greyyson-but-wrong

[greyyson-but-wrong]

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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General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

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@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

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@badl4nder @natalia42069 @silverdoragon

[greyyson-but-wrong]

I'm honestly so happy that an icon like Scarlett allowed small improviser groups like Shoot From the Hip to be on camera with her 🤧🥺

what an absolute saint sharing her stage with smaller comedians!!!

[greyyson-but-wrong]

Two kitties

[greyyson-but-wrong]

40s bucky this red henley bucky that when are we gonna start talking about bucky after steve's mom's funeral with the slick back hair and suit

[greyyson-but-wrong]

(i only came to this) party 4 u

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you. 

You barely went to team bonding and you NEVER went to Tony Stark's parties. Well, not until last night. And you’re never going again. 

Because of James Bucky Barnes.

WC: 11.4k

Tags/warnings: shy reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, intoxication/drinking, emotionally constipated reader 

A/N: this is the longest thing I’ve written, WHOOPS. I couldn’t stop with this one so hope some of y’all enjoy it! Ps: no I don’t know what card game Steve and Bucky are playing, make believe (shrugs) beta read by my friend @whats-yesterday00

It’s official. You’re never leaving your room again. 

Not after what happened last night. 

From this moment forward you are not leaving your room. No matter the reason. No matter how much they beg. 

Actually that’s a lie, you would have to leave your room at some point. 

But you’re going to camp out in your room for as long as possible. 

There’s a chance that if you do leave your room, and risk running into him, you’ll melt into a pile of goo on the floor. Or maybe you’d implode from the mortification.

Either way, you shouldn’t risk it. 

You should just revert to the old version of you. The girl that didn’t ever leave her room. Was too intimidated by the other avengers to spend time with them. The girl who — even though you had been given a warm welcome — didn’t feel like part of the team yet. 

For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you. 

Steve would occasionally organize team bonding events. After you joined, Steve planned them more frequently. A subtle way to get you to open up to them. 

Sometimes you would attend. Key word, sometimes. 

Usually, it would take some convincing from a few of them. Like when Sam would crack some jokes about how this week you HAD to be there because they were doing XYZ and so on. At some point you’d feel guilty for missing it and show up only to sit there quietly the whole time. You’d speak when spoken to, but never intentionally join a conversation. 

A majority of the time, you wouldn’t feel up for socializing and gave some excuse as to why you’re not feeling well. Steve never pushed you to show, but his eyes grew soft with concern whenever you told him you couldn’t attend. 

But, at some point, the Avengers noticed a change in you. You stopped turning down bonding events and started actually participating. They would find you hanging out in the lounge more often or sticking around to watch movies. 

After a long and brutal game of Uno during game night, they were all left surprised by how excited and competitive you were. The game ended with a stare down between you and Clint. 

You were still a relatively shy person, just more willing to open up and be yourself around them. None of them knew what caused this sudden change, but few of them had their theories. 

The first time you were tempted to leave your room was about two months after you started living in the compound. 

You were standing on the only chair available in your room which happened to be the swivel desk chair. Was it the safest way to hang up your room decor? Probably not. But you wanted to decorate your walls and this was the only way to do it. 

Your arms were starting to grow tired. One hand was holding up the poster, desperately trying to keep it straight, while the other was trying to rip off a piece of tape. 

Somehow the chair moved just the right way and you lost your balance. You stumbled to the floor and took the chair with you.

“Shit!” You loudly groaned after landing on your side with a thump. 

As you carefully stood back up, you heard a voice from the other side of your door. 

“You okay in there?” 

Your stomach dropped at the realization someone heard you fall. The urge to ignore the voice was strong, but you also knew they were just trying to check on you. 

With a slight limp, you approached the door and opened it. Behind it was a concerned Bucky Barnes. Up until now, you’d never gotten this close of a look at him before. You never noticed how blue his eyes actually were. It was almost hypnotizing the way you were so easily lost in them as he stared back at you. 

“Are you alright? I heard a crash.”

You blinked back to reality. “Yeah I’m fine. I fell trying to put up a poster,” you gestured towards it- now discarded (and thankfully not ripped) on the ground. 

He peeked inside to see the fallen chair and poster. “Want some help?” 

His kind gesture shouldn’t have surprised you. There was no indication Bucky Barnes was a bad guy. He was a great partner to work with in the field and his friends spoke very highly of him. But it did surprise you because outside of that, you never really had the chance to actually interact with him. 

You also heard a notorious amount of grumpy old man jokes from Sam that you didn’t exactly know how to interpret. 

“Yeah sure,” you nodded. 

He followed behind and entered your room. He examined the decorations you managed to put up in the time you’ve been living there. 

There were various music and movie posters of pop culture he mostly didn’t recognize. There were fake plants littered all around the room, scattered on different surfaces. The shelves were also covered with books. Rows and rows of books, that would’ve taken him years to get through. Close to the ceiling were strings of lights that gave the room a soft warm glow.

While he stood in the quiet of your room he noticed the faint music playing in the background. His face grew with curiosity as he looked around for where the sound was coming from. 

“What song is that?” 

You walked to your desk and grabbed the chair off the floor. “I’m not sure. It’s a playlist of old music I found online. Sometimes I like to put on old music from the 30s and 40s to have as background noise.”

You pointed to a YouTube video playing on your computer. 

“You like old music?” He inquired, looking slightly surprised. 

“Yeah, but I don’t know much about it,” you shrugged. “I don’t know what was popular back then or have any favorites.” 

He glanced at the video playing on your computer, “I could give you some recommendations if you want.” 

“Really?” you asked with growing enthusiasm. 

The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Yeah why not? If you wanna get into that type of music. Who better to learn it from?”

“That sounds great,” you said with a shy smile. 

The realization dawned on you that now you were both just standing in the quiet of your room. You grabbed the poster and cleared your throat to grab his attention. 

“Oh right,” he mumbled, looking a bit flustered and ran a hand through his short hair. “Where did you want to hang it?” 

“Up here,” You pointed to the empty space on the wall next to your desk.

He took the poster from you and carefully stepped on the chair as you held it still. He placed it against the wall, following your directions for where to hang it. You handed him a few pieces of tape and he slowly flattened out the poster before sticking it to the wall. When he was finished, he stepped off the chair and took a step back with you to get a proper look at it. The picture hung high above your desk. A starry sky with a collection of different constellations.

“It looks nice. I like what you’ve done with your room,” he complimented. 

“Thanks. And thank you for helping.” 

“It was no problem. Wouldn’t want you breaking a bone from falling off a chair,” he lightly teased. 

You started to blush at the embarrassing reminder. “Please don’t tell anyone about that.” 

Bucky pressed his pointer finger and thumb to his lips and ran them across his mouth, showing you his lips are sealed. 

After he left, you admired the poster on the wall, listening to the music still playing in the background. The image of him still fresh in your mind. 

Bucky was nicer than you expected. Not that you expected him to be an asshole. But he was one of the few Avengers you hesitated to talk to because they were a bit intimidating outside of work. Bucky had a consistent glare or grumpy look on his face that kept you at arm's length. 

The day after the poster situation when you made yourself coffee in the morning, someone stopped near you and waited for their turn to use the coffee machine. 

“Hey, I made that song list I was telling you about.” 

You looked to see Bucky standing next to you and digging something out of his back pocket. He handed you a folded piece of notebook paper. 

“Most of them are from the 30s and early 40s, songs I used to listen to. But I also included some late 40s and 50s songs I was introduced to after the war and … everything.”

When you took the paper from him your stomach swirled with something you haven’t felt in a long time. 

“Thanks,” you replied sweetly, “I’ll give them a listen later.”

He offered you a small smile before filling his mug with coffee.

That was probably the first time you started to see through his tough exterior and he let his real self shine through the cracks. 

_____

After that day you started to pay more attention to Bucky. In the field, in the compound. Just in general. 

While you still didn’t spend much time with the team, in the brief moments that you did, your attention would drift towards him. You were more aware of his presence when he was near.

And you did in fact give the songs he recommended a listen. You listened to them quite often actually. 

You were still listening to those songs weeks later.

You were in the kitchen listening to your new “oldies” playlist. It was late in the night and you needed to focus on something that wasn’t the chaos swarming in your brain. So, you decided to break out the baking supplies and royal icing you bought weeks ago. 

As you flattened out the dough with a rolling pin a figure appeared from the dimly lit hallway. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked once he noticed your presence. His voice was laced with sleep.

“Making cookies,” you answered, grabbing the cookie cutters. 

He walked closer to the kitchen island and leaned his forearms on the counter. “Why are you making cookies at one in the morning?”

“Stress baking.” 

There was a pause as he watched you cut flower shapes out of the dough. 

“Can’t sleep?”

You shrugged without looking up, “something like that.” You didn’t feel like elaborating. 

This guy you barely know definitely does not want to be hearing about how you can’t sleep from anxiety. He didn’t need to hear that after the last mission you went on with the team your brain was constantly screaming at you all the things you did wrong and could’ve done better. 

“Do you do this a lot?” he gestured towards your work. "Bake in the middle of the night?”

“I have once or twice. It also helps that no one is coming and going so I get some peace and quiet.” 

Bucky visibly tensed at your explanation, “sorry I ruined it.” 

Your head perked up immediately to prove him wrong. “It’s alright, you didn’t.” 

He looked relieved to hear that. 

“What are you making?” 

“Sugar cookies, but I’m gonna put icing on when they’re done.” You placed the cut out dough on the baking sheet. 

Your stomach coiled with nerves before speaking again. “I could save you some. If you want,” you said in a quieter voice. 

His eyes softened and he smiled at you. “That’d be great.”

As you continued placing cookie dough on the sheet, he walked over the fridge to fetch what he came down to the kitchen for. 

Now that the room was quiet, he could fully process the music that was playing in the background. For a moment, he stared at the inside of the fridge as he listened to the beginning notes of the next song. 

He finally grabbed the bottle of water and closed the fridge door before eyeing you with a quirked brow. 

“Billie Holiday?” 

You looked up from the cookies in confusion. You momentarily registered the song playing in the background was “What a Little Moonlight Can Do” by Billie Holiday. One of the songs from the list he gave you. 

“Oh yeah I finally made my own playlist. Most of the songs are the ones you gave me,” you grabbed the baking sheet and carefully placed it in the oven.

“You liked the songs?” His voice sounded like it had a hint of surprise. 

You nodded as the corners of your mouth perked into a grin. “I do yeah. They’re really good. It’s different from the normal stuff I listen to but it’s really growing on me.” 

Joy inched its way onto his face as he listened to you. “That’s great. I’m glad.” 

You leaned back against the counter and took off the apron you were wearing. “You have good taste in music.” 

The ends of his ears turned red, “Thanks.” 

Silence returned to the kitchen. you both stood there not knowing what to say next. The air between you was thick, like you wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. 

The song continued playing in the background, almost taunting you. 

You’re in love 

You’re hearts a flutter 

And all day long, 

You only stutter 

How dare Billie Holiday tease you right now with him in the same room. Who gave her the permission to take a peek into your heart and put it on display in front of him. 

The music was disrupted by Bucky clearing his throat, “well, I should go back to my room.” 

You shoved your hands in your pockets, “hope you get some sleep.”

He nodded before making his way out of the kitchen and walking down the hall. 

A few seconds after you were sure he left, you took a long deep breath. You stood there grappling with the fact that you definitely were starting to feel something for him. 

Something strong. 

Something you couldn’t get rid of.

The next morning you stood on the other side of Bucky’s door with a small plastic container in your hands. 

This was starting to feel silly. You’ve stared down countless criminals and kicked the crap out of them. But this was making you nervous. 

With a shaky hand you finally knocked, and hoped that he was actually in his room. 

It took only a brief moment for Bucky to answer. He must have just showered. His hair was a bit messy, slightly damp and he smelled nice. He was wearing one of those black compression shirts that hugged his muscles all the right ways. 

It should be illegal for him to look that good. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, surprised to see you. 

His question paused your ogling and brought your attention back to why you were there in the first place. 

“I saved some cookies for you,” you offered him the tupperware. 

Bucky’s eyes softened as he glanced between you and the dessert. He took the container from you and opened the lid, looking down with a smile at the flower cookies with purple, yellow and pink frosting. 

“Thanks, they look amazing,” he complimented. “Hope you didn’t stay up all night making them.” 

You shrugged, “It’s fine, I ended up getting some sleep. It helped me clear my mind.” 

Only because something else obsessively invaded your thoughts. Someone that cleared away the anxiety from your job. 

_____

As the weeks rolled by, you started to leave the sanctity of your bedroom and brave the common areas. 

Was it because of Bucky? Maybe. 

You found yourself intrigued by the man. And it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. 

That’s why you slowly but surely started to hang out with them more. You needed an excuse to be around him. 

It was almost embarrassing how much your crush on Bucky was affecting you. You were so worried about talking to the other teammates, yet desperately wanted to talk to him. Even if it was for a fleeting moment. 

The team took notice of your increased presence around the compound. Some were quiet about it, others weren’t, and loved to tease you. 

In a weird way, the teasing made you feel more welcomed. Like you were really part of the team. 

“Well well well,” Sam started with a smirk as he walked into the gym. “Look who’s training while the sun’s still out.”

You froze in the middle of wrapping your hands to look up at him, Bucky, and Steve about to start their workout. 

”I’m not nocturnal Sam,” you joked back.

Usually, you would visit the gym at night before you went to sleep while no one else was there. As of lately, you had a slight change in routine. 

“Could’ve fooled me. I heard that you bake in the middle of the night.” 

Your eyebrows raised at his comment, “How’d you know that?”

“Little birdie told me.” his grin couldn’t get any wider. 

You looked to the only possible suspect. Bucky’s eyes quickly averted from you as his ears turned pink. 

Steve shook his head with a smile at his two friends. He tapped Sam’s shoulder before making his way to the bench, “c’mon quit bothering her.” 

Sam playfully rolled his eyes at Steve before pointing in your direction, “I better see you at game night later.” 

You shrugged, “Maybe I could stop by.” 

“You better stop by. We’re breaking out Uno,” he beamed before following behind Steve.

You smiled to yourself as he left and finished wrapping your hands. Before you could hit the punching bag, you realized Bucky didn’t leave to join Sam and Steve. 

“You want some help?” he offered while pointing towards the bag.

You nodded as nerves turned your stomach. “Yeah sure.” 

He walked closer to the punching bag, held it, and prepared for you to strike. 

You exhaled and prepped your stance while staring at the bag in front of you. Your punches started off weak and hesitant — mostly because of his presence — before you slowly relaxed and drew more of your strength. 

Besides Sam and Steve, another Avenger that always tried to rope you into social functions was Tony. Occasionally he would throw some party for a holiday or even for no special reason, simply because he wanted to. 

The only party of his that you attended was the first one he threw after you joined. Only because he didn’t give you much of a choice. After that, you never attended another Stark party.

Well, until last night.

“I’m going all out for this one. Thor’s coming back to earth and man does that guy like to party,” Tony boasted about his plans for the weekend in the lounge. Or what would soon become last night's party. 

You silently sat in the corner of the couch “reading” a book. Well, you were reading but now you were nosy and listening to the people around you. As part of your attempt to be more social with the team, you bravely chose the lounge instead of your room.

You heard earlier that Thor was returning after being away from earth for a few weeks doing some Asgardian space duties you didn’t know the details of. 

“Don’t set anything on fire this time,” Wanda teased before taking a sip from her mug.

Tony spun on his heel to point at her. “That was not me!” 

A few chuckles could be heard throughout the room, even a quiet one from you. You’d heard the same story from three different people about how Tony swears it wasn’t his fault that his drink spilled and caused a small electrical fire. 

“Regardless, it’s going to be amazing and I better see you all there on Friday,” he then pointed at Bucky playing cards with Steve. “And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”

”Looks like I lucked out considering you almost burned the place down,” Bucky quipped back without looking up from his cards. 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t me,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Steve nudged his best friend before placing another card down on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun.” 

Bucky gave a long stare to Steve. You noticed he tended to do that a lot. Turn a normal glare into a staring contest with Sam or Steve. A few seconds passed before he placed his next card down with a sigh. “Fine.” 

Having sensed that your eyes were on him, Bucky glanced up at you from across the room. Your gaze darted away and back to your book in an instant. 

Tony noticed this and walked closer to the couch, studying you trying to read. He could clearly tell you were listening in and watching. “What about you, wallflower?” 

Your head perked up in confusion. 

You knew he was addressing you because of the nickname. At first Steve was worried about Tony calling you that, but you actually secretly liked it. It was like the teasing, made you feel more included. 

“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?” 

You let the question hang in the air for a moment, contemplating your response. After hearing Bucky’s answer, the idea of attending Tony’s party was sounding more and more appealing. 

“I might.” 

You tried to ignore how a few sets of eyes landed on you. Including his. 

“Seriously?” Tony asked, not expecting you to actually accept his invitation.  

”Yes seriously, I’m considering it,” you answered with more confidence. 

Tony excitedly snapped and pointed at you. “That’s a yes! You can’t take that back.” 

You awkwardly smiled in return. 

“Finally! I knew this day would come,” Tony cheered as he left the lounge. 

You attempted to actually read your book now but felt Bucky’s gaze lingering on you. When you met his eyes, they returned to the pile of cards on the coffee table. You then finally went back to your reading. 

_____

You don’t know what feels worse. The pounding headache from last night's drinks, or the anxiety pulling you apart from the inside out. 

While you laid in bed, the lights were kept dim to not aggravate your headache further. You were admiring the poster Bucky helped you hang up. For so long you’d look at it and your thoughts would drift to the man who helped you hang it. Your mood would lift or your heart would flutter making you feel giddy. 

Now, you wanted to rip it off your wall. 

It stared back at you as a reminder of what you did last night. You couldn’t stop thinking about how it only took a little liquid courage and one single brave moment to embarrass yourself. You most likely ruined your chances of becoming real friends with him, or even something more. 

There’s no way Bucky actually wants to be with you. There’s no way Bucky felt the same way, held the same admiration for you that you did for him. He’d probably be nice about it and let you down easily. 

Well, he tried to let you down easily, but your fear interrupted him before he could inevitably ask you to forget about what happened. You couldn’t listen to it. You didn’t want to hear the heartbreaking reality that he didn’t want you beyond a spur of the moment fling. 

You’d rather just let the whole thing blow over. Let Bucky take your silence as a signal to let this pass. Let everyone forget about it and go about their business like normal. Because words always travel fast here. And by now everyone probably fucking knew about you and Bucky. 

As the hours rolled by and the sun was setting, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you ran out of the water and food stashed in your room. 

You have to leave. As much as you don’t want to, you have to. 

It kind of felt weird, spending all day in your room. You’d just started getting used to being around everyone, that now it felt kind of normal. You almost looked forward to the social interactions. Even if you didn’t speak a lot or join in some conversations. Just being around them felt … nice. 

You rolled over in bed and reached for your phone left on the nightstand. After turning off do not disturb, the screen was flooded with notifications. Part of you was surprised that they were checking in on you considering it used to be normal for you to live like a hermit.  

Natasha: Morning sleepyhead, you hungover? Feeling alright?

Clint: I got doughnuts, you better get down here before Thor wakes up and eats them all 

Steve: Hey, you doing okay? 

Let me know if you need anything

And 1 missed call followed by 2 texts from Bucky:

I know you’re hiding in your room 

Can we talk?

You really didn’t want to talk. Because you knew he wanted to talk about last night. You weren’t ready to have that conversation yet. You weren’t ready when Bucky tried knocking on your door hours ago and you still weren’t ready now. 

Maybe later tonight. Depending on your bravery. 

You didn’t answer any of their messages. Just got out of bed and shoved your phone in your pocket. 

You hoped there wasn’t a large crowd or any crowd period in the kitchen. But unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky. As you approached the kitchen you heard voices that only got louder as you got closer.

You stayed behind the doorway while you listened. Not exactly intentional eavesdropping. More like you froze at the realization they were talking about you. 

“What the hell did I do now?” Tony complained, he sounded offended. 

“You told everyone about me and Y/N,” Bucky scolded Tony, his tone sounding bitter and angry.

“Correction, I told two people last night,” Tony countered. “It’s not my fault that the gossip was so juicy it spread like wildfire.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky grumbled. 

“What’s unbelievable is you and your girl not making out sooner.” 

You heard Bucky sigh and after a pause he quietly mumble, but it was loud enough for you to hear. “She’s not my girl.” 

Those words echoed in your ears as if you heard it up close. She’s not my girl. 

A suffocating ache wound itself around your chest. Your fists clenched so tight, your fingernails made an imprint on your palm. 

His girl. You could only dream of being his girl. 

You almost went back to your room. Almost. But you were already here, and the kitchen wouldn’t be empty for hours. 

During the pause in their conversation, you passed the threshold. The room fell silent. The sound of a pin drop could bounce off the walls. You felt the tension in your bones with every single step you took. 

You didn’t look any of them in the eyes. You couldn’t. Just kept your focus trained on the floor as you moved the counter. 

From the cabinet, you found a large refillable water bottle to stock up and keep in your room. You waited at the fridge for it to fill. 

All their eyes on you made your whole body tense. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Their looks weighed like a heavy blanket and they practically saw right through you. 

Steve was the first to break the silence. “How’ve you been? Are you feeling alright?”

You cleared your throat before speaking. You don’t know the last time you said something, your voice was probably hoarse. “I’m fine. Was a bit hungover this morning, didn’t feel well.” 

The second the water bottle was filled, you tightened the lid and turned back to the counter where you found the box of doughnuts that Clint texted you about. With a nervous hand, you grabbed the last chocolate frosted doughnut. 

You belined for the hallway, eager to leave when Bucky called your name. His voice reached through your chest cavity and squeezed your heart. You didn’t stop walking. You couldn’t speak to him. Not yet. 

____________________________

“And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”

Instead of actually acknowledging that he was absent during Stark’s last party, Bucky opted for poking fun at the man. He didn’t even have to look up from their card game to know that Stark was rolling his eyes or pinching his brow in frustration. 

Bucky felt Steve’s elbow nudge his side before he placed another card on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun,” Steve tried to encourage. 

Bucky stared back at his best friend, trying to silently tell Steve that he would rather Stark actually burn down the building.

Bucky hates parties. 

Actually that's a lie. 

Bucky Barnes used to love parties. Before HYDRA, he used to be the life of the party. He’d be cracking jokes with his pals or going out dancing with dames. The music was loud and the excitement ran through the room and into your bloodstream, carrying you across the dance floor. 

After everything that happened, he didn’t have much party left in him. It left him more reserved, more introverted. His blood ran cold now. 

He always went to those team bonding things Steve organized because, well it was Steve, but they were also smaller, more intimate. He even found himself having fun. Some of the movies the team chose were weird, but some he really liked. During game nights he was more engaged then he expected he would be. 

But the large parties he wished he could avoid. Now, the loud music irritated his ears. The modern music that played wasn’t to his taste and hard to dance to. The very few festivities he did attend, Steve managed to convince Tony to play one or two old songs from the 40s or at least the 50s, but that was it.

Steve stared back at him with an expression he was all too familiar with. It was the same look that Bucky would give scrawny little Stevie back in the day when he tried to convince him to join.

Bucky sighed and placed a card on the table. “Fine,” he grumbled. 

In his peripheral vision, he sensed someone looking in his direction. When he turned away from their card game, he was met with your eyes. But only for a second, before they retreated back into your book. 

Steve's mouth curled into a smile as he put down another card. “Who knows you might like it. And maybe your girl will go,” he whispered. 

“She’s not my girl,” Bucky muttered back. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He didn’t want a reminder that he didn’t have the luxury of calling you his girl. 

From the moment you met, he knew he needed you in his life. Not just because you were pretty. And God damn it you were so pretty. But because you were enchanting. 

It was like you had some magnetic pull on him he couldn’t avoid. 

He’d worked with you on multiple missions because of course Steve immediately caught whiff of Bucky’s interest in you and paired you guys up. He saw first hand the power you wielded during a fight. The mysterious way you hid in the shadows and snuck up on people rivaled only him and Natasha. He almost got knocked out once because he stood there watching you attack a guard that towered over you like it was nothing. 

Steve wouldn’t shut up about that for a whole week. 

But when you weren’t beating up criminals or sitting in silence during mission briefings, he barely saw you. You almost never showed face at team functions and (more importantly) you never spoke to him. 

He was worried you didn’t like him, or even worse you hated him. Steve and Sam tried to convince him that wasn’t true but it still never left his mind. It was still in his mind when he passed by your room and heard that crash. Bucky remained cautious, scared that you would ignore him or act coldly, but he still felt compelled to make sure you were okay. 

And when he did finally get the small chances to talk to you, to see the parts of you that you often hid, he felt a thousand times lighter. Bucky saw the light in you grow brighter as you became more comfortable with the team. 

In the moments you let your walls down, you shined like a diamond. 

But he never saw you shine like that at Stark’s parties. 

Bucky shook his head as he placed a new card,  “besides, she never shows, you know that.” 

Bucky noticed Stark approaching you to test the waters with an invitation for you to attend. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but then again, it isn’t exactly a private conversation. And he had enhanced hearing anyway. 

“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?”

“I might.”

His head immediately snapped in your direction. He couldn’t hear what Stark asked you, he was too focused on your response. 

“Yes seriously, I'm considering it.”

As of lately, you had a habit of saying you might go instead of actually saying yes. He noticed this because every single time you said ‘maybe,’ you showed up. It seemed like a way to give yourself an escape. A safety net to land in the roaring sea of anxiety. 

But if you were considering it, that definitely meant you were going. 

He tried to not linger on the fact that his heart rate increased the more he thought about it. 

Stark seemed quite excited at your answer. “That's a yes! You can’t take that back” 

You gave a bright smile in response. Bucky loved your smile. He’d go to hell and back to see you smile. 

He didn’t realize he was still staring until you looked up from your book. He quickly returned his attention back to the cards in his hand. 

Bucky cleared his throat, “is it my turn?” 

“Nope,” Steve tried to hide the humor in his voice as he placed a winning card. 

Bucky sighed while tossing his remaining cards on the table. He wasn’t too bummed about losing the game though. He was still thinking about seeing you Friday night. 

_____

Steve Rogers is a traitor.

Well, at this very second he is a traitor. Because he is on the dance floor, dancing with you. 

Slow dancing with you. 

Bucky was watching from afar. Wait, that sounds creepy when he thinks about it like that. He was observing the party, and naturally his gaze landed on you. How could it not? In every room he entered, he looked for you.

The party had started by the time you showed up. He was in the middle of conversation with Sam when he saw you walk in by yourself, fashionably late. 

He could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. The burgundy dress you wore made his head dizzy. 

Bucky had a plan. He originally was going to catch you on the dance floor with a song that was easier to dance to, aka an older song. But you were already dancing with Steve and Wanda when one of those newer Sinatra songs came on. Well, new to him. A while back Natasha gave him a crash course in 20th century music after the war. 

Should he be bitter and maybe just a tad jealous? No, he shouldn’t. He had all night to ask you to dance and yet he stood off to the side. Then Steve swooped in and ruined his plans. 

And now the little punk was dancing with you. 

Of course you wanted to dance with Steve. You were closer with him then you were with Bucky. Steve was the first person you started opening up to. And why shouldn’t you? Steve’s amazing. He’s sweet, courageous, a gentleman, someone to look up to. Hell, Bucky looked up to him. Even when Steve was that scrawny kid in Brooklyn, Bucky admired his bravery and good heart. 

Steve was a good man. Bucky was a broken one. 

“Oh no, who’s victim to your impenetrable stare now?” Natasha asked as she approached him. 

“I’m not staring,” he mumbled, pushing off from where he was leaning on the bar and turned his back to the dance floor.

“Sure, and Tony isn’t drunk.” 

“Got the fire extinguisher on deck?” He downed the rest of his drink and left the glass on the bar. 

She chuckled, “yup.” Natasha walked around behind the counter and grabbed herself a fresh wine glass. “You know, if you ask her to dance, she’ll say yes.” 

Bucky hated it when she saw right through him. For a woman with no enhanced abilities, Natasha sure had a way of reading people. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’ve been watching her all night, Barnes.”

He cringed, “It sounds creepy when you put it like that.”

Natasha shook her head and smiled as she continued to pour herself a glass of red wine. “Then don’t put so much distance between yourselves. Maybe actually talk to her, ask her to dance.” 

“She’s already dancing with Steve,” he answered, looking down at the counter. 

She raised an eyebrow at him in fake confusion. “That’s not jealousy I hear, is it?” 

“I’m not jealous,” Bucky quickly rebutted. He paused while his jaw clenched. “I just don’t wanna bother her.” 

Natasha sighed as she put the bottle away. “You don’t bother her. Believe me.” 

He crossed his arms, “how would you know that?”

She carefully swirled the red liquid in her glass. “The same way I know that you’ve wanted to dance with her all night.” 

Bucky stared at her with annoyance and disbelief written all over his face. Natasha stared back at him with a slight smirk knowing she was right. 

Their staring contest was abruptly interrupted by Thor stumbling towards the bar. 

“Romanoff! Barnes! How are you enjoying the festivities?” Thor beamed. Bucky couldn’t tell if Thor was just that excited or if he was bordering on intoxicated.

”I’ve been having a wonderful night but“ —Natasha gestured towards Bucky— “I don’t think he’s in a partying mood.”

Thor looked at him with a slight pout. Yeah he was probably a bit intoxicated, Bucky thought.

”That sounds terrible. We need to fix that right away.” Thor rushed to the cabinet to grab a fancy looking bottle and two clean short glasses. He set the bottle on the counter across from Bucky and waved a hand behind it to show it off. 

“I brought this back from my most recent trip to Asgard. It has aged for a thousand years. It’s too strong for mortal men, but you my friend” —he patted Bucky on the shoulder— “are well suited for it.” 

Thor poured some of the drink into each glass and pushed one closer to Bucky. “This should help raise your spirits.”

He stared at the honey colored liquid hesitantly before picking it up. “Thanks pal.” He offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Thor raised his drink to the man across from him. Bucky took another look before raising his drink and clinking it with Thors. He took a sip and found it to be sweeter than he expected. 

It was also much stronger than he expected. 

Thanks to the discount super serum he received, he couldn’t get drunk. Bucky hasn’t been drunk since 1945, the last time he went out to a bar with the howling commandos. 

After two and a half of whatever that Norse drink was, he was starting to get that dizzying buz he hasn’t felt in decades. He wasn’t as drunk as Thor or Tony were, but he was feeling more confident than he had been earlier in the night.  

He wouldn’t bother to hide the glances he threw your way. At some point he got rid of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. If someone asked if he did that because he was warm or because he wanted to show off to you, he wouldn’t have answered. But it was pretty clear when he noticed you looking at him and he would stand up straighter or flex his arms. 

Then of course when you caught his eyes he winked at you and then smiled when he saw how bashful you looked. 

Bucky was definitely having a better night than before. And it just kept getting better the more he interacted with you. 

His favorite —but also least favorite— part of the night was when he accidentally ran into you. 

He was leaving the bathroom at the same time you were. As he turned the corner he stumbled into your side, not expecting you to be there. As Bucky collided with you, you yelped and almost fell down yourself. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he tried to regain his balance. 

You grabbed onto his arm and helped him stand straight. “It’s fine, no worries.” 

His chest ached at the feeling of your hands on his bicep. 

A look of confusion crossed your face before you asked, “are you drunk?”

”No.”

You raised an eyebrow at him; your expression screaming that you don’t believe him. 

“Maybe,” he mumbled. 

You scoffed and let go of his arm, cautiously as you made sure he wasn’t going to fall over. “I thought guys like you and Steve couldn’t get drunk.” 

“We can’t. But Thor gave me this funky Asgardian beer.” Bucky's words slurred together as he explained.

“I think it’s mead.”

He looked baffled, “what’s mead?”

You shook your head amused, “not beer.” 

He scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t talk like I can't smell the tequila on your breath,” he joked.

You playfully swatted at his arm away using very little force. “Shut up, it’s the first time I’ve let loose in a long time.”

He loved seeing you riled up. You looked so adorable. 

”You should do it more often.”

”Drink?

“No, come to these stupid parties,” he gestured down the hall to where music was coming from. 

“I will if you’ll be there,” you replied in a sweet tone. You sounded more forward than he was used to. He was a bit surprised but decided to lean into it. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“Maybe.”

“Good,” Bucky smiled as he remembered what it meant when you said maybe to plans.

He hoped you would keep showing up. He’d go to every single one of those dumb parties if he knew he’d see you there. 

“I like seeing you like this. More social, having fun. No more hiding in your room.” 

“I didn’t hide,” you protested, even though you knew he was right. 

“You avoided us like the plague,” he countered. “For a while I thought you didn’t like me,” 

Your jaw dropped at his confession. “You thought I didn’t like you?” Your voice sounded both a bit worried and surprised.

“You never spoke to me!” 

“I gave you cookies!”

“But that was like-“ he paused to do the mental math, “three months after we met. Before that I wasn’t sure.” 

You relaxed as you settled with the information. “Okay, but it wasn’t just you. I didn’t talk to anybody,” you answered with a shrug. 

“And look at you now.” He gestured to you with a small smile of admiration. “Going to parties, spending time with us. You looked like you were really having fun.” 

Your eyes lit up with a look of realization as you leaned back against the wall. “Wow, you were watching me?” You teased him. 

Bucky should’ve known that would come and bite him in the ass, again. 

“I wouldn’t say watching.”

You squinted at him, that glimmer still present in your eyes, “hmm sounds like you were.

“I can’t help it, not when you look like that,” he said in a sultry voice. 

You tilted your head, “like what?” 

Bucky licked his lips as he fully took you in. Even as your makeup took the toll of the night, you still looked perfect to him. Your eyeliner was a bit smudged and your lips still shimmered from the left over gloss. He gazed down at your dress, it had a flowy skirt that hid some of your curves but a slit down the side that gave him a view of your leg.

“Like the most beautiful woman at this party.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Come on,” you playfully dismissed his compliment. 

Bucky took a step closer to you. “I’m serious, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he continued as his voice got lower. 

Your cheeks turned pink and your voice raised in pitch, “you’re such a flirt, Barnes.” 

“Maybe,” he returned with a smirk. “Doesn’t change the fact that you are breathtaking.” 

Now your face was crimson. You tried to bite back a giddy smile but he could see right through you. 

“Stop being so sweet, it’s making me want to kiss you.”

Bucky's heart pounded in his ears and he felt his face start to heat up. He desperately hoped you weren’t kidding. 

He quickly glanced at your lips and leaned closer. “Oh yeah? What’s stopping you?” 

Your eyes slightly widened at his question, like you weren’t expecting him to take you so seriously. He watched the contemplation in your features as you stared back at him. 

Hidden behind his confident exterior, Bucky’s stomach was churning as he awaited your response. Even with the alcohol swimming through his bloodstream, he still had a lingering cloud of anxiety telling him you really didn’t want to kiss him. Telling him that you didn’t want him. 

“Right now?” You whispered. You looked up at him with those doe eyes that made him weak in the knees.

Your gaze darted between his and lingered on his lips. “Nothing,” you breathed before capturing his lips in yours. 

Bucky was taken by surprise at your forwardness, his lips froze for a split second before moving in rhythm with yours. You reached up, placing your hands on his neck and face. He sighed against your mouth as you pulled him down closer to you, desperate to taste him. 

Bucky’s hands traveled up and down your hips, starved for more of your touch. His metal hand settled at your waist while his right hand slipped past the slit in your dress and grabbed at your thigh. You leaned into him, your back arching off the wall you were pressed up against and your leg wrapped around his, pulling him closer. He continued to paw at your thigh, his hand sneaking higher and higher, finding its place on your ass. A soft moan escaped you, trapped against Bucky’s lips. The sound tasted like heaven to him. 

Asgardian alcohol was nothing compared to the intoxicating drink that was you. Bucky was lost in the touch, the smell, the feel of you. He breathed you in like it was his first breath of fresh air in years.

It was like the earth stopped spinning just for you two. Time was put on pause and there in that secluded hallway, you and Bucky were the only people in the world. 

Of course, you were in fact not the only people in the world, let alone that party. While your lips were still interlocked and hands grabbing at each other, footsteps inched closer. 

Immediately you pulled away from each other at the startled gasp of, “holy shit!” 

Bucky and you froze in horror at the man across the hall. 

Neither of you noticed Tony approaching around the corner. He stared at you with shock written all over his face, which then transformed into a cheeky grin. 

“Wow, and to think you two almost didn’t show up.” He pointed at both of you, “If you guys get married, I better get credit in your vows.”

“Stark,” Bucky warned in a sharp tone, staring daggers at the man in question. 

Tony raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t mind me. Please, go back to eating each other's faces.” He chuckled before retreating down the hall back to the party. 

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Even after he cut it he couldn’t shake the habit. 

He couldn’t look you in the eyes yet, still too flustered. “He’s such an ass,” he joked, shaking his head. 

You fixed your hair and offered a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know,” you mumbled.

The air in the room wasn’t the same after Tony walked in. The realization of what you were doing had caught up to both of you. Bucky had wanted to kiss you long before now, he just never expected it to be a spur of the moment first kiss. 

That doesn’t mean he regretted it. Not one bit. 

“We should probably return to the party.” Bucky cleared his throat, “listen I know it might be a bit awkward when we get back but, I wanted to ask if-“

”I’m sorry, I um,” you interrupted with a slight panic in your voice.  

“I’m gonna go. Have a good rest of your night Bucky,” you excused yourself with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

Bucky watched you shuffle away and down the hall, in the opposite direction of the party. His posture deflated as his stare lingered from where you left. He tried to ignore the slight ache in his chest but it stayed, infecting his heart like a poison. 

Finally when he had the chance and nerve to ask you to dance, you ran away. 

_____

From when he returned to the party to the next morning when he woke up, that ache didn’t fully go away. It became quieter, more tolerable to deal with. But still present. 

He tried to dilute it with reasonable answers. You might have still been flustered from being caught in the hallway. You might have been more drunk than he thought and didn’t feel well. 

But his train of thought always returned to anxiety and doubt. The voice in the back of his head that told him you didn’t want to be seen with him. You were embarrassed to be seen kissing him. The voice that screamed he wasn’t good enough and you would never have feelings for him. 

For now he would shove down those left over doubts. Try to ignore them the best he could. 

Unfortunately that wasn’t an option when he was hounded at breakfast. 

When he walked in the kitchen, he felt the tone change. It was subtle, but as Sam, Clint, and Yelena’s conversation died down, he sensed multiple pairs of eyes landing on him. 

“So Bucky, how was your night?” Sam asked before sipping his coffee. 

Bucky walked to the coffee machine and grabbed his own mug from the cabinet. “It was good,” he muttered. 

Yelena spun in her chair to face him, “you had fun?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. “You guess?”

“Why do you care so much?” Bucky groaned as he poured a fresh cup of coffee for himself. 

“No reason, just wanted to see what you thought of the party.” 

Bucky shrugged, turning back around to face the group. “It was like every other party.”

“You don’t get drunk at every other party,” Sam countered in a snarky tone. 

“I was not that drunk,” Bucky protested.

“Drunk enough to get freaky in the hallway?” 

Sam’s question had Bucky gripping his mug so hard he almost shattered it. Anger seeped into his bloodstream that made his veins hot.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head. “Stark, that son of a bitch,” he grumbled under his breath. 

Yelena's interest was piqued at Bucky's reaction, confirming her suspicions. “So it’s true? You and Y/N kissed?”

“Oh they did more than kiss,” Sam added. 

“Sam,” Bucky warned with a sharp tone.

“Did you see him peacocking? He kept flexing his arm muscles at her and at one point I think I saw him wink. I guess all that paid off.” Clint finally added his thoughts, amusement creeping its way onto his face. 

Yelena sat with a smile, still processing the information. “Wow, I didn’t think you two would get together for another month or more.”

“We’re not together,” Bucky corrected. The words tasted like a nasty poison on his tongue. 

“You will be soon,” Clint insisted. 

“Don’t bet on it.”

“What are you talking about? Sam asked. “You like this girl. You’ve been crushing on her for months!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched before. His stomach boiled over with the feelings he tried to push down. 

He shook his head and waved them off. “Never mind.”

Yelena leaned forward, eager to understand. ”No wait, Bucky what happened?” She asked calmly, voice filled with concern.

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His lips sealed shut while he stared at the floor, contemplating how honest he should be with them. 

“It’s nothing. After Stark walked in on us she didn’t exactly tell me how she felt about the kiss.” Bucky nervously ran a hand through his short hair. “I tried to ask her to dance. She left before I could spit it out.” 

“She’s a shy girl. She was probably overwhelmed and embarrassed.” Clint offered. 

Not embarrassed because of you, Bucky tried to remind himself. 

Sam stepped closer to Bucky, his tone of voice much more serious than before. “Just talk to her about it. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

Bucky looked down in his mug, the hot black coffee staring back at him. “Have any of you seen or talked to her yet? It’s still early. I don't know if she’s awake.”

”No, she hasn’t been down here yet,” Yelena answered. 

Clint grabbed out his phone, “I’ll text her-“

”No, Clint,” Bucky cringed. 

Clint held up a hand to him, still typing away on his screen. “Calm down, I’m telling her about the doughnuts I bought.” 

Bucky’s tense shoulders relaxed at the explanation. 

“Let me know if you find out she’s awake. I’d hate to wake her up just to pester her about this.” He grabbed his coffee and a doughnut for himself from the box on the counter. 

“Leave a chocolate frosted,” he instructed as he walked to the lounge. “She only likes those.” 

____

It’s been three days. 

In the last three days, he’s seen you once. When you tip-toed into the kitchen, barely looking him in the eyes.

He already thought about you every day. He’d leave his room with anticipation, eager for the chance to see you. 

Now that same anticipation had a sour taste. Bucky would go to the gym, lounge, or kitchen with hope that he would see you there. And every time he was crushed at the sight of a room without your presence. 

You had gotten pretty successful at staying hidden. After that brief awkward encounter on Saturday, you made yourself completely undetectable. He should’ve known it would be an easy feat for you considering you were a spy before joining the Avengers. The only indication that you were even still in the compound were the clean dishes on the drying rack and the missing food from the fridge. 

Not only was Bucky missing and craving your presence, but he had to sit with the unknown meaning behind your kiss. He had no idea how you felt about him, and it drove him mad.

The lustful look In your eyes and the desperate touch of your hands on him told him that you might feel the same way. But the way you recoiled and shut yourself out said something else. 

One thing he did know was that all this overthinking was going to be his downfall. 

It was past midnight and instead of staying in bed, struggling to fall asleep, he decided to go to the gym and let out some stress. 

Little did he know he wasn’t the only one with that same idea. 

He wasn’t that surprised to see some of the lights on as he approached the gym. Every so often someone was working out late at night. Who he didn’t expect to see was you, laser focused as you striked at the punching bag.

Bucky stood still for a moment, watching you, debating whether or not he should leave you be or talk to you. 

His legs seemed to be moving on their own as he approached you. 

“Want some help?” 

You jumped, startled out of your focus. “You scared the shit out of me!” You placed a hand over your heart, probably felt it pounding. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You didn’t answer my question though.” 

You looked at him with puzzled, furrowed brows. 

“Do you want some help?” He repeated, gesturing towards the punching bag. 

You paused before answering in a calm tone. “No thanks.”

You shifted your weight and prepped your stance, attention returned to the bag. 

“I thought you didn’t work out this late anymore,” Bucky commented with fake innocence. 

You shrugged before you started punching again. “Guess old habits die hard.” 

“Like hiding in your room?”

You hesitated. He watched your jaw clench before you punched again. 

“I am not hiding.”

“I haven’t seen you in three days.” 

Your punches got stronger while your voice stayed calm. “Didn’t feel well. Needed rest.” 

“I texted you.”

“Sorry,” another punch. “Didn’t see it.” 

Bucky exhaled, “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not-“ 

“Yes you are,” he interrupted, a bit of frustration leaking through his firm voice. 

“We’ve barely seen you. And this isn’t like when you first got here, because I still saw you back then. You’re ignoring us.” 

You’re ignoring me, he wanted to say. 

Your attention broke from the punching bag. Your hand landed limp against it as you turned to him. 

“Why do you care?” You asked with more curiosity than you showed on your face. 

“Because I’m worried about you. And I know something’s wrong.” 

You didn’t reply. Just stared at the floor and picked at the wraps on your hands. 

Bucky didn’t want to pester you about it, but he had to stop you from isolating and keeping everything bottled up. He knew better than anyone what that felt like. The desire to hide away and run.

He could see the walls you built up slowly starting to crack, but you held on so tight to that security. Desperate to not let it fall down. 

He was going to get you to open up, whether it hurt him or not. 

“Is this about the kiss?” 

Your eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched. “Bucky, I really don’t want to talk about that right now.” 

“Well when do you feel like talking about it?” He interrogated, folding his arms. “Tomorrow? A week from now?”

“Fine!” You snapped back at him. “We got drunk, flirted a little and kissed. Can we just put this behind us and forget about it?” 

Forget about it? You really want him to forget about the kiss? The best kiss of his life. The kiss that brought warmth back into his cold veins. Forget the kiss that made all the decades worth of tension fall off his bones and disappear for a few minutes. 

He scoffed, “I’m sorry but I can’t just forget about it.” 

Your cheeks that were previously pink from your work out turned red. 

Bucky kept his gaze trained on you. He watched your eyes repeatedly dart away from him, still trying to hide while you stood right in front of him. 

“Why did you leave after we kissed?” He asked, keeping his voice steady even while his insides were twisting. 

“Bucky,” you groaned, pleading with the man in front of you. 

“I gotta know.” 

You looked down at your hands and resumed picking at the wrappings. 

“Did you mean it?” You inquired, deflecting from his question. “What you said that night.” 

He pursed his lips, trying to mentally sort through all the things he said. “Which part?” 

You paused your fidgeting, hands tense as you spoke. “All those nice things you said about me. When you said I was the most beautiful woman at that party.” You finally looked at Bucky, eyes swimming with uncertainty. 

“Did you mean it, or were you just flirting?”

You were trying to hide behind a guarded expression, but Bucky could see the vulnerability in your eyes and hear it in your voice. 

You felt the same way about him. 

But just like him, you didn’t believe your feelings were reciprocated because of the overwhelming fear. Your vision was clouded by fear and doubt. 

He took a few steps closer. You took a half step back. 

His eyes stayed on you. He never wavered. 

”I meant all of it,” he answered softly. “Every single word.” 

Your eyes widened and lips parted. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

You gave him a nervous grin and shook your head as you tried removing the wrapping from your hands. ”That’s overselling it a bit,” you lightly joked. You fought the hand wrap with a shaky hand, struggling to take it off. 

Bucky inched closer. Before you could register what he was doing, he reached forward and gently grabbed your hands. He separated them and continued undoing the wrapping for you. His touch was soft as he handled you with the utmost care. 

“I’m being serious,” he started, eyes trained on your hand. “Whether you believe me or not.” 

He finished working on your left hand and moved to your right. You didn’t protest. You didn’t stop him. 

“If you really want to forget about the kiss. Go ahead.” But now he knew you didn’t want to forget about it. He swallowed, preparing to place his own heart in the palm of your hand. “I don’t think I could ever forget it. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Friday.”

He chuckled as a blush crept its way on his face. “Actually, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time we met.”

He felt your hand freeze against his. “Bucky, that was over 6 months ago,” you reminded him breathlessly. 

He finished unwrapping your hand, looked up at you, and nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered. 

Bucky still held your hand, neither one of you moved away from the other. 

You took a deep breath, the expression on your face looked like you were mentally wrestling with yourself. 

“What were you going to ask me before I left?” You asked cautiously. 

“If you wanted to dance with me.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as his cheeks turned pink. He softly caressed the back of your hand, “I’d been trying to ask you all night but never got the chance. Or the nerve.”

Bucky searched your eyes and found wide pupils in a sea of emotion. He wasn’t sure if they shined from the lighting or if they were glossy. 

You licked your lips, “I would’ve said yes by the way. If you asked.” 

He smirked back, stomach fluttering with butterflies. “You mean if you let me ask?” he asked, tone laced with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “yeah. I was just being an asshole.“ 

“You’re not an asshole,” he countered, genuinely. 

You squinted and tilted your head. “I was a little bit.” 

He chuckled in defeat, his thumb still tracing your skin. 

You peered down at your hand intertwined with his, swallowing down the nerves caught in your throat. “I uh- I was scared and catastrophizing. I thought of the worst case scenario and let it control me. I shouldn’t have run away, I’m sorry.” You sounded small, defeated. 

With his free metal hand, Bucky gently pulled your chin up to look at him. “You’re not the only one who gets stuck in their own head,” he comforted. Your breath shuttered as his touch traveled to the side of your face before brushing your hair behind your ear. “Just don’t shut the world out okay?”

You nodded, with a bashful smile. “Okay.” 

Bucky’s mouth curled up in a way that matched yours. “I love your smile,” he complimented, his voice dripping with admiration. 

You bit your lip as a blush danced across your face. “Don’t say sweet things about me. It’ll make me want to kiss you,” you warned with a teasing hint in your tone.

Bucky's smile turned to a wicked grin. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours as he caressed your cheek. “What’s so wrong with that?” He whispered with desire. 

He felt your breath against him as you whispered back. 

“Nothing.”

Bucky wasted no time and captured your lips with his. He instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, flush against him. 

This kiss was different from the first one. You still tasted the same on his tongue, your lips left the same imprint on his. But the rhythm was different. No rush of passion. No hunger that needed to be resolved. 

It was slower, more delicate.  Like the two of you were absorbing the others' existence into your bloodstream. 

When you separated from him Bucky chased after your lips. You giggled as he pecked all over your lips and cheeks. Your laugh only spurred him on more as he grabbed on to your face to keep you still and smiled against your skin. 

You made him feel lovesick. He felt like he used to, back in the 40s, before everything went wrong. He felt like Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky chuckled as he finally retreated from his kissing attack on your face. He stared at you lovingly, his hands traveling back down to your hips.

“So, hypothetically, if I were to ask if you wanted to go dancing, like we find somewhere in the city we can go to dance one night, what would you say?”

You looked up at him with a sweet smile. “Is this a hypothetical or are you asking me out?” You pondered with a mischievous tone.

Bucky loved it when you teased him like that. You were going to drive him insane. 

“I’m asking you out.” 

You stood up straighter, your eyes pierced him with confidence. “Then do it.”

Warmth stirred in his chest as he finally asked what he’s been meaning to for so long. 

“Would you like to go dancing with me?” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a soft, quick kiss against his lips. “I’d love to.” 

_____

The lounge was quiet. Yelena sat on the couch with Wanda as a movie played in the distance. Steve sat on one of the chairs ignoring the movie, his nose deep in a small notebook he liked to sketch in. Natasha sat on the other chair, her back and legs against the arm rests as she focused on a book. 

The elevator dinged when it reached the floor. As it opened, Bucky walked out and passed through the lounge with you in his arms bridal style and barefoot, holding your heels in your hands. 

All of their eyes slowly peered away from what they were doing and towards you and Bucky. 

Natasha was the first to comment on the display, “uh, Barnes, why are you carrying your date?” 

“I complained my feet hurt on the way home and now he won’t put me down,” you announced back to her. 

Bucky abruptly stopped in his tracks. “Do you want to walk back to your room?” He asked, voice deep with a teasing tone.

You sunk further into his chest as a blush crept onto your face. “No,” you mumbled quietly.

He chuckled and continued walking. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Awe, what a gentleman,” Yelena remarked.

“Anything for my girl,” Bucky yelled back as he walked away with you in his arms.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for them to get together for weeks!” Yelena joked as she turned back to the group. 

“Try months. I knew that when she started leaving her room it was because of him,” Natasha added.

Steve looked up from his notebook, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. “Why do you think I pushed for him to go to that party? I had a feeling she would go if she knew he would be there.” 

“Seems like everyone knew but them,” Yelena remarked.

“I’ve known the whole time.” Wanda chuckled, “For two quiet people, their thoughts are awfully loud.” 

[greyyson-but-wrong]

idk what the glitch was but I've fixed it now LMAO ENJOY!!

ALIBIS

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warning: the winter solider, canon accurate civil war, violence, fighting, swearing, a single sentence hinting that they've fucked in the past lmao, hydra mention, partly edited

summary: you've been living with bucky for the past year, now he's been accused of assassinating the king of wakana and of course they bring you in as well, but nobody knows who exactly you are

author notes: guys... this isn't a part 2 I actually have no motivation to write that atm icl so have this instead. I'm being so fr I could change one detail about this and have it be part of the same storyline as my previous work but I cba cause then there'll be a bunch of missing context :( hope you enjoy this!!!

word count: 4.6K

"Who the hell is that?"

Tony Stark didn't recognise the woman as he took a peak through the glass of the cell, index finger pointed towards her before moved backward to pinch at his lips. She was perched on the edge of the small bench they had given her, book in hand, leaning forward with her elbows resting against the skin of her thighs. For having just been arrested under the suspicion of harbouring a fugitive, the woman didn't seem too worried, too off-put or irked. She just simply sat there, breathing steady. At the change in scenery outside her window, she looked up only temporarily, the corners of her lips curving upward at the sight of the Iron Man, fingers leaving the paper of her book to wag her fingers in a wave. Tony's eyebrows furrowed at her actions. Suspicious. That's all she was.

Steve moved his eyes from the woman to look towards Tony, hands dug in his pockets, fiddling with the spare lint caught off the inside fabric. "She, is his alibi."

"Come again?"

The solider tilted his head, watching the woman as she went back to innocently reading her book, still as if she wasn't currently in a holding cell under the detainment of the American government. "She's been giving him a home for a year now, feeding him, keeping him stable, stopping him from becoming the Winter Solider."

Tony sighed, lowering his voice. "So why won't she testify again him?"

Steve eyed up the security camera in the corner of the room. It was no doubt someone was watching him on the other side, because while he was an Avenger and allowed somewhat free roaming around the premises, he was still technically a criminal now. They had to have all eyes on him. He had to keep all eyes on her though. "She knows that the government doesn't officially acknowledge the difference between the Winter Solider and Bucky as a person. Until they do that, she's refusing to tell us anything. That includes information about who she is."

"Well, she must have a name."

"She's told us Jane Doe, but, well. We're not stupid." Steve chuckles, shaking his head. "Someone, somewhere has her file, I won't be able to get it for you, though."

Tony Stark shrugs. "I'll get FRIDAY to gather the information about her, for me." He pauses for a second, letting his thoughts gather, letting everything come together in some form. He fiddles with his phone a little, before shoving it back into his pocket, turning to Steve again. "The question is, why is she so protective of him?"

Steve lets out a heavy sigh, eyes moving to watch her. "If only she would tell us."

The glass was soundproof. You knew, because several different groups of people had walked past the locked cell, mouths moving, faces reacting, but you could hear none of it. They had given you a random book to read to pass the time, but you were already about halfway through it and it had only been two hours, by the analog clock that was built into the left wall. The list of people that had walked past ran through in your head in the following order: Maria Hill, Fred the Janitor (he had a mop, so you assumed), a group of lawyers, the Black Widow, Fred the Janitor (again), Agent Ross as part of the CIA, a group of guards who were surrounding T'Challa (who you had made the worst kind of direct eye contact with), a couple more lawyers, then the cherry atop the cake: Captain America and Iron Man. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

It was obvious it was them because well, fuck, who wouldn't have known it was them? They were Avengers, they had saved the world countless times. They were also the reason Bucky had to run and hide with you, rather than in a much safer Witness Protection programme. They were also the reason you were trapped in this holding cell, because Captain America had led the Romanian police force directly to the apartment you had Bucky had been peacefully living in for a year.

The peace died pretty quickly when you had walked into your kitchen to find Steve Rogers standing there, shield in hand, looking at the photo of you and Bucky stuck to the fridge.

They had asked for your name. They had asked for your identification and your history. Perhaps a couple years ago you would have told them, but then all that information was revealed about Shield and Hydra, and now there was no way on God's Holy Earth would you ever trust them nor any government body again. After what Bucky had gone through, after what you had gone through, how could they have led Hydra infiltrate Shield like that? Black Widow thought that the encrypted versions of the files would mean the general public wouldn't be able to gain the information.

But you had been trained by Hydra. You weren't their brawn, you were their brains, so if anyone was going to be able to decrypt that information, it would have been you. When you spent hours scouring through the endless files to find out information about his life, that had been the day you had decided to never trust a government body.

So, no, you weren't going to tell them your name. Then they would look you up. They would find out that you used to work for Hydra and just like they were treating Bucky, they wouldn't understand you had been brainwashed and tricked and tortured to work for them. They would treat you like any other Hydra worker who knew what they had been doing; even though you didn't.

Now you were stuck in this cell, Bucky was nowhere to be seen and therefore probably in some containment centre to stop him from hurting anybody even though he wasn't the Winter Solider anymore. Even though he hadn't become the Winter Solider in months, thanks to the work you had been doing with him. What were you supposed to do? Anything you could talk about or tell anyone, they wouldn't believe it. To them, Bucky was a weapon, something that could hurt and couldn't love, but he did love. He had humour, he had a laugh, a smile, he stops in the middle of the street to stroke stray cats, he gets all soppy at cozy rom-coms and he spends his evenings listening to old Sinatra records.

But they would never see that.

Then Captain America and Iron Man walked in front of the glass. You couldn't help but grin, waving your fingers towards the billionaire. It was public knowledge that Tony Stark was on the side of signing the Accords and that Steve Rogers wasn't. It piqued your curiosity as to how they were able to have a real conversation while having such different beliefs, but that wasn't your main goal. You wanted to confuse them.

The name. Jane Doe, of course it was fake. You had told them it to be confusing, make it clear that you were more than just simply a safe house holder for the Winter Solider. What it would do was bring up all the attention towards you. The Avengers, the CIA, the FBI, whoever was in charge here would spend their time figuring out who the hell you were and why you had been so involved in Bucky's life in the past year. To cause a bit of a ruckus, and a lot of confusion.

Because while they would be doing all of that, Bucky's trial would be put off longer and longer, until your people could prove that the Winter Solider was not the same person as Bucky. You were refusing to talk not just because they didn't understand that simply fact, but you also needed time to gather enough evidence that it would be impossible to dismiss the truth. You were not the Huntress that Hydra had turned you into, and Bucky was not the Winter Solider they had tortured him into becoming. Once they understood that, maybe, just maybe, you had a chance of getting out of here with Bucky and living free with him like you should have been doing for the past year.

Hydra had taught you well. Half of the data was already sat in your lab in Romania, proving that brain mechanics, movement, thoughts and procedures changed whenever he was under the throes of the Winter Solider. Pictures and files dating each time Hydra experimented their brainwashing technology on him. Images of the different machinery, some of them with him in it, some of you working at the nearest computer.

Your work from the past year had taken a lot out of you, but damn was it worth it. Once your people took a look at the final conclusions and sent through the final part of the plan, you and Bucky would be one step closer to freedom.

They bought you in for his evaluation. He was in a glass box, restrained at every possible part of his body, particularly the metal arm. His head was hung, hair falling not-so-graciously in front of his face, masking him. The image was projected onto a giant monitor towards the front of the room, where everyone could see what was happening. They still had you handcuffed, behind your back, something strong, perhaps vibranium so you couldn't get out no matter what. Four guards stood around you, stopping any possible escape plan. But none of them were even on the table unless you knew where to find Bucky and guarantees you got out with him by your side.

To the left of you and the guards stood Tony and Natasha, both on the side agreeing with the Accords. Behind a glass door was Steve and Sam. As his evaluator started speaking, your eyes began to droop. Nobody would take this serious, or how they should.

"Hello, Mr Barnes." A Sokovian accent was the first thing you spotted. Nothing too out of the ordinary but it definitely piqued some form of interest in you for a reason you hadn't yet been able to decipher. "I have been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit?" On the screen, he gestured to the chair and desk. When Bucky stayed silent, he sat down, opening up his briefcase that had been placed on the wood of the desk. "Your first name is James?"

Bucky stayed silent again. You knew this would be difficult, and everyone else in the room was beginning to catch onto that point as well.

"Do you know where you are, James?" Again silence. The examinations officer sighed. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

A brief pause. Bucky lifted his head, revealing his face to the officer. He swallowed, lips parting to speak. "My name is Bucky."

In the other room, behind the glass, Steve and Sam, plus a woman that you didn't know the name of yet, started speaking. They all had that look on their face. Curiosity, suspicion, a tint of fear muddled in with the rest. Steve was fiddling with a piece of paper, could have been a photo, but it was difficult to see from the angle the guards had you at.

"Tell me, then, Bucky." He started speaking again, making notes in that little book of his. "You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

Bucky's voice was strained as he spoke, eyes droopy, that fear, that pain having seeped it's way back into his features. The same state of mind that you and him had worked so hard to leave in the past. It was just being dug back up again, unmercifully. "I don't wanna talk about it."

He waved his hands about, barely visible through the screen projection. "You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop." He was intentionally poking the bear.

A moment paused. The examinations officer looked down to the left of his notebook to a propped up screen, the camera to far away to read what was visible on the screen. "Don't worry. We only have to talk about one." Another second passed, then—

The lights went out.

The next couple moments were a blur. Agent Ross started pacing between different computers, Tony Stark went off to talk to his AI, Natasha had already left the room. Steve had stood up straight at the outage, looking towards the woman and immediately signalling at Sam to following him. Believe me, you tried to stay put, not let anything get any worse than it already was, but Steve clearly knew where Bucky was, and if what you thought was happening was happening, then they needed you. So you spotted as one of the guards slipped, moved out of space for a single second, distracted, and you bled into the shadows, melting away so that no one could follow you. Hydra didn't simply train you with hardware and software, after all.

You slipped through and into the glass room, then again through the door that Steve had just disappeared through. Once you were in a clear corridor with both Steve and Sam at the end of it, you began running after them, pausing for just a single second to use a door handle to break the handcuffs that were restraining you.

Because, of course, the examinations officer wasn't CIA, or FBI, or actually from the UN like he said he had been. You knew you recognised the book, the red leather front and that stupid fucking black star painted on it. Your own fucking writing was in it! How the hell this man had gotten a hold of it, you couldn't figure out, but that wasn't the priority. Right now, the Winter Solider was being summoned, and would be under the control of some random person, who was also probably at the fault of T'Chaka's death too. Only God knew what he was really planning, but Bucky would be at the heart of it and that was the one thing you aimed to stop.

Eventually, you caught up with Steve and Sam. It took them both a while to clock you were running behind them but neither of them cared enough about you in the moment to stop running because you all had the same goal: finding Bucky.

The three of you made it to the entrance of whichever room Bucky had been put into. Steve came to a halt at the seemingly endless pile of bodies on the floor. It was too late. He was already the Winter Solider and he had already hurt people.

Steve turned to you, chin held high. "How the hell did you get out?"

"Slipped away." You shrugged. Steve's lips parted as if to speak again, but you held a hand up, shaking your head. "But that's not what's important right now. Bucky has just become the Winter Solider again, and if we don't get to that man in order to save Bucky again, then we're all going to be in a lot of trouble and not just with the government this time."

He ran a hand over his face but nodded, turning back towards the doorway.

In the middle of the room, Zemo was curled into the floor, shaking. Steve didn't give you nor Sam any chance to do anything, running forward and picking him up, shoving him up against the desk, chin held high as he began to speak. You were so focused on Zemo, that you didn't notice Bucky standing in the corner of the room, shoulders dilating as he panted, fully reformed back into the Winter Solider. You also didn't see as he made a leap towards Steve, shoving him across the room at lightning speed.

At the sound of Steve crashing against the wall, you leaped too, in a way that left your hands rested on his shoulders, readying to pull off. All three of you had the serum, but they were still both men, and Bucky under the brainwashing programme gave him extra strength, no holding back. When his trapezius twitched and his jaw sharpened, you knew he was going to swing behind him, so you ducked, dodging his hand and using the temporary drop in his barriers to reach for his arm, curling it around his back.

His metal arm was still pressing against Steve, so with your hands still keeping his flesh arm behind his back, you leaped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, your other hand moving around him to cover his face. Confusion, distraction, anything that meant Steve could get himself out of the grasp Bucky had him in.

And while Steve did make it out, slipping from his grasp, Bucky caught on far too quickly. He was able to maneuver himself to make you fall, spinning on his feet and falling to his knees as your back hit the ground. He went for your hands, clasping them above your head so there was no way to get out. This position certainly wasn't unfamiliar, but every other time, you knew he would let you go at a signal. The Winter Solider would not listen to a signal. He climbed your body, eyes meeting yours straight forward.

They were pained. A familiar warmth that looked like home but only once you dug deep. On the surface was simply a message, follow the mission, the unfamiliar blue did scare you. The only thing that kept you going was the knowledge that Bucky was in there somewhere, no matter how much it didn't seem like it — Bucky was there. You'd get him out, or die trying.

"Bucky—" You gasped, gaping for breath, trying to get his attention. His, not the Winter Solider. "I know you're there. I know you can hear me."

He simply snarled, teeth bared. You lifted your head to look outside of his gaze, seeing Sam and Steve after Zemo, who had given in not so quickly. Looking back towards Bucky, you met the blue again, letting your head drop to the floor, letting your muscles relax, your breathing beginning to settle as you calmed. If you were calm, then so was he. If he was calm, then so were you. That was the deal. But that did nothing, if anything it worsened the situation, because he removed his metal hand from holding yours, still able to keep you bound with just one, and moved the metal so that it was pressed up against your neck.

Not pushing, not squeezing; just settled. Acting as a warning, to make sure you didn't try anything.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but— everyone calls you Bucky and you can't remember why." You speak, more wary of your breathing than you ever have been before. A quick glance downward, then back up to meet his eyes. "Your favourite singer is Frank Sinatra, but you think musically, Nancy Sinatra did better work. You—" You gasped for air as his fingers twitched around your neck, your words beginning to break through. "There's a cat, you call her Alpine, that always stops at our window and you shouldn't feed her— because she's not our cat, but— you do any way— because you're secretly a softie."

Bucky blinks. Bucky blinks. Not the Winter Solider. The warmth slowly flows towards the front of the blue, that familiarity coming back.

But that's what Steve didn't see. Steve handed Zemo over to Sam to get rid of then turned to see the Winter Solider choking you, so he leaped towards the two of you. The shield bashed against Bucky's side, knocking him over. Just as he was ripped from your sight, you saw the blue darken again, and Bucky was gone.

"He's making his way to the helipad—" Steve spoke, storming in the direction of the mentioned exit, not even sparing you a glance as he passed you.

The fight had gone shit. Sam had been sent after Zemo and had no luck, the man seemingly disappearing off the face of the earth. Everyone had had their turn at Bucky, only making things worse, only escalating things. You had managed to pull Black Widow away from the solider, pushing her to the side and running after Bucky as he fled. Then Iron Man had wanted a turn, half suited and dodging a bullet that Bucky had managed to aim in his direction. Steve had been in and out of everything, and was now on his way to following Bucky as he attempted to escape.

You hadn't seen Steve since he had knocked Bucky away from you in the bunker. Now he was storming away from you and you had some less than pleasant words that he definitely needed to hear. "Steve, I swear to God, what the fuck—" You paused, still walking after him and scoffing as he simply continued walking. "I had him! I had Bucky back and you ruined it! What right do you even have protecting him or me like that?"

It was a stupid thing to say. You knew that him and Bucky had been inseparable during the war, because who didn't? You knew that he was risking his power as Captain America in order to protect Bucky from prosecution.

Steve paused, turning around and finally facing you, pointing an index finger at you in a accusatory act, eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Listen, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but Bucky is my best friend and I will do anything to make sure he's safe. So don't bullshit me with who deserves him more, because I don't know a single good thing you've done for him in the past 100 years."

You grit your teeth, fighting off a groan. Just about to reply, movement in your peripheral shifted your attention, seeing the solider swing open the door to a free helicopter. "Steve, quick—"

He followed where you were looking, and at the realisation that there wasn't time for a spat, you both started running, outside and onto the helipad. Bucky knew how to work it, getting the vehicle up in no time. Steve leaped, grabbing the landing skids, attempting to pull it downward. Bucky saw, shifting so the helicopter moved away from Steve. You reached for Steve's spare hand, using your joint strength to further pull the helicopter towards the concrete.

Bucky shouted, again shifting and this time behind successful. The helicopter was dragged towards the edge, Steve dropping your grasp and having no choice but to latch onto the yellow railing around the edge of the helipad.

"Let me help!" You shouted, rushing forward and pulling on his hand, you in turn, starting pulling both Steve and the helicopter away from the direction it was heading towards. Knees pressed against the concrete, you grabbed onto the railing as a fail safe, which eventually came in handy as the helicopter tugged the two of you and Steve away from the ground.

You were dangling in mid-air, hand in hand with the Captain America, attempting and failing to pull Bucky back to the ground. What the fuck? What the actual fuck. Steve caught your eyes, a mouthed 'tug on three, yeah?' You nodded in return, and he began to shout over the whirring of the main motor. "One—" You were latched onto the yellow railing, securing your grip. "Two—" It was a struggle, but it seemed possible. Or at least, you tried to tell yourself that. "THREE!"

Steve pulled, as did you, a sudden, unexpected tug. It sent pressure through the helicopter, a shift that Bucky couldn't predict and therefore couldn't avoid. The vehicle stuttered, and lost momentum, crashing into the side of the railing. Rubble was everywhere, you had lost Steve's hand and he was nowhere to be seen.

The helicopter creaked as it collided with the concrete. Then it slipped, stuttered, and slowly dropped from the ledge, falling into the river below.

Bucky groaned, muscles aching. His eyes fluttered open, and he was met with the stern looks of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, both with their arms crossed over their chests. He spluttered a cough out, pushing himself to sit up. As the two stayed quiet, Bucky let himself look around the room. Leant against the far brick wall, was your body, limp and still unconscious. At the sight of you, Bucky sat up fully, pushing himself up and moving towards you.

Steve stepped to the left, blocking his path. "Hold it—"

"Let me get to her, Steve." Bucky pleaded, voice wavering in fear of the way she was so limp against the wall, a hand held out pointing towards her. "I need to check she's okay. If she's not— I don't— She has to be okay, just let me ch—"

The captain cut him off, a hand held up to cease his speech. "She's okay, trust me. You can go see her in a second, we just have a couple questions, first."

Bucky swallowed, nearly glaring up at Steve. He shrugged. "Go crazy."

"What's your name?"

He scoffed, shoulders shaking, eyes never leaving yourself. "Bucky Barnes."

"When were you born?" He was being very very quick with these questions. Bucky found it almost demeaning, but under the circumstances and taking into consideration the entire situation, he became a bit more empathetic.

"March 10th, 1917."

Steve swallowed, allowing two quick glances, one toward Sam stood next to him, and then behind him to where you were still unconscious. "Tell me something only Bucky would know."

Bucky sighed, shoulders deflating and finally being able to draw his gaze away from you, meeting Steve's. "You're mom's name was Sarah. You used to put newspapers in your shoes—"

At Sam's small chuckle, Steve held a hand out, pausing him. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry for the paranoia, but with the fight that just broke out, I hope you can understand why. I swear, we've done our checks and she's really alright but you go ahead."

"Thanks." He nodded curtly, rushing towards you and falling to his knees. He pushed your hair back from your face, hands pressed against your cheeks, examining your face.

Steve, arms crossed again, looked to face him. "Who even is she?"

Bucky grinned, forehead pressed to yours, letting out a deep sigh as his conclusions came back that nothing was inherently wrong, you simply needed to wake up. "She's my saviour. She is the reason I'm still alive, that I'm not a slave for Hydra anymore." Pulling back, he sought Steve for a reason. In the small moment he was looking away, you twitched, gasping for air and eyes flicking open, regaining consciousness.

"James—"

At the breathe of your name, he spun, eyes widening at the sight of you awake. Immediately, he pulled you into him, arms around your torso, chest flush against his. You sighed, realising he was here, and safe, and not the Winter Solider. His face pressed against your neck, warm breath jarring against the cold of wherever the safe house was.

He sighed contently into your neck. "You're okay, doll, you're okay. Are you okay? How—"

Pulling back, you laughed, palms moving to press against his cheeks. "Am I okay? Oh, James, I swear. Are you okay? You're the one that was triggered, how do you feel?"

"A bit shaken." He spoke, breathing calming down. "But alive, and happy you are too."

"Good."

Sam cleared his throat, and the two of you were brought back to reality. Steve hid a chuckle behind a cough and in order to force the awkwardness to dissipate, he took over the room, setting about recap of the circumstance and what the next plan of action was. It would be a lot of work, but anything to make sure Bucky was free.

a/n: hope you enjoyed!! lemme know if yous want a part 2 or want me to create a tag list or anything any support is appreciated 👏

[greyyson-but-wrong]

ALIBIS

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warning: the winter solider, canon accurate civil war, violence, fighting, swearing, a single sentence hinting that they've fucked in the past lmao, hydra mention, partly edited

summary: you've been living with bucky for the past year, now he's been accused of assassinating the king of wakanda and of course they bring you in as well, but nobody knows who exactly you are

author notes: guys... this isn't a part 2 I actually have no motivation to write that atm icl so have this instead. I'm being so fr I could change one detail about this and have it be part of the same storyline as my previous work but I cba cause then there'll be a bunch of missing context :( hope you enjoy this!!!

word count: 4.6K

"Who the hell is that?"

Tony Stark didn't recognise the woman as he took a peak through the glass of the cell, index finger pointed towards her before moved backward to pinch at his lips. She was perched on the edge of the small bench they had given her, book in hand, leaning forward with her elbows resting against the skin of her thighs. For having just been arrested under the suspicion of harbouring a fugitive, the woman didn't seem too worried, too off-put or irked. She just simply sat there, breathing steady. At the change in scenery outside her window, she looked up only temporarily, the corners of her lips curving upward at the sight of the Iron Man, fingers leaving the paper of her book to wag her fingers in a wave. Tony's eyebrows furrowed at her actions. Suspicious. That's all she was.

Steve moved his eyes from the woman to look towards Tony, hands dug in his pockets, fiddling with the spare lint caught off the inside fabric. "She, is his alibi."

"Come again?"

The solider tilted his head, watching the woman as she went back to innocently reading her book, still as if she wasn't currently in a holding cell under the detainment of the American government. "She's been giving him a home for a year now, feeding him, keeping him stable, stopping him from becoming the Winter Solider."

Tony sighed, lowering his voice. "So why won't she testify again him?"

Steve eyed up the security camera in the corner of the room. It was no doubt someone was watching him on the other side, because while he was an Avenger and allowed somewhat free roaming around the premises, he was still technically a criminal now. They had to have all eyes on him. He had to keep all eyes on her though. "She knows that the government doesn't officially acknowledge the difference between the Winter Solider and Bucky as a person. Until they do that, she's refusing to tell us anything. That includes information about who she is."

"Well, she must have a name."

"She's told us Jane Doe, but, well. We're not stupid." Steve chuckles, shaking his head. "Someone, somewhere has her file, I won't be able to get it for you, though."

Tony Stark shrugs. "I'll get FRIDAY to gather the information about her, for me." He pauses for a second, letting his thoughts gather, letting everything come together in some form. He fiddles with his phone a little, before shoving it back into his pocket, turning to Steve again. "The question is, why is she so protective of him?"

Steve lets out a heavy sigh, eyes moving to watch her. "If only she would tell us."

The glass was soundproof. You knew, because several different groups of people had walked past the locked cell, mouths moving, faces reacting, but you could hear none of it. They had given you a random book to read to pass the time, but you were already about halfway through it and it had only been two hours, by the analog clock that was built into the left wall. The list of people that had walked past ran through in your head in the following order: Maria Hill, Fred the Janitor (he had a mop, so you assumed), a group of lawyers, the Black Widow, Fred the Janitor (again), Agent Ross as part of the CIA, a group of guards who were surrounding T'Challa (who you had made the worst kind of direct eye contact with), a couple more lawyers, then the cherry atop the cake: Captain America and Iron Man. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

It was obvious it was them because well, fuck, who wouldn't have known it was them? They were Avengers, they had saved the world countless times. They were also the reason Bucky had to run and hide with you, rather than in a much safer Witness Protection programme. They were also the reason you were trapped in this holding cell, because Captain America had led the Romanian police force directly to the apartment you had Bucky had been peacefully living in for a year.

The peace died pretty quickly when you had walked into your kitchen to find Steve Rogers standing there, shield in hand, looking at the photo of you and Bucky stuck to the fridge.

They had asked for your name. They had asked for your identification and your history. Perhaps a couple years ago you would have told them, but then all that information was revealed about Shield and Hydra, and now there was no way on God's Holy Earth would you ever trust them nor any government body again. After what Bucky had gone through, after what you had gone through, how could they have led Hydra infiltrate Shield like that? Black Widow thought that the encrypted versions of the files would mean the general public wouldn't be able to gain the information.

But you had been trained by Hydra. You weren't their brawn, you were their brains, so if anyone was going to be able to decrypt that information, it would have been you. When you spent hours scouring through the endless files to find out information about his life, that had been the day you had decided to never trust a government body.

So, no, you weren't going to tell them your name. Then they would look you up. They would find out that you used to work for Hydra and just like they were treating Bucky, they wouldn't understand you had been brainwashed and tricked and tortured to work for them. They would treat you like any other Hydra worker who knew what they had been doing; even though you didn't.

Now you were stuck in this cell, Bucky was nowhere to be seen and therefore probably in some containment centre to stop him from hurting anybody even though he wasn't the Winter Solider anymore. Even though he hadn't become the Winter Solider in months, thanks to the work you had been doing with him. What were you supposed to do? Anything you could talk about or tell anyone, they wouldn't believe it. To them, Bucky was a weapon, something that could hurt and couldn't love, but he did love. He had humour, he had a laugh, a smile, he stops in the middle of the street to stroke stray cats, he gets all soppy at cozy rom-coms and he spends his evenings listening to old Sinatra records.

But they would never see that.

Then Captain America and Iron Man walked in front of the glass. You couldn't help but grin, waving your fingers towards the billionaire. It was public knowledge that Tony Stark was on the side of signing the Accords and that Steve Rogers wasn't. It piqued your curiosity as to how they were able to have a real conversation while having such different beliefs, but that wasn't your main goal. You wanted to confuse them.

The name. Jane Doe, of course it was fake. You had told them it to be confusing, make it clear that you were more than just simply a safe house holder for the Winter Solider. What it would do was bring up all the attention towards you. The Avengers, the CIA, the FBI, whoever was in charge here would spend their time figuring out who the hell you were and why you had been so involved in Bucky's life in the past year. To cause a bit of a ruckus, and a lot of confusion.

Because while they would be doing all of that, Bucky's trial would be put off longer and longer, until your people could prove that the Winter Solider was not the same person as Bucky. You were refusing to talk not just because they didn't understand that simply fact, but you also needed time to gather enough evidence that it would be impossible to dismiss the truth. You were not the Huntress that Hydra had turned you into, and Bucky was not the Winter Solider they had tortured him into becoming. Once they understood that, maybe, just maybe, you had a chance of getting out of here with Bucky and living free with him like you should have been doing for the past year.

Hydra had taught you well. Half of the data was already sat in your lab in Romania, proving that brain mechanics, movement, thoughts and procedures changed whenever he was under the throes of the Winter Solider. Pictures and files dating each time Hydra experimented their brainwashing technology on him. Images of the different machinery, some of them with him in it, some of you working at the nearest computer.

Your work from the past year had taken a lot out of you, but damn was it worth it. Once your people took a look at the final conclusions and sent through the final part of the plan, you and Bucky would be one step closer to freedom.

They bought you in for his evaluation. He was in a glass box, restrained at every possible part of his body, particularly the metal arm. His head was hung, hair falling not-so-graciously in front of his face, masking him. The image was projected onto a giant monitor towards the front of the room, where everyone could see what was happening. They still had you handcuffed, behind your back, something strong, perhaps vibranium so you couldn't get out no matter what. Four guards stood around you, stopping any possible escape plan. But none of them were even on the table unless you knew where to find Bucky and guarantees you got out with him by your side.

To the left of you and the guards stood Tony and Natasha, both on the side agreeing with the Accords. Behind a glass door was Steve and Sam. As his evaluator started speaking, your eyes began to droop. Nobody would take this serious, or how they should.

"Hello, Mr Barnes." A Sokovian accent was the first thing you spotted. Nothing too out of the ordinary but it definitely piqued some form of interest in you for a reason you hadn't yet been able to decipher. "I have been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit?" On the screen, he gestured to the chair and desk. When Bucky stayed silent, he sat down, opening up his briefcase that had been placed on the wood of the desk. "Your first name is James?"

Bucky stayed silent again. You knew this would be difficult, and everyone else in the room was beginning to catch onto that point as well.

"Do you know where you are, James?" Again silence. The examinations officer sighed. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

A brief pause. Bucky lifted his head, revealing his face to the officer. He swallowed, lips parting to speak. "My name is Bucky."

In the other room, behind the glass, Steve and Sam, plus a woman that you didn't know the name of yet, started speaking. They all had that look on their face. Curiosity, suspicion, a tint of fear muddled in with the rest. Steve was fiddling with a piece of paper, could have been a photo, but it was difficult to see from the angle the guards had you at.

"Tell me, then, Bucky." He started speaking again, making notes in that little book of his. "You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

Bucky's voice was strained as he spoke, eyes droopy, that fear, that pain having seeped it's way back into his features. The same state of mind that you and him had worked so hard to leave in the past. It was just being dug back up again, unmercifully. "I don't wanna talk about it."

He waved his hands about, barely visible through the screen projection. "You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop." He was intentionally poking the bear.

A moment paused. The examinations officer looked down to the left of his notebook to a propped up screen, the camera to far away to read what was visible on the screen. "Don't worry. We only have to talk about one." Another second passed, then—

The lights went out.

The next couple moments were a blur. Agent Ross started pacing between different computers, Tony Stark went off to talk to his AI, Natasha had already left the room. Steve had stood up straight at the outage, looking towards the woman and immediately signalling at Sam to following him. Believe me, you tried to stay put, not let anything get any worse than it already was, but Steve clearly knew where Bucky was, and if what you thought was happening was happening, then they needed you. So you spotted as one of the guards slipped, moved out of space for a single second, distracted, and you bled into the shadows, melting away so that no one could follow you. Hydra didn't simply train you with hardware and software, after all.

You slipped through and into the glass room, then again through the door that Steve had just disappeared through. Once you were in a clear corridor with both Steve and Sam at the end of it, you began running after them, pausing for just a single second to use a door handle to break the handcuffs that were restraining you.

Because, of course, the examinations officer wasn't CIA, or FBI, or actually from the UN like he said he had been. You knew you recognised the book, the red leather front and that stupid fucking black star painted on it. Your own fucking writing was in it! How the hell this man had gotten a hold of it, you couldn't figure out, but that wasn't the priority. Right now, the Winter Solider was being summoned, and would be under the control of some random person, who was also probably at the fault of T'Chaka's death too. Only God knew what he was really planning, but Bucky would be at the heart of it and that was the one thing you aimed to stop.

Eventually, you caught up with Steve and Sam. It took them both a while to clock you were running behind them but neither of them cared enough about you in the moment to stop running because you all had the same goal: finding Bucky.

The three of you made it to the entrance of whichever room Bucky had been put into. Steve came to a halt at the seemingly endless pile of bodies on the floor. It was too late. He was already the Winter Solider and he had already hurt people.

Steve turned to you, chin held high. "How the hell did you get out?"

"Slipped away." You shrugged. Steve's lips parted as if to speak again, but you held a hand up, shaking your head. "But that's not what's important right now. Bucky has just become the Winter Solider again, and if we don't get to that man in order to save Bucky again, then we're all going to be in a lot of trouble and not just with the government this time."

He ran a hand over his face but nodded, turning back towards the doorway.

In the middle of the room, Zemo was curled into the floor, shaking. Steve didn't give you nor Sam any chance to do anything, running forward and picking him up, shoving him up against the desk, chin held high as he began to speak. You were so focused on Zemo, that you didn't notice Bucky standing in the corner of the room, shoulders dilating as he panted, fully reformed back into the Winter Solider. You also didn't see as he made a leap towards Steve, shoving him across the room at lightning speed.

At the sound of Steve crashing against the wall, you leaped too, in a way that left your hands rested on his shoulders, readying to pull off. All three of you had the serum, but they were still both men, and Bucky under the brainwashing programme gave him extra strength, no holding back. When his trapezius twitched and his jaw sharpened, you knew he was going to swing behind him, so you ducked, dodging his hand and using the temporary drop in his barriers to reach for his arm, curling it around his back.

His metal arm was still pressing against Steve, so with your hands still keeping his flesh arm behind his back, you leaped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, your other hand moving around him to cover his face. Confusion, distraction, anything that meant Steve could get himself out of the grasp Bucky had him in.

And while Steve did make it out, slipping from his grasp, Bucky caught on far too quickly. He was able to maneuver himself to make you fall, spinning on his feet and falling to his knees as your back hit the ground. He went for your hands, clasping them above your head so there was no way to get out. This position certainly wasn't unfamiliar, but every other time, you knew he would let you go at a signal. The Winter Solider would not listen to a signal. He climbed your body, eyes meeting yours straight forward.

They were pained. A familiar warmth that looked like home but only once you dug deep. On the surface was simply a message, follow the mission, the unfamiliar blue did scare you. The only thing that kept you going was the knowledge that Bucky was in there somewhere, no matter how much it didn't seem like it — Bucky was there. You'd get him out, or die trying.

"Bucky—" You gasped, gaping for breath, trying to get his attention. His, not the Winter Solider. "I know you're there. I know you can hear me."

He simply snarled, teeth bared. You lifted your head to look outside of his gaze, seeing Sam and Steve after Zemo, who had given in not so quickly. Looking back towards Bucky, you met the blue again, letting your head drop to the floor, letting your muscles relax, your breathing beginning to settle as you calmed. If you were calm, then so was he. If he was calm, then so were you. That was the deal. But that did nothing, if anything it worsened the situation, because he removed his metal hand from holding yours, still able to keep you bound with just one, and moved the metal so that it was pressed up against your neck.

Not pushing, not squeezing; just settled. Acting as a warning, to make sure you didn't try anything.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but— everyone calls you Bucky and you can't remember why." You speak, more wary of your breathing than you ever have been before. A quick glance downward, then back up to meet his eyes. "Your favourite singer is Frank Sinatra, but you think musically, Nancy Sinatra did better work. You—" You gasped for air as his fingers twitched around your neck, your words beginning to break through. "There's a cat, you call her Alpine, that always stops at our window and you shouldn't feed her— because she's not our cat, but— you do any way— because you're secretly a softie."

Bucky blinks. Bucky blinks. Not the Winter Solider. The warmth slowly flows towards the front of the blue, that familiarity coming back.

But that's what Steve didn't see. Steve handed Zemo over to Sam to get rid of then turned to see the Winter Solider choking you, so he leaped towards the two of you. The shield bashed against Bucky's side, knocking him over. Just as he was ripped from your sight, you saw the blue darken again, and Bucky was gone.

"He's making his way to the helipad—" Steve spoke, storming in the direction of the mentioned exit, not even sparing you a glance as he passed you.

The fight had gone shit. Sam had been sent after Zemo and had no luck, the man seemingly disappearing off the face of the earth. Everyone had had their turn at Bucky, only making things worse, only escalating things. You had managed to pull Black Widow away from the solider, pushing her to the side and running after Bucky as he fled. Then Iron Man had wanted a turn, half suited and dodging a bullet that Bucky had managed to aim in his direction. Steve had been in and out of everything, and was now on his way to following Bucky as he attempted to escape.

You hadn't seen Steve since he had knocked Bucky away from you in the bunker. Now he was storming away from you and you had some less than pleasant words that he definitely needed to hear. "Steve, I swear to God, what the fuck—" You paused, still walking after him and scoffing as he simply continued walking. "I had him! I had Bucky back and you ruined it! What right do you even have protecting him or me like that?"

It was a stupid thing to say. You knew that him and Bucky had been inseparable during the war, because who didn't? You knew that he was risking his power as Captain America in order to protect Bucky from prosecution.

Steve paused, turning around and finally facing you, pointing an index finger at you in a accusatory act, eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Listen, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but Bucky is my best friend and I will do anything to make sure he's safe. So don't bullshit me with who deserves him more, because I don't know a single good thing you've done for him in the past 100 years."

You grit your teeth, fighting off a groan. Just about to reply, movement in your peripheral shifted your attention, seeing the solider swing open the door to a free helicopter. "Steve, quick—"

He followed where you were looking, and at the realisation that there wasn't time for a spat, you both started running, outside and onto the helipad. Bucky knew how to work it, getting the vehicle up in no time. Steve leaped, grabbing the landing skids, attempting to pull it downward. Bucky saw, shifting so the helicopter moved away from Steve. You reached for Steve's spare hand, using your joint strength to further pull the helicopter towards the concrete.

Bucky shouted, again shifting and this time behind successful. The helicopter was dragged towards the edge, Steve dropping your grasp and having no choice but to latch onto the yellow railing around the edge of the helipad.

"Let me help!" You shouted, rushing forward and pulling on his hand, you in turn, starting pulling both Steve and the helicopter away from the direction it was heading towards. Knees pressed against the concrete, you grabbed onto the railing as a fail safe, which eventually came in handy as the helicopter tugged the two of you and Steve away from the ground.

You were dangling in mid-air, hand in hand with the Captain America, attempting and failing to pull Bucky back to the ground. What the fuck? What the actual fuck. Steve caught your eyes, a mouthed 'tug on three, yeah?' You nodded in return, and he began to shout over the whirring of the main motor. "One—" You were latched onto the yellow railing, securing your grip. "Two—" It was a struggle, but it seemed possible. Or at least, you tried to tell yourself that. "THREE!"

Steve pulled, as did you, a sudden, unexpected tug. It sent pressure through the helicopter, a shift that Bucky couldn't predict and therefore couldn't avoid. The vehicle stuttered, and lost momentum, crashing into the side of the railing. Rubble was everywhere, you had lost Steve's hand and he was nowhere to be seen.

The helicopter creaked as it collided with the concrete. Then it slipped, stuttered, and slowly dropped from the ledge, falling into the river below.

Bucky groaned, muscles aching. His eyes fluttered open, and he was met with the stern looks of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, both with their arms crossed over their chests. He spluttered a cough out, pushing himself to sit up. As the two stayed quiet, Bucky let himself look around the room. Leant against the far brick wall, was your body, limp and still unconscious. At the sight of you, Bucky sat up fully, pushing himself up and moving towards you.

Steve stepped to the left, blocking his path. "Hold it—"

"Let me get to her, Steve." Bucky pleaded, voice wavering in fear of the way she was so limp against the wall, a hand held out pointing towards her. "I need to check she's okay. If she's not— I don't— She has to be okay, just let me ch—"

The captain cut him off, a hand held up to cease his speech. "She's okay, trust me. You can go see her in a second, we just have a couple questions, first."

Bucky swallowed, nearly glaring up at Steve. He shrugged. "Go crazy."

"What's your name?"

He scoffed, shoulders shaking, eyes never leaving yourself. "Bucky Barnes."

"When were you born?" He was being very very quick with these questions. Bucky found it almost demeaning, but under the circumstances and taking into consideration the entire situation, he became a bit more empathetic.

"March 10th, 1917."

Steve swallowed, allowing two quick glances, one toward Sam stood next to him, and then behind him to where you were still unconscious. "Tell me something only Bucky would know."

Bucky sighed, shoulders deflating and finally being able to draw his gaze away from you, meeting Steve's. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to put newspapers in your shoes—"

At Sam's small chuckle, Steve held a hand out, pausing him. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry for the paranoia, but with the fight that just broke out, I hope you can understand why. I swear, we've done our checks and she's really alright but you go ahead."

"Thanks." He nodded curtly, rushing towards you and falling to his knees. He pushed your hair back from your face, hands pressed against your cheeks, examining your face.

Steve, arms crossed again, looked to face him. "Who even is she?"

Bucky grinned, forehead pressed to yours, letting out a deep sigh as his conclusions came back that nothing was inherently wrong, you simply needed to wake up. "She's my saviour. She is the reason I'm still alive, that I'm not a slave for Hydra anymore." Pulling back, he sought Steve for a reason. In the small moment he was looking away, you twitched, gasping for air and eyes flicking open, regaining consciousness.

"James—"

At the breathe of your name, he spun, eyes widening at the sight of you awake. Immediately, he pulled you into him, arms around your torso, chest flush against his. You sighed, realising he was here, and safe, and not the Winter Solider. His face pressed against your neck, warm breath jarring against the cold of wherever the safe house was.

He sighed contently into your neck. "You're okay, doll, you're okay. Are you okay? How—"

Pulling back, you laughed, palms moving to press against his cheeks. "Am I okay? Oh, James, I swear. Are you okay? You're the one that was triggered, how do you feel?"

"A bit shaken." He spoke, breathing calming down. "But alive, and happy you are too."

"Good."

Sam cleared his throat, and the two of you were brought back to reality. Steve hid a chuckle behind a cough and in order to force the awkwardness to dissipate, he took over the room, setting about recap of the circumstance and what the next plan of action was. It would be a lot of work, but anything to make sure Bucky was free.

a/n: hope you enjoyed!! lemme know if yous want a part 2 or want me to create a tag list or anything any support is appreciated 👏

[greyyson-but-wrong]

my drafts keep growing…

[greyyson-but-wrong]

˚₊‧꒰ა GIRL'S NIGHT OUT ! — bucky barnes

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you go out for a girls night with yelena and ava, drink more than you can handle, and remember how much love you have in your life.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. f!reader, avenger!reader, takes place between thunderbolts and post credit scene, new avengers, found family, tower fic adjacent let’s goooo, established relationship, references to depression, reader is the same age as yelena, very light moments of angst but mostly fluff, pet names (baby, sweetheart), alcohol, non-descriptive scene of vomiting, drunk!reader who is kind of a lightweight lol, bucky (+ the others hehe) take care of her, honestly idk what this is it’s kind of silly goofy — 8.3k words

𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒. making my official comeback to the mcu after a few years, i am a bit rusty pls be nice to me <3 reader is based off my self-insert/oc, who was taken in by tony when she was a teenager and he’s like her older brother. so there are mentions of that, as well as being in the og avengers. also references to her having powers but feel free to imagine them as whatever you want :) also thank u to my lovely aimsies for reading over it for me mwah!! <33

You blinked down at your glass, feeling your vision already beginning to go in and out of focus, a camera trying to capture a moving image. But the longer you stared down at the alcohol, the more uncertain you became that the liquid was actually sloshing around the rim — the ice seemed rather stagnant. 

Perhaps it was just your head that spun.

You weren’t sure how you’d already drank enough to feel so disoriented. It was still early in the night. Moonbeams filtered through the few windows, but they were fresh, luminescent balls of light that had only just arrived. 

The club, wherever it was that Yelena had chosen to take the three of you, was obnoxiously loud, a heavy rhythm playing over the speakers. Although you’d never really minded the way music drowned out your own thoughts, the flashing, hazy lights made it difficult to focus on anything at all. 

A hand curled around your bicep, dragging your attention away from the drink below you, back towards the face of your friend. 

“Come on,” Yelena said, a laugh bubbling up out of her, choppy from the alcohol. Her accent sounded thicker, sticking harder to the syllables, as the words left her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting already.” 

You made a face, but before Yelena could criticize your inability to hold your liquor any further, Ava had already interjected. 

“Right, so unlike you, the rest of us don’t consider Vodka to be our closest companion,” Ava snorted, rolling her eyes. Always getting a jab in, even though, half the time, she didn’t really mean the unkind words. She just couldn’t help herself. 

Yelena smiled, but there was sarcasm dripping from the corners of her lips, her eyes squinting with annoyance. She lifted her hand, flipping Ava off, as her rings reflected the neon lights of the interior. Then, without looking away, she took another shot. 

It made you laugh – the sound of your own humor was already beginning to grate at your ears, loud and off-putting. It said enough — you were tipsy, if not edging past it. 

Despite your strengths, of which there were many, you were not good at drinking. A talent that did not seem to improve upon with time, nor did it impress Yelena.

At the sound of your laughter, Yelena turned, and made a face, one that seemed dark and overdramatized in the blue tint of the club. “It wasn’t that funny,” she said, though it was without any surprise. “Bucky wasn’t kidding when he said you were a lightweight.” 

You pouted. “I’m not.” The objection was weak, even to you, and an exaggeration, at best, to the other two. “It’s just…” For a few, long seconds, you tried to think up an excuse, but nothing came. Straightening, you sobered your face, and took the shot in front of you. “Forget it.” 

“Okay,” Yelena snorted, drawing out the first syllable. “You’re a wonderful liar. Remind us to rely on you next time we’re in a bind.” 

The damn alcohol was already infecting your brain, and where you normally could muster up a witty remark, you felt slow, and horribly incompetent. “I’ve helped you out plenty of times,” you said, humming, “like…” 

You drummed your fingers against the counter, trying to think of a time where you’d actually needed to lie on a mission. Even before you’d become the New Avengers, your face was too recognizable, too famous, for you to be undercover in any capacity. 

“Give her some time. I’m sure she’ll think of something tomorrow,” Ava said, amused. “You two are already giving me a headache. I’m getting another drink.” 

“Is that it?” Yelena spared a quick glance at the glass in Ava’s hands, one which was only halfway empty. “Or are you going to go flirt with the bartender?” 

That sent you into another fit of giggles, to which Ava glared, her expression souring. “Well, we can’t all be lucky enough to be in happy, loving relationships, now can we?”

This was directed at you, and you only smiled in return, gesturing her away with the back of your palm. 

“Good luck!” Yelena called, smiling to herself. “Let us know if you need any help!” 

“I’ll manage,” Ava said, mouth in a thin line, before she disappeared into the crowd, a few people out of your line of sight. 

“Wonderful. I’m sure we’ll have to break up a fight soon.” Yelena’s face fell into resignation, as she sighed. “As usual. I don’t know why we ever invite Ava, anyway.” 

Ava’s attempts at flirting were usually laced with the undertone of sarcasm and cruelty, and though you had learned to see the fondness wrought within her words, it wasn’t something many accepted easily. 

Most people – men, in particular – reacted to it with a shade of aggression, one Ava never seemed to like. Nights like this often ended with you and Yelena intervening in tense interactions, gently reminding Ava that she was now a public figure, whether she liked it or not. 

“Well, we are your only friends,” you said, softly teasing Yelena as you leaned against her, already starting to become clingy in your intoxicated state. 

You weren’t sure why the alcohol brought that out of you – normally, you held everyone at a distance, awkward with physical contact.

Maybe what you really wanted was to be closer to them all, you just let yourself when you were drunk. 

“Besides, I think Ava invites herself half of the time. Better than hanging out with John and Alexei.” 

Yelena eyebrows raised, like she hadn’t considered the alternative. “You’re right. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone,” she said, suddenly serious. “Come on, we should go dance.” 

You laughed, and stumbled after her, grabbing her wrist, in an attempt not to lose her in the crowd. 

The music, paired with the alcohol in your bloodstream, made you feel lighter, like you were walking on a cloud. It infected every ounce of your being, rattling your brain, energizing you in a way so different from the adrenaline you normally felt on missions. 

There’d been a point, in recent years, where fun had been a foreign word to you, perhaps, as it had, with Yelena. But, being friends with her, even for a short while, had brightened some part of you that had dimmed. 

In other ways, before, you’d been fulfilled; whole, even. You loved Bucky, loved him more than you’d ever thought you’d be capable of loving anyone. You loved your job, most of the time. You loved yourself, on occasion. 

That was more than you could’ve asked for, after everything with Thanos had happened. 

Yet, you’d lost most of your friends, some of the people you’d called family, and that had left a gaping hole inside of you that you had ignored, for months. 

Pepper, who had always been there for you, tried her best. But she was a grieving wife, and a mother to a child who would never see her father again — she couldn’t be what you needed anymore, and you didn’t want to bother her, even if you had lost Tony, too. 

So, perhaps it was because Yelena understood, that had caused you to form a fast friendship. She’d lost someone who wasn’t quite her family, but was the only family she’d ever had. 

Whether you’d known it or not, you both had needed your friendship more than anything.

For a while, the two of you danced, letting your worries drift away, catch on the wind and leave the club behind. 

The air was smoky, the scent stagnant in the air, along with the smell of sweat that continued to accumulate. A song played, then another, and after a few more, you’d begun to feel more sober, no longer as light on your feet as you’d once been. 

“I’m going to get another drink!” you yelled to Yelena, over the music, and she gave you a thumbs up, glancing over at you for just a moment. A song she liked was on, and she was in her own world. 

You smiled, and pushed your way through people, hoping Yelena wouldn’t drift too far from where she was. It might be impossible to find her later, if she let the crowd carry her deeper into the dancefloor. 

As you made your way to the bar, you couldn’t tell if you were stumbling, or if people were just that clumsy, as you knocked into one after the other. A young woman nearly spilled her drink on you, apologizing profusely. 

You laughed it off and righted her carefully, before reaching the bar, and ordering the first thing you could think of. 

The bartender gave you a look — she recognized you, but couldn’t quite place you. But she didn’t comment on it, instead, turning back around to the bottles. 

As you waited, chin tucked into your palm, you felt someone come up beside you, far too close for comfort. The cologne on his collar was heavy, curling around you in a suppressive cloud, nearly making you cough. 

You did your best to ignore him, and it worked, for a few moments. Until a hand crept up on your back, gently brushing your shoulder, and you jerked away, shooting your gaze over to the man, a mix of surprise and disgust. 

“Woah,” he said, hands held up in surrender, though he looked anything but guilty. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I was trying to get your attention, but I guess you didn’t hear me.” 

He was older — much older than the majority of people here. His beard was grey, trimmed nicely, but there was something unkempt about him. The clothes he wore were expensive, but they fit poorly, and his watch was far too flashy for the rest of his attire. His smile was bright, teeth all the color of a shiny pearl, but he reeked of sharp whiskey and the overabundance of aftershave.

You held your tongue; as much as you would’ve loved to tell him you’d been ignoring him on purpose, he didn’t seem like the type of person who would take that very kindly. You didn’t feel like getting in a fight, tonight. 

“I guess not,” you said, coldly, instead. “Can I help you?” 

The bartender came over, placing the drink in front of you, before sliding her eyes between you and the man beside you. 

Gently, you smiled, assuring her you had everything under control. She really must not have recognized you, if she thought he would be an actual threat to you.

The man looked at your drink, voice going lower. “I just wanted to talk. Buy you a drink. You looked lonely over here.” 

“My friend is waiting for me,” you smiled, tightly, though a hint of poisoned sweetness seeped through. Although Yelena had a tab running, and you weren’t planning on leaving soon, you slid a card out of your wallet, wanting to make a point. “I’ll take care of the drink. Thanks for the offer.” 

You turned to the bartender, beginning to hand your card over to her. “You can close out the tab–” you said, but the stranger stopped you, a large, hot hand curling around your wrist tightly. 

It burned where he touched you, the grip tight and possessive, even though he had no claim on you. A sour taste swelled up in your mouth, anger flashing hot in your chest. 

“Come on, I insist. A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t have to pay for her own drinks.” 

Your jaw tightened, and you yanked your hand away, eyes cold. Although you’d been content to play nice, he wasn’t making things easy for you. “I’m not,” you said. “It’s my fiancé’s card.”

While your connection to Tony Stark meant you had, and would always have, more money than probably everyone in the club, you thought pulling the fiancé card might deter the man. Instead, he seemed to enjoy playing the game. His grin widened, like you were merely teasing him.

“Well, don’t you think your fiancé would appreciate having someone else take the bill off his hands?” The man placed his hand on top of your own, trapping the card beneath your palm, where you’d tried to slide it across the countertop.

Exhaling hot air through your nose, you looked up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“Hey, man, she’s not interested–” The bartender began, but quickly, you cut her off, not wanting the man to turn any anger onto an innocent employee, who was only trying to help. 

“I really don’t think he’ll mind,” you said, shrugging with indifference. “He used to be in Congress, up until recently. It was a whole mess. Not really his fault.” You stopped yourself before you could go any further, waxing poetry about your beloved. “Anyway. I’m sure he won’t even notice the charges.” 

With that, you gave him a satisfied smile, noticing that the comment ruffled his feathers, if only marginally. Men like that always hated when their material possessions did little to impress others. 

“Congress, huh?” He tried his best to remain unfazed, indifferent. “What’s his name?” 

You brightened. 

It was almost too easy, getting him to fall right where you wanted him. You supposed you could’ve gone the easy way, the I’m an Avenger way, the You know Tony Stark? way. But, you loved Bucky Barnes with every ounce of your being, and a part of you was always just waiting for the opportunity to bring him up 

“James Barnes – Bucky. Do you know him?” 

The man laughed, loud and exaggerated, a gut reaction without any thought. He pressed his hand to his stomach and shook his head, waiting for the punchline. “Hilarious. The Winter Soldier?” 

You tilted your head to the side, blinking up at him innocently. “What’s funny about that?” 

“Nothing. It’s just… That would mean–” Then, he squinted, regarding you carefully, eyes flitting from your irises to the curl of your lip, from ear to ear, down your body. Within a second, horror began to bloom in his dark eyes, even as he tried his best to subdue it. “Oh. Oh, shit–”

Maybe all those ridiculous superhero movies were right – putting someone in a baseball cap and glasses really could hide you from the world. You’d only done your makeup and hair differently this evening. It was hardly enough to look like a new person, but for some reason, people were finding it difficult to place you without your usual uniform. 

“Hey, is everything okay here?” Yelena came up behind you, eyebrows pinched together as she looked between the three of you. 

“Oh. Fuck. I’m– Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Shit.” The man was still rambling like a fool, before he looked at Yelena, then back at you, combing his hand through his hair. His cheeks were flushed, visible even in the dim light of the club. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.” 

“Clearly,” you said, frowning as you leaned against the counter. “Lucky for you, I’m not in a bad mood tonight. I’ll let it slide.” 

You thought it would be enough to encourage him away, but for a moment longer, he stood where he was, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

Yelena, beside you, looked annoyed with the entire ordeal. It wasn’t the first time you’d been forcefully hit on, and it usually went something like this. 

“You’re not gonna– you’re not gonna send someone after me, are you?” 

You frowned. “Why would I do that? You think I can’t pick my own battles?”

“Oh, here we go,” Yelena said, under her breath. 

“No!” He said quickly, his voice growing louder. “I didn’t mean that. I just… You know…” The man stuttered through the words, afraid to say what you knew he was thinking. 

You narrowed your eyes. The pull of your powers swirled in your chest as you stared into the frightened gaze of the stranger. Fear curled around him, a chill sliding up his spine as he remained frozen in place, gaze locked onto yours. 

“First of all, I would never send someone else to do my dirty work,” you said, pointing a finger square into his chest. “The only person you should be worried about coming after you, is me.”

He nodded, his hands up in surrender, lips sealed together; a promise that he would leave you alone, after all this. It didn’t give you as much satisfaction as you would’ve liked.

Sighing, you deflated, a frown taking over your features. “Secondly,” you said, feeling fiercely protective, “Bucky doesn’t do that. I wouldn’t ask him to do that.” 

No matter how many years passed, no matter how many things changed, there would always be people who still hated Bucky for the things he could not control. Maybe he had accepted that, acknowledged that he couldn’t change everyone’s opinion, but you never would. 

“I-I know. Of course not. I’m sorry.”

“You are now,” you said, huffing. “Not that it matters.” 

The man opened his mouth, jaw going slack as he fumbled for something more to say. But you’d already grown bored of the conversation, and Yelena could tell. 

Swiftly, she cut in, patting the man on the shoulder, ushering him away with a few quick, steely words. 

Finally, he was gone.

“So dramatic,” Yelena said, rolling her eyes. “Can we be normal anywhere we go? You could’ve just punched him and been done with it.” 

Ignoring her, you slid the card back into your wallet, exhaling wearily. “You don’t actually have to close the tab,” you said to the bartender, apologetically. “Sorry for the trouble. I might need something stronger than what I ordered, though.” 

The bartender laughed. “Don’t apologize. I’ll get you something else – on the house. Not because you’re an Avenger, by the way, but that is pretty cool that you came here.” 

“Thank you.” 

You smiled as she turned away, but it was small, sad, as it formed on your lips. 

Still being an Avenger, using that title – it’d never felt right, not with half of your original team dead or gone. How many times would you see The Avengers rise and fall? How many people would die, and you’d still be alive? 

Yelena called your name, snapping you out of your haze, and you glanced over, right into her knowing eyes. She was like your reflection, sometimes. All the loved ones you’d lost, all the emotions you shared, all right in the glass of her dark eyes, shining back onto you. 

You shook your head, putting the smile back onto your face. “I’m okay,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Come on, let’s dance.” 

It was hard to pinpoint the moment you went from being tipsy, to nearly throwing-up on the dance floor. 

You’d never been good at drinking in moderation, nor were you good at pacing yourself. You weren’t good at a lot of things which included alcohol, if you were being honest with yourself, and yet, you were too stupid to stay away from the stuff. 

Yelena, unlike you, had noticed when a queasy look had begun to form on your face, and had taken you outside before you could spill your dinner down the front of her shirt.

“Alright, we’re done,” she said, pushing you towards the door. “Time to go home.”

“I don’t wanna leave,” you complained, whining softly, but Yelena ignored you, too busy searching for something on her phone. You stumbled along with her outside, unwilling, and yet, complacent, as she sat you down on the curb. 

“Stay right there,” she said, a finger outstretched, like she was scolding a child. 

You frowned, but couldn’t think of the right words to say, and gave up. 

Yelena’s voice was hushed as she spoke into the phone, taking a few steps further down the sidewalk, to peek back inside the club. Aimlessly, you stared across to the other side, where a few people kept to themselves, blowing smoke out their lips. They paid you no attention. 

It felt like only moments you’d sat there, when Ava emerged from the doors, and Yelena said. “Finally. Bob’s here.” She shoved her phone back in her pocket, squinting down the street. “That was fast.” 

“Too fast,” Ava said, flatly. “I almost would’ve rather you called John. At least he could get us back in one piece.” 

“Well, I could’ve called Alexei.” Yelena’s voice grew closer as she bent over, grabbing one of your arms and throwing it over her shoulder. “None of our options are great.” 

You’d been zoning in and out, until she lifted you, pulling you to your feet. The conversation, though muddled, slowly but surely reached your ears, as you leaned against Yelena, letting her take most of your weight.

“You could’ve called Bucky,” you said, slurring your words together.

“Hmm,” Yelena said, huffing, as she practically carried you down the street. “He’s not home.” 

“Really?” you frowned, blinking heavy eyelids at her. That was news to you. “Where did he go? He didn’t tell me.”

“Emergency,” Ava said, waving it off. “Pointless meeting. Don’t worry about it.”

It didn’t make sense, but nothing really made sense then, with your brain so blissfully empty. You were certain that you’d talked to Bucky just minutes ago, sending him a mess of letters that probably spelled nothing, but neither of them seemed concerned about it, so you decided you wouldn’t be either. 

“Okay,” you shrugged, walking alongside the two of them, lazily. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“You just said you wanted to stay.” 

“I don’t anymore.” 

Yelena gave you an appraising look. “Well, trust me. We’re going home.” A pair of headlights blinked. “See, there’s Bob. Let’s go.”

You followed her and Ava, finally pushing off of Yelena to walk on your own, even if it was mostly stumbling. She remained just inches away, in case you tripped over your own feet. Which it took all of fifteen seconds to do. 

Another loud laugh escaped you as you grabbed Ava’s wrist, catching your fall. The two of them had both jumped for you, arms outstretched, which was even more ridiculous, considering you had powers. 

You didn’t need their help, even if you had almost landed face-first.

“Please don’t crack your head open,” Yelena said, lips pursed. “That would be such a mess.”

“Like Humpty Dumpty,” you said, pointing to your head with a wide, lazy grin. 

Yelena just blinked at you, preparing a response, though whatever she was planning on saying fell away, as Bob pulled up to the curb, idling beside the three of you. 

“Hi Bob!” you shouted, waving enthusiastically at him, your voice much louder than you’d meant it to be. “Look, it’s Bob, Yelena!” 

She shushed you, even though there was no one else on the street, and pushed you forward, towards the car. 

“Very observant,” Yelena’s words were full of sarcasm that you missed completely.

Stupidly unaware, you smiled back, proud of yourself. 

Bob stuck his head out the window, dark waves of hair falling onto his cheeks. “Hi,” he said, watching as you waved again, with even more enthusiasm. A few, slurred phrases of nonsense left your lips, and Bob’s eyebrows raised, eyes wider. “Oh, wow. How much did you drink?” 

“Not as much as you’d think,” Yelena answered for you. “Come on, in you go.”

Ava opened the back door, and the two of them practically pushed you into the car, causing you to land on the seat, flat on your face. It was cold, and the leather was rough against your skin, but you still laughed, rubbing your cheek as you righted yourself. 

Another loud sigh came from Ava, as she climbed in next to you. 

“You made it look easy,” you said, blinking at her as you slumped down, resting your head on her shoulder. The hint of a soft, sweet perfume still lingered on Ava’s skin, even under all the layers of sweat and grime from the club.

Ava stiffened, but then relaxed, humming to herself. “What, getting in the car?” 

You nodded, slowly, your cheek pressed into her shoulder.

“Well, it’s not exactly rocket science.” 

Yelena slammed the door behind you, shocking you back to attention. You watched as she made her way around the front of the car, into the passenger seat next to Bob. 

“Okay,” Bob said, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. “Does everyone have their seatbelts on?” 

“Just drive, Robert,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. 

Bob hesitated as he looked at you through the mirror, concern flashing through his eyes. “Are you sure she’s okay? She looks like she might be sick.” 

“She’s fine,” Ava snapped, exhaustion becoming evident in her voice. “And if she throws up, it’ll be all over me. Just drive.” 

“No need to be so rude. Bob came to pick us up out of the kindness of his heart,” Yelena said, fumbling with the music, intent on picking the perfect song, even for such a short distance. 

Outside, New York became a blur as you began to move, and you returned your attention to the front of the car, watching Bob focus on each turn and stoplight.

“That’s so nice, Bob,” you said, each syllable being drawn out carefully, slowly. “You’re such a good friend.” 

The words hung in the air. It made you emotional, all of the sudden. A wave of sadness washed over you, dousing you in an ice bath that brought you back to a semblance of sobriety. There was a time, once, when it would have been Tony’s shoulder you rested on, Natasha adjusting the radio, Steve driving you home. 

Now, they’re all dead. 

An ache, like a blade piercing straight through your chest, carved out that empty, lonely part of your heart. You’d offered it to the other three, not a replacement for your old friends, but something new, something different. A risk, to be so vulnerable, but not one without the greatest reward.

“Oh,” Yelena said, and it was the softness of her voice, her eyes pinned on you with understanding, that made you realize tears were streaming down your cheeks, coating Ava’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re all good friends,” you wailed, rubbing your eyes. “It’s nice… to have friends again.” The words hung there, before you were bursting into tears, profusely scraping at them like a child, apologizing over and over again. 

Ava put a soft hand on your forehead, brushing the stray hairs away from your face, sticking to your skin from your tears. As hard as she was on the outside, there was kindness, underneath it all, cased in the armor that had been crafted by a hurt girl who hadn’t had the chance to love. 

“You’re a good friend too,” Yelena promised, leaning over the backseat to squeeze your hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.” 

She was understanding like that, so caring and warm, even when she thought she wasn’t. It only made you cry more, which made you feel more guilty, and had you curling in on yourself, shrinking away from the others. 

Drinking was always fine, until it wasn’t. Bucky would have never swayed you from doing anything you wanted to do, but he had reminded you, gently, that all the emotions you tended to bottle up were released when you mixed them with alcohol.

You probably should’ve listened to him. After all, he knew you better than anyone. 

“It’s stupid. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m sorry. I’m ruining everything.” The optimistic evening had been lit on fire, burning into a pile of ash that wouldn’t die out with your tears, which only kept flowing, even as you tried your best to suppress them. 

“It’s okay,” Bob said, looking at you through the rearview mirror. He offered a self-deprecating smile, face wrinkling at the edges. “Remember when I had a bad day and made half of New York disappear? That was ruining the evening.” 

Despite yourself, you laughed through your tears, a hiccup erupting from your chest. Ava squeezed your arm, the most affectionate embrace she could offer you. 

“But now we’re all–” you choked through your own tears, “friends.” 

“Exactly.” 

You thought there was a message in there, somewhere, hidden beneath the letters strung together to make the word. But exhaustion was wearing on you, and your sadness had drained you, leaving you a mopey mess to seek comfort in Ava’s subtle embrace.

“Hey, Bob?”

“Hmm?” 

“Where’s Bucky? Ava said he had a–” you pinched your face together, trying to remember what she had said. Something… about a, “meeting. When will he be home?” 

“What? Bucky’s not–” Bob began, confused, before Yelena slapped him on the bicep, effectively shutting him up. They shared a glance, one you didn’t understand, before he exhaled, and continued. “Oh. A meeting. Right. I’m sure he’ll be back. It’s late now, anyway.” 

“Okay,” you said, satisfied. At some point, you’d stopped crying. What a relief. “I miss him.”

“You saw him, like, three hours ago.” Yelena wore a barely-contained grin. 

“Well. It feels like a long time,” you frowned, dramatically, your lips pulling down in a curve. “Maybe I can call him. Do you think he’ll answer?” You started to pull out your phone, though it was caught, somewhere in between you and Ava, wedged far enough into the seat that you quickly gave up. “I can’t reach my phone.” 

“We’ll get it when we get out,” Ava promised. 

“But I want to call Bucky,” you said, trying again for your phone. “Tell him I love him.”

“I think he knows, darling.” 

“What if he doesn’t? What if he thinks I went to the bar to find someone else.” A burst of panic sprouted in your chest, matched with an endless sadness that alcohol seemed to free in you. “What if he hates me?” you said, squeezing Ava’s arm, nails forming small, crescent indents. “What if–”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Bucky would rather die than leave you. You don’t need to worry about that,” Ava grabbed your hand, the one digging between the seats, almost stuck, as you searched for your phone. “Just – close your eyes.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’m always right.”

For a moment, you considered arguing more, but she was so stern in her words that the fight died out of you quickly. “Okay, fine. I believe you.”

You weren’t sure when Ava, of all people, had gotten so soft, but she seemed to have something in her heart that had latched onto you, in the way Yelena had with Bob. 

“You know, I love all of you too,” you mumbled, quietly. For not sharing an ounce of blood with Tony, you sure shared the Stark gene of being unable to effectively shut up. “You’re like my family, now. My best friends.” 

None of them replied, but you could feel the heavy blanket of emotion that settled over the car, a gift that came with the knowledge that they were loved.

You did, in fact, fall asleep on the ride back to the tower, and when you awoke, you were groggy and disoriented, all of the past few minutes a blur. All you wanted was your bed, yet it felt so far and out of reach.

“Alright. Here we go,” Yelena groaned, yanking you out of the car with all her strength. 

Bob helped her haul you up, the three of them lugging you into the tower. 

“Maybe you should stop her earlier, next time,” Bob mumbled, as your head lolled against his bicep, feet clumsily going in a jagged line. 

A small crowd of guards watched the four of you, but didn’t move a muscle as Yelena glared daggers at them, daring them to comment on your drunken state. 

Finally, the elevator stopped at your level, and you climbed into it, taking the ride to the top floor. 

Within seconds, the elevator dinged, and you were graced with a view of Manhattan glittering beneath you. You stumbled out, doing your best to hold up your own weight. With the three of them hovering around you, though, it was hard to move at all. 

It was still bright on the floor, but the lights had been dimmed, leaving an atmospheric glow to the room. John was sitting in front of the television, the images casting shadows on his face when he paused it, causing the room to go quiet.

Amused, he watched the three of you return home in a miserable state. “Jesus,” John said, laughing loudly as he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “Did you drink the whole bar? You look like shit.” 

Of course, the shit in question was you, but you were too dazed to realize who he was talking to. 

“Shut up, Walker,” Ava scowled. “You can thank Yelena for that.” 

That, for some reason, resonated in your brain. You looked up, smiling, before saying in a quick, clipped succession, “Thanks, Yelena.” Another fit of laughter erupted from your chest.

John’s eyebrows lifted. “That was rhetorical, genius.” 

“Rhetorical…” you frowned, trying to sound out the syllables. “That’s a long word.”

“Is it? I never noticed.” 

“Fuck off, Walker. If you’re not going to be useful, I’ll start a fire under your ass to make you evacuate the room.” Ava guided you to the couch, pushing you down into the cushion, right as John stood, regarding you with a thinly veiled uncertainty.

“Always resorting to violence.” John tucked his phone into his pocket, watching you move to lay down on the cushions, still warm from where he’d been sitting. “I’ll go get the lover boy. Surprised he wasn’t waiting by the door.” 

You perked up. “Bucky’s here?” 

John snorted. “Yeah, he’s been here all night.” He ignored Ava and Yelena’s gestures at him to stop. “They didn’t call him because they didn’t want to get in a crash – which would happen because you try to make out with him, in front of us, every time you’re drunk.”

“I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do.”

You frowned, but you were too relieved at the prospect of your fiancé being home that you forgot to be mad at your friends for lying. “Hm. I’ll go with you.” 

As you started to stand, the blood rushed to your head, and you took one step forward, knocking into the coffee table, before you nearly fell onto it, catching yourself.

“I think you should stay right there,” John said, amused, as a small smirk pulled at his lips. 

“But–” you knocked something off the table, then something else, glass shattering by your feet. “Oh no. I’m sorry,” your frown deepened, the frustrated tears rising to the surface again. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t move,” Bob screeched, grabbing your wrist before you could reach for the glass. “It’s okay. It’s just water. Not a big deal.” 

“I’m sorry, Bob,” you frowned. “I’m–”

“It’s okay,” he promised again, trying to force you back onto the couch. “We’ll clean it up.” Bob turned to the other three, his smile helpless. “Can one of you just go get–”

The elevator dinged again. 

“Hey, Walker, have you heard from–” Bucky stepped off the elevator, dressed in casual clothes, a pair of dark sweatpants and a regular t-shirt. He was freshly washed from a shower, wet strands pushed out of his face, falling around his jaw. There were a few damp spots around the neck of his shirt, droplets dripping from his hair. “Oh.” 

He looked at the floor, the mess of water and glass, then back up to your tear-streaked face, hazy eyes. 

“Jesus. Yelena, I told you.”

“Hey, it isn’t my fault!” Yelena said, defensively, hands raised. “She bought her own drinks.” 

“I’m sorry,” your lip stuck out, eyes blinking back the tears. “It was an accident. Are you mad?”

“What?” Bucky stared back, confused, before he realized you were talking about the glass – or maybe the state of your intoxication, and shook his head quickly, beside you in a second. “No, of course not, baby. It’s fine. Just a glass. Are you okay?” 

You nodded, slowly, as he came around the side of the couch, guiding you away from the mess of glass and into his arm. The scent of his body wash, still lingering from the recent shower, relaxed you immediately, evaporating your tears as you fell against him. 

“I’m okay. Tired,” you mumbled into his chest. “Love you. Did you know that?” You tilted your head, making to kiss him, but you missed his lips completely, landing somewhere between his cheek and his chin. “I wanted to tell you on the phone, but Ava said that was stupid, because you already know.” 

Bucky laughed, his eyes so soft as he smiled at you. How lucky you were, to still have the brilliant smile that took over his face, even after everything he’d suffered through. 

He took your head in his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. One warm against your skin, the other, cool metal. “I do know. Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it again.”

“Okay. I love you,” you drawled out, extenuating the letters, satisfied by his reaction. 

You stood tall to kiss him again, but that time, he dodged it on purpose, kissing your forehead instead as he pulled you back into him.

“Gross,” Yelena said behind you, but you could hear the affection in her voice, happy to see the two of you so in love.

Bucky laughed again, a small one this time, as he took your hand and kissed it. “Come on, pretty. You can barely stand up.”

“I’m fine,” you slurred, but you let him lift you anyway, one arm under your knees, the other against your back. “I can walk.” 

“I’m sure you can,” he agreed, but made no move to put you down. 

Bucky kissed the top of your head again, unable to keep his lips from pecking you gently, with a warmth that spread across your body. He said a few more words to Yelena, something about cleaning up the glass, but she promised she didn’t mind, and sent the two of you away, back down to the floor you shared. 

Technically, Bucky had his own floor – a product of Valentina’s ridiculous idea to discourage the two of you from acting like a normal couple. 

The Watchtower might have been your workplace, but it was also your home. It had been before, when it was Stark Tower, Avengers Tower, and now it was again, after it’d been renamed and renamed. 

Despite the challenges that never stopped coming, you weren’t going to keep yourself away from the man you’d loved for years, just because Valentina thought it would cause problems.

“Maybe I should buy the tower back,” you said, not to anyone in particular. “Tony would want that.” 

“Do you want that?” Bucky seemed unsurprised by the question. You’d mentioned it in passing, a few times, when Valentina had tried to enforce rules you didn’t approve of, paired with frustrated remarks of, “How could Tony sell it to her?” 

You’d already made a few deals with Valentina, all but forcing her to let you take over renovations, return some of the suites to exactly how they’d been before. You couldn’t bring Tony back, but you wouldn’t forget about him, any of them, just because it hurt.

“Yeah. I think so.”

At first, you’d wanted to stay far from the tower and the memories that haunted these walls, darkened by the lives that had been lost. Now, though, there were new ones, and it didn’t seem so scary to live in a place that had always, really, belonged to you. 

Bucky hummed, thoughtful. “How about we talk about it when you’re sober?” 

“Okay.” You made a face, uncertain if he was just humoring you. “I’m not kidding. I’m being serious.”

He smiled. “Oh, I know. I’m not going to try and talk you out of it.”

You searched his face for any hint of a lie, and when you found none, you relaxed back against him, satisfied. A peaceful calm began to wash over you, and you closed your eyes, the edges of rest reaching for you.

“Anyone hit on you at the bar?” Bucky asked, an effort to keep you from falling asleep in his arms. 

You opened your eyes, processing the question, before thinking hard on your answer. It had just been a couple hours ago, but it felt like a long time. “Just one person. An old man–”

“Hmm. Older than me?”

You laughed again, girlishly, as your grip around his neck tightened. “No one’s older than you.” A kiss landed on his cheek – somehow, some of your lipstick still remained, and it smeared on his skin. “I told him I was getting married. He didn’t care.” You yawned. “I scared him away, though.”

“I can imagine.” You’d never been good at accepting criticism of your relationship, or your lover, from anyone. Bucky had never thought he was worth all the trouble, but time was beginning to convince him otherwise. “You sure you still wanna marry me? I’m sure he’d forgive you if you called him, let him know you dumped your boyfriend.”

“You’re not funny, Bucky.” 

“No? I think I’m a little funny.” 

You hadn’t noticed that you’d gotten into your apartment until Bucky was sitting you down on the sink, kissing your forehead one more time. “I’ll be right back. Stay there, okay?” 

“Why?” You said, stumbling after him, rubbing your eyes. “I’m tired.” 

“Because you’re going to kill me tomorrow if I let you pass out like this.” Bucky lifted you back onto the counter, pushing you forward until you rested against the mirror. His eyes narrowed, serious. “Will you please listen? I’ll be right back.”

You glared at him, but felt too lazy to move, letting your head drop against the mirror. “Fine,” you relented, without much of a fight at all. Then, feeling stupidly childish, you stuck your tongue out at him.

Bucky rolled his eyes, before turning back around, leaving you. 

Exhausted, your eyes closed once you rested against the mirror. For a moment, you waited, attention fading in and out, before the room started to feel a little tilted, and your stomach lurched. 

You stumbled off the sink, suddenly feeling awful, before you covered your mouth quickly and took the two, quick steps to the toilet. It was only a moment before you were spilling the contents of your stomach, all the alcohol you’d drank, out into the toilet, head bent over your forearm as you heaved. 

A hand roamed over your back, pulling your hair away from your face as you waited a few more seconds, before you vomited again, tears pricking at your eyes from the taste. 

“Sorry,” you said, perhaps for the last time, the word tasting familiar on your tongue. “This is gross.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen a lot of gross things — this is nothing. I’m impressed you made it to the toilet,” Bucky’s expression was completely neutral, unfazed, when you tilted your head to look at him. “Feel better?” 

You nodded, a small movement, with wide, sparkling eyes, despite the disgust lingering from your actions. Every day, you thought it was impossible to love him any more, and yet, here you were, falling for him all over again. 

Bucky took a few squares of toilet paper, wiping your mouth before he flushed the toilet. When he stood, your head fell onto his thigh, the muscle hard against your cheek. 

“Come on,” he said, dragging you to your feet. “Back to the sink.” 

This time, you let him pull you along wherever, his hands gentle against your hips, as he settled you back down on the countertop. The granite was cool against your skin, a nice feeling after the hot flash that had come from spilling your insides. 

You slumped down, running on fumes of energy as you watched Bucky squeeze toothpaste onto a toothbrush, before attempting to poke it between your lips. 

Your eyes widened, and you swatted him away, groaning, even as he insisted. “I don’t want to,” you said, falling forward, in an attempt to sneak past him. 

But Bucky was stronger than you, and you were barely able to hold yourself up. He blocked your movements easily, releasing a heavy sigh. “Would you just let me help you?” 

“I’m not a baby,” you started to say, but the minute you’d opened your mouth, he’d stuck the bristles against your teeth, scrubbing quickly, worried you might reject the movements altogether.  

“I know you’re not, but you’ll feel better in the morning,” he promised, focusing on his task as he placed a thumb on your chin, gently forcing your mouth open a little wider. Reluctant, you let him, and he smiled, caressing your jaw affectionately. “Thank you.” 

You endured the toothbrush in your mouth for a solid thirty seconds, before you finally swatted him away, spitting in the sink next to you. Amused, Bucky handed you a glass of water, which you also fought, but managed to swallow down a few sips. 

“You were supposed to–” He stopped himself, giving up. “You know what, never mind. Drink the rest of it.” 

Bucky rinsed off the toothbrush and the sink, before reaching over to a drawer and pulling a singular wipe from a violet-covered package. He dragged it against your skin, careful not to scrub too hard, but made sure he got as much makeup off as possible. 

“Are you done now?” you asked, blinking at him, feeling dizzy and off-kilter. 

Your fiancé threw the cloth away, assessing your appearance before he yielded to your requests. “Alright. Come on.” 

Finally, you thought, as you hopped off the counter, practically falling into him as you staggered on your feet.  

Bucky let you rest against him as he slid a cool, metal hand down your back, unzipping your dress. It fell around your ankles in a pool of dark, burgundy tones, one he helped you step right out of. With a look of endless adoration, he pressed his lips to your shoulder, dipping around your collarbone, before slipping a soft, black t-shirt over your head, one that was warm and smelled like him.

“There,” Bucky said, kissing you, for the first time all evening, on the mouth. “All done.” 

You chased after his lips, but he didn’t indulge you as he dragged you to the bedroom, making a comment about how you were far too gone to do anything more than sleep. The sheets had already been pulled down, the pillows organized exactly how you wanted them.

Without another thought, you fell on the mattress, eyes closing as soon as your head hit the pillow.

The bed dipped beside you. Bucky slipped off both your heels, his lips lingering around your ankle. “My gorgeous girl,” he said against your leg, the words tickling your skin.

You hummed softly to yourself, feeling like you were floating on a cloud as he squeezed your calf, before retreating back into the bathroom.

Bucky was only gone for a few minutes, organizing the mess you’d left behind, before the lights went out, and he was back in the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest. You went easily, tucking your head under his chin, one arm draped across his stomach. 

Although sleep called for you, you were kept awake by a lingering regret that you’d spoiled the evening by being such a mess. You tilted your head, propping your chin up on his chest, before whispering his name in the darkened room.

Bucky made a small sound, barely an acknowledgement. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” 

This time, he cracked open his eyes, sharply blue in the moonlight, before sighing. “What can you possibly be sorry about now?” 

“I feel bad.” It was difficult to form the right words for the horrible ache that struck your chest at that moment.

Bucky shifted, a warm palm resting on your cheek as he turned his head to face you. The tip of your nose brushed his own. “Why?”

“I’m… stupid.” 

His eyebrows raised, and then he laughed, hot breath ghosting the bridge of your nose. “Well you’re not stupid, you’re just drunk, and no one gives a shit about that. Pretty sure they all just think it’s funny.” 

Somehow, that calmed you. It must have been exactly what you needed to hear, the words soothing over that anxious knot in your mind. “And you?” 

Bucky’s face softened, knowingly, like this wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation. “Yeah, it’s funny, but I also think it’s nice that you trust me so much – and them.” He squeezed your hand that was lodged between the two of you. “Besides, we’ve been through a lot worse than this, and I still asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”

“I guess,” you said, mumbling, but you were running out of arguments that he couldn’t refute.

Your stomach was beginning to ache, a weird feeling in your gut, paired with a growing headache that was a mixture of exhaustion and the effects of intoxication. A few more incoherent words left your lips, and Bucky listened for a while longer, blinking back in exhausted confusion, before he finally pressed one last kiss between your brows.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he said, closing his eyes wearily. “You can tell me in the morning.” 

Despite another anecdote on your tongue, you gave into the wave of exhaustion that rolled over you, your mind finally beginning to still. You let the heavy wave of rest curl around you, a blissful comfort, before, at last, you were asleep.

thank you so much for reading! please consider leaving a or reblog if you enjoyed it ❤︎ feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

[greyyson-but-wrong]

I should not have to ask for photos of me to be taken at my own birthday celebration, man, wtf

[greyyson-but-wrong]

ik i just run a tumblr smut page BUT!!!

FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!

i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛

[greyyson-but-wrong]

Today has been awful i’m going to [remembers that suicide jokes are bad for my mental health] burn down the good half of Somerset

[greyyson-but-wrong]

Hard to Love

Summary: Sometimes loving Bucky Barnes is as easy as breathing. And sometimes his past gets in the way.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gn!Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader (Platonic)

CW: Angst, angst, angst. Description of toxic relationships and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

This is supposed to be set post FATWS and pre-Thunderbolts. I tried to make this gender neutral but let me know if I slipped up anywhere.

Bucky requests welcome!

--

Bucky Barnes was a complicated man. It was no secret to anyone who knew him. Not much of a surprise either, knowing everything he'd been through.

Being in a relationship with him was complicated too.

Sometimes, being with him was magic. He was kind and doting and attentive. He cooked for you and cracked jokes. You'd spend hours just laying together in bed, limbs tangled under loose-fitting sheets; a fresh bouquet of flowers bought for you from the supermarket, sitting in a crystal vase on the nightstand. He was all gentle touches and soft, sleepy breaths and whispered I love yous, as if the words themselves were fragile and precious and meant only for your ears.

Other times, he'd self destruct. There were days when, the world around him grew too loud and chaotic and he'd start to combust; caving in on himself like a collapsing building. Silence was always the first sign; cold and hard and unmoving. He'd push you away, often unwittingly, but the distance hurt all the same.

You did your best to be there for him; when the pain of his past grew and the thoughts got too loud. But you can only do so much to help someone who doesn't want to be helped. You tried your hardest; to give him time, give him space. But deep down, you felt it chipping away at your fragile heart.

You did your best to hold the pieces together. You held them like shards of glass in your hands and you tried to carry his as well, in those times when you knew he couldn't himself. But you noticed that lately, your arms had begun to grow tired.

--

Yesterday had been a bad day. You didn't know exactly what had triggered it. Maybe a photo he'd seen or something someone had said to him. Maybe nothing in particular. But he returned home from work with a familiar absent look in his eyes.

You were standing at the stove in your apartment, humming to yourself as you stirred dinner, when the door swung open. You'd greeted him with a cheery smile and a call of "how was your day?".

He'd said nothing, just walked straight past you and into the living room, loosening his tie like it was a vice around his neck. You followed him with soft footsteps, heart dropping in your chest as you recognised the pattern.

You watched from a distance as he sank heavily down onto the sofa, removed his vibranium arm and all but tossed it onto the coffee table. Then he sighed, long and weary, resting his head in the palm his right hand.

You could tell that his shoulder joint was aching like it often did, from the way it seemed to twitch and spasm. Even after Shuri had replaced his hydra-given metal arm, the damage that the appendage had done to his shoulder joint still lingered; a constant reminder of the havoc his captors once wreaked on his body.

You moved cautiously, not quite sure what he wanted from you right now; if he even wanted you at all. Still, you were determined to try.

You sat down beside him, leaving a small section of space between you in case he was feeling jumpy. In his best moments, he craved human contact - especially yours. He was drawn into you like a magnet, holding tightly and never wanting to let go. But on days like these, he often shied away; touch, even tender, serving as a reminder of pain that it once inflicted.

You voice was gentle and steady as you spoke.

"Hey, honey. Is everything okay?"

He let a huff pass his lips, running his hand over the length of his face, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders hunched tensely.

"Had a rough day," he grumbled.

"That's okay," you responded. Softly, carefully. "Dinner's pretty much ready if you want something to eat. I could bring it to you here."

"M' not hungry."

You nodded slowly. "Do you want me to rub your shoulder? It looks sore."

He shook his head.

You sighed, daring to edge slightly closer to him. You placed a hesitant hand on his back, your thumb rubbing soothing lines on the curve of his spine. You felt him stiffen slightly under your touch.

"Okay, Buck. But if there's anything you need I'm he-"

"Can you please just go away?" He snapped, turning to look at you for the first time that evening. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, but they bore into you with coldness that you only saw rise to the surface in moments like this one. His jaw clenched and lips pressed into a tight line. His voice wasn't loud but it was harsh and definite, and his words cut through you all the same.

You pulled away from him instantly, as if your hand had been scorched. Then, you blinked up at him for a moment, swallowing hard and shoving back the burn that was beginning to set in behind your eyes.

"Yeah, okay," your voice was a breathless whisper as you moved to stand. "Sorry."

You felt your hands shake as you turned your back on him, tears beginning to blur your vision. You went to the kitchen and flicked off the heat but left the soup you'd been preparing on the stove in case he decided he was hungry later on. Then you moved to the entryway, your steps sloppy as you tried to keep yourself from crumbling. You grabbed your keys and threw on your coat before heaving open the front door.

It was then that you finally let the tears fall.

Your vision was warped as you exited the building. It was still light outside, but only just. The streets were busy; filled with cars and pedestrians moving hurriedly through the city on their way home from work.

You didn't see them as you walked. It was almost like your feet moved of their own accord as you made your way through the gloomy streets. It was cold out. The winter chill still hung in the air even as spring began to roll in. You shoved your hands into the pockets of your coat in an attempt to stave off the icy breeze.

Your mind was buzzing, thoughts tumbling around like balls in a pin-ball machine. There was a sinking feeling in your heart, like somehow it was too heavy for your chest. You didn't understand why the words stuck with so so much. It wasn't like he'd yelled at you and it sure as hell wasn't the first time he'd snapped at you like that.

Usually you could handle it.

It was a familiar cycle that you'd fallen into. Most days were good. Lots of days were great. And then occasionally, there were days that weren't. It was on those days, when he was tired and stressed and hurting, that he'd put his walls up. Sometimes he'd snap and say something he didn't mean. Often he'd just want to be alone.

And usually it was okay. You'd give him some space. You'd busy yourself with menial tasks; clean the dishes or wash the bed sheets. Distract yourself for long enough for him to come back to his senses. Then, eventually he'd approach you, eyes sad and brimming with regret, and gently, he'd wrap his arms around you, whispering a fragile "sorry" into the nape of your neck. And you'd forgive him.

It was like clockwork. As sure as the sun that rose over the New York Skyline.

You always forgave him.

You didn't even think about it. It was easy as breathing. But deep down inside, there was a hurt that had been festering; emotions sitting somewhere inside you that you'd been doing your best to ignore.

You always forced a smile and told him it was okay. You told yourself that too. That he didn't mean it, that you understood, that he was just upset and hurting and that he was allowed to be after everything he'd been through.

And all of that was true. But it never occurred to you that maybe, sometimes, you were allowed to hurt as well.

You didn't know how long you'd been walking when you realised the sky had grown dark. You were snapped from your thoughts as the first drops of rain were released from the clouds and trickled down onto the surface of your coat.

You looked around. The streets around you were unfamiliar and empty all of a sudden. A shiver of fear ran through you as it dawned on you that you were lost, standing alone on the corner of an unknown New York street after dark.

You reached for your phone as the rain picked up, pouring down upon you like the universe was laughing in your face. You quickly ducked for cover under an awning in front of a closed shop, your hands shaking both from the chill and the anxiety set loose inside your veins.

Your eyes widened when you realised the time. It was just after 10pm. You'd been walking for almost three hours.

Your instinct was to call Bucky but your finger hesitated over his contact. You weren't sure if he'd be upset. He said he wanted you to leave him alone and from the lack of messages or missed phone calls, he'd clearly meant it. Another jolt of anxiety raced through your chest, this time at the thought that maybe he'd be angry if you called. Maybe he wasn't ready to talk to you yet. He was clearly stressed and tired and feeling unwell. The last thing he needed was to drive out in the rain to the middle of nowhere to pick you up.

Instead, you scrolled past his name and click on another. You sniffled pathetically, feeling a new wave of tears build in your eyes as the dial tone rang out for a little too long.

"Hello?" Sam's voice crackled through the speaker, like music to your ears. He sounded alert, not tired like you'd woken him up and you let out a breath of relief.

"Sam, I-" you couldn't stop your voice from shaking as you tried to think of what to say; of how you could possibly explain how you'd gotten yourself into this situation.

Sam could clearly hear your distress, as his voice came, soft but firm.

"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?"

You let out a heavy breath, trying regain some semblance of composure.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. I'm sorry for calling so late. I just... I need you to come and pick me up."

"Where are you?" He asked, the tinge of urgency in his tone indicating that he didn't believe you.

You wiped your eyes, looking around and trying to get a grasp of where you were. Then you heaved out a shaky sigh.

"I-I don't know. I was just walking and then it got dark and it started raining and I then I just-"

Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears. The words just seemed to tumble out of you without your consent.

"Hey, hey. It's okay," Sam's voice soothed, calm and collected into your ear. "I'll come and get you. I'm tracking your phone now."

"Thanks Sam."

"It's no problem," he told you softly. "Just stay where you are and try to take some deep breaths okay? I'm on my way."

--

By the time Sam's car pulled up to the roadside in front of you, you were soaked to the bone and shivering violently. He stepped out, hurrying toward you with an umbrella and a deep look of concern coating his features. With a gentle hand around your shoulder, he ushered you into the warmth of the car.

There, you sat in silence for a moment as Sam cranked the heat up. You were still shivering, breath heaving as your body began to adjust to the fact that you were finally out of the cold and the dark.

Sam bit his lip, looking at you with furrowed brows, like he had something he wanted to say.

"Thanks for coming," You mumbled, voice small and laced with a bone-deep embarrassment.

Sam just sighed. "Of course. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, watching the rain as it pounded on the wind-shield. You didn't meet his eyes. You couldn't, for fear that if you did you'd fall apart. The silence sat heavy like smog in the air between you. After a moment, Sam spoke again.

"Did you and Bucky have a fight?"

"It wasn't really a fight." You looked downwards, fiddling with the sleave of your coat. Your voice was raw with emotion. Sam just waited patiently for more.

"He gets in these... moods sometimes. Something triggers him and he goes all distant and quiet. Sometimes he says things he doesn't mean," you sniffled and reached a hand up to wipe a fresh bout of tears that had begun to run down your cheeks. It felt like all you could do tonight was cry. "And I want to be there for him. I really really try but it just always feels like I'm doing something wrong. He just- he doesn't want me there. He pushes me away and I don't know how to help him."

Your voice cracked at the end of your sentence and suddenly it felt like everything you'd been holding back for so long came spilling out all at once.

Instantly there was a pair of strong arms around you, gently stroking your back and cradling your head.

"Shhh. It's okay," Sam uttered into your hair.

"Sorry," you whispered. "I'm a mess."

He pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes with a sort of gentle firmness that you weren't used to.

"You don't have to apologise okay? How you're feeling is completely normal. You're doing the best you can and I'm sure Bucky appreciates it, even if he has a funny way of showing it sometimes."

"I know," you sighed. "It just gets hard. I feel like he doesn't trust me."

"Hey, that's not true, okay? I know Bucky and I know that he loves and trusts you more than anyone. He's just been through a lot and sometimes it gets to him. He has a hard time letting people in when he's hurting."

You sat back in your seat, pushing your drenched hair out of your eyes. "I don't know what else to do."

Sam let out a harsh breath. "None of this is your fault, okay? You're doing more than enough. I know he has a lot of shit to deal with but he shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"He's been through a lot," you murmured.

"Yes, he has. But that doesn't mean it's okay for him to treat you like this," Sam explained. "You don't have to be strong for him all the time."

You turned to look at him, eyes wide an swelling with a soft sort of sorrow that seemed to linger over you any time you knew Bucky was in pain.

"But I love him," the words fell from your tongue like a drop of rain that fell to the pavement outside; soft, instant and unbearably easy. "I want to be able to help him."

Sam gave you a sad smile. "He needs to let you first."

--

When you pulled up outside your apartment building a new wave of trepidation washed over you like a rolling tide.

"Do you want me to come in?" Sam asked kindly.

"Thanks but it's okay. I think it's better if I talk to him on my own." you flashed him a small smile.

He nodded. "Okay. Good luck. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Thanks Sam. I'll see you."

With a deep breath, you exited the car and hurried towards the front door.

You found Bucky on the couch where you left him, only now he was dressed in a t-shirt and tracksuit pants, his vibranium arm newly reattached and twitching where it rested on his knee. He sat, staring unseeing at the wall with red-rimmed eyes.

He looked up when he heard the sound of your keys jingling, his eyes widening ever so slightly as you stepped in through the doorway.

"Hey." Your voice was small and you refused to meet his gaze as you locked the door behind you.

Bucky blinked up at you in what seemed to be surprise, inhaling sharply through his nose and running a hand over his face.

"I- uh, I thought you left."

The words were uttered breathlessly but there was a weight to them; a certain finality to his tone. You suspected he meant more than just thinking you went out for a while.

"I went for a walk. I lost track of time."

He nodded, humming thoughtfully as you stepped further into the living room. His brows pinched as he got a better look at your disheveled form under the soft lamplight of the room.

"Are you okay?" he asked, almost as if it was a reflex. "You're soaked."

"It was raining outside." You still didn't meet his eyes.

His frown grew deeper. "You look like you've been crying."

You couldn't help but let out a humorless laugh at the irony of the statement. "That's because I have been, Buck."

He nodded slowly, eyes glued to you. You took a deep breath, moving towards him and taking a seat on the couch beside him, a fraction of space between you, just like there had been earlier. Only now it was heavy with grief instead of apprehension.

"I think we need to talk."

"Okay," he muttered softly. His eyes were swimming with uncertainty that you could tell he was trying hard to suppress.

"This isn't working," your voice was shaky as the words flowed through you. "I think we both know that. And I can't keep going on like this."

He froze, breath leaving his body as if it was stolen from him. His flesh hand twitched in his lap like he wanted to reach out to you but didn't know if he should.

"What?" the word slipped from his lips, so soft and unsure that you barely heard it. "What are you talking about?"

"This. Us." You took a wavering breath trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm trying to hard to hold it together. I want to be there for you when things are hard, I try to. But you just keep pushing me away and it hurts, Bucky."

He let out a shaky breath, like he knew what was coming before you even said it. He hung his head in shame. "I know. I'm sorry."

You sighed, reaching out to him instinctively. "It's okay-"

"No. It's not," he scolded, squeezing his eyes shut. But you knew the anger wasn't directed at you.

You moved closer, slowly reaching out to coil your arms around his neck. You pressed your forehead into the side of his chin and closed your eyes, taking a moment just to feel him. You inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent.

It was then that you heard the first sob run through him. A strained, keening sound that was pulled from deep in his chest and made his whole body shudder.

"Hey," you murmured softly, pulling away just enough that you could look at him. You felt your heart crack as you watched his shoulders begin to shake. "Hey, come here."

It was as if he was waiting for your permission because the second you said it, he catapulted himself into you, holding you like his life depended on it. His strong arms pressed you into his chest in a combination of flesh and metal and longing.

"Shhh," you soothed gently as he cried into your shoulder. You stroked his hair gently, noting how he was letting grow out again after he'd cut it all off not too long ago.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he murmured damply into your collarbone, and you couldn't stop your own tears from starting to fall once more. You didn't say anything, you just held him tighter.

You sat there for a while on the couch, buried in each others arms, all the emotions that had been bottled up inside of you spilling out over the cushions.

Then, Bucky whispered something. A sound so small and fragile that you were barely sure you heard it at all.

"Please don't leave me."

Your breathing stuttered and you swore you felt you're heart burst inside of you. He lifted his head, looking up at you hopelessly. He looked beautiful and tragic, like a work of art. His crystal blue eyes were wet and full of such profound sadness and fear that you weren't sure you could take it.

You reached a hand up to cup his cheek, wiping away a freshly fallen tear with your thumb.

"I'm not going to leave you, Bucky... but I need you to let me in."

He ran his tongue along the length of his chapped lips; a habit he often performed when he was nervous. "What if you don't like what you find?"

You leaned in, placing a feather-light kiss to his lips. "I love you - all of you. That means the good and the bad."

He nodded, eyes shifting down to the floor like he wasn't sure he believed you. Then he cleared his throat.

"You know, you were gone for so long before. I thought you'd left for good."

You sniffled, wiping the tear tracks from your cheeks. "It was dark out and I got lost."

He frowned up at you again, but this time it was filled with concern.

"God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" His eyes began to scan your form like he was checking you for injuries.

You send him a soft smile. "I'm okay, Buck. Sam came and got me."

He let out a long sigh and ran a hand down his face. "I'm a terrible boyfriend."

You shuffled closer to him, taking his flesh hand delicately in one of your own. "No you're not. You're just hurting. But I can't be there for you unless you let me."

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand, then rubbed his thumb over the same spot. "I'll try."

You met his gaze and for the first time this evening, the anguish that pooled behind his eyes seemed to have drained away. Left behind in it's place, was love.

"I know you will."

"How can I make it up to you?" He reached up to cup your cheek in his warm palm. You leaned into the touch, pressing your own hand over the top of his and closing your eyes for a moment.

"You could start by running me a bath," the words danced loose on your tongue as your lips playfully twitched upward.

You spent the rest of the night curled together; inseperable and untouchable in your caccoon of blankets. Bucky had made quick work of warming you up and seemingly hadn't wanted to let you go ever since.

Then, once you had been tucked firmly into bed, his arms engulfing you like protective armour, you talked.

Bucky told you about his day; about the nosey journalist that asked one too many questions about his years as the Winter Soldier during a interview that was supposed to be about his campaign.

He told you about the ever-present ache in his shoulder that no painkiller ever seemed to touch. And also about the one in his heart that lingered ever since he'd escaped hydra's clutches and had expanded when Steve left him behind after the war with Thanos.

Most of all, he told you how much he loved you. How his life had been going in slow motion until you found each other. How there was nowhere in the world he'd rather be than right there, tucked inside your arms. Next to you, for the first time in nearly century, he finally felt safe.

And as you fell asleep, your cheek resting upon his chest, you realised that maybe loving Bucky Barnes wasn't so complicated after all. In fact, it was the easiest thing you'd ever done.

[greyyson-but-wrong]

Winter's Child

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your daughter live across the hall from Bucky. However, one night when your daughter won't settle, you turn to him for help.

Disclaimer: A lot of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort vibes. This is also a long fic. Bucky is not a step-dad but a dad who steps up. Brief mentions of abandonment, heavy on the Found Family, cute fluffy date moments between Reader and Bucky. Yelena and Kate being a duo, slight swearing. Not fully proof read.

You were at your wits end. At least, you thought you were until a handwritten letter slipped under your door at nine am on the dot a week ago. 

A noise complaint. 

You were a single, new mom of one. And instead of helping, three of your neighbours – two of whom had children of their own – decided to file a noise complaint against you. 

First, it was sleepless nights with a newborn. Then it was three weeks of convincing male doctors that your baby was, in fact, sick and it wasn’t you just being dramatic. And now…it was teething. 

You’d barely had a minute to yourself in several months. Family helped you where they could, but one night was all they would do in terms of babysitting. 

You had five piles of laundry that either needed washing, drying, folding or putting away. Your apartment was over-run with household chores that needed doing, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you moved through your home. 

And every time you’d just get your baby to sleep, someone upstairs decided that it was time for yet another rearrangement of furniture because it didn’t fit the ‘movement’ of his vibe. 

“What?” You were practically crying yourself. “What is it? I’ve tried everything. Please, just tell me what to do. Please.”

Nothing was working. You didn’t want another noise complaint in fear of someone suggesting you should move out. It took years for you to find a safe place that was within walking distance of a good school. 

Obviously, you’d planned the whole ‘having a baby’ thing happening differently than being single and alone the whole time. But it was the quiet moments, the moments where your baby laughed and smiled that made your heart lighten a little. 

But at two am, exhausted and desperate – that was not one of those moments. 

You’d never know why – you could only ever guess - but an idea popped into your head. And you could only pray it would work. 

Bucky had just closed his front door when someone knocked on it. It was hurried and for a moment, he felt for his side-arm. 

But when the knock was followed by a baby’s cry, he lowered his hand. By the time he opened the door, he was greeted with you - his neighbour. 

“I’m so sorry, I really really am-”

You looked like Hell. Bucky had been on a ten day mission in Serbia and had the crap kicked out of him twice – and somehow you looked worse. 

“But she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want another noise complaint or to be kicked out. I know this is really rude and I am sorry but, please. Is there-”

Bucky stepped forward and scooped the baby from your arms for a moment. He held her up, letting her little legs dangle in the air for a moment whilst he checked her over. 

It was like he’d performed some kind of miracle. 

Your baby had stopped crying. 

Bucky could see you in the corner of his eye. It looked like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, only to come crashing back down. 

“How do you do that?”

Bucky shrugged with a small smile as he cradled your baby in his arms. “I had kid sisters growing up. Ma was always run off her feet.”

“I’m really sorry about this, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “Don’t be. You said you got a noise complaint?”

You nodded, leaning against the wall beside his door. “A week ago. Someone slipped it under my door. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to sign it, I’ve not exactly been a quiet neighbour these last few months.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re doing your best. Ignore the noise complaint. If you get any more, give them to me, I’ll get it sorted.”

“No, you don’t-”

“If they’d bothered to help, then someone might be able to say they're just in their complaint. But they haven’t. So nothing is right about it. Want me to put her down?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

As Bucky walked inside your apartment, cradling your sleeping daughter in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You were her mom. You should be able to do it without having to knock on your neighbour’s door in the middle of the night. 

And you knew it wasn’t the first time he’d helped you, either. 

At six months pregnant when she was kicking you like she was about to be the next World’s Greatest Football player, you had to pause outside your door, leaving your grocery bags on the floor for a moment. 

Bucky had just left his apartment when he saw you. In your small exchange, which most of your conversations were, you helped him press his hand to your stomach. 

It was one big kick. 

“Kid, you’ve gotta be nice to your mom,” Bucky had warned. 

The kicks stopped. 

Bucky had also helped when your baby was five months old. You were carrying her on your hip whilst balancing the baby bag and two bags of groceries. Bucky had just, again, left his apartment when he asked if you needed any help. 

“Can you hold her for a second?”

Bucky took her without question and the soft babbles had turned into quiet solitude as she laid her head on his shoulder. Bucky also took one of the grocery bags from you as you searched for your door key. 

Once you’d thrown everything inside the door, you took your baby back who, within the space of sixty seconds, had grown rather attached to your neighbour. 

Which was also clear in the way her little fists held onto his shirt as he carefully lowered her into her crib. 

“I’m really sorry about this.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m happy to help.”

If Bucky was being honest, he was more than happy to help. When he’d first moved in, a lot of the tenants in the building had avoided him. A few even complained about him living there considering he was an ex-assassin. And he couldn’t blame them. He still blamed himself sometimes. 

But you were one of the few that didn’t treat him like that. You treated him like he was just an average human living across the hall from you. So, helping you and your daughter where you asked him to – it gave him another sense of normalcy. 

Something he found to be very rare in his line of work. 

“You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask.” Bucky told you as you walked him to the door. 

You shook your head. “I already feel bad asking you to help me get her to sleep.”

Bucky turned on his heel and looked at you. “You don’t have to feel bad about that. You’re a mom trying to do it all. You’re allowed to ask for help, Y/n.”

That still didn’t stop the guilt, though. 

You’d opted to have the baby on your own. There had been other options, but they just simply were options you didn’t want to take. You’d chosen to do it on your own, which meant continuing to do it on your own. 

“Thank you, Bucky. For everything you’ve done so far.”

You bid him goodnight, feeling the continuing guilt settle in your stomach but gratitude wash over your home. Your baby was fast asleep, and for the first time in months, you got a full night’s sleep. 

When you woke up, you checked on your daughter to find her still fast asleep. So, you took the time you had to finish cleaning your apartment. 

You were folding the third pile of clean laundry when someone knocked on your door. When you answered it, you stalled for a moment. 

“Bucky, what are you-”

“I know you’re not gonna ask unless you’re out of options, so I’m giving you an option to take,” he told you. “When you need help, or need a break, call me.” 

He handed you a post-it note with his phone number on. 

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. And I want you to.” Bucky pressed. “You’re one of the few people outside of my job that treats me like a person. And, just because you’re a mom, doesn’t mean you should constantly be treated like one. You’re a person, too, Y/n. You deserve the help.”

You were completely shocked. Bucky was…an Avenger. He was someone who helped save the world, twice. But he was offering to help you and your baby. 

You lowered the post-it note. “Would you have any idea how to fix a kitchen cupboard?”

Bucky smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him that you were actually asking. 

He nodded, “Let me get my tools.”

Your brows furrowed. “You have tools?”

He laughed, “I have tools.”

What you thought was just going to be an afternoon turned into two years of frequent help – even when you never asked – and a growing friendship. 

The routine of helping you and your daughter also helped Bucky. It helped ground him after a tough mission. One that, if he went home alone, would be playing over in his mind until the nightmares all mixed into one. 

Even the team noticed the change in Bucky. He seemed lighter, happier and calmer. But the only one who knew the truth behind the change was Sam. Mainly because he’d seen the photo on Bucky’s desk at work. 

A picture of himself, you and a toddler who was holding the camera. 

“You should invite them over for dinner,” Sam told him one afternoon. 

“You think so?”

Sam nodded, taking the beer from Bucky. “Yeah, why not? She’s been your neighbour for years. I know you’ve had a crush on her, for like, ever.”

“I don’t have a crush-”

“You’ve got a crush.” Sam told him. “And, it’s about time we meet your future wife.”

“Sam.”

Sam just laughed. “Oh, come on, man. You know I’m right. I’ve seen the way you look at your phone when she calls you. I’ve also seen the look on your face when you find out it’s her daughter wanting to update you about her day. What a two year old has going on in her life, other than apple sauce packets, is beyond me.”

“She went on her first playdate and helped someone make friends. It was a big day for her.”

“Ha, see! Buck – accept it or deny it, they’re your family. Which makes them ours, too.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll ask, but if she says no-”

“Then we’ll let it slide.”

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket. “And you’ll make sure Kate doesn’t stalk her online.”

Sam held up his hands. “You have my word.”

Thankfully for everyone involved, you agreed. A week later, you were unbuckling your daughter from her car seat whilst she tried to scramble away and towards the crowd of Avengers who were laughing and chatting over a barbeque. 

That was when a small pair of lungs squealed at the top of their voice, “Bucky!”

Your daughter was running, ignoring your call of being careful before she fell, towards her favourite person. And you had to admit, aside from your daughter, he was yours, too. 

You watched as Bucky stopped his conversation with Sam Wilson and turned to jog towards your daughter. By the time they reached each other, Bucky lifted her into the air as she squealed with more happiness. 

“Hey, firecracker. How was pre-school?”

“Good!”

Resting her on his arm, Bucky talked to her and waited for you to reach him. “Really? You gonna tell me about it?”

You smiled, “Only if you want your ears to fall off.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t need them anyway.” 

You stopped just short of him and he led the way over to the table that was still being set up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

You’d had anxiety for a week over agreeing to the BBQ. What would they think? Would they hate you? Would it be awkward? 

But after twenty minutes, everything felt…normal. You helped a very chatting Kate Bishop and a calmer Laura Bishop set the table for the multitude of Avengers and kids that were attending the BBQ. 

People hugged, laughed, asked as many questions as they could – most of them coming from your daughter who, despite attaching herself to Bucky for most of the day, wanted to know everything she could about everyone she was with. 

And they answered every one of her questions. 

By the time the stars were peeking out behind the few clouds that remained in the sky, your daughter waddled her way over to you from where Kate had let her back onto her feet, and you picked her up. 

As you finished your conversation with Natasha, you started packing away what you could with a sleeping child on your shoulder when Tony appeared. 

“Why don’t you stay? You should stay. We’ve got plenty of room and the roads can be dangerous, really, at night. You should stay.”

You tried to shake your head, but Natasha stood. “Just say yes before he says he found a fault with your car.”

“That’s a generous offer, Mr Stark-”

“Tony, please. And don’t sweat it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

You don’t remember agreeing but somewhere between Tony showing you inside to the compound and a sudden new message alert that a scan of your car had resulted in a few, rather dangerous faults being found, you were putting your daughter to be at the Avengers Compound. 

And then you were being led back into the living area where everyone was sitting around the coffee table talking. And the only available spot left was right beside Bucky. 

He sat you beside him with ease. Too much ease to be normal between friends. Not that you were complaining. There was safety with Bucky, in a way you couldn’t describe. 

Of course, when you felt his fingers trace up and down your arm lightly, you felt your cheeks heat. But you still felt safe. Not so nervous where you felt like running in the opposite direction, but nervous enough to enjoy being with him. 

And after an hour or so, Yelena walked back inside with a little hand holding onto her finger. 

“Someone wanted to join the party,” Yelena said as she led your daughter over to you where she climbed into yours, and technically, Bucky’s lap. 

Bucky smoothed down the back of her hair as she rubbed her eyes. 

“Don’t you want to go to sleep, honey?”

She shook her head, and pouted. “No. Not without you and Bucky.”

Bucky smiled softly, “C’mere, kiddo.”

Leaning over, your daughter settled herself between you and Bucky before leaning her head against his side. 

“Okay, that is way too cute,” Kate said as she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures. 

As conversations started up again, your daughter fell into a deep sleep against Bucky. Something you almost did yourself until you managed to gain enough energy to lift yourself from the sofa and carry your child back to bed. 

Bucky followed you, his palm warm on your lower back as he led you down the dimly lit hallways.

However, by the time you woke up in the morning and went to check on your daughter, you found her bed empty. But just as the anxiety that you tried to keep calm spiked in your chest, a voice spoke inside the room. 

“Your daughter is currently interrogating Mr Wilson on his preference of breakfast cereal.”

You relaxed a little. “Of course, she is.”

You were slow to round the corner into the kitchen, wanting to watch your daughter for a few moments. Bucky was right in her nickname; firecracker. She was like some kind of professional quizzer. 

It amazed you some days, at how head-strong she was for such a young age. But you wouldn’t change her for the world. 

Slowly, you lean against the kitchen counter beside your daughter, listening to her explain to Sam about how cheerios were better than eggs, Sam softly arguing back. 

Little did you know, her arguing with Sam would become a frequent image in your own home. 

It seemed, for as much as your daughter had fallen in love with the Avengers, they had fallen in love with her and each one of her questions. You started to see Sam at Bucky’s apartment more often, Yelena and Kate would show up at the park when you’d take your daughter out for the day, your daughter’s preschool also started to get a little more funding here and there throughout her school year. 

And on the days where Bucky would offer to pick her up from school when your work ran over, they would turn into sleepover nights at the Compound since you couldn’t pry your daughter from their arms no matter how hard you tried. 

Eventually, you started to feel like family to them. They loved your daughter like one of their own, and she loved them right back. If anyone at school said that Captain America was less cool than Iron Man, or that Kate wasn’t the better Hawkeye or that anyone on the team wasn’t as cool as your daughter thought they were; she would defend them to her last breath. 

But the one she defended most passionately was Bucky. How he wasn’t scary but actually really kind and funny, even if he was grumpy sometimes. And how his metal arm was like having a normal one – he could still feel everything the same. Almost. 

She even drew him in all of her pictures when it came to her art class. Which, one day, turned into a list of questions which she just so happened to ask out loud one morning when Bucky had just made her breakfast. 

“Are you like my dad?”

Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to look at your daughter. But her gaze was focused on her breakfast and the picture she’d made at school the day before. 

“Why do you ask, honey?” You asked her softly, leaning down beside her. 

“Because Jeremy said I couldn’t have a ‘Bucky’. I had a mommy, so I needed a daddy, too.”

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest. “Honey…” 

You didn’t quite know what to say. Her biological dad hadn’t been in the picture since he’d seen the positive pregnancy test on your bathroom counter. 

“Jeremy was wrong.”

“He was?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Look around you, baby girl. I know you don’t exactly have a daddy, but you do have people that love you.”

That was when your daughter looked around to the other people in the kitchen for reassurance. They all agreed that Jeremy was wrong. 

“Truth is, honey, maybe not everyone has a daddy, but not everyone has a ‘Bucky’ either.”

Steve smiled, “And that makes you extra special, kid.”

Your daughter smiled  before turning around in her stool and hopping down before walking over to Bucky who picked her up instantly. 

She hugged him around his neck. “I love you.”

Bucky was on the edge of tears. “Love you, too, firecracker.”

Later that night, Bucky put her to bed whilst you finished up in the kitchen. You’d offered to make dinner but since half of them got called out on a mission and Bucky was already being used as a human pillow for your four year old, Kate took his place on the mission. 

So, you’d packed the dinner into different take-away containers and stocked them into the fridge and freezer, along with a couple of post-it notes on how long to reheat. 

You were wiping down the counters when Bucky walked back inside. 

“She okay?”

“Out like a light,” Bucky smiled. “Mind if I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Always.”

“Earlier…when she asked me…what happened to her dad?”

You stopped cleaning for a moment before you took a breath. 

Bucky had lived across the hall from you for a while, even before you were pregnant. But he’d never seen someone in your life long enough to consider they would be your partner. 

“We’d been dating for a couple months, but since he lived closer to my workplace, I stayed at his house more often than he did mine. His house was also closer to his work, so it meant we could spend longer together in bed. Pretty sure it was one of those mornings when I got caught…” You took your time, and Bucky let you. 

If you had told him you didn’t want to talk about it, he would have backed off and waited. You didn’t have to tell him anything, but he was glad you were. 

“But, as we hit the three month mark, I started getting a weird feeling. More than I ever have before. Woman’s intuition told me he wasn’t exactly staying loyal. But it felt like more than that, so…I took a test. The minute he saw the two lines he told me he was seeing someone else and that he didn’t want to know about me or the baby, ever. I’ve never heard from him since.”

Bucky couldn’t feel his blood boil. First, a guy who was with you…he let you go. He strayed, cheated and let you go. And then, he abandoned you when you would have needed him the most, and finally…he didn’t even want to meet you or your little firecracker. 

“Well, that’s technically a lie. I heard from some cheap-shot lawyer of his after I sent him some pictures of his daughter’s birth. Just one of her in a hospital onesie and a little hat that one of the nurses had knitted for her. She was so little,” you smiled as you thought back to those first moments where you held her and heard her cry. 

“What did the lawyer say?”

“That he was giving up all parental rights. He wanted to make sure, as far as the law knew, he didn’t have a daughter.”

“He’s…something I would say if there wasn’t a four year old sleeping down the hallway.”

You chuckled. It was nice to know someone was just as angry, if not more so, at the thought of someone not wanting to know your daughter. 

“I guess I was kind of lucky in a way, though.”

Bucky looked up at you from the counter. 

“If he did want to know her, she might not have had you. I might not have…I probably would have moved closer, for the baby’s sake.”

Bucky let the breath go from his lungs. “God, I can’t imagine not having you both in my life.”

You smiled, “Luckily, you don’t have to. We’re both lucky to have you, Bucky. And I’m glad we do.”

Bucky smiled back at you, his heart rate increasing just that little bit more. He managed to look away before you caught the flush in his cheeks. 

A few months later, you were at home finishing up your third load of washing for the week when someone knocked at your door. 

“Kate? Yelena?”

Kate’s expression held nothing but relief as she turned around and faced the door when you answered. “Oh, thank god.”

“What’s going on?” You asked them as they walked into your home. Yelena was carrying several different garment bags whilst Kate carried two more and dragged a small make-up trolly behind her. 

“We need your help.”

“What on earth for?”

You closed the door, balancing the laundry basket on your hip as they turned around to face you. 

“We need you to attend Pepper’s gala tonight.”

“What- Why?”

Kate looked at Yelena who nodded. 

“Because you do.”

“Girls, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that.”

Yelena rolled her eyes as she dropped the bags onto the sofa. “God, you’re such a mom.”

“Yelena.”

Yelena just fixed her hair. “We need you to be someone’s date.”

“Can I ask who this someone is?”

“It’s-”

“No.” Yelena cut Kate off. “You can’t know because it’s a surprise. So, enough questions. Give me that.” 

Yelena took the laundry basket from you and pushed you along down the hallway. Meanwhile, she pulled out the worn hair tie from your hair. 

“Yeah, you need to get washed first. Use your fancy stuff.”

“Yelena-”

“Go, now. Please.”

You gave a small huff as you got into the bathroom. “Fine. But only because you said please.”

Yelena smiled before she shut the door. “Thank you.”

By the time you’d finished your everything shower, along with the fancier shampoo you tended to save for dates and nights out – a shampoo that’s only use was before parent-teacher meetings, or any place you had to look like you hadn’t been up half the night reading parenting books. 

You were rushed into your guest bedroom where Yelena sat you down at the vanity desk. Meanwhile, Kate was lying with your daughter on the bed, looking through different eyeshadow colours, naming them all. 

“Katie knows a lot of colours, momma.”

Kate smiled. “I really do. Hey, you know what this one is called?”

Your daughter shook her head. 

“Aquamarine.”

“Aq…aquaamarr-”

“Aquamarine,” Kate repeated a little slower and your daughter copied. 

An hour and many more unanswered questions later, Yelena had finished your hair whilst Kate was helping you apply your make-up. 

You had been planning a quiet night in. More than likely, it would have ended with you watching the last half an hour of a Disney movie alone whilst your daughter snored herself to sleep on the sofa. 

“Okay, dress time.”

Kate stood and opened up each garment bag. “Which one?” She asked your daughter. 

“Don’t I get to pick?”

“You don’t know the plan, momma.” Your almost five year old, told you. 

“There’s a plan?”

Kate shrugged. “There’s always a plan.”

It took a total of seven minutes and a game of ‘left or right’ to decide on your dress. A floor length gown with a high slit up one leg. There was a soft shimmer to the fabric like you’d been spritzed with body glitter beforehand.  

All three girls gasped as you stepped out from behind your dressing divider. 

“Wow, momma,” your daughter seemed mesmerised. “You look beautiful like the stars.”

You smiled, “Thank you, babygirl.” Then you turned to the two elders. “Will you answer my questions now?”

They smiled, like they knew something you didn’t. But before you could get your answers, someone knocked on the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Your daughter sprung from the bed, quickly followed by Yelena. 

“You really do look beautiful, Y/n.”

You smiled. “Kate, what’s going on?”

She just smiled back. “You’ll see.”

As you tightened your shoes a little, you heard your daughter call out for you. 

“You can come out now, momma!”

And as you did, it was like your breath had been taken from you. 

By your door, Bucky was standing wearing a tux. You’d always known he was handsome, but there was just something about a man in a tux…

You felt yourself smile as you walked closer. “I thought you were away-”

“I know, I was. But…I managed to finish early. You look…” Bucky was lost for words. Or maybe he had too many. 

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, breathtaking…

“She looks beautiful like stars,” your daughter jumped in. And he had to agree. 

“You’re right, firecracker. You look beautiful like stars.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Then Yelena jumped in. “Right, off you go.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she pushed you both towards the door as Kate opened it. “We’ll make sure the little firecracker gets to bed before you’re home. She’ll be safe. She’s with two avengers.”

You knew that was true. But, you also knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be safe. Yelena was a trained spy, but Kate? Kate would crack under the pressure of your little girl's thousand and ten questions questionnaire. 

Before you knew it, you were being waltzed inside of the venue that had been rented out by Pepper’s company for the charity gala. All the while, holding onto Bucky’s hand and arm. 

“This is a lot of people,” you whispered to him. 

“We only have to show our faces for an hour. Two max. Then we can ditch.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a ditcher,” you told him, a little surprise in your voice. 

He chuckled. “No. Ma would have killed me for skipping school, not that I ever did. I actually enjoyed it. It was fun when Steve wasn’t getting his ass kicked. But, for things like this? It’s not my favourite thing in the world.”

You shrugged. You couldn’t blame him. It was lovely; getting ready, witnessing Bucky in a tux for the first time, feeling a little less guilty about leaving your daughter for the night. But there were a lot of people. People who you didn’t know. And you doubted Bucky knew, either. 

“But it’s better having you here with me.”

You whipped your gaze away from the crystal chandeliers, to your date. You covered the butterflies in your stomach with a soft smile. 

Before you could say anything, someone called your name. And then Bucky’s. 

It was Pepper. 

She introduced you both to different people before she was called away by someone else. 

Although it was a lot, it was easier having Bucky by your side. It was rare his hand ever left yours. At one point, his fingers had intertwined with yours and there was no way you were going to cut that off. 

By the second turn of the venue, looking at the items that were going to be auctioned off for charity, you and Bucky tried to sneak away from the crowd for a while. Only, you were caught in a conversation with a couple who – despite their fortune and education – didn’t know when to end a conversation. 

Half way through their very boring conversation, a thought passed through your head. Bucky could have fucked you right there and then, and they still would have carried on the conversation. 

But you pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. Although, it did try to resurface every ten minutes, when Bucky’s other hand would warm your lower back, your other hip or, briefly, the top of the slit in your dress. 

“We really should be going.”

You and Bucky managed to escape. But only for ten minutes. Because the couple were coming back. 

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. But Bucky beat you to it. “Fuck-”

You were pulled down a small corridor that led to the back of another room filled with  items up for auction, before being pulled into the smaller, darkened alcove in the wall. 

The couple passed you both right by, without being noticed. 

In the confined space, you and Bucky stayed as quiet as you could. Your hands were on his chest, letting you know that you weren’t alone with the rapid heartbeat in your ears. Though, his was a little calmer than your own. 

His own hands remained fixed on your hips, holding you steady on your feet. For a split second, he shifted and his knee brushed your inner thigh. 

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. 

Then you felt his hands lightly trace up your body. Your breath hitched. 

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked you, his voice in a soft whisper by the shell of your ear. 

You nodded and answered quietly. “It’s fine.”

With Bucky’s gaze on you, you started to realise just how small the alcove was. The scent of his cologne was intricately lodging itself into your mind – any time you’d smell that scent, you’d been pulled right back into the alcove. 

Then, with a breathy chuckle, he smiled. “Want to get out of here?”

No. 

“Think the coast is clear?”

Please don’t be.

Bucky peered around the corner before he turned back and nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

Let’s stay. 

With Bucky’s hand in yours, he swiftly got you both out of the venue unnoticed. It wasn’t until you were half way down the block, and Bucky was laying his jacket over your shoulders, that you realised you’d forgotten your coat. 

“But, you’ll get cold.”

Bucky just smiled. “I’ve got the serum. I can’t get cold, doll.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he assured you. 

And for a while, you both just talked. About the night, about the couple that couldn’t seem to take a hint and the fact Bucky had come back early. 

And then he asked you to dance.

“There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music. Come on.”

The street was completely empty. A couple of street lamps lit the way, and every once in a while, a taxi would drive down the main road ahead. But other than that, it was just you and Bucky. 

“Is this what you used to do?” You asked him after a few moments. “Take a girl out, ask her to dance under the streetlights with you. Bet you were a real heartbreaker.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe. Just a little. But if this was a date, I would have done this-” Bucky softly dipped you in his arms. “By now.”

He was slow to bring you back to your feet, your forehead against his, your lungs in need of some air despite already being outside. 

His palm burned a little on your back. You just wished it would make a permanent mark. 

“Does that make this a date now?”

“I don’t know. I’d like it to be,” he admitted to you, honestly. “If I asked you on one, officially, would you say yes?”

“I wouldn’t want to lose you, Bucky.”

“I promise you won’t. If it goes badly, we can laugh about it later. Just, say yes?”

It took you a short moment, but you nodded. “Okay. Yes.”

Bucky walked you back home. And by the time you opened up your door, you walked in to find Kate, Yelena and your daughter all fast asleep on the sofa, the bright colours of the Disney Princess film flashing across their faces. 

“Do you want to get her out of the tangle?” You asked Bucky. “I would but I’m afraid to get a fist to my face.”

Bucky chuckled, softly closing the door as he nodded. Even he knew how it was when trying to wake Kate up. She was a fighter until she opened her eyes and realised who was trying to get her up. 

Bucky got your daughter out with ease and carried her to bed, leaving you to deal with the two sleeping Avengers. 

Meanwhile, down the hall as he laid her in her bed, she woke up briefly. 

“Did you ask her?”

Bucky brushed the baby hairs that had fallen from the braids in her hair. He smiled, “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she say yes?”

He nodded. “She said yes.”

She gave a tired cheer before he kissed her head and tucked her in. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

The moment she rolled over, she was snoring. And just as Bucky passed the guest bedroom, he could hear two more sets of snoring coming from inside. 

You crept out of the room and softly clicked the door shut. From there, you and Bucky took your time walking back to the front door. 

“About this date-”

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told you. “If you don’t feel comfortable-”

You smiled. “I was just gonna ask if you’re free on Sunday.”

Bucky was a little surprised but smiled. “I’m free on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at ten?”

It was definitely the earliest date you’d been on. 

“There’s a place I want to show you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

After picking you up on his motorcycle, Bucky drove an hour out of the city to a small town. The entire main street was taken over by a farmer’s market. There were smaller stalls with different homemade items. 

You and Bucky ended up picking up a few things for a make-shift picnic in the park before he took you to the local watering hole where a live band was playing and people’s shoes were scuffing the wooden floor from dancing. 

“How did you find this place?”

“Barton told me about it.” Bucky told you. “Him and Laura passed through it once before, so I decided to come and check it out. I’ve wanted to show you ever since, but each time I came to tell you, something came up at work so I wouldn’t have been here to show you.”

“But now you are.”

“Now I am,” he told you before he took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re dancing.”

It was a small two-step, nothing major. But for you, it felt like everything. Being in his arms again – you knew there would never be another place where you would feel this safe. Feeling his hand in yours, seeing the blush creep up on his cheeks each time you looked at him. 

Slowly, the rest of the room disappeared. The music from the band became nothing more than background noise and the only person you could see was Bucky. 

And when you closed your eyes, and felt his lips against yours, the only thing you could feel was him. 

The light breeze that wafted past the barn doors disappeared, the air of apple pie and ice cold lemonade disappeared from your skin.

The only thing that soaked its way into your bones was the feeling of him. His hand in yours, his other at your opposite hip, holding you flush against him, his belt buckle making a small impression behind the fabric of your outfit. 

It was more than you ever dreamt of. 

The Talk came two weeks later. The one that neither you and Bucky had mentioned, but had to be done. Because it wasn’t just both of you in the relationship, if you were going to continue. 

Your daughter was involved, too. 

“She loves you, Bucky.”

“And I’ll never want to see her hurt, either,” he finished. “I never want to hurt either of you, ever.”

“I know.”

“So, we take it slow,” he offered. “But I think we should involve her, too. You come as a package deal, and I don’t want to ignore that.”

You gave him a small smile. There had been plenty of one-stop dates who had ignored that fact, plenty who had wanted you to come as a single package. 

Bucky was the first. 

So, a few weeks later, when a knock came to your door, your daughter beat you to the door and opened it to find Bucky. 

“Bucky!” 

Your daughter ran for his legs and wrapped her arms around them before she let go and he bent down. 

“Why are you here?”

Bucky looked from your daughter, up to you with a half cocked smile. “I’m here to give you these.”

Behind his back, Bucky pulled out two bouquets of flowers. One was a little bigger than the second. 

He presented the smaller bunch to your daughter before he stood to his full height and handed you the bigger section. 

“And these are for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky crouched back down to your daughter. “And I was hoping that you and your mom would want to come with me for the day.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay!” Your daughter turned around and ran back inside. 

“Careful, honey. Put your flowers in the kitchen, I’ll put them in some water!”

“Okay!” She yelled back before going to her bedroom to get her shoes. 

With the coast clear, Bucky leaned in and pressed three light kisses to your lips. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Bucky closed the door as he entered and you walked into your kitchen to run the tap for some water. 

“So, where are we going?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“From me, too?”

He nodded. 

Two minutes later, your daughter came running back down the hall. Bucky managed to scoop her up before she tripped down the small step. 

“Got my shoes!”

“Firecracker?”

“Yes?”

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet, honey,” he told her. She looked down, very confused. 

Bucky popped her on the kitchen island before offering to fix them. Swinging her feet, she nodded. 

As you placed the flowers inside of a vase, finding a smaller one for your daughter’s; you watched as Bucky taught her a trick to always remember her left and right before he reached into one of the cupboard draws and pulled out a small sheet of stickers. 

“When the star touches, then you know they’re on the right feet.”

“So cool.”

A little under an hour later, your daughter was on Bucky’s shoulders, looking with amazement at all the artifacts in the museum. You could see her little brain working overtime to find out all the answers to every question she had, knowing she was going to be telling Kate and Yelena all about it in a few days time. 

After lunch and the second half of the tour, you heard your daughter gasp before she took your hand and dragged you down the hall. 

Secretly having been holding Bucky’s hand, you pulled him with you. 

“Slow down, honey. Where are we going?”

“Come on, you gotta see! Come on!”

By the time you both found yourself in the exhibit room, you looked around and realised why she had seemed so excited. 

The entire thing was dedicated to Captain America. 

“Look, momma. It’s Steve!”

You picked your daughter up and carried her over. “That’s right, honey.”

“Look, Bucky. It’s you.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s me.”

“Why is it not got colours?”

Bucky chuckled. “Because it’s from the 1940s.”

Your daughter watched, puzzled, as a small clip of Bucky and Steve laughing played on the big screen. 

“That’s over 90 years ago.”

“Wow, that’s old.”

You and Bucky chuckled lightly, just before your daughter wiggled her way out of your arms. The moment her feet were planted on the floor, she ran over to the small window where people were standing on the scale. 

The picture didn’t even move. 

“Come here, firecracker.” Bucky scooped your daughter up in his arms and planted himself on the scale. The picture changed and you watched as your daughter looked at herself in uniform. 

However, for a glimpse, you caught Bucky’s face in the reflection. 

You’d seen plenty of pictures, news segments, documentaries and home videos of Bucky both in and out of uniform, back in the 40s. But there was just something in that moment that it hit you- 

Bucky had lived that life. He’d seen that world. If you had met him on the streets of Brooklyn over ninety years ago, you would have been watching him getting shipped out to England. 

“Okay, where to next?”

“Hmm, over there! Come on, momma!”

The little voice, filled to the brim with excitement, broke you out of your trance long enough for you to follow after them. 

However, hours later; long after Bucky had carried your daughter from her car seat and up the steps and into your apartment. You surprised him. 

He was in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil as you got dressed into your home clothes. But, when you returned and he felt his heart light up at seeing you as you, he was shocked. 

You hugged him. 

He held back the laugh in his chest. “What’s this for?”

“Just because,” you told him. 

Then you kissed him. 

“And that?”

“That was because I love you.”

Bucky faulted for a moment. He didn’t want to come off too excited in case he’d heard wrong. 

“You love me?”

You nodded. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time, but seeing you today…it just hit me. And I wanted to tell you.”

Then he smiled, keeping his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer. “I’m glad, because I’m in love with you, too.”

A smile broke onto your face before it was kissed away by him, his hands pulling you flush against his body. 

It had taken years for you to realise, and even longer to work up the courage to tell him. 

Who knew all it took was a family trip to the museum? 

Thankfully, those family trips started to become more frequent. As did the solo and family dates you, Bucky and your daughter went on. 

But, for Bucky, nothing beat the date night you and he had after the parent-teacher meeting you both attended just a little under a year of dating. 

It was in that meeting that the teacher gushed over how far your daughter had come in the last year, how incredible her artwork was and how they were looking at moving her up a couple of reading grades. 

Although Bucky wasn’t there to create your daughter, or there to cut the cord. She was like him in so many ways, it was scary. 

The pouting face when she was tired, the overly cute aggressive face she gave when she was getting competitive. And then there was her love for school. Steve had shown you some of Bucky’s old school reports. 

Your daughter was starting to get the same. 

Maybe Bucky wasn’t your daughter’s father by birth, but he was her dad in every way that counted. He dried the tears, cleaned the grazed knees, carried her sleeping frame to bed. 

And after that parent-teacher meeting, it was going to become official. 

He had proposed and you said yes. 

And when your daughter had found out the next morning when you and Bucky went to pick her up from the compound, where Sam and Yelena had been put on babysitting duty, she cried. 

“Can I call you my daddy now?”

Through your own happy tears, you watched Bucky’s own fall. He was hugging your daughter just as tight as she was holding onto him. 

“I’d love nothing more, firecracker.”

[greyyson-but-wrong]

"Should've Been Perfect"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Rewrite of Do You Want to Dance Too?

Masterlist

Summary: A ruined date turns unexpectedly sweet when you and Bucky get caught in a summer storm.

Warnings: none. just fluff

Word Count: 924 words

A/N: rewriting simply to see how far I've gotten since my first fic, and I guess this counts as me officially being back.

Bucky's cursing was nearly drowned out by the first raindrops hitting the pavement as you both ran into the café's doorway.

"We should've checked the forecast," Bucky grumbled, shaking water from his hair like a disgruntled Labrador.

You shrugged, pretending not to notice the way his damp shirt clung to his shoulders. "It isn't that bad."

"It's going to be." He nodded toward the windows.

You couldn't help but giggle at his sulking. The Winter Soldier, brought low by some rain. Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, but the effect was ruined when a droplet slid from his hair down the bridge of his nose.

Ella appeared from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. "Well, if it isn't my favorite disaster couple," she drawled. "Let me guess—hot chocolates?"

"You know us too well," you said, sliding into the corner booth that had somehow become yours over time.

Bucky sat beside you, still glaring out of the window. Mother Nature didn't seem to like that; the rain intensified its assault against the glass, as if in direct response to his scowl.

You took his hand in your own. "Today was great, Jamie," you assured softly.

He shook his head. "That's not enough. It should've been perfect."

Ella set two steaming mugs before you with a smile, wisely retreating to give you privacy.

Bucky's throat worked as he swallowed. His gaze dropped to where your thumb brushed his vibranium wrist - a gesture that would have made him flinch years ago. Now he turned his palm up to catch your fingers.

"Perfect is boring, Buck, you know that," You murmured, "We had a good time, and that's enough for me."

Bucky's eyes softened, the tension in his jaw finally easing. His thumb brushed your cheek, catching a raindrop you'd missed.

"What would I do without you?" he wondered out loud.

You grinned, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "It's too awful to think about."

He laughed against your lips just before he kissed you, slow, sweet, and lingering.

When he pulled away, he murmured, "We should probably finish this hot chocolate."

You frowned. "Is hot cocoa really more important than kissing your girlfriend?"

He chuckled. "It is really good."

You couldn't deny that argument.

As he sipped the drink, it was your turn to look out of the window. You watched the raindrops hammer against the window, each one exploding like tiny water balloons. Storms always brought back memories you'd rather forget—cold nights, empty promises, the kind of loneliness that soaked into your bones. But Bucky was here, and he had an unintentional habit of replacing bad memories with good ones.

That gave you an idea.

"Wanna make a run for it now?" you asked suddenly, nodding toward the downpour outside.

Bucky paused mid-sip and gave you that look—the one that says you're insane, but he loves you anyway. "It's pouring."

"Yeah, but it's not going to get any better."

He scoffed. "You want to dance too?"

The question made your eyes light up. "Can we?"

James' eyes widened, regretting his words immediately. "I was kidding."

"Why not? It's as cliche as dancing in the apartment," you pointed out, "Besides, it'll be fun."

"We are not dancing in the rain," he said firmly.

"But—"

"It's way too cold, and the last time you got a fever, you couldn't get out of bed for a week."

You hid your wince with a pout. "Fine. But we should go for it anyway."

Bucky drained the last of his hot chocolate with a resigned sigh, then stood and shrugged out of his leather jacket. "Here," he said, putting it over your head like an umbrella. "At least this'll keep you somewhat dry."

You grinned up at him. "My knight in shining armor."

"Shut up," he muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders. "On three. One—"

You bolted before he reached two, dragging him out into the downpour with a shriek of laughter. The cold rain hit you like a thousand tiny needles, soaking through your clothes in seconds.

"Hey!" Bucky shouted over the storm, but he was laughing too as he caught up effortlessly, his jacket now doing little good for either of you.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the empty street ahead. Somewhere between gasping breaths and puddles, you stumbled. Bucky's hand quickly found your waist, his grip steadying you.

"You're insane," he panted.

"You love it."

Bucky huffed as you turned to him. His shirt was practically transparent now, clinging to every ridge of muscle. You might have stared a little too long.

"See something you like?" he teased, stepping closer.

You didn’t answer, just wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a slow sway right there on the sidewalk, the rain still pouring around you.

Bucky didn’t resist, his hands settling at your waist as you moved together, your soaked clothes clinging.

"You’re going to get sick," he murmured, but his grip tightened, pulling you closer.

You grinned up at him, rainwater dripping from your lashes. "I'll live," you said quickly, standing on your tip toes and chasing his lips.

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose—half exasperation, half surrender—before sealing his mouth over yours in a kiss.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that you'd absolutely pay for this in a week, with sneezes and sniffles and Bucky's overbearing mother-henning. But as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, his groan vibrating against your mouth, you decided—

Yeah.

Worth it.

[greyyson-but-wrong]

Making Out for America

Chapter 4: Smile for the Camera

masterlist || one || two || three || four

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x America's Sweetheart!fem!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, set during thunderbults*, sexual tension, forced proximity, arranged marriage, panic attacks, mental health issues, angst (lots of it), no y/n

Word Count: 4.9k

gif by unearthlydust || dividers by cafekitsune

Bucky didn’t have a guest room, so being the gentleman he was, he insisted on taking the couch. He led you upstairs, quietly pointing out the bathroom along the way. He handed you a clean stack of towels, one of his T-shirts, a pair of sweatpants… and boxer briefs.

“This is the shower. Use whatever you need,” he said, voice neutral as he passed you the clothes. 

You held up the boxer briefs with an amused raised brow.

He sighed. “It’s not like I keep women’s underwear lying around.”

“Might raise some questions for a Congressman,” you snicker and shake your head. “But this is fine, thanks.” 

He nods, hand still propped up against the doorframe of the bathroom. 

“Bed’s made up for you in the next room,” he said, gesturing toward the door just down the hall. “Just don’t go snooping through my stuff. If you need anything, call me.”

He pushed off the frame and turned to head downstairs. But before he could disappear, you stopped him.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind taking the couch.”

He stops in his tracks, back still turned to you, then gives a quick wave of his hand.  You noticed that he’s been avoiding direct eye contact with you ever since he asked about your dad. You knew that people always treated you or looked at you differently after you told them what happened—but you hoped Bucky wouldn’t be the same as everyone else. 

Especially since you’d be seeing so much of each other.

“I’m good. Just take it,” he said flatly.

Before you could even get a word out, he walked down the hallway and disappeared down the stairs before you could say anything else.

As he descended down the stairs, he heard the shower pipes turn on. Once he reached the bottom, he paused, hands braced against the kitchen counter as he hung his head, finally letting out the sharped breaths he’d been holding in. 

His soon-to-be wife was upstairs, showering in his bathroom, soon to be slipping into the clothes he'd picked for you—completely unaware that the man who had orchestrated the bombing that killed your father was the same man who had just offered you dinner and a bed to sleep in.

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

He tried to breathe evenly, but the air wouldn’t come. He thought he had already done all of this, the therapy sessions, making amends with everyone he wronged. But now, it was clear to him. No matter how many professionals he spoke to, no matter how many names he checked off in that worn-out notebook, he could never outrun his past.

He didn’t know. It was all blurred together. Faceless missions, orders, explosions, bodies, blood. That mission was just another operation in a long list of Hydra-directed hits. He had no idea that one of the men caught in the crossfire had a daughter. 

Let alone you. 

Hydra didn’t care about things like that.

He collapsed to his knees, fists still clutching the counter. Alpine came up to him, but he was too far gone to even notice. 

How could this be? You were supposed to be his future wife. How was he supposed to make this entire arrangement look real, knowing damn well he was the reason your father was dead?

“Do you think families who lost loved ones to Hydra feel safe knowing you’re writing law?” 

The reporter’s voice echoed through his head, and his chest tightened. He was sweating, struggling to breathe with a heavy hand pressed against his heart. 

Bucky was having a full-blown panic attack. He never should’ve agreed to this. Not this arrangement. He can’t even look you in the fucking eye anymore. What happens when you find out? But by then, it’ll already be too late. The papers will be signed, you two will be officially married. There’s no backing out of it now, especially now that there’s already articles out there about you two. 

His chest felt like it was caving in. 

Bare feet were padding on the hardwood floor, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t even notice. 

“Hey…” your voice was hesitant, yet gentle. 

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. You rushed to him, now completely swallowed up by his baggy clothes. Your wet hair was still dripping down your back as you dropped to your knees beside him, resting a gentle hand on his back. 

“Hey, hey… look at me. What’s going on?” you asked with a quiet voice. 

He didn’t look up. He shook his head, gasping and clawing at his chest, feeling the dog tags through his white tank. 

“I—I can’t,” he choked out. “I didn’t—” 

You wrap an arm around his back, your arm small compared to his trembling body. Your hands found his, tight fists still gripping the edge of the counter. You covered them with your own, slowly easing them open. His skin was cold and clammy. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, leaning in closer, “breathe with me, okay? Just follow my voice.” 

You counted for him to inhale, hold, then exhale. You made him do it again, and again. 

He let out sluggish uneven breaths at first, like his lungs were first learning how to work again. But eventually, the spinning came to a slow. When he finally dared to look at you, your brows were furrowed with worry. You weren’t pulling away. You weren’t asking questions. You didn’t know what he’d done. 

And yet, you still stayed.

You pushed his sweat-slicked hair back, your other hand still wrapped tightly in his. “Whatever’s going on in your head, you don’t have to go through it alone.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

You offer him a sad smile. “We’re technically married now, right? So… ‘til death do us part, in sickness and in health, or whatever they say.”

A breath escaped him—half a laugh, half a sigh. His lips tugged upward.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Whatever they say.”

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached up to gently cup his cheek. The warmth of your palm pressed against his skin was comforting to him. He shuddered beneath your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he instinctively leaned into it. The stubble along his jaw tickled your hand.

“I don’t think I could sleep knowing you're crammed on that tiny couch feeling like this,” you said softly, nodding your head toward it. “You should take the bed. I’ll sleep out here.”

Bucky blinks at you, like he was snapped out of a daze. 

“What?” he muttered. 

Then he stood abruptly, reaching for your hand and pulling you to stand with him. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze dropping again like nothing had just happened.

“No, I’ll… be fine,” he mutters. “Just take the couch, please.” He asked desperately, pleading.

Because the last thing he could stomach was the image of his future wife sleeping on the couch, knowing he was the one responsible for her father’s death. 

But you kept standing there with a small smile and a subtle innocent head-tilt. 

You really have no idea, he thought to himself. You’re too good for me. 

Even if this whole thing is fake. 

“Well, one of us is taking the couch, and it’s not going to be you,” you say, determined. 

He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Please don’t argue with me,” he said softly, voice shaking. “Just… don’t.”

You just shrug casually, completely unfazed. “Fine. Looks like we’re both staying in your bed tonight.” 

His eyes snapped open in surprise, thrown completely off-guard. He turns to look at you in disbelief. 

“I am not sleeping with you—” 

“Don’t make it weird,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. “We’re two grown adults—soon-to-be newlyweds—sharing a bed. That’s all.”

Bucky’s eyes searched your face, hesitant. You were completely serious. He didn’t love the idea, but in the short time he’d known you, he’d already learned one thing: 

Once you made up your mind, there was no talking you out of it.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “Alpine usually sleeps with me, so… we’ll need to make room for her.”

“Of course,” you nod. “The princess always gets what she wants.” 

And that earned you a low chuckle from Bucky. 

The two of you returned to his room and settled into the king-sized bed. You both had your backs turned to each other, creating a space with a fluffy white cat separating you two. 

You were asleep almost instantly. But Bucky laid there, staring off into the distance—disassociating. 

He couldn’t tell you the truth. That he was the one responsible for your father’s death. You had enough on your plate already. The engagement, the foundation, your reputation. So much depended on it working. So much was at stake here. 

So, he made a silent vow right then and there.

No matter how easy it was for Bucky to fall into the comfort of your presence, he wouldn’t let himself get close. Wouldn’t let you get close to him.

This was strictly business. 

Nothing more.

Alpine’s automatic feeder went off and she scrambled off the bed in a hurry, out the room and down the stairs. You groaned awake at the sudden movement, blinking as the sunlight hit your face from the curtains of his window. 

You stretch and turn to the side, your breath getting caught in your throat when you see Bucky facing you, sleeping peacefully. 

With his arm lazily draped over your hip. 

You let out a slow, shaky breath. You must’ve been completely out cold not to notice him move closer during the night. Maybe he didn’t notice either. 

It had to be unintentional. 

Right?

Carefully, you glanced toward the nightstand on his side of the bed. His phone was buzzing with notifications, screen lighting up over and over again. The clock read eight fifteen in the morning. Which, for a Congressman with a packed schedule, was practically sleeping in.

“Bucky?” you said softly, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

He didn’t move. He just let out a tired groan. 

“Bucky,” you shook him again, a little firmer this time. “Wake up. Your phone is blowing up.” 

He groaned tiredly again, but this time he readjusts his arm. You expected him to wake up and pull his arm away. But instead, his hand lands on your lower back and pushes you closer against him. You let out a small and startled gasp as you pressed up against his chest. 

You blinked up at him. He was still completely asleep.

You knew you needed to wake him up, but it was just something about being so close to him like this that made it difficult to pull away. With a reluctant sigh, you placed a hand gently on his chest and pushed.

“Bucky, wake up.” 

He slowly blinks awake with a wince as the sunlight meets his face. The arm around you slowly withdrew as he rubbed at his eyes with a tired grunt. 

“What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice so deep and raspy that it gave you goosebumps. 

“It’s a little past eight. Your phone’s been going off nonstop,” you explain softly. 

Bucky sighs and reaches over to grab his phone from the nightstand. He squints against the brightness of the screen, his thumb scrolling through the notifications. 

Then suddenly, he sits up straight, eyes wide. The sudden surprise makes you frown and push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“What is it?” you ask. “Is everything okay?” 

“Do you remember that asshole from the gala?” he asks you, his eyes still glued to the screen.

You sat up straighter. “Yeah. The journalist, right?” 

Bucky nodded. “Name’s Robert J. Smith. He wrote a whole article on us. He dropped it this morning.”

Your eyes narrow. “Let me see.”

He turns his phone to you, revealing the article with the title: CONGRESSMAN BARNES AND HIS BRIDE-TO-BE: A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN in big bold letters. 

How corny. 

You began scrolling through the article, skimming through it with groggy eyes. 

To your surprise, it’s not some scandal-chasing exposé or a paper filled with snarky remarks. It’s… vulnerable. The reporter talks about how you two arrived hand-in-hand, how Bucky’s gaze barely left you all night—which you didn’t even notice. How quick you were to jump to his defense when the topic turned tense—which conveniently for Robert, he left the details of that “topic” out. 

You skim past a paragraph that mentions “unshakable chemistry,” and you have to resist rolling your eyes. 

Robert must’ve rushed home and pulled an all-nighter just to be first. Political gossip like this was gold to the media outlets. Timing was everything, and the faster the turnaround, the bigger their paycheck.

But the surprising part of it all was that he actually made you both look good. 

“Wow, this is…” you huff as you take it all in. 

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, thinking the exact same thing. “He made us look real.” 

There’s a brief pause between you two. You study his face, searching for a hint of what he might be feeling—but, as always, his expression gives nothing away. He won’t look at you, purposefully keeping his eyes elsewhere, like he hadn’t just spent the entire night subconsciously curled up beside you.

Without thinking, your hand starts to lift, reaching for his face the same way you had last night.

“Bucky—” 

He shifts abruptly, swinging his legs off the bed and standing with his back to you. His voice is flat and straightforward. “Voss has been calling. I’ve got a press interview in an hour.”

“Oh,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, but it slips anyway. “I see.” 

Bucky began rummaging through his closet. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. But in case you need to leave, you’ve got George to pick you up, right?” 

Your chest tightens painfully. 

It’s like all the vulnerability that was shared between you two last night never happened, and Bucky was back to putting a cold front. For some reason, even though you guys didn’t have sex or cross any boundaries, his cold dismissal felt like the aftermath of being discarded. 

Like a one-night stand he didn’t want to look in the eye. 

And you were supposed to be his fiancée, for fucks sake. 

“I won’t be here long. I’ll just get up in a few minutes and give him a call to take me home,” you say as you slump back into his bed, with his clothes still on your back. 

He doesn’t respond as he pulls out a crisp dress shirt and tie and lays it down on his side of the bed. He’s still not looking at you, moving around and acting as if you weren’t here. 

“You know,” you begin quietly again, trying to make conversation. “Even if our marriage isn’t real, I’d still want to be someone you could talk to.” 

He freezes. “Don’t.” 

You raise a brow at him. “Don’t what?” 

“Don’t do this,” he bites out. “Don’t act like you know me.”

“What?” you recoil in confusion. “I’m not acting like I know you. I’m just saying, you can open up to me—” 

His back straightens as he turns to face you with a cold look in his face. “You think I owe you something because you just happened to be in the room when I had a panic attack?”

You stare at him, slightly wide-eyed at his sudden coldness. But despite how hurt you felt, you’re not one to back down after being talked to like that.

“No. I don’t think I owe you a damn thing,” you sit up again, glaring him down. “But I was there for you. And whether you like it or not, you let me in for a second.” 

“That wasn’t real,” he mutters, turning away again. 

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right,” you say sarcastically and roll your eyes. “Because you holding onto me in the kitchen like your life depended on it wasn’t real—” 

Bucky lets out an irritated groan as he strides across the room, yanking open one of the drawers near where you're sitting.

“I said don’t—”

You interrupt him. “And don’t think I didn’t notice your arms around my waist, holding me in your sleep—”

In one swift motion, Bucky turns and tangles his hand in the back of your hair. It’s not rough or hurtful, but it’s enough to startle you. You let out a surprised gasp as he holds you in place, leaning in close enough to feel his breath on your face. 

“I told you, it wasn’t real. It meant nothing,” he growls at you. 

You stare up at him with wide eyes, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Bucky is clearly upset, yet there’s something about his gaze that looks… restrained. Like there’s so much more he wants to say but is clearly holding back. 

“Are you sure about that?” you ask in a low voice, your eyes never leaving his defiantly. 

His jaw clenches. His eyes glance—just for a second—down to your lips.

“I’m sure,” he says in a deep voice. “This thing between us, it’s just for politics. It’s all for show. Don’t confuse it for anything else.” 

You swallow. Bucky’s hold on you is keeping you still, but a part of you doesn’t want to pull away to begin with. Even though he has the advantage on you right now, you still can’t stop yourself from letting out a small and humorless laugh. 

“You must really think highly of yourself if you believe I’m sitting here fantasizing about you like some lovesick teenager.” 

His brow twitches, and his grip on your hair gets tighter. Your breath hitches while his other hand comes up fast like he’s about to cup your jaw—his thumb barely brushing against your cheek. 

“You drive me fucking insane,” he grits out in a low and deep voice, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you. 

His eyes drop to your lips again, his mouth just inches away from yours. 

One move, and he’d be kissing you. 

But then, he tears himself away, breathing hard. He runs a hand through his hair and turns his back to you once again, his walls coming back up.

“This is nothing,” he repeats, like you didn’t hear him the first time. “It’s just for show.” 

Then he grabs his clothes and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. 

Bucky went to his press interview in downtown D.C. The lights were blinding and the microphones were too damn close—as they always were. He adjusts his tie as he forces another smile. 

“Congressman Barnes,” one of the reporters began, “the internet’s been buzzing since this morning about a certain article written by Robert J. Smith. Care to comment on your budding romance?” 

Of course. 

Voss warned him to expect these kinds of questions now that the engagement was out in the open, especially after last night’s very public display at Valentina’s gala. Bucky had gone over his responses a dozen times in his head, but none of that preparation mattered when his thoughts kept circling back to you. 

The way you curled up in his bed this morning, in his clothes, smelling just like him. The way you laid there was as if you belonged to him—knowing that you would eventually be his, bound to him.

On paper, at least. 

He saw the hurt and confusion flash in your eyes when he shut you out. His heart clenched with guilt and pain, but he had to do it. Getting too close would only make it worse if or when the truth surfaced. When you learned what really happened to your father.

He told himself it was mercy, that by keeping his distance, he was protecting you.

“I am very happy to have found a woman that I can resonate with on a spiritual level,” Bucky says flatly. 

That was a good response, right? he thought to himself.  It was safe and straight to the point. As all things should be.

“That’s very noble, Congressman,” the reporter says light-heartedly. “But tell us more. Something vulnerable. We want to know how you feel. What’s she like when it’s just the two of you?” 

Bucky gives a brief glance to Voss who’s sitting in the front. She nods her head, urging him to continue. 

You sat in the living room of your very large yet very hollow home. Ever since your father died, it had felt less like a home and more like a museum. Now it was just you, your mother, and the occasional presence of George. 

Ever since your father’s passing, your mother has grown distant. And as you got older, you learned to fend for yourself through support groups, George, and other family members. 

It’s lonely, and sometimes you feel like you’re better off just living by yourself. But the thought of leaving your mother behind always stopped you. God knows what might happen if you did.

You had the livestream of Bucky’s press interview playing on the massive TV screen in front of you. 

After how bad the morning ended, the last thing you wanted was to see his face. Seeing him now, composed and well-dressed, pretending like nothing had happened between you, made your jaw clench in annoyance. 

But as much as you hated it, a big part of the job meant staying in character. 

You had to carefully watch how he answered, how he spoke about you, preparing yourself to answer with the same story in your own upcoming interviews. You had to make sure your narratives aligned. You crossed your arms, your legs propped up on the coffee table as you waited to see what kind of creative answer Bucky got brewed up for this next question. 

Something vulnerable, my ass. 

“I… uh,” Bucky lets out a nervous laugh. “She’s… someone I admire deeply.”

You watch him examine the crowd, like he’s trying to see if his answer was enough for them. But instead, the reporter leans in, nodding her head like he has more to say. Bucky stood up straighter. 

“She’s… strong and composed. She’s intelligent, strong-willed, and has always been admired by the public. And now, I understand why,” Bucky explains in a straightforward voice. “Being with her feels… right.”

You scoff, sinking further into the couch. 

Even if the camera didn’t cut to her, you could practically hear Voss in the front row, whispering the script in her head along with him.

“She accepts me for who I am, for what I’ve done,” he continues with a pained expression on his face, “she was there for me when I needed her most… and I—I can’t imagine how I’d get by without her.” 

You suck in a deep breath. His answer had to have been rehearsed. But there was something behind his eyes that made it seem like he was speaking straight from the heart. 

Voss must’ve trained him well. 

Another reporter raised their hand. “Would you say you’re in love, Congressman?” 

You lean in closer as you see Bucky freeze. It was a simple question, one any normal fiancée would answer without a second thought. But for Bucky, his hesitance could be seen as doubtful in the public eye.

He cleared his throat for what seems like the millionth time, smoothing down the front of his already perfect suit like it would buy him some time. 

“Of course,” Bucky says confidently. “I am very much in love with her.”

You feel a rush of heat flood your face as you cross your arms stubbornly, watching your fiancée spout out lies so easily. 

A different reporter speaks up now with an eager and bright tone. “That’s wonderful to hear, Congressman Barnes! Do you two have a date set yet for the wedding?”

Bucky blinks, caught off guard. 

“We’re… finalizing the details,” he says, his voice becoming less confident. “We’re hoping for something small and intimate.”

“Will it be here in D.C.?” another reporter’s voice calls out. “Or maybe a destination wedding? Something glamorous?”

Bucky gives a stiff smile. “That’s something we’re keeping within the family for now. But I can say, when the day comes, it’ll be a celebration that reflects just how much this relationship means to both of us.”

You press your lips into a thin line. The questions eventually start veering back into politics and your attention begins to drift. 

“Your new husband is so sweet,” your mother’s sarcastic and raspy voice rang from the kitchen. 

You turn around, startled. “How long have you been standing there?”

She looks like she always does—worn down, eyes dark and tired, robe draped loosely over her body as she pours herself another glass of wine.

She doesn’t bother answering. Instead, she takes a slow sip and mutters, “I still can’t believe you’re marrying an ex-Hydra assassin. The fact that someone like him even made it into office is beyond me.”

You sighed, already too tired to fight. Despite being an adult, your mother always had a sly comment to say about your business and how you should pick and handle things. 

“He was brainwashed,” you say, voice flat as your eyes go back to the screen. “He didn’t have a choice.”

She lets out a grunt as she steps out of the kitchen, slowly making her way toward the stairs. “It’s almost insulting,” she mutters over her shoulder. “Your father dedicated his life to fighting men like him. And now you’re marrying one.”

You scrunch your face up. What your mother doesn’t know is that marrying a Congressman would help elevate your father’s foundation. And despite the rocky morning you and Bucky had, you can’t help but feel bad over the way that people like your mother talked about him.

But instead of trying to inform her for the millionth time, you just bite your tongue and let her retreat to whatever she was doing before. 

The news had already switched to a different segment when your phone lit up beside you. You glanced at it, seeing the contact name “James B.” flashing across the screen. 

Note to self: change his contact name into something… more romantic. 

You picked up and pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Bucky’s low and steady voice came through the line. “Did you get home okay?”

You leaned back against the couch, curling your legs beneath you. “I did,” you say simply.

“Good. Good…” he mumbles, trailing off. “Were you watching? The interview, I mean.” 

You let out a hum, trying to sound unamused. “Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’. 

Then there was a pause. 

“And?” he asked. You could hear the difference in his voice, like he was also trying to sound unaffected but deep down he’s waiting for your approval. 

You raised a brow at that. He actually wants your opinion? 

“You really sold it.”

“Yeah?” he sounded a little surprised.

“You almost had me convinced you meant what you said,” you say with a passive aggressive undertone.

There was a long, awkward, silent pause between you two now. 

You could already picture his reaction to your words. He’s probably sitting on the other end, clenching his jaw, running his hand through his hair, looking broody and grumpy as he always did. 

“I meant some of it,” he eventually says. 

You blinked. That caught you off guard. But before you could even respond, he cleared his throat dismissively. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he added quickly. “I know things were tense this morning.”

You hesitated for a bit. Part of you wanted to go back to his original statement. You wanted to ask which part he meant were real, or which words he stood by, but you had to remind yourself that none of that mattered. 

Because all of this was just for show, as he told you countless times earlier this morning. So instead, you settled with a dry, “Thanks for checking in.” 

Another pause. 

Then Bucky speaks up again. “You have your interview tomorrow, right? Have you prepared your answers in case they ask about us?” 

So that’s what this was. He was “checking in” to make sure you were prepared to flatter him up at your foundation event tomorrow. He made you look good and admirable today, so now it was your turn to return the favor for him tomorrow.

A business transaction. 

“Yeah,” you reply dryly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”

“Alright. That’s good,” he muttered.

Then, another pause. You both clearly know there’s not much to say anymore, yet neither of you are making the move to hang up. 

But eventually, his voice came through even lower this time. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You sat up straight. Sweetheart? Jesus. He must be looking up How to Be a Loving Partner on Google right now, because that came so naturally out of him. 

“Sweetheart?” you raise a brow. “The cameras are off. You know that, right?” You add with a dry chuckle, a teasing tone creeping up in your voice this time. 

“I know,” Bucky replied. “Just figured I should get used to it.”

You let out a tired groan as you stood from the couch, shaking your head. “Alright, then. Goodnight, my love.” 

Then there was another pause. You had to pull your phone away from your ear for a second to see if he had already hung up on you, but to your surprise, the line was still active. 

As you brought the phone back to your ear, you heard him suck in a breath. 

“Talk soon,” he says flatly before finally hanging up. 

back || next (in progress)

[greyyson-but-wrong]

Dreaming of You

Bucky x reader

Summary: When Bucky has a good dream about you, he wakes up confused - and with the best sleep he's had in years. When he continues having these soft dreams, he begins to believe that maybe he does deserve comfort, despite his messed up past.

Word Count: 9,220

Bucky didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he was staring blankly at the ceiling of his room in the compound, the next, there was quiet. A different quiet.

He was lying in a bed. Not his own.

The sheets weren’t a deep navy blue. They were soft and rumpled, a light gray that smelled faintly of vanilla and something else – something familiar. There was no hum of the compound’s lights, no distant clang of Tony’s tech or the low murmur of the common room TV. Just stillness.

He blinked slowly, turning his head, expecting to find an explanation. But what he saw made him freeze.

You were there. Curled against him like you belonged there – like you chose to be there. Head resting gently on his chest, breath even and slow, your hand lightly curled into the fabric of his t-shirt. Your leg was slung over his like you’d done this before. Like it was natural. Like it was safe.

For a moment, he just stared.

You didn’t talk to him much. Not in a bad way – you were just quiet, like he was. But when you did speak, it was soft and easy. You didn’t tiptoe around him or treat him like a project. You gave him space. And somehow, without trying, you’d found your way into the parts of his life that felt���normal.

But this – this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t real.

And then he saw it.

His stomach twisted violently.

The metal arm. Shining silver. Red star on the shoulder.

The Winter Soldier.

Panic crawled up his throat.

He tried to move – tried to pull away – but he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t obey. His left arm, the metal one, lay at his side like dead weight. His right arm, the flesh one, was wrapped around you, and he hadn’t even realized it. He wanted to pull it back, wanted to get away before he hurt you.

The pressure built in his chest, heart hammering like a warning bell. His mind raced. He was him again. That version of himself. Cold. Weaponized. Dangerous.

Why couldn’t he move?

Why wouldn’t the dream let him move?

But then – you shifted, softly. Your hand curled tighter into his shirt. Your cheek rubbed against his chest in your sleep like you were burrowing closer. And your lips curved into the faintest smile.

Like you were happy.

With him.

Bucky’s breath stilled. The panic dulled at the edges, like someone had taken the volume knob and slowly turned it down.

You sighed. A soft, content sound. One that said, I’m safe here.

He stared at you, everything inside him slowly cracking open. The metal arm stayed still and lifeless beside him, but it didn’t matter now. You weren’t afraid.

You were still here.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, letting it all go with the exhale. The fear. The guilt. The weight. The arm still didn’t move, but it wasn’t the threat he’d imagined. Not in this moment. Not with you beside him.

Peace wasn’t something he often found – even in dreams.

But now he let it wrap around him like the warmth of the bed, the quiet of the room, the gentle rhythm of your breathing. His eyes softened, chest rising and falling with yours.

And then the dream faded.

But the calm stayed with him.

--

Bucky stirred slowly, eyes blinking open to the soft morning light filtering through his window. For once, he wasn’t jolted awake. No nightmares. No cold sweat. No tremor in his hands.

Just…rest.

He frowned at the ceiling. That was new.

He stretched slightly, joints stiff from staying in one position too long, but his body felt lighter somehow. Not in the physical sense – he still had the same weight, the same scars – but the kind of lightness that comes after real sleep. The kind that doesn’t happen often for him. Almost never.

His brows furrowed. Why?

Then – slowly – it came back to him.

The dream.

The warmth. The quiet. The feel of a body pressed to his. Your body. Head on his chest, hand holding onto his shirt, your leg tangled over his. Like you belonged there. Like he belonged there.

And the arm.

The metal one. With the red star.

He sat up too quickly, rubbing a hand down his face. The image of it all clung to his mind now – your peaceful face, that little smile in your sleep, how close you were. How it should have terrified him but didn’t – not in the end.

He didn’t know what the hell it meant.

Why you?

Why that version of him?

Why now?

Bucky exhaled slowly, trying to shove the dream to the back of his mind. Dreams didn’t mean anything. Not for him. They were scrambled echoes of memory and fear, things buried and half-processed. This was no different.

Still, his chest ached in a way he couldn’t explain.

He got out of bed and moved through the motions of his morning routine, then headed down to the kitchen.

There were already a few people scattered around the room, mugs in hand, morning voices low and mumbled. Sam leaned against the counter scrolling through his phone. Nat was picking at a muffin. And you were at the table, sipping from a light blue mug, eyes on a book with one leg tucked under you.

You looked up when he walked in. “Morning,” you said softly, offering him a little smile.

His stomach flipped.

It hit him like a punch to the gut. That smile.

Exactly like the dream.

He didn’t say anything at first, caught off guard. Your eyes lingered on him for just a second, warm and casual, like it was no big deal.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice gruff as he moved past you.

He busied himself with pouring his coffee, pretending he didn’t feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. Pretending the dream wasn’t clawing its way to the surface again, vivid and disorienting and suddenly way too close to real.

He took a long sip of coffee, staring blankly at the counter.

Just a dream, he told himself again.

But the sound of your soft sigh behind him, the scrape of your mug against the table as you took another sip – it sounded exactly the same.

And he couldn’t shake it.

--

The office was quiet, just the soft ticking of the wall clock and the hum of distant city traffic outside the window. Bucky sat on the familiar worn-in couch, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Dr. Raynor was scribbling something in her notebook as she usually did before looking up at him.

“So,” she said, tone casual but watchful. “How many nightmares this past week?”

Bucky opened his mouth, the number already at the front of his mind. “Uh, I think…”

He trailed off, brows drawing together.

He thought the dream a couple nights ago. About waking up without a jolt, about how calm his body felt for the first time in…God, he didn’t even know how long. It wasn’t like the other dreams – not dark or violent. But he was the Winter Soldier in it. That arm. That red star. That helplessness. That fear.

But…

Then there was you. And peace. And warmth.

He hadn’t had that. Not even in dreams.

“Bucky?”

Dr. Raynor’s voice broke into his thoughts, cutting through the silence.

He blinked, snapping his attention back to her. “Uh, sorry. I think…three.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “That’s good. Fewer than last week. Progress.”

He gave a small, vague grunt in agreement, but she was already watching him a little too closely.

“What was the pause about?”

He hesitated. He could brush it off. Say he miscounted. Change the subject. But the dream had stuck with him. Still clung to the edges of his mind the past few mornings. He was curious – about what it meant, and about what she’d think of it.

So he exhaled slowly. “I…had a different kind of dream. A couple nights ago.”

Dr. Raynor leaned back slightly, folding her hands. “Different how?”

Bucky stared down at his hands for a second before answering. “I was lying in a bed. Just…quiet. And there was someone with me. A girl.” His voice stayed even, careful. “She was laying on me. Head on my chest, hand holding my shirt, leg over mine. We were just…there. Like it was normal.”

Raynor’s expression didn’t change, but he could tell she was paying full attention now.

“I looked down, and – my arm. It was the Winter Soldier version. Silver. Red star.” He swallowed. “I panicked. I couldn’t move it. Couldn’t move at all. Thought I was gonna hurt her. But then she moved closer in her sleep. Smiled.” He paused, voice softening. “It calmed me down. I felt…okay. Even with the arm.”

Dr. Raynor hummed thoughtfully. “Did you know the girl?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up to hers. There was a moment of hesitation, then a quiet, “No.”

She raised an eyebrow, the kind that said you’re lying and we both know it, but she didn’t press.

“Did you wake up after that?”

He shook his head. “No. Slept through the night. Woke up in the morning, and it was the best sleep I’ve had in…a long time.”

There was a pause. Then, to his surprise, Dr. Raynor smiled – a small, genuine smile.

“Well,” she said, “it sounds like your brain is trying to tell you something.”

Bucky frowned. “Like what?”

“That you deserve comfort like that. Even with your past.”

The words hit him harder than he expected – right in the chest. He sat a little straighter, caught off guard by the way those simple words landed. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She continued gently. “You’ve spent years believing you’re not allowed to have peace. That you have to earn something you already should’ve had. And now, maybe your subconscious is finally pushing back on that.”

Bucky looked down again, lips pressed into a thin line.

“That dream wasn’t about danger. It wasn’t about control or violence or punishment. It was about being okay, even with the parts of you you’re still learning to accept.”

He didn’t respond, but something settled in him. Not quite relief. Not quite understanding. But something quieter than what he was used to.

Something like hope.

She scribbled something else down, then glanced up again. “Let it stay with you. The way that felt. Don’t dismiss it just because it didn’t scare you.”

He nodded, almost to himself.

He wouldn’t forget it.

Not the dream.

Not your smile.

And maybe, just maybe, not the feeling that – just for a moment – he was allowed to feel that safe.

--

Later that night, Bucky fell asleep without much effort – something that still felt strange, even after his conversation with Dr. Raynor earlier that day. Her words had echoed in his mind, quiet and persistent: You deserve comfort like that. Even with your past.

He didn’t quite believe it.

But somehow, his body did, because sleep pulled him under fast.

And the dream returned.

The same soft hush of a room that wasn’t his. The same tangled gray sheets. The same smell – vanilla and you.

He blinked slowly, just like last time.

Except…this time, everything was flipped.

You were still beside him – but now, on his left. Your body tucked perfectly into his side, your head nestled just below his shoulder, your hand curled into his shirt, your leg tangled with his.

But his metal arm – the Winter Soldier arm – was curled around you.

Touching you.

Holding you.

He froze.

Panic surged through him like a current.

No. No, no, no.

He looked down at the gleam of silver in the soft light, the red star glowing faintly like a warning. His mind screamed. What if it was pressing too hard? What if it locked up or jerked suddenly? What if it hurt you and he couldn’t stop it?

He tried to move it. Tried to pull away. But just like last time, the dream held him in place. The arm wouldn’t respond. It just was – still, locked in its place around you.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.

This wasn’t okay.

He shouldn’t be allowed to hold someone like this. Not with that arm. Not with the weight of what it had done. Not when it could still do damage.

But then – you shifted, slowly again.

You sighed softly. Peacefully. A little smile tugged at your lips as you nuzzled your face further into his chest, like you wanted to be even closer.

Like you were safe.

His panic stuttered. He blinked again, heart thudding for a different reason now.

You weren’t afraid. You didn’t recoil. You didn’t treat that arm like a threat.

You embraced it. Him.

Every bit of him.

Slowly, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His jaw unclenched. His shoulders eased down. He didn’t try to move the arm again – he didn’t want to. It was holding you. You were breathing steady, face peaceful, lips still curved with that small, content smile.

And somehow, for the second time, so was he.

He watched you quietly, letting the warmth of the moment soak into him. Letting it settle somewhere deeper than it had before. You hadn’t just tolerated the arm.

You trusted it.

Trusted him.

The room faded again. Soft and slow.

But the feeling – the comfort, the calm, the way you smiled in your sleep – it stayed.

Just like before.

--

Bucky woke with a slow inhale, the weight of sleep still clinging to his body.

But this time, he didn’t need a moment to remember.

The dream was right there, vivid and whole, waiting for him like it never left.

You, curled up against his left side. His metal arm – that arm – wrapped around you. And not by accident. Not something he couldn’t control. It was holding you. Touching you. And you didn’t flinch. You didn’t fear it.

You smiled.

He blinked up at the ceiling, jaw slack with quiet disbelief. His heart wasn’t racing. His hands weren’t clenched. There was no cold sweat or lingering tension in his spine.

Just a steady breath. A strange calm.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.

He slept better than he had in years.

Maybe Dr. Raynor was right. Maybe his brain was trying to tell him something. Something he hadn’t let himself believe for a long time. Something about softness. About comfort. About…deserving it.

Even now, lying there in the soft morning light, the feeling hadn’t left him. It buzzed quietly under his skin – warm, unfamiliar. Not something he trusted yet. But not something he wanted to shake off either.

With a grunt, he sat up and went through the motions of his morning routine again and headed down to the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face. The smell of coffee hit him as soon as he rounded the corner.

Voices filtered through the space – soft and half-awake.

Sam was at the counter again, talking to someone across the room. Natasha leaned over a bowl of cereal. And you were at the table, in the same seat as before, scrolling lazily through something on your phone. You wore a cozy sweater today, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, your mug cradled in one hand.

You looked up when you saw him, smile soft and casual.

“Morning,” you said, voice quiet but warm.

His stomach flipped.

Just like the other day.

He swallowed thickly, eyes catching on the curve of your smile. The exact one from his dream. That same relaxed expression. That same tiny upturn of your lips like you were happy to see him.

He forced his eyes away.

“Morning,” he mumbled, barely above a grumble, and headed straight to the coffee machine.

He busied himself with pouring his coffee, keeping his back to the others. But his mind wasn’t quiet.

All he could think about was that dream. The weight of your head on his shoulder. The feel of your hand against his chest. The way you smiled in your sleep like everything about that moment was safe.

He took a long sip of the coffee, letting the warmth ground him.

Bucky leaned against the counter, mug in hand, eyes fixed on absolutely nothing in particular. He was too aware of you. Of your presence. The sound of your laugh – soft and breathy – when Sam made some dumb comment. The way you sat, one leg tucked under you, like you were completely at ease here.

He wasn’t used to noticing this much.

Or rather…he wasn’t used to letting himself notice.

“Hey, Barnes,” Sam called across the kitchen, pointing a spoon at him. “You gonna just brood in the corner all morning or are you capable of eating like a normal human being?”

Bucky gave him a deadpan look over his mug. “I am eating. This is breakfast.” He raised the mug like proof.

“Coffee’s not breakfast, man,” Sam said, gesturing to the bowl of yogurt in front of him. “It’s a sad, bitter hug.”

You snorted into your drink, and Bucky’s eyes flicked over to you before he could stop himself. That sound – your laugh – was way better than whatever Sam thought was funny.

Natasha gave a dry smile, not looking up from her cereal. “Let him be. At least he’s not staring into the distance like he’s reliving war crimes again.”

“Pretty sure that’s just his face,” Sam muttered.

That earned a louder laugh from you.

Bucky took a long drink of coffee to hide the corner of his mouth twitching.

Then Steve walked in, holding a tablet. “Morning,” he greeted as he passed, setting the device on the counter. “There’s a meeting at ten. Just some info about the upcoming mission.”

“Who’s going?” Nat asked.

Steve tapped the screen. “Me, Sam, Nat, and y/n.”

You raised your brows, nodding slowly. “Cool. I haven’t had a field op in a week. I’m itching.”

Bucky’s eyes went to you again without thinking. That little grin, that spark in your eyes – it tugged at something low in his chest. You were so casual, so ready. Brave, smart, calm. Everything he felt like he had to force in himself just to function.

Then Sam, apparently unable to resist, added, “Don’t worry, Barnes. We’ll bring you back a souvenir.”

“I didn’t say I wanted one,” Bucky muttered.

“Your eyes say it. The haunted ones.”

Bucky rolled them.

You leaned a little toward Sam with a playful smile. “I think he just wants us out of the kitchen so he can mope in peace.”

Bucky looked at you, eyebrows raised, and – damn it – there was that same smile again. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just...soft. Familiar in a way that made his chest feel tight.

Like the dream again.

The red star flashed in his mind for just a second – how it had looked resting beside your head.

His grip on the mug tightened and he looked away.

“You’re all very funny,” he muttered.

Sam raised his hands in mock surrender. “We try.”

You slid out of your seat, passing close by him on your way to the sink. “Don��t worry, Bucky,” you said gently, voice just for him. “You’ll miss us when we’re gone.”

He didn't say anything. Couldn’t, really.

Because he was pretty sure he would.

--

A couple nights later, the world was green and gold.

Sunlight filtered through trees he didn’t recognize, casting dappled shadows on the path beneath his boots. A soft breeze tugged at the edge of his sleeves, carrying the scent of something fresh – flowers maybe.

It was quiet and peaceful.

Still, Bucky frowned.

He didn’t know this place.

The path curved ahead through a gentle park, benches spaced out along the edges, a few distant people walking dogs or pushing strollers. He glanced around, scanning like he always did – half instinct, half reflex.

Then he looked to his left.

And there you were.

Walking beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

No gear. No weapons. Just you, in casual clothes, looking comfortable and calm, your arms swinging gently at your sides. You didn’t say anything at first – just strolled, matching his pace, steps quiet on the pavement.

He stared, confused.

But before he could say anything, you looked up at him.

And smiled.

Not some bright, flashy grin. Just something quiet, warm, and familiar. Like you’d been here beside him the whole time and nothing about it was strange.

Then, without a word, you reached up and held his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

His metal hand. The Winter Soldier’s.

Bucky’s whole body went stiff.

His breath caught in his chest like someone had punched him.

The panic started the same way it always did – sharp, cold, immediate. That hand. That arm. He didn’t even like people walking on that side of him most of the time. Didn’t want them close to it.

But you…you hadn’t even hesitated.

You just laced your fingers through his like it was second nature.

Like it meant nothing.

Or maybe – everything.

He tried to pull away.

He couldn’t.

His feet kept walking. His body moved forward. But his hand – his metal hand – remained in yours.

And you didn’t look scared. You didn’t flinch or squeeze too tightly or act like it was anything other than his hand. Not a weapon. Not something dangerous.

Just…his.

You held it like you’d done it a hundred times before.

Like you wanted to.

And the whole time, that soft little smile stayed on your face.

He looked at you again, expecting to see some kind of shift – wariness, discomfort, anything. But all he saw was peace. Trust.

The panic in his chest twisted. Less sharp now. Still there, still curling at the edges of his thoughts, but quieter. Muffled under something heavier. Something warmer.

So he didn’t fight it.

He just…walked with you.

Fingers interlocked.

Sunlight dappling the path.

And when the dream began to fade, he didn’t want to let go.

--

Bucky woke up with the ghost of your hand still wrapped in his.

He lay there, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. But it didn’t. Just the same bland paint, same quiet hum of the AC, same everything. Except him.

He didn’t feel the same.

The dream hadn’t faded this time. It was sharp. Too sharp. The colors. The breeze. The way you looked at him. The weight of your fingers laced with his metal ones, swinging lightly between you as if you’d never thought twice about touching him like that. Holding him like that.

His left hand rested against his chest now, unmoving.

He stared at it, heart thudding a little too loud in his ears.

Usually, the panic hit him first.

Usually, there was cold sweat. A racing pulse. The instinct to get up, walk it off, ground himself.

But this time…it was different.

There was confusion, of course. Why that arm again? Why you? Why the park? Why did it feel so damn real?

But under the confusion, there was something else entirely, deeper and quieter.

Longing.

It sat in his chest like a weight, not painful, but persistent, like something had just barely brushed against a place inside him he didn’t even know was empty until it wasn’t.

You looked so happy in that dream. So peaceful. Like you wanted to be there with him. Like you didn’t care that it was that hand you were holding. Like it never mattered.

And for a moment…he let himself believe it.

He rubbed his face with his flesh hand, sighing deep into the quiet.

He wasn’t used to wanting anything like this.

Not comfort.

Not softness.

Not…you.

But now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

He stayed there for a while, lying in bed, trying to push it down – but the feeling clung stubbornly to the edges of his mind.

Eventually, he got up and got ready, heading downstairs.

The kitchen was quiet when he walked in. Just Sam, Steve, and Nat – already half-finished with breakfast, voices low, the occasional clink of spoons against bowls – the usual noise.

But you weren’t there.

And Bucky didn’t expect the disappointment that tugged at his chest.

He tried to ignore it. Shoved it down like everything else. You didn’t owe him your presence. It wasn’t like you should be here. Still, it hit harder than it should’ve.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, fingers tight around the handle, and sat at the island without saying a word. None of them pushed him. Nat gave him a polite nod. Steve offered a brief, “Morning, Buck.” Sam just nodded and kept eating.

Bucky sipped his coffee and stared at nothing, trying not to think about the park, or your hand in his, or the way it had felt like something he'd never known he needed.

Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

His spine stiffened.

Then he saw you.

Hair a little messy. Hoodie hanging over your frame. Sleep still soft around your eyes. You looked barely awake – but when your gaze found him, you smiled.

That same quiet smile.

His stomach flipped.

But this time…his chest fluttered too.

“Morning,” you said, voice a little hoarse from sleep.

“Morning,” he mumbled back, too fast, too quiet. Eyes dropping instantly to his coffee like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

You walked over to the coffee machine and poured yourself a cup of coffee in your favorite light blue mug. Then, you turned and walked over to the island and sat down. Not in your usual spot, which would put a chair in between you two.

Right next to him.

On his left side.

By his metal arm.

His entire body tensed. Not panicked – just frozen. Every cell aware. That old instinct to shift away, to hide the arm, to make sure no one accidentally brushed against it. But he didn’t move. You didn’t seem to notice the shift in him, the tension laced through his frame.

You just sipped your coffee, then turned a little toward him.

“How’d you sleep?” you asked, casual, soft.

He blinked. Swallowed.

“…Good,” he said, forcing his voice to sound even. Normal.

You smiled a little more. “Good.”

Then…nothing.

No follow-up. No chatter.

Just you, sitting beside him, quiet and easy and not even glancing at his arm.

Bucky stared into his coffee again, heart still thudding somewhere too close to his ribs. A part of him wanted to get up, walk out, hide like he always did when things got too close. But another part just wanted to stay.

Because sitting here, next to you, felt almost like the dream.

And for the first time, that didn’t scare him.

It made him feel like maybe – just maybe – it could be real.

--

Later that day, he was back in the familiar office sitting on the worn couch. Dr. Raynor glanced down at her notepad before looking up at Bucky, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.

“So, how many nightmares this week?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. “None.”

She blinked. Her pen paused mid-word. “None?”

He nodded once, folding his arms across his chest but not defensively – more like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

Dr. Raynor leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes narrowing just a bit, surprised but clearly pleased. “Well…that’s really good, Bucky.”

He gave a small nod again but said nothing. She let the silence linger for a beat before continuing.

“Any more dreams like the last one?”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes – something warmer than his usual stormcloud gaze. He looked at the floor, just for a second. “Yeah. Two more.”

Dr. Raynor smiled slightly. “Were they the same?”

“Kind of.”

“Tell me,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

Bucky shifted in his seat, arms still crossed, eyes distant like he was watching the scenes play in his head. “The first one…we were in bed again, the same one I didn’t recognize. Laying there. Only this time, she was on the other side of me. I had my left arm around her.”

Dr. Raynor’s brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“It was still the metal one,” Bucky added, quieter. “The Winter Soldier one. But she didn’t mind. She was asleep against it like it was nothing.” He paused. “Like I was just...me.”

Dr. Raynor softened but stayed quiet, giving him room.

“The second dream…” he went on, “We were walking in some park. Not one I knew. Trees everywhere, real quiet. She was on my left side again.” He took a breath, like saying it out loud was harder than he thought it would be. “Then she reached up and held my hand. The metal one.” He glanced up at Dr. Raynor. “Still the old one.”

She nodded slowly, thoughtful. “And after those dreams...you still sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he said, more firmly this time. “I wake up feeling okay. Like I’m still there, kind of.”

“That’s a good thing, Bucky. That’s progress.”

He didn’t say anything, but his posture eased just slightly.

Dr. Raynor tapped her pen against the notepad. “Do you know the girl?”

“No,” he said quickly.

She raised an eyebrow at him, the same way she had the last time. No words – just that look, skeptical and patient and knowing.

Bucky sighed, his shoulders slumping just a little. “Yes.”

Dr. Raynor nodded, unsurprised. “Have you told her about the dreams?”

He shook his head.

“Who is she?”

“She’s…a teammate,” Bucky muttered, picking at a loose thread on the seam of his jacket. “New. Doesn’t talk much, but…she’s always nice.”

Dr. Raynor hummed, a thoughtful sound. She didn’t press, just let the silence stretch until it made Bucky glance up again.

“You should think about telling her,” she said gently. “See what she thinks.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He just stared down at his hands again, frowning.

He couldn’t tell her. He knew it. Because if she heard what he dreamed – if she knew she was part of this ideal version of his broken subconscious – she’d bolt. Or worse, she’d pity him. And either would be unbearable.

So he stayed silent. And Dr. Raynor didn’t push. But he could feel her eyes on him, reading everything he wasn’t saying.

--

The next dream started in a familiar place – the in the common room of the compound, the soft glow of a movie playing quietly on the TV.

He settled into the couch, feeling the familiar weight of his metal arm resting at his side, cold but steady.

Then, he became aware of you.

On his left side again.

You were sitting close, wrapped in a blanket, the fabric pooling softly over your legs.

You didn’t look up at him this time.

Instead, you shifted slowly, leaning over until your head came to rest on his metal shoulder.

Bucky froze for a moment, but the panic didn’t rise like before. It didn’t claw at him.

Instead, a quiet calm settled through him.

He felt…comfortable. Almost warm.

He looked down at you, watching the peaceful rise and fall of your breath.

After a moment, you tilted your head just enough to glance up at him, eyes soft, the same little smile curling your lips.

Then, without a word, you turned your gaze back to the movie.

Bucky settled back into the couch, heart steady, chest lighter.

He let himself enjoy the moment – the quiet closeness, the softness of the night, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was where he belonged.

And then the dream faded.

--

Bucky woke slowly, the edges of the dream still clinging to him like mist. For a moment, he stayed still, eyes half-closed, breathing even. The quiet hum of the compound in the early morning was a stark contrast to the gentle glow of the dream’s memory – the movie, the couch, the familiar weight of her head against his shoulder. He could almost still feel it.

He rubbed a hand down his face and stared at the ceiling, brow furrowed in thought.

He knew what it meant – at least, in the vague, half-therapeutic way that Dr. Raynor would explain it. His brain, reaching for peace. For softness. For something to hold onto when the world always felt like it was trying to push him away. It made sense, kind of. A subconscious reminder that he deserved comfort, despite everything.

But why her?

It could’ve been anyone. Some faceless, gentle figure. Or no face at all, just a blur that whispered kindness in silence. That’s what he would’ve expected. Not someone real. Not someone who existed within arm’s reach in his actual life.

Not a teammate.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and exhaling slowly. Maybe if he just kept moving, it’d fade. The thoughts, the dreams, the softness of it all.

He pulled on a hoodie and headed toward the kitchen.

The sounds of morning met him as he approached – soft laughter, clinking mugs, voices overlapping. Everyone was already there, it seemed. He hesitated in the hallway, only for a second, before stepping inside.

And then he saw her.

She was seated in her usual spot at the island, barefoot and cross-legged in her chair, talking to Steve about something.

His chest fluttered – sharp and uninvited.

Bucky looked away immediately, cursing silently under his breath as he made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Morning,” she said, bright and easy, like it cost her nothing.

He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. “Morning,” he muttered, pouring himself a cup. His hand was steady, but his stomach wasn’t.

He considered sitting. There was space next to her. She’d sat next to him just the other day – plopped down like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he wasn’t a walking museum of trauma and metal and things better left unsaid.

But he stayed standing, back leaning against the counter, eyes flickering in her direction despite himself.

She was laughing now – head tilted slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners, hands wrapped around her mug. She didn’t glance at him. Didn’t need to. She just kept being herself.

And he just kept watching her, silent and still, wondering when she’d started feeling more like home than his own bed did.

--

You’re sitting at the island, fingers curled around your warm mug, letting the easy flow of morning conversation wash over you. Sam says something that makes you chuckle, and you offer a quiet reply, but your eyes keep drifting.

You glance over toward Bucky. The moment your eyes meet, he looks away. Fast. Too fast for it to be casual.

Your smile falters, and your brows draw together just slightly.

It’s the third time this morning you’ve caught him doing that – avoiding eye contact, ducking away like the sight of you is something sharp. He hadn’t even looked at you when he walked in. Just a low, distracted “morning” with his eyes glued to the coffee pot.

And that isn’t like him. He usually at least looks at you.

Bucky's never exactly chatty, but he’ll usually give you something – an amused comment, a dry joke, even just a subtle glance that says yeah, I heard you, and that was funny. But the past week or so, it’s like a wall’s gone up. A quiet shift you can’t quite name, but you feel it all the same.

It’s in the way he keeps his distance, and how you catch him looking sometimes, only for him to immediately pretend he wasn’t.

You sip your coffee, trying not to let it get to you. Trying not to read too far into it.

Still, your mind turns over the possibility that maybe – somehow – you did something. Said something. Made him uncomfortable. You’ve gone over your recent conversations in your head more times than you’d like to admit, but there’s nothing obvious, no red flag.

And yet, the cold space between you now feels intentional.

You want to ask. You want to turn around right now and say “Hey, did I do something?” but not here. Not in front of everyone. Not while Natasha’s discussing training schedules and Sam’s recounting whatever bizarre YouTube rabbit hole he fell down last night.

So you just stay quiet.

You bring your mug back to your lips and steal one more glance toward the counter.

He’s standing there with his coffee, back straight, face unreadable. Watching the room. Watching you, maybe. You can’t tell.

And so, for now, you let it go. But the worry still lingers, curling low in your stomach.

--

The run didn’t help.

Bucky had hoped it would – the steady rhythm of his feet on pavement, the wind slicing against his skin, the silence of early afternoon. But even with his heart racing and muscles burning, his mind never quieted.

He kept thinking about you.

About the way your head felt resting against his shoulder in the dream. About how you’d smiled without looking up. About how he’d woken up with that calm still in his chest, only for it to twist into knots the moment he saw you in the kitchen.

Why you? Why not some faceless person? Why not no one at all?

He didn’t have answers. Only questions that kept piling up and looping back on themselves. The only thing he was sure of was that avoiding you hadn’t done a damn thing to fix it.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding and he stepped out into the common room, sweat cooling on his skin. His shirt stuck to his back, and his dog tags shifted with each step as he moved toward the kitchen.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting at the island again, perched on the same stool, legs tucked up, scrolling casually through your phone. A half-eaten bag of pretzels sat in front of you, one hand idly reaching inside every so often. Your expression was relaxed and unaware, until you looked up and saw him.

“Hi,” you said, your voice light, but tinged with something that sounded almost...careful.

Bucky’s eyes met yours for the briefest second. “Hi,” he mumbled, already moving past her.

He went straight to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting the cap off. Cold condensation dripped down his fingers. He turned around quickly, fully intending to walk right back out.

But then–

“Hey, wait.”

His feet stopped before his brain caught up. He turned slowly, water bottle still in hand.

You were watching him now, your phone resting face-down on the counter. Your brow was creased, concern etched subtly between your eyes.

“Did I...do something?” you asked.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

You hesitated, like you hated even asking. “It just feels like you’ve been avoiding me. You haven’t really talked to me lately. Not like before.” Your voice dropped a little. “If I said or did something wrong, I’d really like to know.”

The words hit him harder than he expected.

He hadn’t realized you’d noticed. Or that you cared.

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, taking a breath. “No,” he said finally, his voice rough. “You didn’t do anything.”

He could see the tension in your shoulders ease slightly, but your eyes were still searching his. Not angry, just worried.

He thought of Dr. Raynor, and what she said. You should think about telling her. See what she thinks.

He looked down at the floor, then back at you. You were still waiting, quiet and patient.

You tilted your head slightly. “Then…is something going on?”

There was a pause. A long one.

And then, before he could stop himself – before he could talk himself out of it –

“I’ve been having dreams about you.”

The words were out. Heavy, real, and hanging between you like something fragile that could shatter with a single wrong move.

Bucky kept his gaze on you, waiting for you to laugh, to recoil, to look at him like you didn’t know what to say.

But right now, he couldn’t take it back.

“Oh,” you say after a beat, eyes wide. “Are they…good dreams or bad dreams?”

Bucky feels the corner of his mouth tug upward, just slightly. “Good,” he says, then pauses. “Really good, actually.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink. “Oh.”

There’s a shift in your tone – subtle, but unmistakable. And Bucky sees the flicker of realization behind your eyes. Your posture straightens ever so slightly.

His eyes widen, and he quickly holds up both hands. “No. No – not like that.” His voice jumps a little higher than he meant it to.

Your lips press together, a small, amused line forming as you clearly try not to laugh.

Bucky groans quietly, rubbing a hand down his face. “Great,” he mutters. “Now I sound like a creep.”

“No, you don’t,” you say gently, and somehow that only makes the heat rise higher in his face.

He exhales sharply, then walks over to the island and sets his water bottle down. He leans against the counter, arms folded loosely over his chest.

“I’m gonna sound crazy either way, so I might as well just say it.”

You nod, encouraging but quiet, waiting.

“The first dream…I was laying in bed. A bed I didn’t recognize. And you were there next to me, with your…head on my chest. And your hand was holding onto my shirt, and your leg was over mine.” He paused and took a breath before continuing. “My real arm was around you, but my metal arm…it was my arm when I was the Winter Soldier.”

He glanced up at you, looking for a reaction, but you were just listening intently. So he swallows and continues.

“I freaked out. Scared I was gonna hurt you with the arm, since I was…y’know, him. But I couldn’t move. The dream wouldn’t let me. But then…you just nuzzled closer. You smiled and sighed, like you were content. Like you were safe.”

He looked back up at you, and this time, there was a little smile on your face. The same one from the dreams, which made him relax a little bit.

“The second one was the exact same. Except this time, you were on my left side. And my metal arm was around you. Still the Winter Soldier one. I was even more scared, worried that it was crushing you or that I’d hurt you. But again, I couldn’t move. But you just…curled into me again, like it was natural.”

You don’t speak, but your expression softens – eyebrows raised just enough, lips parted slightly like you want to ask something but don’t want to stop him.

“The third one was in a park I didn’t recognize. You were walking beside me, on my left again. And then you just…reached up and held my hand. The metal one. Still the Winter Soldier one. You didn’t flinch or hesitate. You just did it. Like you had before.”

Your gaze flicks to his arm for a second, then back to his face. Still, you stay quiet.

“And the last one,” he says, more quietly now, “was here. In the common room. Movie playing on the TV. You were next to me, wrapped in a blanket. You leaned on my metal soldier. The Winter Soldier one again. And I just…let it happen. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t panic. I felt…calm.”

He exhales, steadying himself. You still haven’t said anything, and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

“I told my therapist about them,” he admits, avoiding your eyes now, fiddling with the cap of his water bottle. “She thinks it’s my brain’s way of telling me that I deserve comfort. That I’ve earned peace after everything. That it’s okay to want something soft.”

There’s a long pause. Then he finally meets your gaze again.

“But I don’t know why it’s you in them.”

He doesn’t say it accusingly. It’s not a complaint. It’s a quiet confession – equal parts wonder and confusion. Like he’s still trying to solve a riddle his heart already understands.

And you’re still looking at him, a little wide-eyed, clearly surprised…but you’re smiling.

Not laughing. Not running.

Just smiling.

--

You don’t say anything at first.

Mostly because you’re still trying to take it all in.

Bucky Barnes – quiet, guarded, “I-don’t-do-feelings” Bucky Barnes – just told you he’s been dreaming about you. Four different times. And not nightmares or weird memory-warped missions, but soft, good dreams. Ones where you’re cuddling or holding his hand or doing…couple-y stuff.

You’re not sure what shocks you more: the fact that you’re in them, or the fact that he actually told you.

But he’s just standing there now, clearly uncomfortable, his arms crossed tight over his chest like he wants to disappear into the counter. His eyes won’t quite meet yours.

Still, you smile.

“Well…that’s new,” you say first. “But…I’m glad it’s me in them,” you say softly, voice steady. “Because you do deserve comfort. And for the record, I’m not scared of you. Or your metal arm. I’m really glad you told me.”

His eyes finally lift to yours, and even though his face doesn’t fully relax, you see the subtle flicker of relief behind his features.

“Thanks,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh...still feel kinda stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” you say, then pause before teasing lightly, “Just very bad at not looking like you’re panicking.”

That earns you the smallest smile.

You tilt your head, thinking back through what he said. “You said you didn’t recognize the bed? In the first two dreams?.”

He looks a little confused but nods. “Yeah.”

“What did it look like?”

He blinks, then shrugs, thinking. “Uh…light gray sheets. And it smelled like…vanilla.”

You blink. And then you laugh.

He looks startled. “What?”

“My sheets are gray,” you say, grinning now. “And everything I use – body wash, lotion, perfume – is vanilla-scented. Like, obnoxiously so.”

His eyebrows lift, and he actually laughs – soft and a little shy, but real.

“Oh,” he says, then clears his throat. “So, either my brain’s really good at guessing, or I’ve subconsciously memorized what you smell like.”

You pretend to consider that. “Creepy either way.”

His smile widens a bit, and he ducks his head. “Great.”

You nudge the snack bag toward him as a peace offering. “Guess you’re gonna have to keep dreaming about me now.”

He huffs a soft laugh, looking up at you through his lashes. “Yeah,” he says, quieter this time. “Maybe I will.”

And even though there's still a little awkwardness between you, it doesn't feel heavy anymore.

It feels...kind of nice. Like something new is starting to settle between the two of you – gentle, tentative, but warm.

And maybe that’s worth leaning into.

--

Fresh from the shower, your skin still slightly warm, you smooth the last bit of vanilla-scented lotion into your arms, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a soft blanket. You tug on your sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt – one of your comfiest – and run a hand through your damp hair as you walk over to your bed.

But you don’t get in.

You stop at the edge, eyes drifting over the crumpled gray sheets, the soft pillows, the blanket still a little twisted from the night before.

And all you can think about is Bucky.

He dreamed about this bed.

Your bed. Light gray sheets. Vanilla.

You tell yourself not to read into it. That maybe it didn’t mean anything. That maybe his brain just filled in blanks using details it picked up around the compound without him realizing it.

But you can’t shake the thought.

Can’t stop imagining him lying there – his broad frame stretched out under your blanket, arm around you, soft breathing in the dark. Not in a dream. Not in his head.

In real life.

You blink, startled by yourself.

Your eyebrows raise slightly, arms crossing over your chest as you frown down at the bed, telling yourself it’s time to get in.

Still, you don’t move.

You sigh, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it back.

But you don’t climb in.

You just…stand there. Staring.

And then, before you can talk yourself out of it – before your brain has a chance to spiral or question – you’re moving. Feet on autopilot.

Your hand closes around the doorknob, and the next thing you know, you’re stepping quietly into the hallway. The air is cooler out here, the compound quiet and still. You don’t even stop to think about what you’re going to say when you get there.

You just start walking. Down the hall.

Toward Bucky’s room.

--

Bucky lay in bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The room was dark and quiet, but his mind wouldn’t follow suit. Sleep hadn’t even crossed his mind yet – he was still replaying the conversation you two had in the kitchen, word for word. The way you smiled when he told you about the dreams. The surprise on your face. The way you’d said you were glad it was you. He could still hear your laugh when you told him his brain must be creepy or psychic.

It made something in his chest ache – in a good way, but still a little overwhelming.

So when a soft knock came at his door, he actually jumped. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Definitely not now, this late.

He swung his legs off the bed and crossed the room, cracking the door open.

And there you were.

Standing there with damp hair, dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung loose over one shoulder. You looked like you were already halfway to bed – but your expression was uncertain, like you hadn’t fully thought this through.

“…Hi,” he said, confusion thick in his voice.

“Hi,” you echoed, a little hesitant.

He stared at you for a beat. “Uh…do you need something?”

You glanced up at him, then down again, then let out a small, anxious sigh. “Do you wanna sleep with me?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide.

His brain short-circuited.

You looked back up, saw his face, and your eyes went wide too, horror flooding your expression.

“No – no, not like that!” you blurted, already scrambling. “I didn’t – I mean I just thought maybe you’d…want to sleep in my room. Since you…y’know dreamed about my bed, I just thought maybe you’d want to do it.” Her eyes went even wider, which he didn’t think was possible. “Not do it, just – like – spend the night…in my room.”

You looked up at him again, face flushed with embarrassment, and honestly? You looked like you were about to turn and run.

But Bucky didn’t move. He blinked once. And then he laughed.

It started as a low chuckle, but it slipped out before he could stop it, shaking his head as he grinned down at the floor.

Your hand went to your forehead, covering your face as you laughed too, half in amusement, half in absolute mortification.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, voice muffled. “I should not have said any of that.”

But Bucky was still smiling.

You weren’t just asking for company. You were offering comfort. To him.

It was kind. And sweet. And, if he was being honest, a little brave.

“Yeah,” he said, cutting through your nervous laughter.

Your hand dropped from your forehead, eyes snapping up to meet his. “Really?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I mean–” He scratched the back of his neck, still smiling. “If dreaming about it helps me sleep that good…I figure I might actually sleep even better if it’s real.”

You let out a soft breath – half-relief, half-surprise – and nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Cool.”

The two of you turned, heading down the hallway side by side in the quiet dim light.

After a beat, you glanced up at him. “I had no idea what I was gonna say when I knocked,” you admitted, still sounding a little breathless. “I completely butchered it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah, it was memorable.”

“I walked up to your door and said, do you wanna sleep with me like I was reading off a bad rom-com script,” you deadpanned.

He grinned. “Hey, could’ve been worse. You didn’t add finger guns or a wink.”

You snorted. “Don’t tempt me, Barnes.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and easy in his chest. And somehow, walking beside you in sleepwear, both of you still recovering from the awkwardness, it didn’t feel weird or tense. Just…light.

And for the first time all night, Bucky wasn’t overthinking. He wasn’t questioning the dreams or spiraling over what they meant.

He was just walking beside you. And it felt good.

When you stepped into your room, the soft scent of vanilla hit him immediately – just like he remembered from the dream.

You walked over to the bed without hesitation and crawled in, pulling the covers back and settling under them. Bucky hesitated just a second longer, then followed.

He climbed in next to you, lying on his back. The mattress dipped under his weight, the blanket settled lightly over his chest. There was still a space between you – enough that he could feel the distance – but not enough to make it feel cold.

He stared up at the ceiling, heart beating a little faster than it probably needed to.

“…Wow,” he said quietly.

You turned your head, voice low. “What?”

He smiled, almost to himself. “This is…exactly like my dream.”

You let out a soft laugh, and he joined in, both of you breaking the tension just a little.

When he turned his head to look at you, you were already looking at him.

There was a long, quiet beat – one of those moments where neither of you really knew what came next, but neither of you wanted to move too fast either.

Then you started scooting closer. He watched you, surprised but not resisting, and when you were close enough, he lifted his flesh arm slightly – just enough of an invitation.

You curled up against him, warm and soft, resting your hand gently on his chest, your leg sliding over his like it belonged there.

He let out a slow breath, wrapping his arm around you, holding you there. Like it was natural. Like it had always been this way.

“…What about now?” you asked softly, voice muffled slightly against his t-shirt.

He looked down at you, heart squeezing tight in his chest. A small smile pulled at his lips.

“This is perfect,” he said.

You looked up at him, returning the smile – sleepy and sweet, like you were already half-relaxed just lying beside him.

And somehow, that smile of yours made something inside him go quiet in the best way.

No tension. Just peace.

You nestled in again, eyelids already heavy. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight,” he murmured, voice low, arm tightening around you just a little.

He stared at the ceiling for a while longer, your body warm against his side, the scent of vanilla in the air.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t dread falling asleep.

When it came, it came easy. And he fell asleep happy.

--

Masterlist

Author's Note: sorry for like falling off the face of the earth for a second there, I got busy😭 Part 2 of Darling and I Noticed and Part 3 of The New Winter Soldier will be coming at some point, I promise! Just wanted to give you guys something while I continue working on those!!

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