#And. bucky was here to comfort sam. but look at bucky soaking it in too...

[f-misc]

.·:*¨*+:｡. this is a sambucky hug in Captain America: Brave New World appreciation post .｡:+*¨*:·.

[daddyjackfrost]

In The Woods ; B. Barnes

The truth is stranger than in all my dreams. Oh, the darkness got a hold on me.

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x Ex-Avengers!F!Reader 

Synopsis: He left you behind to keep you safe, but safety never stopped the heartbreak. Now, a year of grief, silence, and sleepless nights unravel the moment he shows up at your door with his new team—bruised, breathless, begging. You’re angry and he’s sorry, but the love is still there. It always has been. 

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, y/n is mean & angry (for a bit), bucky is guilty, swearing, ft. thunderbolts, bleeding/injuries, sambucky break-up (mentions), yearning, not dating but a secret third thing, mentions of natasha & her death, y/n is “team sam”, mentions of tfatws (briefly), mentions of hell/religious imagery, violence/blood, SMUT, MDNI, kissing, oral (f), spit, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex (don’t), happy ending, no tb spoliers/ WC: 13.5

A/N: Bucky in Thunderbolts….mind goes brrr. Not helping the SamBucky divorce allegations but alas, anything for the story. Ignore any choppiness in the timeline or story, I wrote this with the worst migraine.

The forest was bleeding.

Not with colour—but silence. With snow falling slow and heavy, catching on branches and burning footprints as fast as they were made. The trees stood like sentinels, black-limed and reaching. Nothing but white, wood, and blood. 

Bucky’s breath came ragged through the hush, fogging the air. His gloved hands were soaked red. Yelena was slung between him and Walker, unconscious but breathing, the warmth of her body slowly seeping through his coat. 

They weren’t going to make it. 

He should have known. He should have been prepared for it, but he hadn’t been. 

“Bob,” Bucky called, voice tight, hoarse. “Stay close.” 

Bob—still limping, still glassy-eyed from the explosion—nodded and trudged forward, boots crunching through the snow. He wasn’t built for this. Not yet. Not like this. Val had shoved him onto the field too soon, too eager. 

Bucky had tried arguing, tried telling her that he was still fragile—a liability—but she hadn’t listened. And Bucky didn’t need more on his plate, but he’d take care of him. Or, at least, he’d try. 

Ava phased in and out ahead, scanning, ghostlike. When she disappeared for a moment too long, Bucky felt the silence of the clearing, tenfold. She was trying to stay ahead of whatever might still be behind them. 

But, Bucky could feel it. He could taste it. 

They were done. Just miles of snow and trees and nowhere to go. 

Yelena was bleeding out and Walker wasn’t any better, wobbling on his legs as he tried to stand up straight. They wouldn’t last long out here, certainly not while dragging each other. 

“Shit,” he muttered, stopping long enough to fumble with the tablet in his pouch. His hands shook—exhaustion, adrenaline, guilt—never ending guilt, swimming in his veins. He tapped into the satellite overlay, breathing hard, as their current location pinged into view. 

Grid 48-F. 

The North woods. Nothing but a snow storm. Cold, empty—remote. No outposts for miles. 

These weren’t woods happy campers visited. Untouched land, ridged and slanted, surrounded them. A perfect place for illegal activity but not so perfect to do the right thing. 

But—there—just there—barely on the edge of the map. 

A single black dot, beeping in and out existence, almost as if a trick of the light, like it wasn’t meant to be found.

His chest caved in around it. 

The coordinates suddenly looked familiar, as did the landscape. He narrowed his eyes, held the tablet up, heart slowing down. 

He knew these coordinates. 

Bucky stared at it for a long, frozen second. 

A place he hadn’t let himself think about in almost a year. 

A place filled with half-buried memories—laughter over old vinyl records, the sound of boots on the porch, a sweet voice telling him to sit as he was cleaned up. Steam curling from a mug handed to him without a word. 

Nights too quiet and long to pretend the tension wasn’t there. That the affection, curling around the wood and into the floorboards, wasn’t there. That the flicker of love, of want, wasn’t soaking into his skin.

Your eyes, warmer than firelight, watching him with a softness he’d never be able to find anywhere else. 

He hadn’t been able to go back. 

Not after deciding to leave you. Not after ignoring your calls when you got back from your mission. Not after telling himself it was for your safety—for your distance, from him and the darkness and chaos that seemed to follow him. 

He’d convinced himself that cutting the cord meant saving you. 

But now? 

Now the cord was pulling him back, wrapped around his neck and tugged, and he couldn’t rip it off even if he tried. 

“Bucky?” Bob’s voice small, nervous. He glanced at Bucky before focusing ahead, cold and wet. 

Bucky looked up, snapped out of it. “We’re not going to the evac point,” he said, voice low yet carrying. “We won’t make it. We’d freeze before the rendezvous got here.” 

“Then where?” Walker grunted. “We’re going to die out here.” 

Bucky hesitated, eyes on the trees, on the white mist curling through the frozen pines.

Finally, he said, “There’s a cabin.” He paused, like it hurt to admit. “It’s not far.” 

He didn’t say who it belonged to. He didn’t say it was the one place in the world he’d once felt safe and at peace. Didn’t say he hated every second of his life since they landed in this cold hell a few hours ago. 

Instead, he just adjusted Yelena’s weight on his shoulder and started moving. 

They reached the edge of the clearing an hour later. 

The sky was bleeding to black now, dim with twilight, blue shadows sinking low between the snowdrifts. The cabin stood half-hidden beneath a thick layer of frost and pine, smoke curling softly from the chimney. Warm light flickered behind the frosted windows.

It felt like a punch to the gut. 

Bucky paused at the treeline and held up a fist. The team crouched, quiet, bodies stiff from cold. He scanned the clearing, fingers twitching at his side. His mouth and eyes went dry. 

He didn’t think you’d be here.  

You hadn’t been the last time he checked. A year ago. After he stopped answering your messages. After he told himself staying away was the only way to protect you from the mess he was about to wade into with Val. 

Just once, last year, in a moment of weakness, he looked for you. Actively searched for you. He just needed to know, just needed to make sure you were okay, safe. He couldn’t find you. Sometimes, he can still feel that raw panic, the way his heart had stopped breathing when he came up empty, the way he had fallen to his knees and clutched at his chest like someone had ripped his heart out of him. 

The smoke was fresh. The path to the shed was shoveled. There were footprints. 

His stomach dropped. 

You were here. 

He turned, eyes on the snow. “Stay put. I’ll clear it.” His voice was low. 

“What if someone’s inside?” Ava asked, curious at Bucky’s shift in behaviour. 

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll handle it.” 

He crossed the snow like a ghost.

Every step was agony. Every crunch of ice beneath his boots cracked open another memory.

The porch creaked under his weight.

His hand slid along the doorframe. He knew exactly where you kept the spare key, the trick to the lock. He’d fixed it once, after you kicked it shut too hard. He remembered the way you’d rolled your eyes and offered him a beer while he worked. 

He didn’t want to break in. 

He didn’t want to disrespect this place, the peace that surrounded it. 

He didn’t want to hurt you again. 

He just—

He just needed somewhere to hide. 

His fingers curled around the doorknob, heart in his throat. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was once an assassin, once a killing machine. 

And then—

Click. 

“Don’t move.”

He froze, muscles stilling. 

The cold metal of a rifle barrel touched the base of his skull. It was the first time it had in years. He forgot how hard it was, how chilling. 

“Turn around. Slowly.” 

The voice behind him was sharp, cold, measured—devoid of any emotion and warmth. 

Your voice. 

Bucky turned. 

And there you were. 

Wrapped in flannel and fury. Face hard as ice, sharp eyes, steady behind the sight of your rifle. Your finger on the trigger didn’t even shake. It was steady, pressing. He felt a sliver of fear, something foreign and familiar all at once.

He drank in the sight of you like he was breathing for the first time, like he had been drowning at the foot of an altar and hadn’t known peace, hadn’t known salvation until this moment. 

Your hair was a little longer, circles under your eyes. New, faded scars on your face, under your eyebrow and lips. Same old boots. 

Still exceptionally beautiful as the day he lost you. 

The only thing different was your expression. 

New. 

You didn’t look surprised. Not the way he was. You weren’t drinking him in. 

You looked furious, angry, murderous. 

That, he decided, was the worst part. 

“...Y/n,” he breathed, voice cracking.

You stared at him, eyes like knives. Finger pressing the trigger harder, like you were going to pull. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” 

The barrel of your rifle didn’t drop. 

Even as the snow clung to his hair, melting down his jaw. Even as his expression cracked open into something half-empty, half-anxious. 

Even as his lips parted like he might say something real, something soft, something that would make you pull the trigger. 

You didn’t let yourself care, didn’t let yourself even entertain the thought of anything except the press of the barrel into his skin. You couldn’t—couldn’t even take a moment to comprehend that he was in front of you, alive. 

“You’re trespassing,” you said, voice ice-edged and flat, and dangerous. “So either tell me who’s bleeding in the trees or I put one in your leg and call Sam.” 

That hit him. 

It hit him. 

He flinched—subtle, almost imperceptible—but you caught it. Just like you used to catch every other shift in him. The way he’d crack a knuckle when he was anxious. The way his jaw would tighten when he was lying. The way he could never look you in the eyes when he said goodbye.

You clicked the safety off. 

He didn’t even raise his hands. 

“Yelena’s hurt. So is Walker,” he said, voice lower now. Rougher. Sandpaper. “Bob’s with us. We just needed a place to—”

“You think you can just show up here?” 

It came out sharp. Too sharp. Quick, something prickling. 

Something behind your ribs cracked open. A dam you didn’t even realize you were still holding back. You stepped forward, closer, gun still pressing against his forehead. Snow on your boots, fury in your chest, your heart pounding so loud it echoed in your ears. 

He was still standing on your porch. 

Your space. 

A sacred, secret spot you had once shared with him, but no longer. 

You were seething. How fucking dare he?

“I ought to shoot you, you know that? Put a bullet in your arm, maybe your shoulder.” 

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said quickly, eyes on you, like it made it better. “I wouldn’t have—I wasn’t gonna stay. I just—”

“Just what, Bucky?” you snapped. “Thought you’d break in? Treat it like another asset to use up and leave behind? Like you did with me?” 

He could feel his heart crack, his resolve, all the effort he’d put in himself to forget you, all came crashing down. He felt small, guilty. 

He didn’t even think about his team, the ones watching him from the treeline, taking in this new version of him. They’d never seen him stand so still, so disarming. 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed thickly. 

His shoulders curled in just a little. Like he’d been waiting for this. Like it still hurt more than he expected. 

Your hands shook, once. His eyes fell on them before lifting, piercing into yours. You lowered the rifle only because you didn’t trust yourself not to pull the trigger on accident. 

And then—movement. A shuffle behind the trees. 

Bucky turned his head slightly, called out, “Come on out.”

You watched as Bob stepped into view first, arms braced under John’s weight. Blood stained the sleeve of Walker’s coat, and his jaw was clenched with pain. Ava phased beside them a second later, hauling Yelena, unconscious and pale, her forehead slick with blood. 

Your stomach turned. You swallowed the bile. You knew them, or, knew of them. Although you had removed yourself from society as best you could, you still kept in touch. Listening, watching.

They looked like shit, like they’d been through hell. 

But you didn’t look at them, not really. 

You looked at Bucky. Watched the way his lips turned down at the sight of them in concern. 

It made you sick that part of you still cared. 

That the sight of Yelena’s crumpled form made you shove the pain down into your gut. That instinct took over and you stepped aside, jerking your head toward the door. 

“Inside. Now.” 

Bucky didn’t move, not right away. 

Maybe he was stunned, or trying to think of something to say. 

But you didn’t wait. You turned your back on him—on all of them—and pushed the cabin door wide. 

The warmth hit you like a slap, familiar and inviting yet surprising. 

The fire was still crackling in the hearth. Your mug of half-finished tea sat forgotten on the windowsill. The cabin smelled like pine and old wood and the lilac cleaner you used on the floors just that morning.

It smelled like you. 

And then they all stumbled in, dragging the snow and blood and silence behind him. 

Ava pulled Yelena onto the couch. Bob dragged Walked across the carpet, propped him up somewhere. He hovered close, face pale, eyes wide. You moved fast—medical kit from the cabinet, extra blankets from the trunk, towels tossed in the sink. 

Your movements were sharp, precise. Practiced and automatic. 

You didn’t look at Bucky. 

You didn’t need to. 

You could feel him behind you, like a storm gathering behind your spine. Like a memory clawing up your throat. 

Your voice was low when you finally broke the silence.

“This place isn’t a fucking outpost.” 

“I know,” Bucky said quietly. Almost like he couldn’t believe you’d think he’d disrespect this place, one that had once been so kind to him. 

“Then why the hell are you here?” 

“I didn’t have a choice.” 

You snorted. “There’s always a choice.” 

His voice cracked, desperate. “I didn’t think you’d be here.” 

“Yeah?” You turned, eyes meeting his briefly, hard and angry. “You make a habit of not thinking and being an idiot?” 

The silence after was thick enough to drown in. 

And he felt it. Drowning, deeper and deeper. 

“They’re good people.” It’s all he could say.

“Don’t care.” You did. You couldn’t help yourself, because they hadn’t done anything to wrong you—except Walker—but even then. Their past had no relevance to you. You’d take care of them. It was who you were. 

“I just… I thought—”

“What, Bucky?” you snapped eyes narrowed, voice shaking. “What did you think would happen? That I’d open the door and thank you? That I’d be so grateful for the ghost of you showing up on my fucking doorstep that I’d forget everything else?”

He flinched again. Didn’t try to defend himself.

Good. He shouldn’t.

You stepped toward him, close enough that he could feel the heat of your fury.

“I waited, you know. After I got back. I waited. Every goddamn day. Thought you’d call. Thought you’d explain. But you didn’t. You just disappeared. Like none of it meant anything.”

Bucky’s eyes burned.

“It meant everything,” he said, voice low. Raw.

You shook your head. “Too late.”

He wanted to say something else—there was so much to say, so much to apologize for, but you moved away from him, left him standing near the kitchen. He felt something crack at the distance, which was funny, he mused painfully. 

For a year, he spent thousands of miles away from you, but he hadn’t felt the distance—the loss—till now. Everything inside him was aching and his hands curled into fists as he watched you, eyes burning into your back. 

You worked in silence. 

Yelena’s breathing was shallow but steady, her wound cleaned and wrapped beneath layers of gauze and tape. She hadn’t woken yet, but the colour was beginning to return to her face. You tucked another blanket around her, brushing damp hair back from her forehead with a gentleness that surprised even you. 

There was something about her, something so achingly familiar in the way she held herself, even unconscious. She had a scar, a small faded one right on her chin. Briefly, your mind flashed to Natasha, of a story she told you years and years ago about her sister and a stapler. 

Bob hovered nearby like a kicked dog—wide eyes, oversized hoodie stained with someone else’s blood. His hands trembled as he offered a clean towel, his lip caught between his teeth. 

You took it from him carefully, fingers brushing his.

“Thank you,” you murmured. Your voice dipped, just for him, something softer and inviting, like you knew who he was, what he had done, and decided he deserved kindness anyways. 

His face lip up like a spark had caught in his chest and he smiled bashfully before he looked away. 

Ava sat perched on the arm of a chair, arms crossed. Her eyes tracked every move you made, sharp but not hostile. Just watchful, trying to familiarize herself with you. You caught her eye and nodded at her. She nodded back. Quiet understanding passed, soldier to soldier. 

Then you turned to Walker. 

He was half-reclined on the floor near the fire, jacked peeled off, blood soaking the side of his shirt. Bob had done what he could—pressure, bandages—but the bleeding hadn’t fully stopped. 

You knelt beside him, jaw locked. You didn’t speak at first, rage bubbling in your throat. Just the sight of him, of his battered face made you angry, made you remember the way things were, back when Walker was the biggest pain in your ass, before Bucky had left. 

He winced when you pressed against the gauze. 

“You know,” you said, voice low, steady, “I ought to let you bleed out. If it were up to me, you’d be lying in the snow somewhere, half-dead.” 

He didn’t respond, just looked at you through gritted teeth. 

You didn’t look away. You wondered if he was remembering it—the violence, the hatred. The man he was, and very well may be. Growth can’t be disguised under darker clothes and new management. 

Resentment lingers—you’d know. 

“You’re lucky I give more of a shit about him,” you added, nodding toward Bob. “And Yelena. That’s the only reason I haven’t thrown your ass back into the cold.” 

Walker’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I got that.” 

You peeled back the soaked bandage with clinical detachment. You didn’t even bother to be gentle.

Across the room, Bucky flinched. 

He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, a storm in his eyes. He felt a flicker of something—regret, guilt—familiar, so fucking familiar, as he watched you. Your shoulders were rigid, tight with restraint. 

You disliked John, you always had. Before, you had fought with him about his morals, about the way he held himself and the shield. Bucky had stood behind you, behind Sam. He had agreed. 

There was something borderline repulsive about the scene in front of him, of you cleaning up John Walker as Bucky watched with mild concern and his friend—Sam—was nowhere to be found. 

He wondered if you found it disgusting, who he had become and who he had decided to work alongside. He’d understand. He hated himself most days, too. 

You handed Bob another towel. 

“Keep pressure here,” you instructed, something softer in your voice as you addressed Bob. “Don’t let him bleed through it again.” 

Bob nodded, instantly obedient. 

You turned away.

Bucky followed you with his eyes like he couldn’t help it. Like he hadn’t been starved of you for too long. Like he had any right. 

You moved past Ava, brushing her shoulder. “You hurt?” 

She shook her head. “Just bruised.” 

“Bathroom’s through the back,” you said. “Towels under the sink. You can clean up.” 

She looked at you, eyes narrowing like she wasn’t sure how to read your tone. But she nodded once and stood, disappearing down the hallway. 

And then—silence again. 

Except for the fire. And Bob whispering something to Walker, Yelena’s slow, shallow breaths.

You turned, arms crossed, lips turned downwards. 

And finally—finally—you looked at Bucky. You silently begged your heart not to give out.

He was bigger, healthier. Gaunter around the eyes. His hair was longer, curling at the ends, damp with snowmelt. His coat was torn. Knuckles scabbed over. Metal hand twitched like he wanted to reach for something—someone. 

You didn’t let yourself soften—not at the look in his eyes, not at the way his entire body looked like it was a second away from giving out. 

“You can take the cot,” you said, jerking your head toward the corner. “If you think you’ll sleep.” 

It was a low-blow, something petty and mean, bringing attention to his trouble with sleeping, but it was all you had. Just these quips, the coldness in your voice. It was all you could throw at him, all you had since he had taken everything else—your trust, heart, and smile. 

“I—” He cleared his throat, hoarse. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough, and came out too quickly, too quietly. It was too heavy, too weightless. 

You scoffed, eyes shifting to the floor before meeting his. “Fuck off.” 

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed again. 

You turned your back to him. 

It was past midnight when Yelena stirred. 

You were sitting at her side, fresh gauze in your hands, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. It had been steady for hours—but now, her fingers twitched, lashes fluttered. Her body went still before she relaxed. 

“Yelana?” you murmured, trying to keep your voice soft, safe. 

She blinked slowly, disoriented, as her pupils adjusted to the low light of the fire. Her mouth moved, cracked lips forming words you couldn’t hear. 

“Hey,” you leaned in. “You’re okay. You and your team are safe.” 

Her gaze drifted, found your face. Her eyes drifted along your skin, taking in your features. Recognition flashed in them before they moved to the room behind you. 

“...we made it?” she rasped, voice hoarse and dry. 

You nodded, features softening a bit at the slight accent in her voice. It reminded you of Nat’s, the way it slipped out sometimes, because of certain words, when she felt safe. 

“Bled all over my floor, but yeah.” 

A small, broken laugh escaped her and she winced immediately, bringing a hand to her ribs.

“Try not to move,” you said gently. “You’ll ruin my fine patch job.” 

She was quiet for a beat before she lifted her eyes, lips curled downwards. “You were her friend, weren’t you?”

You blinked in surprise, lips parting. You had heard about Yelena from Nat, near the end. During the blip, when she had decided that she had kept enough to herself, she told you about her little sister. You never thought you’d get to meet her.

“I was,” you swallowed. “We were good friends.” 

“She told me about you,” Yelena said, quietly, like it was a secret. “Just once. Told me I could come to you for anything.” 

Your heart tightened in your chest and you nodded, trying for a smile. “Yeah. You could—can.” 

Something dark, a mixture of grief and anger bubbled in Yelena’s chest and you saw it, saw the way it pulled at her from her hair. It was familiar, a feeling you knew well. “She talked about you,” you offered, trying to pull her out of her own mind. “She loved you.” 

“Yeah,” Yelena swallowed, “I know.” 

You patted her shoulder gently before pushing yourself up. Her hand caught your wrist and you looked down, eyebrows raised. 

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. 

You crouched down. “Know what?” 

“That you’re her.” 

You frowned, tilting your head in question. “Her?” 

Yelena’s eyes lingered on your face, tracing your scars and the bridge of your nose. “The one he never talks about.” 

Your breath caught, and your eyes widened, just a bit, but enough. You said nothing. 

“He’s in love with you, you know.” She winced as she tried to sit up. “He doesn’t know how not to be.” She paused, glancing at your trembling fingers. “It leaks out of him.” 

Your jaw clenched and you looked away, heart falling to your stomach and fingers curled. She watched as you kept your eyes on the fire, hating how dry your throat had gotten. 

“I’ll check on you in a bit,” you said finally, quietly. “Try to sleep.”

She didn’t protest, just smiled softly before shutting her eyes. 

They were all asleep by two, or pretending. But it was quiet, tense, something weighed. 

Walker was sprawled ungracefully on the rug, arm bandaged and elevated, snoring softly. Bob had curled up in the armchair, long limbs tucked close, face peaceful.  Ava took the cot near the back wall, one leg bouncing softly until it stilled.

And Bucky—

Bucky sat in the kitchen, silent, staring into the dark like it held answers he hadn’t earned. It was too overwhelming—being here. There were memories, soft laughter and lingering touches that had crawled into the crevices of the wood, peeled the stains back until the entire cabin felt smaller, haunted. In the warmth of the kitchen, the wood groaning under his weight, he felt like he could have done it. 

He could have stayed. Could have fought off Val for you, kept you out of the limelight. 

He could have fought harder. 

He should have fought harder. 

He doesn’t know what that made him—a coward, maybe. Someone afraid. He had grown, gone to therapy and made friends, but the fear, the curling of unworthiness in his bones would never leave. He knew that. 

He stared down at the table, eyes focusing on the swirls and edges of the wood. His herbal tea, the one you had forced them all to drink, was sitting cold in front of him. He was glad you hadn’t given him the one he used to drink—the exotic ones, ones he’d never heard of and couldn’t imagine. It would have felt like holy water in hell, something condemning and horrid, but sweet all the while. 

You slipped on your boots and coat and eased the front door open, letting the cold bite at your face. The stars above were clear, silver on black. The trees whispered in the distance, inviting. 

Bucky heard the door open and froze, stilled as he stared into the open space. 

You sat on the porch steps and pulled the knife from your side pocket. 

It was old now, worn. The handle smooth from your thumb, the constant rubbing and brushing.

You’d never stopped carrying it. 

Sam had found it at a vintage store. “Some kind of weird sentimental symbolism,” he’d said, when he gave it to you. “Sharp. Pointed. Quiet. Soft around the edges. Like you.” Bucky had added your initials to the leather sheath in his own careful scrawl. 

You used to carry it just to remember the two of them. When you were on long missions, when they had stumbled into some trouble far away—when it was quiet. 

Now, you carried it because it was all you had left.

You pressed your thumb into the base of the blade, not enough to break skin, but just enough to feel something—to wake you up if this was a bad dream. It felt like one. It felt strange, like you could guess the ending but it changed every time you searched for it, when the flicker of want, of fear, grew larger. 

The cabin behind you creaked softly, weight shifting and the wind howling. 

You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. 

His footsteps were heavier now. Not loud, but familiar—measured, hesitant. A bit like when he first arrived here, years ago. The way he never pressed his full weight into the wood until he grew comfortable, until he was sure that the wood—that you—could support him. 

He sat beside you.

Not too close, but closer than he had been in a year. The porch was old pine and groaned beneath his weight, like the cabin couldn’t help but mimic the sadness that dwelled in you—in the absence of him. 

You stared at the trees, eyes fluttering shut briefly as the cold wind brushed against your skin. The moonlight was sharper now, illuminating you both perfectly, a silent spectacle for the Gods. 

The knife gleamed in your palm like it could split you open. Something was tearing apart. 

“It’s…colder than I remember,” Bucky said, after a long silence. 

You said nothing.

A part of you wanted to lunge at him, plunge the knife into his heart and ask him if it hurts, if the pain measures to your own. You gripped the hilt of the knife tighter, looked at a tree where a gun was hidden. 

He exhaled slowly, white breath curling in the air as his nose twitched. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” He said it like it made it better, like he knew you were bleeding out and these words were all he could offer, little bandaids he kept on hand. 

“Yeah,” you said, voice sharp and bitter. “You’ve mentioned that.” 

He rubbed his hands together, flesh and metal and yet he hadn’t felt warmth in months, years—whenever he touched you last. A brush against your shoulder, knees bumping under the blanket. 

“You shouldn’t’ve been.” 

You turned sharply, eyes narrowed into slits. He almost moved back. “You think you get to decide where I go now?” Your hold on the knife tightened, slipped into place. 

“No—” 

“Because last I checked,” you interrupted, “you lost that right. When you ghosted me. When you walked away from Sam and into fucking politics. When instead of taking her down, you joined up with Val fucking Fontaine and turned into some New Avenger.” 

You were seething, jaw clenched as the words came out like bullets. Your fingers twitched around the blade and you almost, almost, lifted it, just to see what he would do. You were angry, so fucking angry, and hurt, and worried, and—God—Why was he staring at you like that? 

“I was trying to protect you,” Bucky said quietly, a whisper that floated into the wind. 

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t you dare say that to me.” 

He looked down, hair falling across his face as his fingers curled into fists. 

“Do you know what it felt like?” You whispered, voice cracking, mentally blaming the cold. “Coming home after six months to find no one there? I saw Sam. He looked at me like I’d been buried alive. And then I had to ask about you and he just—he looked so tired. Like he didn’t have any energy left.” 

Your grip on the knife loosened but his shoulders tensed, pinched together like he was trying to keep himself still. 

“Sam was busy with the government and he had Joaquin and I…I had no one.” You inched forward, wanting him to see the look in your eyes. “I called you. Every day. Texted you, sent voice messages. I got nothing. Nothing, Buck. Not even a fuck-you.” 

Bucky couldn’t breathe, he was sure he had stopped breathing the moment he sat down but now his chest hurt, his eyes stung and his fingers twitched. “I couldn’t,” he said, almost begging, his voice cracking.

“I couldn’t.” 

You finally turned your full body toward him. If this conversation was finally happening, maybe for the last time ever, you wanted to be present for it. If he was truly going to rip your heart out of your chest, you wanted him to have a clear shot. “Why not?” 

He met your eyes—red, bright blue, and so exhausted. 

“Because Val knew about you.” 

Your stomach twisted. The way he said it—haunted, like it was the worst thing in the world, like he’d never been more shaken. 

“She knew everything. She had a file, your name. Where you trained, where you came from. She knew. And she told me…if I didn’t cooperate, if I didn’t step in line, she’d make you vanish.” 

You stared at him, lips parting in surprise. The air thinned around you. It was less about what he said and more about the way he said it, the way he panted out the words, like they’d been taking so much space in his body. 

“She said it like she was doing me a favour,” he whispered. “Like she was giving me an option. I knew what she was capable of. I’ve seen what her people do, Y/n.” 

“So you left,” you breathed out. “Without a word.” 

“It was the only way to keep her away from you,” he said, his eyes pleading. You had to understand—understand that he’d do anything to keep you safe. “I had to disappear from your life. I thought…if I stayed gone long enough, she’d think you didn’t matter.” 

Your throat closed, anger bubbling into something colder—grief. “I did matter.” 

“I know,” he said, eyes piercing into yours, pink lips pulled into a frown. “Christ, I know. Don’t you think I’ve thought about it every day? Don’t you think I regret it? I thought I was saving you. But I was just…just a fucking coward.” 

Silence—the woods watched, trees listened. 

The stars did not blink, just stayed still, offering as much comfort as they could.

You breathed in the fresh air, trying to get your blood circulating. Your pulse pounded in your chest and you wiped at your face, angry and so fucking sad. All you wanted was to live in your anger forever, to keep it at the surface and present, but here he was, hands trembling, telling you how far he had gone to keep you safe.

“I missed you,” you admitted, softly. “Every day. Even when I was angry.” 

Bucky turned toward you, jaw clenched. His hand reached out before he dropped it. His eyes were wide and bright and sorry. 

You looked down at the knife. “I came here, once. After you left. I thought maybe being here would help. That I could feel close to you.” 

He swallowed hard, dug his nails into his palm. 

“But it just…just made it worse. Every corner. Every stupid crevice. You’re in all of it.” You paused, a small smile, filled with everything but warmth. “Ended up staying. What does that say about me?”

He looked small, like he might shatter. Like the weight of your words was too much, like his superhuman strength was nothing against them. 

“I wanted my best friend,” you said, voice small. It was easier to be like this—sad, fucking pathetic, and angry, with him. It always had been. “I needed you, Buck. And you weren’t there.” 

“I wanted to be,” his words came tumbling out, hurried and harsh. “You think I didn’t want to break every fucking rule and come running the second I saw your name pop up on my screen? I wanted to call, to explain. But Val—she had eyes. I thought if I held out long enough, she’d lose interest.” 

“She didn’t,” you mused. “She sent you here.” 

Bucky looked startled, exhaled sharply, like he hadn’t considered it. This whole time—he thought it was a coincidence. His bad fucking luck. But it was Val—of course. That scared him, made him want to pick up his team and leave you, the sooner he left the further Val got to you. 

“I shouldn’t’ve come.” 

“No,” you said, softer, a bit surprised at your immediate answer. “But I’m glad you did.” 

He looked at you, startled. His eyes, so blue, so bright, widened a fraction. 

You wiped at your eyes again, trying to brush away the feelings that had bubbled out of your chest and out in the open, dancing across your skin.

“Because now you get to see what you left behind…and I—I get to see you. Alive.” 

Bucky’s breath caught and his fingers shook. His shoulders dropped and a part of you, a small, horrible part of you relished in it. Briefly, but it pleased you. 

“You’re my best friend,” he said, like a confession. Like it meant something else, something he thought about, something that burned bright and warm in his veins every night. “That’s the problem. I had to walk away.”

He said it with heat—desperation.

Please, he was saying, understand—I love you. 

You looked at him then, fully, completely. And for the first time in nearly a year, your anger cracked, just a little—then crumbled, until it fell off you like rain. It was still there, soaking into your skin, but slid off. 

“Then stop walking away,” you whispered, responding to the words he wasn’t saying but was leaking out of him. “If I’m your best friend,”—if you love me—“stay. Stop running.” 

The words found a life of their own, stumbled out of your mouth before you could catch them, before you could measure their consequences—they fell along Bucky’s skin like snow, soft and beautiful and cold and unseen. 

The moon above you was heavy and silver and listening—waiting, glowing, yearning.

The silence stretches on, hovers softly over the snow, a blanket over the cold. 

You don’t say anything for a long time. 

Not after you ask him to stay. 

There’s just the knife in your hand and the throb in your chest and the goddamn moon staring down at you like she knows, like she understands—despite your embarrassment, the hole in your chest that was once filled with anger and pride and hurt. Now hollow, remnants of it all dried and crisp. 

And then—

You laugh. 

It’s not soft, not amused. It’s empty, something clipped. 

“I can’t believe I just asked you to stay,” you admit, bitter and in disbelief. “I’m your best friend. Right. You care about me so much I had to grieve you.” 

He flinches, chin tipping downwards. 

You’re on your feet before you even realize it, pacing the porch like it’s the only way to stay upright. You had imagined having this conversation with him hundreds of times, all different. When you had come back and Sam told you he didn’t know where Bucky was, your entire life fell apart. Sometimes, on bad days, you can still feel the ache in your chest. 

For a moment, a day, a week, a while, you had thought you had lost him. Until he turned up on your fucking television. 

 “I lit a candle for you in some tiny church in Madrid. Did you know that?” you spit. “I thought you were dead. Or worse—I thought you’d become someone I didn’t recognize.” Your eyes met his and they fell along his suit, the black, the A that had once meant so much to you. 

“I’m not sure I recognize you now.” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything—can’t. His heart is beating out of his chest and he’s blinking too fast. He never meant for this to happen—never wanted you to be in pain because of him. 

“I hated you,” you whisper into the air. “But I never stopped—” You stopped, swallowed the words, the ache. “You don’t get to say that to me. Best friend? Please.” 

“You always have been,” he said, quietly. “Even when I tried to forget you.” 

You whirled on him, a flicker of anger raging in your eyes. “And what? I’m supposed to be grateful? Being your best fucking friend? Like it didn’t crush me? Like it’s enough?” 

“No,” he responds, throat dry. “I don’t expect that.” He knows, he fucking knows. 

“Then what do you want, Bucky? Forgiveness? Closure? You want to cry under the stars and say you’re sorry and pretend like that makes it better?” You can’t breathe, fingers trembling. 

“No.” 

“Then what?” 

Bucky stood slowly, took a step forward—didn’t reach for you. 

“I just wanted you to know,” his voice is so quiet, his breath warm and cheeks pink. “That I never stopped choosing you. Even when it looked like I didn’t.” He moved closer, needed you to see him, hear him. 

“You have been, and always will be, my first choice. Even if it won’t lead me to you.”

You look away, shaking and eyes shining. “I didn’t—don't—want your protection. I wanted you.” 

I always have, you didn’t say. 

“I know,” he says, voice breaking and heart heavy. “I know that now.” 

You wanted to hit him—to kiss him. You wanted to break every bone in your body until the pain matched the ache in your chest, just so it could feel real. 

You pressed your palms to your eyes, feeling too much and pathetic and like the facade you had tried to bolt into place for months was slipping. “You let me think you didn’t care.”

“I thought it would make it easier.” He was close now, his body heat caressing yours, inviting and sorry. 

“It didn’t.” 

“I was trying to keep you safe.” 

“I’m not made of glass,” you hissed. “I’m not something fragile. Stop acting like I am.” 

“I know that,” he admits, voice gruff and shaking. “I know how strong you are. That’s never been the problem.” 

“Then what is?” Why couldn’t he just say it—how many years had passed in this dance, in this slow waltz you both were determined to participate in. 

Bucky looks at you and your heart skipped a breath. He heard it, almost smiled, but he was lost in your eyes, in the way they glowed and were on him. 

“I don’t get to keep good things,” he says, words coming out like glass in his throat. 

“I don’t get forever, Y/n. I don’t get safe. I don’t get to love something without watching it get taken from me.” 

You stopped breathing, head tilting back as he moved closer, lips parted. His words collided into your chest, ripped through layers and layers of skin until they sat heavily on your bones, pried their way inside your heart. 

“You think I was protecting you? I was protecting me.” His hands were fists at his side. “Because the second I saw her file, the second Val mentioned your name, all I could think about was you bleeding out somewhere—and it being my fault.” 

His voice cracks—hard, raw. He’s looking at you like he’s never going to see you again, like he’s at the crossroads and at any moment, he’ll be dragged to hell. The way the damned look an angel, in yearning and mourning.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered. “So I walked away.”

You shook your head, fingers uncurling and curling. “So you lived with a ghost.” 

He nodded, solemn. “Better than your blood on my hands.” 

“And what about me?” You snapped. “What about what I had to live with? You think it didn’t kill me, wondering why I wasn’t enough to stay for? Why Sam and I weren’t?” 

His whole body tensed and his breathing hitched. 

“I would’ve rather had you,” you said, words trembling. “Ruined. Broken. Afraid. I would’ve taken every messy fucking day, every stupid risk, every scar. I wanted you. I didn’t want safety.” 

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. 

His shoulders shake once—twice. 

With stark apprehension, your eyes widened—- he’s crying. 

Not softly, but like it’s wrenching out of him. Like the pain has been festering for years, decades, even. Like he’s refused to feel any emotion for so long that now, it’s tearing out of him. 

You don’t move—can’t. You’ve never seen Bucky cry before—not when Steve left, not when his nightmares had him yelling in his sleep. 

He didn’t ask for comfort. 

You stood still. 

“I kept thinking,” he said, through the tears, absolutely wrecked, “that maybe if I left early on, it wouldn’t hurt as much.” 

“Did it help?” You asked quietly, resisting the urge to rub his arm. 

He shook his head. “I’ve never been more miserable.” 

You’re both quiet again. 

Just the wind now, the trees. 

He sat back down, slowly, like the weight of it all is too much. 

After a long, long beat—you sat too. 

The knife is still in your hand.

You don’t touch him. He doesn’t try. 

He just sits there, eyes red, face raw. A man undone. 

And for the first time in a year, the silence between you is not empty. 

It’s full—of pain, history, of the soft, slow pulse of something broken that still wants to live.

The silence stretched again—different, not bitter. Just tired. 

The kind of quiet that lived after grief has passed itself, after all the screaming is done. What remained is ache, the king you can breathe through, if you sit still long enough. 

You stared at the woods, the snow drifting off the trees. Your fingers curled tight around the knife.

“I kept it,” you said, suddenly. Filling the silence. “The knife.”

Bucky turned his head slightly, eyes falling on the metal in wonder. 

You traced your thumb over the hilt. “You and Sam gave it to me after Belgium. Said I earned it, saved both your asses. A gift.” 

“You did,” he murmured, licking his lips. 

You almost smiled.

Instead, you nodded towards the woods. “I took it on this last mission.” 

Bucky’s quiet for a beat, then, “What happened?” 

You don’t answer right away—breath curling in the cold. “I don’t know if I want to tell you.” 

His voice is gentle, understanding. “That’s okay.” 

You shifted, momentarily uncomfortable, knife balanced on your knee. 

“I was in Kaltag,” you said, finally. “Started as intel extraction. Easy, in and out. But it wasn’t. Not even close.” 

Bucky hated how haunted you sounded, how winded, even after a year, you seemed to be. Like you weren’t sure if you had outrun the threat, or if it loomed behind you still. 

You swallowed and ran your hand through your hair. “It went on for three months longer than it should’ve. I lost my whole team.” 

You could feel him tense, the way the guilt inside and around him increased tenfold. 

“I made it out,” you said softly, reminding him and yourself that you were okay. “But it was close.”

He turned slightly, not touching you, but near. Closer than before. 

You tried to ignore how good it felt, how it immediately eased the tension in your own shoulders. 

“When I got back to New York,” you continued, “I called you, first thing. I couldn’t think about anything else. Just—telling you I was alive.”

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched

You wrapped your arms around your knees and rested your cheek against your arm, eyes on him. He looked so beautiful, so tortured as he sat there, listening to you. 

“I left you a voicemail. Told you I missed you.” 

“I listened to it,” he said, hoarsely, pained. 

“I almost wish you hadn’t.” 

He opened his mouth before shutting it. He couldn’t argue—not when your voicemails, your voice, kept him sane for so long. It was the only physical thing he had of you. 

You pressed your lips together when the wound felt like cracking open again.

He pressed his hand to his mouth, exhaled hard. “I’m sorry.” 

You nodded once, expecting it. Taking it better than you did earlier. 

He glanced towards the cabin, peeking inside. You followed his gaze.

“Your team,” you started. “They’re good people.” 

Bucky shook his head. “Not exactly.” 

You shrugged, the ghost of a smile passing by your lips.

“Yeah. Maybe not good. But…they’re trying. I think.” 

He nodded then. “Yeah. They are.” 

There was something in his voice, something soft and vulnerable and uncomfortable. “You care about them.” 

He paused, like he didn’t like how fast he might’ve answered. “I do.” 

You traced the knife again. It felt a bit like your spine–rigid, cold, worn out. You glanced at him once, just to understand, to dig the pain in further. “Are you happy?” Your voice is soft, almost serene. “You said you were miserable but did you find something with them? Something you didn’t have before?”

Bucky looked at you, his whole body stiffening. There’s more beneath your words, he hears it. The sharp edge of grief, of doubt. He doesn’t answer immediately because the truth is—he doesn’t know. He hasn’t thought about himself, about his wants or his feelings in months. 

You were braced for it—the soft, diplomatic lie. Bucky missed you, you knew that. He missed Sam too, even if he hadn’t said it. But you saw the way his eyes narrowed when one of them winced. It was a look you were more than familiar with—what you weren’t familiar with—was not being on the other end of it. 

He clears his throat and looks up, his eyes twinkling under the starlight. “It’s not the same.” 

You looked at him, wary. He sounded older, exhausted. 

“It’s good. They’re good,” he said. “But it’s not the same. Not even close.” His throat was clogged with sadness, with nostalgia. 

You turned away, tried to breathe. You hated how he could get you like this, all unraveled and messy. He was the only one who ever could. 

Bucky waited. Then said, gently, “It’s okay.” 

You shook your head, gripped the knife tighter. “No, it’s not.” 

“It’s okay to ask me.”

You blinked, knife slipping slowly from your hand. You both had said so much tonight, opened the floor to feelings and anger and questions neither of you had ever thought you’d get to. It felt a bit like going in circles, like he couldn’t help but keep you safe and you couldn’t help but hate him for it over, and over again. 

“To wonder,” he added. “You can ask. You always could.” 

You gripped the knife tighter and your lips trembled, partly due to the cold and partly due to the weight of what you wanted to ask.

Were you ever going to come back? You wanted to ask, scream into the air. Did you find a new family? 

Bucky breathed in deeply, closed his eyes. When he opened them, he turned his head to look at you. His eyes were bright, earnest. “I’ve only ever belonged to one place,” he said, softly. “One person.” 

His words, wrapped in gentle warmth, brushed against your skin and you froze, stilled as your eyes widened a bit. 

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” 

Something quiet, a mixture of grief and love and sadness paints across his face and the corners of his lips quirk upwards momentarily, like he imagined this conversation, but not like this. 

“I’ve never meant anything more.” 

The knife dropped slightly in your lap. You wanted to believe him. Wanted to take his words and cradle them to your chest, coo at them. 

But your heart was still wrapped in barbed wire, hands bloody as you tried to keep him at arm's length. 

There’s a long, still beat. 

“What about this mission?” You cleared your throat, tried to push the warmth away with your cold breath.

“What brought you here?”

Bucky exhaled and looked out over the snow. His jaw flexed and he ran a hand through his hair. It was longer, parted and freshly cut. He looked so good. You looked away. 

“There was a compound,” he started. “Hidden in the mountains. Yelena had a lead. Val gave the green light, but the intel was wrong.” 

He shook his head, looking years older and frustrated—jaw tight.

“It was a trap. A set-up. Ava nearly got blown apart. Yelena and Walker took shrapnel. Bob was doing well but then he panicked. We barely got out.” 

You looked at him then, quietly stunned. He sounded like a proper leader, someone who cared. He sounded a bit like a Sergeant and a small—large—part of you almost winced in pain. You always knew he was a leader, despite following Steve everywhere. It was who he was, a man who took the lead, control, when he had too. 

“And then you came here.”

His voice dipped, a little bashful. “Didn’t realize where I was at first. Not until I checked the coordinates again.” 

“And when you did?” 

His eyes were glasser now, glowing brightly, like your very own temptation. “I didn’t want to.” 

“But you did.” 

He nodded, solemn. “Because I knew it was the only place they’d be safe.” 

You understood, in retrospect. He was right. You knew this terrain, and had heard whispers of the death that followed. It’s why you chose this place for solitude, not just anyone can survive in a place like this. 

“I would’ve helped, you know.” You brought your knees to your chest. “Even if you weren’t there.” 

He nodded, like it was obvious. “I know.”  You’re a good person. The best he knows. But he was a coward and he was selfish and there was a part of him that would have done anything to see you, even if it meant shooting himself in the foot.

There’s a long pause—seems to welcome itself between every moment. 

And then—his voice breaks a little, vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You don’t look at him. You can feel the fire melting. It’s all gone and now he’s smothering the burned ambers, making sure there isn’t anything left. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Bucky said, again, harder, wetter. “For all of it. For walking away. For staying away. For not calling. For letting you think—” 

“Stop, Buck.” 

He stopped, eyes wild and lips parted. You stared out at the snow, the rising light. You often stayed awake until sunrise, but you had barely done it with company. 

“What’s done is done. And you can’t fix it.” You paused, pretended not to notice his full-body flinch. “Not with words, at least.” 

“I know.” He sounded so defeated, like he was about to be dragged away and he was using his last breath on this, on apologizing, even if it didn’t mean anything to you. 

You glanced down at your hands, brushed your thumb across the engraving. It was still warm, still smelled like him if you pretended long enough. “But,” you almost smiled, “thank you. For apologizing. It’s a start.” 

Bucky released a short breath and his eyes gleamed. He nodded and slowly—so slowly—you let your shoulder brush his. 

Just barely—enough. The first touch between you both in a year, something soft and passing, weightless, but so incredibly heavy. 

His breath stuttered and he froze, almost as if his stillness could convince you to do it again. 

You don’t say anything. 

Neither does he. 

The sun began to rise, gold light spilling over the trees. It touched your porch, your boots, the blade of your knife. The world around you began to glow. 

And for the first time in a long time, you both felt warm—not whole, but alive. Like there was meaning now, like maybe, just maybe—you could start again.

The morning came quietly. 

Fog clung to the trees like ghosts reluctant to leave, coiled through the branches and rolling over the forest floor. It muffled the sounds of birds and leaves, wrapped the cabin in a kind of hush—a sacred, fragile peace. You didn’t sleep, just sat near the front window for most of the night, listened to the crackle of the dying fire, feeling Bucky’s presence behind you like static in the air. 

When you finally stepped outside, the grass was slick with dew. Cold bit at your ankles through your boots. You made your usual perimeter check—like muscle memory, a prayer. 

It wasn’t until you circled behind the old shed, half-hidden in undergrowth, that you noticed it. Something thin and taut stretched between two trees—nearly invisible unless the light caught it just right. 

Infrared wire. Trip-triggered—directional. 

Your heart stuttered. That wasn’t yours. 

You crouched, studied it. It was recent—clean. Hadn’t been disturbed by animals. That meant one thing—someone had been here. 

And not long ago. 

You didn’t make a sound, just rose and moved, boots silent against the snow.You ducked back into the cabin and found the team already stirring. 

Yelena sharpened a knife by the fireplace, Walker was rubbing sleep from his eyes, Ava said cross-legged with a datapad balanced on her knee. Bob was quietly eating dry granola and leaned over the arm of the chair he was sitting in, trying to get a closer look at whatever Ava was looking at. 

And Bucky—

Bucky watched you before the door even closed. 

You didn’t say anything at first, just met his eyes, that solemn blue set into all that worry and quiet guilt. The heat from the night before was still burning in those eyes, still warm and attentive. 

You looked away and cleared your throat, shattering the comfortable silence that had built upon the slow fire.

“We’ve been compromised.” 

They all stilled, exhaled quietly. 

You stepped towards the table, pulled the map out, laid it flat. “Infrared tripwire. North perimeter, ten meters past the old woodpile. Wasn’t there yesterday.” 

Yelena stood immediately, trying to hide the wince of pain. “Can you show me?” She wheezed a little. 

You shook your head, held up a hand. “Not now. I already marked it. We need to assume they know you’re here.” 

Bob cursed low under this breath as Walker rubbed his temples. “That’s just great.” 

Ava’s voice was sharp, “How long do we have?” 

“Not long enough,” you said, voice tight. 

And that’s when Bucky moved. Just a step, but the whole room shifted with him. The air charged, the team straightened. 

“I’ll handle it,” he said, voice calm, strong. Like there wasn’t a world, a situation, where he wouldn’t handle it. 

You turned to him, sharply. “You’ll—Bucky, you think I can’t handle my own perimeter?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

You crossed your arms. “Then what are you saying?” There was almost no heat behind your words—very little curtness, nothing like the day before. The team noticed, the way your shoulders weren’t as tense, the way Bucky slightly leaned towards you, like he couldn’t help it.

He looked at you, pain flickering through his expression. “I’m saying we brought this upon you—I did.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and dropped your arms.

“Oh, please.” 

“We did,” he said, louder now, more insistentent. The moment he noticed that look in your eyes, like you were disturbed, he knew what had happened. His heart had stopped beating at the idea of drawing danger to you. 

“You were off the radar and safe. And we dragged you back into this.” 

“I took you in,” You reminded him. “You didn’t force me.” 

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he snapped, worried and furious with himself. “You should’ve been allowed to live without the past coming to your front door with guns and tripwires.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you hissed, low, stepping in close. “We talked about this. I’m not some fragile memory in your head. I’m right here. I chose to help. I knew the consequences.” 

His voice dropped, low and softer, like he was pleading. “And I’m choosing not to let you get killed because of us.” 

There it was. 

The silence was sharp, crackling. Everyone else disappeared into background noise, blurred by the weight of what passed between you, the anger and softness of last night, the years in between. 

Bucky knew—knew the likelihood of you actually dying was low, you were strong, so fucking strong and so intelligent and one of the best fighters he knew, but he couldn’t get the image of you—hurt, bleeding—out of his head. 

“I know you think you have to fix everything,” you said, quiet, tired, understanding. “But not this.” 

“This is the only thing I can fix,” he said, and his voice cracked. Like he had spent the few hours after your time on the porch just thinking, mulling over everything you had said, everything he hadn’t said. “Please, let me.” 

The rest of the team had scattered quietly, trying their best to give you space. They shifted away, towards the fireplace and the wall, made themselves smaller, but watched carefully, nosey and interested. 

They didn’t know much about Bucky. He had always been a private person, preferred to listen to their stories than share any of his own. But in the beginning, when it was all new, they could tell his heart wasn’t in it, that obligation and morality drove him. 

His heart had always belonged to another, he had left it somewhere—ran without it. 

Now, they had finally seen it—the woman that kept his heart, the one place his guard hadn’t been up, the way he let himself be small, let himself be, with no title. They weren’t even sure if he knew, if he knew that his heart lived here, existed in the palm of your hand, in the edges of the wood. 

You stared at him, and maybe it was adrenaline, or just the years of knowing him—of knowing his heart even when he wouldn’t speak on it—but something in your chest broke. The softness in his eyes, replacing the usual hardness and fury. The way he had naturally moved closer to you, like you were the center of his gravity. 

“Y/n,” he said then, softly. Your name felt holy on his tongue, something divine. Like he was standing at the top of some cathedral and the beauty overwhelmed him and all he could do was utter the name of his worship. It felt like a promise, something far deeper than the word itself. 

“James,” you whispered back, just as softly—delicate. It slipped out, something instinctual. You watched his entire body tense before it relaxed, before the wrinkles near his eyes smoothed out and his eyes gleamed—just for a moment, but blinding. 

He stared at you like you’d just torn open the sky. He hadn’t been called that in years, not by anyone else but you. It was his name, but it felt like yours, something you held onto. 

But then the moment passed. The threat crept back in, like a shadow reasserting itself. 

He shook his head, leaned back. This always happened, he always got lost in you, lost his mind as soon as he laid eyes on you. “We’re leaving.” 

“What?” you said, breath catching, feeling like you had been pushed off a cliff. 

“We’re going to pull the enemy off your trail. Lead them into the open. Finish it.” 

“No,” you said, chest tight, feeling like a child and the blanket was being ripped off of you. “You need me.” 

“I can’t ask you to do this.” 

“You’re not asking,” you told him. “I’m telling you I can. I’ve fought beside you. I’ve bled beside you, you know I’m good for this.” 

“I know,” he said, like it pained him. “God, I know. You’ve always been better than me at this. But let me do this. Let me protect something, just once, without destroying it.” 

“Bucky—” 

“I’m not leaving you,” he said, quickly, breathless, stepping closer. “Not forever. Just for this. Let me end it, and I swear—I’ll come back.” 

Your throat closed, his cold, metal hand closing around your heart. You didn’t even know when he had reached in, when the barbed wire had fallen away. “You can’t promise that.” 

“I can,” he said, his forehead almost touching yours. His breath was warm as it brushed your cheek. He sounded so sure, so confident. “And I am. I will come back.” 

The firelight in his eyes wasn’t desperate, wasn’t afraid—it was resolute. “I can’t let you go again. I’m not strong enough.” 

He was already pulling on his gear when you stepped in front of him again, heart in your throat.

“This isn’t fair,” you said. None of it felt fair—felt real. You had just gotten him back, just made peace with him, with the familiarity that gripped you by the jaw. 

“I know,” he replied. 

You looked into his eyes, in the way they drank you in. They shifted downwards, over his body, memorizing. Without thinking too hardly, you reached for his hand. 

His fingers closed around yours instantly, like they’d been waiting—like he’d been falling and you had just reached out for him. His calluses scraped against your knuckles, grounding you. Heat flooded your body, almost tipped you over. His thumb brushed against your pulse point, pressed on it. 

“I hate you,” you whispered, not a single hating bone in your body. You were sure the hatred, the anger was somewhere deep within your body, hiding and floating and real, but it wasn’t present, wasn’t pressing against your skin the way the fear, the love—the want—was. 

“I know,” he said again, smiling just a little. “I don’t.” 

You pulled him into a hug and you both breathed for the first time. He held on like he never wanted to let go, his arms instantly wrapped around you, hands pressing into your skin. The silence between you was fuller now—stitched together with hope, with fear, with the half-formed shape of something possible—real. 

He pulled back, looked you in the eye. He looked younger, someone in love. 

“I’ll come back,” he said again, and this time, it felt like a vow.

You let him go. 

Stood there as he went, silent and still as snow fell. Let him hold your hand for a second longer than he should have. Let his eyes rest on you like they always had—gently, painfully, like it was the last time. 

“Stay safe,” he said, smiling softly.

You watched as they disappeared into the mist and the trees with soft smiles and nods, into the fight that waited beyond the edge of safety. 

He had promised. He’d whispered it in the hush between your porch and you, where things had often been left unsaid but then he said it. 

“I’ll come back. You don’t have to let me in—but I’ll come back anyway.” 

You stood on the porch until they were gone, arms wrapped around yourself, chilled to the bone.

You just stood there, empty and filled with hope—waiting. 

And hoping he wouldn’t break this promise too.

It snowed again that morning. 

This white lace drifted down from the treetops, quieting the woods like a lullaby. Two weeks had passed since he left. Since he stood at the tree line with his eyes locked to yours like it would be the last time.

You tried not to count the days. Tried to act like it didn’t matter—but the ache in your chest made a liar of you. It always did. 

Each morning you opened your door just a little too fast. Each night you lit the fireplace and left the hall light on, telling yourself it was just for warmth, for visibility. But really, you didn’t want the place to feel so empty if—when—he came back. 

Today, you wore one of his old shirts. Soft cotton and faint cologne still clinging to the collar. You hadn’t meant to put it on, not really, didn’t even know it was his at first, but when you touched the fabric, it felt like a memory.

And that’s when it happened. 

Three slow, heavy knocks at the door. 

You froze, heart in your throat. Then you rushed, stumbled barefoot through the living room, fingers fumbling with the handle. When the door creaked open, the cold hit you first—and then him.

Bucky. 

He stood there, snow in his hair, lips split, knuckles scraped, breath heaving like he’d run through the forest without stopping. A duffle hung over one shoulder. His blue eyes were glassy, rimmed red with exhaustion and something else—something soft, searching. 

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he breathed out, quickly. “I had to make sure everything was finished. That you were safe.” 

You said nothing, couldn’t speak. You just stared at him, wide-eyed, chest rising. 

“I didn’t know if I’d make it back,” he continued, like he knew you were barely breathing and wanted to give you a second. “Didn’t know if you’d still want me here. And if you slam the door in my face, I’ll understand.”

You didn’t. 

Instead, you stepped out onto the porch, into the snow. Shoved him hard in the chest—once, twice. And he took it, didn’t move or flinch, just let you. He looked at you like you were sunlight. 

And then you grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him down and kissed him. 

God, the kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire—heat and years of longing poured into it like you both had been holding your breath since the day you met. His hands dropped the bag, found your waist, warm and trembling and real. You opened your mouth to him and he groaned, low and guttural like he’d waited years for the taste of you. 

He stumbled into the cabin with you in his arms, the door shutting behind him. Snow melted off his jacket onto the floor as he pressed you against the wall, mouths locked, hearts wild. 

He kissed you like a promise, like he’s finally letting himself fall. His lips moved with yours in slow, lingering passes, breath hitching slightly when your fingers tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Bucky…” you whispered, breathless, as he pulled back just a little, just enough to look at you again. 

“I’m right here,” he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Not going anywhere.” 

He kissed you again, deeper this time, hungrier—but still gentle, like every kiss was him saying I’m here without needing the words. 

“I love you,” he rasped out, pressing his lips firmly against yours. “I’m in love with you,” he whispered against your mouth, breathing like a man starved. “I’ve always been in love with you.” He sounded reverent, voice raw. 

You pressed your forehead to his, blinking back tears, lips plump and breathless. “You hurt me.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m still so angry.” 

He pressed a soft, hovering kiss to your jaw. “I’ll take all of it. Every piece of it.” 

You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears. “I’m in love with you, you idiot.” 

He smiled then, the softest, most brightest thing you’d ever seen. A man who had been lost in the woods, in the snow, who finally found his way home. 

The fire cracked behind you, casting everything in gold and flickering shadows. He looked beautiful, something magical and unreal, like he had been crafted by the most expensive stained glass. 

You looked up at him, slid your hand to the base of his throat. “What does this change?” 

“Everything,” Bucky said, voice raw. “But it doesn’t have to change all at once. You don’t have to let me in tonight. You can hate me, scream. I’ll wait.”

You exhaled shakily, shifted closer. “I’ll be mad at you tomorrow.” 

He nodded, like he expected worse, like he was so enamoured by you. 

“But tonight—” You touched his jaw, traced the bruises like they were yours to soothe. “Tonight… I just want to feel you. Want to know you’re mine.” 

His mouth opened like he might say something, but all that came out was a soft, wounded nose before he kissed you again. Slower, deeper. His tongue traced his devotion into his gums as he slid his trembling hands under your—his—shirt and when his palms found bare skin, he sighed against your lips. 

“I’ve always been yours.” 

You took his hand and led him down the familiar hallway, toward the bedroom. The fireplace crackled low in the other room. Moonlight spilled across your floorboards. A few candles flickered by your bedside, forgotten after another sleepless night—but now, they painted him in gold. 

The door shut behind him and he watched you like he didn’t believe you were real. “Are you sure you want this?” He asked gently, eyes soft. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nodded, looking up at him like he had always belonged here, in your room, desperate and panting and beautiful. 

“Do you know how many nights I longed for you? Wanted your touch?” 

He reached for you then, slow and gentle, like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, everything would fall apart. His lips found your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Kisses layered like apology, like worship. 

“I’ll make up for lost time,” he murmured, unbuttoning your shorts with careful fingers. “I swear to you.” 

When your shirt slipped off your shoulders, his breath caught. 

He stepped forward, hands devout, fingertips grazing your skin like he was afraid to wake from a dream.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “You don’t know what it did to me—thinking I’d never get to touch you. Never get to love you.” 

He touched you like you were something sacred, something so beautiful and otherworldly. He made you feel wanted, loved. 

“You’re here now,” you whispered, lips lifting into a small smile. You watched as his breath hitched, as his fingers flexed and he almost fell into you.

He kissed you again, rough and deep and messy. Like every second he’d spent away had built this fire under his skin and only you could soothe it. His hand slid into your hair, pulled you closer. His lips moved to your jaw, your collarbone—and he moaned softly, like the taste of your skin was salvation. 

You unzipped his jacket, whimpered as Bucky’s teeth grazed against your ear, the skin just below. You pulled at his shirt and with one hand, he pulled his henly off, reattaching his lips to your skin, kissing down your neck. 

Your hands slid down his chest as you leaned into him, panting against the side of his head. His lips sucked and licked your skin, finding comfort in leaving marks on your skin. 

You pulled away, needing to see him, to breathe him in. “I wanted to take care of you,” you whispered, reaching for the waistband of his pants. You kissed his neck, licked a bead of sweat. 

“Wanted to—”

He caught your wrist gently, kissing your knuckles. You were glowing, something ethereal and his heart almost gave out. “Let me,” he said. “Please. Let me love you first.” 

He sounded so pretty, so breathless. You melted, relishing in the way his gaze burned into you. Fell back onto the bed as he knelt between your thighs, spreading you open like something holy. His kisses trailed lower, burning a path down your body. Over your breasts, your stomach, down the soft skin of your hips. 

He pressed hot, wet kisses all over your breasts, cupped one while he sucked on your nipple, tongue swirling. He whispered against your skin, his devotion, his cries of your beauty. 

He sucked, licked and kissed the skin of your hips, just above your panty-line. Blew air onto the mark, kissed it once, twice, then grinned. Bucky looked up at you—eyes dark and tender—and his smile turned into something soft, something so devastating. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.” He nudged your thighs apart even more, shifted you up on the mattress so he could lay down on his stomach comfortably. He kissed your inner thigh before brushing his nose against your cunt. You almost squeezed your legs shut when he sniffed, a moan escaping his lips. 

“Can I taste you, pretty girl?” He asked, voice husky. When you nodded, slid your hand into his hair and pulled, desperation and heat dancing in your eyes, he pressed a kiss to your folds. 

“Please, Buck,” you breathed out. 

That was all he needed. He buried his mouth between your legs like he’d been born for this. Like nothing mattered more than making you feel it. He moaned into you, fingers gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, letting his tongue swirl and suck and worship until you were crying out his name, hips trembling under his hands. 

You gasped when his tongue swirled around your cunt—broad, slow licks that made your knees shake. He moaned like it was his release, like your pleasure soothed something deep in him. He sucked your clit with such reverence, it made you sob. 

“James—” 

His arms wrapped around your thighs, grounding you. He pressed his nose against your clit, rubbed your slick all over his face as his tongue fucked you, curving just right.

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned into your pussy, the vibrations making your head spin. “Say my name.” 

“So good,” you panted, grinding your hips against his face, pulling at his fair. His metal hand spread your folds and you almost screamed, the sudden cold mixed with the heat of his warm breath was too much. 

He sucked and licked, tongue swirling around your clit. He felt your whole body tense, the way you tried closing your legs around him. He held your hips still, sucked harder. “Cum for me,” he whispered. “Want to taste you. Need to—fuck, baby, please.” 

And when you did, when you shattered his tongue, cried out his name, he didn’t stop. He kissed you through it, breathed your name like a prayer as he sucked and swallowed your cum. He kissed your thighs and your belly, rested his cheek against your stomach like he could live there. 

“That’s it. So sweet. So fuckin’ good for me,” he babbled, kissing your skin. “That’s my girl.”

He stripped, pulled his pants off and kicked off his boxers. His cock was hard, red, pre-cum dripping like it never had before. 

When he finally climbed over you, lips swollen, pupils blown, you grabbed his face and kissed him hard. You could taste yourself on him and it made your head spin. You needed him, needed all of him. 

“What do you need, baby?” He asked against your lips, sucked on your tongue. 

“You,” you breathed out. “I want you. Please, Bucky—need you inside—” 

He gripped his cock and slid it in between your folds, hissing in pain when your pussy fluttered around him. He met your gaze and smiled, something soft and wicked and angled his cock, sliding in, slow and thick, his mouth open as he groaned, long and low. 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he groaned. “Fuck—so tight—” 

He pulled out, slowly, moaned—loudly—forehead pressed to yours, his hand gripping your waist as he thrust in slowly, deep, claiming you like he meant it. He was so big, so thick and veiny. Heavy on top of you, metal arm braced beside your head. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he rasped. “Always dreamed of it being like this. Of being yours.” 

“You are,” you whispered, seeing stars. “You’ve only ever been mine.” 

He groaned against your throat and fucked you with everything he had, slow and worshipful, but every time your hips met, he whimpered like it was too much, like it wasn’t his cock sliding in and out of your sopping pussy. The candlelight danced across his skin, sweat glistening on his back as he hovered over you, panting against your mouth, begging softly with every thrust. 

“Tell me I’m yours,” he begged, practically growling into your mouth. 

“M-mine, James, fuck. You’re—mine.” 

“That’s right,” he moaned. “I’m yours. And you’re mine. My perfect girl. My fuckin’ everything.” 

Bucky’s obsessed with you, with your pussy, with the warmth of the cabin and being where he belongs, here, with you—loving you. His lips are all over you—biting, sucking, kissing your throat, your tits, your mouth. You look up at him and roll out your tongue, eyes glassy. His hips stuttered for a moment before he spat in your mouth, watched you swallowed with this groan that sounded like he’s in pain. 

His cock dragged along your walls, bruised your cervix, making you sob. Your nails dragged across his back as his dog tags dangled in your face. “Fucking me so good,” you moaned, kissing his ear. 

“You’re so good,” he panted. “Takin’ it so well, my sweet girl.” 

He pulled out halfway, smiling briefly when you whined. 

And then—he slammed back in, hips snapping hard, cock punching into your cunt so deep you scream. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me make up for everything.” 

“You already are,” you breathed, toes tingling and the coil in your chest tightening. “I love you, Buck.” 

He kissed you again, messy and open-mouthed, your tongues tangling, breath mixing, spit shining your lips. He was so deep, so thick inside you, and when he angled his hips just right, you cried out, clutching his back, nails digging in. 

“Gonna come,” you gasped, drooling a bit, pussy gushing. 

“Do it,” Bucky said, desperate. He kissed you again, licked the edge of your mouth. “Come for me, sweet girl. God, I need it.” 

He pressed his chest harder against yours, fucked into you harder. Your breath stuttered as white flashed across your gaze and the coil in your chest unravelled and you cummed, body wracked with pleasure. 

His name left your mouth like a prayer. You pulled him down, kissed his cheeks, his neck, held his face in your hands as you whispered the words he’d waited a lifetime to hear. 

“Come inside me” 

He stilled, shuddered. His eyes found yours, full of disbelief and adoration. 

“Please,” you said, eyes almost rolling back. “I’ve only ever belonged to you.” 

He surged forward, pressed his lips hard against yours as he cummed with a broken moan, hips rocking, cock pulsing inside you as he whispered your name over and over. He fucked his cum into you, collapsed into your arms, buried his face in your neck. 

“I love you,” Bucky breathed out, pressing a soft kiss under your ear. 

You hummed, ran your fingers through his hair, feeling full and content. “And I love you.” 

Neither of you moved for a long time.

Eventually, he shifted, just enough to pull the blankets over you both. His body stayed half on top of yours, your arms around his waist, holding him tightly. 

Outside, the snow fell silently. 

Inside, wrapped in each other’s arms, you both had finally found home. 

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Thoughts on...Losing your virginity to Sam, Bucky or Joaquin | Sam Wilson x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Joaquin Torres x Reader | Drabbles 679 words.

Couldn't get these three out of my head last night, so here are my thoughts on...losing your virginity to Sam, Bucky or Joaquin.

Warnings: 18+ obviously for sexual content, implied p in v and somewhat implied creampie.

Masterlist | Sam Wilson | Bucky Barnes | Joaquín Torres

Sam

Sam would spend the entire evening getting you ready, not just flirting and touching, although as usual he can't keep his hands off you. He'd run you a hot bath, so you felt relaxed, gently washing your shoulders and letting you lean back against him as you soak. He'd towel you off slowly, unable to resist paying special attention to your breasts and legs, and then you'd both lie on the bed while he massaged your back, getting you comfortable together.

He'd run his fingers so lightly over your skin, teasing your legs until you were writhing and wanting beneath him. He'd let you feel how much he wants you too, pressing his hardness against you as he bent over to rub oil into your shoulders.

When you were ready he'd lay on his side next to you and wrap his arms around you, kissing you gently on the temple as he eased in for the first time. If you cried out or hurt he'd kiss your cheeks, wipe away your tears and whisper how well you were doing, taking every move slowly and carefully.

Sam would relish every gasp you made and make sure you came, brushing his thumb over your clit in time with his rolling hips.

After, he'd make sure you were comfortable and curl up with you in bed, putting on your favourite movie while stroking your back and telling you how well you'd done.

Bucky

Bucky would want you to be in charge of the pace. He'd kiss you for a while, warming you up without ever taking your clothes off.

Then he'd carry you into the bedroom and sit against the headboard with you in his lap, letting you move against him for a while. He'd worry that you wouldn't be able to take him, so he'd encourage you to grind in his lap against his hard cock until you came at least once.

Then he'd help you out of your clothes, if you felt nervous he'd tuck you into one of his shirts. But he'd let you explore his chest and arm so that you didn't feel vulnerable.

When you were ready he'd help hold you up while you took him inch by inch at your own pace,he'd encourage you to use him as you liked without worrying about him. He'd just be happy to be there with you, knowing there'll be other chances to discover each others pleasure.

He'd hold you to him as you came, letting you pulse around him and cry out while he told you how sexy you looked, how he was proud of you for taking what you needed.

Then he'd make sure you had a drink and a snack to get your energy back while he tucked you into bed.

Joaquín

Joaquín would feel honoured to be your first and excited to share the experience with you for the first time, tamping down his own feelings to make sure you have the best time possible.

He'd make sure the bedroom felt cosy and safe, lots of low lighting and music to distract you from your nerves, making jokes and just the right amount of teasing so that you concentrate on him instead.

He'd whisper in your ear while tickling you gently up your legs and then between your thighs, mixing English and Spanish in his excitement, pouring our pet names and sweet nothings.

While you're kissing you cuddle under the sheets in your own world, and when you're ready Joaquín would slip between your legs, cradling your face and keeping your eyes on him as nudged inside you.

He'd hold himself steady, waiting for you to lift your hips towards him rather than pushing further, watching you for any sign of discomfort, before tucking his face into your neck and rolling against you.

You have all the time you need and there's nothing rushed about the way you move together. He'd cup you cheek with one hand as you came, watching your eyelashes flutter, and afterwards you'd stay under the sheets dozing and cuddling.

[navybrat817]

The Dad Diaries: Grief

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky explains grief to Jamie as best as he can when you need a minute to yourself. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, touch of fluff, grief, loss of a friend, reflecting, talk of death, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a dad, okay?). A/N: Another part to the The Dad Diaries . Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky could hear your cries before he reached the bedroom, the sound causing a lump to form in his throat. He could picture you hastily wiping at your face when he knocked. You were in pain and it hurt him to know you were hurting. The worst part was that it wasn’t the kind of pain he could fix by patching it up. It was the kind of hurt that lingered beneath the surface before it clawed its way out.

Grief.

“Do you need anything, doll?” He asked.

“Just give me a minute, please!” You called out, your voice close to sounding like your normal self. You were trying your best to be strong when what you needed was a moment to break. People didn’t realize the weight of the things they carried until they buckled under them.

And you didn’t need to be strong all the time.

“Mama?” Jamie asked, reaching a hand out toward the door.

Bucky kissed the top of his head. “Mama needs a minute,” he whispered before he held him against his chest. He hoped his smell and steady heart beat soothed him. “She’ll snuggle up with you soon, okay?”

If anything could make you feel better apart from being in his arms, it was having your son nuzzle against you.

Jamie made a small sound, his lower lip trembling. “Mama,” he said again.

Bucky didn’t take it to heart that his son wanted you. He understood that there were days when he’d want his dad and other days he’d want his mom and times when he’d want both of you. If anything, he felt proud that his son wanted to go to you. Maybe he sensed that you needed support and love.

“I know you want your mama,” he said, carrying him back to the living room. “But you are stuck with me for another minute.”

Jamie moved his head, his eyes set in a stubborn stare. He looked so much like you at that moment, demanding with a look to know what was the matter and how to fix it. What could he say?

“Jamie, you know how you have your Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam and Aunt Nat and everyone else?” He asked, a sad smile touching his lips at the happy look in his little boy’s eyes at the mention of his friends. He wanted his child to hold onto that innocence for as long as he could. “Well, your mama had a friend who was going to be like an aunt to you, too.”

Was. Past tense. Because your friend recently passed away. You wondered if she knew how important she was to you. If she knew how she impacted your life. She was too young in your eyes to go. Still had so many things she wanted to do. While death is fair in that it comes for everyone, it doesn’t always feel fair when someone you care for is taken away too soon.

The one thing you were thankful for was that she was no longer in pain.

“Mama’s friend, your aunt, isn’t here anymore. She misses her and she’s sad that she’s gone.”

“Mama sad?” Jamie repeated, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, Nugget. She’s very sad. Grieving. And grief is… so many things,” Bucky explained, swallowing a bit as he felt a crack in his heart. “It’s loss and mourning. It’s love that you carry inside and it no longer has a place to go.”

Jamie gazed at him, soaking up every word. His son was too young to hear something like this. Too precious. But if life taught him anything, it’s that it was too short and there was no guarantee of tomorrow.

“Some days the grief comes out of nowhere. You never really know when it’ll happen or why. You may hear a song you’ve heard dozens of times before or catch a scent of something familiar and it triggers a memory or feeling,” he told him, kissing his forehead again because he needed to ground himself. “You think you’re fine and then you fall apart.”

That was exactly what had happened a few minutes prior. You were smiling one moment as the three of you sat in the living room and the next you burst into tears before you rushed out. Bucky wished like hell he could’ve manifested your sadness into something tangible so he could snuff it out. It wasn’t his battle to fight, but he could be by your side to wipe the tears away if you let him. Or whisper words of care. Or to say nothing at all. Some didn’t always want to hear words of comfort or hope when they just needed to feel.

He would be there to give you whatever you needed or asked for.

“It’s okay to feel those feelings, Jamie. I get sad, too. There’s no timeline for healing or grieving. It takes as long as it takes. And we’re lucky in a way to feel things so strongly,” he told him. You were always understanding and patient on his off days. He more than lucked out by having you as his wife. “You know what your Uncle Vis says grief is? That it’s love persevering,” he added, bouncing him a bit to make him smile. It put a smile on his face, too. “And your mama has so much love to give.”

“So do you.”

Bucky looked toward the doorway where you stood. Bloodshot and puffy eyes, but with a small smile on your beautiful face. He wanted to hold you and remind you that you weren’t alone. “Hey,” he said as Jamie reached for you. “I think he wants to cheer you up.”

“Is that right? Well, I think a snuggle with my boys is just the thing I need,” you said as you took a seat beside Bucky and took Jamie into your arms. “Sorry I rushed off like that.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered. He had plenty of moments where he needed to step away and compose himself when his thoughts got too loud. “We just want you to be okay,” he added, kissing your temple before Jamie grabbed your face.

“Mama no sad,” he said, forcing your cheeks up in a smile. The sight almost brought tears to Bucky’s eyes because it was so simple and heartfelt. “No sad.”

You giggled, a soft sound, before it erupted into full blown laughter. It soothed the crack he felt earlier in his heart. The room felt brighter, especially when Jamie joined in with the laughter. “Not sad, Nugget,” you assured him before you looked at your husband, love shining through like always. “Not anymore.”

The grief from your loss would come again in waves. Just like the days Bucky mourned the parts of his life he lost and couldn’t get back. Some days were harder than others, especially when regret and “what if’s” came to mind, but the important thing was that neither of you allowed yourselves to live alone or lose yourselves in grief. Not when there was so much to be thankful for.

You felt what you needed to feel. You asked for help and leaned on each other. And you carried on together.

Because what is grief, if not love persevering?

I lost more than one loved one recently and writing this helped me process some of the loss. We all need someone like Bucky. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fan-a-saurus-rex]

Hii could I request something smutty (as much as ur comfortable writing) with the prompts 4 (sneaking out) and 13 (family vacation) with Joaquin? Thank you <3

Hope you enjoy what I wrote!

——————————————————————————

Sneaking Away

Plot: Sam and Sarah have planned a family vacation and Sam invites you and Torres to tag along. As the days go by the tension between you and Torres becomes too much and you sneak off to be alone.

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Requested: Yes (make a request here)

Warnings: smut (oral [female receiving], unprotected sex w/ no pulling out [wrap it before you tap it friends!] ), swearing, a cute ending that’ll make you swoon!

Masterlist

You were surprised when Sam invited you to go on vacation with him, Sarah, and his nephews.

His excuse was that it was a family vacation and were considered family. Joaquin l, Isaiah and Bucky were going as well so you didn’t feel so guilty about “crashing” Sam’s trip with his sister and nephews.

Everyone had packed up and caught a flight to a resort in Cancun, Mexico. You would all be staying at the fanciest resort you’d ever seen. Everyone had a hotel room of their own on the same floor.

Your days were spent on the beach swimming in the water, soaking up the sun, and playing games with Sam’s nephews.

It was the fifth day of vacation when the vibes started to change.

You had been standing in the shallow tide collecting seashells when Joaquin snuck up behind you and picked you up, spinning you around.

You squealed until he put you back down in the sand.

“What was that for?” You asked giggling

“You looked lonely, thought I’d give you a hug” he said smiling at you, his dimples coming out.

The two of you had been low-key flirting the whole time you were here, and the tension between you was becoming harder to avoid. You’d find yourself wishing him sweet dreams before bed, then wishing you’d asked him to stay in your room that night. You’d catch him touching your knee or your thigh under the table at dinner.

You were afraid someone would take notice. You figured they hadn’t, and if they did they didn’t say anything.

You were about to say something flirty back to him when one of Sarah’s sons ran over excitedly “Auntie {y/n}! Look! We found a humongous shell for you” the excited pre-teen said handing you a beautiful twisted shell.

“Thanks buddy, it’s beautiful!” You said giving him a side hug before he ran back off to go body boarding with his brother and Bucky.

“Sam’s family has really gotten attached to you” Joaquin said smiling.

You couldn’t help but smile back “yeah, they’re great. Even if Sam doesn’t let me go on ‘dangerous’ missions with you guys”

“He just doesn’t want anything to happen to you. Neither do I” he said rubbing your shoulder softly.

You blushed “you do know I could kick both your asses and not break a sweat, right?”

He chuckled “yeah, yeah, ex widow. I know. You worked for Nick Fury and beat the crap out of the Spider-Man once”

You smirked “exactly” you said nudging him in the shoulder. You wanted so badly to get your hands on those biceps of his but you didn’t want to feel him up in front of everyone.

Suddenly you felt his hand on the small of your back. He lifted the hem of your shirt to draw shapes on your soft skin. You wiggled in your seat a bit, hoping nobody noticed.

Instead you decided to go for a swim instead, before heading back to your beach chair to read.

* * * * *

Later that night everyone ate dinner on the patio of one of the resort’s restaurants. After a few Hours the boys had become restless just sitting at the table so Sam suggested a family activity. The resort held movie nights on the beach each evening. Everyone would set up their beach chairs or their beach towels out on the sand and a movie would be played on a projector. Tonight they were showing classic Disney Movies like The Lion King and Aladdin.

You all went back up to your rooms to change into some more comfortable clothes then met back down at the beach where everyone else was gathering for the movie.

You laid your towel down, Joaquin settling down next to you. You smiled. Halfway through the movie you felt him scoot closer to you, your shoulders touching. You thought about laying your head down on his shoulder, but thought better of it.

“What are you doing?” You whispered to him with a slight smile.

“Nothing” he said, placing a soft, sneaky kiss to your cheek.

You blushed “stop, someone is gonna see” you said giggling softly.

He smirked a bit and let his hand fall back to the sand behind you. You took a deep breath and put your attention back on the movie, but minutes later his hand went back to caressing the skin on the small of your back. You tried to ignore him and nearly succeeded until he started nuzzling your neck, right under your ear.

“Torres?” You asked

“Hmm?”

“Why?” You asked, making sure nobody was watching you two.

“I’m feeling affectionate” he whispered on your ear.

“We’ll stop, someone is gonna see” you said, getting annoyed, but also not wanting him to stop.

“We could always sneak off” he whispered, before nibbling your ear.

You inhaled quickly “please?”

“Come on” he said getting up and reaching down to help you up.

“Everything okay?” You heard Sam ask.

“Yeah, {y/n} isn’t feeling well from the heat. I’m gonna help her get ready for bed and watch a movie in the room” Joaquin said

Sam nodded.

“Hope you feel better babes” Sarah said.

You nodded and walked with Joaquin back to the hotel.

* * * * *

You barely made it out of the elevator and to your room before Torres had his mouth on yours. You unlocked your door with the card and dragged him inside shutting the door behind you, only to have your back pressed up against it as Joaquin kissed you deeper.

“Finally alone” he breathed against your lips.

You smirked “you’ve been driving me crazy all week”

His lips crash against yours again and you kiss him hungrily before he pulls away “you’ve been teasing me in those bikinis”

“Oh yeah? Cause seeing you shirtless has been a total tease too” you say with a smirk as you push him off you and towards the bed.

“You like it when I don’t wear a shirt?” He asks smirking as you push him onto the bed, straddling his lap.

“Mhm” you say, pulling his t-shirt off before kissing him again, your hands roaming his bare chest.

He pulls away long enough to pull off your tank top, revealing your unpadded lace bra.

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again, your tongue teasing his bottom lip. You hear a groan escape his mouth as your tongue wrestles with his, it gives you a shiver up your spine.

He tugged at the elastic on your cotton shorts and you move to let him tug them off. You pull off his basketball shorts before resuming your spot in his lap.

He kisses your neck with open mouth kisses and it drives you insane. You grind your hips against his and he starts to suck a sensitive spot on your neck.

“Mmm, Torres” you moans softly, leaning your head to the side to give him more access. Your hands reach up and run through his dark curls.

He kisses along your throat to the other side of your neck. You squeak a bit when he bites your shoulder as he kisses down your collarbone and in between your breasts before removing your bra. He looks up at you before taking one of your perked nipples in his mouth and sucking on the tender skin.

You let out another soft moan as you grind on him, craving friction, but loving the extra tension building up as he worships your body.

He releases your nipple with a pop before taking the other one on his mouth, this time sucking harder so it’ll leave a mark. He leaves several hickeys on your breasts before flipping you over, laying you down on the bed. He kissed down your chest and stomach to the elastic of your panties. He looked up at you, asking permission to take them off. You nod, your breath getting deeper with anticipation.

He pulls them off and tosses them to the side. He kisses down your hips to your inner thighs, nipping at the skin. You could feel his hot breath at your throbbing center before he licked a strip from your entrance to your clit.

“Oh!” You moan out as he started sucking on your sensitive bud. You arched your back and whined a bit when he stoped, but moaned out when his tongue entered you. “Fuck, Torres!”

He groaned against you as his tongue darted in and out slowly, driving you absolutely insane. You had no idea he was that good with his mouth and you weren’t disappointed.

Your moans got louder as you got closer and closer to your climax, but just before you could hit your high he pulled away, smirking.

“Fuck….Joaquin….why?” You groaned, annoyed that hadn’t let you finish.

“Not yet babygirl” he said moving up and kissing your lips again as he rubbed your sensitive bud.

You moaned against his lips “Torres….I want you so bad”

“Be patient babygirl” he whispers, fondling your breasts in his large hands as he kisses your jawline

Your breathing got deeper and you bucked your hips against his to get any kind of friction to relieve the ache.

“I’ve been patient all week Joaquin, I want you now!” You groan, almost growling.

He smirks “so needy, it’s hot as hell” he says pulling off his boxers, his extremely hard member springing out. If you hadn’t been so horny you would have sucked him off, but you wanted him in you so badly.

He lined up to your entrance and teased you with the tip. You were soaked and couldn’t wait for him to slide all the way in.

He continued to tease. Pushing in slowly, inch by inch, as he watched the desperate look on your face as you whimpered beneath him. He wasn’t doing it to be mean, he just liked watching how desperate you were for him.

He pulled out, causing a frustrated groan from you, then pushed all the way in, in one deep thrust.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned.

“Mm, so tight for me baby girl, damn” he groaned as he started to thrust slowly.

You could feel every inch of him, and he could feel every inch of you. It made you feel dizzy in the best way.

You ran your hands up and down his back as you lost yourself in the feeling of him. Eventually he picked up the pace and started thrusting deeper, hitting that spot that drove you crazy. “Oh fuck…Joaquin” you moaned out. “Don’t stop” you begged.

“I won’t babygirl, love making you feel like this” he groaned, hitting deep within you with every thrust.

Eventually he started to go faster, still bottoming out inside you.

“Shit….faster!” You moaned. He complied and started to go faster, feeling your fingers rake up and down his back gave him goosebumps.

You were both hanging on the edge of your climaxes, but the tension of inching there slowly only made it feel more intimate between you two. You’d waited long enough to for this private time together, you were going to make the best of it and make it last as long as you could.

You could feel the tell-tale signs that your climax was coming in quick. “Oh god, I’m so close!” You moaned as you felt his free hand turn your face to look at him.

“Look at me babygirl, I wanna see your pretty face when you cum” he cooed at you as he went faster, sending you over the edge.

“Fuck! Torres!” You moaned out loudly as your walls clenched around him and you released hard.

“Mm, baby I’m so close, want me to pull out?” He groaned as you felt him swell inside you.

“No, fill me up” you moaned.

Seconds later you could feel him releasing inside you, his loud moans sending chills down your spine “oh shit baby!”

He rode out both of your highs before collapsing next you to.

Once you caught your breath a little, you rolled over onto his chest, kissing him softly. He kissed back. These kisses were different than before, soft, sweet, and filled with affection.

You hummed and smiled softly.

“How do you feel baby?” He asked, smiling softly.

“Amazing” you cooed. “That was worth the wait”

He smiled as you lay on his chest, tracing patterns on your back. “So worth it” he whispered before kissing your forehead. “Let’s go get cleaned up” he said smiling.

You nodded and got up, following him into the bathroom, where there was a jacuzzi tub. He started to fill it with warm water. He put in some lavender scented bubbles, then helped you in, sliding in behind you.

You smiled and leaned into his chest, leaning your head on his shoulder as he helped you wash up. “Mmm, you’re perfect Torres” you said softly as you kissed his jawline.

“Not as perfect as you” he said kissing your cheek.

After you both relaxed in the warm bubbles for a while he helped you get out and dry off. You both got dressed again and laid down in bed, putting an old movie on the TV.

You didn’t really watch it, you were too distracted by each other. He had started playing with your hair and you found yourself pulling him for more kisses. Just sweet kisses, ones that gave you butterflies.

“Are you gonna stay with me tonight?” You asked

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” He asked, rubbing your cheek softly with his thumb.

“I’d like you to stay forever actually” you said smiling at him as you ran your hand up his chest.

He smiled and kissed you softly before leaning his forehead against yours. “Then I’ll stay” he said, cradling your face in his hands. “Tonight wasn’t about getting you into bed, well…it was, but it wasn’t just about that. I wanted to be close to you. Close in any way that I could get you. I’ve been slowly falling in love with you since we met. I just didn’t know how to tell you” he said

You smiled and kissed him softly one more time “me too” you whispered “and now I’m in so deep I don’t think I could ever let you go”

He smiled “go on a date with me? A real date. Tomorrow night after dinner with the family?”

You smiled “I’d love to”

He kissed you softly, probably for the hundredth time tonight, before pulling you back into his chest. You snuggled into him, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck.

At some point in the night you both dozed off, only to wake up to each the next morning. You hoped it would be like that every morning from now on.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Love, Lies & Electricity - Chapter 4

AN: Week 8 of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer! Let’s go!!!!! This is a heavy chapter and contains scenes that may be difficult or even triggering for some. Please mind the tags. For those who wish to skip those scenes, stop reading after the Reader has spoken to Yelena and Kate on the Quinjet and resume when it is two weeks later and Reader is getting a clean bill of health from Dr Cho. I will include a summary of the scenes at the end. On a lighter note, bonus kisses for those who work out what word reader and Bucky decided to transmit for Sam to follow. Catch up on the previous part here.

Extra special hugs for my beta @drabbles-mc.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, click here.

Moodboard by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Likes are loved, Reblogs are golden

Master List | HBS Master List

Challenges and Bingos: HBS week 8 - Maybe this’ll help you relax?

Summary: Being rescued isn’t  the end of the story - there’s always the aftermath.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

CW: Hand-wavy science, Flashbacks, Canon typical violence, Medical abortion, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Dash Dash Dash.

With each pulse you let out, you winced, but you had to keep trying.

Dash Dot Dot Dot.

Once Bucky had regained consciousness, disorientated but pleased with himself, you’d helped him move back over to the pair of thin mattresses which you’d pushed together a few days ago. As he’d recovered you’d used the cover of his supine body to twist the exposed end of the wire to one of the very few metal bolts in the wall. Since then, in between druggings and soakings - when you’d begun to dry out a bit and it was less painful, you’d been sending out morse code in radio waves. You just prayed it was going somewhere.

Dot Dot Dot Dot.

Hopefully the fact that the letters were jumbled up and that your pulses were infrequent would mean that your captors would be none the wiser..

Dash

Bucky was currently sleeping, recovering from his injuries. Hydra hadn’t let the pair of you rest though, and during the most recent round of the aphrodisiac induced coupling, you’d had to do most of the work. You should be hating it - and part of you absolutely did - but at the same time the pleasure he wrung from your body - that couldn’t all be the drug, right? Your memories taunted you, telling you it had always been like this, as much as you tried to deny them. However, with everything else going on, and given what you’d said to him during the first, frantic coupling, neither of you had addressed the elephant in the room. 

Dot Dot.

You hadn’t spoken about what had caused you to break up.

A few times you’d caught him looking at you, sadness in his eyes. Regret as well. It didn’t help that that traitorous part of you was begging to hear him out - listen to his reasons and…

Dash Dot Dot Dot.

“Ow! Motherfucker!” You let go of the wire and sucked at your palm, trying to soothe the pain that had lanced across it. As if on cue, the sprinklers came on.

Rescue, when it came, felt anticlimactic. You were asleep when it started, but Bucky shook you awake, his enhanced hearing alerting him to some disturbance outside of your cage before it even became audible to you. You were too damp to do anything other than create a few sparks in your hand, so you didn’t make a fuss when Bucky angled his body between yours and the door. Even with only one arm he was still more formidable than you were in your current state.

“Ready?” he asked and you nodded back, a grim look of determination plastered to your features.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The door opened and you both tensed, ready to fight. When Sam came through, it took you a few seconds to process what you were seeing. In fact, it was only when Sam spoke that you managed to unfreeze.

“Are you guys alright?” Sam pushed his goggles up onto his head. His wings were retracted due to the tight space, but the shield was still strapped to his left forearm, at the ready. Bucky strode over and the two embraced, a hug full of emotion.

“We’re okay, Sam. Thank you.”

However, you weren’t quite as ready to relax as Bucky was apparently, and without a word you barged past the pair of them, out into the corridor and into the maze of the unknown bunker you were in. You heard both Bucky and Sam call for you, their voices laden with concern, but you were a woman on a mission. A woman who knew how Hydra thought. Therefore, it didn’t take you more than a few minutes, stepping around bodies both unconscious and still for other reasons, to find the room you were looking for.

You burst through the door of the laboratory, not certain what you were going to find, but almost uncaring. Your tormentor was tied up on the floor, between two young women you didn’t recognise. One of them, a brunette in a black and purple suit, held a bow in her hand, an arrow knocked and aimed at the scientist's head. The other, blonde and in a far more sensible tac suit, stood at the computer console, going through all the data with a nauseated look on her face.

Letting out an almost inhuman scream, you launched yourself at him, barreling him over. You straddled his chest and pressed your hands to his neck, letting what little power you had flow into him. You grinned, sickly, as he jerked, jolted and screamed beneath you.

“I’m going to kill you, you sicko. I’m going to be the last thing you see, the last thing you hear. You will die by my hand!”

You were aware of several voices shouting around you, but your attention was on him. That was until something - someone - crashed into you, knocking you to the floor. You screamed again in hysterical desperation, kicking out with your legs, and your sheet dress loosened around you.

“Please,” said a voice in your ear. “I don’t wanna hurt you. But you have to stop.” You turned your head and looked up into the dark eyes of Joaquin. His hands gripped your wrists, stopping you from touching anything, stopping you from touching him. “You’re safe. You and Bucky. We’ve got you. And we’ll deal with him. Just not like this.”

The fight went out of you, and a sob bubbled up your throat. Your hands stopped sparking and you turned in Torres’ arms and let your tears run free.

Spring 2014

You’d just been moved to the chair for more testing when the alarms started to go off. The orderlies and scientists around you looked up, startled and confused. A man in a military uniform you’d seen some people here wear ran into the room.

“We need to evacuate!” he shouted before running out again. The room descended into chaos. Someone moved close to you, undoing the straps that they’d only just tightened around your legs and arms, obviously intent on taking you with them in their escape from whatever the heck was going on. However, in their rush, they hadn’t secured your rubber gloves properly.

As soon as you were free from your bonds, you didn’t waste a second. The person who’d freed you barely had a moment to realise their mistake before they were dropping to the ground, either passed out or dead, you weren’t sure. You started running then, pushing past some people and shooting bolts of energy at others. You weren’t sure where you were going, you just knew you had to get out. Had to get away.

Sweat dripped down your forehead, running into your eyes, and the hard ground beneath your feet, littered with small bits of gravel and other debris, dug into your bare feet, but you didn’t care. Didn’t stop. Out. Out. Out. Your mind had the word on repeat, just in case you forgot what your end goal was. The flow of people around you, people who obviously worked here in the Octopus’ lair but didn’t know who you were well enough to steer clear, was going upwards, so that’s where you went as well. It made sense in a way, that you were underground, because you’d never seen a window in all your time here, being moved between your cell and the lab. Up and up you went, running up concrete stairwells, only slowing to stop someone from following you, until you burst through an emergency door and out into the sunlight.

The brightness of it hurt your eyes and quickly ran towards the nearest shade - a big tree. You registered the feeling of grass under your feet and breathing hard, you looked around trying to get your bearings. The ground in every direction was covered by row after row of white stones, laid out in military precision, and beyond them you could see a wide river. Birds were chirping and there was a light breeze, lending an air of peace of the like you hadn’t felt in so long.

Suddenly there was the sound of a loud explosion and you turned to see a fireball in the air. Smoke and fire and the debris of some kind of giant aircraft rained down, landing into the river, sinking to the bottom. As you watched you swore you saw a person fall along with the chunks of metal, and then a moment later a second. Did this have something to do with the underground chaos? However, you had no time for further musing because a shout from behind you reminded you that you were in the middle of your own escape. Turning, you let your powers arc out of you and hit the person bearing down on you with some kind of gun clutched in his fists. He dropped to the ground and you sprinted away, your lungs full of fresh, life-giving air.

The atmosphere on the quinjet was tense. You’d intentionally separated yourself from Bucky once you’d all gotten aboard. You were too fragile to deal with him right now. 

After you’d cried yourself out in Torres’ arms, he’d passed you over to the two women who’d come to help him and Sam rescue you. You were certain that in your struggle with him he’d seen far more of your naked body than either of you was comfortable with, although now you’d regained your equilibrium you were glad for his intervention.

Your new acquaintances, Kate and Yelena, had helped you cover yourself back up for the walk back to the jet, then Yelena had sat with you, holding your hand in hers without fear as Kate had rummaged through bags and boxes to find you any kind of clothing that would fit. Neither had pressured you to talk or gone further than checking you over for major physical injuries.

“We’ll take you to medical when we get back to the compound,” Yelena had said in accented English. “I’m afraid that you will need to have a full work up to make sure there are no long lasting side-effects.”

“I need Levonorgestrel, or Ulipristal acetate.”

Yelena’s lips twisted in sympathy. “The pair of you were in there for two weeks. It might be too late for either of those.”

“Mifepristone and Misoprostol then.”

Kate came and sat on your other side. “Do you want confirmation before you take them?”

“No.” Even you could tell your voice was unnaturally flat. Tired. “I don’t want to know. I need you to tell the doctor that. Please.” The pair nodded, understanding exactly. You gave them a small smile, then lent your head back, closed your eyes and finally, allowed yourself to rest.

You were back in the same sterile guest room at the compound you’d been in before the mission. The mission that had been one big trap to return you to Hydra’s clutches. You’d been cleared by medical, a kindly doctor called Helen Cho who had worked with SHIELD and the Avengers for a long time. She’d given you a cream for your intimate parts that were understandably sore after what they’d been put through the last two weeks, and some pills, with strict instructions on how to use them. Yelena and Kate had done as you’d asked, giving the doctor your instructions. You needed to put this behind you as soon as you could. You’d taken the first tablet under her supervision.

On your own for the first time since your rescue, you tried to keep yourself occupied - distracted - but nothing seemed to be working. Despite having access to all the TV and film entertainment you might want, there was nothing you wanted to watch. There were no books you wanted to read or games you wanted to play. You stared out of the window until it began to overwhelm you, and then you began to pace. When that made you stir crazy you went back to the window. Rinse and repeat.

Three hours in you got your first abdominal cramp.

Two hours later you were curled up on the bed, hissing through the pain. Tears ran down your face. Logically you knew that this had been your only sensible option, and you’d expected the physical discomfort. But the emotional pain? The feeling of loss? That had not even occurred to you. 

There was a knock at the door, but you ignored it, screwing your eyes shut even tighter as another cramp wracked your body.

A further knock.

“Go away!” you shouted through the tears. Your arms were wrapped around your waist and you rocked side to side on the mattress. A creaking sound from behind you let you know that whoever was outside hadn’t taken no for an answer, but you didn’t have the energy to get up and chastise them. The bed dipped and a warm body pressed up against yours, a vibranium arm settling over your own across your middle.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”

Your heart cracked in two. “It hurts so much,” you sobbed.

“I know it does.” There was strain evident in Bucky’s voice and you knew then that he understood that you weren’t talking about the cramps. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head and then moved away again. You flipped over on the bed, one hand outstretched as if to drag him back to your side.

“Stay. Please. I need…” you trailed off. Even in your anguish you were unable to fully voice what you wanted to say.

“‘M not going anywhere, doll. Just gonna run you a bath. Maybe it’ll help you relax - make you feel a bit better. It’ll be good to be properly clean, won’t it?”

You nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words as you took in the way Bucky’s hair lay in clean, fluffy tufts across his scalp. You hadn’t actually cleansed yourself yet, too caught up in waiting for the drugs to do what they would, and the daily soakings the pair of you had received obviously didn’t count. 

Bucky ducked into the en-suite and you heard the water start. You snorted at the irony that you were about to turn your powers off again, after only just drying out enough to get them back, but it had to be done. When Bucky returned you let him help you up and support you through to the bathroom. You sat down on the closed toilet seat and looked up at him as he stood in the doorway.

“Could you… umm…” It felt daft to be feeling shy after what you’d both gone through together, but those had been extenuating circumstances. Bucky gave you a nod of understanding though.

“Sure. You undress yourself, but just to let you know, once you’re in the water I’m coming in to sit with you. I’m not letting you go through this alone, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed. It seemed right that he’d be the one here with you through this.

It took you longer than you thought it would to divest yourself of your borrowed clothes although it obviously wasn’t more than a few minutes. You sank into the warm water with an audible sigh and the bubbles on the surface bobbed around.

“Can I come back in?” Bucky asked from outside the door which you’d left ajar.

“Yeah.” You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, letting the warmth and the bath salts ease the physical aches and pains in your body. You heard him walk through and settle on the floor next to the bath. You let your left arm, that had been resting on the edge of the tub, drop down and the ache in your heart and mind lessened when Bucky threaded the fingers of his right hand with yours.

Two weeks later and Dr. Cho declared you fit and well, with no lingering physical side-effects. The mental ones though? They would take much longer to heal.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” she asked, but you shook your head with a gentle smile.

“I’m sure. I need to get back to my life - find a sense of normalcy. And I have a therapist I can call. Get myself booked in.”

She smiled back at you. “That all sounds positive. But you know where I am if you need me. Yelena and Kate too. Oh, and Joaquin. He’s formed quite the attachment.”

A chuckle escaped you. She wasn’t wrong there. As soon as the worst effects of your medication were over, and you were up and moving around the compound, Torres had been like your personal manservant - fetching you cups of tea, candy bars, tacos. Whatever your heart desired. He was a sweet young man, and felt to you like the brother you’d never had, or maybe a younger cousin. The only downside of his devoted attention was that it coincided with Bucky withdrawing his. He’d been by your side through the worst of it, making sure you took your pain meds, providing heat pads and changing your sheets, but as soon as you didn’t need him anymore he’d all but disappeared. It hurt almost as much as what you’d just gone through. However, as you’d just said to Helen, it was time to move on. 

It didn’t take you long to pack up the bag that you’d brought with you a month ago, and as you turned to look at the room it was as though you’d never been here at all. Which, you supposed, was how it should be. Everything back to how it had been before any of this happened. 

The Hydra scientist who’d kidnapped the pair of you was recovering from his new electrical burns in the secure wing of a local hospital, being watched over by members of SWORD. He’d never be able to hurt anyone else, ever again. 

Yelena had downloaded all of the data before she’d used her own skills to fry the fuck out of the bunker computer, and then given you the flash drive, so you could decide what to do with it. You’d fried it with the highest voltage you could muster without a second thought. All that was left to do was leave.

Awkwardly, all of them were waiting for you down in the parking garage. Yelena gave you a gentle hug. Kate threw her arms around your neck and made you promise not to be a stranger. Joaquin fidgeted and stuttered out his goodbye until you stunned him into silence by planting a kiss on his cheek. Sam held out his hand to you, one professional to another, and apologised for the umpteenth time about what had happened. Then the four of them left, leaving you alone with Bucky.

You turned away from him, securing your bag to your bike. The silence between you was thick and heavy with things that were unsaid. You knew you no longer hated him - you’d been through too much together for that - but you weren’t comfortable with him either. How did you get comfortable around the man who’d broken your heart, who you’d then been kidnapped and forced to do the unthinkable with, and then who’d supported you through something so incredibly intimate?

When you couldn’t stall the inevitable any longer you turned back around. “This is good-bye, I suppose?” You flashed him a wan smile. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but - you know - that would be a total lie.”

Bucky let out an amused huff at your attempt at levity. “I can’t change your mind by asking you not to go, can I?”

You shook your head. “I know you care, Buck, but I still can’t trust you. Goodbye.”

You threw your leg over your bike and took hold of your helmet. You were just lifting it up to place it over your head when Bucky gently, but firmly, pulled it from your grip, placing back on the front of your bike.

“No.”

“No?” Your brow furrowed. “You don’t get to tell me no, James Barnes.”

“I - no - I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just -” he let out a laden breath. “I was never going to ask you to join us, okay? I know that’s what Sam wanted me to do, and I’ll admit I was intending to do it, but as soon as I met you, as soon as we had that first conversation where we talked about what we’d both been through, I knew I couldn’t ask that of you. Even if we hadn’t ended up together I wouldn’t have done it. You deserved the peace of being out of the fight. The peace of being able to heal and put it as far behind you as you could.”

You looked at him, eyes wide in shock and confusion, as he continued.

“And then this god-damn mission. The way it was so obvious that we needed you to get in. That scientist - he admitted they’d been keeping tabs on you, looking for the right way to get you back, and being with me - being linked to the Avengers - it gave them the opportunity they needed. I’m so sorry.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bucky silenced you with a raised hand.

“No - and I do mean it now - you can’t tell me not to be sorry. I’ll keep being sorry for the rest of my life. Through my stupidity you got hurt not once but twice, and I can never make it up to you. But I had to tell you. I needed you to know that I never betrayed you.”

He cupped your face with his left hand, and instinctively you reached up to press the cool metal to your face, looking up at him with watery eyes.

“And,” he added, “I never stopped loving you.” He lent down, dropping a brief kiss to your lips and your eyes closed, trying to stop the tears. Bucky pulled his hand from your gentle grasp and when you opened your eyes again he was gone. It was just you and your bike, alone in the garage.

You swiped at your eyes and fanned at them with your hand to dry the tears, then placed your helmet on, started your engine and roared away. Tomorrow was a brand new day and you were heading towards it.

Chapter 5

Summary of scenes that cover the medical abortion: The reader is in her assigned guest room. She has taken the pills she needs to after being seen by Dr Cho. She is restless and unable to relax and then the cramps begin. A couple of hours later, with the medication really taking effect she is wrangling with both the physical and emotional toll of what she is going through. Bucky comes to her room, offering comfort that she accepts, finding something ‘right’ about him being with her through this. He runs her a bath and once she is in and under the bubbles he comes to keep her company, sitting on the floor next to the tub and they hold hands as she allows herself to relax.

Tags: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive,

@goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots,

@crayongirl-linz, @nicoline1998enilocin, @king814318, @blackhawkfanatic,

@loreniscrying, @scram1326

[tllgrrl]

High school teachers AU for your WIP game please!

Thanks for the Ask @missamyshay ! Here is a little snippet/outline thing from Patience & Fortitude, taking place a little while after the two teachers meet in Sweet Georgia Brown.

* * *

Date #4 was at his favorite Italian spot in Brooklyn. He’d first eaten there the night before he reported to boot camp, back during World War II.

“So…a hundred years…”

“Well…more like a hundred and seven…or eight. I’m forty-ish, according to the scientists and doctors in Wakanda.”

“It is a lot,” she mused, gently swirling the wine around in the glass before she took a small sip. “I understand why you wouldn’t lead with that.”

“Yeah. Hi. I’m Bucky. I look like I’m around forty, but I’m actually over a hundred ‘cause I’m a supersoldier former assassin spy who was repeatedly frozen, thawed and sent out on missions, then frozen again, wash rinse repeat. Would you have dinner with me?

Not exactly the best opening,” he chuckled, slightly wincing, then looked out the window at the light rain starting to fall. “I used to be better at this, back in the day.”

He took a sip of his wine.

“Mmm,” she responded, following his gaze to the now soaked street. “I’m sure.”

A few seconds pass. And they both start.

“I understand if you wouldn’t want to—“

“I guess you know my brother—“

During dinner, they talked, revealing a bit more to each other about their lives: her giving up show business to marry, have children, and help with the family business. Him, coming back from The Snap for one last fight, then the subsequent hearings, and deciding he was done fighting. He wanted to do something positive and decided to give teaching a try.

She tells him she actually did a bit of googling after they met and he had shown her his Vibranium arm.

She didn’t want to read too much, preferring he tell her what he wanted her to know as he felt more comfortable telling it. As he felt she’d be more comfortable hearing it.

By the end of Date #4, Bucky and Sarah decided to start officially seeing each other, giving another example of the term “Whirlwind Courtship”.

They’d decided that they want to give it a go, but they planned to be very careful about how they appeared at their workplace:

No smoldering looks in the Teachers Lounge.

No reckless eyeballing in the staff meetings.

No laughing too loud or standing too close when chatting.

No. Staring.

They also decide for now not to mention it to her brother Sam, but what’s that saying? Something about the best laid plans?

* * *

The whole story is coming, I swear.

Thanks again @missamyshay . Sorry about the delay.

Anyone else got an Ask?

[yuulina-vre]

Fear - Chapter five

Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

“Sweetheart. Doll, it's all right. I’m here." His hands keep their motions on my back, one coming up to run over my hair, softly pressing my head firmer against his chest to provide more comfort and possibly make me feel as safe as he can in that particular moment. He comforts me just like a child who had fallen off a bicycle, rocking back and forth, and strangely enough, I don’t mind one bit. I soak up every bit of him, every word, every touch, every smell, but I still can't calm down as much as I want.

It's impossible.

I’m too upset. The shock and fear swirl in my brain, letting no room for any other emotion or feeling. It’s as if a wall blocks my mind, impossible to climb or break down. Even though he’s here, reassuring me of my safety, the sounds are still running amok in my head, and thoughts circle back and forth without me being able to catch them. Dark eyes, whispering voices, looming footsteps. Flashes of knives in the moonlight.

Bucky’s voice is worried, strained, trying to sound calm for me, though I know he is anything else but calm. He probably is pretty upset, not really grasping how to help me. And maybe he’s feeling afraid himself, though for a whole other reason. He tends to panic when I do, but he’s better at masking it and calming down. His body is rigid and stiff with tension, yet his hands are gently against my body and skin. He smells so typically Bucky, woodsy with a mix of his deo and aftershave. Sweat mixes in from a long day at the precinct. The slightest smell of gunpowder comes to my mind.

Bucky pulls me even closer to his chest, hugging me tightly and pressing his lips to my temple. I don't let go of him, not even for a second, clinging to his shirt as if my life depends on it. And at the moment, it feels like it.

Somehow, I actually feel like a child, when he’s holding me like this, softly rocking back and forth, kissing my temple now and then, or stroking my hair. Given my profession as a therapist, you'd think I'd be more in control, but somehow, I seem to have a blockage. Getting so attached to Bucky is the only way for me to get some kind of peace and deal with the demon in my mind.

His hands slowly loosen from my body to slowly come up and cup my face. I whine as he leans back a bit, holding my face softly. He is careful as he lifts it from his chest so that I look at him. My vision is blurred with tears, making him a swimming mess. His thumbs gently perform a comforting dance over my cheeks, brushing tear tracks away. That gesture makes me feel a little better the longer he continues doing it. “Y/N. Look at me. I'm here. It's all right. Sam’s looking around, but so far, no one’s in the house. I still asked him to triple-check. Okay?” His eyes stay on my face, staring intently at me until I nod the smallest one I ever did. “Do you think it could have been a false alarm this time?” His eyes are gentle, knowing of the loaded question he asked. He never puts my feelings into question, and he doesn’t want now, I know that. But he needs to make sure every possibility is looked at. I can understand that. It still stings.

I stare into his eyes, hypnotized by their worried blue for a second. I hesitate for a moment, thinking about his question and what he said. It could actually have been a false alarm. At least I didn't hear anything suspicious in the house. Nothing I know doesn’t belong. Sure, there were the typical sounds of houses. Setting wood, crackling of devices, and so on. Well… I know that there was something unusual, like eyes watching me from somewhere, but there was nothing that indicated a difference. I nod timidly, still sniffling, before shrugging. The feeling from earlier is still there. I can feel eyes on me, mustering every inch of my body, as if it’s looking into my soul.

With his thumb, he rubs a tear out of the corner of my eye, and he smiles at me. It has a mix of sadness in it. He leans forward again and hugs me gently, giving me a kiss on the forehead, then on my lips. It’s just a quick peck, there to comfort me and provide a feeling of safety. I let myself fall forward, more into his embrace and his chest. “Okay.” One of my hands loosens its grip on his shirt but doesn’t lose contact altogether. I let it roam around him, coming forward to his chest, resting it between our bodies, right over his heart. His heartbeat is strong under it. I can feel each lub dub. The constant rhythm brings comfort and peace into my body that not even his voice can create. My eyes close on their own accord, and I concentrate solely on feeling him, his heartbeat, his life.

“Tell me what’s going on." His voice is soothing and composed. It seems to have only a slight tone of tension in it, and that makes me a little puzzled.

Why does he sound tense when he thinks it's a false alarm? When he’s sure and checked that no one’s in the house?

Bucky rustles a bit around, lets go of me for a bit to grab the rumpled duvet off the bed, and wraps it around my shoulders. I haven’t noticed that I’m shivering until the sudden warmth envelopes me. His arms come back around me, holding me tenderly. I sigh and put my head on his shoulder as he strokes my back. “I don’t know,” I mumble into his shoulder, way too silent to be heard if it wasn’t for his ear almost directly at my head. My tears finally let up, but I still sniffle now and then. “I-I woke up because… the rain, I think. I don’t… I don’t think there was something else. Maybe the neighbors cat.” My voice is still a bit shaky, but instead of focusing on it and my shivering, the fear still deeply residing in my bones, I try to focus on Bucky’s hands around me. “I turned back around and tried to go back to sleep. I almost drifted off, but... there was, well, how shall I put it? There was just a- a feeling."

“A feeling? What kind of feeling? Threatening?"

“Not really threatening. It was more like... like someone’s watching me. Here. In the bedroom. I don't know. Everything seemed perfectly normal. I couldn't hear or see anything that was somehow different, but… still. I had a feeling something was wrong. It scared me. But I didn't know what it was. I sat up and took a good look around. I even wanted to go through the house, but then I panicked." I take a deep breath. “Feels pathetic now.”

“No. It’s never pathetic to be afraid of something, doll.” Bucky knows that I have strange feelings. Strangely enough, he never seemed to be deterred after I told him, never acted as my ex-boyfriend did. He had portrayed me as crazy and, at some point, threatened to have me committed because the accident and death of my parents had left me with some damage. I still have nightmares about it, but these feelings aren’t a side effect of deep trauma. Bucky never put into questioning that he wants to stay with me. He often even relies on this feeling and always takes it seriously. From time to time, he involves me in his work, which was strictly forbidden, but he doesn’t care, always tells me that no one will ever find out, and if they did, he just puts me down as his therapist, which probably isn’t allowed either. He shrugs it off. Bucky gives me case files and asks me for advice. Mostly, I can tell him if I have a particularly bad feeling about a person or statements in the report, and somehow that seems to help him. I still have no idea how much help this is supposed to be, but he keeps asking me for my advice, so I figure it is enough. Sometimes it feels like I’m just confirming a suspicion he already has. However, when I have strange feelings at home, it is usually nothing serious. We shrug it off and have a good laugh, though before we do, we always investigate. But it was never like this. Never like I’m being watched.

"Okay. So, you looked around, saw nothing, and hid. I assume you called me directly, then? Did anything else happen after that?" His voice keeps gentle, hands continuing their pattern as I hear a door close downstairs and light footsteps on the stone floor. I shake my head and wipe my hair that clings to my tear-stained cheeks off my face. For a moment, we’re just silent, but then I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat and look at Bucky. “Hmm... After I hung up, I-I just sat in the bathtub. I guess I just imagined everything afterward. I thought- I thought I heard noises. Something like... door creaking, rumbling, or footsteps. Now that I think about it, the window looked like there were eyes.” My voice fades, and I see past Bucky into the hallway where Sam has reached our floor to look through the rooms. After a few seconds, I look down at my hand on his chest, where his heartbeat still drums a steady rhythm. "I can't tell you if any of this was real. Now, I doubt it myself." Suddenly the thoughts of my ex-boyfriend come to my mind. My hand on Bucky’s chest instantly tightens into a fist on his shirt, eyes panicky looking into his. My voice is urgent as I speak up next, hurried to get him to believe me and a bit too loud, causing Sam to pause in his steps to glance at us. "Bucky, I'm not crazy. I certainly wasn't imagining the feeling. It may have been delusions in the bathroom, but this," I gestured across the room. “I’m sure I wasn’t imagining it! There was something here.” My voice becomes a little softer and quieter again. He looks at my face and nods. “It’s okay, I believe you." He pauses, pushing me softly off his lap, and just keeps my legs on his thighs. His gaze swiftly flies to the hallway, where Sam waves before he disappears downstairs. Then Bucky directs his gaze back to me, softly takes my face in his hands, and leans forward so our foreheads touch.

"Okay, babydoll.” He leans back and presses a soft kiss on my forehead. The softness and warmth of his lips let me shudder a bit, and my eyes close on their own accord. “How about you get comfy on the bed, hm? Maybe snuggle up into my shirt or something and try to sleep. I'm going downstairs with Sam to talk about what to do now. I’ll be quick and bring some tea back up." For a second, I just stare shocked at him. Did he just suggest leaving me alone again?

Instantly my head shakes as vehemently as I can. I can feel a crack in my neck, but I don’t pay it any attention as panic floods me yet again, and I try to cling to Bucky again. “Sweetheart, I understand that you don’t want to be alone. But I need to talk with Sam.”

“No… please…” Bucky takes a deep sigh, his hands still cupping my face, staring at me as if he’s able to look into my soul. Sometimes I think he actually can. His deep blue eyes turn soft then, and he just takes me into his arms, swaying me from side to side, while pressing kisses all over my face. “All right, doll. Want to come downstairs, too, then? Just promise that you rest on the couch for a bit. I’ll make some tea and talk to Sam in the kitchen.” His head ducks a bit to have a better view of my face. “That way, I’m just a few feet away.” Tentatively, I nod, knowing that it’s a better option than staying upstairs all alone. The feeling still hasn’t left me, but the adrenaline is slowly fading, leaving me tired and exhausted.

He pushes my legs off him and stands up, immediately reaching for my hand, but I pull it back for a moment. "D-don't you want to look around, too?"

“What for? I already did when we arrived, doll. And I was in this room the whole time, with you. There's no one here. Besides, we would give Sam the impression we don’t trust him, and I really don’t want to make him cry now." A snort leaves me. It's unexpected but welcome because I actually feel a little light afterward. Bucky’s grin is indication enough that he’s pleased with his joke, so he leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I let my gaze wander through the room for a moment, then I, too, get up and finally take the hand he holds out for me. “We probably should get your robe, yeah? Won’t show Sam what he’s not supposed to see!” Bucky smirks and another small smile slips on my lips. It feels like it’s the first time in years. His hands gently pull the duvet off me, before he quickly runs into the bathroom to grab my robe. He helps me slip it on and carefully closes it before tying a small bow with its ribbon. A small giggle leaves me as his fingers tickle my sides, and as I look at Bucky, I can see happiness in his eyes, indicating that he’s incredibly relieved to see me smile again.Despite the summer heat, I grab the duvet again to take with me. I still feel some kind of cold with the adrenaline leaving, and the tiredness sinking in. The throw blanket on our couch won’t do anything to keep me warm. He holds my hand tightly as he guides me downstairs and to our couch in the living room, passing Sam, who waves with a small smile.

Bucky’s grip on my hand is not as tight to hurt, but still tight enough, so I can see how tense he is, even if he tries to hide it.

Immediately an alarm bell rings in my head, and my feeling tells me he knows something he isn't telling me. But I feel too tired to investigate. It probably can wait a bit.

Taglist:

@cjand10

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Way I Loved You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: The way you loved Bucky was exhausting. Screaming, fighting, kissing in the rain, cursing his name at 2 AM. You've moved on. You found someone that respects your space, calls when he says he will, he's sensible and incredible, so why do you miss the way Bucky loved you so damn much?

Bucky grunts in disapproval, watching the door in anticipation at seeing you for the first time in months. Even if you were coming with your stupid new boyfriend. "They're late."

Sam sighs, putting his glass down on the table. “I already told you to behave.”

“I am behaving - by being on time.”

“Listen, I’ve already told you both. I’m not taking sides. So let’s just remember the age-old lesson: if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all," Sam chides, fed up with this cold war between the two of you.  

Sam didn't actually know what happened between the two of you. All that he knew was that this fight wasn't like the others. There was no reconciliation nor did there seem to be one on the horizon. That was partly his motivation for inviting Bucky here, to see if proximity could force something out of the two of you. 

"I have nothing to say."

"I highly doubt that."

"I don't care. I don't even know why you brought me here," Bucky grumbles.

There were few worse things that he could think of than being forced into a conversation with you for the first time in months only because you wanted to introduce your boyfriend to your friends. Well, one friend and one former friend.

"Because you two used to be friends. And no matter what she says, she cares what you think."

"And I highly doubt that," he mumbles as he takes another swig of his beer.

He remembered the last time you two spoke, really spoke. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't anything that the two of you said, words thrown at each other in rage you two could take. It was the vitriol behind those words in that argument that marked the end of the friendship. 

Though, he has to confess, your friendship was a complicated one. It was a difficult relationship to articulate and even more confusing when anyone saw it firsthand. But it somehow worked. Upon meeting, the two of you clicked. And though it wasn't effortless, Bucky was usually at his happiest with you.

And still, there was also no one that could rile him up the way you could. You pushed his buttons and in return he did the same. You didn't take Bucky's bullshit and he didn't take yours.

You bickered like an old married couple. Fought like you were arch enemies in a generations long feud. But beyond that, what most people didn't see was the way it worked. Inside jokes. A comfort. An understanding.

He remembered those missions Steve and Sam were reluctant to send him on if only because they were both worried that you two really would end up killing each other one day:

-

“I hate you,” you snarl, hauling yourself out of the freezing Atlantic Ocean. It might've been easier if your wet clothes and gear didn't add what felt like 50 additional pounds to your person.

“I just saved your ass! You should be thanking me,” Bucky counters with equal anger-filled fervor.

“Thanking you?” you scream, unhooking your soaking wet gear and throwing it on the ground. You kick off your boot, turning it upside down. Water pours out of the shoe and you angrily gesture to it. “I should thank you for this?”

Your shoe still in hand, you take a moment to look at the big picture of this moment. The utter ridiculousness of the whole thing.

You and Bucky screaming at each other in the middle of nowhere when you should really be finding out where the hell you are.

You’re both soaking wet, drenched head to toe with the salty Atlantic Ocean water.

Bucky’s hair is matted with sand and salt from the water.

You’ve got one shoe off and in your hand. 

This time, you shake your head, laughing, “I hate you.”

Just seeing you laugh, Bucky laughs too. “I hate you too.”

“See?” you say, plopping down on the sand. “This is why we don’t go on assignment together.”

Bucky huffs in amusement, crouching down next to you. “You look ridiculous.”

“You’re not any better. You’ve got seaweed in your hair,” you say, plucking a small piece from his head to show him. 

He shakes his hair, sending more sand flying everywhere. “You’re only wearing one shoe.”

You shrug, waving your hand in defeat. “I’m out of insults.”

“Really? So soon?” he chuckles.

This time you only respond with your middle finger.

-

Finally, just a few minutes later. He sees you walk in with your new boyfriend. Bucky’s jaw clenches as he watches the guy hold the front door open for you and help you shrug your jacket off. And thanks to his super-soldier senses, he can hear the guy whisper how beautiful you look. And like it’s some kind of win for Bucky, he sees the incredibly fake smile you plaster on your face in response. 

And in a loss for Bucky, you falter when you see him at the table. 

“I thought you told her I was going to be here,” Bucky hisses to Sam.

“Must’ve forgotten,” Sam shrugs. “Whoops.”

You recover before your boyfriend even notices. Bucky thinks to himself that he would’ve noticed. He would have noticed the fake smile too. You approach the booth, holding the man’s hand.

"John, you've sort of met Sam. And this is Bucky," you sigh, gesturing to each of the men.

Bucky immediately notes your continued use of his nickname, he hates the way it sounds out of your mouth. You used to call him Barnes. Or at your angriest, James.

"It's nice to officially meet you, Sam. And you too, Bucky," John greets, shaking Sam's hand.

"You can call me Sergeant Barnes," Bucky curtly corrects, squeezing John's hand a little too hand.

"Bucky," you hiss with wide eyes that warn him to stop whatever he’s doing. You turn and chuckle at John, "He's kidding." 

Bucky shrugs with indifference. By the time the four of you have some appetizers and drinks at the booth, the air is thick with cold, awkward tension. And Bucky’s made it clear to you that he has no intention of making this easy for you. He wordlessly scoffs at John's drink order, at John's comment about how he doesn't really like spicy food, or the awkward dad jokes John makes to the waitress. 

“So, John, what do you do?” Sam asks, trying to break the silence.

“I actually work in the Compound too. Nothing cool like you guys, accounting mostly.”

“An accountant, nice,” Bucky chortles only loud enough for you and Sam to hear. Thankfully John doesn’t. You swiftly kick him in the shin in response. He jolts, but keeps a wry grin on his face. You immediately know you’ve made it ten times worse.  "So, Jake-"

"John," you correct again. 

"Right, Justin, an Avenger huh? Aiming high there, aren’t you?”

“What Bucky means to say,” Sam corrects, elbowing Bucky in the ribs. “-Is how did you two meet?”

“Well, that’s a funny story actually,” John chuckles then begins telling the story of you two bumped into each other at the small coffee shop on campus. He spilled a drink on you and offered to take you out as an apology. You've never really understood why John thinks it's a funny story, but you nod and chuckle along with him. 

“A real funny story there, Jimmy,” Bucky snarks, raising an eyebrow at you. You can feel the unspoken challenge in his knowing, snarky expression. “But let me ask you this, you’ve been with her what? A few months? Has she shown you how big of a pain in the ass she can be? You really think you can handle that?”

You roll your eyes, your glare hardening as you debate whether strangling Bucky would scare John away. “Real nice, Bucky.”

John chuckles, though you can tell he’s not sure who his reply is supposed to pander to. “Well, we all have our faults.”

“So you think she has a lot of faults?” Bucky continues, liking the tripped up, flustered expression on the man's face.

“You don’t have to answer that,” you tell John, resting your hand on his arm. So quickly you almost miss it, Bucky's eyes flicker to your hand comfortably resting on John's arm. His jaw ticks, but he plasters a mischievous smirk on his face. 

For a moment, you contemplate moving your hand to appease Bucky, but you're too proud to back down from his challenge. In the corner of his eye, Sam can see this strange chicken fight between the two of you and before he can diffuse it, Bucky's talking again. 

“What are you, his lawyer?” Bucky snickers, raising his glass to his mouth to cover up his smirk.

“No, it’s okay,” John assures you. “She’s great. She makes me very happy. I think that's what matters.”

“Aww…see that was nice,” Sam encourages. 

“I guess it doesn’t hurt that she’s a good kisser, right?” Bucky offhandedly offers, though you both know that Bucky knows exactly what can of worms he's just opened.  

“Bucky!” you hiss. You unknowingly remove your hand from John's to lean into Bucky, glowering at him. Still seated right next to you, John’s eyes flicker between you and Bucky. The way you're both leaned over the table, faces inches apart. It's more intensity than he's ever seen from you. 

“Oh shit,” Sam exhales, shocked at the new revelation. “You did not.”

You back away from Bucky slowly, refusing to put yourself back in the same situation you were in four months ago:

-

“I hate you!” you shout like you’ve never shouted before. You both take refuge from the massive rainstorm underneath a large tree, and once again have to wait for someone to come get you after another dumpster-fire mission with Bucky.

“I hate you!” 

“God,” you scream. “You’re such a prick! I’m never, ever going on a mission with you! I mean it- I’m so fucking sick of you!”

“Good! I’m fucking sick of you too! You’re the biggest pain in my ass. You know that? The whiniest, most infuriating person I’ve ever known.”

Your hands clench and you practically shake with anger. There aren’t enough words to describe how infuriated you are at this very moment. “And you think you’re so great? You’re such an asshole! The biggest idiot I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.” 

“And you’re the most aggravating jackass I've ever had to work with!”

Blinded with rage, you take another step toward him. “You’re the most difficult, annoying little shit-head with an even shittier fucking attitude!”

“Oh, ‘cause working with you is a walk in the park. You’re reckless," he accuses, taking another step toward you. "You don’t think ahead. You do whatever the fuck you want whenever the fuck you want-”

“It’s better than sticking with your dumbass plans. Look where it got us. Stranded - once again!”

“We’re stranded because you can’t fucking listen to save your life.”

You take another step forward, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. “No, I don’t like to listen to the bullshit plans you string together.”

You’re close enough to see the muscle in Bucky’s jaw tick as it clenches. “That’s called insubordination. And it’s why you’re the biggest pain in my ass.”

“I hate you,” you repeat, getting impossibly close to him.

“And I hate you,” he snarls, lowering himself to meet your eye. 

Your chest heaves with so much anger and suddenly you're so close to him that you feel Bucky's breath in your face.

There's so much palpable tension and electricity crackling in the air that you do possibly the dumbest thing you've ever done. Your fists unclench and you pull Bucky’s lips to yours. He gasps, reflexively tearing himself away from you. 

You freeze for a moment, shocked at the turn of events. You just kissed your friend because you were mad at him. It was insanity, he was driving you crazy in ways you'd never even realized until this very moment. 

Before you can say or do anything, he steps forward, firmly grabbing your face and kisses you with a maddening intensity.

Lost in the moment, he pushes you up against the large tree. “God, I hate you.”

“I hate you,” you pant as he lifts you up. 

There’s so much anger there that he practically devours you. Nips at your jaw. Your fingers press so roughly into his shoulder as he lifts you up. Your hands weave in the nape of his neck and you tug roughly at his hair. His hand squeezes your thighs roughly and you’re almost certain there will be bruises there. It feels like you can't breathe and yet you can't get enough.

You only stop when you hear the Quinjet land behind you. You both are breathless and he gently lets you down. You keep eye contact for a long moment, but you can see it in his face that he has no clue what he's supposed to say or do. And that scares you to your very core.

Purely out of fear, you walk away.

Through the rain, Bucky watches you jog to the jet. He pushes the moment down, following you only moments later. 

“You guys okay?” Sam asks as you board the jet, Bucky in tow. “I’m surprised you haven’t killed each other yet.”

Neither of you say anything, both stunned silent. 

“Wow,” Sam exhales, never having heard silence quite this loud. “Silence. That’s a new type of pissed.”

-

"I think I'm going to grab another drink," John awkwardly excuses himself.

"Will you quit it?" you seethe, your attention more on Bucky than it should be considering your boyfriend just walked away. "Whatever it is you're trying to do - it stops now."

Bucky doesn’t have a chance to reply before you take off after John. 

“Are you kidding me?" Sam scolds. "You were supposed to play nice.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky shrugs, feigning innocence.

Sam exhales in disbelief, shaking his head at the tumultuous turn of events and the idiocy of his friends. “I have about a million questions and only a few minutes before she comes back here and kills you.”

You follow John to where he stands at the bar and immediately begin profusely apologizing. “I’m so sorry about him. I talked to him, he’ll back off-” 

"Actually, I think I'm going to head out now," he says as the bartender brings him a small paper receipt. He signs the check, putting a few dollars down on the counter.

"Oh, okay. Let me just grab my coat."

John clears his throat, slightly shaking his head. "Alone."

"What?" you awkwardly chuckle, watching him put on his jacket.

"Listen, I just don't want to get in the middle of anything. And you're clearly in the middle of something," he says, gesturing to Bucky.

"There's nothing between me and Bucky," you quietly assure him. Though, regardless of how much you wanted it to be, you know that it's not entirely true.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. "I think you and I both know that's not true."

"I'm sorry," you sigh in resignation.

"It's alright. It was nice getting to know you either way."

You offer a small, sad smile in return, "You too."

And you watch him walk away.

And what hurts the most is that it doesn't hurt at all.

He was perfectly nice, reliable, consistent. And at most, you were fond of him. Three months you'd spent with him and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get Bucky out of your head.

It was terrible, you were terrible for that.

He called when he said he would. You two didn't into screaming matches or swear at each other like your lives depended on it. He understood the demands of your job and said all the right things. And at best, it was fine. 

"Where'd John go?" Sam asks as you shuffle back to the booth.

"He left."

Bucky snorts as he raises his glass. "Course he did."

Sam swiftly elbows him in the gut as you glare at him. He knew exactly what he did and showed little to no remorse for chasing John away. "Actually, I think I'm going to go home too," you say in a clipped tone, snatching up your coat and turning to walk out.

Before that crushing argument, you'd take Bucky's snarky remarks and snide comments in stride, but now it hurt more than you were willing to admit.

-

You'd been oddly quiet since your kiss with Bucky.

Anything you said to him was about assignments and only assignments. And then the last mission made it ten times worse. You were aboard the jet with him and a few other agents when he started offering up details about the date he went on the night prior. 

A month had passed since your rage-filled kiss.

Neither of you spoke about it. And things had yet to go back to normal. 

You knew the mature thing to do was to simply talk to him. But hearing Bucky talk about this date, this girl, it felt like a sharp jab to the heart. Surely if he was going on dates then you needed to move on from this ill-fated emotional rollercoaster. The rush no longer justified tearing yourself apart trying to figure out how you could keep him in your life. 

You decided right then and there that you couldn’t do this anymore. Somewhere down the line you'd fallen in love and now was the time to remove yourself from the situation. 

“What the hell is up with you?” he demands, watching you haphazardly throw your gear down after a successful mission.

What Bucky meant to do was come down here to talk to you, to know what was happening to the two of you. If you couldn't be together than surely you could remain friends.

But he watched your cold, apathetic expression on the jet, and it seemed like you couldn't have cared less as he went on and on about this fictional date. He knew the mature thing to do was to simply talk to you, and he knew it was childish to lie and make things up to coax a reaction out of you.

At first he though you needed time, then you started avoiding him, you iced him out, he knew that's exactly what you were doing. So he made up a stupid story about a fantastic date, and still nothing. 

“Nothing. Just thinking,” you absently state, shrugging off the last of your mission attire.

“About?”

“Can you just leave me alone right now?” you ask, a little too curt to be considered polite.

“What’s your problem?” he prods. “I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Since when?” you scoff. “When have you ever concerned yourself with being nice to me?”

“You haven’t said anything to me all day. I'm trying to do the decent thing here and check on you but you're kind of being an ass. Doesn’t seem like I’m the one with the problem here,” he accuses, malice dripping from his voice.

You hear the undercurrent of anger, real anger, and instead of diffusing it, you stand up from your seat to meet his scowl. “No, I have the problem. I want to be left alone and once again, you’re not respecting my boundaries.”

“It’s not a boundary. It’s avoidance,” he challenges. 

“You’re full of shit. You know that?” you scoff, slamming the door to the armory. "All that therapy teach you that?"

Bucky follows you right on your heels, stopping you by blocking the doorway out of the training room. “I don't know why I even put up with you anymore! Seriously, what the fuck is your problem?”

“Right now, you. You’re my problem!”

“Really? Because it seems like you're the problem here," he accuses. "You get your feelings hurt and you start acting like a cold, heartless bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you? ”

Your jaw clenches. The words you can take, you've been called way worse, and in some way, you know he doesn't actually mean it. But you can't ignore the contempt there. “Back off, Bucky. I’m being so fucking serious right now. Walk away before I say some shit I don't mean.”

Bucky inhales sharply. In some strange way, hearing his nickname being spit from your mouth hurt more than any other insult possibly could. It marked a strange shift, a slippery slope that this argument was not like the others. If he hadn’t felt as hurt as he did, if he couldn’t feel his heart splintering, he might’ve been smart and walked away.

You suck in a breath and your lips press together, holding back your next retort when he doesn't leave you be.

Normally your arguments are filled with red hot intensity, but this feels cold- it feels real. Like you’re not going to bounce back from this. Your heart was already broken courtesy of Bucky, and your normal banter seemed deranged right now. Right now, your words, both his and yours, were shooting to kill. 

"Leave me alone," you repeat.

“You’re a coward,” he grits. “You know that? A fucking coward.”

And you look at him, shaking your head.  It seemed as good of a time as any to wave the white flag- for real this time.  “You know what? I'm not the cold, heartless bitch here, Bucky. Just stay the hell away from me. I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

His hand drops from the doorway, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

As his hand skates down the door, you take a large breath and walk away. 

-

“You should come inside. It’s gonna rain tonight.”

“Go away, Bucky,” you absently state, staring out to the pitch black night that surrounded the Compound.

His heart clenches at hearing his nickname again. At hearing your tone of indifference. There were a lot of things between the two of you - anger, occasional borderline hatred, friendship, a burning passion that got so out of control it often left the two of you scalded and tending to third degree burns. 

Indifference was never on that list.

And somewhere on the way, he'd fallen- hard. He liked that air of confidence that surrounded you, the way you didn't take any shit from him or anyone else. How the two of you fought but at the end of the day you always had his back.

He missed you.

So despite his own cautious thoughts, he steps onto the balcony. He sees the bottle on the small table next to you, drink in hand. “You know you were just at a bar?”

“I left so I could be alone,” you say, still turned away from Bucky. 

“I thought you left because your boyfriend left.”

“Well, thanks to you, I no longer have a boyfriend.”

"He's a dick - that was a dick move," Bucky offers, though he doesn’t know what actually transpired in the two minute conversation, he’s got a pretty good idea of what went down. And the role he played.

He felt like shit. And that was before Sam chewed him out the entire car ride back. 

You huff out an incredulous laugh.

"What?" he grunts, taking another few steps toward you.

"Nothing," you coldly chuckle, raising your drink to your lips. "Just a little hypocritical coming for you, isn't it?"

“Wow,” he exhales, nodding tersely. “So we’re just done then?”

“Done?”

“Us. Me and you. It’s over? We're done?”

“There was nothing there to begin with,” you lie, taking another long drink to slow your racing mind.

“Does John buy your bullshit too?” he audibly wonders, his nonchalant tone guarding his own hurt feelings.

“You’re pushing it, Barnes,” you warn. “Go back inside.”

“No, I want to know," he insists. He shouldn't have been elated at hearing you call him his last name, it sounded insane, but he did. It meant you still cared. "What about that fake laugh? Does he actually think you laugh like that? Does he think that 'funny story' is actually funny to you?”

You turn away from the railing and finally look at him. It feels like a win to Bucky even though he's sure you want to kill him in this very moment. “Stop being an ass and go back inside. I'm not going to ask you again.”

"Or what you're going to scream at me? Or you're going to run away?"

"You're an insufferable prick," you seethe, downing the rest of your glass.

"So you're going to stick with insulting me?" he nods. "Go on, it's been months since I've heard from you. You've probably got a whole new arsenal of profanity just waiting for me."

"Because that's what you think I do, right? Sit here and pine for you? News flash, I don't. My life doesn't revolve around you and I'm done playing whatever masochistic game you think this is!"

"Me? Playing games? Last I checked you were the one that kissed me and then ran away."

"I ran?" you scoff. "You pushed me away. You didn't once try to talk to me. And then just a few weeks later you were going out on dates."

"There was no date!" he confesses angrily. "I made it up because you iced me out! There was no talking to you! You got your feelings hurt and you cut me out."

“Oh my God," you loudly rant, feeling a fresh wave of anger toward Bucky. "Do you hear yourself? This is insane, actual certifiably insane. And that's another reason I can’t do this anymore!”

“Do what?” he glowers.

"This!" you shout, gesturing between the two of you. 

"According to you, there's nothing there," he fumes. 

"Damn it, Barnes! You've always got to one up me, don't you?"

"Why can't you just be honest for once?"

"You want honesty," you scoff. Your chest heaves with unbridled, intense anger. “Let me tell you something really sick: I miss it! I actually miss it: screaming, fighting like with hate each other. I miss it all.”

"Then why? Why'd you walk away?" he demands.

"Because I need to move on, James!" you continue, feeling a light drizzle on your face.

"From what?" he booms. "From me?!"

"Yes!" you scream, the rain coming down all at once. "I can't love you anymore. Why can't you get that through your thick skull?" 

His widened eyes flicker up at you and he almost stumbles back in shock. “What did you just say?”

“No,” you shake your head, refusing to repeat yourself. “I can't do this anymore."

"You're in love with me?"

"Yes...No- Yes." You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steel your crumbling resolve. "It doesn't matter. Look at us - this isn't healthy. This isn't good for either one of us."

"You're in love with me?" he repeats.

You shake your head. "I'm over it."

"Which is it? Are you over me or in love with me?"

"Stop," you demand, holding your hand out to keep him a safe distance away. "I'm over-"

“Don’t say you’re over me,” he whispers, slowly encroaching on your space. 

“I am,” you quietly insist, halfheartedly pushing him away. “I’m over-”

“Don’t say it,” he interrupts, putting one hand on the railing to cage you in. “Because we both know you’re not. I’m not either.”

Even though it's pouring out, he gently grabs your chin, lifting it to force you to make eye contact with him. "Please."

"No," you shake your head. 

He can see the hurt on your face. Hurt that the two of you caused in this war that no one was ever going to win. And this time, he lays his armor down first. "I'm sorry."

You swallow the knot in your throat, your soaking wet hair sticking to the side of your face. He sweeps it to the side, leaning his forehead against yours. "I'm so sorry," he repeats, trying to convey the sincerity of his emotions.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. 

He looks up at you, the two of you drenched from head to toe. Standing in the balcony having just screamed at each other with reckless abandon. A chuckle bubbles out of your mouth as you finally regain the ability to look at the big picture. The whole ridiculousness of it all: screaming, fighting, kissing in the rain. So in love that you both acted insane. 

"We're ridiculous," Bucky quietly chuckles, still so close to you that you can feel his huff of amusement on your face.

"So ridiculous," you agree. "We could just go with it?"

He shrugs. "I'm out of insults."

"Me too."

He leans down, pressing an firm, intense kiss to your lips. After another moment of kissing in the pouring rain, he hums, "We should go inside."

"We should," you agree, pulling away from him and turning to go back inside. 

"Hey," he says, intertwining his fingers with yours. You stop, turning back to look at him. "In case you were wondering, I love you too."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Hi!

So I don't know a lot of other creators on here who actually write 'x sibling!reader' but I think you've done it a few times so I was wondering if you'd write a Bucky Barnes x wilson!reader?

I'd love to see the dynamic between their relationship and her and Sam's sibling relationship. I can imagine the sass lol

Thank you! If you're not comfortable writing it, it's no big deal :)

Thank you for much for the request sweets! I really enjoy this concept too since we sort of saw a hint of this in the show so I'm grateful to be able to write this for you!

"This will never not be weird." Sam mutters, looking between Bucky and I as his bionic arm wraps around my shoulder, taking a swig of his beer.

"Get used to it, Sam. Bucky has this habit of surviving assassination attempts so I don't think he's going anywhere." I curl into Bucky's side with a happy grin, resting my head on his chest and soaking in the fact that I have the two of them here with me, safe and sound.

"I could hit him when he's least expecting it." Sam mutters, glaring at Bucky and I giggle, reaching out to grab the nearest pillow to chuck it in his direction. "I'm just saying. My baby sister with this douchebag." He scoffs with a dumbfounded look but I just gawk at him, glancing up at Bucky but he doesn't look the slightest bit offended.

"He is not a douchebag." I gasp, placing a hand on Bucky's chest in a way to be protective but Sam just continues with his ruthless taunting.

"Do you know how many grandmas this man has slept with?" Sam asks, leaning forward to 'level' with me but before I can think of a witty comeback, Bucky beats me to it.

"They weren't grandmas when I slept with them, Wilson." He huffs, tilting his head at my brother with a tired look, lips pulled into a fine, exasperated line.

"You guys are more of an old married couple than we are, Buck." Both men's eyes raise in a defensive look and Bucky scoffs, looking down at me with huge eyes.

"Ouch-" Sam scoffs, shoving his face into his hands.

"No, god. Doll why would you say that?" Bucky whines, face twisting up in a pitiful look at the mention of god forbid being closer to Sam than he cares to admit.

They're like brothers whether they want to admit it or not.

"You bicker all the time! Over stupid shit and you're constantly taking shots at each other."

"Shut up." They say nearly at the same time, their eyes flickering over to glare at each other, upset at their sudden synonymousness. I slap a hand over my mouth, loving how easy it was for them to prove my point.

"Awe, you guys love each other! How cute."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @bungunz

[abarbaricyalp]

Keep It (for now) (safe)

For @samtember2022 Prompt: boat

"Hey, how'd it go?" Sam asked as Sarah came in the door. Well, she was trying to get inside. Sam was kind of crowding her as he took bags and fidgeted and waited for an answer.

"It was fine. Weird." Sarah managed to step around him and set the last of the shopping down on the island counter. Sam pretended to be focused on putting away cold foods.

"Weird how?" he asked. "That banker didn't give you more trouble did he?"

Outside, low rumbling thunder rolled and the pattering rain picked up. Sam tried to focus on the comforting noises but he was finding it very difficult.

"No, nothing like that," Sarah assured. "The payment went through and the recurring deposits are set up. It's just that..." She reached into her bag and pulled out a carefully tri-folded piece of paper. "This note came through with the payment," she said and passed it over.

Sam scanned over the payment information. Everything looked right. But, indeed, there was a memo attached. It read: Hi M(r)s. Wilson. I don't think I'll be able to get the boat from you until at least the new year. Please continue to use it and enjoy it until then. I don't want it sitting dead in the water. I will pay for any repairs needed for damages that occur between then and now. Thank you for keeping it safe for me.

Sam frowned. "You don't think he's going back on the deal," he suggested.

Sarah chewed on her lower lip, a tic she'd gotten from their father, and then shook her head. "No. Even if he was, he paid almost half already."

Sam grunted in agreement as he read the note again. He'd known selling the boat was going to be odd, but he'd thought the oddness would come from losing part of his childhood. Hell, part of his family, honestly. He had not expected the buyer to be so weird. From the fact that Sam and Sarah actually didn't know who he was, to the fact that he offered twice what they were asking, to this now. Sam had understood wanting to do everything through the bank, but they didn't even have a name to go with the transactions. Sam didn't even know how he'd heard about the boat in the first place.

"Hey, Sarah," Bucky greeted as he came into the living room from the utility room down the hall, a basket of laundry balanced on his hip. He leaned over it to kiss her cheek. "How was your day? Hope you didn't get too soaked."

"No," Sarah assured. "Just ran errands. Can you help Sam? I have to go get the boys--"

"Hey, relax. Sam can handle the groceries, I'll go to the school to pick up Cass and AJ. You take it easy. You just got home."

Sam made a face at him as Sarah smiled and tsked. "You never offer to help me kick my feet back," Sam accused.

Bucky shrugged, hiking the basket onto his side again. "Earn it," he taunted back and disappeared before Sam could throw a bag of broccoli at him.

-------------

"I dunno, maybe he's from somewhere cold. I hated being on the docks in winter," Bucky said that evening while he and Sam sprawled across folding chairs and the edge of the boat. The storm had ebbed enough to reveal a glorious sunset and it had become something of a tradition, with skies like this, for them to see the night in on the boat. Sam hadn't really realized how close they were to possibly losing this. Though he was pretty sure Bucky would be just as happy sitting on the beach or the porch.

"Yeah, but this isn't New York," Sam pointed out. "It's not even cool down here yet."

"Gotta take the boat somewhere," Bucky pointed out.

"I dunno. It just makes me uneasy. Like he's going to suddenly change his mind."

"He offered to pay for repairs. He's already given you money."

Sam sighed and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. "He can ask for it back. I mean, all of that money is basically unusable right now."

"I think you're thinking about it too much," Bucky sighed. He tipped his head back against the seat and shut his eyes. "Maybe he's sponsoring it."

"The boat is not a race horse."

"There’s an idea. Let's put a huge engine in it. Do open ocean, long distance racing."

Sam rolled his eyes and knocked his hand against Bucky's chest. "You really wouldn't worry about it?" he asked.

Bucky settled further indy the seat and shook his head without opening his eyes. "I wouldn't," he promised.

So Sam sat back too and tried not to think about it.

-----------

"Sam," Sarah said in a way which didn't immediately raise goosebumps but which did make his stomach turn over.

Bucky and the boys were still engrossed in a very complicated game on the floor involving Power Rangers, GI Joes, Transformers, and about every Lego and racecar in the house. Sam was pretty sure Bucky was losing. But as long as they were occupied. He stepped around the field of play and came over to Sarah, taking a piece of mail out of her hands.

"He post-poned again," she said before Sam could even read it.

The payments had been coming in right on time. With the months since the initial payment and an extra "Christmas time bonus," the rest of the amount was half paid. The boat was, by all accounts, the buyer's now. 75% paid off. Still, they'd just had a New Years party on the boat and they'd repainted the cabin and the buyer had bought new windows as well. They'd even taken it fishing a few times, to test the rigs and nets.

It still felt like their boat.

"I guess all we can do is keep it floating," Sam suggested. He tapped the paper against the counter twice before handing it back to Sarah. "Trust that this guy knows what he wants."

"I'd trust that a lot more if I knew who he even was," Sarah pointed out. "Do you think it's someone in town?"

"Nah. Why would they hide it? And why wouldn't they move it to their own pier?"

In the living room, plastic clattered and AJ crowed in victory while Bucky accused him of cheating.

"You're down until the oil change happens," Cass said factually. Bucky snorted and Sam had to agree. He was pretty sure he never gave his Transformers an oil change. And good luck to the Power Ranger or GI Joe who needed one.

Sam turned back to Sarah and put his hand over hers. "It's going to be alright," he promised softly. "We're just getting a little extra time with it." God knows they never got to say goodbye to the things and people they loved before.

Sarah put her other hand over Sam's. "I hope you're right and this isn't some trick."

Sam pulled her into a hug.

-----------

"What happens if you actually catch something worth keeping?" Bucky asked. He looked more interested in Sam's answer than the fishing pole he was supposed to be watching. For as often as Sam found Bucky sunning in one spot or mindlessly watching TV for hours, he seemed to not enjoy the mundanity of fishing very much. He kept getting distracted by the miles and miles of ocean around them or the fish he could see with his own eyes or the birds careening overhead.

"Take it home. Cook it," Sam said reasonably. He had never actually caught anything very interesting while deep-sea fishing, but he held out hope.

Bucky's eyes narrowed a little. "Where are you going to keep it?"

"You know fish go in the cooler."

Bucky looked over to the medium sized cooler and looked no more impressed. "That's all good for the shore and pier, but what happens if you reel in something big?"

"Since when do you have confidence in my fishing abilities?"

"I don't. I have confidence in your contrariness."

Sam snorted. "Relax and have a coke."

Bucky pulled another can from the drink cooler but kept pacing along the boat's edge. Maybe caffeine wasn't the best suggestion.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked in fond exasperation.

Bucky glanced over at him and pushed a hand through his hair and looked out to the water again then back at Sam. "I have to tell you something," he said.

"Then spit it out, man. I can't take you back to the house all fidgety."

"Right. Well, you know how you've been--" Right at that moment, Bucky's disregarded fishing pole clattered against the PVC pipe holder it was sitting in and then worked its way free with a dramatic lurch. Sam and Bucky both dove for it at the same time. They collided with a jarring of shoulders and one good bounce of skulls.

The fishing pole disappeared into the water at an alarming speed. Sam stared at it, mostly because he could feel Bucky staring at him in turn.

"That was a good pole," he said to the ocean.

Bucky snorted and leaned against Sam's side, pressing his face to Sam's shoulder. "That's not true. You wouldn't have given it to me if it was any good."

"Okay, you break almost every one I hand you. You've got to learn the difference between a fish and a clump of seaweed that's not moving."

Bucky laughed until Sam did too, throwing his arm around Bucky's shoulders. He could stay like this for forever. The sun, the breeze, laughing with Bucky next to him, the boat beneath them.

"Is it you?" Sam asked.

"Mmm?" Bucky hummed, hiding his face for a second longer before raising his head to look up at Sam.

"The boat, the guy who bought it. You bought it."

"What makes you think that?"

Sam put his hand against Bucky's cheek, brushing his thumb over the corner of Bucky's eye. "The transactions come from New York. I know you're spending money on something. It's definitely not yourself. Besides, it really seems like this guy wants us to have the boat."

"Some of it is a new house," Bucky admitted.

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Because I imagine Sarah wants her guest room back," Bucky said.

"No, why did you buy the boat?"

Bucky looked away from Sam and shrugged. The sun dappled across his cheeks, lit his eyes up. "Because it deserved to stay here. Because you love it. Because the only other way I'd be able to give you something like that is if you married me and that would take a lot longer."

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed his fingers through the hair on the back of Bucky's head. "That's sweet, in a fucked up way." Keeping Bucky held close, he watched the water ripple in the wind as he thought. "Not an acceptable way to solve a problem though."

Bucky let out a breath from his nose. "Trust me, I've gone over this lecture in a billion different ways. I already know everything you're going to say in every voice you're going to say it in."

"Then right now I'll just say, that's also not an acceptable proposal."

Bucky let out another long breath that turned into a laugh that he couldn't contain. "Okay, okay, that wasn't a proposal," he agreed but pulled Sam into a kiss like he'd said yes anyway.

The boat swayed beneath them, sturdy and sure.

[purple-babygirl]

First of all… who told you that you could toy with my heart over your latest work: SamBucky and the injuries Little. Talk about the angst but fluff. Just mwah!

But will all that angst especially with Sam and Bucky—they are just a perfect combo, btw. I now am needy for angst to fluff (oops…). All I can think about is an insecure little who think that her daddies don’t love her after a misunderstanding, so she pack up her things and runs away. (But a happy ending is ensured) when Sam and Bucky are able to find her

Love you.

Pairing: SamBucky x little!f!reader

Word Count: 2,796

Warnings: polyamory, ddlg dynamics, a dash of angst, and a pinch of fluff

A/N: Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for reading, and thank you for sharing this idea with me and allowing me to toy with your heart over it!💜💜 I was a puddle writing this one. I'm really sorry if this took me too long; I hope it's to your liking and I love you too *ghost kisses*💜 please enjoy xx

~~

unwanted

“That's enough. Go to your room.” Sam demanded angrily, looking down at the cheerios covering the kitchen floor that he now would have to clean up.

“Papa-”

“All you do is cause trouble and I'm done! To your room, now!”

She's been bad again. It was the third time this week. She has been disobedient and impatient. Whenever Papa and Daddy told her to do anything she somehow managed to mess it up. Sam had told her not to touch anything but she wanted to help nevertheless. She couldn’t reach the cupboard though and ended up spilling the box of cereal all over the place.

Her gaze dropped and she walked to her room without another word and a few minutes later, Bucky came to give her lunch and collect her phone and tablet, taking away her screen time for the day.

“But daddy-”

“No, doll. I'm taking them away. You never listen anymore and it needs to stop.”

Papa and Daddy are mad at you. They don't love you no more. They're sick of you. You never listen and you're always bad. They could be so much happier and calmer if it wasn't for you always riling them up. They were done. It needed to stop. They don't love you no more. They don't want you no more. They don't love you. They don't want you.

She sat wallowing in her room, tears gathering in her eyes as her own mind attacked her. Maybe it was all true. All she does is cause trouble.

So maybe if she left…

She got up and got her big girl backpack out of the closet.

Maybe if she left Papa and Daddy would be better off without her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gathered and pushed items into her bag.

Maybe if she was gone they would be less angry.

She zipped the bag up before sloppily slipping her socks on and picking up her stuffed friend.

Maybe if she escaped the house she could escape her thoughts too; leave them all in her room and go.

She wiped her cheeks, tiptoed out of her room, found her shoes by the front door and quietly got into them. She could hear Daddy and Papa lowly laughing together while they got things done in the backyard. Leaving really was the right decision then; they were happier without her.

Taking one, last, tear-blurred look at the house, she stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her. She held her small white bunny to her chest and sniffed before taking off, walking to the only place that would bring her comfort.

~

“She's going to be so happy. I can't wait to see her face.” Sam smiled proudly, hands on his waist as he took one last look at the swing he and Bucky have put together for their baby girl in the backyard.

“I really hope she likes it.” Bucky smiled back in agreement before opening the door for Sam and walking inside behind him.

They felt they were too hard on her that morning and she was usually a good girl, only intending to do good for her Daddy and Papa. So they decided to build the swing earlier than they’d previously planned to lighten things up again.

“Is it just me or is it awfully quiet in here?” Bucky murmured, bringing the water bottle down from his mouth and looking around the living room in slight suspicion.

“I mean, she is in a timeout and you did take away her phone,” Sam reminded him, trying not to let himself panic as he got himself a water bottle from the fridge.

But it wasn’t that. Bucky could still hear her presence no matter how quiet. He could hear her crayons gliding on paper when she would sit down to color. He could hear her hum as she organized her toys around the table for tea parties. This quietness wasn’t normal.

Bucky jogged up the stairs to her room and just as he feared, she wasn't in there. Her sandwich was untouched. Her closet was open and her backpack and favourite blankie were missing.

“Sam!” He called for his husband, taking long strides to their bedroom to find she wasn't there either.

Sam ran up the stairs at Bucky's freaked tone and saw him pacing through the hallway.

“She's not here.”

“What?” Sam’s heart sank into his stomach.

“I can't find her.” Bucky shook his head at Sam, running his fingers through his hair in growing panic.

“Hey, calm down. We're gonna find her.” Sam rubbed a hand down Bucky's back, trying to hide his own fright for Bucky's sake as his mind ran to every single place she knew how to get to on her own.

“How? How are we gonna find her? We don't even know where she went or if she's okay-”

Sam put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, the other cupping his cheek.

“Hey, breathe,” Sam instructed, slowly breathing so Bucky could copy him, trying to send away the panic attack ready to take over him. Bucky nuzzled his palm, his breath coming out shaky.

“That's it, Buck. In and out.” He moved his hands to Bucky’s.

“But she was so little when we sent her to her room and she probably doesn't even have any ID or money with her-”

“Bucky,” Sam squeezed his husband’s hands.

“We can't lose her, Sam. I can't- I took her phone away- if she's in trouble, she won't be able to-”

“Bucky, baby, we're gonna find her and she's gonna be okay. I promise.” Sam reassured him with words he himself wasn't sure would turn out to be true, his large palm stroking up and down the tense muscles of Bucky’s back, “I need you to keep breathing for me.”

Bucky tried to manage his breathing, slightly calming down to the thought of getting to hold her again.

“She couldn't have gotten that far, so we're gonna look around and I'm gonna call Steve, okay?” Bucky nodded at Sam's words, glossy eyes closing as Sam planted a kiss to the side of his forehead, “okay, baby. Let's go.”

~

Sam took the car, driving slowly, roaming the neighborhood to see if she was anywhere around the area. He was asking anyone and everyone who passed by his car if they've seen her. But apparently, no one has. Not even the old couple at the end of the street with the dog she loved to pet so much.

Bucky chose to go on foot as he walked in the other direction, preferring to depend on his enhanced senses instead of talking to other people. Even if he did talk to them for help, no one would understand that while her picture looked like that of a grown lady, she was a mere baby. They would never understand their panic.

Sam rubbed his forehead in frustration, leaning it against the wheel. He’d just hung up with Steve. He said she didn't come to his place; didn't even stop by. In fact, he hasn’t heard from her at all and got worried when Sam called. He took an uneven breath, trying to maintain his cool before he lifted his head up and started the car again.

~

Leaning back on the big tree, she wrapped her soft blankie tighter around her frame. It was getting kind of chilly and she was starting to regret leaving now that it wasn't that sunny anymore. The tears drying on her cheeks made her shiver even more and she sniffled, kissing her bunny's head and tugging the stuffed animal under her chin. She hoped Daddy and Papa were feeling better now that she was no longer there with them.

“Doll?” She heard Bucky's voice and before she could wonder if she'd imagined it, she was pressed to a hard chest.

“Oh, thank god,” Bucky sighed, kissing the side of her head over and over again, his hands tight around her back, holding her and her bunny close to his frantically beating heart.

“Baby, why'd you leave like that? We were so worried! We looked everywhere, we called everyone.” Bucky kissed her forehead a bunch before “-oh right!”

He got his phone out of his pocket with one arm, the other still firmly holding her to his chest. She kept holding onto her bunny, not really getting what was happening. Was she in trouble for leaving unannounced or not? Why would Daddy and Papa want to find her? She was nothing but trouble.

“Sam, I found her! We're in our secret place in the park.”

At Bucky's call, Sam took a sharp turn, stepping on the gas to get to the park as fast as he could.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you hurt anywhere?” Bucky asked her after hanging up, anxiously checking her head, face, arms and legs for injuries.

She shook her head silently, fresh, hot tears burning at the brims of her eyes.

“Thank god.” Bucky hugged her to his chest again, “we were so scared, doll. We were so scared.”

He kissed her damp cheeks and chin as she kept biting her lip, quietly sniveling.

She'd scared them. She'd worried them. Why was it always that she did something wrong while trying to do anything right? She was no good.

“It’s okay, love. I found you. I’m right here.” Bucky kissed her eyelids, then her nose, thinking she was crying because she was lost alone.

He pulled her on his lap and adjusted himself in her place, his back to the tree trunk as he held her close, fearing she’d disappear if he were to loosen his grip around her.

“Sugar!” Sam’s voice echoed through the empty part of the park when he saw her burrito-wrapped body in Bucky’s lap.

“Papa’s here, doll. It’s okay.” Bucky whispered to her when she didn’t stop crying.

She turned around and her eyes met Sam’s watery, brown ones.

“Hey, sugar,” Sam greeted softly, getting down on his knees before her.

Her lower lip jutted out further as new tears soaked her pretty face. It hasn’t even been a whole day and she’s missed Papa and Daddy so much. How was she ever planning on running away from them or being without them?

“Aww, no, no, baby, it’s okay,” Sam cooed, bringing her to his chest and engulfing her in a protective hug.

Her blanket fell in Bucky’s lap and she dropped her bunny to cling to Sam, barely quieting her sobs.

Not able to hold himself together any longer, a tear escaped Sam’s eye his gaze met Bucky’s. He buried his nose in her hair and squeezed her closer to him, sighing in relief that they’ve found her. His mind kept torturing him with scenarios of her getting hurt and not getting help. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if they’d actually lost her.

“You’re okay, sugar. Papa’s here with you. I’m sorry it took us so long, baby. We were looking in a lot of places.” Sam sniffled, pulling back to pepper featherlike kisses all over her face.

“You wanted to find me?” Her small, brittle voice asked, doe eyes staring up sadly.

“What? Of course we wanted to find you, baby! Why would you think otherwise?!”

“But I was bad. You w-were done. It needed to stop,” she repeated his and Bucky’s words on him and Sam felt shame cover him from head to toe, Bucky not any different as he bit down to stop his tears.

“Doll,” Bucky went to hold her hands only to find they were freezing.

“Shit! She’s too cold,” he told Sam, who immediately started taking off his jacket.

“Dada, bad word,” she softly reminded Bucky, covering her mouth with her hand before Sam got out of his jacket.

Sam slipped his warm jacket on her and pulled the zipper up, her small hands disappearing inside the long sleeves.

“Good girl, sugar. It is a bad word.” He rolled the sleeves back just enough to get her palms out so she could still hold her bunny.

“But you don’t see me asking daddy to leave because he was bad, do you?” Sam asked tenderly and she shook her head no.

“Exactly, I’m not. You know why?” Sam pressed kisses to both of her hands multiple times, rubbing them between his palms to warm her up.

“Why, papa?” she asked as he carried her in his arms; Bucky gathering the rest of her stuff.

“Because I love him so much." Sam wiped her tears. "And both me and daddy love you so so so much, sugar.” He pressed a firm kiss to her temple.

Bucky handed her the small bunny back after patting any dust or leaves out of it.

“We never want you to go, doll.” Bucky pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Even when I’m really really bad?”

“Even if you’re really really bad,” Sam guaranteed, kissing her temple again.

“But- I thought papa and daddy would be happier and not so angry no more if I left,” she mumbled innocently as Sam started walking to the car with her in his arms.

“That could never be true, doll. We’re only happy as long as we have you,” Bucky reassured her, opening the backseat door so Papa could slip in with her on his lap.

“And you still love me?” Her pout, teary puppy eyes and words were just killing both men inside.

“Of course we love you, doll! We will always love you. We can never afford to lose you,” Bucky told her, his eyes searching hers to offer them comfort.

“Baby, we love you so much it’s uncountable, remember?” Sam ran his thumb over the knuckles of her stuffie-holding hands.

She nodded, her eyes teary but her smile comforted and reassured. “I love you too, Papa,” she mumbled, grabbing onto Sam’s thumb, her eyelids barely staying open.

“I’m sorry I left,” she sniffled.

“It’s alright, baby. We’re all together now and we're going home.” Sam kissed her forehead once more, wanting her to forget all about it and know everything was okay again.

“Told you we’d find her,” Sam said, drawing Bucky inside the car by the cheek and brushing his lips against his.

“You did.” Bucky nodded, pressing his forehead to Sam’s and kissing him again.

Bucky pulled back and smiled adoringly at her sleepy eyes fighting to stay open as she leaned onto Sam's chest before getting in the driver’s seat to take them home. Sam was caressing her hair and before she knew it her eyes were fluttering closed.

All the crying all day had drained her and her body could finally give up and relax now that she was in Papa’s hold; she was out like a light.

“You’re so important to me and daddy, sugar. Never ever forget that,” Sam whispered against her forehead before pressing a slow kiss to her skin.

She might've had no idea how adored and cherished she actually was, but that was okay. Sam and Bucky had a lifetime ahead of them where they could show her again and again that they loved and needed her just as much as she did them.

~

“Dada! Papa! Wake up! We have a swing!”

She’d fallen asleep pretty early in the car last night and neither Sam nor Bucky had the heart to wake her up when they got home. So they took her shoes and socks off and tucked her in in their bed.

Now they had to deal with her waking up way too early. She’d gone to the bathroom on her own like a good girl before her stomach hungrily grumbled. And when she got to the kitchen for a cup of water and maybe the plate of fruit in the fridge, her eyes fell on the swing showing outside the small window on the kitchen door.

Bucky rolled over and opened his eyes first, her jumping on her knees on the bed beside him pulling him out of his dreams. Sam, however, didn’t move a muscle. The man slept so soundly that sometimes Bucky was jealous. How heavy of a sleeper could a person be?

“Yes, we do, baby.” Bucky chuckled. “Me and papa built it just for you.” He smiled sleepily at her excited face before annoyingly poking Sam’s back, “Sam, wake up.”

“Tank you, dada.” She settled back on her ankles though still buzzing with joy.

“You like it, sugar?” Bucky opened his arms wide for her.

“Yes, I love it.” She nodded happily before perching herself on his hard chest, cutely kissing his jaw, “and I love you, dada.”

“Sam.” He affectionately punched his sleeping husband’s shoulder, smirking when he heard him groan, “she likes the swing.”

[imaginestuffs]

If He Loved Me- Bucky Barnes x Reader

word count:1553

warnings: angst, doubt of self worth, and fluff!

summary: Steve has left the reader and Bucky, they are there for each other and something more than a friendship blooms between them.

(gif not mine!)

“Bucky, why did he leave?” you question with tears in your eyes. He looked at you with sadness swirling in his beautiful blues. “Did he ever love me? Was I just someone to take his mind off of her? Was our whole entire relationship bullshit?” you beg the questions, your eyes pleading for answers. “Don’t say that (y/n), don’t say that. He loved you, you were everything to him. He cried when he told me what he was going to do, he felt horrible but he said it was something he needed to do. He loved you and he would never want you to doubt that. Ever.” Bucky spoke firmly.

“If he loved me then he wouldn’t have felt the need to leave. If he loved me then why did he decide to go back in time to live out his life with another woman? Bucky, do you remember what he said to me before he left?” you spoke shakily.

“He loved you,” he said with a sigh.

“He told me that he loved me, and he would be right back and would continue to love me for the rest of his life.” you cried to him. Bucky’s heart broke when he heard the words his best friend said to you.

“He did come back, after loving another, prettier, smarter, stronger woman for his life. He came back to me in his old age knowing damn well that loving me for the rest of his life would never be the way I imagined. He knew that loving me for the rest of his life probably wouldn’t be that long.” you grabbed a picture that was sitting on your bedside table and threw it across the room. The glass shattered and the picture fell to the floor. The picture was of you and Steve that Sam had taken. Your legs were around his waist and your arms around his neck. You both had big smiles and your forehead was pressed against his. It was your favorite picture, in that moment you remember what he told you during that picture. He was telling you how much he loved you.

“Doll, he just wanted you to know that he would never stop loving you. I’m so sorry, it ended the way it did. I know it hurts, and I wish I could take that pain away. I’m here for you always and that’s a promise I will never break.” Bucky tried to comfort you. You looked up at him and sighed heavily his eyes were pained, and it hurt you to see him hurt as well.

“I’m sorry Buck. I’m so sorry I know you lost your best friend. He left you too, and maybe if I was enough for him he wouldn’t have left us. If I was enough he would have stayed with us. I’m so sorry.” you lunged forward to wrap your arms around the man in front of you. He let out a huff at the impact of your body against his. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him. The words you said were running through his head and it hurt him that you thought that way of yourself. He cared for you so much and he never wanted you to feel this way.

“You’re more than enough. It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. Leaving was something he decided to do, and it had nothing to do with you. He never believed you weren’t enough. You’re worth more than anything to him, but he just wanted the life he never got to live. But believe me when I say this. You are so much more than enough, that’s how I know he loved you for all of his life. I know we’ll be ok. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.” he felt you hold him closer and felt you cry against him, your tears soaking his shirt.

---

It has been 5 months since Steve left and things were beginning to even out again. You and Bucky were together quite often, he was the only thing in your life that has kept you from crumbling over again. And in his mind, you did the same for him.

You were sitting on your couch with a book in hand tea sitting on the coffee table and a blanket covering you. It was raining outside and the soft pitter-patter calmed your mind. You heard the lock on your door open and heavy footsteps make their way over to you. You knew it was Bucky due to how much time you spend together. He had a key to your apartment and you had one to his because oftentimes one of you would need the other and so you could easily get to each other.

“Hey Doll,” Bucky said and pressed a kiss to your head as he rounded the couch to sit next to you. He lifted your legs and sat down before setting your legs on his lap. You looked up and smiled at him. “Hey Buck, how was your day?” you ask and set your book to the side. "It was alright. Nothing special." He said softly, placing a hand on your leg and rubbing it gently.

You knew he had an appointment with his therapist today but you decided not to push it. You smiled at him and leaned your head against the couch cushion. Reaching forward you grabbed his hand.

He squeezed your hand lightly. "How about you huh? How was your day?" He asked. He always loved hearing about your day no matter how boring it may be. "The same as you, nothing special. Just some reading. I missed you, Buck." You blurted out. Your eyes widened a bit at your statement, not usually saying that to him. His eyes widened a bit as well before he smiled. "I missed you too."

---

It has now been 8 months since Steve left, and you had gotten closer to Bucky. Your heartbeat sped up whenever he was close and your cheeks heated up when he addressed you as Doll. You had slowly begun to realize that you were falling for him.

Little did you know that Bucky felt the same way towards you. Over time he had begun to fall for you as well but he was too scared to admit it. He didn't want to ruin what he had with you now.

Bucky heard footsteps walking down his hallway and smiled at how light they were. You knocked lightly on his partially opened bedroom door. "Hey, Buck." You said softly, it sounded like you had been crying. He turned around quickly at the sound of your voice. His eyes flooded with concern.

"Doll, what happened?" He asked as he strode towards you. "I uh- I got scared. I had this dream… well more like a nightmare." You stumbled over your words. He grabbed your hands and pulled you to sit next to him on the bed, perfectly made from no use.

You gripped his hand tightly pulling it into your lap.

"You can tell me. Take all the time you need. I'm right here." He spoke kindly.

It made you tear up again hearing his voice and feeling his hand hold yours.

"You left me too. You left me just like he did, and I got so scared. Bucky it was so real. It was so, so real." You cried to him.

His eyes widened and his heart clenched at the pain in your voice. "I'll never leave you. I won't ever leave. I love you." He admitted.

You looked up at him in shock. Tears fell from your eyes. He felt almost instant regret, he felt fear at the thought of ruining all you had built together.

Your heart fluttered, and your mind reeled.

Trying to process his words.

"You love me?" You questioned shakily. He tried to pull away but you kept your hold strong. As he tried to pull away you slightly panicked.

"Please. Bucky please don't leave. I love you too. Please don't leave me, you said you'd never leave." You cried a bit harder now. He looked down at you from his standing position. He suddenly kneeled in front of you, and held your face with his free hand, swiping your tears away.

"Oh Doll, I promise I'm not leaving. No matter what, I'd never leave. You relaxed against his palm and sighed shakily. He leaned forward to kiss your forehead letting his lips linger.

"Don't you ever forget that promise, I love you."

"I love you too Bucky," you spoke softly into the small space between you. He pulled back a bit before leaning in once again pressing a tentative kiss to your lips. You kissed him back softly and his thumb gently stroked your cheek. You pulled away slowly and fell into him letting yourself collapse into his arms. He gladly accepted you into his arms despite his kneeling position on the uncomfortable floor.

You both sat there holding each other like you would disappear if you let go. At that moment he swore to himself he would never let you go, he would never make you doubt your worth. He would never make you think to yourself “If he loved me, why didn’t he stay.”

---

Taglist: @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals

[tricksters-captain]

Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving

AN: Okay I’ve given in and become a Zemo simp but Bucky is still my number one don't worry.

Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, very slight Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,326

Warnings: Some small spoilers for Ep3, lots of sexual tension 

“I still can’t believe I agreed to do this.” You grumbled as you climbed the stairs, falling behind at the fear the men could see straight up the skirt of the dress Zemo had chosen for you. 

“I, for one, think you have the easiest job of us all. James must be someone he detests, Sam must be a notorious criminal he doesn’t know and you must sit and look pretty.” Zemo spoke under his breath as you came to the entrance of Selby’s HQ. 

You glared at the man but he didn’t care. He was too busy worrying about Selby. 

The door was opened for you by one of Selby’s men. Zemo nodded curtly at the guard before entering. 

You went ahead of Bucky and Sam to stay close to Zemo, following your role as his current inamorata. 

It was a short walk into Selby’s office but with every step you could feel the fear rising in your chest. You weren’t convinced that you’d get away with this; Sam wasn't exactly the most kosher criminal and Zemo’s story didn’t quite add up on just how he managed to have the Winter Soldier in his mitts again. 

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby spoke as she came into view. She was an expensively dressed woman with a short white pixie cut. 

Zemo sat down opposite her but you remained next to Sam. 

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo waved his finger as he spoke. It was a small yet dominant motion directed towards you. You tried not to clench your jaw as you walked towards him. 

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby’s eyes followed your every move as you made your way over to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo held out his hand to you, guiding you to stand behind him.  “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.” 

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby cocked her head towards Sam. 

Sam’s only response was a quick nod of his head. Selby purred at Sam, a wolfish smile on her face. 

“What’s the offer?” Selby turned back to Zemo. Her eyes flickered up to you before landing back on Zemo’s face. You weren’t stupid you knew what her gaze meant. 

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo pushed himself out of his chair. You watched him cross behind Bucky, placing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.” 

Selby grinned widely as Zemo wobbled Bucky’s chin with his forefinger and thumb, showing just how under control the ‘Winter Soldier’ was. 

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” Selby seemed to be convinced. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right.”

Zemo returned to his seat before Selby continued. 

“The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but... things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asked. 

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her chair, finding a place beside Sam as she very openly let her eyes roll down your body now that you were in her full view. 

“What else do you desire?” Zemo questioned. He had clocked onto Selby’s behaviour and didn’t really need to ask to know what the answer was going to be.  

“Her.” Selby pointed you out. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she awaited Zemo’s response. 

“No, no, no.” Zemo tutted, holding out his hand for you to take. “This little bird only sings for me.” Zemo guided you round the side of his chair and pulled you gently onto his lap. You crossed your legs as you tried not to seem uncomfortable. The scent of the Baron’s cologne, mixed with his strong grip on your waist was making your heart race. You had never been this close to Zemo before and now you were sat on his knee with his arm around you. 

“Well, you’ll make her sing for me or you won’t be getting what you want now, Baron, will ya?” Selby wasn’t playing games. She folded her arms across her chest, cocking her eyebrows at Zemo. 

Zemo titled his head as he thought. 

You felt yourself tense up when he placed a cool leather clad hand on your thigh. His fingers started to draw circles on your skin, edging your skirt higher, drawing Selby’s eyes down to your legs. 

“She is very dear to me.” Zemo stated. He retracted his hand from your thigh to brush your hair from your shoulder, his finger traced a line from your jaw down your neck to your collarbone. Zemo, being so close, could see the goosebumps that covered your skin at his touch.  

“Unless you have something better to offer other than your two play things, Baron, I suggest you hand them over to me... unless you don’t want the whereabouts of Dr Nagel.” Selby let her smile drop. 

“I will––” Zemo was cut short by Sam’s phone going off. 

“Answer it.” Selby suddenly lost all interest in the deal and only desired to prove the authenticity of the Smiling Tiger. “On speaker.” 

That’s where things went wrong. 

For the rest of the trip in Madripoor, you didn’t get the time to confront yourself and Zemo on what happened back there. 

You were so confused to why you reacted the way you did. You had never been attracted to Zemo before but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smelt, the way his breath tickled against your arm, the way the heat radiated out from under his thick coat. 

You knew he was thinking about it too. 

Every time you let yourself glance over at him, he was watching you and not in the same way as he usually would. You knew too well that Zemo often studied his surroundings like a hawk. He was silent and observant; he always knew where he would go next and he often watched you, Sam and Bucky as if he were calculating your next moves. 

It wasn’t until you arrived in Latvia that you were confronted by your feelings again. 

You were sat at the island in the kitchen as you ran your hands over your face and hair. You were tired. 

“You should rest.” Zemo’s voice suddenly snuck up on you. 

He had been so quiet walking into the kitchen that you hadn't even noticed he was there. 

“I should but insomnia kinda comes with the job.” You sat up, trying not to act any different from how you usually would. 

“Ah. My time in a cell has acquainted me with such the dilemma.” Zemo confessed as he moved towards the cupboards on the back wall. 

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t help but watch his hands as they reached for the coffee pot, his fingers gripping it lightly. You could still recall the feeling of the cool leather on your thigh, his touch climbing higher as he pushed your skirt up...

“Coffee?” Zemo offered, interrupting your thoughts as he raised a mug and an eyebrow at you. 

“Please.” You folded your hands together as you leant on the island. 

There was a brief comfortable silence as Zemo fixed up some coffee for you both. He could feel your eyes on him but he didn’t say anything. He just let the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk as he poured you a cup. He let the smirk drop when he turned to face you.

He slid the cup along the countertop and you thanked him quietly. He pushed a thin smile onto his face for a second before returning to his usual stoic expression. 

“There was something I wished to discuss with you actually.” Zemo announced as he picked up his own cup. 

You almost choked on your drink at the words but you hid behind your mug, hoping he didn’t notice. He did.

“About what?” You asked. 

“I wanted to apologise for Madripoor.” Zemo surprised you with that. 

“Apologise?” You were confused to what he was talking about. 

“I am aware that it was merely a role, that we were undercover, but I touched you without your consent. I wanted to apologise for when we were with Selby.”

You were completely shocked. You didn’t not expect this from Zemo at all. 

“It’s okay. We all have to do stuff we don't want to do on missions like these.” You tried to brush it off. After all, Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier and Sam had to drink a cobra’s heart back in Madripoor. There was definitely worse things that could’ve happened. 

“I never said I didn’t want to do it. I am simply apologising for not asking for permission first.” Zemo’s eyes were glued to your face as he sipped his coffee. He was watching for a reaction. 

You felt your mouth go dry, you tried to swallow as you began to rise from your seat. 

“Uh, t-thanks for the coffee, Zemo but...” You tried grabbing your mug but you only knocked it to the floor by accident. 

“Shit!” You hissed as you bent down, picking up the broken bits. You felt your heart racing from the look Zemo had just given you.

Zemo rushed around the island with a rag, he placed it over the split coffee before taking hold of your wrist to stop you from picking up the pieces. 

Electricity shot up your arm and your head snapped up to meet his eyes. 

“No use crying over spilt coffee.” Zemo muttered, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth. 

“I-I wasn’t––”

“––Is there a particular reason you are so jumpy tonight?” Zemo inquired. 

You rose back to standing; Zemo let your wrist go as you did but followed your action. 

The air was thick between you as you withheld your answer. 

There was no way you could admit you were worried of being close to him because of the undeniable pull he had on you since that night. 

“I think...” Zemo stepped over the soaked rag which only made you take a step back. “...You enjoyed being touched and now you are confused to why.”

Your chest began to rise and fall heavily as Zemo continued to walk towards you until your back hit the wall behind you. 

“But forgive me if I am wrong.” Zemo held his hands up with a smile, taking his final few steps until he was close enough for his cologne to engulf the air around you.

“You are.” You whispered but your voice had failed you in sounding convincing. 

“Is that right, little bird?” Zemo used the pet name he had given you in Selby's office. He lifted his hand to brush your hair from your cheek behind your ear. “Because I believe you haven’t stop thinking about it. Just as I haven't.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You only just breathed out your words. If Zemo hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard them. 

“Don’t you?” Zemo titled his head at you. “Because I am at liberty to remind you that I once worked for Sokivian intelligence. It was my job for a long time to study people, learn them, read them.” Zemo let his eyes drop down to your body before coming back to meet your eyes. “I can tell how a person is feeling just from observing their body. The way they move. The way they are breathing.” Zemo placed his hand in the centre of your chest where your silver necklace sat. The metal burned against your skin underneath Zemo’s warm flesh. 

Your slow deep breaths lifted Zemo’s hand up and down as you stared back at him. 

“I can feel your heart racing.” Zemo uttered. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” You shook your head as your eyes flickered to the man’s lip for just a second. 

“Good.” Zemo smirked. 

Suddenly Zemo was ripped away from you. 

Bucky had teared Zemo back and pushed him across the room. Zemo staggered backwards before standing and adjusting his sweater from how Bucky had grabbed him. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bucky growled at Zemo with a look in his eye that could kill. 

“I was merely having a conversation with (Y/n).” Zemo shrugged, acting as if everything was perfectly innocent. 

“Oh yeah it looked like a real polite conversation with (Y/n) backed up in a corner and your hands on her!” Sam was stood behind Bucky. The both of them were squaring up in front of Zemo to protect you. 

“I didn’t need your help.” You stepped forward, trying to intervene. 

“You put your hands on her again; I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll turn you into a new coat.” Bucky warned Zemo as he ignored you. 

“I apologise.” Zemo lifted his hands up in defence. 

“No.” Sam pointed back to you. “Apologise to her.” 

Zemo turned his head to you. When your eyes met, he smirked just ever so slightly, you knew the boys didn’t notice at least. 

“I apologise, (Y/n).” The way your name sounded in Zemo’s mouth made your stomach flip. 

“It’s fine.” You said before pushing past Bucky and Sam. You hated it when they played protective big brothers and you didn’t even need saving... You think...

(PART 2)

[urimaginespimp]

A Half-naked Nurse and Wrong Ideas.

Bucky x Reader with fever.

Thank you @daredarling for the “you’ve gotten sick and Bucky takes care of you” idea.

——–

You should’ve known better than to race Sam under a thunderstorm last night. Waking up the next morning, you had a massive headache, your muscles felt sore, and you were shivering.

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Barnes says you’re half an hour late in training.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke, making you groan and bring your comforters above you.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you muffled under the sheets.

Barnes… He has been nothing but a pain in the ass to you. To this day, you don’t know what you’ve done for him to dislike you this much. And as if his snarky comments and glares thrown your way wasn’t enough, Steve actually paired you both for missions and trainings.

If he wasn’t so handsome you would’ve cut him already. If Steve allowed you.

Loud bangs hit your door outside. “Y/L/N you’re already 30 minutes late! That’s 5 laps extra for you!” You could hear the irritation lacing his voice.

Maybe if you ignore him long enough, the pest would go away.

“I know you’re in there!” He followed up after you ignored him.

Sighing in annoyance, you got up, with the blankets still wrapped around you, and weakly waddled your way to your door, not bothering to open up your curtains. Opening the door, A frowning Bucky was looking down on you. If you weren’t feeling so shitty, you would’ve snickered at his expression.

“Barnes why are you so obsessed with me?” your cracked voice barely managed to finish asking.

He was observing you from head to toe, noting how pale you are, and shivering under a huge comforter despite that your AC was off.

“You’re stupid.” That was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you’re not that sma-”

“Will you shut up and go back to bed? You look like you’re about to drop dead any second now.” He interrupted you, his face still stern with no emotion.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back and weakly made your way back over to bed, pausing to groan as you remembered you forgot to close the door.

“If you’re still there, could you please close the door.” it almost pained you to even be so polite to him but you blame it to being sick.

Finally managing to lie back down, you stared up the ceiling when you heard the door finally shut gently. Sighing, you were about to let sleep take over you when something caught the corner of your eye.

Bucky was by the closed door, taking his shirt off over his head. You let out a shriek. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?!”

“You’re sick.” he replied nonchalantly, while kicking off his shoes, leaving him in his sweatpants and socks.

“And taking off your clothes is supposed to make me feel better?!” you were trying to support yourself with your elbow, facing his way. “And I meant that you close the door before leaving.”

“I don’t want to die of heat while taking care of you.” he replied in a duh tone before entering your bathroom to fetch some warm water in a basin.

You were still trying to process what he was getting at when he finally went back out, now basin with steaming water in hand.

“You got a clean towelette I can use?” has asked as he placed the basin on the foot of your bed.

“Yeah, it’s by the third dra- what the hell are you doing again?” you caught yourself as he was opening your drawers. “Because if you’re trying to kill me, doing it while I’m defenseless is just beneath you.”

“Didn’t think your IQ could get any lower but you’re sick so I’ll let this pass.” He rolled his eyes before soaking the cloth on the water. “I’m nursing you. Now lay flat and still so the cloth won’t fall off that forehead of yours.” he instructed, again sounding so casual.

You followed his orders before realizing that this whole ordeal was still very weird. “I’m sorry, I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He went by your head and placed the cloth on your forehead, making you sigh at the warmth it brought your chilling form. “Steve will have my head if he finds out I knew you’re sick and let you die.”

You stared at him deadpan.

“And partners are supposed to be taking care of each other.” he muttered, making the side of your mouth twitch.

“If you tell anyone I said that I’ll kill you.” he lightly threatened when he noticed your mouth twitch.

“Fair enough. And I should probably tell you that I’m prone to get mentally confused when I have fevers which is a normal symptom, but just letting you know in case I start saying something nice.” you chuckled.

He went over your mini fridge and opened a bottle of water to drink.

You look at him, noticing that he was starting to sweat a lot from the heat. His skin was glistening making you mentally kick yourself from staring.

“You got underwear?” you found yourself asking, making him choke on his drink.

“What?”

“I-I’m just saying i-if you’re that hot, you can just take off your sweatpants and I won’t mind.”

“You’re saying I’m hot?” he chuckled, having fun twisting your words, making you flush. “Hey, color’s back on your face. Maybe I should get you all flustered more.” he teased further.

“Shut up Barnes, I meant that the room’s too hot for you because the AC is off. You’re sweating like a pig.”

“Save the excuses, Y/N. You won’t mind if I’ll just be in my boxers?” he smirked at you as he took his socks off and started working on untying the strings of his sweats.

“Puh-lease, Barnes, it may come as a shock to you, but I’ve seen enough men in boxers. You’re not that…”

You trailed off what you were going to say when you noticed that this was a different kind of boxers. Why were they so tight?

You thought he meant boxer shorts, not boxer briefs. Dammit.

“I’m not that…?” He asked.

“I forgot. Fever brain.” You shrugged, diverting your eyes away from him. “Anyway, why are you so nice to me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” He contradicts, placing his hands on his hips.

“Uh, yeah you do.” you paused to let out a cough. “You always make fun of me or provoke me in front of everyone else.”

“And how do I treat you when we’re alone, especially in missions?” he raised his brows at you, expecting that you’ll put two and two together.

“A lot nicer actually.” You muttered.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that the team keeps insisting I have a crush on you.” he scratched the back of his head.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they even think that?” you chuckled.

“It’s Sam’s fault. He tricked me.”

“What?”

“He was being all hypothetical, saying what if I was only allowed to date someone from the team and who would I choose. And I uh… may have said I’d choose you. And everyone else heard.” He muttered the last part, embarrassed.

It was your turn to smirk at him. “And why me?”

“Stop that. You look like a smirking corpse.” he snapped at you defensively and cleared his throat. “It’s just that you were actually really nice to me when we met. Didn’t feel like you were masking apprehensiveness like everybody did when I first got here.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on me.” you had the courage to tease him, seeing how flustered he got from telling the story.

“This is not how you treat your nurse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, a nurse in his underwear. Very ethical. And I’m not your supervisor, but I think brooding is not advisable.”

“And now as your nurse, I would advise you to quit talking and get some sleep.”  he playfully glared at you. “I’ll be by the chair to constantly check on your temperature and replace the cloth on your forehead.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing, Barnes. I’m starting to think the team’s right.”

“Ma’am flirting with patients and vice versa is frowned upon. Now sleep.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

——–

While you were finally snoozing for over an hour, gentle knocks were heard on your door.

Standing up from his chair, Bucky quickly made his way over the door to prevent more knocks from disturbing your sleep, forgetting that he was still only in his boxer briefs.

Opening it slowly, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes belonging to Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Hey you guys, could you keep it down? Y/N is getting some rest.”

“Uhuh… I bet she needs it.” Sam replied slowly, still wide-eyed, noting how Bucky’s slightly sweaty.

“So… when did this happen?” It was Steve’s turn to speak up.

“Oh, just this morning. She was running late and I came here with the intention of punishing her for it but I ended up taking care of her.” He explained in a low voice, still oblivious to how their teammates were getting a totally different idea.

“Woah.” Nat muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, I guess her muscles are all sore because she was moving so weakly, and her voice is all hoarse now when she talks, and -”

“Look we’re happy for you, but TMI, Buck! TMI.” Steve cut him off and the three of them scrambled away from your room, with Sam muttering he didn’t need the unwelcomed visuals, and Nat screaming for Wanda.

Now left alone and confused by the doorway, he was trying to figure out why they reacted that way when it finally clicked.

“Fuck.” he whisper-yelled, knowing that the teasing was about to get worse.

——–

Final Part

Permanent tag list: @lizzarooni

Marvel Masterlist

[bbgem329]

If Only You Were Mine… Chapter Two

Pairings—Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary

You’ve been in love with Bucky Barnes since the moment you laid eyes on him. That was five years ago, when your older sister brought him home for a Sunday lunch and introduced him as her boyfriend.

Warnings

MINORS DNI. 18+++. Angst. Lots of it. Unrequited love. Bucky kinda being douche bag.

Series Masterlist

—————

“My god, Y/N.” Sam moaned brokenly, his mouth full and cheeks stuffed. “This is so fuckin good.”

“Chew with your mouth closed, Wilson.” Natasha spat, shooting him a cold glare as she offered you her wine glass to be filled. “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.” She spared you a quick smile. “Thanks, baby girl.”

“Of course.” You giggled, moving to refill your own glass as you shot Sam a small wink. “And thank you, Sam, I’m so glad you like my cooking.”

“Okay first of all,” Sam huffed, index finger trained accusingly on the redhead beside you. “I’ll have you know women love me. The only reason I don’t have a girlfriend is because I don’t want one.” His dark eyes shifted onto you. “Second of all, darling,” He smirked, hand rubbing his belly. “I love your cooking. And this-” He gestured to the plate before him. “-Is amazing. Ya never let me down.” He chuckled, shaking his head before peaking back up at you through his lashes, his expression serious, “Say, you looking for a husband or something? I might consider settling down if I had a wife with your cooking skills.”

You laughed loudly, a blush rising to the apples of your cheeks. This was typical Sam Wilson behavior. You swore he was the biggest flirt in New York City. Though with you it was harmless, he simply loved to get a rise out of you—see you flush and fumble over your words a bit.

“Barnes isn’t here, Wilson.” Natasha drawled, manicured nail tracing along the rim of her wine glass. “No need for your horrendous attempts at flirting tonight.” She wiggled her brows at you, a sly smirk across her painted lips. “We all know you do it just to rile him up.”

The mere mention of his name caused the weight that had temporarily lifted in the presence of your friends, to return to your chest. You inhaled sharply, eyes trained down as you pushed your food around your plate. You could feel Natasha and Wanda’s eyes burning into the side of your face but you didn’t dare look up. It would take seconds for them to see through any facade you managed to put up. You didn’t have the energy for one of their interrogations nor were you in the mood for their pity or consoling.

You just didn’t want to talk about it. Simple as that.

Sam was right.

The Honey BBQ Chicken bake topped with fritos you’d prepared was good—great even. But you weren’t sure you were hungry anymore.

The dish was one of Bucky’s favorites, a ��comfort meal’ he’d claimed when you made it for him for the first time. It was after a pretty bad fight with Carly over Henry Pierce and how she’d acted towards him at one of your father’s fancy dinners. He’d showed up at your door, clothes soaked, eyes swollen and red, looking utterly defeated. You’d shooed him off to shower, found him something dry to wear out of the things your ex had left behind and threw his soaked clothes in the dryer. The clothes had been a snug fit but had worked for the time being. As soon as he’d plopped down on the couch, you’d wrapped him snuggly in numerous blankets, handed him a beer and a warm bowl of the chicken bake. The first bite had him singing your praise. He’d ended up scaring down three helpings of it.

That night changed the entire dynamic of your relationship. That was the night you realized Bucky needed you. He’d realized it too. You weren’t just his girlfriend's little sister anymore, you were a friend. One of the best he’d ever had. He’d told you often from that point on.

You often wondered what made him decide to come to you that night. Why did he show up at your door instead of Steve’s, Sam’s, or one of his younger sisters? It happened three years ago, yet to this day, the question remains heavy in your heart.

You thought maybe—just maybe—that if you made his favorite dish he’d show up tonight. But when Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda appeared at your doorstep, no Bucky in sight, you knew he wouldn’t. And you didn’t understand why.

“Where is he tonight?” Wanda spoke up, between bites. “This is the third game night he’s missed.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat when all eyes fell to you. The ache in your chest was growing by the minute and it suddenly felt a little hard to breathe. It was fair of them to assume you’d know, you’d always had a front row seat in Bucky’s life. Even more so than Steve in the past few years.

You were his go to, everyone around this table knew that.

You knew that.

But things have changed.

Ever since the night at the diner when he’d casually, nonchalantly mentioned that there were discussions of him possibly wanting to marry Carly—as if he didn’t just drop a bomb and send your whole world up into flames—you hadn’t really spoken much.

Bucky wasn’t truly to blame for the lack of communication between the two of you.

He was busy.

He’d officially stepped up as CEO of his father’s company. He needed time to adjust, learn the ways, figure out how he’d like to run things. And from the few vague texts you’d received and did not respond to, Carly and him were ‘figuring things out’ and ‘doing good’.

You’d understood the message clear as day.

You needed to keep your distance—to stay away.

Of course he’d never outright say it or ever truly want that. He wasn’t cruel and he cared for you. But Bucky loved Carly and if Carly thought you to be a hindrance to their relationship and that it would make things better than Bucky would do as she asked. Even if it meant distancing himself from you.

You couldn’t blame him completely. You didn’t respond to any of the four messages he’d sent in the past three weeks nor had you attempted to contact him either.

Because yes, even if you were feeling angry, hurt, maybe even a little betrayed, you understood and you respected it. If it made Bucky happy—maybe eased some of the burden on his shoulders, you would do it. Even if it tore you apart from the inside out. Even if, for the past three weeks, you’d found it nearly impossible to get out of bed in the morning.

As long as Bucky was happy, you would be too.

So why the fuck did it hurt so much?

“I-” You cleared your throat, taking a quick, big gulp of your red wine. “I don’t know.”

You focused on Steve at the head of the table. Probably the safest option in the room. He’d definitely know where Bucky was and he’d most certainly know of what’s been going on. You hoped he’d see the pleading in your eyes and rescue you from what could—would be a disastrous discussion.

He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight, arms crossed over his broad chest as he studied you. You felt small, exposed under his blue narrowed gaze.

“What’s going on with you, Y/N/N?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. “He’s been acting all mopey too, especially when I ask about you.”

Fucking Steve. The one and only fucking time you’d required his help.

“I…um.” You bit your lip, eyes trailing back to where your hands rested in your lap. You felt trapped. They wouldn’t give it a rest and if you weren’t careful they’d see right through your lies. You’d always been a terrible liar, your second nanny reminded you often. You gave a small shrug, plastering on the fakest smile you'd ever worn. “Nothings wrong. Just both been busy I guess.”

“Liar.” Natasha hissed, snatching your hand out of your lap to intertwine with hers, thumb rubbing soothing circles along the back of it. “What’s going on, babygirl? Hm? What did Barnes do?”

Natasha had always been fiercely protective of you. Your very best friend since the age of eighteen and the older sister you’d wished you’d had in place of the one you got stuck with. She'd been a junior when you were starting your freshman year at Columbia University and had taken you under your wing. She’d shown you the ropes and provided you with a real taste of freedom. You’d been thick as thieves since.

So of course she’d assume Bucky was to blame and come to your defense.

You looked up, eyes scanning each and every face around the table. All of them were filled with question and concern. “He didn’t do anything.” You sighed, slipping your hand from Nat’s to run your fingers frustratingly through your hair. “He’s figuring things out with Carly.”

A collection of scoffs sounded throughout the room with a few eye rolls and a disapproving shake of Steve’s head. They weren’t the biggest fans of your sister. You couldn’t necessarily blame them, you didn’t like her all that much either. They all did their best to support Bucky and his decision to continue to pursue a relationship with her but that didn’t stop them from openly voicing their opinion and thoughts. Everyone in this room loved and cared for him and you’d all, at some point in time, witnessed Carly’s misdeeds and the effect it had on Bucky.

“Of course he is.” Wanda mumbled with an eye roll. “And let me guess, Carly asked-.” She laughed, though it was humorless. “Sorry—told him to stay away from you. And of course, he listened.”

“I’m assuming.” You shrugged weakly, voice cracking slightly. “All I got was a few texts saying they were figuring it out. Haven’t heard from him since last Tuesday.” You really didn’t want to talk about this. Not tonight. You didn’t feel like moping and crying. You just wanted to enjoy your friends and forget all about Bucky and his possible marriage to your sister.

“Well, according to Carly’s social media.” Natasha spoke up from beside you, you glanced over to find her scrolling through her phone. “They’re at some new, high end club opening.” She switched it off, sliding it back up on the table. “On a Wednesday night?” She scrunched her nose in distaste, “Who the hell opens a club on a Wednesday night?”

“That’s besides the point, babe.” Steve sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face. He met your gaze, blue eyes full of worry and sympathy. His shoulders were slumped in defeat and expression pained. “I don’t understand.”

You knew it hurt him to watch his best friend remain trapped in such an unhealthy relationship. Steve was Bucky’s first and best friend, his right hand man, and the brother he never had. They had gone through everything together. When Steve’s parents died at the age of eight, Bucky’s family had taken him in as their own. They’d been through everything together.

“Hey, man.” Sam piped up, face solemn as he patted Stave’s back, “We’ve all tried to tell him. He knows what he is doing, he’ll figure it out on his own.” He straightened up, shaking his head before taking a swig of his beer. “Honestly, I think he’s being pressured by both his father and yours, Y/N. You know they’ve wanted to unite the companies for years. What better way to do that than marry their kids?”

“Y/F/N has another daughter.” Natasha scowled, rolling her eyes. “Something he often seems to forget about.” She threw her hand frustratingly in the air, gesturing wildly with wide eyes. “Everyone knows Bucky and Y/N would be a much better match. It makes no sense.”

“Can we just not talk about this?” You interjected, voice louder than you intended. You sunk back in your chair, hands covering your face when all eyes snapped to you and the room fell eerily silent, all of them shocked by your sudden outburst.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, cheeks shaded pink. “I just don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I want to enjoy tonight with all of you.” You took a deep breath, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t want to talk about Bucky. I don’t want to think about it anymore.” You paused, biting down on your lip, “It sucks and it hurts but there is nothing I can do about it. I’m tired of moping and being sad. So please, just tonight can we leave it be?”

There was a chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘of course’ and ‘I’m sorry’s. You exhaled softly, the weight lifting temporarily from your chest and heart. You might worry tomorrow—feel the pain and loneliness of Bucky’s absence once again. But not tonight. Tonight you were in great company, eating good food, and drinking the best red wine.

—————

It was just after midnight when everyone collectively decided to call it a night. The game night had turned out to be the perfect distraction. After multiple heated rounds of monopoly and a round of life to ease Sam and Natasha's not so friendly rivalry, everyone began to feel the effects of a long day.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to work tomorrow, unlike the others, so you declined their offers to help clean up. You needed the time to unwind anyways and never really minded doing the dishes.

You began washing the dishes, hands deep in the soapy water and mind a million miles away. You’d always found it therapeutic. It wasn’t something you were allowed to do as child, your parents thought a woman of your status should never ever be expected to do such mundane, dirty tasks. Any and all cleaning was done by the maids. You remember how you’d sit on the steps of the grand staircase as a young girl and watch the staff bustle about each day. That was the only reason you knew how to clean. You had spent hours wandering after them, studying how they washed the dishes, cleaned the windows, vacuumed and swept.

You laughed softly to yourself as you propped a plate up in the drying rack. If only they saw you now.

They weren’t at all happy when you decided to move out of the Manor. You weren’t sure why as they ignored your presence entirely anyways. It had ended in a pretty nasty argument with both your father and your mother, which funny enough, was the most they’d spoken to you in your twenty three years of life. You’d expected them to cut you off right then and there—take back the inheritance you’d received on your eighteenth birthday but instead they’d offered you a deal.

You could have your apartment but in exchange you couldn’t take up a job.

It made no sense, you’d gone to college and studied the art of business as your father had asked, yet he expected you not to use the degree you’d worked so hard to obtain and he’d paid handsomely for.

You hadn’t even bothered to question or argue over it. Just like your mother and sister, he’d raised you to be the perfect wife to a businessman. He saw you as nothing more than some rich perverts arm candy and baby maker and he always would.

You were surprised he hadn’t tried to marry you off yet. The other women your age were married, engaged, or at the very least courting. Yet he hadn’t said a word or dropped even a hint.

Not that you minded, that was something you’d fight tooth and nail over. You weren’t something to be sold off or exchanged for some business deal.

If you were to ever marry, you’d marry for love.

And although your father ordered you not to work a day job, he never said anything about picking up gigs here and there. Fortunately for you, you’d always had a love for photography and had taken a few elective courses on the art at the university.

You didn’t take pictures for the money, it was simply something to pass the time. The gigs you scored consisted mostly of weddings, animals, birth photography, and family pictures. Each and every shoot you did was unique and fun in its own way. You’d witnessed a lot of very special, life changing moments and had met a lot of very different people in your work.

More recently, within the past year, you’d started your own blog and it had grown fairly popular. The photographs posted there were more personal—a picture of your old nanny and tutor, Rosalind and her husband dancing when you’d had dinner last week, a sunset you’d watched on a walk along the Brooklyn bridge two days ago, or a tree with changing leaves you’d spotted on your run just this morning.

You had nothing to gain from it nor nothing to lose. It was a hobby—something you loved to do. If you could spread a little positive by capturing and posting something beautiful you would.

You sighed softly, towel drying the last pan and before putting it away. You had a wedding to attend on Saturday so you needed to find something to occupy and distract you for the next few days.

Tomorrow afternoon you could spend a couple hours at the soup kitchen up the road and maybe stop by the hospital to read and visit with a few sick children that reside there long term.

That always seemed to brighten your day. It felt good to give without expecting something in return. You’d spent so much of your life surrounded by takers.

The first time Rosalind had brought you along with her to the soup kitchen, you were hooked. It was an eye opening experience, especially at the age of twelve. It was extremely humbling to see someone so happy and grateful for something as simple as soup. Your favorite part, however, was when you took the time to sit and chat with them, to listen to their heartfelt stories.

You made sure to do things like this a few times a week and donated frequently and abundantly to whatever charity you found needed it the most that week.

Your parents would most certainly disapprove of the hours and money you spent on such things but you didn’t care. All your donation and volunteer work set you apart from them.

You didn’t lie, cheat, steal, and deceive in the way that your family did. You weren’t selfish, conniving, and devious just as they were.

Despite your name and the blood that ran through your veins, you were different.

You were good.

You shook yourself from your thoughts, flicking the lights in the kitchen off before moving to blow out the candles in the living room and straighten the couch cushions until a knock sounded at the door.

Your froze, heart speeding up in your chest and hope blooming rapidly in your belly. Because no one ever showed up at your doorstep this late. No one besides one person in particular.

You took a deep breath, steps slow and quiet as you made your way to the door. You know you shouldn’t open it. Bucky had pushed you away, chosen your sister over you as he always does. That alone should be enough of an indication that he doesn’t care for you as much as you care for him. You should be angry in a way that makes you never want to hear from him, see him, or speak to him again because of how he’s treated you in the last three weeks. Because it was wrong for him to turn up here at nearly one in the morning when he’s supposed to be home and in bed with his girlfriend—or maybe she was his fiancé now, you were thrown so out of the loop you had no idea what might’ve occurred in his time away.

But you were weak. You cared more about him than you did yourself. So for what seemed like the hundredth time, you flicked the lock and yanked open the door.

And sure enough, there he stood in all his saddened and slumped glory.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him—dress shirt and pants wrinkled and suit jacket resting in the crook of his arm. His locks were tousled, curling and standing in every which way. The skin around his eyes was swollen and red from lack of sleep and the tears he’d probably shed. His usually bright blue hues appeared sad and empty, cheeks were rosy, lips chapped and bitten.

The strong and powerful man you’d known and come to love had vanished, only to be replaced by one who looked beyond broken and defeated.

There was absolutely no way you could turn him away now. Not when he looked like this.

“Hey.” Bucky croaked out, eyes downcast as he shifted awkwardly on his feet. “I’m sorry for showing up here so late. I just-” He swallowed thickly, tears welling up in his bloodshot eyes. “I just needed to see you.”

You sighed quietly, hardened exterior softening. You said nothing but opened the door further, gesturing him in. He smiled slightly, stepping hesitantly through the threshold. “Thank you.” He mumbled, following you as you made your way to the kitchen.

Bucky slipped into a seat on the island, watching you as you moved about the kitchen pouring water in the kettle and setting two mugs out. He didn’t even have to ask, you already knew what he needed. Always did.

“I’m really sorry that we haven’t talked in the past few weeks.” He spoke up, voice timid and weak. You offered him a small nod, not lifting your eyes from your work. You just couldn’t look at him right now, not in the eye anyways. If you did, you ran the risk of losing your anger and you wouldn’t stand your ground. He needed to know you were hurt by his decision.

“It wasn’t right. I don’t know why I let Carly convince me you were hindering our relationship.” His voice cracked slightly, he tossed his head back struggling to maintain his composure and blinking back tears. “You’re not.” He inhaled sharply, wiping furiously at his cheeks, “You’re not a hindrance, Y/N. You're not the problem.”

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest, studying him with a frown. This wasn’t how it normally went. He usually never wanted to talk about it or explain things but then again he’d never gone three weeks without speaking to you.

You swallowed your pride, unease settling in your naval. “What’s going on?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t even heard you.

“I think I’m stuck, sweets.” He laughed mirthlessly, tears escaping down his cheeks. “She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t even fucking like me.” He wiped the tears from his cheeks, though his efforts were futile because more continued to spill. “I’ve been so blinded and now I’m stuck.”

“Bucky.” You whispered, rushing towards him. Your heart broke in half as he collapsed against your chest and let out a broken sob. Though you struggled under half his weight, you rocked him soothingly side to side and ran your fingers through his hair as pressed his face in the crook of your neck, his body shaking and trembling as he cried.

You spoke softly, whispering words of consolation and comfort because in this state there was no way you could talk him down or through it. He needed a shoulder to cry on—he needed your shoulder to cry on.

You weren’t at all sure what he meant by what he said and he was in no shape to better explain it. No doubt Carly had fucked up yet again and by the looks of it she’d done extensive damage.

You had never in the five years of their relationship seen him like this. He was inconsolable—a complete mess.

And part of you worried that the damage just might be permanent this time.

You let him cry until his sobs turned to sniffles and he lay limp against your chest before pulling him up off the stool and leading his stumbling form down the hall and to the guest bedroom. You drew back the covers and he didn’t protest as you guided him into bed.

“We can talk in the morning, Buck.” You mumbled, pulling the comforter up over him and tucking it snugly around his large body. “You need rest.” You sat beside him on the edge of the best, brushing his hair out of his face.

“You’re so good to me, sweets.” His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into your touch, placing a little kiss against the inside of your wrist when your hand settled on his cheek. “Too good to me. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t lose me.” You assured him, voice steady and smile soft. “You’re stuck with me. Even if you get sick of me.”

“I could never.” He whispered, the hint of a smile on his bitten lips as his body sank back into the mattress. Relaxing completely under your touch and soothed by your presence. “Will you stay with me?”

You hummed softly, fingers combing gently through his thick locks. “Until you fall asleep.”

“Please, sweets.” He croaked, eyes snapping open to meet yours, baby blues filled with desperation and pleading. “Please, stay with me.”

You signed, twirling a curl around your fingers as you pondered his request. You really shouldn’t. This was a boundary in your relationship you’d never breached and even if he didn’t see you in a romantic way, you saw him as such. It may not matter to him but it mattered to you and you didn’t want to risk adding anymore hurt to your heart.

But you could never deny him, especially when he was looking at you like that—as if you were the only thing he ever needed, the most important person in the world.

If lying with him brought him some semblance of comfort or relief, you would do it. Even if it hurts like hell in the morning.

“Okay, Buck. I’ll lay with you. Just give me a minute to change, turn the lights off, and lock up.” You returned his small smile before scurrying off.

It took less than five minutes for you to return fresh faced and dressed in an oversized crewneck and a pair of sleep shorts.

You were a little surprised to find him awake and waiting for you. Nothing was said as he drew back the covers, allowing you to slip in beside him after flicking off the lights.

You inhaled sharply when his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers with his in the space between your bodies. His hand was warm and soft clasped with your own and you couldn’t help but melt at the simple touch.

You yearned for more but kept your distance, instead rolling on your side to face him and burrowing further beneath the covers.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He mumbled, voice heavy and thick with sleep, eyes fluttered closed as his thumb brushed along the back of your palm.

“Goodnight, Buck.” You replied, offering him one more soft smile. “Sweet dreams.”

You waited until his thumb ceased it’s ministrations and his breathing evened out before you allowed yourself to relax and sleep to overcome you.

—————

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