eponastory

[eponastory]

Save Me Tonight | b.b 𐙚˙⋆.˚

Pairing | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Assistant!Reader 

Summary | Congressman James Barnes is your boss. When you begin to develop strong feelings for him, you decide to take a practical approach and download Tinder. However, when your date takes a turn for the worse, you find yourself desperately hoping for someone—anyone—to come to your rescue. Bucky will always be there to save you.

Warnings/tags | Between the events of CA:BNW and Thunderbolts*, fluff, slow-burn, hurt/comfort, yearning, cursing, sexual harassment (not by Bucky), angst, panic attack, nsfw, MDNI (18+), kissing, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, low-key switch!Bucky, protective!Bucky, breast play, fingering, save a horse; ride Bucky, mentions of violence, injuries, Bucky would let the world burn for Reader, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 17.8k

A/N | Hey, lovelies. Thank you for all the support on my last fic and 160 followers!! It motivated me to write this one, and I’m pretty proud of it. To reiterate, this is only my second fanfiction, so bear with me, I’m still learning. There’s a little something extra at the end because I’m a sucker for protective Bucky. Sorry in advance for it being so lengthy. Blame my fingers for typing away without consequence. (Hahaha, you’ll never stop me ~ my fingers) Hope you enjoy, and if you did, let me know or feel free to give any feedback:))

You were falling.

No, you were clearly standing upright, but it felt like you were falling. Whenever you looked at him, you felt like the rug was being ripped out from under you.

Him being your boss, Congressman James Barnes. He’s so handsome in a rugged, but polished way. 

Like the white button-up he’s in now. Sure, it’s sophisticated, but he has his grey suit jacket off, draped over the back of his chair. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing a bit of his forearms. A few of his top buttons are undone, leaving an immaculate view of his collarbone. That and his five o’clock shadow leave a perfect mix of rugged and polished.

The scent of his cologne is filling your nostrils—oak, amber, and lavender. It’s making your head spin. You feel crazy. You should not be breathing in your boss’s scent or staring at him like you are now.

Bucky is leaning over his desk, focused on a document. He’s chewing on the end of a pen with a furrowed brow, as if the papers had personally offended him.

You let yourself take him in for a few more seconds before you step into his office. You enter with a soft knock on his door.

”I thought I told you that’s bad for your teeth. And, if you keep scrunching your eyebrows like that, you’ll get wrinkles.” You tease, your voice is light and full of warmth.

Bucky’s eyes shoot up immediately. He gapes at you momentarily before taking the pen out of his mouth and relaxing his face. He snorts and rolls his eyes, but you can see the hint of amusement in his expression. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Always tellin’ me what to do.” 

“Maybe you’ll finally look your age if you get wrinkles.” You bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

Bucky shakes his head, but the corner of his lip lifts. “You’re hilarious.” His tone is laced heavily with sarcasm.

“Thank you,” you bow, your arm over your stomach as you bend. “I’ll be here all week.”

“Not if I fire you.” He tilts his head, smirking.

Your jaw drops in faux shock as you cross the room to his desk. You let out a soft laugh. “Smooth, Barnes.”

He swivels in his chair to face you; it’s evident he’s enjoying the banter. Bucky leans back in his seat, elbow on his armrest with his head propped in his hand. Fuck, he’s sexy.

You gesture to the document on his desk as your face goes serious. “If that’s stressing you out, take a break.”

He waves you off. “Nah, I’m alright. Besides, isn’t that what I’m doin’?” Bucky winks at you. Winks at you! What, is he trying to kill you? 

After a beat, you clear your throat and nervously grin. Bucky motions to you as he speaks. “What’d you need, darlin’?” 

You honestly forgot why you were even here, but you glance down at the packet in your hand, and it all comes flooding back. 

“You’re going to hate me.” Your expression turns apologetic. “But I need you to read this over and sign it.” You sheepishly hand him the packet.

”I could never hate you.” He grabs the papers, and your fingers brush. You feel sparks across your flesh. It’s like tiny fireworks coursing through your veins, threatening to reach your pounding heart. You haven’t let go yet, relishing in the bit of contact. 

You snap out of your daze and release them. Your cheeks warm, and you hope he can’t see the slight flush crawling up your face. You tuck a loose strand of hair that has fallen from your bun behind your ear. 

Bucky’s jaw sets as he places the packet off to the side. He coughs into his fist and locks eyes with you. “Consider it done. I’ll leave it on your desk before I go home.” 

“Perfect!” You force your voice up an octave to distract from your embarrassment. “Sorry, I know you have a lot on your plate.” 

“All good, it’s a part of my job.” 

“Yeah,” You cross your arms over your chest. “But you work too hard. Take a break.”

He arches a brow, trying to keep a straight face, but fails miserably. “Like I said, always tellin’ me what to do.” Bucky huffs air through his nose. “I could say the same for you.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to deflect your concern. “I work a normal amount, and my break is in five, so don’t worry about me.”

”I’m always worried about you.” Bucky’s voice softens.

You can’t hear anything over your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Does he realize how those words affect you? You could die happy knowing you‘re even a thought on Bucky’s mind.

He sits up in his seat and continues. “When was the last time you went home on time and didn’t stay after hours?”

”I do go home on time.” Your voice squeaks; you’re lying.

Bucky lets out a dry laugh. “You’re not foolin’ me, doll.”

”Fine, if I promise to leave on time, you have to promise you’ll take a break.”

He contemplates your words and then gives you a stiff nod. “Okay, I promise.”

You grin as you stick out your pinky. He stares at you with a perplexed expression. “What’re you doin’?” 

You let out a deep sigh. “Pinky promise me.”

Bucky‘s eyebrows knit together. “I’m not twelve.”

You give him an unimpressed look. ”You’re right, you’re a hundred and something years old. Now give me your damn pinky.” 

He grunts, glaring at the ceiling as if it were the one to make him do this. He eventually concedes and interlocks his pinky with yours. 

Your fingers tingle again at his touch. You feel like a touch-starved puppy who’s finally getting some attention. If only both of his hands were on you, holding you by your waist and pulling you in to put his lips against yours-

You mentally punch yourself, so that thought doesn’t go any further. Maybe you need to get laid. Then, all these feelings for your boss will go away. This relationship is strictly professional, so you might want to find something to keep your mind off the idea of it becoming more. 

You straighten, beaming at him. You pull your hand away and turn on your heels to stride toward the door.

When you exit his office, you grab the handle, ready to close the door behind you. Before you do, you peek your head in. “Have a nice break.”

“Yeah, you too,” Bucky grumbles.

On your way back to your desk, you're grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. This is ridiculous. You need a distraction. You pull your phone out of your blazer and download Tinder.

This should be fun.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bzz. Bzz.

Bucky glances at your phone resting on his desk before refocusing on his laptop to determine where he left off with his email. Just as he gets his train of thought back-

Bzz. Bzz.

He takes a steady breath in and releases it. Why is he upset over a simple notification? He wonders why you didn’t take it with you to the bathroom. Bucky sighs and begins typing away on his laptop again.

Bzz. Bzz.

What the fuck? How many notifications can you get in a minute? He nearly wants to reach over and grab it to see, but he won’t snoop into your business. That’s unprofessional.

Bzz. Bzz.

Bucky groans, rubbing at his eyes as he inclines back in his chair. How can he get any work done with that thing buzzing on his desk? He hears your heels clack against the wood floor as you enter his office.

“You okay, sir?” Your pretty voice drifts through the air like a bird’s song.

Bucky’s gaze darts to you, and he gestures to your phone. “Can you get that thing under control? And I told you, stop calling me that.” His voice comes out harsher than he intended.

You raise your hands in surrender. “I’ll get right to that, grumpy.” 

You grab your phone off the desk, glance at it, and press a button on the side. Then, you slide it into the pocket of your trousers before perching on the seat across from him.

“Fuck,” he grunts under his breath, massaging his temples. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep much last night, but that’s no excuse.”

You shrug and give him a soft smile. “It’s alright, I can handle your grumpy ass.” You motion to your pocket. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to silence my phone this morning.”

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Bucky scoots forward, getting back to his email. His fingers are on the keys, but his mind is elsewhere. 

“What was that all about anyway?” He points to your pocket.

You cross one leg over the other, settling into the chair. “Oh, nothing. It’s just this guy I’ve been talking to.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and he has to force his face to remain blank. He shouldn’t be jealous. He’s not jealous. You're his assistant, nothing more. You deserve to have a life outside of work, outside of him. Anyone would be lucky to have you.

Lucky fucking bastard.

“Yeah? What’s his name?” Bucky lightens his tone as if it doesn’t bother him, which it doesn’t. He doesn’t care about his name, but he’ll try for your sake. 

“Uh…Derek.” You mutter.

His posture goes rigid. He attempts to tease you, so you don’t notice. “What’s uh…Derek like?” 

You giggle, and it’s the sweetest sound. Like a soft patter of rain against a window. “I don’t know, I guess he's nice.”

”You guess? Haven’t you been on a date with him yet?” Bucky inquires.

This is entirely unprofessional. He shouldn’t be asking about your relationship status. He’s just trying to get to know you, right? It’s normal for bosses to ask their employees about their lives. 

He doesn’t see you that way, though. He’d much rather label you as his equal. You do as much work as he does, if not more. He knows he could never do this job without you.

You let out a long sigh, drawing him away from his brain's constant back and forth. “No, our first date is tomorrow.”

Bucky tilts his head. “Tomorrow’s the gala, darlin’. I kinda need you there.” 

If you asked for a day off, he would be more than happy to give it to you. However, he wants to be selfish. You are the highlight of his evenings at those damn events. Whenever he feels anxious or overwhelmed by all the rich bastards around him, he seeks comfort in your company.

“I know, that’s why I invited him as my plus one. It completely slipped my mind. I should have asked you earlier this week.”

It’s not the best situation, but you’re still going with him. He hates the thought of you being around another man all night, but he’ll deal with it because it’s necessary. This is a professional relationship, and he has to accept that, even though he wishes it could be something more.

Bucky’s silent, so you continue. “I just didn’t want to be alone all night. I always appreciate it when you come over to check on me, but you shouldn’t have to feel obligated to.” He opens his mouth to interrupt you, but you talk right over him.

“I thought it would be easier this way. You can focus on the political side of things, and I can keep tabs from a distance like we always do, but instead, I’ll have someone to keep me company.” 

You’re rambling, your words spilling out like water from a faucet. You’re bouncing your leg and picking at your nails—clear signs of anxiety. He recognizes these behaviors all too well, although his own anxiety manifests as a silent, gnawing feeling. In contrast, yours feels like a wildfire, all-consuming and intense.

“Doll-” Bucky tries to cut you off, to ease the tension out of your body, but your mouth is moving a mile a minute.

“Gosh, what was I thinking? It’s a dumb idea and entirely unprofessional. I’ll cancel and reschedule our date for another time.” Your gaze has shifted to a point on the wall, as if you’re dissociating. 

He stands up from his chair and drops down to one knee in front of you. You still don’t notice his existence as you keep chatting away.

“It’s not that I hate galas, I like them, but it’s easier around someone. I don’t even have to talk to them just to be near them-” You stop suddenly when Bucky places his hand on your restless leg, halting its movement.

“Hey, darlin’.” Bucky’s voice is gentle, calmly trying to pull you out of your trance. His thumb strokes your knee over the fabric of your pants. Your wide eyes focus on him, and your breathing becomes erratic.

“You’re having a panic attack. Can you breathe with me for a second?” He demonstrates breathing in and then releasing slowly. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Do it with me now.”

You follow his lead, breathing deeply into your nose and releasing a long breath out of your mouth.

”Good, do that a couple more times with me.” Bucky coaxes. You obey his instruction, slowing your breathing down.

Once he knows that you can breathe easier, he speaks again. “Can you tell me five things you can see?”

”Huh?” You look utterly confused.

”It’s a trick I learned in therapy. Indulge me.” Bucky continues to gently massage your knee with soothing patterns.

You give him a tight nod. Your eyes begin wandering around the room. “Uh…your laptop, that little white cat figurine I bought you—Alpine.”

Bucky snorts; he really loves that figurine. One day, early in his term, you were discussing pets. You asked him if he would ever consider having a pet, and he replied that he couldn’t because he’s too busy. Curious about his preferences, you asked what type of pet he would choose if he had the time, and he mentioned that he liked cats. That’s how the cat figurine came to be. Of course, you were the one who named it.

”That’s two. Give me three more.”

Your attention flicks back to Bucky, and he notices how drained you look. “Your tie has blue stars on it.” 

You lock eyes with him, and a faint smile appears on your lips. "It matches your eyes, though yours are the perfect shade of blue. That color is rare; I don't think I've seen it anywhere else."

Bucky swears that his heart skips a beat. He doesn’t think he’s ever received a compliment quite like that before. He decides he only wants you to compliment him from now on.

He clears his throat when he realizes he stared at you for too long. “One more, doll.”

You lift your gaze again, searching for something in his office. “That dumbass painting.” You point to the wall, and Bucky pivots to see. 

You’re referring to the painting with dogs around a table playing poker. He chuckles, scanning your face as if your thoughts are written there and he’s trying to read them.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bucky sounds offended, but he’s suppressing a smirk.

”It doesn’t fit your aesthetic.”

“My aesthetic?” The word feels foreign on his tongue, as if he were never meant to say it.

You clarify, your hands motioning to the room around you. “Your style.”

He no longer tries to hide his amusement, grinning like you are the most interesting thing in the world. “And, what is my style, doll?”

“Dark, mysterious, clean, and you’re a minimalist.” You express it as though it’s obvious, and he can’t deny your description.

”Huh, I guess I’ll remove it then. I didn’t realize you had such disdain for dogs playin’ poker.”

”I don’t, it’s cute,” you insist. “And, don’t take it down. You put it there, and it’s your office.”

“Nope, it’s already settled.” Bucky rises from his kneeling position with a grunt. “I’m removin’ it. I didn’t put it there anyway. It was here before I became a congressman.”

Bucky grabs the pitcher of water off his desk and pours it into one of the stacked plastic cups beside it. He sits in the chair beside you and hands you the water.

“Drink.” He orders, but his voice is soft.

“Now you’re telling me what to do.” You tease, lifting the cup to your lips and gulping down the refreshing liquid.

He ignores your comment and presses on. “Wanna tell me what happened to make you have a panic attack? Was it somethin’ I said?”

“No,” Your shoulders slump forward as you release a breath. You set the empty cup down on his desk before speaking again. “It was the silence. I immediately thought you were angry with me when you didn’t say anything.”

“Have I given you any reason to believe I’d be mad at you?” It’s a sincere question. You’re the only person he genuinely cares about protecting. If you think he’s upset with you, then he’s not fulfilling his role.

You shake your head, and it instantly puts his worries to rest. Bucky clasps his hands together and continues. “I’m okay with the idea of you bringin’ a plus one, I just wish you had told me-” 

You open your mouth to speak, but Bucky raises a hand to signal that he isn't finished. “I wish you had told me you don’t like being alone.”

You furrow your brow, surprised by his unexpected response. You bite your lip, searching for the right words to express your feelings.

“I’m not your responsibility.” You murmur. There’s no malice behind your words, just a woman who’s done things on your own for far too long and doesn’t want to ask for help.

“No, you’re not.” Bucky begins. “But we’re a team, and if secrets exist between us, this doesn’t work.”

He’s such a hypocrite. He’s holding back vital information from you. Bucky likes you, and no one can pry that knowledge from him. Feelings are fleeting; whatever he feels towards you will fade eventually. Right?

You smile sweetly, your eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s like the sun has entered the room. You’re bright and blinding. You’ll destroy him from the inside out if he looks for too long. 

He doesn’t mind the idea of that, though. He was yours to take apart anyway. How can he move on when you look like that, and you make him feel like this?

“You’re right. No more secrets.”

“Damn right, I’m always right.” His expression is all smug, which prompts you to roll your eyes and giggle, but it seems somewhat frail.

Bucky gets up from his spot. “You should go home. I got it from here.”

You stand to meet his eyes, defiance etched on your face. “No, I’m fine. I was going to help you-”

He cuts you off. "If you want to help me, go home. Get some rest, darlin’. I’ll see you at the gala, and you can introduce me to uh…Derek.”

You snort, shaking your head. “You are not making that a thing.”

“Oh, I’m definitely making that a thing.” Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “Now, go before I fire you.”

You narrow your gaze. “Fine, but you can’t keep threatening to fire me when it’s convenient for you.”

“Nah, I like seein’ the look on your face every time I say it.” His smirk is wide and arrogant. You glare at him in response, and it’s adorable.

He tips his head in the direction of the door. “Do you need a ride home?”

Your expression softens. “No, I’ll manage.” He gives you a stiff nod.

You amble towards the door, but pause, peeking over your shoulder. “Thank you, Barnes. For everything.”

Bucky staggers slightly. He would do anything for you. He doesn’t need a thank you in return, but it sounds too good coming from your lips. He’s staring at you like a damn fool, undoubtedly with hearts in his eyes.

”Of course, doll.” He mumbles. You hum and proceed forward, stepping out of the door and out of Bucky’s view.

As soon as you leave, he flops back down in the chair. He lets out a long sigh, metal hand running down his features. 

How will he manage a whole night with another man's arm around you? 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You’re leaning against the bar, glass in hand, and patiently waiting. 

No, pacing by the bar and fixing your hair for the tenth time tonight is not what anyone would describe as patience. You have never been a patient person, and you can thank your anxiety for that.

You arrived at the venue about half an hour ago, an hour before the gala even starts. You like to be on time or extremely early. There’s no in between. 

The real reason you arrived early was to meet Derek before the event. You wanted to chat and get acquainted before everyone else arrived. 

He’s late. You would understand if he had sent a quick text saying he would be there soon, but you haven’t received anything in an hour.

You spent the last twenty minutes pacing back and forth. The bartender noticed your nerves and slid a glass of water your way. You’ve been sipping on it while trying to fix your curled strands. This is why you usually wear your hair up—so you don’t have to worry about adjusting it repeatedly. Then there’s your dress, which you keep fussing with.

You wore a navy satin dress with a plunging neckline that revealed just enough cleavage. The back was mostly open, featuring crisscross straps. The dress hugged your curves perfectly and accentuated your figure, making your ass look fantastic. You exuded elegance along with just the right amount of sultriness.

It wasn’t your typical style, and the thought of revealing too much of yourself made you feel insecure. Since you hadn’t been on a date in a while, you decided it was the perfect opportunity to try something bold. Now, you worry that after putting in so much effort, he might end up standing you up.

You continue to drink your water, letting it cool you. You almost wish you had something a bit stronger to ease the tension in your body.

Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you as a warm hand brushes your arm. You quickly turn your head around.

Damn. Congressman Barnes.

He looks like snow cast in shadow under the midnight sky, with the snowflakes illuminated only by the moonlight. He’s wearing a crisp white button-up shirt over a black tuxedo and dark dress pants. Although his bow tie is crooked, it doesn’t matter at all. Bucky wears suits every day, but tonight he looks incredibly handsome with his hair slicked back and his blue eyes shining.

Shit. You’re gawking at him. To distract him from your flustered state, you flash him a wide smile. His warm flesh hand rests gently on your arm, but after a moment, he acknowledges that he is still touching you, and he lets his hand fall away.

Bucky opens and closes his mouth several times before spitting it out. “You look…lovely.” 

Your smile falters slightly, and you feel your breath become heavier in your lungs from that simple word. Sure, he has complimented you before, but this feels different. You can't quite put your finger on why, though.

“Thank you.” Your voice is delicate, and your grin turns genuine, unlike the showy one from before. “You don't look too bad yourself.”

Bucky huffs air out of his nose, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes seem to penetrate your very being, as if he's tearing through your flesh to truly understand every part of you. He knows your most vulnerable sides and didn't flinch. So, what’s the harm in him seeing everything?

You turn your gaze away from his eyes, afraid of losing yourself in them. Your eyes shift to his neck as you take a step forward until you're directly in front of him.

“You look perfect, but can I make one minor adjustment?” 

He gives you a firm nod in response. You extend your arms to grip both sides of his bow tie and adjust it to your liking.

“Great,” Bucky grumbles. “I can’t even dress myself properly.” 

“You did fine, it was just a bit crooked. Sometimes all a man needs is a woman’s touch to look presentable.” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone. 

After adjusting, you rest your hand over the middle of the bow tie. Glancing up into his piercing blues, you realize how close you are.

You swear he’s reading every one of your thoughts as if they’re on full display. It’s intimidating, yet his eyes tell you he’ll treasure them, keeping them tucked away in his mind in a special spot just for you.

His cologne envelops you like a warm hug, drawing you in as if urging you to kiss him. You find yourself captivated by the scent, which clouds your mind and impairs your logical thinking.

Instead, you gently pat him and take a step back, admiring your work. “Now you’re ready for your close-up, Congressman Barnes.”

He shakes his head and playfully rolls his eyes. “Thanks, doll.” He peers around the room. “Where’s uh…Derek?”

You let out a lengthy sigh. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

He looks puzzled, so you clarify, “We were supposed to meet thirty minutes ago, but he hasn’t shown up or even sent a text.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, but releases it as if the tension was never there. “Would you like me to wait with you?”

You wave your hand as if to shoo him away. "No, please, go mingle."

He seems like he might press the issue, but gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Well, as soon as he gets here, I’m givin’ him a piece of my mind for makin’ a pretty girl wait.”

He’s stolen the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping for just a bit of air to keep from suffocating. It feels as if he hasn’t realized that his sweet words are slowly killing you. Then, he walks away as if nothing had happened.

Air rushes into your lungs again, overwhelming you as if it’s choking you. You’re panting like you ran a marathon, yet your feet remain planted in the same spot.

You pull out your phone from your purse and shoot Derek another text.

I’m at the bar whenever you get here.

You need him here now. The whole reason you put yourself out there is to distract your heart from liking someone you can’t be with. And once again, Bucky has turned your world upside down. You must avoid your feelings before they sink their teeth into your vulnerable, beating heart.

Minutes go by, and finally, you see a familiar figure moving around the ballroom. Derek is even more attractive in person. He carries himself with confidence, and his presence fills the space, as if his frame were larger than it actually is.

He is wearing a casual beige polo shirt loosely tucked into mocha-colored trousers, paired with loafers. His dark hair is perfectly coiffed around his eyes, and the sleeves of his shirt fit tightly around his biceps.

It seems he wore it intentionally for that reason, and you don’t mind. You can appreciate some muscle; there’s nothing wrong with showcasing something you worked hard for.

Of course, appearances aren’t everything for you. You matched with him because of his impressive profile. He works as a financial manager, which shows he is skilled with money. He has a dog named Luna, who is a husky. In his free time, he has hosted multiple charity events and volunteers at homeless shelters.

Derek seems like the perfect guy on paper. From your conversations with him, he checks all the right boxes: he’s kind, caring, and communicates well. The only downside is that he left you waiting for almost two hours. However, you believe in not judging someone based on first impressions, so you’re genuinely excited to see how this date unfolds.

You eventually wave him over. “Derek, hey!”

He immediately responds to the sound of your voice, greeting you with an easy smile as he checks you out.

Being examined by an objectively handsome man should elicit some feelings, right? You might expect butterflies in your stomach, your skin to heat, or your heart to skip a beat. But it does nothing for you. Not like when Bucky even glances your way, then your palms become instantly sweaty.

Stop thinking about Bucky and focus on the man approaching you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a quick hug while you drape your arms around his neck. You might feel rigid in his embrace, like stiff cardboard. As he steps back, you remind yourself to relax and not let your nerves get the better of you.

Derek leans back to get the full view of you up close. “Damn, you’re hotter in person.”

Oh, what an interesting way to start a conversation. You can't help but think of Bucky and how gently he spoke about your appearance, as if it were difficult for him to express what he was seeing in just a few words. In contrast, Derek is quite bold. Perhaps that's a good thing?

”Thank you, you’re very handsome in person.”

He smirks at you like he knows it. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He pushes his hair back and deliberately flexes his arm muscles. “Listen, I’m sorry I’m late. Something came up.”

Well, that’s vague. It’s fine, you’re over it. At least he’s here now.

“All good,” you gesture toward the bar seats. “Would you like to sit?” He nods, climbing onto one of the stools, while you take the one next to him.

“What‘re we drinking?” Derek claps his hands and rubs them together. 

“I’m on the job, so unfortunately, it's just water for me. You can go ahead, it's an open bar.” 

“Come on,” he pokes you in the side. “Just one, I won’t tell anyone.”

You lightly giggle. “No, really, I shouldn’t.”

He rolls his eyes, and he seems annoyed. “You’re no fun.”

Derek turns to the bartender and orders a rum and Coke. Your water is refilled. You turn in your seat, resting your jaw on your hand, and wait for the conversation to flow.

As the night progressed, the date hadn’t. Derek only seemed to want to talk about himself, which would have been fine if he had included you in the conversation. Instead, he spoke right over you and didn't ask about you once.

You nod along and actively listen. He takes full advantage of the open bar while you stay hydrated. He is not at all what you expected and is completely different from the man you texted daily.

There’s a beat of silence, and you take that opportunity to finally get a word in. “I read on your profile that you do charity work. What charity did you last host for?”

Derek shrugs. “No idea, my dad is in charge of all that shit.”

“Huh?” You give him a perplexed expression.

“My dad runs the company where I work and organizes the charity events. Sometimes I don't even bother showing up.” He chuckles as if it’s funny, but you don’t laugh.

You change the topic since he doesn't know anything about it. "What kind of volunteer work do you do at homeless shelters?"

“That was a lie.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Look, it's tough out here for us men. Sometimes, you have to lie to even get a date with these self-absorbed women.”

You suppress your growing anger. Why would someone lie about that? You feel like you need to make an excuse to run to the bathroom.

Derek leans closer to you. “But you’re different, sweetheart.” His hand wraps around your waist, and you can smell alcohol on his breath.

He presses his mouth to your ear and whispers. “Maybe we can find a private room in this place.” Derek’s hand drifts down your back and he grabs your ass.

Your body tenses up, and you feel extremely uncomfortable. He just squeezed your ass as if he had the right to do so. You hadn’t given any indication that such behavior was acceptable. Even if you had, he should have asked for permission before touching you in that way.

You hardly know each other. You know almost everything about him, but he knows very little about you. You’re trying to lean away from him to breathe air that isn’t his, but he’s holding you close.

You almost convince yourself that this is what you want, but your body rejects the idea. The thought of having sex with him makes you feel physically ill. He’s drunk and would only be using you for his own pleasure, which wouldn’t be enjoyable for you at all. You crave meaningful sex, not a brief distraction to forget about your boss.

Your breathing is shallow, and you begin to shake. You try to speak, but the words won’t come out. Silently, you pray for anyone to come to your rescue. Although you could push him off you, you can’t find the strength; you feel frozen.

Save me, please, you think. You don’t know exactly who you’re pleading to, but you hope someone can somehow hear you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bucky has been watching you all night, especially when Derek arrived. He was supposed to go over and introduce himself to your date, but he didn't have the courage to do it. 

He’s fine with watching from a distance. He doesn’t have to hear you laugh at Derek’s jokes or look at him with your beautiful, sparkling eyes.

He places himself so that he can catch a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye during every conversation he has with the wealthy assholes. He hardly pays attention to what they are saying because he is concerned about you. While he adds a few remarks to each topic, he isn’t genuinely interested in their responses.

Bucky becomes especially interested in your date when Derek leans in closer. He clenches his fist and grinds his teeth in frustration. He almost looks away, but notices how uncomfortable you appear. Though Bucky is quite a distance away from you, he knows exactly what he saw.

You attempt to pull away from Derek, but he only draws you closer. Meanwhile, Bucky has vanished without a word to the person he was talking to. He moves through the crowd with purpose, as if on a mission that no one can interrupt.

Derek leans back to examine your face, gently pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. Bucky feels a wave of nausea; he can tell you're not interested in Derek's advances because you appear to be panicking internally.

Bucky clears his throat as he stands behind you. Derek eventually lowers his hand, and the tension instantly leaves your body. You glance back at Bucky, and your breathing becomes lighter.

”Can I borrow you for a second?” Bucky nearly grits the words out through his teeth.

“Sure.” You turn in your seat and begin to get off, but Bucky is there with a hand out to help you. You grin in appreciation and use his hand to leap down.

After you’re down, Bucky’s hand falls back to his side. You turn to Derek while motioning towards Bucky. “This is my boss, Congressman Barnes.” You swivel around to Bucky. “Barnes, this is Derek.”

Bucky nods in Derek’s direction but avoids making eye contact. Derek stumbles out of his seat, clearly drunk and struggling to hold his liquor.

“Congressman, it’s an honor to meet you,” Derek slurs as he stands in front of Bucky, extending his hand. “Let me just say, your campaign was inspiring.”

Bucky takes a moment to push down the raging fire crawling up his throat. “Thanks.” He grunts and takes Derek’s outstretched hand with his metal one. His grasp is unyielding, as if one wrong move could snap all the bones in Derek’s hand.

“Shit,” Derek growls as he grimaces in pain. ”Strong grip you have there.”

Bucky grins mischievously as he claps his hand on Derek’s shoulder. "Sorry, sometimes I don't know my own strength." He then releases his hand and steps back, offering his arm to you.

You link your arm with his, resting your hand on his forearm. “I’ll be right back,” you assure your date, but he secretly clutches his hand as if the bones have shattered.

Bucky guides you away, his expression marked by irritation. You glance up at him and squeeze his bicep with your free hand. “What’s wrong, grumpy?”

“Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?” Bucky mutters, keeping his eyes forward, as if you’ll see the reason swimming there if he looks at you.

“I don’t know; you tell me.” You stop, making Bucky halt and glance in your direction. Your eyes show concern. “Are the rich bastards stressing you out?” 

You reach up, placing your thumb on Bucky’s forehead, rubbing out the frown lines between his eyebrows. His eyes flutter closed at the sensation as he lets you melt away the tension with your touch.

You hum and remove your thumb from its spot when you register that all the strain in his forehead is long gone. Bucky peels his eyes open again as he speaks. “What stress, darlin’?”

You giggle, and it lights up the entire room. “I swear it was there a second ago.” You tease, patting his forearm. “What’d you need me for, Barnes?” 

Shit. Bucky didn’t fully consider the consequences; he just wanted to help you escape that uncomfortable situation.

So, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “I need a second opinion. Could you listen in on the conversation? Let me know what’s worthy of my attention.”

“Of course, lead the way.” You answer with warmth in your voice.

Bucky guides you towards a group of people in suits engaged in conversation. You both join the discussion, and Bucky introduces you. You shake a few hands and receive a warm welcome. As the conversation resumes, you actively participate in it.

Bucky is impressed by your enthusiasm for political topics. Words come easily to you, and you have a wealth of knowledge. He always knew you were intelligent, but witnessing you in action is captivating. 

The conversation shifts to more personal matters, including families, properties, and everyone’s golf score. You and Bucky don’t participate in that section of the discussion. 

You angle your mouth to Bucky’s ear and whisper. “I should get back, but let me know if you need anything.”

He doesn’t want you to leave. Things are easier with you around. Bucky can’t let you return to that jerk, who’s drunk and trying to take advantage of you.

Bucky gently grabs your arm before you leave and leads you away from the suits for a private conversation. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

”Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” You respond, trying to avert Bucky’s gaze.

”Darlin’,” He begins. “I saw him touch you.”

You shrug, acting as if it’s no big deal. “That’s typically how things go on dates.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not like that.”

”Please, stay out of it.” Your voice is small, like you don’t want to argue with him right now.

“What if he tries that shit again?” Bucky doesn’t mean to raise his voice at you, but he loathes this situation. He wants more than anything to protect you, even if you're not his to protect.

“Then, I’ll handle it. I’m very capable of doing things myself.” You match his tone, clearly showing that you’re getting upset with him.

He wants to avoid making you angry, so he tries to make his voice sound lighter and more compassionate. “I know you’re capable, but I want you to be safe. I’m not convinced you're safe with him.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, and Bucky sees this as a signal to continue. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you shouldn't waste your time on him. He disrespected you, and I don’t think he deserves a second chance.”

“Well, I believe everyone deserves a second chance.” You state calmly.

Bucky scoffs. “Not everyone, doll.”

You don’t miss a beat. “You did.”

Bucky's shoulders slump as he reflects on your words. He has always struggled to believe he deserves forgiveness for his past. Although he knows, on some level, that he had no other choice, that doesn't erase the lives he took and the families he destroyed.

Those feelings will never fade, no matter how often he’s told ‘it wasn’t him’. He still has to live with the screams and gore he witnessed with his own hands. When he relives those memories, it’s his hand that is doing the killing, even if it’s dark now instead of the silver one in his nightmares. 

It's not an out-of-body experience where he watches the soldier do his bidding. No, it's all Bucky; that's clear to him. Now, he's questioning his judgment all because of you. With just two simple words and that twinkle in your eye, you convinced him that he deserved a second chance and that he is worthy of the life he’s living now.

How does she do that? That must be a superpower or something.

“Listen,” you begin again. “I appreciate your concern, but please let me do this.”

Bucky’s hand drops from your arm as if he's enchanted. He doesn't want to tell you what to do; God knows he's had enough of that in his lifetime. He shouldn't do that to you either.

“You’re going to give me wrinkles with all this stress you’re puttin’ me through, darlin’.” His gaze narrows at you.

“Aw, you poor thing,” you smirk. “Seriously, please don’t stress. You're first on my contact list, if anything goes wrong.”

First on your contact list? Bucky won’t dwell on that too much, for his own sake. He rolls his eyes, and you chuckle at his disapproval. 

You step towards him and quickly kiss his cheek. Bucky practically melts at the brief contact. As you pull away, your eyes shine with forming tears. “Thank you for always looking out for me. I truly don’t deserve you.”

Bucky is stunned into silence as he stares at you, dumbfounded, as if you just told him the world is falling apart. He wants to say it's the opposite—that he doesn’t deserve you—but the words are stuck in his throat, as if he’s choking on them.

You smile at him as if you can read his thoughts, and one of the tears rolls down your face. You turn and stride away. Before he knows it, the crowd has engulfed you.

There's a sharp pain in his chest. For some reason, he feels like he just lost you. Bucky should have fought harder for you. Although he doesn’t deserve you, he would treat you right.

If it were Bucky instead, he would have a hand on the small of your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, and asking you to dance. He would take his time with you, making you feel like you were something special, because you are special.

Now he has to spend the next hour drifting in and out of meaningless conversations while he worries about you. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You wipe the tears from your eyes as you return to the bar. You’ve never felt so deeply cared for in your life, and you refuse to take it for granted. Already, you’re planning ways to show your gratitude to Bucky, making sure he knows how much you appreciate him and everything he has done for you.

You spot Derek still at the bar where you left him. His head is resting in his hand, and it looks like he has switched to water. Sneaking up behind him, you say with a hint of amusement in your tone, “Did you drink them dry of all their alcohol?”

Derek spins around, and upon seeing you, he bursts out laughing. “No, I thought this would help me sober up faster.” He lifts his glass.

You hum in response. Derek jumps down from his stool and faces you. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line. First, I shouldn’t have gotten drunk on a date. Work was frustrating me, and you were making me nervous. I thought the alcohol might help, but I realize now that it only made things worse.”

Derek takes a deep breath. “Second, I talked about myself the whole time. That was not fair to you. I didn’t even ask you anything; I just rambled on and on about shit that doesn’t matter.”

“Third,” he rubs the back of his neck. “The biggest mistake. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. That was highly inappropriate, and I should have asked you before even thinking about it.”

Wow, you weren't expecting that, but you're pleasantly surprised. It doesn’t justify what he did, but at least he’s taking accountability. 

“I think we need a do-over. What do you think?” You offer.

Derek seems relieved by your words. “That sounds great.”

You give him a kind smile. “How about a walk?” 

He glances down at your attire. “In heels?”

You snort. “I’ll take them off.”

“I’ll carry them for you.” He winks at you. You already feel more at ease with this new start.

Derek motions for you to follow him out of the room, and you do. You stroll side by side through the hallway. His fingers gently brush against yours, as if silently asking for permission. You feel warmth in your chest and heat rising in your cheeks.

He pauses by the coat room and motions to it. “I gotta get my jacket quick.” You nod for him to go ahead, and he steps inside. 

You lean against the doorframe as you pull your phone out of your purse. “I should send my boss a text before we leave.” You swiftly type something out and send it to Bucky.

Change of plans, we’re going for a walk. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. You can make me work extra :) 

Derek grabs his leather jacket and throws it on. “I thought you’d never get away from him.”

You put your phone back in your purse, and your brow furrows. “Hmm?”

“I thought he was going to hold you hostage all night.”

“Well, he is kind of my job.” You shrug with a grin on your lips.

“I know that,” Derek crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t get me wrong, he seems like a nice guy, he just asks a lot of you.”

“I don’t think he asks enough of me, honestly. I have the easiest job.” 

He tilts his head. “You don’t think he’s demanding or testy?”

“Not at all. Sure, he sometimes gets grumpy, but I know he means well,” you admit. Derek quirks a brow, then dips his head and shakes it. He stays quiet for a moment.

You press the matter because you're curious. “You seem like you want to say something else.”

“It’s nothing.” Derek waves you off.

“Come on, just say it.” Your tone is playful..

Derek takes a deep breath as he contemplates whether to say what’s on his mind. “I mean, he’s kind of a murderer.”

Your body stiffens, and you frown; you are entirely disgusted by the fact that he said that.

"No, he's not." Your voice is firm and unwavering.

“You’re defending him? I get that you work for him, but you don’t have to follow him blindly.”

You scoff. “Of course, I’m defending him. He was brainwashed for fuck’s sake and he didn’t have a choice. How would you like to be stripped of your choices and used as a weapon?”

Your blood is boiling. Why were you so naive to think that this guy was anything other than a jerk? Derek disrespected you, and now he's doing the same to Bucky. You should have listened to your boss when he advised you not to give this guy another chance.

“You believe that shit? He almost broke my fucking hand, shaking it. That seems like a conscious mind, freely being violent, to me.” Derek shouts.

You could laugh because you weren’t aware that Bucky tried to break his hand. You thought Derek was exaggerating, but now you realize he wasn’t.

You’re finished with this discussion. You need to walk away before you become ‘freely violent.’ You start to march away, but stop and turn around when Derek speaks again.

“Hold on, I see what this is. You follow Barnes around like a lost puppy because you want something from him.”

You let out a dry laugh. You can’t believe you’re still listening to this guy like he has anything relevant to say.

Derek gets closer to you again. “No wait, I got it. You’re trying to get in his pants for a promotion.”

Your heart pounds with anger as you glare at Derek. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I truly love my job, asshole.”

“No one wants to be an assistant.” 

“Well, this date is over.” You stomp down the hallway, attempting to get some distance from him.

“It’s a shame.” You glance over your shoulder, and he’s giving you a condescending smile. “You would have been a decent fuck.”

Your hands ball into fists tightly, and your fingernails dig into your palms. You shouldn’t even be entertaining Derek, but you yell back anyway. “That’s your problem, huh? You think with your two inch dick rather than your brain.”

You can tell that bothered him. “You’re just mad because I figured you out.” You roll your eyes, and your feet shift forward again. “That’s right. Go cry to your boss and beg him to fuck you.”

You keep moving, unbothered by his shouts. Derek continues, much to your dismay, “I knew you were desperate, but I didn’t realize you were also a slut.”

Your movements falter slightly. Out of everything Derek said, that’s what affects you the most. It feels heavy on your chest. Everything he mentioned about you and Bucky feels like weights tied to your ankles, dragging you down. Your vision blurs as tears prick your eyes.

You hear a door shut in the distance, and you hope that means he’s gone because you can’t hold back your tears any longer. You need to sit down, but the waterfall of tears obstructs your vision. You find a wall to lean against and slowly slide down into a sitting position.

You pull your knees to your chest and sob. Tears stream down your cheeks as you gasp for air in a broken cry.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Change of plans, we’re going for a walk. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. You can make me work extra :) 

Bucky has been standing in the same spot for several minutes, staring at your text. He’s thinking about whether to find you and take you home or stay put like you asked him to.

He struggles to follow your precise instructions; stay out of it. He strides out of the room like a tracking dog following a scent. As soon as he exits the ballroom, he hears it.

Muffled cries fill his ears, and he knows it’s you without even looking. Your back is against the wall, but you’re curled in on yourself. He tentatively steps over to you, so he doesn’t startle you.

“Darlin’?” Bucky’s tone is tender, full of sympathy. He’s never seen you like this, and it breaks his heart.

Your head snaps up from your knees. Your red, tired eyes dart over Bucky’s form. You quickly wipe the tears from your face and force a weak smile.

You point your thumb toward the ballroom. “I’ll be in; I just need a minute.” Your voice is thick with unshed tears.

“No,” he declares as he walks over to you, positioning himself against the wall while maintaining a little distance to give you space. He grabs the fabric of his dress pants at his thighs and adjusts them before sitting down beside you.

Bucky stretches out his legs and lets the quiet settle between you, interrupted only by your sniffles. After a while, he decides to continue his statement. “You’re going to sit with me for as long as you need.”

Once you can breathe clearly and the occasional tear falls, you mumble, “You should have broken his hand.”

Bucky lets out a nervous chuckle. “You saw that?”

“Sort of, but…Derek confirmed my suspicions.” It’s a struggle for you to get his name out as if it’s strangling you from the inside.

He clenches his jaw, furious that Derek hurt you and that Bucky could have prevented it. But then again, you’re stubborn, and he knows you would eventually find a way to return to your date, even if he physically tried to hold you back. Yes, he’s a super soldier, but he doesn’t stand a chance against you when your heart is set on something.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Bucky murmurs.

You shake your head. “Not right now, maybe later.” You wipe a stray tear from your jaw and rest your chin on your knee, examining a point on the opposite wall.

Bucky's heart squeezes in his chest. He doesn't know what to say or do. When he feels pain, he prefers to sit in silence. Maybe that’s what you want, so he chooses not to speak.

You break the stillness with a question. “You know how we said no secrets?”

He nods his head even though your focus isn’t on him. “Yeah.”

You slowly turn your head to meet his gaze. The color of your eyes is dim, and the skin around them is swollen.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Your voice cracks as if there’s a threat of more tears yet to come.

Bucky's throat tightens as he watches you. The sight is like witnessing a butterfly losing its wings yet struggling to stay aloft. You keep falling, desperately pleading for someone to save you from your impending doom. Bucky has been there for you, arms wide open; he’s just waiting for you to notice him.

“Could we do our post-gala recap tonight instead of tomorrow morning?” you ask, sounding uncertain, and his heart shatters.

“Works for me, doll.” Bucky’s lips lift at the corners. You return his smile, albeit smaller. At least he got that much. 

“Damnit,” his eyebrows knit together, deep in thought. “I didn’t bring my keys for the building. I can swing by my apartment-”

You interrupt him. “We can go to your apartment instead.” Your following words tumble out of you like you can’t hold back your growing anxiety. “If that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“That doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.” He reassures, and your expression softens.

You nod and relax against the wall behind you. “I think I’m going to wait in my car, if that’s alright with you. I don’t feel like being in a crowd.”

Bucky scoffs in amusement; he wouldn't leave you alone in your car, especially not like this. You just admitted that you didn't want to be by yourself.

“No,” he stands up to his full height. You were baffled, staring at him with wide eyes. Your expression read What do you mean ‘no’, but you were hesitant to question his authority.

He offers you his hand and clears up your confusion. “We’re leaving.”

“Now?” You inspect his outstretched hand and then his face.

”Yes, now. You’re ridin’ with me.” 

“But, my car-”

Bucky cuts you off. “I’ll bring you back.” He waves his extended hand around. “Take my damn hand.”

You comply, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Always telling me what to do,” you smirk, and he can't help but chuckle. You brush off invisible dirt from your dress and look up at him.

Fuck, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even with your exhausted eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You’re like a sunset, with colors in full vibrancy. Reds and oranges swirl together to create the masterpiece that is you.

“Is there something on my face? Oh shit, did I cry all my mascara off? The packaging said it was waterproof.” You grumble as if you’re furious about your makeup. He can just see you writing a lengthy review about how you bawled your eyes out, and the mascara didn’t hold up.

He shakes his head and chuckles. "No, your mascara is fine." He doesn't know why, but he admits the truth about why he was openly gawking at you: "I was staring because you're beautiful."

You blink multiple times at him, then he notices your cheeks flush. “James, I—I know I look like a wreck. Don’t lie,” you stammer out.

Bucky smirks at the sound of his first name. He rarely hears you call him anything other than ‘Barnes,’ but when you're serious or scolding him, you use ‘James.’ He lives for those moments, just to hear you say his name that way.

He shrugs. "Logically, you should. But you're beautiful, no matter the circumstances."

You’re attempting to suppress a smile, but failing. “You can’t say things like that.”

A charming smirk appears on Bucky’s face. “Why not?”

“Because,” you’re searching for the best answer, “you’re going to give me a big head.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you hold it up.” He winks at you.

Your cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. You playfully roll your eyes and slap his arm. “Are you going to keep flirting, or are you taking me to your apartment?”

Is that what he was doing? Talking to you like this felt so effortless that he didn’t even realize he was flirting. He enjoyed it and wanted to continue. He liked seeing you all flustered—the way you tried to pretend you didn’t like it, but your flushed cheeks gave you away.

Bucky tilts his head. “I can do both. I’m a great multitasker.”

Your lips part and you suck in a breath. Now he’s thinking that little comment he just made could have a double meaning. Maybe he intended it that way because you definitely took it like that. And, damn, now he’ll be thinking about it the whole way home.

“Uh-huh, I bet you are.” You reply in a mocking tone.

Bucky could do this forever with you and never tire of it. However, he knows that this is extremely inappropriate. No matter how much he wants you, he understands he can’t have you.

He wants to be the person who makes you laugh, comforts you on tough days when you're feeling anxious, kisses your shoulder when he wakes up beside you, and holds you in his arms to relieve his stress, as you melt away his tension. He craves all the cheesy, romantic moments that come with being in a relationship with you.

But you are unattainable. You’re his assistant. Bucky feels like all the other creepy political figures who fantasize about being with someone who works for them. They get a sickening power high from it. 

That’s not how he sees it, though. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Unlike the other wealthy assholes who view their employees as mere possessions, he perceives you as something precious that he doesn’t deserve. Perhaps that’s why he believes he can’t have you — because he thinks you’re too good for him.

“Ready, darlin’?”He eventually asks. You nod, still grinning. If he sees you smile like that one more time, he might not be able to stop his common sense from flying out the window.

Bucky offers you his arm, and you wrap yours through the opening, gripping his bicep as he leads you out of the building. He calls for the car to come around and helps you into it, placing a protective hand over your head to prevent you from bumping it.

Once he knows you’re safely inside, he squeezes his eyes shut and wills the feelings within him to stop burrowing into his heart. It’s like a festering wound he can never quite be free of. 

One hell of a wish that is. He’ll never get rid of these maddening feelings for you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The car ride to Bucky’s apartment is mostly quiet, which is fine with you because your mind is keeping you thoroughly entertained.

Congressman James Barnes was flirting, and he was flirting with you. He called you beautiful and meant it, even when your face was streaked with dried tears. He winked at you, and you felt your stomach flutter instantly.

You were foolish to think one date would erase these feelings, because now that you know him, no man will ever compare. You’ll constantly hold everyone to the standard set by Bucky.

Bucky's driver approaches his apartment building, which appears to be quite expensive based on its exterior. You know that this apartment was provided to him by the government upon his return to the States; it was part of the deal for his pardon. He received a nice apartment situated high enough that no one would disturb him, but the government was keeping a close eye on him.

It made you feel nauseous just thinking about it, even though he wasn’t being monitored closely at the moment. It was absurd that he had been under constant surveillance in a home he never chose. Hydra had taken away all of Bucky’s choices, so why couldn't he even decide something as simple as where he lives?

You open the door to get out, but you hear another door slam, causing you to stop. Then, Bucky jogs around the car to stand in front of you with his hand out. Ever the gentleman.

You smile and take his human hand to help you out of the car. His metal hand rests gently atop your head again as you exit. You feel like a princess with this kind of treatment.

Bucky subtly waves to his driver as the car pulls away. He then guides you inside, takes you to the elevator, and directs you down the hall to his apartment.

Once inside, you were surprised by how charming and modern it was. It wasn't at all what you had imagined, but you liked it.

“Make yourself at home.” Bucky passes you and wanders into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water, please,” you murmur, still taking in your surroundings. You take off your heels at the door, not to be polite, but because your feet are killing you.

You pad into the kitchen after him, and he’s putting ice in a glass. The kitchen is bright white with a splash of color. There’s an island with stools lined up along it, and that’s where you decide to ‘make yourself at home’.

You lift yourself onto the stool, and Bucky slides your water glass over the counter. You nod in thanks and take a sip. He then disappears down the hallway that you’re certain leads to his room.

He returns without his tuxedo jacket, bowtie, and shoes. His collar is unbuttoned, and he's rolling up his sleeves as he rounds the island to sit beside you. Every time you see him like this, you can't help but internally freak out.

You nearly choke on your water, and he’s there with a hand gently patting you on the back. “You okay there?”

“Of course, just drank it too fast.” You nervously smile, hoping he misses your lie. Bucky drops his hand when you stop coughing.

You need to change the subject because you have to stop thinking about how dreamy he looks. “Where would you like to start?” 

You take your purse from your shoulder and place it on the surface to dig for your phone. “I don’t have my laptop, but I can write your thoughts down on my notes app and transfer them to a document later.”

He shakes his head and grabs your wrist, pausing your action. “We can do that tomorrow. Relax, talk to me.”

You glance up at him, and your breath catches in your throat. Breathing feels pointless because you can't seem to exhale. His eyes are shifting in a way that makes it seem like his smoky blue gaze conveys something entirely different from what his mouth is saying, but you're struggling to understand their message.

He releases your wrist, and you come back to reality. You set your purse off to the side as you inhale oxygen properly again. “What do you want me to say?”

“What happened?” Bucky mumbles. He doesn’t want to pressure you if you’re not ready to talk.

You take a deep breath and begin to explain. “When I returned to the bar, he had sobered up a bit and apologized to me. I foolishly believed he was genuinely sorry and asked if he would like to start over.”

You let your eyes fall away from him, examining the drops of condensation running down your glass. “But, then, he insulted you, and that apology didn’t mean anything anymore.”

Bucky nods slowly. “What’d he say?” You shake your head, unable to tell him the vile words bouncing around in your skull.

”It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” He insists.

You meet his gaze once more, and your eyes begin to well up with tears. Not out of pity for him, but because it pains you to hear someone speak negatively about your favorite person. The most heartbreaking part is that the worst of it comes from his own mind.

Hydra is long gone, but now he is torturing himself. You wish you could take away all that pain and those awful thoughts, replacing them with something pure.

From your experience, you understand that the healing process is a slow journey. It requires time and energy to rebuild your mental and emotional state and regain a sense of humanity. You want to be the person he trusts enough to share that process with.

Bucky doesn’t need fixing because he wasn’t broken to begin with; he needs someone to confide in and rely on. You want to be that person who’s there for him through it all, just as he is for you.

“That’s the problem. You don’t deserve that.” Your voice quivers slightly. 

He scans your face like he’s trying to find the lie hidden in your features, but he won’t find one.

“Okay,” he lets out a long sigh. “You’re right.”

“Absolutely, I am.” You agree matter-of-factly, then deepen your voice to impersonate Bucky: “I’m always right.”

He scoffs. “I don’t sound like that.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. ”I know, I’m working on it.”

Bucky smirks, shaking his head as if trying not to laugh. His expression becomes serious again. “What else did he say?”

You wave him off. “It’s not important.”

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a disapproving look. You roll your eyes and say, “Why do you need to know?”

He shrugs. “For research purposes.” 

You purse your lips, but eventually concede. “He suggested that I was trying to…get in your pants for a promotion.” 

His jaw ticks, but you reluctantly carry on. “On top of that, he called me desperate and a slut, so truly the highlight of my week.” You release a dry laugh.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched so tightly that it seems he might break a tooth. His hands are balled into fists, and the raging fire in his eyes is unmistakable.

”Don’t.” You warn.

“What?” He grits his teeth.

“Don’t get mad. He’s not worth the energy.”

“Not mad.” He growls. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, and he proceeds. “I’m fucking pissed.”

“Well, I’m over it, you should be too-”

Bucky interrupts you. “Hold on, I’m plotting his murder in my mind.” His eyes squeeze shut for a second, and you stifle a giggle. “Okay, now I’m at the part where I hide the body.”

You playfully slap his arm, and his eyes shoot open, amusement evident on his face. “Are you making me an accomplice to your imaginary crimes?” you tease.

“Who said imaginary?” He smirks. You laugh, and your eyes crinkle at the corners. You shouldn’t find planning a murder comical, but it feels nice to laugh again.

After a beat of silence, Bucky speaks. “Can I ask why you went back to him?”

Your smile fades as you lean forward, resting your elbow on the surface in front of you and propping your head in your hand. "If this is your way of saying 'I told you so,' just save it. I already know I was being stupid."

“That’s not-” he blurts, but cuts himself off to start over. “I just wanna know. And, you’re not stupid, don’t say that.”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts before revealing yourself to him. "I haven't been on a date in a couple of years, and I had a lot riding on this one. I know it sounds naive, but I thought it would be a one-and-done situation."

You chew on the skin of your bottom lip. "When he touched me, I thought I was the one with the problem. I believed there was something mentally wrong with me for not wanting him. But I was just making excuses for him, as I always do for horrible men who don't deserve my mercy."

Bucky’s eyes are fixed on you, intently listening and absorbing every word. This support is something you didn’t realize you needed, but it’s helping tremendously, and you hope he understands that.

You sit up a little taller in your seat, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you as you open up to him. “I tried dating before, and it was terrible—one bad date after another. I made a silent vow to myself that the next guy I met, I would settle for, because I’m tired of coming home alone. I want love, and if that makes me desperate, so be it.”

You give him a weak smile as you finish your rambling. You avert your gaze and start glancing around the kitchen, suddenly embarrassed.

“Look at me,” he orders in a soft voice. You find his eyes again, and they’re earnest. “Never settle, darlin’. You are something special, and you deserve nothing less than perfect.”

You're looking at him as if he has cleared your cloudy sky and made the sun shine brighter. You don't know how to react or what to say. Your heart is pounding against your rib cage, as if it's trying to escape.

Bucky clears his throat and hops off the stool. He veers around the island and picks up an old-fashioned radio that you notice for the first time.

“What are you doing?” you mumble. He turns the dial, and the crackle of the radio fills the air. The noise fades as he finds the station he was searching for. Right away, you recognize that the music is from the forties, instantly bringing a smile to your lips.

“I found a station that still plays music from my era some time ago. I listen to it occasionally, and it takes me back.” A broad smile lights up your face as you notice his relaxed demeanor, as if the mere sound of the music puts him at ease. 

Bucky rounds the counter again, standing in front of you. He offers you his flesh hand with a charming smirk. You tilt your head. “What?”

He nods to his hand. “I’m showing you how a real date should go.” 

Your stomach does somersaults and you bite your lip. “Are you smooth-talking me, Barnes?”

“Maybe, is it working?” His voice is deep and suave.

“You know it is.”

He extends his hand further. “Dance with me.” 

You take his hand, and he helps you down. He leads you to an open space between the kitchen and the living room.

He grabs your arm with his metal hand and places it on his shoulder. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your arm to grip your waist, sending a shiver down your spine. With your hands still interlocked, he raises his elbow and points outward.

“I should probably tell you, I don’t know how to dance.” You mutter.

“Do I have the honor of being your first dance?” His expression is marked by feigned shock.

You giggle and roll your eyes. “Yes.”

His face softens. “Don’t worry. I’ll lead, you follow. We’ll start slow.” 

You nod, and he sees this as a chance to begin. “Watch my feet and mimic my movements.”

You glance down between your bodies, and he takes a step back. You take a step forward, then he side steps, and you follow. You register that it’s your turn to take a step back, and he takes a step forward���another side step in the opposite direction, and you find yourselves back where you started.

“Good, you’re a natural.” Bucky sounds pleased, which brings a grin to your face.

He repeats his actions while you follow, and you watch his feet several more times until you feel confident in your understanding.

Your gaze returns to his, and the expression in his eyes is undeniably captivating. This moment feels like much more than a simple dance. You search your mind for a topic to discuss, hoping to avoid getting lost in the music and giving in to the urge to kiss him.

“Do you like being here?” The question runs out of your mouth.

Bucky’s taken aback by your sudden inquiry. He gives you a perplexed expression. “You mean this apartment?”

“Yeah, this apartment. Brooklyn. I know you lived here, but Brooklyn has changed a lot since the forties.”

“Oh, definitely, but I still enjoy living here.” He answers with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.” You resume your thought. “Don’t get me wrong; it's a lovely space, but do you see yourself living somewhere else?”

Bucky hums, lost in thought. “Yeah, I do. I want a house away from everything—somewhere without the noise of traffic, surrounded by nature like I had in Wakanda. Maybe I’ll finally get that cat.” He pinches your side, and you let out a snort.

You release a lengthy sigh. “And, I’ll be long gone.” You’re teasing, but there’s some truth to your words.

He shakes his head, clearly offended by your assumption. “That’s not how I see it.”

“Well, if you’re talking about settling down, you won’t be in politics anymore, and I won’t be your assistant.” You clarify.

His eyebrows knit together. “You don’t want to stay friends?” 

“Yeah, I do.” You squeak.

“Why’d you say it like that?” Bucky presses, and he’s caught you in a lie.

Your heart is racing now. Are you really about to tell him how you feel? You can’t imagine a future without him in it, but if you remain just friends for the rest of your life, it might break you.

You open and close your mouth before spitting it out. “Because I want to be more than just your friend.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and his jaw clenches. His metal fingers twitch on your waist, causing more chills to run through your body. He scrutinizes you as if you had said something obscene.

You part your lips to interrupt his thoughts. As soon as you do, his attention shifts to your open mouth. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip as his gaze traces the outline of your mouth.

“Fuck,” He grunts. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

You must've forgotten you were still dancing, as you're tripping over your feet. You recover, getting back into the rhythm of the movements, but your mind feels like it's short-circuiting.

“Th-then,” you stutter, “kiss me.”

“It’s a bad idea.” His tone is serious, though a soft smile plays on his lips.

You contemplate this for a moment. He’s right; your situation is complicated, and kissing your boss would be a bad idea. Yet, you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Maybe, but you tend to have many of those.” You quip, smirking.

Bucky huffs air through his nose as if it’s funny, but when he speaks, his voice is firm. “No, I mean, it’s a terrible idea.”

You scoff, lightly hitting his shoulder where your hand rests. “That’s not making me feel any better, James.”

His smile fades, and his eyes darken. He looks as if he’s been longing for you, and now that he has permission to have you, he’s still contemplating the situation.

He comes to a sudden stop, causing you to halt your footwork as well. He still hasn’t released his grip on you, almost as if he physically can’t. You hear a deep, frustrated sound coming from his throat, indicating that he's angry with himself.

“Fuck it,” Bucky grumbles. 

Before you can fully register what he’s doing, he pulls you in by your waist and crashes his lips against yours. You gasp, and he swallows the sound. His lips bruise yours with a desperate intensity, as though he’s starved, and you’re the only one who can satisfy his hunger.

You reach out and cup the back of his neck with your palm. His hand falls away from yours as he grips the side of your neck, right under your jaw. With your hand now free, you run your fingers along his back, drawing him closer. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.

His tongue glides along your bottom lip before invading your mouth. It explores every crevice like he’s committing your mouth to memory. You swirl your tongue around his and moan into the kiss.

Bucky shifts his weight, struggling to find his footing, as if the sound alone weakened his knees. His tongue retreats, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth before he pulls away completely.

Your eyes flutter open, and you find him studying you intently as you both try to catch your breath. His fingers gently brush against your rosy cheeks and swollen lips. He sweeps your hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear.

“We need to stop.” His voice is strained, as if the words are forced from his throat.

“Why?” You breathe.

He closes his eyes as if he can’t bear to see you in this state, flushed and desperate for more of him. “If we continue, I won’t be able to hold back.”

You smooth the loose strands that hang in his eyes back to their original place. “Don’t hold back.” Your tone is low and sultry.

Bucky's eyes fly open, breathing hard through his nose. His metal arm envelops your torso, pulling you close until you feel him, thick and hard against your lower stomach.

“Darlin’,” he drawls. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your eyes dart between his features, unsure of where to focus because you desire all of him. Your hand travels down the smooth expanse of his chest, feeling the quick thump of his heart beneath your fingertips. You grasp the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until you're only inches apart from his lips.

“Yes,” you murmur against his mouth. “Now, shall we continue, or do you have any more objections?”

He releases a shaky breath against your lips and shakes his head. You must’ve stolen his ability to speak. “Fantastic,” you whisper.

You lean in to kiss him again, this time more slowly. Your lips brush against each other gently, savoring the moment. You relish the soft curve of his mouth, the way his stubble tickles your delicate skin, and the feel of his nose nudging against your cheek.

Your tongue delves into his mouth uninvited, but he welcomes it with a satisfied hum. Now it’s your turn to explore his mouth with your tongue. You don’t get an adequate exploration because his tongue is sliding against yours, making it hard to focus on anything but his taste.

His warm hand slips into your hair, gently tugging at the roots to intensify the kiss. You whimper into his mouth, and suddenly, it feels like a switch has flipped. The kiss quickly becomes heated, as if your mouths are battling for dominance.

You unclasp your fist from his shirt as both of your hands move to the buttons of his dress shirt. One by one, you start to undo them. Once you’ve finished, he removes his hands from you and shrugs the shirt off. You hear the light fabric drop to the floor, and his hands quickly return to their previous positions.

Bucky begins to step forward, pushing you backward while your hands explore the firm contours of his chest and stomach. Your calves bump against something soft, and you realize it's the couch. You break the kiss, but his lips follow yours as if he's not finished savoring you.

“Sit.” You coax.

His eyelids flip up to reveal dilated, icy eyes. He inclines back and smirks. “Always tellin’ me what to do.” 

He sits down reluctantly with a huff. You back away from the couch, taking a moment to admire the view. As you scan his shirtless body, you notice the defined muscles. The black metal of his arm glimmers under the dim light.

You reach behind you to pull at the navy ties on your back as he proceeds to complain from his seat. “Y’know, this is my apartment.” 

The ties give way, and you start to slide the thin straps down your shoulders. “I feel like I should be tellin’-” Bucky stops himself as the material of the dress cascades down your body, pooling at your feet. You’re completely naked save for the steel blue panties you're wearing.

“What were you saying?” You poke fun at his stunned expression.

He swallows hard as he observes the angles and curves of your form. "It's irrelevant."

You giggle, warm and breathy. You hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Should I take these off, too?”

“No,” he blurts. “Keep ‘em on.”

You let go of the band, relaxing your hands at your sides. Bucky stretches out his arm and beckons you closer. “Come here.”

You saunter over to him. Once you’re close enough, he grips your hip with his metal hand. His cold touch sends shivers down your body. You sink onto the couch, positioning your knees on either side of him as you straddle his thighs. 

His flesh hand drags along the length of your figure, fingertips ghosting over you like he’s touching petals on a flower. “You’re stunning, doll.”

Your heart skips a beat at the compliment. Bucky’s eyes shift from your body to gaze up at you, and you cup his cheek. Your thumb strokes his skin, and he leans into your touch.

“Me?” You mutter. “You are perfect.”

His lips curl as he tilts his head up to peck your jaw in gratitude. When he leans back, his head dips to examine your panties again, his fingers toying with the waistband as he bites his lip.

“Do you know why I bought these?” you ask sheepishly. He shakes his head, his gaze still fixed on the steel blue fabric. “They reminded me of your eyes.”

Bucky looks up suddenly at your confession. "You're tryin’ to kill me, aren't you?"

You tilt your head back and chuckle. When you glance down again, he pokes your side. “That’s not funny! I swear, you’re going to give me a heart attack. You can’t just say that and expect me to stay calm,” he scolds, but you can’t help but keep laughing.

You tip your head forward and trail kisses from his cheek to his ear. “Sorry, baby. I wouldn’t want your heart to give out,” you whisper.

As you lean close to his ear, you gently nibble on his earlobe, and he lets out a soft grunt in response. You begin to kiss your way down his neck, focusing on the spots that elicit the strongest reactions from him. Your tongue flicks out to taste his skin, and you feel him shiver beneath you.

Bucky’s metal fingers press into your hip, as if he’s struggling to resist the urge to take you right here and now. His other hand lightly traces the wet spot on your underwear, making you groan against his neck.

“Hmm…you’re soaked,” he announces as he applies more pressure to your pussy. Your hips jerk when his fingertips move in circular motions on your underwear clad clit. 

You place lazy kisses along the area where metal touches skin. It's too hard to do anything beyond that now, as your head spins from his actions. You lean your forehead against the cool metal, finding a soothing comfort in it.

“There you go, just relax for me.” His voice is raspy as he speaks in your ear. 

He moves your panties to the side, running his fingers through your slick folds. Bucky slides a single digit into your entrance and you suck in a breath. He languidly pumps his finger into you while gently kissing your shoulder.

Your warm, heavy breathing against his chest quickens as he increases his pace. He inserts another one, stroking your walls with his long fingers. You let out a throaty moan and reach up to clutch his metal bicep to ground yourself.

You tip your head back to see him as he thrusts his fingers deeply into you. A delighted sound escapes your lips as his fingers crook deliciously inside of you. You grind against the palm of his hand as he works at your core.

“That’s it. Take what you need, darlin’.” He encourages.

You tilt his chin up and press your lips to his in a passionate kiss. He responds with equal enthusiasm as his fingers expertly plunge further and faster. Lips connect roughly as his teeth graze your bottom lip to nip at it. Your mouth separates from his, and your hot breath brushes across his lips. 

“I—I want to ride you.” You pant.

His fingers falter as he processes your comment. He inspects you as if he can’t believe you’re real. His metal fingers brush against your collarbone to tuck your hair back.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, awestruck by you. “If that’s what you want.” 

He gradually reduces his pleasing movements as you nod your head in agreement. His fingers slip out of you, and when he holds them up, they’re glistening with your juices. He puts the digits to his mouth and wraps his lips around them, sucking them clean.

Your jaw drops at the sight; it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen. You didn’t realize he could turn you on even more than you already are. 

He takes his fingers out of his mouth with a hum. “You taste divine. I would eat you out, but I guess we’ll save that for another time.” He states with a wink.

You aren't sure you can get off the couch now because your knees feel weak and your stomach is a fluttering mess.

He snaps the band of your underwear, pulling you from your daze. “How ‘bout you take these off for me while I take off my pants, sound good?”

You clamber off the couch as Bucky starts to unfasten his belt. You watch him intently while your thumbs hook into your panties. Sliding them down your thighs, you realize you’re both observing one another getting undressed.

You step out of your underwear and toss them somewhere in the living room. You hear him grunt from his seat now that you are completely bare.

He lifts his hips off the sofa and tugs his pants and boxers down the length of his thighs. You watch his cock spring free and your mouth begins to water. You want to drop to your knees for him, but the thought of him inside you is too tempting to resist.

Bucky tears the fabric from his legs and mimics your actions by tossing it across the room. He reaches out and holds you by your hips, then leans down to place soft kisses on your waist. He pulls you closer, and you both settle back into your spot on the couch.

His dick rests against his stomach, hardened and demanding. You take him firmly in your grasp and he sucks air through his teeth. You pump him a few times, spreading the precum with your thumb.

Your core is throbbing with anticipation. You decide you need him now. You position yourself over him, swiping the head of his cock through your slick. You line up his tip with your entrance, teasing it.

Bucky glances up at you with pleading eyes, and his grip on your hips is almost bruising. “Please, darlin’. I need to feel you.”

You didn’t know how beautiful begging could sound, but hearing it from his sweet lips is like silk blanketing your ears. “I know, honey. I need you too.” 

His eyes soften at the nickname. You’ll save that knowledge for later. 

You don’t waste any more time. You grab his shoulder with your free hand in preparation. Slowly, you lower yourself onto him as if you have all the time in the world, wanting to memorize every second of this moment.

He releases a strangled moan as his body goes rigid beneath you. He’s stretching out your tight pussy luxuriously as you inch down his cock. You maintain eye contact with him, observing the way his face twists in pleasure.

You settle onto his thighs, and he bottoms out inside you. You feel incredibly full, it’s a sensation you could easily get addicted to. As you take your time to adjust to his sheer size, you brush your knuckles across his cheekbone.

“You feel so good.” You praise. “Where have you been all my life?”

Bucky’s flesh hand loosens on your hip to take your wrist and kiss your palm. “Right here. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You lean in, kissing him desperately because you’re already addicted to him and can’t get enough. Your lips move tenderly against his, pouring every ounce of adoration you feel for him.

You ease up on his cock, moaning into each other's mouth. You fall back down, his dick filling you once more. You maintain a steady pace up and down on him, using his shoulder as leverage.

He breaks the kiss, allowing his hand to wander into your hair. He gently tugs on the strands at the base of your scalp to angle your head upwards. His mouth finds your neck like a magnet, kissing and licking the soft flesh.

Your hips roll at the pace of his languid kisses on your neck. Your greedy pussy is taking every delectable inch of him, drawing him in deep. Bucky groans against your throat, sending vibrations through you.

He caresses his way down your body, letting your hair fall as he trails his fingers over your thigh. Your hips pick up speed, riding him quicker. His forehead rests against your chest due to the sudden change of pace.

“Doll-” he drawls. “You feel incredible.”

Bucky licks a line up your sternum as his metal hand glides up your side. His touch is feather-light on your breast, a cool sensation sweeping over your nipple. His mouth moves to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along the opposite breast. 

He eventually finds your nipple with his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. He latches onto it, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. You arch into him, a lewd noise escaping your parted lips.

He palms at the other breast, massaging and swiping his thumb over the delicate skin. The pleasure you’re feeling from his skilled tongue only spurs you on, and it drives you to ride him faster, harder, and deeper.

He grunts and bites your nipple. Your mind feels overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. Has sex always been this magical? Not for you, at least. 

Bucky is the missing piece you’ve been searching for, not just because of the sex, but because of everything he brings to your life. The sex is incredible because he is incredible. It’s that simple.

“Just like that. Fuck—you’re doing so good.” He mumbles in between kisses as he trails over to your opposite breast. His metal hand moves back to your hip to help guide your movements.

He backs away from your chest when he knows he’s given equal attention to each of your breasts. He concentrates on your face, observing the way your lips part and the sounds that flow from them.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he begins to massage it. Bucky kneads the pliable skin, moving up and down the flesh until he’s squeezing your ass. With the leverage he has, he bucks up into you with the same rhythm you set. 

Your voice breaks into a guttural moan as he pulls you down forcefully onto his cock. You continue to match his tempo, but your hip movements are becoming more erratic.

“Let me take over, darlin’.” He groans. “I wanna make you feel good.”

How did you get so lucky to have a man who is more concerned about your pleasure? He makes it his mission to satisfy your every need; you just have to allow him to do so.

You softly smile. “I think you underestimate what your cock is doing to me.”

“Well, let me make you feel even better,” Bucky reiterates. You nod in response and stop your actions.

“Good girl,” he rasps. He scoots to the edge of the couch while still fully inside you. Carefully, he positions your legs to wrap around his hips, and his metal arm covers your torso. Then, he effortlessly picks you up as if you weigh nothing and begins moving across the apartment.

You cling to him, though you know he would never let you fall. He steps into his room and gingerly sets you down on the end of the bed. Leaning over you, he kisses the tip of your nose, causing you to giggle.

“You didn’t want to fuck me on your couch?” You tease.

“No,” he lowers his mouth to your ear and growls, “because you’re not some random hook up.”

Bucky punctuates that statement by slamming his dick into you. You whine and squirm beneath him. He inclines back and clutches your hips, thrusting into you at an unrelenting pace. You throw your head back against the mattress because he was right, this is even better.

He’s touching parts inside of you that you never knew existed. Your legs tighten around him as you reach for his neck, craving the sensation of him beneath your fingertips. His gaze is locked on you, and his eyes sparkle with a desperate desire to please you.

“Tell me how that feels, doll.” 

“Fucking fantastic.” You breathe, your lungs are working overtime, as he effortlessly drains the oxygen from your chest.

A ghost of a smile appears on his lips; that's exactly what he wanted to hear. Bucky's hand moves down to the underside of your knee. He takes hold of it and lifts it up, so your knee presses into your side. Finding the angle he desired, he pushes into you with renewed purpose.

You arch your back, and you wail when he hits that sweet spot deep inside of you. The head of his cock pounds against your g-spot repeatedly, reducing you to a writhing and whimpering mess.

He’s bringing you to the edge, and it’s happening quickly. The pressure is rising within you like a tidal wave, and you feel like you might drown in it. Your senses seem heightened, and Bucky is surrounding you, integrating himself into every one of them.

“James–” His name feels like a prayer on your lips.

“I know you’re close, pretty girl. Let me get you there.” His metal hand reaches between your bodies and his thumb rubs tight circles into your clit. 

Your cunt instantly clamps down on his dick and you moan loudly. You were already close, but now you’re teetering on the edge. Your free hand fists the sheets, and your thighs begin to shake.

“I’ve got you, darlin’. Let go. I’ll be right behind you.” His words drift over you like steam rising from a hot spring, warm and enticing.

Your body obeys immediately, your orgasm hitting you like a tsunami. The pressure coiled in your stomach releases and your pussy clenches hard around him in waves. You scream out in a breathless cry, your grip tightening on his neck as you tug him closer.

You’re a shuddering, aching mess under him. Your eyes are sewn shut, and you feel as though you’re floating. A wave of euphoria washes over you, leaving you high on the sensation.

Bucky presses his forehead to yours, whispering your name like a mantra. He grabs both your hips again, as if afraid you'll slip away.

His cock proceeds to ram into your pulsating cunt, working you through your climax until he’s twitching inside you. His cum spills deeply into you with a low groan from his lips. He’s coating your walls and warming your core with the thick liquid.

His hips come to a stop, and his head rests in the crook of your neck. Bucky wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. You lazily fold your arms over him, holding him as if you never want to let go. He nuzzles into your hair, inhaling your scent. You gently scratch his upper back, relishing the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re unbelievable.” He mutters right below your ear. “You’re real, right? This isn’t a dream?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yes, I’m very real, honey.” You kiss his shoulder softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky hums contentedly and leans back, gently slipping out of you. “Good.”

He strolls away from the bed and into the bathroom, turning on the light. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. The sound of running water becomes audible, though you can’t see it.

He returns with a damp washcloth and completes his thought. “I’m holding you hostage.”

You’re smiling broadly. “I don’t believe this is a hostage situation if I’m here willingly.”

“Are you sure you don’t already have Stockholm syndrome?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

You chuckle and shake your head as he moves closer. He opens your legs and steps between them to wipe down your inner thighs, gently gliding his hand over your dripping cunt.

The sight gives you a warm feeling, knowing this isn’t the last time Bucky will take care of you. “Well, aren’t you the king of aftercare?” you joke.

“I can't leave my pretty girl in a mess, especially since I'm the one who made it.” Once he's finished, he tosses the dirty rag into his hamper and lies down beside you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close into his embrace.

You hum in contentment, burying your head into his chest. “I have a sneaky suspicion this won’t be the only mess we make tonight.”

Bucky squeezes you, running his hand through your hair to cradle your head. “I think you read my mind.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The door clicks softly behind Bucky as he treads carefully through the hall. His heavy boots thud against the floor, so he decides to take them off at the door to avoid waking you from sleep.

He changes out of his tactical gear and puts on a pair of sleep shorts. Gingerly, he moves the blanket aside to crawl in beside you. You are facing the opposite direction, and your light breathing indicates that you are still asleep.

Bucky wraps his arms around you and kisses your shoulder, unable to help himself. You stir slightly, resting your arms over his and melting into him. 

“Where’d you go?” Your sleepy voice breaks the quiet.

His chest warms at the adorable sound as he whispers against your neck, “I had some business to take care of.”

You hum and snuggle into the pillow, settling back into a relaxed state. Suddenly, your head pops up, and you peek over your shoulder at him. “James, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Bucky retorts.

You let out a heavy sigh; it's clear you know he's lying. You kick off the covers and hop out of bed, moving toward his closet. He ogles your naked form; fuck, he wants to take you again.

You grab a random shirt from a hanger and slip it on. Turning to face him, you cross your arms over your chest with a blank expression. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

It's as if you see right through him. One glance into his eyes reveals exactly where he's been and what he's done.

“What? I’m fine. Come back to bed.” He pats the spot next to him.

You narrow your gaze at him, and your expression says it all: you don’t want to make me mad, James.

“Okay, okay.” Bucky points to the bathroom. “Cabinet. Top shelf.”

You practically stomp to the bathroom. He hears the sound of you rummaging around, and you exit with the opened first-aid kit in hand. You set it on his nightstand and search through it.

“Sit up,” you command in a surprisingly authoritative tone.

He smirks and does as you instructed him. “Always tellin-”

You hold up a finger, stopping him. “Not the time.”

“Don’t be upset.” He mutters.

Your shoulders, once tense, relax as you shake your head. “I’m not upset.” Your voice is softer and more gentle now.

“Then what’s wrong, doll?” Of course, he knows what’s bothering you, but he doesn’t seem to want to admit it. You haven’t seen this side of him; he’s afraid that because you have, you might leave.

“You paid Derek a visit, didn’t you?”

Bucky nods stiffly. “I did.”

You rub your forehead with your thumb and pointer finger. “Do I have to help you hide a body?”

“No.” He states simply.

You let your hand fall to your side now that you have confirmation that no murders occurred tonight. You point to his bloody and bruised knuckles and say, "If your hand is any indication, you beat the shit out of him."

“He got what he deserved. I actually let him off easy,” he grumbles, wishing he had done more to the bastard. He didn't use his metal arm; that was an act of mercy. Now he's regretting that decision.

“That’s not the point.” You release a long breath. “What if someone saw? Or worse, what if he talks? Your job could be in jeopardy.” You give him a worried expression.

“No one saw, and I doubt he’ll be saying much, if anything at all.” Bucky’s mind drifts back to the condition he left Derek in. His face was swollen, bloody, and bruised. Yup, he won’t be talking for a while; I made sure of that.

“Not helping.” You scold.

"Listen, nothing is more important than you. I would gladly lose my job if it meant keeping you safe." Your expression softens at his words, and he continues, knowing he has your full attention. “That asshole doesn’t get to speak to you like that, and get off scot-free.”

Bucky adjusts his tone to be light and caring as he takes your hand in both of his—flesh and metal. “I will always protect you. You never have to doubt that.” 

After a beat of silence, your lips curve into a smile. “Okay.”

He quirks a brow. “Okay? That’s it, no more arguing?”

“What’s there to argue about?” You shrug. “Like you said, the asshole got what he deserved.”

He returns your sweet grin and kisses your hand gently before letting it go. You bite your lip and turn around to search in the medical kit. Grabbing an antiseptic wipe, you extend your hand toward him. "Now, let me clean you up, honey."

“Yes, ma'am.” He offers his hand willingly. You clean the blood from his knuckles, scrubbing deep into the grooves between his fingers.

“Did Derek at least cry?” you inquire, tilting your head as you examine his wounds.

“Like a baby,” he replies. You snort as you toss the dirty wipe into his trash can. Taking out some ointment from the kit, you apply it to the sores on his skin. He doesn't really need it since he’s a super soldier with rapid healing, but he lets you do it anyway because he appreciates the way you care for him.

“He apologized, by the way,” he adds. “At least, I think he did. I couldn’t understand him through all the blood in his mouth.”

"Bucky," you scoff, but then you break into laughter. "That's awful."

He wants to laugh with you, but is caught off guard when you call him by his nickname. He’s never heard you say it before, and it sounds so pleasant to him. You put away the ointment, and then he grabs your wrist. You whip your head around to meet his gaze.

“Say that again.” His voice is low and rough.

You furrow your brows in confusion but then understand his meaning, and your expression softens.

“Oh,” you shift to face him, your voice becoming seductive and breathy. “Bucky.”

He basically melts; his lips part, and all his muscles loosen up. “Again. Slower. I like the way it sounds.”

You giggle and gently cup his face in your hands, obeying his request. “Bucky…” You lean down and press a lingering kiss to his forehead. His eyes flutter closed; he believes he has died and gone to heaven, with you as the angel welcoming him at the pearly gates.

You lean back, and he looks up at you with hooded eyes. “Alright, my hero,” you murmur. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Bucky's face is etched with amusement as you utter the words ‘my hero’. He has never been called that, nor has he felt like much of a hero anyway. But honestly, that word wouldn’t matter if it came from anyone else because he only ever wants to save you.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

[eponastory]

Orion Rebecca Barnes’s favorite thing in the whole world (besides her daddy of course) is spending hours after school in the bookstore by her house and the owner GIVES her any book she wants; she’s the coolest girl Orion has ever met.  

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to notice his daughter’s sudden interest in constellations and the large stack of astrology related books piling up in her room. He’s spent her entire life trying to teach her about the stars and where her name came from with little interest from his little comet and all of sudden she’s in love.

All thanks to the girl who owns the bookstore? 

(Firefighter!Bucky, Single dad AU) 

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 

Chapter 14 

Chapter 15 

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue 

The Astrophile Files - Drabbles & one-shots from our favorite family. 

Banner above made by the sweet @chuuulip 

Mood boards: 

Keep reading

[eponastory]

The Slip Up Masterlist

Series Summary: After a last hurrah to graduating college with a future to be a family practitioner, a little slip up happens… Seven years down the road, just when things just now seem to be going smoothly, Y/N approaches that slip up from all those years ago. She’s not looking for anything right now. She is just where she wants to be in life. It seems the universe has a different idea though. One called James Barnes. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (Single mom) Reader

Warnings: Language, adulting, mentions of sexual past. (You wanna talk about a slow burn…)

Chapter 1.             Chapter 16                  Epilogue (coming soon)

Chapter 2.             Chapter 17

Chapter 3.             Chapter 18

Chapter 4              Chapter 19

Chapter 5              Chapter 20

Chapter 6              Chapter 21

Chapter 7              Chapter 22

Chapter 8              Chapter 23

Chapter 9              Chapter 24

Chapter 10            Chapter 25

Chapter 11            Chapter 26

Chapter 12            Chapter 27

Chapter 13            Chapter 28

Chapter 14            Chapter 29

Chapter 15            Chapter 30

(Completed)

Updated Last: 10-5-21

[eponastory]

«The Rook's Aftermath»

Part Three: The Aftershock - Available on Wattpad & AO3

»»———————————▷ ⨳ ◁———————————««

Summary:

Isla Stane, the New Avengers' personal publicist, has spent her life trying to get as far away from her father's tainted legacy as possible. Bucky Barnes, unbeknownst to either of them, is an unfortunate casualty of Obadiah Stane's chemtrail of evil. What happens when the truth of Obadiah's past and it's connection to Bucky Barnes' past comes to light? Will Isla maintain her position with The New Avengers, or will she let the skeleton's from her father's closet corrupt everything she's worked for?

»»———————————▷ ⨳ ◁———————————««

This work is inspired by What If...? Season 3, Episode 3, the plot line from Captain America: Civil War, and the ending point of The New Avengers in Thunderbolts*.

»»———————————▷ ⨳ ◁———————————««

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes/OFC

Warning/Tags: Recommended 18+ / Mostly Angst and Fluff with Mild Violence, Language, and Intimacy

Word Count: 2.1k

Part One can be read HERE

Part Two can be read HERE

»»———————————▷ ⨳ ◁———————————««

TAGLIST: @doilooklikeagiveafrack

(if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

»»———————————▷ ⨳ ◁———————————««

Isla’s back went ramrod straight. Every muscle in her body tightened, and her heart rate skyrocketed at the sound of his voice. She forced herself to turn around, only to notice Bucky Barnes looking at the tablet she had discarded on the counter before puking her guts out. 

She watched as his face paled significantly, a pained expression overtaking his features. His shoulders caved in slightly on himself, and his jaw muscle began to twitch as he clenched it tightly together. He flicked his eyes to Isla, panicked and scared. He tried to take a step towards her, but she immediately took an equal step back, raising her hands at him. 

“Don’t.” He flinched at the demand. 

Isla took several deep breaths through her nose. Trying her hardest to curb the anxiety attack that was building in her. She was cornered now, her back to the wall behind her, her only exit being blocked off by Bucky. 

“He killed them. Howard and Maria.” She said lowly. Bucky only looked at her in confusion. 

“The Rook. My father. He sold HYDRA the intel that led to you being sent to murder them.” It wasn’t a question. 

Bucky gave a curt nod, his eyes falling from her face. 

“I didn’t have a ch-“ 

“Shut up.” Isla cut him off. His mouth shut immediately. 

They remained staring at each other, both breathing heavily to try and maintain what little composure remained in them. 

“They were my family.” She said, watching as Bucky’s eyes snapped shut as if he was in pain. “They were probably the only parental figures in my life that ever told me they loved me. Did you know that?” She asked him. 

He cleared his throat, “I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday.” 

Isla scoffed at this. “Of course you didn’t. Everyone forgot about me after they died!” She was yelling now, but not particularly at Bucky. “After their funeral, my father shipped me away to boarding school after boarding school, doing everything in his power to keep me away from him because he HATED me! The only reason that didn’t happen sooner was because Maria and Howard treated me like I was their own daughter. I was 7 years old when they died. I spent the next 11 years fighting to survive until I was 18, and even after that, my father made my life hell until the day he went and got himself blown to hell by that damn arc reactor!” 

Isla was seething now, relentless tears streaming down her face. Bucky looked genuinely broken inside, like every word Isla spoke destroyed another piece of his confidence and dragged him down to the self esteem he once had as the Winter Soldier. 

“I didn’t know any of that, Isla. I’m sorry.” Bucky said, his voice threatening to break. 

Isla put her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes aggressively, trying everything to get the tears to stop coming, but to no avail. “Let me go.” She said without looking at Bucky. 

Bucky immediately stepped back and out of the way. Isla grabbed her tablet in a rush and legged it to where her bag was on the high top table. She stuffed her tablet in her bag and flung her bag over her shoulder before making a break towards the elevators, not even giving Bucky a second glance. 

And he didn’t stop her. 

He stayed put, listening to her hurried footsteps make their way to the elevator. He heard the ding of the elevator doors opening, and he knew she was gone. 

“FUCK!” Bucky shouted, ramming his vibranium fist through the wall. 

He was panting now as he yanked his fist from the hole he made in the newly finished wall. He was pissed. Not at Isla, but at himself. 

‘Why didn’t I think to look for the Stane’s? I needed to make amends didn’t I? I made amends with Pepper and Morgan, why didn’t I fucking think to look for the Stane’s?’

Bucky growled at his thoughts and reared up to put another hole in the wall when he was interrupted. 

“What the hell is going on? That wall was just put in, Barnes!” Mel’s shrill voice said. She didn’t sound happy. “Where is Isla? I thought she was over here?”

Bucky hung his head, “She left.” Was all he supplied. 

“Left? Without her coat? It’s 40° outside.” Mel said. “Why did she leave in such a hurry that she would forget her coat?” She asked him. 

“Because of me.” Again, Bucky was short with her. 

“Why is everyone so fucking moody?” Mel whispered under her breath. 

Bucky looked over to her but chose to ignore the comment. “Where is her coat?” He asked instead. 

“In the coat room. You know, where people put their coats.” She said as she approached Bucky, taking in the damage to the wall. “Trying to get this place to look respectable is hard, and you destroying my hard work isn’t helping.” She turned to look at him with a leveled look, “This is coming out of your check.”

“Fine. Whatever. Where’s the coat room?” Bucky asked. He didn’t seem too concerned about the deduction, he just wanted to go after Isla and try to explain himself. Or, apologize profusely, more like. 

Mel sighed, clearly annoyed with the question. “Next to the elevators, you can’t miss it.” 

She waved him off as Bucky took off in the direction Isla left minutes ago while Mel surveyed the damage. He could hear her taking pictures of the damage and muttering under her breath, but he couldn’t care less. He needed to get to Isla. 

He reached the coat room and saw the long fall peacoat that she had worn the last time she was here. He grabbed it from the hanger and hit the button on the elevator pad. The doors opened and Bucky stepped inside, pressing the button for the lobby. When the doors wouldn’t close fast enough for his liking, he repeatedly started hitting the “close doors” button rapidly in annoyance. 

“So help me God, Barnes, if you break that button I will launch something at your head!” He could hear Mel shout as the doors finally closed and the elevator started to move down towards the lobby. 

But of course it stopped at the 21st floor. 

‘Fucking Walker.’ Bucky thought to himself. 

And behold, none other than John Walker was staring back at Bucky as the doors opened at his residential floor. He was smiling at Bucky, well, that was until he saw the murderous look Bucky was shooting back at him, causing him to drop the smile and turn his expression up in confusion. 

“Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?” John chided as he entered the elevator. 

Bucky didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead, willing himself to ignore John’s existence. 

“Tell me, are you this grumpy because you’re 110 years old? Or because you have an indefinite stick up your ass?” John asked, poking the bear. 

“Shut up, Walker.” Bucky bit back at him. 

“Both. Got it.” John said, clasping his hands behind his back. 

The rest of the elevator ride was awkwardly silent, with John rocking back and forth on his feet. Bucky could feel his eye twitching with each rock of John’s body. After about 30 seconds, Bucky was about to snap at John again to tell him to stay still, but the sound of the elevator doors opening to the lobby stopped him before he could. 

“Thank fucking God.” John muttered under his breath before exiting the elevator in a hurry, not even giving Bucky a second glance. 

Bucky began to leg it towards the front door when a soft voice made him stop in his tracks. 

“She didn’t seem like she wanted anyone to go after her.” Stan said.

Bucky turned to face him, his hands balled into fists, but the kind look and gentle smile on Stan’s face caused him to relax. Bucky sighed heavily and dragged a hand down his face, seemingly contemplating what Stan had told him. 

“I need to make sure she’s okay. It’s my fault she took off.” Bucky said after a moment. 

“Be that as it may, son. You might find it more prudent to let her have some space before you try to apologize to her.” He had a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke his advice to Bucky. 

But Bucky wouldn’t budge on his stance, and it seemed after a moment that Stan knew he wouldn’t win this argument. He threw his hands at Bucky to dismiss him before turning his focus back to his desk. Bucky took the silent retreat as his que to leave and spun on his heel. But before he could exit, Stan spoke once more. 

“At least bring her a peace offering.” He said, his attention still on his desk. “There’s a coffee shop a few blocks from here,” he held his hand out with a sticky note, his handwriting scribbled on it, “she goes there everyday. I had her give me her usual order when she started here. It’s a good thing I asked.” His kind smile was back. 

Bucky walked over and took the sticky note from Stan. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Bucky said. 

Stan gave him a brief nod before shooing him away. Bucky left after that and made his way to the coffee shop Stan told him about. He looked down at the note, “Delilah’s” was written at the top. Assuming it was the name of the shop, Bucky read further. “Medium hot lavender vanilla latte with oat milk.”

‘Typical.’ Was all he thought as he approached the coffee shop, trying to build the courage to order a drink with the word “oat milk” in it and not look like an idiot while doing it. 

‘God I hope Isla lets me apologize. Please, God, don’t let this be for nothing.’

Bucky entered the cafe and knew in an instant he was completely out of place. It didn’t help that as he passed every customer in the building, they stared at him, some even whispering to each other as he passed. When he reached the counter to place Isla’s order, he was greeted by a tall man with round glasses and a toothy smile. 

“What can I get you, hun?” Jeremiah asked. 

“Uh, a medium hot lavender vanilla latte with…” Bucky squinted at the sticky note with Stan’s chicken scratch on it, “oat milk?” Bucky said, no confidence whatsoever in the order. 

“Huh, funny.” ‘Miah said as he grabbed a cup and began scribbling on it. 

“What’s funny?” Bucky asked. 

“Just that a girl- one of our regulars- she comes in everyday and orders that same drink.” He stopped writing on the cup and looked to Bucky, “This wouldn’t be for Isla, would it?” He asked pointedly. 

“Actually, yeah. It is.” Bucky answered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Hmm, small world.” Jeremiah said whimsically. 

He turned around and began to assemble the drink, leaving Bucky to stand there awkwardly. 

Once he was finished putting Isla’s order together, he slipped a hot sleeve around the cup and handed it to Bucky. 

“On the house. This seems more like an apology coffee than a surprise coffee.” Jeremiah said as he gave Bucky a sympathetic look. 

Bucky huffed out a breath, “That’s putting it mildly.” He gave Jeremiah a muttered thank you and walked out of the cafe. 

Once he was out of the cafe and onto the cold streets of New York, he realized he genuinely didn’t know where Isla lived. Frustrated and completely defeated, he pulled his cell out and dialed Mel. 

“What?” Mel’s voice sounded over the phone, clearly annoyed. 

“Look, I’m sorry for the hole in the wall. I’ll patch it myself if it helps you out. But I need a favor.” Bucky said. 

Mel laughed, “A favor? Really?”

“Yes, please, Mel. I could really use your help right now.” Bucky was practically begging Mel now. “Isla took off because of me. I did something. Something horrible, when I was…him. I need to make things right.” Bucky received silence back, “Please, Mel. I just need to know where she lives.” 

A few moments of silence followed before he heard Mel let out a defeated sigh. “She lives a couple blocks from the tower. I’ll text you her address.” Mel finally caved. “But if she asks how you found out where she lives, you will not tell her I told you. Got it?” Mel threatened him. 

“Got it. Thank you, Mel.” Bucky said before hanging up the phone. 

His phone vibrated and Mel’s contact popped up along with the address to Isla’s apartment. He took off in the direction of her complex like a man on a mission. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone who asked, but with each and every step he took that brought him closer to Isla, the more his anxiety spiked and his composure slipped. 

He was terrified about what was about to happen between him and Isla. 

»»———————————▷ ⨳ ◁———————————««

[eponastory]

MOB!BUCKY MASTERLIST

18+ | Mob!Bucky x Best Friend!Reader

the adventures of bucky and his little fairy.

recommended to be read in order, but most can be read as standalones.

just let me see them

your best friend, bucky, has done some research about makeup for you. it's imperative that you show him your boobs.

look at me forever

continuation of just let me see them.

watch me cry

request: can you write some with mob!bucky x best friend!reader where he makes her cry and they stop talking for awhile? please make it angsty!!

big mouth

you have a bad habit of running your mouth when you're tipsy. luckily, your best friend is always prepared to help you out of any trouble that big mouth of yours gets you in.

tug of war

ex!pietro wants you back, but bucky will never give you up. you're his, and his alone.

just like a fairy

the start of the most loving friendship in history.

one of mine

bucky and fairy's second meeting; a chaotic gunfight.

let it be known

bucky has tried to keep your friendship on the low, believing that's the best way to keep you safe. but he soon realizes that it's safer for you if everyone in new york knows you're with him.

talk you through it

bucky buys you a sex toy, and tells you how to use it.

how you love me

bucky's high out of his mind, and paranoid about saving you from apparent danger. taking advantage of the fact that he won't recall any of this, you reveal your true feelings to him.

priority

in your hour of need, bucky doesn't show up. what could be more important than you?

a fairy's beloved object

never steal from a fairy. the consequences could be deadly.

clingy as fuck

you overhear bucky telling sam about how clingy you are, which breaks your heart.

friends that kiss

bucky and fairy get high together.

constant

bucky gets a tattoo of your name for your birthday.

permanent marker

you get a tattoo of bucky's name.

cruel

touching bucky's fairy is suicide.

friends having fun

bucky and fairy get a little carried away after a night out.

no big deal

you want to practice giving head. who better than bucky give it to?

play pretend

in order to appease his uncle, bucky needs to prove that he's a family man. what better way to get that image across than with a loving wife? there's only one problem: bucky doesn't have a wife. he does, however, have a little fairy.

best friend

in the face of adversity, you make a tough decision. continuation of play pretend.

something blue

dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining of two lives.

alternate timeline

how things would have ended if fairy chose to leave.

first night

the honeymoon.

christmas gifts

the things your husband gets you for christmas.

marital bliss

months have passed since the wedding and you're settling into your new life as the queen of new york.

respect

as bucky's new wife, you've inherited a lot - power, money, status. but there's one thing you're yet to gain: respect. and respect isn't something you can buy or marry into, it's something you earn.

[eponastory]

Dear readers... I am going to be rewriting Watching from the Tower with an OC and a better plot.

Trust me. I think it will be much better.

I also think Part 4 is a good place to end the story as it is, so I will consider it so.

Look for the new version appearing at some point. I'm going to be plotting it out better.

[eponastory]

Marvel has no idea what to do with Bucky, but WE, the fans... absolutely know what the fuck to do with one James Buchanan Barnes.

Hear me out!!!!

Most of us fanfiction writers can absolutely write a good script for a Bucky movie... I have one in my head that would absolutely make for a great story...

But no... Marvel might kill him off in Doomsday!

GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER MARVEL!!!

KEVIN!!! KEVIN PLEASE LET ME PICK A TEAM OF GOOD WRITERS FOR BUCKY!!!!!!

[eponastory]

His personal hairstylist.

Warning- Fluff, dad Bucky

The late afternoon sun poured in through the living room windows, bathing everything in a warm golden glow.

You were in the kitchen finishing up some tea when you saw him, your husband, the ever handsome pain in your neck, because you can't say out loud about the soreness between your legs, sitting at the dining table, hunched over a few mission reports Sam had requested.

Semi-retired didn’t mean fully retired, after all.

Bucky was in sweatpants and a black tee, reading glasses perched on his nose, not that he’d admit they were necessary, scribbling things down with a pen as his hair kept falling into his eyes.

He blinked. Huffed. Blew at it. Ignored it.

Not once he asked for help.

You stifled a laugh watching him struggle, too stubborn to tie it back, too proud to ask for help.

And you weren’t the only one watching.

Natalia, perched cross-legged on the floor with her dollies, squinted up at her daddy like he was a particularly silly version of Prince Charming. She stood quietly, brushing her own hair back and murmured something to herself.

Then she got up, tiptoed to the kitchen, and reached for the little bowl you kept by the counter, her treasure stash of colorful hair clips.

You raised an eyebrow, but she smiled sweetly.

“Emergency!” she whispered like it was classified Avengers business. “Daddy looks blind.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as she grabbed her small brush and trotted off with purpose, bowl in hand.

“Daddy…” she said, standing beside him.

Bucky didn’t even look up, “Hey, baby.”

“You look like you can’t see.”

That made him pause.

He looked up and blinked as a pink butterfly clip hit the table.

Natalia held up her brush and clips proudly. “I’ll fix it.”

Bucky chuckled, setting his pen down and pushing his chair back just a little. “Alright, boss. Do your worst.”

She climbed onto the chair arm and carefully started brushing his hair, Bucky's hand instinctively went behind her back, to make sure she does not fall.

You leaned against the doorway, heart melting at the sight. Your tough, grumpy soldier, now surrounded by glittery clips and a daughter with her tongue peeking out in concentration as she pinned his hair out of his face.

A few minutes later, his hair was parted and neatly clipped back with an assortment of bows, butterflies, and one tiny watermelon.

“There!” Natalia announced. “Now you can see your boring papers.”

Bucky laughed, pulling her into his lap. “You’re the best, y’know that?”

“I know!” she said smugly, then giggled when you walked over and kissed both of them on their cheeks.

“Much better…” you said, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Now my handsome soldier doesn’t look like a golden retriever in denial.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, doll. I can still bench press you.”

“Sure you can…” you winked, giving him another kiss before walking away. “But only after our daughter finishes her makeover.”

The rest of the evening was filled with sparkly clips, stolen kisses, and a very stylish Bucky Barnes pretending he wasn’t completely in love with being his daughter’s canvas.

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

@emerald-writes @castielscaplan

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@pattiemac1 @peaches1958 @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[eponastory]

the barnes conspiracy

bucky barnes 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – soft bucky barnes x reader, comedy all the way through, comedy, found family, mentions of pregnancy/birth (not the main focus), purely crack humor

word count: 8k

Summary: The New Avengers have a running theory: Bucky Barnes is hiding something.He’s too steady. Too smug. Too suspiciously unbothered.

They’re right. He’s married. He’s expecting a baby. His wife is a badass intel operative who works closely with Sam Wilson and Joaquin Torres. But no one on the team—not Yelena, Bob, John, Ava, or Alexei—knows that.

And Bucky? He is thrilled to keep it that way.

notes – not proofread. I just wanted to write for these nerds, SEQUEL TO: Becoming Mrs. Barnes

— reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

The thing about Bob Reynolds is that he notices things.

He doesn’t mean to, necessarily. It’s just that when your brain runs on god-mode settings post human experimentation and now you’ve got an ancient cosmic entity of depression and annihilation living somewhere in your ribcage, details have a way of sticking. Filing themselves away like puzzle pieces. Slivers of clarity to hold onto when the dark gets loud.

And today’s puzzle piece? Found in James Buchanan Barnes’ locker.

To be fair, Bob wasn’t snooping. He was cleaning. The common room had been in a state of controlled chaos ever since Alexei Shostakov discovered how to order industrial-grade protein powder in bulk. Which meant the Tower had a light dusting of vanilla-flavored chalk across every horizontal surface. And when Bob tried to wipe down the table in the team lounge, he found the keys to Bucky’s locker just… sitting there.

Mocking him.

Calling to him.

Probably dropped after a workout or morning training. Maybe forgotten in Bucky’s eternal haze of brooding responsibility. Bob picked them up with every intention of returning them.

Until the cabinet clicked open and revealed its contents.

The usual stuff was there: tactical vest, spare gloves, a folded black hoodie that looked older than most team members. But there—tucked at the back behind a first-aid kit and an unopened tin of Altoids—was a photograph.

A real photo. Glossy. Slightly bent at the edges. Someone had written on the back, looping script faded from time: Come home safe, please. I love you.

The image was candid. A kitchen counter, sun-drenched. A woman, mostly out of frame, only her torso and hand visible as she reached down to scoop up a snarling white cat. Her shirt had a faint logo—maybe military, maybe not—and one hand rested just slightly over what might have been a baby bump. The light hit a coffee mug behind her, just in frame.

Bob stared at it for a long time.

Not because it was sentimental. But because it was human. Because Bucky Barnes didn’t do personal. He didn’t keep things. He barely had things. And yet this photo didn’t look too terribly old or yellowed or ancient like something from a box of war memorabilia.

It looked recent. Maybe within the last ten years?

Bob stared more. Because while you couldn’t see her face, couldn’t confirm anything at all—the handwriting, the cat, the mug, the possible bump—they all screamed intimacy.

Someone was in Bucky Barnes' orbit. Close. Domestic.

And he’d never said a word.

Bob set the photo down slowly, like it might explode.

Then, with all the grace and self-control of a man teetering between superhero and psychological detonation, he took the photo and sprinted down the hall.

“YELENA!”

Her head popped up from behind the couch where she was doing… something suspicious with a tactical knife and a sock puppet. “Someone die?” she asked, perking up.

“No,” Bob wheezed, waving the photo like it was the Dead Sea Scrolls. “Worse. Bucky might be human.”

Yelena took one look at it, squinted, and let out a low whistle. “Oh, he’s gonna kill us for this.”

Fifteen minutes later, the entire New Avengers team was crowded around the photo on the common room table. Bob had even arranged it under a desk lamp for dramatic effect.

Alexei was squinting hard. “I know this woman.”

“You do not,” Yelena said.

“I do! From somewhere. Coney Island maybe. Or Budapest.”

“Coney Island is not a memory, Alexei. That was a cotton candy fever dream.” Yelena glared.  Alexei just huffed and crossed his arms grumbling about Lena being mean again.

“Who is she?” Ava asked flatly, arms folded, stance closed off—but her eyes? Burning. Calculating.

John Walker leaned in, eyebrows raised. He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Bob was already pacing. “She’s… important. Look at the handwriting on the back. Come home safe. That’s wife behavior. Or at least girlfriend-of-several-years behavior. Or possibly nurse behavior, but I don’t think Bucky lets anyone with scrubs that close anymore.”

Yelena hummed. “Could be a hallucination. Maybe she’s not real. Maybe this is some sort of ghost photography.”

“She’s holding Alpine,” Ava said, eyes narrowing.

Everyone went silent.

Because yes. That was clearly Bucky’s grumpy white cat, mid-snarl, in the arms of a woman they’d never met—in what may be his kitchen, smiling like she belonged there.

Because she did. Clearly. Which meant—

“Oh my God,” Bob whispered. “He has a secret wife.”

Yelena’s eyes sparkled with the light of chaos reborn. “Or a baby mama.”

“No way,” John muttered, finally speaking. “I know her. Kind of. I think. Back when I was wearing the stars and stripes. Sam Wilson’s one man intel team. One woman team, I guess. She was in the background like 95% of the time I knew her.”

Yelena turned to him sharply. “And you didn’t think to mention that when the conspiracy began?!”

There was a beat of silence.

“She wrote I love you on the back of that photo,” Bob said, pointing. “That’s not just an ops coordinator. That’s capital-R Romance.” He paused, spinning on his ankle and pointing at John. “Oh my God, what if this is an ex-girlfriend who got with Captain America?”

Ava blinked. “You think she dated Steve Rogers?”

“Not that Captain America,” John muttered.

Bob whirled on him. “No! Sam. I meant Sam Wilson!”

“Oh, not me.” John said. Then, “...Actually, wait, that makes more sense.”

Yelena slapped the table. “Of course she dated Sam. Why else would he have been so shitty with our team?” 

“I thought it was guilt from that shield hand-off mess,” Ava said.

“Or,” Bob cut in dramatically, “he’s protecting his girlfriend from her ex.”

“That’s not protection,” Yelena scoffed. “That’s spy soap opera drama.”

Then Alexei sat bolt upright, eyes wide and distant. “Of course.”

“Oh no,” Yelena whispered.

Alexei clutched his chest like he’d been struck by divine inspiration. “I’m seeing it now. The forbidden triangle. The Winter Soldier. The Star-Spangled Man. And her.”

“Nope,” Ava said immediately.

Bob was already leaning in, delighted. “Keep going.”

“The Winter Soldier,” Alexei continued, eyes misty, “pinning for the woman of the Captain. His hands are stained with blood, but his heart?” He thumped his chest. “Pure. Aching. Tragic.”

“I am begging someone to sedate him,” Yelena muttered.

John just looked vaguely horrified. “Why would you say it like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Alexei thundered.

The silence that followed was immediate and devastating. Yelena gasped like she’d witnessed a car crash in real time. Alexei was scribbling in a notebook now, murmuring to himself.

Ava glanced at him warily. “What now?”

“I’m outlining my theory. It needs more details and as the long time friend to the winter soldier, I have them all,” he said without looking up. “What if Barnes loved her first, but Sam stole her—perhaps not maliciously, perhaps it was a tragic misunderstanding—then Barnes joined this team to get away from them. From the memories. From her. But he could not resist. He kept the photo. He clung to the past.”

Yelena stared. “You got all of that from a blurry photo and a cat?”

“I felt it,” Alexei replied.

Bob groaned and dropped onto the couch. “Okay, okay, okay—so option one: Bucky’s in love with Sam’s wife. Option two: Sam’s in love with Bucky’s ex girlfriend. Option three: they were both in love with her and she picked someone else entirely, and now Bucky wears her memory like a weighted blanket of regret.”

“Option four,” Ava said calmly. “She’s his.”

Everyone froze. “His what?” Bob asked quietly.

Ava’s expression didn’t change. “His girl. His partner. Maybe his wife.”

“That would make way too much sense,” Yelena muttered.

“Which is why it can’t be true,” Bob said, sitting up straight. “This is Bucky Barnes. King of the brooding loner archetype. Emotional vulnerability gives him hives. He doesn’t do domestic.”

“He has a cat,” Ava countered.

“She picked him,” Alexei said suddenly, slamming his notebook shut. “The white wolf. The tragic soldier. His beloved cat saw his pain and said: I will carry it with you.”

Yelena sighed, ignoring her father. “Alright, I’ll bite. If she’s his, then where the hell is she now?”

They all looked at each other. Then to the photo on the table. Then back to each other.

“Dead?” Bob offered softly.

“Missing?” Ava guessed.

“On assignment?” Yelena tried.

“Divorced?” John said, cringing.

Alexei wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Still in love. Somewhere.”

Yelena pointed at him. “You don’t know that.”

“I feel it,” he said again, deeply offended.

-

The photo hadn’t moved since last night.

Bob had arranged it in the center of the table beneath the desk lamp like a crime scene. A memorial. An emotional landmine.

Which is exactly what John Walker walked into again the next morning.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he announced, storming into the common room like a man with a mission. “I know exactly who she is. And there is no way she’s with Bucky Barnes.”

Bob perked up from where he was hunched over a notebook labeled “Operation Barnes Breakdown.” “Bold claim. Back it up, Walker.”

Yelena appeared from the hallway again, mug in hand like a judgmental sleep demon. “Do not say it’s because she’s too pretty. I will throw this coffee at you.”

John ignored them both, planting his hands on the table. “Back when I was Captain America, I saw her a few times. Always working with Sam. Never spoke much, but she was sharp. The kind of person who doesn’t miss a detail. She kept Torres from walking into landmines—literally. Had Sam’s back like they’d been in the trenches together.”

“She has been,” Ava said from the couch. “I looked her up a little bit and VA records link her and Sam back to their pararescue days.”

John snapped his fingers. “Exactly. And I remember the way she looked at him. Not casual. Not flirty-flirty. But like… she knew him. Like they were part of the same oxygen source. And I’m not saying she was into him, but if I had to guess who she went home to after those ops? It’d be Sam.”

“Interesting,” Bob said, scribbling madly.

“She never talked to Bucky. Not once that I saw. Didn’t even glance his way.”

“So,” Yelena drawled, “you’re saying it’s a classic case of pining. Bucky Barnes saw her, fell tragically in love from afar, but she belonged to his best friend.”

Bob gasped. “He’s in love with Sam’s wife.”

Ava’s sigh was audible from across the room. “We don’t even know if she’s married.”

“She wrote ‘I love you’ on the back of the photo,” Bob pointed out. “That’s basically a wedding vow.”

“Or a death wish,” Yelena said. “Maybe she sent it before a mission. Or a war. Or a baby delivery.”

Alexei strolled in with a large bowl of protein oats and paused. “She is not dead. She is the reason he wakes up every morning.”

John ignored the poetry in favor of his original point. “I’m just saying, if she’s with anyone, it’s Sam. That tracks. That makes sense.”

Bob leaned forward like a detective closing in on a suspect. “So then… what’s Bucky’s angle?”

“He’s the outsider,” Yelena said with a grin. “The interloper. The reformed assassin longing for something he thinks he can’t have.”

“You are all romantic disasters,” Ava muttered.

Later that evening, the group dispersed, but Bob left the photo exactly where it had always been—center of the table, under the lamp. A constant, burning question mark.

And from the hallway, a song started to play. Lips of an Angel floating through the air with all the subtlety of a brick through a window.

Yelena poked her head into the kitchen. “Walker?”

John didn’t look up from his mug. “Just feeling things.”

Bucky entered behind her, pausing mid-step. “Seriously?”

John shrugged. “It’s a classic.”

Bucky squinted at him. “You good?”

“Totally. Just… wondering if you ever think about the one who got away.”

Yelena whispered from behind the fridge door, “He’s baiting the wolf.” Bob scribbled faster in his notebook.

Operation Barnes Breakdown was officially greenlit.

-

The morning was unassuming. Quiet. A light fog clung to the Tower’s perimeter, the kind that made the building feel like it was floating above the clouds. Ava liked this kind of weather—sharp and cool, the kind that demanded stillness. Focus.

Which was why it was immediately suspicious when the elevator chimed.

Bob was first to notice. He was rearranging the mission board by color-coded priority when he heard the telltale ding. A glance at the timestamp. 8:47 a.m. No missions scheduled. No deliveries. And Bucky wasn’t due back from Tower Four until at least noon.

Yelena froze mid-sip of her espresso shot. Alexei lifted his head from where he’d been very seriously writing in his “Winters Loss: A Love Tragedy” notebook. Even Ava turned her head slightly from her spot by the window.

John was the only one who didn’t react. He was seated backwards in a chair, arms draped over the back, sunglasses on despite being indoors. A true divorced energy being brought into the room that no one asked for.

The doors slid open with a whisper.

And out walked them.

Sam Wilson, looking every inch like Captain America despite wearing joggers and a hoodie. Joaquin Torres, bright-eyed and smug with that kind of unearned youthful optimism. And behind them—

Bob blinked. His brain flatlined.

Because it was her.

She wasn’t in military fatigues. No tactical gear. No earpiece or weapon in sight. Just dark jeans, a soft-looking sweater, and a crossbody bag slung casually over one shoulder. Her hair was loose. She smiled as she stepped into the room, laughing at something Joaquin had said.

And for a second—just a second—no one moved.

Then:

“Oh my god,” Yelena whispered. “That’s her.”

Ava’s mouth tightened. “We don’t know that yet.”

“It’s her,” Alexei said, reverent.

The trio paused when they realized they were being stared at. “…Hey,” Sam said slowly, gaze moving over the stunned group. “Everything alright?”

Bob made a noise that might have been “uh-huh” or “kill me.” It was hard to say.

You tilted your head, scanning the room. Your eyes paused on John Walker, sitting backwards in his chair like the world’s most confusing youth pastor.

“Wait a second,” you said, pointing. “I know you.”

John blinked. “I know that voice anywhere.”

You grinned. “Walker, right? We crossed a few times back in the day. Intel handoffs. I always gave you a hard time.”

“You were Sam’s one-woman intel team,” he said, turning to the others, trying to subtly cue them in that oh-my-god-this-is-happening-it’s-really-her. “Guys, this is (Y/N). The brain behind half the ops I never got credit for.” 

Your laugh was quick, warm. “Credit’s overrated. You still managed to break everything on your own.”

Joaquin snorted. Sam looked smug.

The room remained frozen.

Yelena, in an act of uncharacteristic restraint, said nothing. She merely raised her eyebrows at Bob, who looked like he was experiencing cardiac arrest.

Ava’s eyes tracked every movement. Every shift of your weight. Every brush of your hand over your sweater. Was that a bump? No. Maybe? It could be the sweater. It could be pregnancy.

But no one dared ask.

Because if you weren’t pregnant…

Bob had once told a new recruit that asking a woman if she was pregnant without 100% certainty was the fastest way to die with dishonor.

He stood silently now, hands twitching behind his back, a single bead of sweat forming at his temple.

Alexei, for once in his life, said nothing. He just stared at you like he’d seen a ghost or the Virgin Mary.

You glanced between them all and then at Sam.

“They okay?”

Sam clapped a hand on your shoulder. “They’re just not used to visitors. Not real house trained around here.”

“And you’re a legend, bebé,” Joaquin added.

You laughed again and opened your bag, pulling out a slim folder. “Anyway. Intel drop for the upcoming debrief. I formatted it the way you like, Ava.”

Ava blinked. “You know how I like it?”

“I make it a point to,” you said, handing her the folder. “Let me know if you have feedback. This week’s been messy.”

“You coordinated all this?” she asked, genuinely impressed.

“I do what I can. I like a clean trail,” you replied.

“I like you,” Yelena said suddenly.

You glanced at her, amused. “I like your hair.”

Yelena looked smug. Bob looked like he was going to faint. Alexei was still murmuring in Russian. No one interrupted.

You reached into your bag again and pulled out two things: a second folder and a thermos. You handed both to Joaquin.

“The extra is for Bucky,” you said. “Can one of you give it to him when he gets back?”

You said his name.

Casually. Like it didn’t weigh a hundred tons.

The entire room stiffened.

“Yeah, make sure he gets it guys,” Joaquin said easily, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “He’ll pretend to be grumpy about it, but he loves it when she cooks lunch. It’s the most fought over thing back at our HQ.” The subtle jab at the New Avengers versus just the Avengers hung in the air. No one rose to the bait because they had just been delivered a tactical nuke in verbal form. 

You swatted him playfully. “Don’t make it weird.”

Too late.

The New Avengers were still taking psychic damage.

Ava processed that statement six times. He loves it when. She. Cooks. Lunch.

Bob stared at the thermos like it held state secrets. Yelena was vibrating. John had frozen mid-nod, trying to process the implications. Only Sam looked normal, relaxed, like none of this was a big deal.

You turned back to him. “I’ll see you later. Let me know how the recon goes.”

Sam nodded. “Be safe, alright weirdos?”

“We always are.” Ava answered for the group.

You turned. Smiled at the group again. “Nice meeting you all.”

You walked back to the elevator. Joaquin followed, waving. The doors slid shut.

Silence.

The group stared at each other.

“She’s nice,” Bob whispered.

“She remembered me,” John muttered.

“Did anyone see a ring?” Yelena hissed.

“No,” Ava said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. Some people don’t wear rings.”

Alexei looked ready to cry. “What if she wears it on a chain. Over her heart. Where the pain lives.”

Bob turned slowly to Ava. “That was her, right? We’re not all having some group hallucination?”

“She matched what I found in the intel files. The vibe. The chaos,” Ava said, closing the folder slowly. “We still don’t know everything. But yes. That was her.”

“No visible bump,” Bob said.

“Could be early,” Yelena muttered. “Or could just be good genetics.”

Alexei was writing something that looked like she moved like forgiveness incarnate in his notebook.

John slumped into his chair. “Still doesn’t explain why Bucky’s got her photo in his locker.”

“Or why she’s bringing him lunch during intel drop offs,” Bob added.

“She could just be nice.” Ava said with a shrug. 

They all looked at her in varying levels of disbelief.

She sighed as she continued staring at the thermos Joaquin had left behind. Slowly, she said, “Okay fine. I think it’s time we searched for more evidence.”

Operation Barnes Breakdown was now in Phase Two.

-

It began with a corkboard.

Bob brought it in under the cover of night, wide-eyed and jittery with the kind of manic purpose only reserved for graduate theses and full-blown conspiracies. He set it up in the New Avengers common room, pinned the photo of her to the center, and added a single header in red Sharpie:

OPERATION MALEWIFE.

Yelena saw it first.

She paused, coffee in one hand, tactical knife in the other.  “…You named it that?”

Bob nodded solemnly. “It’s accurate. He’s soft. Domesticated. Something has happened to him.”

Yelena stared at the board. “Is that glitter on the push pins?”

“Emotional detail,” Bob said. “This is a romance, after all.”

By the time Ava walked in—expression neutral, coffee black, eyes sharp—the board had three subcategories:

The Disappearing Weekends

The Grocery Sightings

The Evidence Locker

She said nothing. Just stared for a long moment.

Then, asked, “Why glitter?”

-

The disappearing weekends were first.

“He’s gone one weekend every month,” Bob explained, pointer in hand. “No missions. No meetings. No pings on the tracker. Nothing.”

“He’s off grid,” Yelena confirmed. “Won’t answer calls or texts. He doesn’t even respond to emojis. I sent him a skull and a knife. No reply.”

“That’s because he’s hiding something,” Bob said.

Ava nodded. “He’s recently purchased property under an LLC tied to a Wakandan consulting fund.”

Yelena blinked. “How the hell did you find that?”

Ava sipped her coffee. “I have access.”

John entered the room mid-theory, chewing a protein bar and looking vaguely haunted. “It’s weird,” he said, unprompted. “I met him when he was still basically growling at his own reflection. Guy didn’t even make eye contact. Now he’s grocery shopping on Tuesday mornings to avoid the rush.”

Bob’s head snapped up. “What.”

“I saw him yesterday,” John muttered. “Trader Joe’s. Had a basket. Cat litter. Tupperware. A… soft-looking package.”

“A package?” Bob repeated, eyes wide. “What kind?”

“Uh,” John said. “I don’t really know what it was. It just looked soft. Folded. Delicate.”

Yelena perked up. “Baby blanket.”

“No,” Bob said. “New clothes for a secret girlfriend to steal.”

“No,” Alexei said, entering from the hallway like a man summoned by destiny. “It is the lost dossier. The one chronicling our joint crusade against capitalistic tyranny. I thought it burned in Prague.”

Bob blinked. “You think Bucky Barnes is carrying around your memoir?”

Alexei nodded, deadly serious. “It is a symbol of our camaraderie.” 

Yelena grinned. “Or it’s a sweater. For her.”

They all paused. Remembered the sweater from the photo. The different sweater you had on when they met. 

Bob scribbled that down under “The Grocery Sightings.”

-

It only got worse.

Ava started noticing the changes.

His posture in meetings—less rigid. More thoughtful. His knife-throwing accuracy had improved by 14%, and he’d started humming. Humming. Under his breath. Like a man content.

“He made tea for John last week,” Ava noted aloud.

“And he didn’t insult me once,” John added, still disturbed.

“He brought in biscuits,” Yelena said, pointing dramatically. “Homemade.”

“He’s wearing cardigans,” Bob snapped. “Cardigans, Ava!”

“He used to brood in corners,” Yelena added wistfully. “Now he broods in the kitchen. While baking.”

Alexei sniffled. “He has found peace. Love. Possibly an electric mixer.”

Bob pinned a photo of the cardigan to the board. Next to it, he added:

Domestication Level: CRITICAL.

-

They tried surveillance.

Yelena followed him once in a nondescript SUV, only to lose him in a farmer’s market behind a stall of handmade soaps.

“He vanished,” she reported. “Like a shadow. But a polite one. He held the door for three people before disappearing into thin air.”

Bob tried to plant a tracker on his tactical boots. Bucky returned it two hours later, stuck to Bob’s forehead with duct tape.

John sent passive-aggressive memes in the group chat about honesty and emotional intimacy.

No reply.

Ava reviewed security logs. All clean.

“He’s toying with us,” she muttered.

And he was.

Bucky Barnes knew. He’d known from the second Bob started color-coding the mission board and Yelena stopped calling him emotionally constipated during training.

The first red herring had been the cardigans. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of them, but you insisted it would tip the team over the edge. 

The second had been the biscuits. They weren’t even made by you. Or him. Sam had dropped them off at your new home as a house-warming gift. 

But the real clues were more subtle. Things he didn’t know if they would actually find. 

An address scrawled on a napkin left in the common room, never mentioned.

A copy of Goodnight Moon in his gym bag.

A faint scratch across his flesh forearm—possibly from girlfriend nails? Possibly from Alpine. The jury was out.

Bucky pretended not to notice their stares. He just started showing up to meetings with the faintest scent of lavender. He hummed lullabies under his breath. He smiled—smiled—when Bob spilled water on his notes.

Yelena was so unnerved she bought a new taser. “He’s a clone,” she whispered. “Or a Skrull. Maybe both.”

Alexei disagreed. “He is simply in love.”

“No,” Yelena said. “This is more than love. This is baking. This is affection. This is a new throw pillow on the common room couch.”

Bob paused. “Wait. That’s new?”

Alexei nodded. “It has embroidery. And supportive lumbar function.”

Ava stared out the window. “We’re missing something.”

Bob turned back to the board. “We need more evidence.”

Yelena pulled a walkie from her jacket. “Should I bait him again?”

“Do not bait the Winter Soldier, Lena,” Ava snapped.

Yelena pouted. “He baits us.”

Bob tapped the corkboard. “Then we up our game.”

Alexei looked between them all. “We are not spies. Well, not all of us.”

“No but we are family,” Bob said firmly. “A fucked up one. And our emotionally reserved uncle figure is lying to us. About domestic bliss.”

“Why would he hide it?” John asked.

Everyone fell silent.

Then Yelena said, softly, “Because it’s real.”

They all turned.

“He hides what matters,” she added. “So no one can take it.”

A long pause.

Bob nodded. “Okay. Operation MaleWife continues.”

Yelena raised her walkie. “Phase Three?”

“Phase Three,” Ava confirmed. “Get me eyes on that address.”

-

Outside the common room, in a quiet hallway, Bucky leaned against the wall—smirking.

“You think they’ve figured it out yet?” you asked, stepping into view, sunglasses on, coffee in hand.

Bucky looked amused. “They think I’m a clone.”

You grinned. “Even better.”

He handed you the rattle from his pocket. You turned it over.

“You ready to drop the next clue?”

Bucky kissed your cheek. “Always.”

-

It started, as most things did, with Yelena Belova doing something she absolutely should not have been doing.

“I didn’t steal it,” she said later, twirling Bucky Barnes’ dog tags around her fingers. “I borrowed it. For science.”

“You rifled through his gym bag,” Ava deadpanned.

“For spying,” Yelena corrected, then shrugged. “Also he left it unattended, which is basically consent.”

Ava sighed. Bob was already perched on the edge of the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, eyes wide, brain sprinting.

“What’s on it?” he asked.

Yelena flipped the tags over. “Standard issue on one side. Serial number. Blood type. All very boring.”

“And the other side?” Bob asked, breath catching.

Yelena turned it over.

There was a pause.

A long one.

Then she read aloud, slow and reverent:

“[Your First Name] [Your Last Name].”

The room went still.

Bob made a sound that could only be described as a squeak of spiritual devastation. John swore under his breath. Alexei whispered something in Russian and crossed himself.

“He—” Bob stammered. “He wears her name. Around his neck. Like a curse. Like a vow.”

John blinked at the tag. “It’s kind of hot.”

“No, no, no,” Bob said, already grabbing his iPad. “This is big. This is the missing link. The second tag. Who gets the second dog tag, Yelena?”

“The person you’d die for,” she replied, solemn.

“The one you’d kill for,” Alexei added, misty-eyed.

Ava rubbed her temples. “Oh god.”

Bob opened his notes app.

He started a new document.

WHO IS MRS. BARNES? 

Inside: a 70-slide Slides presentation in progress. Each slide titled something like “Speculation: She’s the Widow of a SHIELD Agent” or “Theory 3: Interdimensional Wife Acquired During Multiverse Turbulence.” Or “Theory six: could it really be [Y/N]?” 

John leaned over his shoulder. “What about: ‘Secret Wedding? Or Strategic Distraction?’”

“Adding it,” Bob said eagerly.

Yelena took a photo of the dog tag. “I want this framed.”

-

Later that afternoon, they found the rattle.

It was small. Plastic. Pale yellow with tiny stars on the side. Sitting neatly in the center of the hallway near the weapons storage—completely out of place.

Bob stopped walking mid-stride and stared down at it like it was a live grenade.

“What the hell is that?”

Yelena squinted. “…A rattle?”

Alexei gasped. “The child is here.”

“What child?” John asks. “Not my child.” 

“The child.” Alexei insists, and vaguely, John looks like he might shit his pants. 

“No, no, no,” Bob muttered. “We’ve checked the feeds. There’s no footage of anyone bringing it in.”

“You checked the surveillance?” Ava asked, eyebrow raised.

“Of course I did,” Bob hissed. “I have tabs on every exit now that we’re doing this. Every hallway. No one on the visitor logs. No extra life signs.”

Yelena nudged the rattle with her boot. “It’s warm.”

Alexei’s eyes widened. “Haunted.”

Bob clutched the dog tag to his chest. “What if this is a message?”

“From who?” Ava asked flatly.

“From her.”

Yelena leaned down to pick it up. “It’s definitely been used. Worn edges. Baby bite marks. Or possibly cat teeth. Some kind of residue. Applesauce maybe.”

Alexei clutched his notebook. “This is a sign. A trail of breadcrumbs. She’s testing us. She wants us to find her.”

“Or,” Ava said slowly, “Bucky’s leaving clues.”

“Breadcrumbs of love,” Bob whispered.

Alexei nodded solemnly. “This ghost child. A ghost woman. They are his mission now.”

“We have to find her,” Bob said.

“We’ve met her,” Ava reminded them all. “You stood three feet from her last week.”

Yelena waved a hand. “Different. She was under supervision. We couldn’t ask questions. Captain America was there.”

Bob added a new slide to the presentation: The Rattle: Origin and Implications.

Yelena labeled it Exhibit C.

“Exhibit B was the cardigan,” Bob explained.

“What was Exhibit A?” Ava asked.

Everyone pointed to the photo under the desk lamp.

Alexei bowed his head.

Bob cleared his throat. “We need to plan next steps. A stakeout, maybe.”

Yelena lifted the rattle. “We should booby trap this. If it goes missing, we’ll know someone took it.”

“We’re not putting explosives in a baby toy,” Ava snapped.

“Not real ones,” Yelena said.

Bob added: “Slide 64: Possibility That the Baby is Already Among Us.”

Alexei gasped. “A shapeshifter child!”

“No,” Ava said, walking away. “Absolutely not.”

But the rattle stayed on the table.

And the dog tag stayed in Bob’s pocket.

And the mystery?

That only got deeper.

-

Sam Wilson didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Truly.

He was just heading toward the secure comms room when he caught a familiar laugh bouncing down the hallway. Yours. Light and teasing. Followed by Joaquin Torres, who was saying something like,  “I still think you should let me pick the godparent. I’m charming, I’m bilingual, I have great hair—”

“You’re literally already listed as ‘Uncle Baby Falcon’ on the registry,” you replied, dry but fond.

There was a pause.

“Wait, seriously?” Joaquin sounded delighted.

You snorted. “Had to give you something to frame for your wall of narcissism.”

“Mi sol,” he breathed. “You get me.”

And then your voice again, louder, joking, “Honestly, maybe I should pick one of the New Avengers. Just to see Sam’s face when he finds out someone else got the title, and reward them for the absolute dedication they’re putting into finding out if Bucky and I are married.”

Sam stopped walking. You didn’t see him down the hallway, but he could feel the mischief radiating off of you.

“I already added Bob to the gift list,” Joaquin said helpfully. “He’s buying a stroller and emotional devastation in equal measure. He tried to get me to tell him the baby’s father and I acted like I forgot how to speak English.”

“Beautiful. I’m more tempted now just to mess with them,” you added.

Sam took a deep breath. Then called out— “You make a guy named Bob the godfather, and I will bring back the trademark lawsuit.”

You yelped. Joaquin laughed.

Sam rounded the corner with a mock-glare on his face.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “No fake Avengers are getting godparent privileges before me. I bled for this baby.”

���You got a papercut filing the maternity leave paperwork,” you reminded him.

“Still counts.”

Joaquin clapped Sam on the shoulder. “You’re just mad ‘Uncle Baby Falcon’ outranks you on the registry.”

Sam grumbled. “I swear to god, if Red Guardian gets anything before I do—”

“Relax,” you said, holding up a hand. “No one’s outranking you. You’re just dramatic.”

“Learned from the best,” Sam said, giving you a pointed look.

You stuck your tongue out.

Sam shook his head with a sigh, then paused, squinting. “Wait, are you wearing your ring today?”

You just smirked.

Sam blinked. Then gave an exaggerated groan and turned around. “Nope. Not my business. I’m walking away.”

“You love us,” you called after him.

“I’m ignoring you,” he shot back.

-

Meanwhile, within the group staking out the Tower, chaos was unfolding.

Yelena was crouched behind a plant display outside, hunched over a tablet. Bob had taken up surveillance from a rooftop with a pair of binoculars. Ava sat in the public lounge, waiting for an opportunity to run into you ‘accidentally’, pretending to read a report while making detailed notes in the margins titled “Sam’s Team: Suspects or Shields?”

John Walker stood behind a column, arms crossed. “This is stupid,” he muttered. “We don’t even know if she’s dating one of them.”

“She is literally teasing Sam Wilson about something right now,” Bob whispered, still breathless. “That implies trust. That implies closeness.”

“That implies nothing,” Ava muttered.

“Torres put me on the gift registry,” Bob hissed.

“She put me on the gift registry,” Yelena added, then paused. “Okay fine. I added myself.”

John rolled his eyes. “Can we even confirm that one of the three men are her baby daddy? This is sounding a lot like Mama Mia.”

“Firstly, how do you know about Mama Mia? Secondly, not without asking,” Yelena replied.

“And we’re not just asking her why?”

“Because,” Bob said dramatically, “if we’re wrong, it’s unforgivable. What if she’s not even pregnant and this baby registry is some kind of hazing from the ‘OG Avengers’? We can’t risk being known for that kind of body-shaming.”

“Correct,” Ava said. “Also, because it’s none of our business.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes. “What is our business is uncovering which of the three men she’s married to.”

“She’s not married to any of them,” John muttered.

“You don’t know that.”

Bob turned. “Let’s assess the suspects.”

He flipped open his iPad to a page labeled: Mama Mia Here We Go Again– Romantic Viability Breakdown

“Suspect One: Sam Wilson. Captain America. Established history of closeness. High levels of trust. Emotional chemistry.”

Yelena nodded. “She did laugh at all his jokes.”

“She laughed at my jokes. Do you think we’re married?” John muttered.

“No,” Yelena said. “Because you suck, Walker.”

Bob continued: “Suspect Two: Joaquin Torres. Falcon Junior. Known for excessive nicknames and flirtation. Seems to gravitate toward her in every room.”

“He calls her mi cielo,” Ava noted, not looking up. “That’s a term of endearment.”

“It’s also what he called the vending machine once,” John added.

“Still counts,” Bob said. “He’s too comfortable with her.”

Yelena hummed. “But would she marry someone younger?”

A pause.

“Yeah,” everyone agreed.

“Suspect Three,” Bob said, flipping the page. “Bucky Barnes.”

The silence was immediate.

John frowned. “That one doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” Yelena asked.

“He doesn’t act like a man in love,” John said. “He barely looks at her when they’re in a room.”

“Thank you Captain Divorce. It’s obviously classic avoidance,” Yelena countered.

“Or he’s hiding something deeper,” Bob added. “Also—dog tag.”

John sighed. “Still think it’s Sam. Barnes gives one-sided yearner energy.”

“Don’t discount Bucky just because he’s broody,” Yelena warned. “That’s how tragedies happen.”

Bob scribbled something in his notebook. “We need another data point.”

Yelena grinned. “We need to follow her.”

“No,” Ava said.

“Gently.”

“No.”

“From afar.”

“No.”

Bob was already standing. “Let’s tail them at lunch. Observe interactions. Record body language. Someone will crack.”

“You people need hobbies,” Ava muttered.

Bob looked up, eyes wide. “This is my hobby.”

Yelena snapped her gum. “Time to play Cupid. Or Sherlock. Either works.”

John exhaled slowly. “God help us all.”

They began to disperse, plans forming.

And miles away in another part of the Tower, you laughed softly as you rubbed a hand over your belly, wedding ring cool against finger. 

-

Things came screeching to a halt later that day. 

Yelena, Bob, Ava, John, and Alexei had split into two groups to follow you, the alleged wife-maybe-girlfriend-maybe-ex of one James Buchanan Barnes. Their collective hope? That you’d reveal something. A clue. A slip-up. Anything.

Yelena spotted it first. They were watching you from two tables down at that overpriced sandwich place Sam liked. You sat between him and Joaquin, laughing at something the latter had said, sipping an iced tea, and absently running your fingers through your hair.

That’s when the sunlight caught it.

A ring. Dark metal. Subtle but clearly worn and well-loved. It gleamed faintly in the sun—sleek, black, and definitely not standard issue. Almost like vibranium, though no one on the team made that connection.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Zoom in,” she whispered.

Bob, who had absolutely brought surveillance equipment for this illegal and slightly deranged operation, adjusted the angle. The camera feed sharpened.

There it was.

A delicate band. Worn on your finger.

A wedding ring.

Alexei gasped. “She. Is. Wed.”

“No shit,” Bob muttered. “How long has she been hiding that?”

“Alexei was right— maybe she was wearing it on a necklace,” Yelena noted. “But now she’s wearing it out in the open. Bold.”

“It’s not traditional gold,” Ava said, squinting. “Looks darker. Black metal, maybe?”

“Symbolic,” Alexei murmured. “A ring forged in grief and vengeance.”

Unbeknownst to them, your wedding ring was made of vibranium—crafted from a damaged piece of Bucky’s arm, melted down and reshaped with Shuri’s help. But to the team, it just looked cool. Possibly titanium. Maybe onyx. Mysterious. But not a giveaway.

Later that day, they returned to the Tower.

The photo was back in its place of honor. The conspiracy board now took up two entire walls of the common room.

“Did you see the way she looked at Sam?” Bob asked, pacing. “That wasn’t just coworker chemistry. That was ‘we share a mortgage’ chemistry.”

“She touched his arm,” John muttered. “Twice.”

“She laughed at his joke,” Yelena added. “No one’s done that since 2024.”

Alexei pointed to the top corner of the board, where a post-it note read: ‘Wife? Widow? Wistful fantasy?’ “I told you,” he said. “She is his great love. But not Barnes’s. Sam’s.”

Just then, Bucky walked in.

They all went silent.

He paused in the doorway, suspicious.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

His eyes flicked to the wall. Saw the web of string and photos. Blinked. Sighed.

“I’m not even gonna ask.”

But as he poured a cup of coffee, Ava made her move. She leaned against the counter beside him. Casual. Deceptively so. “So… that girl you’ve been seen with lately?”

Bucky didn’t look up. “What about her?”

“She’s married, isn’t she?”

A pause.

Then: “Yeah.”

A collective, barely contained gasp echoed behind them. Ava tilted her head. “Must be rough. Working with someone when you clearly—”

“I’m not working with her.”

“Ah,” Ava said, nodding like a detective who’d just cracked the case. “So you do still have feelings.”

Bucky looked over at her, deadpan. “What do you mean still?”

Bob scribbled furiously in his notebook.

“He confirms she’s married,” Yelena whispered. “But not to him.”

“Oh my God,” Bob said. “He’s in love with her. And she married someone else. And now he sees her all the time and can’t say anything.”

“He wears her name around his neck like a curse,” John murmured, eyes on the second dog tag Yelena had stolen earlier.

A beat.

Then Bob stood up and pressed play on his speaker.

John’s voice rose with recognition. “No. Don’t—”

Too late.

The opening chords of Lips of an Angel by Hinder echoed through the common room. Again. 

Bucky froze. “What the hell is this?”

“Your heartbreak playlist,” Bob said solemnly.

“I’m not heartbroken,” Bucky gritted out.

“You wear a dog tag with her name carved into it.” John said, nearly shouting.

Bucky rubbed his temple. “She’s just… important to me.”

“Oh my God,” Yelena whispered. “They were lovers.”

“She married Sam. They send him to us to keep Bucky away,” Ava added.

Alexei wiped a tear. “This is so tragic.”

Bob updated the conspiracy board.

Operation Heartbreak Recovery was in full swing.

-

They hadn’t seen you in person since Operation Heartbreak Recovery launched. 

That mission had left the New Avengers in emotional shambles and collective denial, their conspiracy board covered in blurry screenshots, hand-drawn charts, and wild speculation.

So when Captain America’s team rolled into the safe house, Bob nearly dropped his comms mic.

“Target acquired,” he whispered dramatically.

“Do not call her that,” Ava hissed.

“Target Two acquired,” Yelena added, nodding toward Bucky.

“Confirmed,” Alexei said, scribbling something on his notepad that definitely looked like wedding vows. “The Barnes-Wilson entanglement deepens.”

The op was simple: a recon extraction with backup from Captain America’s unit. The real mission? Covert observational espionage. Surveillance of You, Captain Sam Wilson, and the suspected emotionally compromised asset, James Buchanan Barnes.

You entered first, confident and cool as ever, nodding to the crew with a polite smile. Joaquin followed with a grin and a peace sign. Sam gave a short briefing and went to coordinate on the comms.

Bucky followed a beat later, tactical gear in place, expression unreadable—until his eyes flicked toward you. His shoulders softened by half an inch. Just enough for the trained (and wildly obsessed) to notice.

“Copy all, perimeter clear,” you said into your mic.

Then came the moment.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky’s voice crackled through the comms, warm and automatic, “watch your six.”

Dead silence.

The New Avengers stared at one another in slow horror.

Bob’s eyes twitched. Ava’s jaw clenched. Alexei clutched the tactical map to his chest.

Yelena choked on a sip of water.

“Did he just—?” Bob asked, eyes wide.

“Rewind it,” Ava snapped.

Bob hit playback. The audio looped.

“Sweetheart. Watch your six.”

“Direct. Present-tense. Endearing,” Alexei muttered, pacing. “They are lovers. He has claimed her. It is over. It’s an affair for the ages.”

“Or it’s just a nickname,” Ava countered, though her voice sounded less confident than usual.

Yelena threw a protein bar at the nearest wall. “This is psychological warfare.”

The mission itself went smoothly—almost too smoothly. You, Sam, Joaquin, and Bucky operated like a well-oiled machine. Calm comms. Coordinated exits. No visible signs of emotional duress. Which only made it worse.

Back at the van, you removed your comm earpiece and turned to Bucky, arching a brow.

“You call everyone sweetheart now, Barnes?”

He smirked. “Just the important ones.”

Before anyone could implode from sheer subtext, you turned to Sam. “Tell your husband to behave.”

That did it.

Alexei inhaled sharply. “They are wed! I knew it!”

Bob let out a strangled noise. “Alexei… you don’t know—- Wait, wait—husband?!”

Bucky’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Captain Husband’s got a nice ring to it.”

Sam, without missing a beat, “Don’t forget your vows, babe.”

Bucky placed a hand on his chest. “To honor and protect, in gunfire and in peace.”

“I now pronounce you emotionally unavailable and deeply in denial,” you muttered, brushing past them.

Yelena was vibrating with rage. “She’s gotta be helping them gaslight us. That traitor.”

Bob was scribbling furiously. “The marriage theory has officially collapsed. Unless—it’s a polycule. No, no, too chaotic. We need to reset.”

“I’ll officiate the renewal ceremony!” Alexei boomed. “Winter Soldier and Captain Eagle of Justice! We shall gather at dawn!”

Ava groaned. “We’re being played.”

Yelena pointed accusingly toward your retreating figure. “She knows we’re watching. She’s sabotaging our investigation.”

“No,” Bob whispered. “She’s protecting someone.”

They all looked back at Bucky, who was sipping from a canteen and definitely not smiling.

“I don’t trust it,” Ava muttered.

“But I ship it,” Yelena admitted.

Alexei wiped a tear. “They are the drama. They are the tragedy.”

Bob nodded solemnly. “So you mean to tell me that Operation MaleWife continues.”

-

It started with the mail.

To be fair, Bob had not been intending to snoop. But the New Avengers mailroom was catastrophically disorganized, and someone had left a stack of envelopes tucked on top of the break room fridge.

Bob, of course, had been cleaning.

(He always cleaned when the intrusive thoughts hit, which, considering the state of the mailroom, had hit particularly hard.)

Among the stack of old takeout menus and unopened Tower maintenance memos, there was one envelope that stood out.

It was thick, customized, and hand-addressed in dark blue ink.

To: Uncle Sam & Tío Baby Falcon.

Bob stared.

He stared harder.

The handwriting was neat but casual. It matched the exact handwriting on the photo. The envelope was decorated with tiny cartoon wings and little red hearts. He might not have had a cosmic god of darkness living in his brain, but he was not an idiot.

There were only three people in this world who called Joaquin Torres anything as ridiculous as “Tío Baby Falcon.” And one of them definitely wasn’t Bucky Barnes.

He held the envelope like it might explode.

Sam and Joaquin were both off-site. Bucky had left in a hurry that morning. Bob had been halfway to texting Yelena when he stopped, staring at the cursive again.

The return address wasn’t listed. But the seal on the back was stamped with a wax S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.

It was a baby shower invitation.

He could feel it.

Why else would it be addressed to Uncles? And you were definitely pregnant. 

But why would it be here?

Bob set it down. Carefully. Respectfully. And then sat three feet away from it, watching it like it might walk away.

Yelena found him twenty minutes later, still sitting.

“Are you high?”

“I found something,” he whispered.

“Oh no.”

“It’s addressed to Tío Baby Falcon.”

She dropped her protein bar.

By the time Alexei arrived, Bob had roped Ava into staring at the envelope as well. They were locked in an eternal standoff: no one wanted to open it. But no one wanted to not know.

“Do we know who left it?” Ava asked.

“Definitely Bucky,” Bob said. “His crap was all over the counter this morning. He’s so weirdly tidy usually, but I found one of his gloves and Alpine’s leash.”

“So he forgot it,” Yelena mused. “And we are going to have to pretend we didn’t see it.”

Alexei picked up the envelope, turning it over in his massive hands.

“Do not open that,” Ava warned. “That’s a federal offense.”

“Even for Russian mail?”

“It’s not Russian mail!”

Alexei reluctantly returned it to the table.

“He forgot to deliver it,” Bob said. “That means he has to come back.”

“And we will be ready,” Yelena muttered.

-

Alpine strolled into the Tower common room just past 2pm.

Unbothered. Luxurious. Tail flicking with queenly indifference.

“Why is the tiny snow beast here?” Yelena asked.

As if on cue, Bucky entered after her, carrying a soft-sided pet carrier in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. He looked vaguely annoyed.

“Forgot something earlier,” he muttered. His eyes skimmed over the group. “Why are all of you sitting so still?”

No one answered.

Bob was frozen. His fingers had just brushed Alpine’s collar when she trotted past. Something caught his eye—a glint of silver, a tag. He bent, too fast. Reached.

And then he saw it.

A tiny, heart-shaped collar tag. Inscribed with a name. If lost, return to [Your Name] Barnes. (XXX) XXX-XXXX.

Bob froze. Yelena leaned over his shoulder.

She blinked. “No.”

Alexei dropped his pen.

Ava closed her eyes. “Called it.”

John walked in a second later, froze mid-step, and said, “Jesus fucking Christ, they’re married.”

Bucky looked at the tag. Looked at them. Sighed. Deeply.

“She always ruins surprises,” he muttered.

Bob screamed. Yelena launched the protein bar she’d dropped earlier. Alexei began clapping. Ava looked vindicated. John put his hands on his hips and just nodded to himself like a man who had seen the truth and survived.

“What else?” Bob asked, breathless. “Are there children? Oh my god she’s pregnant. She’s having baby Barnes. Is she also secretly an alien princess? I need to know everything.”

Bucky stared at them all. “I’m taking Alpine to the vet.”

“That’s not an answer!” Bob shouted.

Bucky turned. Walked out.

Did not clarify.

And the Tower descended into madness.

-

Later, when the screaming had subsided, Bob carefully placed the mail on Bucky’s desk. Yelena was already halfway through her next plan: Operation Newlywed Recon. Alexei was composing a toast. Ava was updating the digital conspiracy board. And John? He was already searching his playlist. “If I play ‘Secret Lovers,’ do you think he’ll throw something?”

Bob’s grin was feral. “Only one way to find out.”

-

It happened in stages.

First, the email arrived.

A simple message, forwarded from Sam’s assistant to the shared team calendar: Bucky Barnes is on family leave for the next two weeks. Do not contact unless urgent.

Second, a box showed up in the Tower mailroom.

No return address. Just a single word, scrawled in Sharpie across the top:

IDIOTS.

Bob screamed. Loud enough that Ava dropped her tablet and John nearly pulled a hamstring turning around. Inside the box was a baby blanket. Soft. Cream-colored. Embroidered in the corner with a tiny cat and a name: Calla James.

Sam arrived that afternoon. He didn’t come in with flair. No announcement. Just walked into the kitchen like he’d done a thousand times before, grabbed a coffee, and leaned on the counter. “They’re doing good,” he said casually.

Everyone froze. “…Who?” Bob asked.

Sam gave him a look. “You know who.”

“You lied to us,” Yelena accused, pointing her spoon like a dagger. “You let us spiral into madness. You could have stopped this.”

Sam sipped his coffee. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Alexei was openly crying. “The coney island hero has found peace,” he said, voice thick. “He has a family. I always knew this day would come. I will write to him in the old way. With pen and stamps.”

“Please don’t,” Ava muttered.

John looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Wait. They actually had their baby?”

Sam smiled. “She’s perfect.”

Bob stood very still. Then moved slowly toward the conspiracy board on the back wall. It had grown over the last few weeks—maps, strings, red circles around potential dates of conception. With solemn reverence, Bob lit a match. The board went up like a pyre. “To truth,” he said quietly.

Yelena tackled him with a fire extinguisher. “No!” she shrieked. “We don’t burn evidence! We interrogate it for future questions!”

“THE QUESTIONS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED,” Bob wailed, dramatic to the end.

Ava watched the entire thing with her arms crossed. “This is why we don’t get invited to brunch.”

-

And somewhere—far away from the chaos—Bucky held you close, your daughter in your arms, his hand spread wide across your back.

He kissed your temple.

“Finally,” he murmured.

You laughed. Soft and tired and utterly in love. “Think they’ve figured it out yet?”

He just smiled. “Probably.”

[eponastory]

Found You (1/?)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (mainly it's from your kid's POV), male for the kid and female You.

Bucky didn't know that you were pregnant before he had enlisted into the Army in the Austrian Alps.

[Brooklyn, 25th July 1965]

I found my mother's diary in our basement. It's small, with a red bookmark. My mother's name is on the first page, along with a small scribble beside it. It's his.

Second pages; She met a gorgeous man at the bar. She was too shy to say hi to him, so she left a note with the bartender to give to him. Before she went home, he called her. According to her notes, it was awkward. She was just a girl falling in love with someone, like anyone else.

Third pages: "Bucky" Yes. She wrote it, just Bucky.

Fourth pages: My mother married a man named James Buchanan Barnes. That’s my father’s name. Below it is a photo, though the image is almost invisible. Her smile is the happiest there.

Fifth pages: That smile is no longer here, in this book. Her handwriting is no longer readable. I think she wrote it with a trembling hand. Because on this page, it says: 'James is no longer here. He came home, but as sad news and a flag carried by two soldiers standing at the door — and even they couldn’t find his dog tag.'

On that day, she also found out that she was pregnant.

Sixth pages: She hadn’t written a note in 9 months, and this page was the first time she wrote again. She circled the calendar to calculate the estimated date of my birth. It’s my birthday. On this page, there are also many scribbles with different name choices. She wrote them in soft, curving letters. It’s beautiful.

[Brooklyn, 2012]

I'm 69 years old now, not much changed, but it's better day by day. Mom is still with me, she's 92 now. Fragile, yes, but sharp as ever. Every morning, she insists on making her own tea, even if her hands shake a little more than they used to.

We live quietly, just the two of us in this old house filled with quiet echoes and memories.

Sometimes I catch her staring out the window for long stretches, and when I ask what she’s thinking, she just says, “Nothing new, just remembering.”

.

.

It's still morning and the world’s been talking about it nonstop— Captain America is back. They aired footage of him on TV this morning, fighting aliens in New York like he never missed a beat since the 1940s. I was making tea in the kitchen when I heard Mom gasp. A soft sound, barely more than a breath, but it froze me. I came back to the living room and found her staring at the screen, not with shock, not with awe… but with a kind of aching familiarity.

Not for him.

Not for Steve Rogers.

She didn’t say anything else after that. Just “Bucky"

We sat there in silence, the TV playing in the background—Captain America standing tall in the middle of Manhattan, dust and fire behind him, people cheering. To the world, he was a symbol, a miracle returned. To her… I think he was a reminder.

.

.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I sat alone in the kitchen, fingers tracing the edge of an old photograph tucked inside a cracked photo album. A man in uniform, smiling wide, arm around a young woman who would become my mother. She never talked much about him. Only said he went to war, like many men did. Never came home.

No body. No letter. Just… gone.

I’d read about him, his war records, some files declassified years ago. He served with Steve Rogers. Part of the Howling Commandos. Officially, he died in 1945 during a mission. The way she said his name. The way she looked at the screen—not at Steve, but through him, like she was seeing someone else entirely.

.

.

The next morning, I found her sitting by the window, sunlight pouring across her face like something sacred. She was holding the photograph I hadn’t seen in years—that photograph. The one where he’s holding her hand like he’d never let go.

She didn’t look at me when she spoke.

“He had this smile,” she said softly. “Only gave it when he looked at me."

I sat down across from her. “You never told me much about him.”

“There wasn’t much to tell,” she said after a moment then looked at me with those tired, wise eyes. “Bucky was special, even before the war. After Steve became… Captain America, they both got pulled into something bigger. More dangerous. The kind of missions they didn’t write down.” Her hands trembled, but she held the photo tighter. "When they told me he died, I never saw a body. No funeral. Just a letter from the government and silence. That’s all I had.”

I wanted to ask a hundred questions. But instead, I just reached out and took her hand.

“Why now?” I asked quietly. “Why say his name again after all these years?”

She looked out the window again, voice barely above a whisper. “Because when I saw Steve on that screen, I saw the war again. And I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.”

I didn’t know what to say. Because part of me—some quiet part I’d always ignored—had wondered too.

.

.

For a while, I tried.

I dug through old military records, digital archives, grainy war footage. I visited the library almost every week, squinting at microfilms and yellowed newspapers. But James Buchanan Barnes always ended the same way: Killed in action, 1945. No known remains.

No mention of where. No further inquiry. Just a line in history, sealed and forgotten.

But still—some nights, I swore I saw him. In the photos beside Steve, in the quiet strength behind his eyes. In the way my own hand trembled when I made a fist.

I never found proof. Only fragments, and fragments don’t hold when your heart wants certainty.

[Brooklyn, 2013]

And then, in late 2013, my mother started to forget things. At first, it was small, leaving the kettle on, asking the same question twice. But soon, she stopped recognizing the seasons, then faces. One morning, she looked at me and asked, “Where’s Bucky? He said he’d be home by Christmas.”

I wanted to say something. Anything. But I just held her hand and told her, “He’ll be home soon.”

[Brooklyn, 2014]

By spring of 2014, she could no longer get out of bed. The doctors said her heart was failing, and her mind was already halfway gone.

The last time she looked at me clearly, she was staring at the ceiling, smiling like she saw something I couldn’t. She passed in her sleep two days later. Peacefully. Quietly. With his photograph on the nightstand.

After that, I stopped searching.

I packed away the boxes, locked up the files. Whatever hope I had was buried with her. Maybe some stories were meant to stay unfinished. Maybe some people live in the past because that’s where love still breathes.

I told myself he was gone.

[Washington D.C., 2014]

I sat on a bench across from the Smithsonian, watching people pass by. People took pictures, smiled, lived their lives.

Suddenly, everything shifted.

A tremor rippled through the air, gunfire, screaming, panic. The peace shattered in seconds. People ran, guards shouted.

Across the plaza, I saw someone. Black tactical gear. A silver arm that caught the sun. A mask over his face, but his eyes were exposed. Cold. Controlled. Like something built, not born. He moved like a ghost, silent, and swift. He was chasing someone, I think. Or being chased. But time seemed to slow the moment he passed just ten feet from me. He glanced my way for half a second—barely anything. But our eyes met. Just long enough. Something flickered. Not recognition. Not quite. And then he was gone. Into the chaos. Like he had never been there at all. I stood there long after the crowd had cleared. My hands shaking again, not from fear, but from something deeper. Something I couldn’t name. I didn’t know who he was.

[Bucharest, 2016]

Two years had passed since that day in D.C., life moved on. Or at least, it kept going. I took a small trip to Europe. No grand reason.

Bucharest was cold that spring, but not unkind. The city had its scars, cracked walls, tired sidewalks but it had soul. I found a small cafe near a park where I spent most mornings. Coffee was strong. Bread was hard. The kind of place where people didn’t rush.

One morning, while I was sipping my coffee with my coat collar turned up, someone asked if they could share my table. The cafe was full, and I nodded without looking up.

He sat across from me in silence. Black jacket. Hat. Gloves. Quiet eyes.

We didn’t speak for a while. Just drank our coffee like two ghosts pretending to be alive.

Eventually, I said something first. A joke, maybe. About the weather. He nodded, almost smiled. He asked where I was from. “Brooklyn,” I told him. He looked at me then really looked. Something passed through his eyes. Something distant. Maybe even pain. “Me too,” he said softly.

We talked a bit after that. Nothing deep. Nothing important. He didn’t say his name, and I didn’t ask. He was careful with his words, but polite. Like a man who’d forgotten how to be around people, but was trying anyway. I hadn’t meant to say anything. I really hadn’t.

But something about the way he listened—silent, still, not judging made it easy. Like the kind of silence that doesn’t demand answers, but holds space for them anyway. We were sitting there, steam curling from our coffee cups, the city moving slowly around us. I don’t know what triggered it. Maybe a song playing faintly from the radio. Maybe the look in his eyes—tired, distant. Familiar.

I found myself saying, “I lost my mother two years ago.” He didn’t react. Just stayed still. That was enough.

“She was 92. Strong woman. Sharp as a knife until the very end. She raised me alone.” I paused. My voice wavered. “She never stopped waiting for someone who never came back.” I glanced at him, unsure why I was telling a stranger this. But he just nodded, as if he understood waiting.

“She used to say his name sometimes, near the end. Bucky.” I gave a short, nervous laugh. “Like the war hero. James Buchanan Barnes." His eyes flicked to mine then briefly, sharply but he said nothing.

“I tried to find him once,” I admitted. “Just after she passed. I thought maybe, maybe I owed it to her. But there was nothing. Just silence. And after a while, I stopped chasing ghosts.” There was a long pause between us.

He looked down at his hands—gloved, still, oddly heavy. And for the first time, he spoke softly, like he was speaking to someone far away. “Some ghosts don’t want to be found.” His voice was deep. Worn. It cracked on the last word like it carried too many winters.

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing. We sat in that quiet for a while longer, two men from Brooklyn with too much in our hearts and nowhere to put it.

Then he stood. And this time, before leaving, he looked me in the eyes. There was something there an ache. A question. A truth that neither of us could speak. And then he was gone. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d asked his name.

[Vienna, 2023]

Years went by. My days were simple now. Morning coffee. Evening walks. An old vinyl collection that still somehow played. I had a few friends, some doctors who worried about my heart, and a chair by the window that creaked just right when I sat in it. Enough, I told myself. It was enough.

.

.

Then, in the fall of 2023, I visited Vienna. Just a small, quiet museum exhibit on World War II and post-war reconciliation. I had read about it in the paper—how they’d gathered artifacts from both sides, stories of soldiers forgotten by history. It felt right to go. Like something unfinished pulling me by the collar.

It was raining when I walked into the museum. Soft drizzle on the glass, gray skies overhead. Inside, it was almost too quiet. The room was full of old uniforms and faded flags, maps with red lines, letters from sons to mothers, lovers to soldiers. I moved slowly, reading plaques, listening to audio clips.

Then I reached a wall.

A large photo display, sepia-toned, worn at the edges. The Howling Commandos. Steve Rogers in the center, chin raised, bright and young. And there, on the right… my father.

James Buchanan Barnes.

I stared at that photo like I’d never seen it before. But I had. My mother had kept a copy in her drawer, folded neatly between old letters and silence. I knew every line of his face, even if I never got to memorize his voice. Then I felt it—that strange, prickling sense that I wasn’t alone. I turned slowly. He was standing just a few feet away.

Hair shorter. Face leaner. A coat draped over his shoulders like armor. He was older than I remembered from Bucharest, but the eyes were the same.

Haunted. Gentle. Wounded.

He looked at the photo, then at me. A pause. A quiet tension in the air.

“I know you,” he said, his voice lower than I remembered. Worn but steady. “Bucharest. You were at that little café.” I nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d remember.” He gave a soft breath. “I remember people like you.” I didn’t ask what that meant. We stood there, both facing the same wall. Two shadows cast by the same dim light.

After a few seconds, I spoke.

“My mother… used to keep that photo. The one on the wall.”

He glanced at me, but said nothing. He closed his eyes for the briefest second. Maybe out of pain. Maybe out of recognition. Maybe both. We stood there for a long time. Two men. A photograph. A hundred years between us.

[eponastory]

SPRING INTO SUMMER !

girl!dad bucky barnes x mom!reader

𝖘ummary: the one where the thunderbolts all think it's weird that bucky keeps pulling a disappearing act every couple of months, only that he's been taking the quinjet and coming back with a raging tan. After a particularly harrowing mission in amsterdam, they needed a place to lie low and bucky is already regretting his decision before even making it.

𝔞uthor's note: was craving for some domestic bucky fics and I remembered oh shit yeah I can write, amazing use of my free will and free time! This was set in the middle of the 14 month period as the new avengers(z). Also I watched Monday... yeah.

𝔴ord count: 9.4k

𝔴arnings: violence, blood, mentions of various weapons of defense, humor as a coping mechanism for trauma, various injuries, swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, your daughter is described with curly dark brown hair and blue eyes, reader is an ex widow.

Five highly-trained assassins and a Bob walk into a bar and it becomes apparent to them that they seriously needed to go back to the drawing board with their plan of attack.

What was supposed to be a standard recon mission with moderate to heavy security on the exclusive bar they've been observing for the past two months became a really ugly, bloody battle where they were ambushed by black ops that spawned from nearly every direction.

Yelena had gotten intel on a potent form of mdma being smuggled by an international pharmaceutical company and selling it to exclusive night clubs all around Europe run by Hugo LaForteza, a Spanish crime syndicate with ties to organized crime. That same pharmaceutical company has tried burying their sketchy past of producing biological weapons and super soldier serum made from scratch before Thanos' snap and instead dabbling into the production of drugs after nightclubs rose to popularity again after everyone returned from being Blipped.

Now, a couple years later they were still up and running and over 40 people have been reported missing all over Europe. The rest of them managed to locate the warehouse where the victims were kept before they were set free and were sent home to their families

Now that the company had been exposed, they've done a good job at covering their tracks and hiding in plain sight. It was only the beginning. Ava, Yelena, and Bucky scouted potential hideouts, safehouses, certain covert routes the supply trucks have been taking to move the products, cross-referencing bank transfers and purchases to off-shore bank accounts containing billions of laundered money. Meanwhile, John weaselled his way into federal databases, built profiles against a hundred men and women who have been involved with the human trafficking scandal. Alexei has been revamping the Avengers brand by spending several hours a day on ms paint designing new avengers merch and arguing with vendors on Amazon when the set of hoodies and shirts he ordered two weeks ago came looking like someone taking a remedial Home Economics class sewed them together.

Meanwhile, Bob has been working in the background, making everyone cups of coffee that had been too watered down, too strong, or too sweet during long, intense nights of work. He went out one afternoon and purchased several cookbooks containing recipes for meals from around the world and promised the rest of the team that their long streak of ordering takeout every night was over because he would be the one cooking for them. So far, there had been no complaints, Bob had become an excellent cook.

After a year's worth of hunting down and investigating leads they finally took to the streets and began taking down nightclubs, bars, and raves from inside out. Flushing out the wealthy and loyal clientele to get closer to shutting down all the suppliers and manufacturers across Europe. They went in strong and took down Berlin, then Ibiza, followed by Rome, Belgrade, then Amsterdam.

And through it all there had been a consistent theme.

Bucky had a habit of disappearing every now and then, usually during the crack of dawn and then coming back a couple of days later with a harsh tan that Alexei had made abundantly clear suited him.

"You could pass off as summer catalogue model! All you need is coconut oil! Take off your shirt, give people what they want!"

John's mentioned it offhandedly once or twice, asking the rest of them if they knew why Bucky kept disappearing every now and then. Ava quickly brushed him off, claiming that he should worry less about Bucky and more about the fact that his shield's only use to him now is to hold lettuce, meat, cheese, and beans. With the matter getting increasingly pressing caused by their own detective work, the rest of the team was itching to find the real reason behind it. There had been multiple accounts in which John had attempted to ask Bucky about it, only for him to be pulled away by either Ava or Yelena unceremoniously. Or other instances where John managed to corner Bucky in the kitchen and ask him about it, only for him to deflect the question or glance at him and walk out like it was nothing.

Yelena did the math. Bucky left every three to four months, his trips lasting either three days or a week and there was no in between. She kept a journal where she would write entries regarding Bucky's unusual absences, possible theories as to why, and if he had been double crossing them- a list of how they would kick him out of the team. So far the list has been empty.

A week later after another night of endless tossing and turning in her shared bedroom with Ava when they were in Amsterdam- she swears she hears the door down the hall click as if somebody closed it from the outside. Then, after dismissing it as nothing, she sees a shadow swiftly pass by the gap the door had to the floor. She sits up. Ava, being the heavy sleeper she was, did not notice Yelena quietly slip out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She is startled by the figure of John in his pajamas standing by the window, who clearly has just woken up about 10 seconds ago and dragged himself out of bed without giving two shits about the fact that anybody from a mile away could see the outline of where drool had once pooled by the side of his mouth. "Jesus Walker, what the hell are you doing??? You look like a pervert." She hissed, narrowing her eyes at him before he placed a finger to his lips and shushed her aggressively.

"It's Bucky, pretty sure I just caught him in the act." He says, jerking his neck to the side, beckoning Yelena over to the window. She plodded towards him and lo and behold, there stood Bucky with his knapsack slung around his shoulders, his hands busy with untying the busted boat they rented that was currently floating in the canal. "Nearly missed the sound of his bedroom door close because of Alexei's snoring. I swear he could level this apartment if he wanted to."

"Where is he off to now?" Yelena asks, albeit somewhat rhetorically.

John clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I've got no clue. Who knows what's going on inside that man’s head?"

“A black and white 24-hour montage of him and Sam with a Mariah Carey song in the background?” Yelena replies under her breath, causing John to laugh through his nose.

“I was gonna say the same thing-”

"-what are you two doing by the window???" Ava's voice grumbled all of a sudden, causing Yelena and John to whirl their heads around. "You do realize it's too early to stare at murky canal water, right?"

Yelena makes a face at her. "Wh- that isn't what we're doing."

"Well then what's got you two staring out the window for???"

"Bucky's out by the dock, I'm convinced he's headed to the quinjet to pull a Houdini on us again." John explained, peering out of the window once more as he pointed at a spot on the glass pane. Ava walks over, Yelena makes room for her as all three of them watch Bucky stand by the boat, talking to somebody on his burner phone. Muffled segments of the conversation could be heard from the slim aperture the window had to the windowsill. Words like "be right there" and "they don't know" were heard, which made all three of them exchange glances of suspicion.

"Who is he even talking to?" Ava asks them. "D'you guys got any ideas?"

"There's no way it could be Sam..." John began quietly, making Yelena and Ava furrow their brows as they turned to him. "Right?” He supplements.

"Too soon. You heard him when he came back from Louisiana, he sounded like someone gutted his cat."

“Why can’t I just crack the window open??? It would make more sense to just call Bucky from up here-” John wonders, extending his arm to open the window before Yelena and Ava stop him.

“-Don't open the window!” She and Ava hiss, startling John.

“Fine! Alright!” He exclaimed, almost scandalized. "So who else has he got on speed dial? Do you think it's still Congressman shit?"

"He sent that resignation letter ages ago."

"It's definitely not Valentina."

"What about that assistant of hers? Me- Melissa? What was even happening with them when we were in New York?"

Ava makes an unimpressed sound. "I don't know, but I'm not interested in finding out anything about that dynamic at all."

"Get your head out of the gutter, Ava."

“Wait, who are we talking about?" Bob suddenly spoke up from behind them making all three of them flinch once more, causing a commotion. Yelena grabs the hem of Bob's pajama shirt and yanks him to the floor as the rest of them fit themselves underneath the window, terrified that Bucky might've heard them in the scuffle.

"Jesus, we seriously gotta tie a church bell around you or something." John scowled in between Ava and Bob. "He's too quiet."

"Thank you?" Bob chuckles, baffled, in between Yelena and John.

“We didn't hear him at all.”

Yelena sighed, craning her neck to take a peek at Bucky once more before sinking back down on the floor resembling a sack of flour. "Ava go look, I'm not looking."

Ava snaps her head to look at her. "Why am I doing it?"

“Because,” Yelena began, widening her eyes and raising her shoulders to accentuate her point. “-Because you’re the only one out of all of us who can go invisible.”

Ava screws her face even tighter. “Is that your only argument to get me to do something none of you want to do?"

“The situation kind of warrants stealth though.” John appends, coming to Yelena's rescue in which he is recognized for.

“Exactly!”

Ava wasn’t happy about the idea of having to phase this early in the morning but does so without any more protest. Her eyes screw shut and in the blink of an eye she becomes invisible, they see a little iridescent shimmer where her body was supposed to be as the meager amount of sunlight piercing through the heavy clouds floating over Amsterdam hits her invisible form. A second later she reappears as a mechanical whirring could be heard from outside.

“He's ready to leave, the boat's acting up again though.” Ava reports as the rest of them scramble to get on their knees and look outside the window where Bucky could be seen at odds with the motor of the boat, pulling the cord repeatedly until he yanks it too far and the boat engine roars to life.

“Soooo,” Ava prolonged. “Are we gonna do something about it or-”

“-What's Bucky even doing down there?-”

“-Planning to go on a ride around the canal-”

“-he is? But Bucky doesn't even like riding boats let alone that piece of junk-”

“-we were kidding, we obviously don't know shit-”

“-huh, coulda fooled me-”

“-Again if we just open the window-”

“-We're not opening the window!-”

“Look, we can't just go in blind and demand an answer out of him, we gotta have a plan.” Yelena fought, eyeing John whose mouth opened. “and it can't be you cornering Bucky expecting him to tell you the truth.”

“It was worth a shot.” John hissed. “Besides, I haven't seen any of you try and get the truth outta him.”

“That's like picking a fight with fucking optimus prime, do you want to get your throat to get crushed like an empty soda can?” Ava argues, glancing up at John as he glances outside of the window again.

Bob reaches up to turn the rusted knob of the window as the rest stare at him in horror. "You know what?, instead of us sitting here and guessing why don't I just-"

As he twists the aged knob to the side, instead of the window lowering inward like windows in the Netherlands usually do, it completely dislodged from its hinges and slides inside, the glass shattering as it comes in contact with the floor in great commotion. The rest of the team only barely managed to roll away before they were inevitably pancaked by the window- Ava who tucked and rolled towards the cupboards, John who army-crawled towards the table, and Yelena who lurched towards the entrance to the kitchen with Bob in tow.

They gawk both at the wreckage and each other, startled. A beat passes and they hear a sudden drumming of heavy footsteps coming from one of the bedrooms, the door flew open reverberating through the entire apartment.

“YELENA?! YELENA?!-”

Alexei comes running into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of boxers and a robe- he instantly relaxes when he sees Yelena glaring at him over her shoulder. “Hi, dad.”

The man stands there, stupefied. “Wh- what are you doing???”

Yelena pauses, lost in thought. “People-watching.” She settled.

“He's gone-!” John's voice suddenly called out. Ava, Yelena, and Bob rush towards the window only to see that the boat was gone and Bucky along with it. Each one of them shared a look of defeat and a disgruntled sigh that seemed to ricochet across each member of the team as they moved around the window. They promised each other that this wouldn’t be the last time they’d catch Bucky leaving and hear some lame excuse to patch up the real story. When he finally came back after a week, they all entered the kitchen together which earned them a raised brow from Bucky who was enjoying a cup of coffee by the window.

“You guys look like a herd of terrified gazelles moving through a grazing patch.”

“Bucky,” John began. “We need to talk.”

He raised his eyebrows. ”Oh good, are you guys finally gonna tell me who opened the one window the landlady told us not to open, broke it, and is helping me explain to her why there's broken glass hidden under the fridge?”

“No, that isn't what we wanted to talk abo-”

“-It was Bob, Bob did it.” Ava interjects, glancing over at Bob who stiffened at the sudden turn of the conversation.

Bucky's eyes shut tight as he pinches the bridge of his nose, a familiar habit. “How many times do I gotta make myself clear not to open things you aren't supposed to open?”

Bob's eyes widened even more. “I- I only opened it because John and Yelena and Ava were arguing about why you kept on disappearing, an-and they saw you outside with the boat so-”

“-Exactly, why were you outside with the boat at 7 in the morning?” Yelena appends quickly, narrowing her eyes at Bucky, his face passive.

Alexei chuckles as he leans forward to look over at Yelena. "Right??? Makes you think- Where is that guy off to all the time??? He is like every cheating father in the American dramas that claims he is going on so-called work trip but is secretly seeing mistress that looks like she just graduated from highschool." He chimes, albeit rather colourfully.

“I wanted to do a sweep of the red-light district to see if our informant’s been telling us the truth. He has. That special event some of LaForteza's men are hosting tomorrow night is the perfect cover for some recon, slipping in and out the bar would be easy. Then I had to stay in Washington for a couple of days because I got my couch reupholstered and needed to turn over the keys to my office.” Bucky says with ease, like he'd practiced this a dozen times.

“Bullshit.” Yelena spat, which had the same effect as a streak of lightning lighting up the sky seconds before a deafening thunderclap.

"We can't work a mission where you disappear days at a time when we’re only left with a little note on the fridge.” Ava seethed. “Gone to collect my things at the office, need to sign off on some documents- it doesn't take a week to do either of those things, Bucky. We know you’ve submitted your resignation letter for Congress bloody ages ago!”

“Well I don't know if you haven't noticed but it's pretty hard trying to do all these things when you're under cover and have to fly across oceans, so I'm sorry if I keep you waiting.” Bucky reasons.

“We aren't leaving you alone until we get the truth outta you. No more stupid excuses, no more lies.” Says John this time. “Being lied to feels like shit, you don't gotta be a hundred years old to know that.”

“Why the hell have you been sneaking around like we wouldn't notice and taking phone calls when you think nobody’s listening?” Yelena asks once and for all. The sunlight had only now started peeking out over the roofs of the hedges of houses and shops that lined the streets. Beams of buttery sunlight illuminated the otherwise dreary kitchen. They all stood there, blanketed by immense silence. "Are you going to answer my question or are we going to sit here in dead silence?"

Bucky sets his mug down, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine, but let's get one thing absolutely straight. I'm not pulling a goddamn Lotso on a mission I've risked my life numerous times for."

John straightens from his spot instantly. "How does he know Lo- have you watched Toy Story 3?” his eyes swung like a pendulum, looking at Yelena beside him to Bucky in front of him.

"Who?" Yelena wonders, raising an eyebrow.

Bob slumped. "Come on, the pink bear? The one with the cane?"

"Ahhh," Yelena says after a beat, pointing a finger at him. "Is he the one that kept eating sandwiches and went to jail?"

Ava opens out her hands, palms facing the ceiling as she frowns at Yelena. "No, that's Paddington. And there's more to his story than him going to jail! he's helped out so many people, made so many marmalade sandwiches, and is the most polite bear that ever graced television."

"So why did he get arrested?"

"He was framed! Because Hugh Grant stole the pop-up book he's been saving up for!" Ava argued.

Yelena's brows furrow even more. "Who's-"

"-Are you done? Because my coffee's getting cold." Bucky drawled, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand.

"Look, man, if you're working against us now is a good time to tell us." John chimes in, moving past the rest of his teammates and advancing on Bucky. “I don't know what kinda game you're playing with us here, watching us connect the dots while you’re off someplace else doing only God knows what- but if you can’t already tell we’re a team now. Which means we do this shit as a team. If we can't trust each other, why bother?”

“Shockingly, he is very right.” Alexei says from the back of the group.

Bucky sighed, shifting his weight onto the other foot. "If I tell you, people's lives will be in danger, not just mine." He says, tone heavy with meaning. "I'm sure as hell not letting that happen, not when I just started getting a handle on things- not when things just started to look up for me."

"What are you talking about?" Yelena demands, voice rising. "What else could you have got to lose, Barnes?"

"Everything." Bucky answers without missing a beat. “I'm asking you to believe me when I say that I'm not jeopardising this mission nor am I double-crossing any of you. I know it's asking a lot but I want you guys to trust me.”

“Can we?” Yelena wonders, making Bucky's gaze flit across the group.

“You can.” He says. “I promise.”

Cut to several weeks later, they are dancing through the jam-packed streets of Amsterdam lit up by head-ache-inducing neon signs and differently colored bulbs. Several black-ops agents remained hot on their tail as they slip into a dark alleyway, taking a detour inside a busy kitchen where they are overwhelmed by the cacophony of angry voices yelling in Dutch and English, the chopping of vegetables, the fervent stirring, the clanging of pots, the sizzling of a wok that quickly erupted flames. One of the line cooks suddenly appeared from the walk-in and handed Bucky a duffle bag; they exchanged a brief conversation in Dutch before the line cook patted Bucky on his metal arm and left, seemingly to go back to his station.

Bucky turns to the rest of them, beaten up and in bad shape. Everyone had suffered too many bruised and wounds to count, John was shot in the shoulder and needed bandaging, Alexei was nearly gutted by one of the agents that had a knife, Yelena was trying to get Bob to calm down after becoming The Sentry so as not to invite the other terrible twin to surface, Ava had a sprained ankle, and Bucky was pretty sure he broke a couple of his ribs.

“We can’t go back to the apartment, it isn't safe, chances are they've been tracing our steps since before we left Ibiza.” Bucky informed them all, slouched, out-of-breath, and wincing at him as they tried to listen. “We gotta leave Amsterdam before dawn or we’re as good as dead.”

“All the evidence we've been building for the past year, the maps, the photos, everything- we left everything back in the apartment for them to see. We might've just handed all our progress to LaForteza on a goddamn silver platter.” John yelled, leaning against the bread rack before one of the cooks pulled the bread rack to the side and shooed him away.

“Which is why they'll know where we're headed to next, they're gonna reroute all their operations, go underground, cover their tracks to the point that they've completely erased themselves from the face of the Earth. But that won't matter, not when we've got all the proof we need.” Says Bucky, pulling out a leatherbound journal from one of his pockets to show to the rest of the team.

Ava makes a sound, almost like a scoff but also a wheeze. “Where do you expect us to go after we've just unleashed hell on their operation? We're literally standing in the middle of a scorching kitchen bleeding all over the floor.” She gestures to the busy kitchen around them. “It's surprising they haven't kicked us out by now.”

“We'll figure it out on the way.” Says Bucky. “For now, we'll get dressed and get the hell outta here.” He drops the duffle bag on the floor and starts handing out articles of clothing to the rest of the team. Out of the corner of Yelena's eye she sees Bob pulling at his torn sweater and pivots on her heel to face him.

“He didn't mean right now, Bob.” She said, causing him to pause mid-action before he pulls the sweater down and shoots her a little smile.

“Woops.”

She turns another couple of degrees to spot Alexei half-way through unbuckling his suit, his helmet and belt already discarded on the floor. “Let go of that zipper!"

The same line cook from earlier showed up once more and escorted them to the locker rooms where they all hastily got dressed. Then when they finished, Bucky moves one of the lockers aside, revealing a crawl space that leads to an abandoned part of the Amsterdam Metro. Once they managed to hitch a ride on the back of a truck, steal a family wagon, and get to the quinjet it was smooth sailing. So to speak.

Bucky, who had taken upon himself to pilot the jet, hadn't spoken a word since they took off. Too laser focused on the dark skies ahead and the controls. Yelena only approaches him after they've stabilized in the air and Bucky had turned on autopilot to hopefully stretch his legs inside the cockpit.

“So, have you finally decided to tell us where we're going or do we have to stare into your dark, broody eyes to figure it out?” She wonders, making him let out yet another heavy sigh. By now everyone who had been resting had perked up at the sound of Yelena's voice and the sudden apparition of Bucky inside the cockpit.

“Livorno. I've got a place there near the port. It's secluded, but also busy enough in the day for us to slip in and out without getting unwanted attention.” Bucky finally answers. “We can squat there for the time being, lay low while we figure out a solid plan.”

“We've already lit one of their dens on fire. If they realize we've stolen LaForteza's journal too it won't be long until they come after us.”

“That is, if they do notice it's gone.” Says Bucky. “When you, Alexei, John, and Bob were taking out the guards Ava and I broke into the safe, swapped it out with a replica. If we manage to intercept their plans in Croatia, we'll manage to end this once and for all.”

Bucky places the journal on one of the crates, open to a page where he points at a cut out map- several red lines stretching out across Europe converging on what was marked to be Belgium. The team gathers around him. “They're shutting down all their operations in South-Eastern and North-Western Europe and they’re bringing what's left of their supply to a giant EDM festival in Split happening in five days.” He explains.

“So then we sneak in, guns ready, take them out once and for all. Easy Peasy.” Says Alexei with a grin.

“Except there'll be thousands of people, we can't risk endangering any more civilians.” Ava reasons, raising an eyebrow. “With the amount of weapons we have there's no way they'll let us in at the checkpoint.”

“Hence the sneaking.” Alexei clarifies, two of his fingers prancing atop the journal.

“There has to be some other way to get in undetected. If those people at the festival take whatever LaForteza’s goons have been distributing there's no guaranteeing what'll happen to them.”

“We've got an hour and fifty minutes in the air, try and rest up, yeah?” Bucky sighed as he attempted to get comfortable on one of the long bench-like chairs in the cockpit, cracking his neck.

Yelena scoffs. “I'll rest when I'm dead.”

Half an hour before their descent Bucky wakes everyone up. Yelena seemed to be well-rested, what with using Bob's arm as a pillow, and of course John who somehow woke up on the floor of the quinjet with Ava sleeping on the chair beside him. Alexei had been keeping Bucky awake for the duration of the trip, recounting his conquests in Russia as the Red Guardian which made Bucky question the accuracy of his stories.

They hid the quinjet in a secluded warehouse and began the trek to Bucky's place. Moving through the lively cobblestone streets of Livorno undetected. The air smelt strongly of salt and brine, ships both large and small were entering the harbor, and the faint hollers of sailors could be heard coming from the docks. Long lines of laundry could be seen hung across the windows of houses, pink bougainvilleas lined the streets. Bucky takes them through a set of narrow alleyways, passing by a group of teenagers heading down to the beach and a man singing an Italian love whilst playing an guitar.

They stop at one of the houses at the end of what seemed to be the umpteenth alleyway they've walked through. Bucky approaches the front door first, kicking what was a pebble out of his way, to knock. It had white bouganvilleas crawling all over the front of the house, rows of different colored flowers in different sized pots lined the entrance, all the shutters painted green were closed. It didn't take long for them to notice the brightly colored drawings in chalk on the path they were standing on, scrawled on butterflies, rainbows, and flowers- or the purple bike with shimmery tassels and training wheels pushed to the side near the door and beside a golden pothos.

They exchanged glances of confusion- but also, a look of understanding.

The door creaks open and they see a woman standing in between the gap, unsure if she was supposed to look happy or confused. She looked like she had just woken up but had gotten dressed to go somewhere. “James what are- oh my god what happened to your face?” You began, opening the door wider to step outside, taking Bucky's face into your hands.

That's when they all see it.

The wedding ring glinting in the morning sunlight, clear as day. They all slowly, almost comically, turn to look at eachother, baffled. John's mouth parted in shock, Ava's brows rose, Yelena's eyes widened.

“James??? ” Ava mumbled in shock.

Yelena opens her mouth, closes it, then shrugs- frowning at the girl.

“She's got a ring.” John mouthed to the group, with his hand concealing one side of his mouth. Yelena rolls her eyes so far back it hurts.

“Bucky's married???” Bob's whispers suit, clearly in disbelief.

“I told you.” Alexei enunciates joyfully, pointing at Bob's face, jaw on the floor. But who wasn't at this point?

They just found out Bucky has been married this whole time.

“Hey, don't worry about it, it's nothing.” Says Bucky, taking your hands into his. “It looks worse than it feels, trust me.”

You placed your other hand on your hips, eyeing him oh so incredulously before you narrowed your eyes at him. “Sure it is, tell that to someone who believes you, hmm?”

Bucky glances over his shoulder to look at his team, their intense yet homely demeanour only demanded more questions out of you. “We needed a place to squat for a day or two, think of a plan… we couldn't risk going back to the compound or Geneva.” He says to you as you look at them curiously. “I promise we weren't followed, we scrubbed our tracks clean.”

You exhaled deeply, lifting a hand to cup his cheek- your thumb grazing over the stubble that had formed over the course of several weeks without it being touched by a razor blade. “Could’ve called me, told me you were coming… I could’ve cleaned up a little.”

Bucky smiles. Smiles. The rest of them don't know whether to watch in horror or in awe. “Had to see you again somehow, one week is never enough.”

You snort in suppressed laughter before you glanced towards the rest of the team. “You guys must be tired as hell, I hope James hasn't run you into the ground by now. Come in!” She smiled warmly, her head motions towards the inside of the house. “Dropped by just in time, you guys like pancakes?”

“Yes please.” Bob chirped from the side, earning a glance from the others. They all file into a single line as they enter the home, you could tell that somebody lived here and not squats here on occasion- what with the mismatched pieces of furniture that complimented the interior of the house well. There was your standard coffee table except it looked like a smaller picnic table, a bookcase lined with endless books, odd trinkets, photographs, a TV, a vintage lamp, another vintage lamp near the 8-seater dining table, a gramophone sitting by the corner of the room in pristine condition.

Then they see a teepee in the shape of a princess castle, little animals dressed in vintage clothes beneath the TV having a tea party next to a well-furnished toy townhouse with multiple rooms, stuffed animals, barbie dolls on top of the coffee table, books with brightly colored illustrations scattered across the floor with endless crayons and pencils, and a backpack with pieces of paper sticking out from the opening.

At the top left of one of the papers, there was a scrawled on name written in pencil. Madeline Barnes.

“Don't mind the mess, we're usually much tidier if we knew we'd be having guests over.” She says, gesturing to the mess on the floor. “I'm Y/N, by the way. You guys don't have to introduce yourselves anymore, James tells me a lot about all of you.”

“We didn't even know you existed.” Ava uttered, astonished, mirroring the dumbfounded expression the rest of them had as they stared at Bucky with his arm around his wife's waist- looking at you with so much love in his eyes that the rest of them felt like this was a social experiment. Bucky? Married? Bucky? In love? It didn't sit right with them at all. They were four words they'd never imagined would fit altogether in a sentence.

“Yeah, well I had to keep that part of my life a secret for a reason. It's why I've been disappearing every now and then.” Bucky explains, and all of a sudden it starts making sense. One by one they all managed to grapple with the fact that Bucky lived with a wife here, and a daughter.

“Is she up yet?” He whispered. You shook your head from side to side.

“Nah, Maddie was still asleep when I went downstairs. She might be now though.” You tell Bucky like you anticipated what was to happen next. Then from the floor above them, they could hear the sound of feet rapidly padding across the floor and then out of nowhere a little girl in purple pajamas ran down the stairs. Bucky bent down to grab her and she leaped into his arms- overcome with giggles as she squirmed in Bucky's grip.

“d'you miss me, sweetheart?”

The little girl nods adamantly, deep blue eyes glistening with excitement. “Uh-huh! I missed you sooooo much, Daddy. Loads and loads. Last night I dreamt that the next day when I woke up you'd be there and then I whispered it to Mommy cuz I thought it was silly, but she was kinda asleep so I don't think she heard me and then I woke up today and I heard your voice!”

Bucky couldn't help but laugh. “What??? You're kidding, there's no way you could have guessed I was coming to visit today.”

“But I did, and now you're here! I have magic, I'm just like Twilight!” She affirmed, grinning at him as she toys with his hair. But then she pauses. “Daddy, are you having a playdate?”

“No, sweetheart, why?” Bucky wonders, furrowing his brows.

She glances at the rest of his teammates. “Cuz all your friends are here!”

“Yeah, no, we're not having a playdate honey. I brought them over here because we got tired… playing and they're hungry.” Bucky explains briefly, shooting them all a look as they all nodded and agreed as a collective.

“Sure are… we're really tired from all the running around… that we did.” Says John.

Ava laughs, nodding. “Pshh, super tired. All the other people we were playing with didn't stand a chance! They dropped dead in seconds!” Ava earned a jab on the side from Yelena.

The shorter woman laughed nervously. “What she meant was that we were so fast that we caught them all, and they lost and… went back home.”

Her eyes lit up. “What were you guys playing? Can I play too?!? Mommy i'm going to get my outside slippers-”

You intervened, shaking your head as you took Maddie from Bucky’s arms, bringing her away. “Nuh-uh no one’s playing outside until we have breakfast.” You tell her as her lower lip protrudes into a pout, that is until she realizes what was placed on top of the dining table.

“YAAAY! Pancakes!” She squealed, pumping her tiny fists into the air as you placed her on her designated seat at the dining table. “Wait… Mommy, did you read my mind or something? I was dreaming about pancakes last night, yknow.” She accuses you with a suspicious look on her face.

“No baby, I just knew.” You tell her, smiling. “Must be a coincidence, huh?”

Maddie giggled as you fixed her curly hair out of her face. “Yeah, coins-incident.”

“You had tiny soldier all along, eh?” Alexei whispered fondly, draping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Looks very much like you, beautiful girl. Reminds me of my ‘Lena when she was little. I hope you and the wife gave yourselves a pat on the back after uhh… hanky-panky. Nicely done, my friend.”

Yelena makes a grumbling noise somewhere on their right as you invite the rest of them to take a seat. “Let's eat now, yes?” She called out rather impatiently.

Bucky shoots him a look. “Thanks?”

Alexei pays no mind and simply keeps going. “Very rewarding, fatherhood. Being father? not easy, but very worth it. Fighting off grizzly bear in the forest in Winter with nothing but nail clipper and beer bottle? Much easier. When she learns how to shoot with a glock for the first time? You find you will cry a lot, tears and the snot.”

You appear on Bucky's left, carrying a pitcher of orange juice you've retrieved from the fridge. “You two can bond over being fathers after the three-year-old gremlin in purple and the rest of the assassins in this room get to eat a proper meal, okay?” You pat him on the chest before moving towards the table.

“Lucked out on wife too! Such wonderful hostess, you will build strong army of little soldiers soon, I am counting on it.” Alexei grinned. “I cannot wait to share wisdom words to you as a father who raised his little girls into becoming strong, cutthroat killers.”

“Appreciate it, man.” Bucky replies, trying not to sigh.

They all settled and ate the wonderful breakfast spread consisting not only of a hefty stack of pancakes but fresh berries, hash browns, bacon, and sunny side up eggs- of course with chocolate milk and orange juice to wash it all down.

“Sorry, we just ran out of coffee. I hope the chocolate milk will suffice for now.” You say, as you passed the plate of bacon to John who briefly muttered a ‘thank you’ to you.

“I haven't had chocolate milk in forever.” Says Yelena in assurance. “It's no issue.”

Maddie's jaw dropped in shock. “What??? But how???”

Yelena shrugged, leaning back against her chair almost cooly. “There was a really bad man that didn't let me drink chocolate milk for a long time.”

Maddie seemed outraged, like the foulest of offenses against humanity have been committed- and it might as well have. “You can come here and drink as much chocolate milk as you want, I wouldn't mind! My Mommy wouldn't mind either! Right Mommy?”

You nodded in agreement, chuckling. “Yup, Auntie Yelena can come over and drink as much chocolate milk as she wants.”

“Oh! Also Auntie Ava.” Maddie added with a toothy grin, making the woman sitting across from her smile gratefully. “And then we'll play princess mermaids in my room and I'll teach them how to curtsy and wave while riding the carriage like a real princess.”

“What about the boys, can they play too?” Ava wondered with a smirk, as she glanced over to look at Alexei, Bob, and John who sat at the other edge of the table. Yelena lets out a laugh.

“Only if they want to be pulling our carriage.” Maddie mutters before taking a sip of chocolate milk from her my little pony cup, making the rest of you erupt with laughter.

Yelena snorts. “Hear that Walker? She's making you be the horse.”

“What if I wanna be the footman?” John says. “Can't I be a footman? ”

“Hey man, if she lets you play it's best not to ask any questions.” Says Bucky before taking a sip of water. “Trust me.”

“If you want, you can be one of the princess's pet chickens! They ride inside the carriage!”

Right on cue, Bob chokes on his juice and cleverly plays it off as an accident.

“So uhh, Y/N.” John began, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of the conversation. “How'd you and Bucky meet?”

Your eyes move across the dining table, meeting Bucky's eyes as he looks at you knowingly. “Funny story actually uhh, I was sent on a mission to track down one of HYDRA's elitist assets after the fall of SHIELD. I followed him all the way to Romania, then Vienna, stalked him. Then the whole bombing at the United Nations happened just as they were about to sign the Sokovia Accords. Went back to my superiors empty handed because of his involvement with the Avengers.” You tell them. “Second time around, I tracked him all the way into Wakanda, nearly lost an arm because of it. He fought me off exceptionally well for a man with just one arm, and then when it came to it I just couldn't kill him.”

“Then they fell in love and got married.” Maddie finished before taking a bite of her pancakes. “Then came me, the end! ”

“So, who did you work for?” Yelena wonders, raising a quizzical brow.

Your tongue kissed your teeth before ushering Maddie to finish her glass of water and turn on the TV to watch her cartoons. To which she happily agreed. When she was preoccupied only then did you continue.

“I was one of the defected Widows they threw out after they realized we were no good at our job. They saw us as liabilities in the field. We never completed our training hence…” You tell her looking over at your daughter, giggling at the TV. You cleared your throat and continued. “Dreykov wanted us gone but I guess the world hasn't had enough of me yet so I crawled my way out, got back on my own two feet. Ended up on the streets of Madripoor, living off of people's wallets. I started working as a shadow operative for one of the most elusive crime bosses in Southeast Asia, but I wanted an out- a clean slate so I agreed to help Bucky and Sam out when they were taking down the Flag Smashers, covertly.” She finishes, eyes landing on John who stared at her like she'd grown another arm from her head.

“Dreykov orders firing squads, they dispose of the bodies in the incinerator.” Yelena told you, clearly puzzled. “How did you-”

“Just not mine.” You reply, a faint smirk ghosting on your lips. “I guess Dreykov isn't so good at cleaning his tracks afterall.”

After clearing all the plates and Ava offering to help with the dishes, you, Bucky, Alexei, and John went outside as they needed a change of bandages. You weren't about to scar your child. So you left her in the living room with the rest of the team, telling her to be on her best behavior.

“Jesus, they look so bright now.” Yelena says all of a sudden as she frowned at the television. Maddie sat in the middle of the living room with her dollhouse as she played with the fuzzy animals, writing a story as she went along.

“What?” Bob says from beside Maddie, holding a small husky in a sweater vest and slacks.

“The ponies.” She says, pointing her chin towards the television. “They used to be… easier on the eyes.”

“You used to watch My Little Pony?” Bob chuckles.

“Yeah, back in Ohio. My favorite was Twilight, I'd always force my sister to watch it with me but she never wanted to.” She smiled, remembering the times during her childhood where the days seemed brighter, warmer.

Maddie stopped playing to turn around to look at Yelena. “She's my favorite too!”

Yelena grinned. “Really?”

“She's my favoritest favorite out of all the Mane 6, my pajamas have Twilight all over them!” She points out, pointing at her sleeve where an outline of Twilight in a darker purple could be seen. She only now notices how Maddie's pajamas were full of Twilight's face alongside her cutie mark. “Do you have any other favorites, Auntie Lena?”

She then proceeds to think. “Hmm, Rainbow Dash is a close second.”

Her eyes glimmered with interest as she takes into account Yelena's answer. “Fluttershy is my favoritest favorite number 2.” She says, turning back to her toys. “Uncle Bob is a lot like Fluttershy, cuz they’re both very quiet but really nice.”

“You think so?” Bob wonders earnestly as he watches the little girl arrange a rabbit family inside the doll houses' living room to make it seem like they were watching TV just like the three of them were.

She looks up at him. “Uh-huh!” Maddie replied. “And so is, Auntie Lena, and Auntie Ava, and Alexei… and only the tiniest bit Uncle John cuz Daddy said that before when I was a baby he was pretending to be his best friend Uncle Steve and hit him and Uncle Sam a lot. But now he's not a sock sucker anymore? I don't know, that's what Daddy said. Then Mommy got mad.”

Yelena sits up from her once laxed position on the sofa. “You really think that?”

“Uh-huh.” She explains, fixing her hair out of her face. “I know it, cuz you guys are playing with me. So you guys are nice people.”

Yelena meets Bob's eyes amidst the momentary pause in conversation. The lives they’ve led were not anything to be proud of, not in the slightest. They were in this constant cycle of shame and regret that they’ve allowed it to nestle deep inside themselves and eat them from the inside out. Yet this child thinks they were nice people regardless. It didn’t matter if she didn’t know what they’ve done, it mattered that someone said it, that someone sees past their faults.

“Uncle Bob! the Dad needs to be in the garage, not the bathroom! He just got home from the office!” Maddie interrupted, bringing them back to the moment.

“Oh sorry, right.” says Bob, bringing the husky out of the house and have him enter through the back door. Bob clears his throat. “Honey! i’m h-“

“-Not like that!” Maddie whines, laughing. “Why is your voice so weird?”

“I had creative freedom and I took it,” Bob defended. “Okay, i’ll start over.”

“Can I join?” Yelena asks all of a sudden, intrigued.

“Okay! You can be the girl husky. She owns this hamburger stand and sells hamburgers and fries and also soda.” Maddie blurted out excitedly, pulling the little hamburger stand closer to the house as Yelena moved to sit on the floor beside Maddie. She lets out a sound of approval.

Maddie settles back into position. “Okay, Uncle Bob, we can start now!”

“Honey, i’m h-“

“Nooo, Uncle Bob his wife isn’t at home! She's working at the burger stand!” Maddie frowned, pointing at the burger stand where the other Husky stood behind the cashier. Perfectly orchestrated, Yelena wheezed out a laugh.

“But I thought his wife was the Rabbit…” Bob trailed off, looking up at Yelena for help who only snickered at his misfortune.

“Let’s just do it again.” Maddie sighed quietly, crawling towards her school bag before pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Okay, I'll read from this, you two can just act it out.”

“She’s got a script, this whole time...”

“Yeah, this is definitely Bucky’s kid.”

Later in the day, after they’ve had lunch and Maddie woke up from her nap- they all decided to get some fresh air in the backyard. Maddie suggested they play freeze tag, Ava was currently it and had been chasing Bob around the expanse of the backyard like a bloodthirsty maniac, but then she spots Alexei crouching behind the garden shed. When he realizes what was happening he makes a break for it- he grabs a fistful of grass and throws it at Ava's face in hopes to distract her as he turns around the garden shed and runs away, laughing.

But then he doesn't expect Maddie to be on the other side and tags him, he was now frozen until somebody else manages to unfreeze him. John had been standing in the middle of it all as he had been frozen for a good 15 minutes now, but raised his arm to scratch his nose.

“WALKER, YOU'RE FROZEN FOR CHRIST SAKE.” Ava yells. “Act like it!”

“UNCLE JOHN IS CHEATING!” Maddie cries out, pointing at him like he's been accused of witchcraft.

John screws his face tight. “Can you people relax? It's just a game.”

“Surprise, surprise he's talking out of his ass again.” Yelena grumbled, making Maddie burst out into a fit of giggles.

“I heard that!” Bucky warns from his seat beside you as you chuckled.

“We've said worse things, in front of her accidentally. You don't have to worry.” You tell him, shooting him an earnest look. “Not when I threatened her that if she said another bad word an evil witch would come flying through her bedroom window and break all her toys.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you. “That's why she told me to check if the windows were shut tight the last time I visited."

You laughed through your nose. “Worked like a charm.”

Bucky and You continued to watch the rest of your teammates and your daughter run around the backyard of your home, carefree laughter filling the salty air. You glance back at Bucky watching the scene with a faint smile ghosting at his lips, you notice the threads of silver weaved through his hair, you notice how the lines beside his eyes are deeper, how he slumped against the backrest of the garden chair- so relaxed, at peace. Then he notices you looking at him and looks at you, his smile grows larger. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Nothing, just… thinking about how you gave me this.” You say alluding to everything your heart held dear. “This life, our daughter.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, that's where you're wrong. You gave me all this, all this and everything I could have ever possibly dreamed of.” He tells you, eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly as his eyes study every point of your face like he hasn't done it a million times before.

“I've never prayed much in my life before but sometimes I think God is merciful because He gave me you.”

You don't speak, you let him continue. Quite frankly, you're stunned.

Bucky wasn't done, not even a little bit. “I'm not proud of my past, what I've done, who I was. But you, Maddie, you two made me realise that maybe I'm not a monster, that maybe I was worth saving, that I deserved another chance. I'm the luckiest man on this entire planet because of it.” He says. “You saw me, the real me. Some days I forget that I lived most of my life ashamed of myself, you did that.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes all of a sudden. “Someone had to show you that the people who believe they aren't worth saving are the ones that need saving the most. I'm just glad you let me, with your stubbornness and all.”

Bucky laughs, looking away. He wipes a tear collecting from the side of his eyes and looks back at you. “I wouldn't be who I am today without you.”

“So would I.” You returned, looking at his dog tags and the wedding band strung through the chain as it rested atop his chest. “We saved each other. When I was a Widow I thought that that was all I was ever going to be, fight, do some sadist's dirty work, die in an alley in some foreign country with no one to mourn me.” You say as Bucky listened to you with utmost intent.

“I thought that if those were the cards I was dealt with, then fine. But then when I found a way out I realized my story didn't end with the Red Room, I fought, I spied, I went on missions and then the one asset I couldn't kill slips outta my fingers like sand.” You say, accentuating your statement with a little chuckle. Bucky himself laughs, almost like he was proud of himself.

“You showed me there was more to life than what I thought there was. I never knew I was gonna get married, be someone's mother.” You continued. “We could've never had this if we hadn't saved each other.”

“You're right.” Bucky says, sincere. “I thought I was gonna be born and buried in Brooklyn, but I could have never guessed this was how I was gonna end up.”

“What, a DILF?” You deadpan, raising an eyebrow at him.

Bucky's smile drops too fast; it makes you let out a raucous laugh. “Again with that word. You gotta know I still don't know what that means nor do I ever want to know.”

“Dad I'd like to fuck?” You say, grinning at him.

“I mean sure, there's plenty of time for that later on.” Bucky shrugs, shooting you a sly look. You roll your eyes. “Right time, right place, doll.”

“Huh,” you enunciate looking at the sky, lost in thought. “Where'd I last hear you say that? Oh yeah, two months before our wedding and then we ended up in the moving truck while we were moving the stupid bed-”

“-Was it?” Bucky asks you, frowning. “Seemed like it was yesterday, we were sleeping on the floor of the house taking turns rocking Maddie's cradle because she wouldn't settle.”

You poke his side. “That was seven months after we got married.”

Bucky shoots you a cheeky grin, flinching at the sudden action as he laughs. “Time flies by so fast.”

“It's been three years,” You sighed. “Jesus, she's growing up too fast.” You turned to look at Maddie on Alexei's shoulders as they were being chased by Ava, Yelena and John were seated on the swings engaging in a conversation that miraculously didn't have them wringing each other’s necks, and Bob was sitting on the grass watching the scene as you and Bucky were.

“I'm gonna enjoy every moment I can carry her around without her telling me she's embarrassed while I can.” Bucky tells you. “The day I hear those words I won't know what to do with myself.”

“Eventually the tea parties, the bedtime stories, and her choosing to sleep in our bed even if she's got her own are gonna end and I'm not ready for that.”

“I don't think we ever will.” Bucky concluded, turning to look at you once more. “The same way she won't be ready to hear about what we had to do in the past to survive.”

“she'll understand.” You say, tone full of hope. “we earned this.”

Bucky gazes into your eyes, letting out a thoughtful hum. “Did I tell you how much I love you? Because frankly I don't think I do it enough. I love you, I love you with everything I am and with everything I can offer. Thank you for knowing me inside and out and still finding someone worth loving.”

You laughed, bright with melancholy as you sniffed, tears overcoming you once again. “I love you more, not just because you're my husband, not just because you're Maddie's father, but because you showed me that loving someone wasn't a sign of weakness- that I didn't need to bleed myself dry to get somebody to see me and love me… all of me.”

“I'd do it again,” says Bucky tenderly, reaching out to dry your cheek. “As much as I need to.”

“So would I,” You added. “As long as you'd let me.”

“Forever, then.” Bucky decided.

“Forever.” You finished.

That night after a long and wonderful dinner full of laughter and stories that made some hold onto the edge of their seats and the rest gasp in thrill, it was time for bed. With the rest of the boys deciding over who got to sleep on the couch and who would sleep on the floor with a game of paper football, the girls got the privilege of sleeping in Maddie's room. And like the courteous host she was, she introduced them to all 25 of her stuffed animals currently occupying her room.

Eventually she gave up after the number 12 and was whisked away by Bucky into your bedroom for the night. Not after she decided to bid everyone by name a good night, that was when she closed her blue eyes shut and was fast asleep. That night you watched Bucky and Maddie sleep peacefully under the glow of her favorite night light. How she was enveloped by Bucky's arms like she always wanted- her small hand wrapped around Bucky's metal one, how she starts to look like an exact replica of him as the days go by and that was fine with you, for the most part.

Tonight there was no fighting, noise, or danger. No, there was just you, your daughter, your husband, and his rag-tag team of antiheroes turned heroes sleeping soundly around your house.

You let your eyes close all on their own, knowing that this wasn't a dream and that when you wake up in the morning they will still be there.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

dts: @dylsvqid @94namkooksworld @worldofsaturnsblog @wildflowersandvibranium @tmblrgirls777

[eponastory]

teething

dad!bucky barnes x mom!reader

synopsis: a little blurb about girl dad bucky and his metal arm—a little angst, mostly cute.

warnings: bucky’s past, insecure bucky, adorable girl dad bucky, crying babies

“shhh, i know, i know, honey.”

baby rebecca was barely four months old and already, the teething was unbearable—so much so that nights of restlessness and countless rejected soothing toys became a staple in the barnes household.

“what do you need, baby girl? daddy’s tryin’ so hard here,” he cooed, leaning back on the couch. as becca snuggled into his chest, gazing up at her father, bucky swore he could hear her little voice in his ears.

‘daddy, it hurts! why aren’t you helping me?’

he frowned, chest aching as he brought a cool metal finger to brush some tears off of her chubby cheeks. “i’m sorry, honey, but i don’t know what you need… is it mama? do you want your mama?”

he had been trying to give you a much needed night off but at this point, he was desperate.

becca gave a less than definitive coo, squirming in his arms, and for a split second, bucky was sure that he’d somehow made it worse. that was, until, she latched onto the finger, gargling in contentment as she began to chew.

he froze, brow furrowed as he watched her tears clear, all of her problems seeming to vanish as she gnawed on his finger.

his metal finger.

see, ever since you’d told him you were pregnant, bucky was… weird about his arm.

sure, it had been an issue early on in your relationship, but any insecurities were relatively short lived as you coaxed him into relative comfort. after a few months with you, he’d even grown to like his arm. you helped him feel like it was truly a part of him, not the weapon he once viewed it as.

and so when you had told him you were pregnant and all that healing fell apart before your very eyes, you were incredibly concerned.

suddenly, his nightmares of it crushing your windpipe, driven with a life of its own, reappeared with disturbing vividness—and just as quickly, he’d taken to abandoning his arm on the dresser across the room.

once becca was born, bucky became a master of one armed parenting. of course, he kept his arm attached in case of emergency, but the thought of tainting his precious little angel kept him from embracing it like he once had.

but now, as he watched her nibble on his fingers, a gummy smile stretching across her face, it was hard to think of it that way.

it had been a week of this teething nightmare and absolutely nothing could soothe her—except for his arm. except for him.

“does that feel better, babydoll?” he whispered, unable to stifle his smile as she cooed up at him. “you like daddy’s arm?”

“i think she does.”

bucky looks up, smiling softly as he sees your figure hiding in the shadows, leaning against the doorframe. “i told you to stay in bed.”

you shrug, moving forward into the stripe of moonlight in the middle of the nursery. “she likes the arm,” you say, ignoring his comment. “in fact, it’s the only thing she likes right now.”

he looks back down at becca, gaze softening as it always did when his eyes met hers. you sat just beside him, leaning on his shoulder.

after a long moment, he looks back to you with tear filled eyes. “i don’t deserve her.”

she sighed. “jamie—”

“i mean, look at her!” he exclaims, voice still hardly above a whisper. you oblige, watching as becca eagerly bites on his finger, unbothered by her parents conversation—she was adorable, but your focus couldn’t help but be captured by the way your husband looks at her with such reverence in his eyes. “she’s so innocent. she just showed up here one day and she doesn’t know what’s going on or—or what this arm has done—”

“you know what she does know?” you interrupt, knowing better than the let this spiral spin out. bucky looks back to meet your eyes, and you meet his pout with a gentle smile, massaging is shoulder gently as you speak. “she knows that you’re her daddy. she knows that you’re warm, and you smell nice, and that you have the magic hand that makes her feel better… and she knows you love her endlessly.”

he shakes his head, looking down at the baby, who had began to drift off. “i just… i never thought i’d get to have this. you, her, any of it.”

you lean in, kissing his cheek softly. “and you deserve it more than anyone.”

[eponastory]

Milestones

Summary : Bucky feels guilty for missing three months of his baby’s life while on a mission.

Pairing : Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!reader (she/her), You have a baby named Jamie.

Warnings/tags : little bit of angst, Hurt/Comfort, domestic!Bucky, Baby Jamie, Tower fic! Lots and lots and lots of fluff!!!!

Word count : 5.4k

Note : This could be read as a sequel to Elevator, Baby! Or on its own as a one shot. Enjoy!

You stood at the base of the jet ramp, your heart in your throat and Jamie in your arms, bundled in a little blue jacket with bear ears on the hood. Bucky had been holding it together all morning—packing, checking gear, getting briefed—but the second he turned around and saw the two of you standing there, it all fell apart.

His eyebrows relaxed, lips parting just slightly as he took you in—your tired eyes, your little smile, the way Jamie was chewing on his tiny mitten.

“C'mere,” Bucky said, voice already threatening to break.

He pulled you both into his arms in one sweeping motion, pressing you against his chest, his metal hand cradling the back of Jamie’s head. He kissed your forehead, then Jamie’s cheek, then your lips, then Jamie’s nose—over and over, like he was trying to memorise the feeling.

This mission was unavoidable.

A Hydra remnant had resurfaced— and the team decided on a stealth op, one man in, one man out. No comms except for daily status checks. It had to be someone with experience, someone who knew Hydra, someone who could disappear without a trace and still come home.

It had to be Bucky.

But it killed him to go.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “So much. You take care of Mama, alright?” he said quietly to Jamie, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You tried to smile, even as your eyes blurred. “We’ll be right here, Buck.”

Bucky kissed your lips again and lingered there, forehead to forehead afterward. “You’re my whole world,” he said quietly. Then he pulled back, crouched to Jamie’s level, and pressed a hundred tiny kisses to his son’s chubby cheeks.

“Love you, Jamie,” he cooed. “I’m so proud of you already,” he whispered, his voice cracking just a little. “Don’t grow up too fast while I’m gone, okay?”

Jamie laughed, squeezing his father’s vibranium fingers with his mittened hands.

Bucky kissed him one more time. Then you.

Then he stepped away— like if he turned around too quickly, he wouldn't want to go.

—

You and Bucky had a cosy little house in the suburbs just outside the city on a quiet street with a fenced-in backyard and a nursery Bucky had painted himself in. It was your dream place to raise Jamie. But when Bucky got called in for the mission, he insisted that you and the baby stay in the Watchtower while he was gone. 

“It’s safer,” he had said with his hand on your back. “Security’s tighter. You’ll have people around if anything happens. Please, honey,” he had puzzled into your neck, placing gentle kisses there, “It’ll help me sleep at night.” 

You couldn’t argue. With Yelena and John both on recovery, Bob always nearby, and even with Ava and Alexei in and out on missions, you wouldn’t be alone. There was always someone to lend a hand, and the reinforced security systems at the Tower made your alarm system look like a toy. So, for Bucky’s peace of mind—and maybe yours, too—you agreed.

But you were only supposed to be here for four weeks.

That’s what Bucky said—“Just a month, sweets. They won’t even know I was there.” He had smiled when he said it, trying to hide how hard it was to leave you. “It'll go so fast.”

It didn’t.

The days passed like honey, slow and sticky. Jamie was teething, waking every couple of hours with red cheeks and a heartbreaking whimper. Every time you soothed him back to sleep, you whispered stories about his daddy—how brave he was, how much he loved him, how every mission he ever went on was just so he could protect you both.

The New Avengers had your back. Bob made you meals, even when you weren’t hungry. John insisted on installing baby gates. Yelena would hold Jamie when your arms got tired. Alexei insisted he remembered how to swaddle (he didn’t), and Ava had access to the baby monitor— because realistically, if there was an emergency, she would get there the fastest by phasing through walls.

And every night, at exactly 2200 hours, the comms come to life with a single message from the field. 

“Alive.”

That was all you got. Nothing more. You weren’t allowed to respond, couldn’t ask if he was warm, if he’d eaten, if he missed you—though you knew the answer.

Then, at the 30-day mark, a second message came.

“Need more time. One month.”

You had to sit down. Your heart beat so loud and quick it muffled the silence that followed.

John placed a hand on your shoulder. “You’re doing great,” he said. “And he’s gonna be okay.”

But you didn’t feel great, though. 

—

Around week six, it happened.

You’d just finished changing Jamie into his footie pajamas—the yellow ones with little moons and stars—and were placing him on the playmat in the middle of the living room when he surprised you. He’d been trying for days, wobbling like a baby penguin with a mission, always toppling sideways or collapsing onto his belly with a frustrated huff.

But this time… he did it.

With a determined little grunt and a proud scrunch of his brow, Jamie pushed himself upright—his pudgy hands planted firmly on the mat, his legs bent in just the right way—and he sat…. unassisted.

You froze, blinking in disbelief for a full second before the joy hit you like a wave.

“You sat up on your own, Jamie!” you squealed, your voice high and overwhelmed with pride. You rushed forward, scooping him into your arms and covering his chubby cheeks with rapid-fire kisses. “You’re so clever!”

Jamie laughed a delighted giggle that made your heart explode—and you clapped for him like he’d just graduated from college. You kissed him again and again, whispering praises, brushing his hair back, watching how his eyes lit up from your joy.

But then you looked up— just for a second.

Your eyes flicked instinctively toward the doorway, half-expecting to see Bucky there leaning against the frame. You could practically picture it—the way he’d whisper "Atta boy..." 

But the doorway was empty.

Oh, right. He wasn’t here.

Still, you held Jamie close to your chest, rocking him gently as his small hands gripped your shirt. “Daddy would’ve loved that,” you whispered into his hair, kissing the top of his head. “He would’ve clapped louder than me.”

—

It was around week seven when it happened— a quiet afternoon in the nursery, rain pattering against the Watchtower’s windows, and you were in the other room folding laundry while Yelena played with Jamie on the floor. You heard her voice, delighted. “Wait—wait, wait! bozhe moy—he’s doing it!”

You dropped the stack of baby onesies and rushed in just in time to see Jamie, your seven-month-old bundle of determination, wiggling forward on his hands and knees, his little face scrunched in focus as he crawled for the first time— straight toward his favourite stacking rings.

Yelena already had her phone out, camera rolling, grinning like a proud aunt. “Look at this strong little soldier,” she said, laughing. “He has places to be!”

You dropped to your knees beside them, your hand over your mouth as laughter and tears bubbled up all at once. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Jamie,” you whispered, scooping him into your arms as he squealed, triumphant. “You did it, baby. You did it!”

Later that night, after Jamie had drifted off in his crib, you sat in the Watchtower kitchen surrounded by avengers and half-drunk mugs. You played the video again (complete with Yelena’s commentary, Jamie’s babbling giggles, the sound of his tiny palms slapping the play mat) as everyone gathered around—Ava and Bob peering over your shoulder, John and Alexei leaning against the fridge.

“He did this today?” Ava said, visibly impressed.

You nodded. “He just… took off.”

“Bucky would lose his mind,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “He’s been waiting for this.” You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, glanced toward the nursery monitor on the table.

“He’s growing up so fast,” you said softly. “Too fast.”

And though no one said it aloud, you could feel it in the way Ava gently touched your shoulder, in the way Yelena squeezed your hand, in the way even John stayed silent for once— Bucky was missing moments he would never get back.

—

Around week eight, the daily message finally came through on the Tower comms, blinking with the same buzz it always did. You dropped what you were doing and hurried over, hoping that today would be the day he said he was on his way home.

But the screen displayed:

“Need more time.”

That was it.

No follow-up and no time estimate. 

You stood there in the dimmed hallway light, heart sinking into your stomach. You pressed a hand to the monitor screen like it might somehow pass through, like it might reach him— like it might let him know how much you needed him now.

You hadn’t realised just how much hope you’d pinned on hearing something different today.

After you got Jamie down for the night, you sat in the rocking chair by the window in the nursery. You clutched one of his worn t-shirts to your chest—washed too many times but still faintly smelling like him—and glanced at the small framed photo on your nightstand.

It was a candid shot of Bucky holding Jamie the day after he was born. His metal hand was cradling Jamie’s head so delicately, his human hand around his little body.

You looked at it every night— and lately, you’d started talking to it.

“I swear, Buck, he’s got your attitude,” you murmured with a smile. “Fights nap time like he’s trying to break out of a prison transport. He’s teething now, too—two little teeth on the bottom. He bit my shoulder today and then laughed.”

You laughed to yourself, but it was tired. “And he crawled up two stairs today. Alexei nearly had a heart attack. I’m fine. Totally fine. Totally not freaking out.”

You rested your head against the back of the chair, tears burning your eyes as you looked over at the crib.

Jamie was sound asleep, arms spread, a tiny fist curled around the edge of his blanket. You got up and tiptoed over.

“Wanna say goodnight to Daddy, sweetheart?”

As part of your nightly routine, you’d started showing Jamie a few photos of Bucky—his favorite was the one of Bucky grinning with sunglasses on and Jamie strapped to his chest in a carrier.. You’d hold it up and say, “That’s your daddy. He loves you so much.”

Then you’d pull up the recording Bucky had made weeks before the mission of him reading Jamie’s favourite bedtime story— Goodnight Moon. It had been his idea, something he insisted on recording “just in case.”

As his voice filled the room—“Goodnight comb and goodnight brush…”—Jamie stirred, but only to sigh and snuggle deeper into the mattress, soothed by the sound of the man he hadn’t seen in more than three months.

—

By the time week twelve rolled around, the days had started to blur into each other. You weren’t sure if it was Tuesday or Saturday, or if you’d eaten lunch or just forgotten again. Your life was just Jamie’s routine and the single nightly message from Bucky.

“Alive.”

That was all he was allowed to say. It wasn’t much, but it was everything to you.

But then came the night the comms didn’t crackle at all.

You’d finished Jamie’s bedtime routine—bath, bottle, story—and sat in the control room with the monitor nearby, watching the clock tick past the usual transmission window. You waited one minute. Then ten. Then twenty.

Just as your chest began to tighten, Ava appeared in the doorway, still in half of her mission gear.

“Delay in transmission,” she reassured. “There’s been some disruption on the line. It doesn’t mean anything bad. Happens sometimes.”

You nodded, even though your stomach had already sunk halfway through the floor. “Thanks.”

But sleep didn’t come that night. You tried to lie down, tried to close your eyes, but your body was on high alert.

So instead, you padded barefoot to the nursery and lifted Jamie from his crib. He stirred in your arms, but didn’t fully wake— just tucked his head against your shoulder the way BUcky often did when you cuddled, tiny fingers curling into your sleeve like he knew you needed him as much as he needed you.

You curled up in the rocking chair with him, forehead pressed against the fuzz of his hair.

“Daddy’s okay,” you whispered, rocking slowly,“He’s coming home soon. Any day now, sweetheart. He promised.”

—

One night, while you rocked Jamie through the tail end of another teething fuss, the Tower’s main comm crackled to life.

You weren’t expecting much— maybe the usual “Alive”, maybe nothing at all. But then you saw it.

“On my way back. ETA: 2 hours.”

You stared at the words for a second, blinking once they sank in.

Oh.

Oh. Oh my God.

Your heart started racing, hands trembling around Jamie’s warm little body. You pressed a kiss to his hair, eyes filling with tears. “He’s coming home, baby,” you whispered to him.

Two hours later, almost to the minute, the Watchtower’s hangar doors hissed open with a mechanical sigh. The team had decided to give you privacy, so you were the only one there. 

Still, your lungs had forgotten how to work the second you saw him.

Bucky.

He stood at the top of the ramp, his tactical gear scraped and worn, smeared with dust and bloodHis hair was tied back, a little longer than when he’d left. His face was gaunt with fatigue—like he’d lived a lifetime in the past three months—but none of that mattered.

Because his eyes were on you.

And then he ran.

You barely had time to react before he barreled into you, boots slamming against the floor, arms wrapping around you in a grip so tight it stole the breath from your lungs. His body collided with yours and you stumbled back a step, arms coming up around his shoulders like muscle memory.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you—” he whispered into your neck, his voice cracking. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, your hair—frantic and tender.

You curled your fingers into the rough fabric of his jacket, fisting the front of it. He smelled like dirt and ash, but beneath it, he still smelled like home. You closed your eyes and breathed him in like oxygen.

“I made sure Jamie was napping,” you murmured, “Wanted to have you all to myself first.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you. He cupped your face in both hands, gently brushing your cheekbones with his thumbs, as if you were something precious and fragile.

“You did?” he chuckled playfully.

You nodded, eyes wet. 

“Sweetheart…” His breath hitched. “God, I missed you. So much.”

You pressed your lips to his in a kiss— and there was no rush, no frantic edge— just pure love, poured from the cracks in your heart into hisYou melted into him, every part of you screaming finally.

“I don’t care what Val says,” he whispered against your lips. “No more long missions. I don’t care if I have to clean the Tower bathrooms with a toothbrush— the longest I’ll ever go without you is a weekend. That’s it.”

You smiled through your tears, resting your forehead against his.

—

Later, once the team greeted him for a debrief and he got checked up in the medical bay, Bucky walked through the corridor to the nursery, your hand in his. You stopped just outside the door, letting him step in first.

The glow of the nightlight spilled across the room like moonlight, Jamie was fast asleep in his crib, one tiny hand curled near his cheek.

Bucky stood in the doorway.

For a long time, he didn’t speak. He just stared, glassy-eyed.

“He’s so big…” Bucky whispered, voice breaking. His metal hand tightened around yours just slightly. “I mean, I knew he would grow—but…”

“He did,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist. “He grew up so much.”

Bucky leaned down, resting his chin atop your head, eyes never leaving his son.

“I missed him,” Bucky murmured. “I missed everything. His face… He’s changed.”

You nodded, pressing your cheek against his jacket. “He looks more like you now.”

Bucky gave a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, still watching Jamie’s chest rise and fall. “I wanna hold him so bad,” Bucky said. “But I should shower. Get the dirt off me before I touch either of my babies.”

“He’ll be up in the morning. He’s become a morning person, like his dad,” you whispered, “But I don’t mind the dirt.”

Bucky finally turned, pulling you into his arms again, a bit more relaxed now. “Don’t you, now?” he chuckled, dropping a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw.

You grinned, fingers curling into his jacket as he leaned in closer.

“I missed this,” he said, lips brushing the shell of your ear now. “Missed you in our bed. Missed the sounds you make. Missed waking up with you. Missed touching you—loving you.”

Your breath caught as his hands traced your sides. “Bucky—” you whispered, heart racing.

“Let me love my girl,” he said, eyes burning into yours. “Let me come home to you properly.”

You nodded.

He took your hand in his, and with one last glance toward the crib before closing the door as he led you to your shared tower bedroom.

—

The hum of the baby monitor filled the bedroom — until it didn’t. You heard a faint rustle, the scrunch of fabric, and a sleepy little sigh followed by the unmistakable pat-pat of tiny hands against the crib mattress.

You stirred beneath the blanket, blinking awake. “He’s up,” you whispered, barely a breath.

But Bucky, excited to finally see his son, was already halfway across the room.

You sat up as he disappeared into the hallway as you followed behind watching him pause outside the nursery door.

He reached for the handle and then he opened the door.

The morning light spilled across the floor, filtering in through the curtains, and there—right where you'd left him—was Jamie. Blinking drowsily, legs kicking beneath, his cheeks still warm.

“Hey, buddy,” he said gently, crouching down beside the crib. His voice was rough, quiet—like reverence wrapped in gravel. “There’s my boy.”

Jamie blinked once before a high-pitched squeal erupted from his little body, his whole face scrunching into a gummy, delighted grin. He kicked hard, flailing his arms like he might fly right out of the crib.

Bucky let out a laugh that sounded half a choke, half a sob. “You remember me, huh?” he whispered, almost amazed.

He scooped Jamie up with both arms, holding him against his chest like he was made of spun sugar.

You leaned against the doorframe, a smile tugging at your lips. “Of course he did.” 

Bucky pressed a kiss to Jamie’s hair and shut his eyes. “God, he’s heavier,” he said.

Jamie babbled something unintelligible, tugging at Bucky’s collar like he had a lot to catch up on and no words to say it.  

The three of you curled up on the couch not long after—Jamie nestled in Bucky’s lap, clutching his bottle with sleepy fingers while Bucky held him close, murmuring nonsense. Jamie giggled, tugged gently at his hair, and babbled like they were resuming a conversation that had never ended.

You sat beside them, then you pulled out your phone.

“Here,” you said, shifting closer until your thigh brushed his. “You missed a few things. I saved everything.”

Bucky glanced at the screen as you pulled up the first video.

It was Jamie crawling. Wobbly and determined, launching himself forward from the rug to the couch as you cheered and Yelena laughed in the background.

Bucky’s breath caught. “Look at him go,” he whispered, brushing Jamie’s hair back. He kissed his son’s temple.

You smiled and swiped to the next.

This one was Jamie sitting up all by himself, beaming proudly, clearly so proud of himself.

Bucky’s smile was gentler this time.

Clip after clip, moment after moment—Jamie waving at Bob for the first time, babbling nonsense as Alexei tried to teach him the Russian word for “banana” — These were three months worth of milestones, one after another.

You were too busy watching the screen to see the way Bucky’s teeth clenched, the way his metal hand flexed against his thigh.

“And here,” you said, “this was last week. He figured out how to hold the bottle himself.”

You tapped the video: Jamie lying on a blanket, gripping his little bottle with both hands, gurgling contentedly between sips. It was three days ago.

“That’s… that’s great,” he whispered, barely audible.

You turned your head to look at him, resting your hand on his thigh. “You okay?”

He met your eyes with a sad smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good, sweetheart. Just… taking it all in.”

You nodded, comforted by the answer, and turned back to the next video..

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the screen long afterwards, the way his hands tightened around Jamie’s. 

He kissed Jamie’s cheek again.

Because while you saw memories, Bucky only saw his absence from an entire chapter of his son’s life that he could never get back. And even as Jamie cooed against him, Bucky couldn’t help but think—

I should’ve been there.

—

That night, sometime past 2 a.m., the baby monitor crackled to life—a fizz of static followed by the most heartbreaking cry.

You stirred beneath the covers, still half-asleep, but before you could even lift your head, Bucky was already sitting up, one hand brushing your thigh.

“I got this, honey,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Go back to sleep.”

You gave a groggy hum of thank you and rolled over, already sinking back into the mattress.

Bucky moved down the hallway and into the nursery, easing the door open. 

Jamie was wriggling in his crib, face red and scrunched, little fists clenched tight as he let out another frustrated cry— the particular pitch that could only mean one thing.

“Hey, hey, alright, buddy,” Bucky soothed, already reaching in. “You mad about the diaper again? I get it. Nobody likes soggy pants.”

He changed him on the table— hesitant at first, but it came back to him like muscle memory. Tape, wipe, fresh diaper, blanket with the faded cartoon stars— he one Jamie always settled best in.

“There we go,” Bucky whispered, swaddling him up with care. “Better?”

Jamie hiccupped, then let out a sleepy little sigh. His eyes drooped.

But neither Jamie nor Bucky headed straight back to bed— it was as if they were both awake and in this together now..

So, he drifted into the Watchtower’s common room, where the city lights bled in through the windows and walked around the kitchen tower. He reached and pointed to the fridge, most likely for a bottle.

“You hungry, too, huh?” he asked. He quickly warmed up the bottle before slipping it gently into Jamie’s hands.

And Jamie… gripped it. He adjusted it and found the rubber nipple on his own like it was second nature.

Bucky didn’t help anymore, he didn’t have to. Jamie had it handled.

Tears pricked his eyes as he sank into the couch.

“You’re so good at that now,” he whispered, voice cracking as he brushed a hand over Jamie’s brown curls. “You don’t even need me to help.”

Jamie drank peacefully, his little hand patting absently at Bucky’s chest.

“I should’ve been here for that,” Bucky continued. “Should’ve helped you figure it out. And now I come back, and you’ve already moved past it.”

He looked away, wiping at his face, “What kind of dad misses that?”

“Someone who is trying,” came a gravelly voice behind him.

Bucky twisted to look behind him.

Alexei stood in the doorway, travel-worn, duffel bag still slung over his shoulder, just coming home from a mission. He smelled like pavement and engine grease, and he was careful not to get too close to little Jamie.

“Hey there, malen’kiy medvezhonok,” he greeted Jamie. Then, with a smirk, he said, “And bol’shoy medved,” he added, nodding to Bucky with dry amusement— his long-standing nickname for Bucky’s bear-like devotion to fatherhood.

Jamie made a sleepy gurgle and blinked up at him, unimpressed.

Bucky sighed. “He figured out the bottle on his own.”

Alexei nodded, stepping inside and collapsing into the nearby armchair with a grunt. “Babies do that.” he said, dropping his bag, “But I think my girls skipped it and went straight for knives.”

Bucky huffed a chuckle, but it faded quickly.

“Be honest with me, Alexei.”

Alexei raised a brow. “Always.”

“Am I a failure of a father?”

Alexei blinked, frowning like Bucky had asked whether water was optional for survival.

“What? No.”

“I missed him crawling, sitting up. All the big firsts. I keep telling her I’m fine, that I’m proud, but I’m already behind and he’s not even one. How do I even begin to catch up?”

Alexei sat on an armchair. Then he leaned back, stretching his legs with a groan. “You want truth?”

Bucky nodded.

“You are not failure. You are a man who had to leave but came back.” He gestured vaguely. “That alone makes you better than ninety-nine percent of men I’ve known—including my own father. It makes you better than me for most of Natasha and Yelena’s lives.”

Bucky frowned. “But—”

“Listen to me.” Alexei held up a hand, interrupting him. “I used to think I could fix everything with fists. I thought if I hit enough bad guys, it made me good by default. But then.... I stay— and Yelena likes me better now. We need to keep coming back, even when you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

He paused, then added, “John —he is not perfect. He missed much of his child’s early life. Now he gets weekend and playground visits. But he shows up. He tries. Do you think he is bad father?”

“No,” Bucky admitted, remembering when John’s kid got a tour of the tower, giggly and happy, “Not anymore.”

“Exactly,” Alexei said, “And John left for a year. You? You are holding your son and feeling bad about a bottle.”

Bucky looked down. Jamie was dozing now, the bottle half-full, his hand curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“You think he’ll forgive me?” Bucky asked.

Alexei snorted. “He is baby. He will forgive you before breakfast.”

That drew a real laugh from Bucky. He buried his nose in Jamie’s hair and closed his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said.

Alexei stood with a stretch. “I go find food. Or shower. Or both. In whatever order I hit first.” He gave Jamie a parting glance. “Good baby. Sleeps better than little Yelena.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Bucky and Jamie alone again.

—

The light of morning spilled across the Watchtower’s windows. The city below hummed—cars drifting like whispers on distant roads, the sound of turbines blending into birdsong. Inside, the common room was warm and quiet.

You sat curled on the long couch, a travel bag at your feet and Jamie balanced in your lap, his tiny body still warm from sleep. He wore his little bear-print onesie, his cheeks smudged pink, fingers lazily wrapped around the last bit of his morning bottle. He blinked sleepily up at you, eyelashes fluttering like they were too heavy.

It was your last morning at the Tower, Bucky had just finished debriefing everyone he needed to and doing all the official paperwork. You’d be back often, of course—visits, Bucky’s (hopefully shorter) missions, and dinners with the team—but today, you were finally going home. Back to your own kitchen, your backyard, to your birdfeeder. Back to your quiet street and your swing and the scent of fresh coffee in your own kitchen. Back to your bed that no longer felt too big, because Bucky was coming with you.

He’d slipped out earlier, promising to pack up your things while you focused on Jamie. “Let me do something useful, sweets,” he’d said, pressing a kiss to your temple. He was still carrying this guilt in small ways— over-packing the diaper bag, refolding clothes you’d already folded, checking three times that Jamie had socks on.

And you let him.

Because this was how he stitched himself back into your life.

Jamie finished the bottle and gave a small, sleepy grunt. Then he kicked around, accidentally knocking your empty breakfast plate from the coffee table. 

CLACK!

It clattered to the ground with an echo that felt so much louder than it should have been.

Jamie flinched.

His whole body jolted as his eyes went wide, mouth pulling down hard. And then— like a dam cracking open— the cries began— the kind that came with a startled fear only babies felt, when they didn’t understand the world enough to explain it.

“Oh, baby—no, no, it’s okay,” you whispered, immediately rocking him. “Just a sound, it’s alright. Just a noise. Mama’s got you—shhh…”

But he was inconsolable. His tiny fists curled tight against your collarbone, whole face turning red as he wailed.

That was the moment the door slid open.

Bucky stepped into the room, a suitcase in one hand and a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, brow furrowed from some conversation he’d just had with John on the comms. “Hey, I found the monitor and that book you always—oh—”

He froze, watching you frantically try to calm little Jamie down

“What happened?” he asked quickly, dropping the bag before you could answer.

“He scared himself,” you explained. “He knocked the plate off the table and made a loud noise.”

You didn’t need to explain more. He was already reaching.

“Come here,” Bucky said, his voice a particular tenderness he reserved only for you and Jamie. “Come to Daddy. Daddy’s got you now.”

You passed Jamie over, and Bucky drew him in tight— one hand cradling the back of Jamie’s head, the other rubbing soothing circles across his little spine. His voice dropped to a hush. “Shhh… It’s alright now. Just a dumb plate, huh? Didn’t mean to scare you. We’ll kick its ass later, huh?” he said, and you playfully slapped his shoulder for saying a bad word. “Plates are overrated anyway.”

Jamie’s cries had quieted into little hiccups, no longer frantic. He clung to Bucky’s shirt, burrowed in under his chin like.

And then it came in his small, raspy voice “...Dada.”

Bucky stopped moving. You blinked.

And then, slowly, Bucky pulled back just enough to look at Jamie’s face. “What… What did you say?” he whispered in disbelief.

Jamie blinked up at him as a chubby hand reached up and curled into Bucky’s beard.

“Dada,” he said again, clearer now.  

Bucky’s knees almost buckled.

His mouth opened, but no words came out at first.

“Is this—has he...?” he asked, barely turning his head toward you.

You were already nodding, tears burning in your own eyes. “It is,” you whispered, kissing Jamie’s forehead. “That’s his first word.”

Bucky let out a stunned laugh, his voice cracking.  “That’s me. That’s me, Jamie. I’m your Dada.”

He kissed the top of Jamie’s head over and over again, before kissing you— gentle and sweet. 

Jamie giggled at the sight of his parents showing affection to each other, delighted with himself, babbling nonsense now and again, but punctuating it with another firm, proud “Dada.”

You smiled, burying your face in Bucky’s shoulder.

All those nights you’d shown Jamie picture after picture of his father—telling him over and over, “That’s your Daddy. He’s coming home.” All those times you’d held your breath hoping Jamie wouldn’t forget him… It had all paid off.

Bucky kissed your forehead without even looking, still half in shock, like he couldn’t believe this little boy—this squishy miracle—was his. And yours.

And that his very first word had been Dada.

Jamie wiggled and tucked his head beneath Bucky’s chin, pressing close with a little hum of contentment. “Dada,” Jamie said again, sleepily this time. 

Bucky leaned down and whispered, “That’s me, buddy.”

—end.

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Masterlist

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault @average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @boy--wonder--187 @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125

@imaginecrushes @phoenixes-and-wizards @rowanthomasknapp @daystarpoet @thefandomplace

@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @kitasownworld @shortandb1tchy @roxyym

@badl4nder @natalia42069 @silverdoragon

[eponastory]

ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

hi loves <3 I have had such a writer's block lately, so I thought I'd share some of my favorite fics that I have read lately. shout out to all of these amazing writers-- keep doing what you love. you are all unique and thoughtful, putting a little twist into your work that makes it yours. enjoy <3

𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

obsession @barnesonly 18+ (he's so dreamy)

You don’t even really like Bucky Barnes — he’s grumpy, kinda mean, and totally clueless about how you feel. But damn, he’s so hot it’s driving you crazy. Every time he walks in, all you can think about is what it’d be like if he just took you right there. You try to play it cool… but yeah, that’s not happening.

𝘔𝘰𝘣 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘴! 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴 (im such a whore for mob!bucky so pls send me fics <3)

sinnerman @aquaticmercy 18+ (OBSESSED W/THIS.)

Bucky Barnes is obsessed with a singer at his favorite jazz club.

sins and silk @magicaloneandmystery 18+ (don't have to force me babe🤭)

under the watchful eyes of his criminal entourage and your unapologetic family, you say your vows to the most powerful man in New York City. despite your doubts, your wedding night surprises you in more ways than one. AKA, Bucky knows how to fuck the reader right.

mad for you @marvelstoriesepic (I cried reading this like deadass)

You are a simple maid who cleans the mansion of the Bucky Barnes, always staying in the background. But when one of his men sees you as a target for assault, and manipulates you into taking the blame for something you didn’t do, you are pushed directly into Bucky’s focus.

𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

where the quiet lives @cursedheartsclub 18+ (this has a special place in my heart)

You were supposed to be on your honeymoon. Instead, you’re crashing at Bucky Barnes’s lake house—with his grumpy cat and no idea who you are without the man who asked you to give it all up. You went to the lake to forget your ex. You didn’t expect to fall for the man who owns the house.

spellbound @cursedheartsclub 18+ (sex pollen troupe ily)

You took the hit meant for Bucky—magic that curls under your skin like a fever, an ache that won’t ease no matter how many times you break. And the only thing that eases the fire is him.

bound to burn @cursedheartsclub 18+ (SO SO GOOD!!!)

You’ve never kissed Bucky Barnes—never even touched. Now you’re in his lap at a club in Romania, panties pushed to the side, grinding on his thigh while a voyeuristic arms dealer watches from the shadows. The mission said do whatever it takes—so you do. You moan for him. You beg for him. You come on his fingers in a mirrored room with someone else on the other side of the glass. And the worst part? None of it feels fake. Not his voice in your ear. Not his mouth between your legs. Not the way he says, “Eyes on me, doll.” And when it’s all over? You still ache for him. And he’s still carrying your panties in his pocket.

Falling/Drifting Series @probablybucky (this writer is so amazing. ily)

When you find yourself falling for Bucky Barnes (literally), you wonder if you can let go of the past enough to trust him. Set post TFATWS.

Drifting apart was never part of the plan—but neither was falling in love with Bucky Barnes. With a looming threat on the horizon, distance becomes a liability neither of you can afford.

high water @cheekybarnes (so angsty and personal love it)

You’ve stopped keeping track of the bruises. Bucky hasn’t—and he doesn’t say anything, not until the patterns start looking too much like his own, and it’s almost too late to pull you back.

have we met before? @aquaticmercy (sighs in cuteness)

America Chavez says that you and Bucky are together in every universe.

𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

right this time @buckysleftbicep (as he should 😚)

after a disappointing date, bucky decides to show you what a proper date should be like.

1940'𝘴!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

his girl @cursedheartsclub 18+ (1940's bucky has my heart)

He called you his girl long before he ever kissed you. Long before he fell off the train. Before Hydra. Before the ice. Before he forgot your name—Bucky Barnes was just a boy who called you his girl. The two of you grew up tangled in the Brooklyn trio with Steve: fists and laughter, scraped knees and stolen glances, slow dances and so many kisses. You were never official. But everyone knew. He made sure of it. And when he left for war, he shouted it across the room for all to hear— “You know I’m gonna marry you when I get back, right?”

𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺

always been you @bcksgirl 18+ (love it love it love it love it)

you’re fresh out of a break up, and your brother is determined not to let you dwell on your shitty ex. he thinks your annual summer trip with your shared group of friends should do the trick. you think a summer spent staring at his hot best friend will at least lift your spirits a little.

𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥!𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

lavender @aquaticmercy 18+ (usually I don't go for stuff like this, but I was like what the hell, why not, and it did not disappoint. very Game of Thrones I love it!!)

The princess is engaged to her childhood best friend, though her true love is her royal guard, James Barnes.

𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘰𝘺!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺

the cowboy rule @hanaridulsetcheese 18+ (as a Texas girl herself, I love it!! need more cowboy bucky in my life)

no summary, so here is my own! after arriving in Texas, you meet a charming cowboy named Bucky. When he offers to show you around, you can't help but notice how attractive he is. One night at a bar, he puts his cowboy hat on your head, which can only mean one thing..."You wear a man’s hat, you take him for a ride."

𝘋𝘢𝘥'𝘴𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺

honey girl. @violentdelightsandviolentends 18+ (this series is a masterpiece.)

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺

just for tonight, night out, stay for a fortnight @thyme-in-a-bubble 18+ (I can't believe I forgot to put this series on here holy shit. I re-read these at least once a month)

bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, ex!peter parker x reader, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), forbidden romance, explicit sexual content, total word count is 10.7k

my masterlist <3

[eponastory]

This isn't right Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes // Thunderbolts* (The New Avengers) (2025)

[eponastory]

Finding My Way Chapter 5

Bucky Barnes x OFC with Daughter

That house on the lake is a memory. A good one, but he doesn't know if he can face it. Bucky doesn't even know how he remembers it, but he knows when he's standing in the streets of Bucharest, he sees proof that it's real. It stabs him in the heart like a million daggers when he sees the woman he left behind and he wants to reach out to her. To say her name, but he can't. He doesn't.

Years later he gets a letter telling him to meet at the Lake House in Michigan. Who he finds is a daughter looking for her mother after the Blip.

Chapter summary: Bucky, Sam, and Mia make their way to Romania. When they get there, Mia comes clean about why she reached out to Bucky and then they meet her grandmother Lucia Draven.

Master List

They are over the Atlantic when Sam sits down across from Bucky after handing him a beer. The lights in the main part of the cabin are dim while the one above the table they sit at are on so Bucky can work on the laptop. His eyes keep looking over at Mia, who is asleep on the black couch with her earphones in, listening to some sort of rock music. How she can listen to it is beyond him because it’s so loud he can hear it from where he’s sitting. 

He’s learned that he has an insistent need to look after her all the time. It’s probably the paternal instincts he has now that she’s in the circle. His circle of people he needs to keep safe is small, but it’s what keeps him sane. 

“So, did you love her mother?” Sam takes a swig of beer before setting it down on the table and leaning back in the chair he sits in. 

This feels like a setup, but Bucky knows the answer. “I can’t really answer that.” He’s preoccupied with looking for any trace of Luna in Europe. “I know she loved me. She said it often enough when we were together.” 

Luna may have said it and he knows she meant every word, but he was not like he is now back then. He was still a killer waiting for the other shoe to drop. It did, and when it happened, it was a nightmare. One that he still feels guilt and shame over because it could’ve ended Luna’s life. He wouldn’t be on this plane right now going to Romania and Mia wouldn’t be sleeping a few feet away, alive. He did this to them. Not by choice; never by choice. If he had the choice, he would’ve stayed. He knows that because he would’ve loved raising Mia. 

“What happened?” 

Sam’s question doesn’t catch him off guard as he looks up from the computer to look at his friend. “I happened.” He looks over at Mia one more time. “HYDRA happened.” 

When Sam looks at the sleeping teenager, he shakes his head. “She’s definitely your kid. She even has that resting grumpy face you sport around.” 

“I’m aware she’s my kid, Sam.” Bucky is very thankful that Mia’s ears are occupied by rock music right now. “I was there when she was conceived.” 

“So let me ask you this– What are you going to do when she finds out?” Sam is looking at him with that hard ‘this is my therapist’ face. 

Bucky knows what he’s going to do. “I’ll take whatever comes and deal with it. That’s what I’ve always done and it’s what is right.” It’s not really the best plan, but with things like telling his only child that she would have never been born because of him was a hard conversation. One he’d rather not have. “Hopefully, I won’t have to tell her anything.” 

“Wait, so you’re just going to let her go through life not knowing that you are her father and you get to walk away?” Sam shakes his head. “Wow. Father of the century award.” The look of disbelief on the other man’s face has Bucky’s jaw clenching. 

The scowl on Bucky’s face deepens and then he glares at his friend. “You don’t think that I care.” 

“I never said that.” Sam leans forward in his chair. “It’s obvious that you do care or we wouldn’t be over the Atlantic right now going to find your baby-mama that disappeared.” The look of hurt in Sam’s eyes has that stupid gut wrenching feeling that Bucky hates clawing its way up inside. “I see you looking over at her like she’s going to run away at any moment or just disappear because you do care. You’re just afraid of hurting her and maybe you’re afraid of getting hurt yourself. Big deal.” 

“You aren’t going to do one of your stupid speeches right now.” 

“You better believe I am.” 

“Yeah, well it doesn’t change anything.” He scoffs glancing back over to the girls sleeping only feet away. “She’s still going to hate me when she learns the truth.” 

“But that’s the thing– she knows who you were. She knows you now. So, maybe you aren’t giving your daughter enough credit.” Sam sighs. “I’m not going to tell you how to be a father, Buck. I have no leg to stand on with that, but I do know that she needs you and maybe you need her too.” 

Bucky stays silent, looking at his hands. The same hands that he remembers wrapped around a porcelain neck while green eyes look up at him in a panic. Those same hands also caressed the same beautiful skin with reserved strength. They planted tomatoes in Luna’s garden and held her close on the swing as they watched the afternoon go by. His mind was his now, but his hands had so much blood on them even if it wasn’t his fault. Even if he was made to be a mindless obedient killer, he did not know if he could taint the purest thing about himself. 

Mia. 

The girl that came to him when she needed him. Even if she didn’t know who he was to her or how she is alive because he somehow broke out of programming long enough to stop choking her mother. That is his guilt eating at him and the need to keep her protected from his darkness. He doesn’t deserve to be her father. 

“While you are trying to figure out what you are going to do with your kid, I’m going to get some shut eye.” Sam says getting up from his chair and moving to the couch across from the one Mia is passed out on. “For what it’s worth, I think you should give it a chance.” 

Bucky watches as Sam makes himself comfortable before going back to what he was doing. He’s not sure when he decided to do it, but he gets up and moves to the storage compartment that sits over Mia’s head. Opening it, he finds a black fleece blanket that would do the trick. He unfolds it before laying it over Mia, making sure to not actually touch her in the process because he doesn’t want her to wake up. Now, he feels somewhat satisfied that she’s at least warm and when she mumbles in her sleep, he sighs. 

This internal war with himself isn’t worth it. He’s fighting hard to keep her at a distance when he doesn’t have a chance. He knows he is going to lose. He lost the moment he decided to bring her to Brooklyn. 

Running a hand through his hair, Bucky moves back to his seat just as Sam’s snores start to get on his nerves. The last thing he wants to do is look at the past, but he can’t help it when he pulls his phone out and clicks the link to Luna’s social media account. 

It’s torture because he finds photos from seventeen years ago posted in her album. The one where she is showing off her swollen belly with a smile that seems so far away hurts the most. He can see how her eyes betray the happiness that she plasters on her face, but in the next photo, she’s holding a fresh from the womb baby and her eyes are different. They are in love with the baby in her arms and Bucky can only imagine what is going through her mind. 

Does she see me in the baby’s face?

The thought runs through his head, and he glances up at his nearly adult daughter’s face. Yes, there is a lot of him in Mia, but he sees Lunesca’s nose and her eye shape. The high cheekbones and he knows Mia’s real hair color came from him. He’s seen her natural hair color. 

He scrolls through pictures until twilight before the break of the sun over the horizon. There are several pictures and videos of Mia doing silly things as a child. Things he could’ve been there for, but didn’t have the chance because he was lost. He almost wants to shed tears, but he won’t. Not now. He can’t and when he looks over to see Mia’s face in the warm light of dawn, he is overwhelmed by how much he truly loves her. This ray of light in his otherwise dark world that he had a hand in creating. 

Bucky knows Sam is right. That’s the crazy part about all of this, which makes everything feel difficult, but look easy. This was something he’d have to fix when he found Luna. 

Landing in Bucharest was not so bad. It was very different flying private versus commercial, which was actually great because Mia was able to get the best sleep she had ever gotten on a flight. Not that she hadn’t before, but there were no crying babies or people kicking the back of her seat. Instead, she had a whole couch to herself with the only noise was the sound of the jet engines. 

She follows Bucky and Sam off the tarmac into the terminal with her backpack. She makes sure to put her black baseball cap on that is decorated in patches and buttons from rock bands she likes to listen to. Sometimes she catches Bucky looking back at her to make sure she’s there because she guesses that he’s just protective. It makes sense because he’s already explained to her that she needs to stay close. Although Sam doesn’t seem to be as concerned about her safety as Bucky is. 

“So… where do we start?” Sam stops when they get outside of the terminal. Bucky turns to Mia. 

“Her grandmother.” 

“Right.” Mia adjusts the strap of her backpack on her shoulder as both adults look at her with questioning eyes. “We have to go to Targoviste… Maimie's house is there.” And she's pretty sure her grandmother will be yelling at her in both broken English and Romanian. 

Bucky must notice the way she's looking down to hide the shame on her face because he walks right up to her from ten feet away. “What’s wrong?” 

“She's going to hate me.” Mia doesn't look up when she hears him sigh. 

“What did you do?” 

“I stole from her and left.” She hates that she stole from her own grandmother to get back to America, but what else was she supposed to do? She was fifteen. “I took all of the cash she had saved up to buy a new car and some of her jewelry… and then… then I left.” All Mia had was her passport, clothes, and an ID with her dual citizenship. 

Bucky looks down with a huff. “You stole from her?” He doesn’t sound too surprised, maybe even slightly annoyed? She can’t really tell. 

She doesn’t like the tone in his voice. “What was I supposed to do, Bucky? Just run away and get caught? They had really bad things going on here.” 

“What do you mean by ‘really bad things’, kiddo?” Sam looks at her and crosses his arms over his chest. “What aren’t you telling us?” 

Mia has no choice but to tell them. “Okay so, I lied. I said I left because I was getting bullied…” she says as she starts pacing in front of Bucky and Sam. “The fact is… there were people looking for me.” She doesn’t miss the look that Sam and Bucky give each other. 

“Who?” Bucky crosses his arms now and then gives her that ‘you better tell me now’ look. 

“They call themselves the Vânător de Vrăjitoares.” Her Romanian isn’t perfect, but she tries. 

“What now?” Sam looks at her confused. 

“Witch Hunters.” The other man clears up with a sigh. “I heard about them when I lived here before the Blip. They take anyone they suspect of being a witch or enhanced and bring them to someone called the White Mistress.” 

“Someone caught me doing something I shouldn’t have been doing… and then the next day these people just started following me around.” There is fear where there shouldn’t be and she locks eyes with Bucky, who softens and leans up against the column he’s standing next to. “I was walking home from school, and they followed me. I ran but they cornered me.” 

She starts shaking at the memory of them throwing a net over her and then dragging her out of an alley she tried to take shelter in. If it hadn’t been for her cousin, she wouldn’t be standing where she is right now. She wouldn’t have found Bucky. 

“Mia…” Something happens that she doesn’t expect. Bucky pushes himself off the column and catches her by the elbow as she paces by him. This act surprises her even more when he’s grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her still, facing her so she has to look him in the eye. “I won’t let them take you if that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

Mia’s tears fall. “It’s not that… I lied.” 

“Okay, let's take a breather here and get to your grandmother’s house.” Sam interrupts what could clearly be seen as a confession from her and she’s glad for it. “We’ll get to Targoviste, hunker down there, and then we can talk about why we are here.” 

“Sam…” Bucky takes his hands off of Mia, clearly conflicted on how to feel. 

“Bucky.” The new Captain America gives her guardian a solid stare. “We can deal with what she has to say later. There’s no use in hanging around here where there are eyes and ears listening.” 

Mia dries her tears with her sleeve as Bucky looks at her again with a scowl. His eyes reflect the disappointment he probably feels towards her at that moment, but she didn’t have a choice. 

“I’m sorry.” She tells him as Sam hails a ride. 

“We’ll talk about it later.” The former HYDRA assassin grabs her shoulder and steers her towards the car that is pulling up to the curb. “Just get in and give the driver the address.” 

Two ravens pull on a laurel crown. Three stars below. 

That was the crest he remembered seeing on Luna’s ring. It was her family crest, and it sat on the iron gate that they had been dropped off at by the driver after entering Targoviste. Bucky had never stepped foot here, but he feels like he’s about to walk into enemy territory. Behind the gate is a long driveway that goes up the hill just outside of town, which only makes him wonder exactly how far Mia had to travel to school every day when she was living here.

She stands in between him and Sam, looking fidgety before she moves up to the keypad and presses in a code. There is a click before the gate opens, letting them move forward up the driveway. If there was ever a time for him to confront Mia about what she said, it was now. Maybe. He wasn’t sure how to go about it. 

“You said nothing about walking up the side of a mountain, girl.” Sam is walking up ahead of them a little bit and all Bucky can do is sigh. “Good for leg day, bad for my appetite. I hope your grandmother is a good cook.” 

“She is.” Mia smiles slightly as Sam turns his head to look at her. “She makes everything from scratch.” 

“That sounds amazing.” There is that soft tone that Sam always gets when he’s talking to the kids. 

“Yeah… amazing.” Mia goes quiet after that.

All Bucky can do is remain silent too because he’s not sure how to handle what Mia did. He knew she was keeping things from him, that was a given with how she managed to sneak a text on her phone to someone named Paul. He was pretty sure this Paul guy was the one that gave her the gun he threw in the lake back in Michigan. Still, it was not really his business to be policing her on this. If anything, he wanted an explanation as to why she kept everything to herself. 

But that can come later when he can talk to her alone. 

When they get to the top of the driveway, they see the villa there with its pitched roof and stone facade. There is ivy growing up the exterior on trellises and the typical eastern European windows that provided full opening on hot summer days. 

“Wow, this is a really nice place.” Sam’s amazement at this only annoys Bucky because he’s seen most of Europe and still can’t get over the styles. “How long has it been in your family, Mia?” 

“It’s only one estate. My great Uncle has a castle somewhere up north that belongs to the family.” Bucky hears her say as she walks up to the ornate wood door with the same family crest on it. “Maimie’s brother is a Count or something.” 

Sam gasps. “So you’re like… royalty?” 

“I think so… I’m not sure since they had to flee back when Romania was a communist country.” Which explained how Luna’s mother ended up in the states. Bucky sighs as he watches Mia use the heavy door knocker to alert whoever was home to their presence. She steps back off of the steps towards Bucky. 

She keeps backing up and he puts a hand on her shoulder as she gets closer to him. “Scared?” 

“Yes… Maimie can be really scary when she’s angry.” There is a little fear in her voice along with anxiety that he picks up on, so despite the things she told them earlier, he still gives her a little comfort. 

He squeezes his daughter’s shoulder and then leans down closer. “I think she might be more upset that you left without telling her than the fact that you stole from her.” Bucky realizes this is exactly how he would feel if she did this to him. 

“Are you sure?” She looks back at him, blue eyes like his looking for that reassurance that children often dow with parents. 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” He has to admit that softly to her because it’s the only thing he knows to do. “If my kid did that to me, I’d be more worried about them than whatever they took from me. I kinda did the same thing for a trip to Coney Island. My mother was worried sick about me.” What he leaves out is the ass whooping he got after Winnifred Barnes smothered the shit out of him with her hugs. He was twelve and Steve also got an earful from Sarah Rogers. 

Then the door opens. 

Out comes the woman Bucky remembers seeing in the marketplace all those years ago, but with streaks of gray in her ebony hair. The same green eyes that Luna inherited from her. She looks at Bucky and Sam before her eyes settle on Mia’s face. The tears come instantly before she’s covering her mouth to hold back the shock of seeing her granddaughter standing there perfectly safe and sound. 

“Mia?! Chiar tu ești, draga mea?” Is that really you my sweet? The words come out of the older woman’s mouth as she carefully moves down the steps with her arms out to Mia. “Am fost atât de îngrijorat. Unde ai fost?” I was so worried. Where have you been? She puts her hands on the girls’ cheeks, looking at her and then to Bucky. He knows that she knows who he is. He can see it in the way her eyes widen a little and then she’s looking at Mia’s face again as she strokes the girl's cheek. 

“Maimie… I’m sorry.” Mia doesn’t bother to speak Romanian as she starts to sob. Her grandmother takes her in her arms and holds her close before speaking. 

Bucky watches as the woman closes her eyes, wondering if he would be welcome here. He wouldn’t blame her for forcing him out and far away, but instead, the woman focuses her attention on his daughter. 

“There is nothing to apologize for.” The woman’s thick accent tells him that she’s spoken English long enough to converse in it. “You are alive. You are whole” She pulls away looking at Mia with a smile “You are here.” And then she kisses Mia on the forehead before turning her attention to Bucky and Sam. “And you are?” 

Mia pulls from her grasp and turns to Bucky with a teary smile. “Maimie… this is Bucky Barnes. Remember? Mama told you about him?” 

“Yes… yes, I remember. The Soldier.” Luna’s Mother looks him up and down again.

He holds his right hand out for her to shake. “Buna ziua. Sunt James. Cred că avem multe de vorbit.” Hello. My name is James. We have a lot to talk about. As soon as he speaks her language her face changes. 

There is a moment where she doesn’t do anything but then, she gives him a half smile. “Eu sunt Lucia Draven.” She introduces herself and takes his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Da, avem multe de discutat.” Yes, we do have much to discuss. 

Then he watches as Mia turns her attention to Sam who is waiting there trying to understand the words that Bucky is saying. 

“Sam, this is my Maimie… Lucia Draven.” It’s Mia’s infectious smile that makes everything seem so much better when Sam offers up a smile of his own towards Lucia. 

“Sam Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lucia.” He shakes her hand. 

“Same Wilson… You mean Captain America?” There is a moment where Bucky wants to groan at the way his friend seems to praise himself for this new role as Lucia puts a hand on her chest. “Here, at my home?” 

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but yeah.” The man just can’t give it a rest as he brings Lucia’s hand up to his lips and gives it a kiss. “You are so beautiful and your home is beautiful as well.” 

Bucky cannot believe what he’s seeing, and Mia turns to look at him with a disgusted look on her face. He runs a hand over his face as Sam keeps buttering Lucia up for no reason other than to probably get on her good side. 

“This is so awkward.” Mia moves closer to Bucky. 

Awkward doesn’t begin to cover what he’s seeing, but that is beside the point. Once Sam is done offering platitudes, Lucia invites them all inside. Bucky already smells the aroma of dinner cooking with heavy spices and fragrance of herbs with meat. The house is big, but there is something homely about it that has Bucky thinking he could live in a place like this for the rest of his life. He can hear the loud squawking of a bird, a parrot coming from the parlor area and he isn’t wrong when he sees the large macaw sitting on top of it’s cage eating nuts. 

“That’s Zina.” Mia says as he walks through the room to the stairs that Lucia was leading them to. “She hates me.” 

He is pretty sure the bird is eyeing him up too. “I think she hates me too.” 

Dinner consists of Lucia explaining the politics and stories about the Draven family, but other than that, she keeps it about as boring as a dinner can get. Bucky is sitting at the small kitchen table across from Mia while she’s not really eating too much. He notices her picking at her food as though she is going to be sent away at any moment by her grandmother, but it never happens. In all, she barely eats a quarter of the food on her plate before she asks to be excused. 

Something tells him that she’s not ready for the conversation that needs to be had and to be honest, he knows Lucia is going to corner him at some point for a talk he isn’t ready for either. Father and daughter are both in the same ocean, but he’s in a bigger boat. He can handle what Lucia has to throw at him, but he’s not sure if Mia can handle it. She’s just a kid. His kid. 

He decides that it would be a good idea to help Lucia clean up after dinner. She’s providing a place to stay and feeding them so it’s the least he can do. Washing a few dishes isn’t going to kill him because it’s the right thing to do, so he follows her to the sink with his hands filled with plates. 

Sam has already called it a night and gone up to get ready for bed. Tomorrow they’ll get to the bottom of the truth with Mia, but for now, Bucky knows that he’s got to come clean to the mother of the woman he loves. Because he’s never stopped loving Lunesca Draven, not even for a second, he just hates himself because he hurt her. 

He sets the dishes on the counter next to the sink when Lucia starts speaking. 

“She has your eyes.” The woman begins to wipe the tile counter down as he scrubs the dishes. 

Bucky doesn’t pause what he’s doing to wash. “I know.” 

“Does she?” 

That makes him pause for a moment, then he goes back to it. “No.” He puts the dish on the drying rack. “I’m not sure if I want to tell her.” 

“I know who you are, Winter Soldier.” Lucia puts a hand on his shoulder. “The world does not forget what you have done, but it forgives.” 

“I can’t forgive myself for what I did to her.” Another plate goes into the rack. “I could’ve killed them both.” 

“But you did not.” Lucia is more graceful than he thought she would be. “She told me when Mia was born about how you stopped. How your eyes changed. How you forced her to leave.” 

There was no choice, they would’ve made him hunt Luna down and he went back to HYDRA without question saying he dumped her body in the lake so no one would be suspicious. They didn’t bother to check. 

He nods. “No. If she didn’t use her powers, I wouldn’t have stopped.” 

“Our power protects us. Even from those we love.” She explains as she finishes with the counter. “Lunesca came here to find Mia. I told her that Mia had been taken by the Vânător de Vrăjitoares, so she went looking for her.” She turns away from him to pick up the wine glasses from the table. “When she came back… she was here two days before she left again.” 

Two days? Where could she have gone? “Did she say where she was going?” 

“No, she left without a farewell. Even left belongings behind.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Where are they?” 

There is no hesitation when Lucia brings him upstairs to Luna’s empty room. She pulls a backpack out from under the bed, putting it on top for Bucky to sort through it. He unzips it, going through her stuff, and he catches her scent right away. That soft herbal smell mixed with rain and spring hits his nose making him remember an afternoon or two in her arms. He blinks coming back to himself as he dumps everything on the bed. 

He spreads everything out on the bed, from her toiletries to her wallet and passport. The only thing missing is a phone and he knows something is off. Opening her wallet, he sees that her new bank card is in there along with the credit card he had tracked down to the city they were currently in. 

“She didn’t leave.” Bucky states looking at Lucia. “She was taken.” 

Chapter 4 Master List Chapter 6

[eponastory]

HOW QUICKLY THE NIGHT FADES pt. 2 - Bucky Barnes

Summary: It was a mistake- the tension, the kissing, the sex. It was only because the two of you were so pent up from stress that it had been the outlet you chose. What happens when that one night stand turns into a lifetime when you realize you're pregnant?

Bucky can't wrap his head around the whole situation, yet he keeps having nightmares about it that keep him awake. When he finds your pregnancy test, something clicks that makes him realize just how real it is for the both of you

Warnings: pregnancy & symptoms, one night stand, distanced bucky, self doubt, nightmares, no communication, bucky being absent for reader, heavy angst with some comfort, Bob comforting once again

w/c: 1,5k. | ◁ last chapter | II | next chapter ▷|

Baby.

It was all he could think about for days on end. Sleepless nights spent pondering about it all. Others, he was woken up by fact. Not fantasy. Not a joke. Growing inside of you, was from him.

His sheets were tangled, and his hair drenched with a cold sweat that left goosebumps on his skin every time he had urgently sat up after another nightmare of you yelling at him the same as before.

"You- you left me! This, this baby is ours! Together! And you.. you left it. Left me. Us." The clock stared back at him showing 2:43 AM as he let out a deep sigh. His chest rose and fell with the quick beat of his anxiety-ridden heart. He knew that the rest of the night wouldn't be any easier- he'd only awake to another if he had somehow drifted back off, or spend the rest of it awake while staring at the ceiling to make the time go faster.

Since that night, he hadn't snuck out of his room. Only missions began to pester him, and for once been noticable to the rest. Except they didn't ask. Only nodded. Accepted.

He tried to look like a leader. Be confident. But he felt the pestering tremble of his once-straight posture. He witnessed the beginning of dark circles under his eye. The rough stubble after absentmindedly forgetting to shave every once in awhile. His showers turned burning hot instead of his usual cold.

Every time he had come to the kitchen, he brushed a hand through his hair hoping to forget every interaction he had done wrong- every expression, every touch he didn't provide, every word he didn't say. But he stayed away.

Kept his distance.

Why?

Why couldn't he do this like he should?

While you?

In a daze. Nauseous. Sweating. Cold. Hot. Craving. Nearing 2 months in and the paranoia of a sweater revealing it all had caused you more anxiety than you had planned over all the other reasons you had it. The team urged. Asked. Wondered.

"Hey, you feeling okay?" Walker had asked absentmindedly though curious while walking into the kitchen, seeing you sat on the couch while you sat with an empty look staring at your phone.

You only nodded, "mhm" and turned away.

Bob saw. He heard the confused whispers and the wild rumors of why you wouldn't wanna take on a mission.

"maybe Barnes had something to do with it- real close until BOOM- no more."

"maybe she hates the team.. wouldn't judge her on that one but she's still gotta respect her duties as a hero man."

He tried. Bob had tried so hard to ignore them with hidden nasty side-eyes and the quick twitches of a hand. He became protective. Lashing out at them when he heard the murmurs and little comments about you.

Told them it was "none of your business, and if you really wanna find out, why don't you take it to Val?"

After they had scurried away, he was left by himself in the empty hallways that made up the avengers building. But he had felt a presence. Overpowering, yet stable and demanding at the same time. But he knew the cracks that were starting to form. He saw the lines start to form on his forehead and the tremble of hand when the man brushed them through his messy strands that didn't seem brushed through properly.

"What were they saying?" Coming out of the shadows, Bucky had questioned Bob. He had seen it too. But he.. what did he do about it?

"Not very good things about y/n" is all he gave in return to the soldier, not daring to look him straight in the eye as he approached. He didn't want to give him the time of day, nor any sort of interaction that would indicate everything is perfectly fine between them.

"I heard them loud and clear anyways- it'll be reported to management immediately." Stern and certain, he had started to walk away after announcing, but Bob's whispers had caught his ear. Almost like a nightmare repeated, it caused a falter in his step and facade alike. Ever so little did his eyes widen.

"Why do you pretend to care?" But when Bucky had turned around to say something back to Bob, he too was left with only the empty hallways of the avengers building.

It was getting to him.

The things he didn't say. Should've said. The steps he should've taken. He felt that pity was in every look around him when people wandered too long, or their eyes lingered over after a mission a bit too much for comfort. The reports got messy, handwriting too squiggly for comfort from once being near perfection. His act was starting to crumble, and he knew why.

Bob. The words- his choice of words and what they meant coming from him.

He knew he couldn't peel the guilt that clung to him off so easily, and he knew that he'd have to come to face you; struggling- why was he struggling so damn much.

Accidentally banging his fists roughly on the desk he had sat behind for unintentional hours, he lifted his head only to look around before mumbling deep regrets to himself as he held his temples.

One night had changed something in him. Coming back from the office and seeing the smallest flicker of light from your room in the otherwise darkly plastered hall, door just ajar enough to peek in. He was tempted. Undeniably, undeservedly, tempted. Gently, he tapped it, having a sliver of hope you'd be in there to stop him- yell at him, hit him maybe. But you weren't. Your room was just as vulnerable as you were. Your scent had filled his nose as soon as he stepped fully inside, enveloping his senses of just what used to be.

Clothes were stacked high in your laundry bin, different types of medication littered around your side table along with garbage bags accompanied by the bin sitting loyally by your bedside from the early mornings that poked at your stomach cruelly. Mugs and chargers filled up the rest of the table, the room made up of either pillows fallen and abandoned from the bed or more clothes that had made themselves home to the cold wood. He knew you probably hadn't had the motivation nor the effort inside of you any longer to do such mundane everyday things like pick up a shirt you dropped.

And he was right. It became hard enough to live with the fact that you had something growing inside you, let alone a man who didn't know and shirts absentmindedly piling up fast. Everything had become a blur, whether it be everyday life, or conversations with the team.

Bob noticed. He always did. He saw you in the ways others didn't. Found himself curling you in his arms when no one else did, whispering soft affirmations as you twitched and shook beneath him, grounding you with his tight, reassuring hold.

He had been the rock holding you together- whether it be getting you something you had been craving, standing up for you. Bob was an angel sent down that somehow found his way to you. But sometimes, he wasn't enough.

Your thoughts spoke louder than any hand holding could do, yet his fingers drawing themselves through your hair brought you back. You knew it'd only get harder. More painful, and more to cope with.

Bucky.. what was he going to think?

He found himself eyeing your bathroom. A box that stood out among the white cabinets and marble tops. A solid blue pattern encasing something inside it made his feet unconsciously travel over, wasting no time in knowing exactly what it was when he laid a closer eye to it. A white and corned blue with two lines prominent on its screen now heavy and truthful in his palm, and without noticing- bucky had shed a tear. A sniffle you wouldn't have known had even been produced if you weren't him. The tightness of his throat was prominent and impossibly hard to hold back.

Why?

Why was this when he realized just how much you needed him, and he needed you?

A man who once was unable to show emotion, whether forceful or after the fact, familiar with the feeling of fast flowing streaks staining the raw outside of his bitten cheek. He recognized it. The last time when with you- tangled in the sheets. Sharing each other's touches, breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo, and caressing your back with his metallic fingertips. For once.. he hadn't felt minimized. Like glass carefully put into place by purposefully pitiful hands. He felt human. Real.

Too real, so much so that it scared him away from the reality he dreamed of- the reality that was finally true.

And with the woman he couldn't help himself to admit to you that he loved, timidly, anxiously, and guiltily so.