. They knew better. 

Bucky can’t bring himself to step closer to your bed. Can’t bring himself to slip his hand in yours. 

He’s too afraid your warmth will slip away, too afraid the steady beat of your heart will go silent. He’s too afraid to accept the fact that this may be your fate. 

Bucky sinks to the floor, fingers tearing at his hair as he shakes. Ragged sobs tear from his chest as he weeps into his palms, digging his nails into his skin.

His back hits the door.

The room is silent, save for the thrum of your heart monitor, and Bucky’s heartbroken cries.

A/N: Hiiiii, I know it's been a while. I've just been super busy. But I was listening to White Blank Page and the intensity of the song just inspired me.

Taglist:

@a-world-with-pure-imagination @frog-fans-unite @1967barracuda @akkklys @cherryheairt @lonelyghosts-stuff @mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes @devilslittlehelper @miss-chuchu @dollface-xoxo @natalia42069 @thuul-box @local-crazy @justachillgirllui @pleasecallmeunhinged @cookies-and-music @fallen-w1ngs @unicornqueen05 @bloodmocha @sleepysongbirdsings @fadingcollectivenightmare @hosshihusshi @sharkylalala