iamthatonefangirl

[iamthatonefangirl]

“John frequently complained about how you were basically cheating since everyone was obsessed with you and chronically bothered by him.” this is absolutely hilarious oh my god 🤣🤣🤣

“You were appreciative of the male form, after all!” YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS we’re just girls

headcanon that reader has a mini crush on bucky (not like actually tho) and she teases john and he just fucks her softer and sweeter to mind her that she’s his

“It smelled like your man. Like home.” AWWWW

“his cock fuck your already slick thighs” FUCK YES john thigh fuck me rn

“He’d better show you how strong he was if he really wanted it.” my thighs just clenched help

“I heard at a certain age, it might be go-“ John broke down the door.” GOOOOODDDDDDDDDDD

NOOOOO VAL BEING MEAN TO HER??? WTF. JOHN GET IN HERE NOW. PUNCH VAL

“his heart racing in concern for his girl.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

HES SO GOOD TO HER.

“And you knew as long as you had him, you’d never be broken” i’m screaming

this was absolutely beautiful. I loved this chapter. i feel so terrible for her—she did the best she could but this happens… at least she can trust john to be there for her 🤍

"heart of gold"

pairing: John Walker x fem!reader

words: 7k

summary: when a mission takes a turn for the worse, something in you shuts down , making you retreat far into yourself back at the tower. Your boyfriend John is there to pick up the broken pieces and comfort you until you feel whole again.

warnings: age gap (John is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), explicit sex scenes, vaginal fingering, squirting, angst, mentions of blood and death, self doubt & mild PTSD, emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending

a/n: here it is, the third part set in the "problematic tower romance" verse! please let me know your thoughts or what you would like to see included in future stories 👀

ao3 version

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It had been raining for two days now and you were starting to feel it.

There was a restlessness itching underneath your skin and despite the spaciness of the watch tower, you felt caged in, touching the glass windows and counting rain droplets until it’d make you sleepy.

You didn’t get bored between missions often.

For most of the time, something was always going on at the tower.

On rainy days, you’d help Bob with one of the gigantic puzzles he and you liked to do or you’d watch old comedy shows with Alexei who shook the entire couch with his roaring laughter. Sometimes, Bucky and you would go to the museum or to a cinema that ran an old movie he’d seen before his time in the ice. Or you’d go through the girls’ closet and reorganize while they watched you from the floor, sharing ice cream or whatever unhealthy snack they could find around.

And then of course, there was John.

Rainy mornings in bed with John were your favorite. The ones where you both were lazy and sluggish, his hands warm as a furnace as they stroked through your messy hair and over your back. The knowledge that you weren’t needed anywhere and no one was searching for you could be blissful one those days.

You liked how John tended to let himself go at least a little bit on those kinds of days. He’d walk around in joggers and let his hair be unruly the way you liked it. You grabbed one of your favorite shirts of his and called it an outfit. It was perfect.

You’d make a competition out of who ordered the best take-out for the team and John frequently complained about how you were basically cheating since everyone was obsessed with you and chronically bothered by him. You’d shut him up with a kiss or another bite of your burrito.

It was good like this.

You were a family, the bunch of you.

But on day three, you had enough of the boredom at the watchtower.

You had gone by the council room twice already, just checking if there was anything new. But the monitors were dark and silent. No alert anywhere, no trouble to fix. Peaceful.

Walking through the big living room area, you found Alexei snoring in an armchair and Bob reading by the rain-stained window. Normally, you would’ve joined him. But there still was an itch underneath your skin, making you restless and unsatisfied.

Yelena and Ava were somewhere on the lower floors, but you knew exactly where Bucky and John were. Coming faintly from down the hall, you heard some manly grunts and the sound of fists against punching bags. You lingered for a moment, listening to the two men training at the gym.

You could go in there and watch them train. You were appreciative of the male form, after all!

And watching John fight always did it for you. There had been many occasions where you’d end up on top of him, swirling your core against his hard bulge after you two had fought against each other. (You tended to surprise him with a bite into his thick shoulder and make him falter and John couldn’t help but be turned on by it.)

But suddenly, an even better idea crept into your mind and you grinned to yourself, heading to John’s room. You had always taken a liking to John’s room down the hall, one quarter of his space taken up by a big glass panorama view.

You walked towards the closet, the bunch of fresh laundry on the bed inviting you to lift one of his sweaters to your nose. It smelled like your man. Like home.

Humming to yourself, you started to look through your closet– over a half of John’s spacious walk-in closet had become yours, naturally – searching for the sight of hot pink lace.

You had worn it for John before and the first time he had seen you in it had been mind-blowing to say the least. John had simply pulled the petite slip inside in front of his big broad mirror, holding your jaw possessively as the two of you watched his cock fuck your already slick thighs. Every time his tip had rubbed over your puffy clit, you had crumbled a little bit more in his arms.

And you had loved every second of it.

The little jeweled bow in the middle of the matching bra had bounced all pretty when he had finally slipped into you, a man possessed and on a mission to fuck you into sweet oblivion. As you looked at it, a part of you was surprised that the lace was still intact.

But maybe, today that was going to change.

A while and a big everything-shower later, you sat down at the edge of the bed, crossing your legs prettily and adjusting the strap of your bra so one hung loosely over your naked shoulder. The sheets behind your back were still unmade from the morning and your cheeks heated at the memory of John eating you out like you were the sweetest dessert, his hot mouth tonguing your slit over and over again until you sobbed.

The way you knew John, you hoped for a similar outcome for what you had in mind.

You lifted your phone, giving the mirror your best look.

You dropped the picture on him like a landmine.

It didn’t even take two minutes until he saw it.

Fucking hell, honey you’re killing me.

You bit down on your lip to suppress a shit eating grin, your thighs pressing together on their own.

I need you to stay alive for what I plan to do with you <3

Is that so?

You didn’t type your answer.

Instead, you sent another picture as you leaned back, back arched and one leg falling open to reveal the little wet patch at the core of your panties. All because of his words…

Ten seconds, where you imagined his fingers tightening around the phone, staring unblinking at the gift you had given him.

Then: Oh baby. I promise you, you’re not ready for me to walk through that door.

You giggled, dropping the phone on the sheets and quickly racing to the door to firmly lock it. Your super soldier wanted to get through the door to you? He’d better show you how strong he was if he really wanted it.

This was one of the things you loved so much about being with John. You felt empowered, a force he was willing to reckon with, strong enough to bring him to his knees. It didn’t matter what you were wearing; he always knew how to make you feel like the most special girl on this planet.

It didn’t take long until you heard his footsteps down the hall, instantly stopping your excited pacing.

You held your breath as the doorknob turned, a brief moment of silence on the other side as it didn’t dodge.

“Baby?” You heard John’s voice, a bit rough and strained from training, through the door. “I know you’re in there, c’mon.”

You held in a nervous laugh, wanting to squeal into the pillows in delight as John knocked, now getting impatient. This was getting silly quick and you were having the time of your life.

“Alright, I got it.” He drawled, a bit of annoyance – no, impatience -  shining through. “You want to play like a big girl? Let me in and we’ll play, honey.”

You playfully hummed in consideration, letting him hear you. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll just take care of myself. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your routine. Didn’t you want to help Ava move some things after training?”

John huffed out an unimpressed laugh, trying the door a little harder and making goosebumps erupt on your skin. “Change of plans. All I want to do now is you.”

You shivered at his dark promise.

Just a little more and you’d have him exactly where you wanted. You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, stretching your back and letting him hear the little satisfied moan you released. “…Are you sure? Don’t need an afternoon nap? I heard at a certain age, it might be go-“

John broke down the door.

You shrieked and moved to cover your face as wood splinters flew around you as the lock shattered. John strode over to you with a dark glare on his handsome face and before you could even try to stumble backwards, he had hoisted you up over his shoulder, the air escaping your lungs for a second.

“Y-you-“ You were speechless, steadying your hands on his lower back to at least try to catch a glimpse of him as he walked you towards the bed. “You just destroyed the door!”

“I told you.” He said lowly, one of his hands splaying out over your barely clothed bum, making your breath hitch. “Dress like this, tease me in training- in front of Barnes out of all people, and you are not ready for me to get to you.”

A light smack landed on your bum and you gasped at the sting, heat rushing into your cheeks. John stopped in front of the bed and dropped you on it, but not before kissing you on the way down. It was heated and sloppy and you moaned right into his mouth as he let you down gently, already missing his taste.

You were right where you had left him.

A sight for the gods John had once stopped believing in, his girl all pretty and decorated in lace. A willing present ready to get unwrapped and taken care of. John absently licked his lips as you leaned back on your elbows, your smooth legs tangling off the edge.

Your heart beat even quicker as he drank you in.

John towered over you, his hair was messy from training and you could see exactly what effect your little pictures had on him, his hard dick pressing desperately against the fabric of his combat shorts.

John tilted his head to the side, a growl in his chest as you wanted to sneak your hand down your body. Instantly, you stopped. “I thought I’d left you all fucked out this morning, hm baby? You fell right asleep again after I made you come around my tongue. You need a reminder of that feeling again?”

You whimpered, spreading your legs and feeling the delicate lace lightly rub over your clit in the process.

“Or maybe I won’t let you come at all for teasing the hell out of me…” John thought out loud and your eyes widened. You couldn’t really think straight anymore and this sounded like the worst thing you had ever heard.

“No!” You protested. “Please, I’ll be good now, I promise. Just wanted your attention…”

A satisfied smile appeared on John’s face and you nearly crawled to him when he sank down on the bed, kneeling between your spread thighs like a king ready to claim his place. “Cute. I know you did, baby girl. Such a desperate sweet thing for me, hm? You just can’t help but tease when you need a cock in your little pussy, hm?”

His hands drifted over your knees and your mouth fell open, the way his mouth curled around those devious words soaking your panties. “Shit…”

“That’s what you needed, hm?” He murmured against your cheek, his tongue tasting your skin like it was an addiction, drinking in your scent. “Me dropping all my shit to take care of you, hm?”

All you could do was whimper when his hand briefly dipped down between your legs, just a taste of what John was working you up to.

“You got my full attention now, honey.” John whispered into your ear, his warm body caging you in against the mattress, hand drifting over your ribs. “So what do you want me to do?”

Everything. You’d let him do anything to you and you’d thank him afterwards, you were sure of it.

John kissed the side of your neck, letting you feel his tongue against your sensitive skin. “Use your words, honey.”

“I need your fingers, your dick, fuck-“ You gasped as he suddenly cupped your core, rubbing the palm of his hand against your clit, the hot friction against your panties making something in your brain short-circuit.

You tried to roll your hips with his movements, but he pushed them down firmly, his other hand tugging at your wet panties until they were off and you were bare. John’s pupils dilated at the sight of your sweet pink pussy, dripping onto the sheets, your poor clit throbbing underneath his heated gaze.

John held two of his fingers to your lips, breathing heavily as you allowed him to rest on your bottom lip. “Get them nice and wet for me, honey. I know you’re dripping right now, but I want you soaked.”

You greedily complied, grabbing his wrist and sucking his fingers into your mouth. You didn’t dare to look away from him, eyelids fluttering but not closing as your tongue tasted his fingers, swirling over the pads like you were about to suck his dick.

“Jesus Christ.” He pulled you off with a pop, chasing your tempting mouth with his own as he began to move you into position. You moaned happily in his mouth as he shifted you, sitting on the edge of the bed himself as he pulled you into his lap so your bum rested snugly between his legs.

Your upper back remained on the soft mattress, hips tilted up and legs spread by one of his arms as his hand caressed your quivering stomach. You only noticed then how much you were shivering in anticipation, watching John through hooded eyes as he admired your body in his lap.

“So beautiful…” He praised and you clenched around nothing, still so empty. “The prettiest pussy, fuck. You want my fingers, baby? Want me to finger you until you’re begging for my cock?”

“Please-“ You gasped as he let his knuckles slide over your folds. “Please touch me, John, please.”

Relief crashed over you like a wave when John finally circled your clit, your legs instinctively trying to press together, but his large hand pushing them apart again with a growl deep in his chest. You grasped the sheet and his knee as you tilted your head back and just let yourself feel.

John knew how to get you right every time, almost working your body like it was an instrument and he the artist, his hands drifting over your beautiful curves and edges while you writhed against his hand as if you were in heat.

He might’ve broken down the door, but he was in no rush now, taking his time to unclasp your lace bra and cherishing your chest with kisses and attention all the while his fingers rubbed your clit expertly.

“Mmm…feels so good…” You sighed, knowing how much these little sounds drove John wild. You could feel him hard as rock under you and you ground back into his bulge teasingly. “More please.”

“There���s my polite little girl.” John praised and you turned into mush, your cheeks heating as he rewarded you with the tips of his fingers dipping down into your wetness. “With you all pretty in my lap like this, it’s really hard to stay mad at you, you know that?”

You laughed and nearly choked on it as you felt your walls stretching around his two thick digits, the hand squeezing his knees holding on to him as he eased them inside of you so tortuously slow.

He built you up perfectly, watching with hungry eyes as you squeezed your tits and began to sensually ride his slick fingers, carelessly making a mess of both yourself and him – not that he cared.

“That’s it, baby.” John purred, bending down once again to softly apply pressure with his hand on your abdomen, his fingers crooking upwards inside of you as his lips peppered kisses across your tummy. “Just ride that high, let me make you feel so good for me…”

You whimpered in agreement, moving your hips in rhythm with his hand until your breath hitched and stars exploded in front of your vision as John found that one perfect little spot. Your mouth shaped a silent o, the pressure inside of you climbing and climbing until you could barely splutter out a warning before-

“Holy shit, honey.” John stared at you in awe as your hips twitched and you squirted all over his hand, carried away by the intensity of your orgasm as John led you through it until his thumb on your clit became too much and you had to push his hand away.

You panted as John pushed a sweaty strand of hair from your face, smiling down softly at you as his hands kept your body warm.

“Feel good?” He asked you fondly. “You looked fucking incredible.”

“So good.” You grinned up at him. “I needed that so m- John!”

As if you weighed not even as much as a feather, John quickly lifted you and maneuvered you onto your back, his body swiftly finding a way between your spread legs as he hurryingly undressed.

You licked your lips as he pulled down his boxers and his leaking dick sprung up, but John seemed to have other plans for your mouth as he sank down on top of you and kissed you breathless.

God, you could get lost in this man for the rest of your life.

“I’m keeping you in this bed for the rest of the day, baby.” John murmured, thrusting his hips forward so his cock slid snugly between your folds and moaning from the sudden sting your nails produced on his shoulder blades. “’gonna fuck you so good you’ll go dumb on my cock, my sharp, beautiful girl.”

You sighed happily, reaching down and smiling widely at him as you took his cock and slowly led it towards your entrance.

And when it came to you, John liked to keep his promises.

After you had gone to bed that night – or more John collapsing on top of you eventually and only turning so far around he wouldn’t crush you as you passed out together, a new mission came in the morning after.

The collective release of a long-held breath could be heard around the breakfast table.

No more puzzles and rewatching old soaps. It was time for your team to step out again and do what you could do best. In no time, suits were put on and weapons adjusted, knives sparkling like a new row of teeth around your bodies.

John and Alexei stayed behind because they were needed at another location for a supervising mission, and so you kissed your boyfriend goodbye before climbing into the prepared vehicle and waving at him as Bucky drove off.

On the way, you tried to relax the way you always did before a mission, retreating into yourself and counting your heartbeat before it got ugly.

And today was one of the days where it got ugly fast.

The mission was complete bullshit.

First, the wrong information had been cast into your systems, having you drop off at a completely wrong location and making you lose several precious minutes of time.

Next, the comms stopped working.

You were tapping through the infiltrated facility blind, not sure where the others currently were after you had split off. You looked for Yelena, Ava and Bucky, the familiar presence of their voices in your ear gone and making you nervous.

Then, the attack came and that was when you knew you had found the location of the hostages. There was no light and endless bodies you fought your way through. Somewhere in the chaos, Bucky found you, glistening metal in the dark as you two fought back to back. When you all were reunited, the hostages were under your watch, eager to see the light of the day again.

You were staring at Bucky’s back as he led you towards the exit, the hallway behind you quiet and littered with bodies. Just a few more turns and light would shine down on the tiles.

Yelena and Ava walked with you, leading the scared group of hostages ahead while you half-carried a woman whose leg had been broken at the hostile takeover. She was shivering, groaning underneath her breath from the pain and for the last few minutes, you had tried to comfort her with the promises of safety, so close in front of you.

“We’re almost out now, you’re doing wonderful.” You said to the woman and for the first time, it occurred to you that she couldn’t be older than you were. Wide and fearful eyes stared at you, her bottom lip quivering as you squeezed her hand on your shoulder. “You’re going to be home soon, it will be alright and-“

The sound of a gunshot rang in your ears.

Before you knew what you were doing, your hand shot out to touch your stomach, a choked gasp leaving you as you waited for the pain to set in. Then, the girl beside you slipped from your grasp and fell to the floor.

Screams in your ear.

Bucky turned around and fired a few shots, making everyone duck down.

You dropped down in confusion, not understanding what just happened before you looked behind you and saw one last attacker dropping dead. Your hand rested on the scared girl, who twitched and-

Your hand came away red with blood.

Your mouth opened. One blink, two.

Then, you remembered nothing.

Not the quick escape.

Not giving over the remaining hostages to the first responders.

Not Bucky’s hand on your shoulder or Yelena’s hand in yours.

Not the way home.

Only this scared girl who had looked at you with hope in her eyes, dying not even a minute later.

At debrief, you were sure you were going to pass out at any minute.

There was no more strength left in you, no solid emotion from what had happened out there reaching your mind. You just felt…numb. Your body ached and there were bruises by your hip and while Bucky explained to Valentina what all happened, you zoned out.

You stared down at the surface of the table, unblinking and overly aware of the empty chair on your left. John and Alexei were only supposed to get back in the evening from their own mission with no connection to the outside world. At the thought of John learning what had occurred, your stomach turned and you swallowed against the bile in your throat.

You only realized someone had spoken to you when you felt Yelena’s hand on your shoulder.

Looking up, you were met with Valentina’s squinted eyes on you, a viper ready to snap. “Anything to add?”

When it came, your voice was barely more than a rasp. “No…”

Valentina sighed, gesturing towards the door. “Alright, meeting closed. I don’t care which one of you does it, but tomorrow there will be a press conference about this and one of you will answer their pressing questions.”

You stood with the others, every limb in your body protesting in exhaustion.

“Ah ah ah, not you.” Valentina smiled sweetly at you. “There’s something I have to talk about with you, dear.”

“Hey, no.” Yelena stayed by the door, giving you an unsure look before she glared at Valentina. “This is enough for today, we’re done.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s fine, Yelena. Bucky.”

The two of them had always been like older siblings to you, protective to the fault even before you had gotten together with John. They didn’t like this, you could tell, but there was something slowly eating at you. Something ugly telling you; you deserve this.

Bucky, jaw clenched and glaring at Valentina, eventually closed the door behind them and Valentina sprung into action.

“Alright, I have places to be so let’s make this quick.” She came to stand in front of your chair. “What the hell were you doing?”

Whatever you had expected, it wasn’t this.

“I-“

“One civilian.” Valentina rubbed her temples. “And you manage to get her killed.”

You were speechless. “I didn’t mean t-“

“Of course you didn’t, silly, but it happened.” Valentina sighed as if she was talking about a small inconvenience. “She was going to finish college soon. Had a bright future ahead of her. Things like this always look bad on the news, you know? And guess who they’re going to blame?”

Your bottom lip wobbled, no air in your lungs as the truth of her words set in. “Me.”

“That’s right.” Valentina rounded the table. “Which also means they’re blaming me. I want you in that press conference tomorrow, so you’ll better go to sleep early tonight. Out of the whole bunch, I always thought you were better than your past, you know?”

Better than my past.

Valentina clicked her tongue and shook her head at you with the cruelest smile. “Pathetic.”

You flinched.

You didn’t remember leaving the council room or walking back to the living quarters.

It was quiet with everyone having most likely retreated into their own rooms for a shower. You wandered around aimlessly, a sleepwalker, before you eventually peeked into John’s room. His duffel bag was nowhere to be seen, the side of his bed empty and void of warmth. Suddenly, you could still feel his lips on top of your head from the goodbye you’d given him.

Now, you felt colder than you ever were.

You walked into the living room and searched out his spot on the couch, the one corner piece he always claimed for himself during movie night. Sinking into the pillows behind you, you could almost smell his cologne and inhaled deeply.

And then, it was like you didn’t know how to exhale anymore.

The first one was Ava, setting down a smoothie in front of you. “Hey. You don’t want to take a shower?”

You couldn’t look at her. Because what if you did and you saw the same glint in her eyes that Valentina had? Judgement. Disappointment. Rejection. Ava lingered in front of you, quickly analyzing your posture or rather the lack of one, your unblinking eyes staring ahead like she wasn’t even there.

A minute later, Yelena was there, sitting down beside you with a grunt.

“Hey.” Yelena tried a lazy smile. “Everything okay, babe?”

You shrugged, fingers playing with the edge of your suit top. The dirt and sweat from the mission still clung to you, enveloping your senses and keeping you there for longer than necessary.

“I know, we all know how you’re feeling right now.” She tried again, softer this time. “It…it fucking sucks, okay? But it’ll get better, I promise. I’ve been there. The first time I lost a-“

“No.” You stared at her, shaking. “Don’t- I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What did she say to you?” Your head shot up as you spotted Bucky by the counter of the open kitchen.

“Only the truth.” You whispered. Today, you had failed and you were going to have to live with it. You had never lost someone during a mission, especially not someone you were meant to protect more than your own life. Yet your first instinct had been to check yourself and you hated it.

“I highly doubt that.”

They lingered for a while.

Not sure what was the right thing to say.

You stayed silent after that, staring ahead and pulling at the skin of your fingers like you could solve anything with that. At some point, Bob sat down on your other side, offering you his hand and you simply took it without a word. They all shared a look, at least that was a small win.

You had retreated into a little corner in the back of your mind, unreachable. Safe.

You didn’t want to come out of there again.

And then John came home.

Ava was already waiting in the hallway when he stepped in, his duffel bag carelessly dropping onto the ground as he took off his hat. John saw the look on her face, his heart going still.

“Where is she?”

“Living room.” Ava pushed herself off the wall, matching his urgent pace as they walked to the elevator, quickly catching him up on what happened. “She’s been sitting there for hours. It’s bad, John.”

He didn’t even wait for the elevator to arrive.

Like a man possessed, John sprinted up the endless staircase, not feeling the unpleasant burn in his legs from the mission. All plans he had made after getting back dropped from his mind until there was only you on it, his heart racing in concern for his girl.

His shield fell carelessly to the floor as the couch came into view, everyone’s head but yours turning at the sound of his combat boots urgently making their way towards you.

“Hi sweetheart.” He cooed, squatting down in front of you and looking you over carefully.

When he had to say goodbye to you this morning, a light had shone in you. Now, it had all gone out and John’s chest hurt at the sight of your blurry eyes, like you had not blinked in quite some time. There were little specks of blood on your fingers and it wasn’t yours.

At the feeling of his warm palm on your knee, you slowly tore your eyes away from your lap and looked into his blue, stormy eyes. “Hey…”

God, your voice was so quiet, it was killing him.

“Hi baby…” John smiled at you but it was sad, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t remember a time before where you had been like this, so completely shattered and worn-out. “How about we’ll go to our room, hm? You must be so tired. You had a long day.”

Something in you went into free fall at the gentle suggestion, your head nodding in acceptance as Bob squeezed your hand one last time and helped you up. Fuck, you could barely stand anymore, the exhaustion of today clinging to you like an oil film.

“Thanks, everyone.” John nodded at his teammates as he laced your hands together, noticing how you slumped into his side to keep yourself up. “For taking care of her.”

Bucky nodded back at him. “Always.”                                           

You looked back at your friends one last time, throat tight with gratitude and something else that nearly overwhelmed you before John softly tugged at your hand and the two of you disappeared down the hallway.

“I’m so sorry I got back just now.” John mumbled, a steady arm around your lower back as you walked through the building.

“’s okay.”

“I wish I could’ve been there, I really do.” He sighed, his hand still securely on you as he opened the door to yours and his quarters. “But I’m here now and I’m going to take care of you, okay baby? I’m not leaving your side.”

When you nodded and your shoulders slumped as he closed the now fixed door behind you, John couldn’t help to think of a younger version of himself when he looked at you. He remembered it all, the pain faded yet unforgettable, a first failed mission, declared as a win but at what cost?

He knew exactly how it felt.

And he knew that sometimes all it took was to be caught by someone with gentle hands and understanding.

John shook off the leather of his uniform, leaving him in a black undershirt and pants while you stood in the middle of the room like you didn’t belong here. He stood in front of you, thumb softly brushing over your chin.

“Let’s go to the bathroom, hm?”

You followed along, quiet and floating.

Just earlier this morning, the two of you had stood under the shower spray together, washing the remains of the passionate last night off your bodies and sneaking kisses once in a while. Now, John saw you turning away from the mirror, not ready to face how much had changed in just a couple of hours.

You stared at the bathroom tiles instead, unsure of what came now.

But luckily, you didn’t have to decide.

John did, his thumb stroking your wrists as he brought them towards the sink and began to wash them. Instinctively, you hid your face in his shoulder, not able to bear the sight of her blood being washed away. Forever gone.

“All clean.” He gently turned you around until you faced him, his hand moving to squeeze yours comfortingly. “I’ll help you, up you go.”

John effortlessly lifted you by the hips and there was nothing harsh or passionate about it like there usually was. He simply set you down on the counter, now able to stand between your legs and take a closer look at you.

You let his blue eyes scan over you, not able to tell what he was looking for. Maybe John didn’t know it himself; this was a kind of pain that couldn’t be fixed with a band aid. It was deeply inside of you, paralyzing your mind and making you spiral.

Pathetic.

Your arms hung uselessly at your sides, eyes still not meeting his, and John chewed the inside of his cheek as he made a decision. “I’m gonna draw you a bath now, alright baby? How does that sound? We can go back to bed too, but let me change your clothes at least.”

You blinked up at him.

You’ve been asked a question.

In the smallest voice, you eventually said: “A bath sounds good…”

You weren’t sure. But it seemed like the right answer.

John’s heart was breaking straight in two at your small voice, unconvinced and a little lost. When his son had tripped and scraped his knee, he had learned how to dry his tears and calm him down, his body so small against his as he told him it’ll be alright again with a kiss.

But this was different.

You weren’t crying.

And he had to start somewhere.

Gathering his thoughts, John took a deep breath and put his arms around you, the ghost of his fingertips drifting over your clothes spine as he slowly undid your hair tie and pulled it over his own wrist.

He looked over your shoulder into the mirror, monitoring himself closely as he untangled your braid, the usual shine in your hair gone from the mission. You let it all happen, eventually leaning forward a little so you could rest your forehead on his shoulder, simply breathing in and out and letting John do the work for you.

Next came the brush and your eyes fluttered close as John started to carefully comb your hair out. You sank further into him, the sound of the tub slowly filling easing your mind down further.

Once satisfied with his work, John kissed your temple and kept his hand on your back, letting you stay like this for a while until he asked: “Is it okay if I help you undress?”

“Yes, please.” Your hands on his waist slipped as he eased you up and helped you pull your shirt over his head.

“You don’t have to say please, baby.” John told you softly, checking the temperature of the water one more time before he threw your bloodied shirt into the corner. “I got you now.”

He helped you slip down from the counter again and let you hold on to his shoulder as you stepped out of your pants and wiggled them off. John’s eyes didn’t linger on your body, his fallen angel, as he quickly got rid of the rest of his clothes first before he stepped up to the bathtub with you.

You hugged yourself as he stepped in first, muscles relaxing at the warmth of the bath, his hand not letting yours go as he helped you climb into the tub in front of him. You let out a shuddering breath at the hot water surrounding you, holding your already unsteady breath as you slid in front of him, his massive thighs caging your hips in as you sunk back against his naked chest.

For a while, the two of you simply existed.

John didn’t push.

You didn’t give in.

But in his arms, his whole body pressed close to yours protectively, something deep inside of you made way and your finger drew a line down his forearm, lost in thought.

“I couldn’t save her.” You finally mumbled, blinking ahead as John’s arms around you tightened just a little. “I should’ve…I don’t know, done more and I didn’t and now someone is dead because of me. Valentina is right-“

Something in John went very still. “Valentina?”

“Yes, she- she spoke to me after debrief and she’s right, I fucked up, I-“ You greedily sucked in a breath of fresh air before you rubbed at your eyes, frustrated with yourself. “I was responsible for someone and failed and now a family is mourning and-“

“Hey, hey.” Feeling you slowly starting to hyperventilate, John softly turned your chin so you could look into his eyes, your chest quickly falling and rising. “It wasn’t your fault. Ava told me what happened and it’s not your fault.”

“You weren’t there, you didn’t see.” You gasped out, feeling as if you were drowning and only his eyes were keeping you afloat.

“I remember my first death like it was yesterday.” He said quietly and you stilled, bottom lip back to wobbling dangerously. “It was my seventh month in the army, second overseas. A night mission, night vision devices. I played cards with Lemar and a guy the night before. He told us how he was going to propose to his girlfriend right after he’d get back. Never made it. A sharp shooter, hidden in the ruins. He dropped to the ground right in front of me. There was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t have been faster or sharper or stronger, not against someone out of my vision, sweetheart. And neither could you have. It wasn’t your fault. But my beautiful, brilliant girl reacting like this, beating yourself up like this? It shows you care, shows your humanity and compassion and everything that makes you you and as long as they can’t take that away from you, it won’t ever be your fault, honey.”

God, your heart ached.

You were miserable this happened to him and now, it happened to you, miserable that you had let Valentina break you down so easily, miserable because tonight, a bed somewhere would stay empty and a family awake.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it won’t feel like this forever.” He brushed back your wet hair, your eyes fluttering closed as he kissed your forehead like you were the entire world. “It’ll pass and you’ll come out of it stronger.”

In the safety and warmth of his arms, something in you finally crumbled.

Your shoulders began to shake, silently at first before a heart-wrenching sob tore its way from your throat. It was like you couldn’t get enough air in, the dull pain in your chest now exploding in vicious tangles as you started to cry.

John was there instantly, his heart twisting at your sadness as he drew you close against his chest. The water sloshed gently, your sobs echoing through the bathroom as you nearly clawed at his arm for support.

“Shh, you’re okay honey.” John mumbled against your temple, his thumb softly stroking your shoulder as you cried. “Let it out. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Somehow, his quiet affirmation made you cry even harder and you curled into him on instinct as if you could disappear in his arms if you only tried hard enough. You sniffled miserably against his collarbone and you felt him exhale deeply behind you.

On his next breath, you tried your best to match his breathing.

Again.

And then again until it felt lighter. More bearable than the second before.

“My strong girl…” John praised you, his fingers brushing through your wet hair soothingly while you cried yourself out. It was like the shock and grief were seeping out of you, leaving a little more with every tear you shed.

“I don’t feel very strong right now…” You mumbled with a sniffle, your nose touching his neck as you spoke.

“You don’t have to be.” John assured you as his hand still rubbed over your naked back in comfort. You had somewhen turned, your body now sitting snugly in his lap as you looked at each other. Your eyes were puffy, cheeks red from both the heat and the tears, yet John had never seen a more beautiful woman. “Just know that I think you are. That’s never going to change, no matter what, alright? And Valentina can go fuck herself.”

You huffed out a tired half-agreeing breath, your exhaustion from before sinking back in as John gently dried the rest of your tears while you played with the blond curly hair on his chest.

“I think I want to visit her family…if they’ll want to talk to me.” You murmured quietly as you listened to the steady sound of John’s beating heart.

“Then I’ll go with you if you’ll let me.” John kissed the side of your head as he held you close once more.

“Yeah, I…I would like that.” Your eyes drooped, body slumping against his as John’s tender touches made you sleepy and finally calm. “I love you, John…”

“I love you too, honey.”

The next morning when you stepped into the press conference with a towering John by your side and he came to stand between you and Valentina with a murderous glare into her direction, no one questioned it.

And you knew as long as you had him, you’d never be broken.

────୨ৎ────

[iamthatonefangirl]

oh my god i’m obsessed with this

bucky's last resort to not get sued

[iamthatonefangirl]

AUGUST UPDATE

my wips!

august update.

*it is highly likely that I will change the order of posts. I also reserve the right to scrap any posts listed here.*

upcoming personal project: playlist deign - nsfw new avenger!Bucky Barnes: new avenger Bucky Barnes saves reader's life. reader wants to express her gratitude... little does she know about Bucky Barnes' dark side.

planned upcoming fics:

innocent - toxic congressman barnes x innocent reader... requested by 🎀 anon.

tryst - dbf!bucky barnes. how it all went down at the beginning of summer with uncle bucky.

dirty little secret part 2 - nsfw winter soldier.

unnamed installment of winter soldier series. been missing him recently.

hot tub - dbf!bucky barnes. next installment of uncle bucky.

updated 8.1.2025

[iamthatonefangirl]

three months damn. do we think bae has cooled down yet

“Blankets you didn’t need but bought anyway” okay so she’s literally me

“Left it unassembled in the room that slowly began to look like a proper nursery.” okay so james is going to do the proper dad thing and build it right

“You didn’t trust anyone else the way you trusted him, even now” girl what if you have the baby and he kills you

knew he’d build the crib

i knew it would be a girl. i’m always right

bro her telling mike is insane acc

Illegal

mob!bucky barnes x fbi!reader

summary: You’re an FBI agent sent undercover to get close to the most dangerous mob boss in the city. But the deeper you go, the harder it gets to remember which side you’re really on.

word count: 7k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! for all the tags/warnings, please check series masterlist since it may contain spoilers.

Chapter Seven — „Hope” | Previous

Over three months had passed.

You moved to England.

The day you arrived, it rained. Of course it did. Soft, cold drizzle that clung to your coat and hair, made everything smell like stone and damp earth. You were tired. Jetlagged. Sick to your stomach, still, even though the nausea had started to fade.

But the house—

The house surprised you.

You had expected something ugly. Bland. Temporary. Another box to hide inside.

But it wasn’t that.

It was small, yes. And old. The stairs creaked and the windows stuck, and the kitchen tiles were crooked if you looked too close. But it had a kind of quiet charm to it. The walls were pale and sunlit in the morning. There was a fireplace that probably hadn’t worked in years, but looked beautiful anyway. A narrow garden in the back, wild with overgrown roses and some tired lavender that hadn’t given up yet.

It wasn’t much, but it felt… safe. Yours. At least for now.

You furnished it slowly. Secondhand things. Mismatched mugs. Blankets you didn’t need but bought anyway. You even picked out a small, plain crib. Left it unassembled in the room that slowly began to look like a proper nursery.

Some nights, you sat on the floor beside the unopened box, just… staring.

Wondering what it would be like.

What they would be like.

What you would be like.

You talked with James regularly. But only when he called. You were too afraid to reach out yourself, feeling like a burden or… attachment he shouldn’t have.

You told him where you lived. You weren’t supposed to, but you did anyway. Just in case. If something went wrong—if something happened—he should know. You didn’t trust anyone else the way you trusted him, even now. Even after everything.

You updated him. Short texts, sometimes a picture. One time a recording of the heartbeat from your latest checkup. You almost didn’t send that one. But you did.

He cared.

Just not about you.

You were trying to live. Trying to move on.

You went on walks. Learned which shops were open late. Sometimes you sat in the garden and let the air cool your skin. Sometimes you’d talk to the baby, soft and quiet, like a secret. You told them about the colors of the sky, about the stupid bird that kept building a nest in your mailbox, about how you were scared but trying.

And still—

Your heart ached.

You didn’t cry as much. Not every day. But the ache hadn’t gone. It lived under your ribs now, like it belonged there. Like it had claimed that space and wouldn’t let go.

You still loved him. God, you still did.

And maybe you always would.

Maybe some parts of you would always belong to him, even if he didn’t want them anymore.

You tried not to think about it. About him.

But it was impossible not to when everything around you was new, and different, and still… not whole.

So you thought about the future instead.

About what it might look like.

You wondered if the baby would look like you. Or if they’d have his eyes. His quiet frown. His stormy silences. Would they carry the weight of all this without even knowing where it came from?

Would you be enough for them?

Could you love them enough for two?

James had said he wanted to be there. For the baby. And you believed him. As cold as he’d been, as final as it felt, there was something in his voice that day—something broken and careful—that made you think he meant it.

But how was it supposed to work?

He was still thousands of miles away. You were part of a government program designed to erase you. You had new names, new addresses, a whole new life on a whole new island.

Was there even room for him in that life?

Still…

He called. Asked how things were. Asked how they were. And every time your phone lit up with that second number, your chest ached in a way you couldn’t fully describe.

You didn’t know what kind of mother you’d be.

Some days, you felt strong—calm, steady, capable.

Other days, you could barely drag yourself out of bed, guilt and fear twisting in your gut before the sun even rose.

You worried about everything.

How you’d keep them safe. How you’d explain the missing pieces in their life. How you’d raise a child with no real past and no honest name.

The kettle whistled on the stove.

You rose slowly, pressing a hand to the small curve of your belly as you moved. The sun had dipped low outside the window, casting long amber shadows across the kitchen tiles. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. A door shut. Life kept moving.

You poured the water. Sat back down. Wrapped both hands around the mug like it might anchor you.

This was your world now. Quiet. Strange. Yours.

And tomorrow—

Tomorrow you’d keep going.

———

You sat cross-legged on the floor of the nursery, the late afternoon light spilling in through gauzy curtains. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and new fabric. A soft pile of baby clothes sat beside you—tiny onesies, soft socks that could fit in the palm of your hand, a little hat with bear ears. You folded each piece carefully, smoothing them out, as if the act alone could keep the rest of your life from unraveling.

The ultrasound had been just a few days ago.

You hadn’t planned to cry, but when you saw the image flicker across the screen—those delicate limbs, the tiny flutter of a heartbeat—you had. Quietly, with your hand pressed over your mouth.

It was real. This baby. This life inside of you.

And somehow, even through the fear and the ache and the sharp edge of loneliness that didn’t seem to dull… you were happy.

You loved them.

God, you loved this baby more than you ever thought you could. More than yourself, more than James. Maybe more than anything that came before.

You folded another onesie. Yellow this time, with little embroidered clouds.

They would be safe here. Not untouched by the past, but safe. And that had to count for something.

Then came the knock.

You stilled—hand hovering above the next shirt, mind catching up. Probably the postman. You’d ordered a few more things last week: muslin cloths, a lamp shaped like a cat. You stood, brushing off your sweater absently, and padded down the hall.

When you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t a package. It wasn’t the postman.

It was him.

James.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, his face unreadable, wind-touched and tired. Like the sea had brought him all the way across the world and left him there on your doorstep.

You gripped the doorframe lightly. “What are you doing here?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He swallowed, gaze flicking past you like he might catch a glimpse of what his imagination had filled in for months.

„Checking up on you.” He said casually as If it was nothing.

You stepped aside without a word and let him in, the door clicking shut behind him. He walked in slow, careful—like the walls might bite.

“You could’ve told me you planned to visit,” you said, following him into the living room, then making your way back to the nursery. “Finally.”

There was a hint of something bitter in your tone. Not angry. Just… tired. A quiet ache. One you didn’t mean to let slip, but it was there all the same.

He glanced at you, then away again. Following your steps to the other room. “Yeah… I know,” he muttered. “I just needed space. And—well. Had a lot of ‘work’ after your deal. Had to cover everything.”

You nodded slowly, folding your arms. “Right.”

“It was messy.” He didn’t sound like he was making excuses—just telling the truth. “Took longer than I thought. I didn’t want to show up if I didn’t know what I’d say. Showing up in person is quite different than phone calls.”

You sat back down where you’d been before, on the floor in the nursery, surrounded by little clothes. He lingered in the doorway, watching.

“And now?” you asked softly. “Do you know?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at the room—at the folded onesies, the tiny socks, the soft blue blanket. And then at you.

“Not really,” he said.

You nodded, slow and quiet. The silence stretched between you, not hostile, just… uncertain.

His gaze drifted around the room again—then landed on the unassembled crib in the corner. The pieces leaned against the wall, still untouched since you’d dragged them out of the box a week ago.

“You need help with that?” he asked, nodding toward it.

You looked over at the crib. You hadn’t gotten to it yet—partly out of exhaustion, partly because it felt like the last real thing to do before everything became real.

And no, you didn’t need his help. You could’ve done it yourself. You would’ve.

But something in you cracked a little at the offer.

You glanced back at him.

“Yeah,” you said. “Sure. If you want.”

His mouth twitched like maybe he’d meant to smile—but didn’t. Instead, he just stepped forward, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. And for a moment, you both pretended it was simple. That this was normal.

You stood up slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you watched him crouch by the crib frame, sorting screws and wooden panels like it was second nature. And maybe it was.

God, you missed him.

Not just the way he made you feel safe, or the quiet confidence he carried—but him. His presence. The sound of him around. In your life. You missed how it felt when he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Now he wouldn’t even look at you for more than a second at a time.

You kept watching as he tried to fit a side rail into place. He turned the piece twice, then shifted it again, frowning.

“That’s not where it goes,” you said gently.

“I know.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you teased, voice just barely light enough to count as a joke.

“I know what I’m doing, okay?” he muttered, and then he chuckled. Actually chuckled. Low and rough and a little sheepish.

You smiled, almost in disbelief.

It was the first happy moment you’d shared since everything fell apart. Since the day he found out. Since the day you lost him.

He kept working, fingers moving with a little more confidence now as he secured the next piece into place. The silence stretched—not tense, just… tentative. Careful. Like neither of you wanted to break whatever fragile peace had settled in the room.

Then, without looking up, he asked, “How are you feeling, by the way?”

You shrugged a little, your arms still wrapped around yourself. “Tired. Sore. Kind of like I’m lugging around a bowling ball in my stomach.” You exhaled, then added more quietly, “But… okay. Better than I thought I’d be.”

He nodded, tightening one of the screws. “You look good, though.”

That made you glance at him.

He looked up too, just briefly—and managed a soft, fleeting smile.

You smiled back, your voice quieter now. “Thanks.”

You rolled your eyes at yourself, biting back the nerves bubbling up in your chest. You weren’t sure if you should say it now or wait—but the words pressed on your tongue, too heavy to hold in.

So you said it.

“It’s a girl.”

His hands stilled instantly. The screwdriver paused mid-turn, his whole body going rigid before he slowly turned his head to look at you.

You tried to keep your voice even, casual, but it cracked at the edge. “I… I found out a few days ago.”

James didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you like the words were still circling his brain, taking their time to land. Then he let out the smallest breath—barely even a sound—but his eyes looked glassy, like the thought had hit him somewhere deep.

“A girl,” he repeated, softer this time. Like he needed to say it to believe it. He looked down, then back up again, and you saw it—hope. Or maybe fear. Maybe both.

You nodded, arms folding loosely over your belly. “Yeah.”

He ran a hand over his jaw, blinking a few times. “Is she okay?”

“She’s healthy,” you said. “Strong heartbeat and all.”

He smiled again, and this time it stayed a little longer.

“I’ve been thinking about the name too,” you said, voice quiet, almost testing the waters. “Have one in my head.”

That made him pause completely. He looked down at the screwdriver still in his hand, then set it on the floor without a word.

When he stood, the whole room shifted. His attention—so focused a minute ago on wooden pieces and instruction sheets—was entirely on you now.

“You do?” he asked, voice low.

You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on your shirt. “Rebecca.”

His brows drew together immediately.

“Your sister’s name,” you added quietly. “If you’re… okay with that.”

He blinked, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “That’s—” He frowned. “You don’t have to.”

“Well. I like that name,” you said, meeting his eyes. “And I feel like… I owe you that.”

His voice came softer now, almost a whisper. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I still want to name her that. For you.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there, something unreadable flickering across his face. And then he nodded—once—like he couldn’t speak just yet.

“You really want that?” he asked, quieter now.

You offered a small smile. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

He took a slow breath, the kind that stretched his chest and made his shoulders lift and fall like the weight of it all was settling into place. His eyes flicked toward the wall, then back to you—like he didn’t quite know what to do with all the feelings sitting heavy in the room now.

“I’d be very happy for her to have that name then,” he said finally.

You felt your throat tighten, the weight of that moment sitting warm and trembling in your chest.

You nodded. “Then it’s settled.”

James looked at you a long time. There wasn’t a smile this time, not exactly—but his eyes softened. Something about him had changed, just a little. Like he could see the shape of the future, even if it still scared the hell out of him.

Then, he glanced toward the unfinished crib with a little shake of his head. “Think she’s gonna hate me if I screw that up?”

You huffed out a laugh, blinking fast. “Well, if she’s anything like me, she’ll definitely point it out.”

He smiled—genuinely this time.

———

Some time later, the evening had settled quietly around the small house. James was finally done with the crib, its soft wooden frame standing sturdy and ready in the nursery.

You led him through the house, showing him the little clothes, blankets, and toys you’d gathered—everything soft and sweet, chosen with care. His fingers brushed over the fabric, eyes lingering on the smallness of it all.

Now, you sat together on the couch in the living room, the low hum of the town outside mixing with the quiet between you.

You felt a fragile kind of happiness, the kind that came from having him there, if only for a moment.

You stayed silent for a moment, letting the quiet stretch between you. Then, unable to hold it back any longer, you whispered, “I missed you.”

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t look at you. Instead, his eyes fixed on some distant point in the room, like your words were a weight pressing down on him.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low but heavy with pain.

“Don’t say that. It only makes this harder.”

You swallowed hard, heart aching. “But it’s true. Even after everything… after all this mess, I still want you here. I want us.”

He finally turned to face you, his eyes glistening, the fight inside them crumbling for just a second. “You think it’s that simple? That I can just forget what happened? What you did?”

“I know I fucked up,” you said, voice trembling. “I don’t expect forgiveness. But I’m still here, James. I’m still trying. For the baby, for us—I want to make it right.”

He looked away again, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Maybe you’re the only one trying.”

„Please,” you breathed, voice trembling as you leaned forward slightly. “It’s not too late yet—”

“No!” His voice cracked like a whip between you. Sharp, raw, louder than he meant it to be. It made you flinch.

He turned to you, eyes glassy now, jaw clenched. “I don’t love you anymore.”

Silence. Just for a moment. The kind that settles between two people like dust after a bomb.

You stared at him, and a single tear escaped before you could stop it. You wiped it away quickly, as if he hadn’t seen it, as if it didn’t count if you erased the evidence.

“That’s not true. I don’t believe that.”

“It is.” He stood up, ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, you think I want this?”

“Then don’t do it.” You stood too, voice rising now, hurt twisting into frustration. “Don’t fucking lie to me just because it’s easier for you to walk away!”

“I’m not lying.” He turned toward you, pacing like he couldn’t bear to stand still. “You think I don’t want to be around my baby? My daughter? That I don’t think about her? That I don’t think about you every goddamn day?”

“Then why?” You were crying now, not even hiding it. „Why are you pretending like this is dead? Like we’re already buried when we’re still standing right here?”

He exhaled sharply and pointed at you—shaky, not angry. “Because every time I look at you, I remember what it felt like. The lies. The betrayal. How it felt like everything was real and then it wasn’t. And I can’t— I can’t pretend it didn’t break me.”

You were quiet for a beat.

“So you punish me for that?”

His expression twisted. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Yes, it is!” You stepped closer now, your voice lower but no less intense. “You think I didn’t break too? That it didn’t kill me to lie to you? You think this—” you gestured between you “—didn’t matter to me? It still does. And I know you feel that too.”

He stared at you, breathing hard. Like he wanted to yell. Or cry. Or take it all back. But instead he said nothing.

“You’re wrong then,” he said, voice quiet but sharp. “I closed this chapter.”

You blinked at him. The words hit like a slap—clean, deliberate.

He wasn’t yelling anymore. That almost made it worse.

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Just like that?” you asked, stepping back from him like you physically couldn’t stand the weight of it anymore. “You closed it? Like it was some book you got bored of?”

“It wasn’t boredom,” he said tightly. “It was survival.”

“And what the hell do you think I was doing?” you shot back. “You think I wanted any of this? That I didn’t lie awake every night thinking about what it would cost me—what I’d lose—if the truth came out? You think I didn’t know what it would do to us?”

“Then maybe you should’ve picked something else,” he said bitterly. “Some life that didn’t involve screwing me over.”

You went still.

It hung there between you for a long, horrible second.

“Screwing you over?” you echoed, your voice nearly a whisper. “I was doing my job, James.”

“Exactly,” he bit out. “Your job. Not us. That was never your priority.”

“Bullshit,” you hissed. “You were everything to me. You still are. That’s what makes this so fucking hard. Because even now—after all of it—I still want you.”

He shook his head, stepping away like he couldn’t bear hearing it.

“Well, I don’t want to be your almost, or your regret, or your mess to fix.”

Then softer, nearly breaking, “I don’t want to love someone who could lie like that.”

You stared at him, feeling your heart cave in your chest.

“I didn’t want to lie,” you whispered. “But I also didn’t want to lose you.”

“Well,” he said quietly, “you did both.”

And then he turned his head away again, shoulders heavy, eyes full of a storm he didn’t let fall.

„Please, James. I’m scared too, you think I’m not? But we have a chance now, a chance to fix this. For her. For us.”

He didn’t look at you. Jaw clenched, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides like he wanted to punch the air or disappear into it.

“You think a baby is going to fix what you broke?” His voice rose, sharp and aching. “You think a crib and a name and a few soft smiles are enough to cover the fact that you lied to me every day?”

“I didn’t lie about you!” you snapped. “About us! Everything I felt, everything I gave you, it was real—God, it was so real—”

He finally turned to face you, and his eyes were rimmed red now, glassy with the tears he wouldn’t let fall. “Then why does it feel like none of it mattered?”

You froze. Your breath caught. Because you didn’t have an answer to that. Because it did matter. It still did.

“Please,” you said again, more fragile this time. “I know I hurt you. But we could still be something. We could still have everything.”

His chest rose with a deep, tired breath. “I don’t know how to come back from this. I don’t think there is a way to come back from this.”

“You don’t have to know how,” you said softly. “You just have to try.”

He stared at you like he wanted to believe you. Like some part of him still did.

But the silence between you grew thick, heavy with the weight of everything you’d ruined and everything you still wanted.

And when he spoke again, his voice was just a whisper. „I’m so tired of hurting.”

You reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.

„No,” he said one last time and shook his head.

“I’m not gonna give up on us, James. Not now, not ever.”

Your voice trembled, but the words came out steady—anchored in something deeper than pride. You stood there, heart thudding painfully in your chest, your eyes searching his face for the smallest flicker of softness. Of hope. Anything.

But all he gave you was a sharp breath and a furious shake of his head.

“Well, you should!”

His voice cracked like a whip in the room, sudden and cutting. You flinched as if he’d struck you, the weight of his words slamming into your chest before settling like a stone in your gut.

Then, all at once, a stabbing pain bloomed low in your abdomen. You doubled over, one hand clutching the edge of the couch for support while the other flew instinctively to your belly.

“Fuck,” you hissed through clenched teeth, your whole body tensing with the sharp cramp that clawed through your stomach like a warning.

James was on you in an instant, instinct overpowering the argument. His arms came around you without hesitation, grounding you, steadying you even as panic filled his voice.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you managed, eyes squeezing shut as the pain pulsed through you again.

He didn’t let go. One hand moved to your back, the other hovering near your belly like he didn’t know what to do, only that he needed to do something.

“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice tight. “You’re not fine—I think we should go, or call someone—”

“I said I’m fine!” you snapped, louder than you meant to, louder than your body could handle.

He flinched.

You could feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, from the pain, the tension, the goddamn vulnerability of it all. You didn’t want him to see you like this—curled over, hurting, scared out of your mind. Not when it came to her. Not when this was the only thing left you hadn’t already ruined.

Not when this—being her mother—was the one thing you needed to get right.

You shook your head, trying to catch your breath, your hands trembling now. “I don’t need your help. I can handle it. I have been handling it.”

“I’m not saying you haven’t,” he said quietly, still steadying you. “I just—god, let me help you. Please.”

You blinked up at him then, lips parted, and for a moment, neither of you said a word.

Because despite everything, despite the argument, despite the distance, despite the fact that he’d just said he didn’t love you anymore—

He was still holding you now.

You exhaled shakily, slowly straightening up. The cramp faded—dull now, no longer sharp—and you nodded to yourself like you could will your body back into calm.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, hand still resting protectively over your belly. “I swear. It passed.”

James didn’t look convinced. He hovered close, his hands twitching slightly like he wasn’t sure if he should stay that near or give you space. You could feel the tension in him—coiled tight, jaw clenched.

You eased onto the couch with a wince and a sigh. “It was just… the stress. All of this.”

He was quiet for a beat, then he spoke.

“I shouldn’t—,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have—started that fight.”

You looked over at him, the way his brows pulled inward, the guilt swimming under the surface. You knew he meant it.

“I’m sorry,” he added, quieter.

You nodded, rubbing a slow circle against your belly. “It’s fine… I shouldn’t have said that.”

You inhaled, tried to center yourself.

“I just—” The words snagged in your throat. You glanced down at your belly instead, watched the quiet rise and fall beneath your palm. “Nevermind.”

The silence lingered, heavy. You cleared your throat, pushing through it.

“So,” you said, shifting back on the couch and changing the topic, your voice softer now. “How long are you planning to stay in England?”

James hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as he leaned back, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared ahead like the question itself was a weight in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Wasn’t supposed to be long. Just a few days. Maybe a week. Check in. See how you were doing.”

You nodded, lips pressed into a line. It made sense. Of course it did. You just hated how temporary it sounded.

“You don’t have to rush out,” you said anyway, quieter than you meant. “If you need… a place to rest. Or if you want to help with more baby stuff.”

He didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was measured.

“I’ll help where I can. But I’m not staying.”

You nodded again, this time more stiffly, your throat tight.

“I know.”

“I just… I needed to see you. Her. That’s all.”

You bit down on the ache rising in your chest. “Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

He gave a faint nod, rubbing his palms against his jeans. “Yeah.”

His voice was rougher now. Quieter. Like he was already halfway gone.

“I should probably go then,” he added, glancing toward the door. “Let you rest.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded. Because what else were you supposed to do—beg him to stay? Again?

Your throat felt too tight anyway. So you nodded. Once.

“Okay.”

He stood slowly, like his body didn’t quite want to follow the decision his mouth had already made. For a second, he lingered—eyes sweeping the room, the unassembled chaos of baby things, the soft shape of your belly beneath your hand.

He left.

And the door clicked shut behind him like the final note in a song you never wanted to end.

You didn’t move at first. Couldn’t.

Your hands rested over your belly, fingertips pressing gently like they could ground you, like they could hold back the storm building inside your chest.

The silence was deafening.

No more footsteps. No more hushed words or half-smiles that felt like home. Just the hum of the fridge and the blood rushing in your ears.

God.

You sat on the couch, one hand still holding your stomach, the other pressing against your lips like it could stop the guilt from spilling out.

God, you were pathetic.

Begging him. Pleading for him to stay. To try again. As if love was enough to fix what had been broken. As if the ache in your chest could somehow erase the pain in his.

You had looked him in the eye and asked for something he couldn’t give. And he told you—he didn’t love you anymore.

You should’ve left it at that.

You should’ve nodded, accepted it with grace, and let him walk out without tearing yourself down in the process.

But you couldn’t.

Because you still loved him.

Too much.

So much it hurt to breathe.

Even now—after everything—you still looked at that damn door like maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe he’d come back in, say he was lying, say it was anger talking, fear talking, anything but the truth.

Eventually, the silence got too loud.

You stood—slowly, with one hand braced on the arm of the couch and the other instinctively resting over your belly. Your legs felt heavy, like the weight of everything that had just happened was trying to anchor you in place. But you didn’t want to sit there anymore. You couldn’t.

So you walked. Quietly. Barefoot. Through the soft, dim glow of the hallway and back into the nursery.

You looked around at it again. Let yourself feel how final everything was.

And then your eyes stung again.

You didn’t mean to talk. You just… needed to say something. To someone. Your palm slid over your bump in a slow, shaky circle. You breathed in deep, trying to steady yourself.

A small, broken whisper left your lips.

“Your mama’s trying,” you said, voice catching. “She really is.”

Your throat burned, but you smiled, just barely, as your hand stilled. “I don’t know if I’m saying that for you… or for me.”

You let out a trembling breath and looked at the crib again—perfect, sturdy, real. A reminder that something good was still coming. Something worth holding on for.

You stepped closer and rested both hands over your belly this time, rubbing slow warmth into the curve of it.

“I promise I’ll be enough.”

You closed your eyes.

Because maybe you were comforting her or maybe you just needed someone to hear it.

———

The night settled soft and slow over the town, throwing a dull lavender haze through the bedroom window. The room was quiet, still warm with the faint scent of clean laundry and the remnants of the day. But the ache in your chest hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it had settled in deeper, heavier—right between your ribs.

You shifted on the bed, your body tired but your mind still running. The bedside lamp cast a golden glow across the covers, and your phone lay face-down beside you, screen blank, waiting.

You stared at it for a long while before reaching out and flipping it over.

And then you hovered.

Mike.

Your thumb lingered above the name.

You always called him at night because of the time zone and he always answered. Always picked up, no matter the hour. No matter what.

Especially after everything.

You’d told him the truth, after you moved. Once you were safe. Once you knew no one was watching anymore. You told him everything—not just the mission, not just the cover, but the part you’d kept hidden from everyone else.

That somewhere along the way… you’d fallen in love with James.

Told him that it hadn’t been part of the plan. Of course it hadn’t. But it had happened anyway. Quiet and slow and terrifying. You still remembered the way Mike had looked at you across the small kitchen in this house when he came to visit you—when you’d said the words. Like he was trying to make sense of the timeline in his head.

He didn’t even feel betrayed or didn’t scold you, well maybe a bit. But mostly he just… felt heartbroken for you.

And he’d listened. That’s the thing—he’d let you fall apart, let you explain how it hadn’t felt like a lie. How pretending had slipped into something else. How it had made everything after feel… impossible.

You inhaled. Then pressed the call button.

The line clicked, and a second later, his voice filtered through—a little hoarse, but unmistakably Mike.

“Hey,” he said, soft. “You okay?”

You smiled faintly, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Figured.” There was a rustle on his end, like he was in the middle of doing something. “Everything alright? Baby behaving?”

You looked down at the rise of your belly under the blanket. “Yeah. She is.”

“She?” He huffed a laugh. “You didn’t tell me you found out.”

“Didn’t feel like saying it over text.”

Another beat passed. Then, gently, “So… what’s going on?”

You hesitated. Picked at the seam of the blanket. And then—

“He came here today,” you said.

Silence.

“…What?”

You swallowed. “James. He showed up. Helped me build the crib.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Mike exhaled, sharp. “I told you that was a bad idea.”

“It’s his baby too,” you murmured. “He deserves to be here. To be a part of this.”

“Yeah, Yeah I get it but being there, being around you? That’s different.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just chewed your bottom lip and stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

Mike continued. „He’s still a dangerous man. I know you two have a story but it’s just wrong. You’re under witness protection if—”

“He said he doesn’t love me anymore.”

“Oh.”

You heard the shift in Mike’s voice—from frustration to something quieter. Something that hurt for you.

“I told myself I wouldn’t ask for anything,” you whispered. “But then I did.”

“Of course you did,” he said.

You pressed your hand to your belly again, as if to ground yourself. “It was stupid.”

“Well,” he replied firmly. “I think you deserve to move on.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t know how to.

So you just listened to the sound of his breathing on the other end of the line—steady, present, the only thing in the world right now that didn’t feel like it might slip away.

“…What if I don’t want to?” you finally whispered. “What if I can’t?”

Mike was quiet. Not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he knew you needed the silence first. The space to let it breathe.

“Then that’s where you are right now,” he said gently. “But you won’t be stuck there forever.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “I wish I hated him.”

“I know.” His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. “I know you do.”

And you meant it. You wished you could hate him as much as he hated you. As much as you hated yourself. But you didn’t and that was the worst part of all.

———

The next evening was quiet. The flat smelled like rosemary and garlic, something warm bubbling gently on the stove. You moved slowly around the kitchen, one hand absently resting on your belly as you stirred the pot with the other, humming under your breath like it might keep the loneliness at bay.

Then—a knock at the door.

You wiped your hands on a towel, shuffled to the door, and opened it.

James stood there, a little awkward, his free hand tucked into his coat pocket. In the other, he held a small gift bag—soft pastel yellow with white tissue paper peeking out.

„Hi,” he cleared his throat. „Sorry for coming so late,” he muttered, „I just… I was in town today.”

His eyes dropped to the bag and he lifted it slightly. „It’s for Rebecca.”

Something hit your chest—thick, heavy, soft. You reached out without a word and took the bag from him, your fingers brushing his.

Inside was a plush teddy bear, caramel-colored and impossibly soft, with a ribbon around its neck. Beneath it, a few tiny onesies folded neatly—neutral tones, soft fabrics. One of them had little stars on it.

You didn’t even realize you were smiling until you looked up at him again.

“Thank you,” you said, quietly, letting him step inside. „She’ll love it.”

His eyes softened at that. “Hope so.”

He hovered near the entrance a moment longer, then glanced at you—down at your belly, then back to your face.

“You feeling better?” he asked. “The cramps… did they come back?”

You shook your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “No. They didn’t. I’m fine.”

“Good,” he murmured, nodding. “That’s… good.”

There was a pause—comfortable, almost. He glanced around the house, taking in the warm light, the faint music playing from your phone in the kitchen, the scent of dinner still lingering in the air.

You moved to set the gift bag down gently on the coffee table, brushing a hand along the plush bear’s head before turning back toward him.

“You hungry?” you asked, voice soft. “I made enough.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening like he was weighing the risks. Then—

“Yeah. Sure.”

You gave a small nod and turned back toward the kitchen. He followed at a slower pace, hands in his pockets, eyes trailing over the shelves and photos and small signs of a life you’d started to build.

Plates clinked gently as you set them down. You didn’t say much—just moved around the kitchen like you knew it would be easier not to look at him too long.

James sat at the small table, fingers tapping once against the wood. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, sliding a plate in front of him. “It’s just pasta.”

“Still smells good.”

You sat down across from him. He ate slowly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to.

Halfway through the meal, he looked up. “You picked out a name,” he said, voice gentle. “Clothes. The nursery. You’ve done all this alone.”

You swallowed, but didn’t deny it. “Well, you helped me with the crib yesterday.”

James’s brow furrowed, gaze flickering down before he met your eyes again. “I should’ve—” he stopped, jaw tightening. “I should’ve been there. I know that.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. He wasn’t telling you anything you hadn’t already told yourself a hundred times.

“She’s not even here yet and I already feel like I’ve failed her,” he said after a beat, quieter now.

You looked at him then. And despite everything… despite what he’d said the night before, you could see it written all over his face—the guilt, the conflict, the way he still wanted to be good.

For her. Not for you anymore. But still… for her.

“She doesn’t need perfect,” you said gently.

He exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the edge of his plate. “I still don’t know how this is gonna look,” he admitted, voice low. “I can’t just… leave everything back in the States. The people I’ve dealt with—what I’ve done. It doesn’t just disappear.”

You nodded, eyes on your hands now, fingers brushing a flake of dried basil from the table. “I know.”

And you did. Of course you did. You’d known what his world looked like—how deep he was in it, how far gone.

But still… it stung. Watching the way he said it like it was out of his control, like it had already been decided. Like he wanted to be here but wouldn’t let himself.

He ran a hand down his face, tired, jaw clenched. “I don’t want to be the kind of father who shows up once every few months with a toy and a sorry.”

You looked at him.

And there it was.

Worry carved deep into the slope of his brow, his eyes glassy with all the things he hadn’t said. It was eating him alive already—just the idea of not being enough. Of missing too much. Of being a stranger to the little girl growing in your belly.

“She’s not even here yet,” he whispered, “and I already feel like I’m losing her.”

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing his—just barely, just enough for him to know you meant it.

“You’re not losing her,” you said softly. “Like you said—she’s not even here yet, and she already has a dad who’s thinking about her every day. Who cares. That’s more than a lot of kids ever get.”

James didn’t look up right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the plate in front of him, as if grounding himself with something, anything, that wasn’t the ache twisting in his chest.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he murmured. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You start by being here when you can. By calling. By asking about her. By showing up with teddy bears even when it’s hard for you to look me in the eye.”

You smiled faintly at that last part, trying to keep it light, but your voice cracked a little.

“You’re trying, James. That’s what matters.”

He finally looked at you. His eyes were rimmed with red, but something in them had softened—like he wanted to believe you. Like maybe, for just this second, he did.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “Of messing it up. Of hurting her without meaning to. Of not being here when she needs me.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“She won’t need perfect,” you said again, firmer this time. “She’ll need real. And you’re real. Scared and broken and trying… but real.”

And when he swallowed, his throat bobbing with emotion, you let your thumb trace over his knuckles, steady.

“She’ll love you anyway,” you whispered. “Because you’ll be hers.”

Chapter Eight soon… 💸

series tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you—you’re crossed out—it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @muchwita @its-in-the-woods @taqmari @opheliabbarnes @rabknowstheend @pineapplechuncks @infinitepersuasion @sweetesharley @adalvsseb @miss-chuchu @nandanandada @globetrotter28 @whorunthemfworld-girls @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @ruexj282 @xamapolax @bloodmocha @castawaycreature @wakemeornot @lilylilyyyyyy @rue963 @miirasarchive @fleurenoir @figtreesandmoonlight @steph88x @starstruck-cowgirl @okaytrashpanda @lovely-seb @sinistersnakey @bananaminn @readscreamrepeat @yes-ilovetowrite @g0back2bed @jbuckybarnesimp @zombi3-girlz @paristheonewhoreads @justagirlcalledaddie @lovinqbella @thriving-n-jiving @lumpypoll @avivarougestan @wickedfun9 @borkybawnes

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⋆⁺₊✧ SERIES MASTERLIST

⋆⁺₊✧ MAIN MASTERLIST

[iamthatonefangirl]

my attempt to write a haiku, in two seconds:

bucky my bucky

bucky I love you baby

buck, love of my life

bye who am I

[iamthatonefangirl]

I miss my husband so bad:(

james winter soldier come home my ovaries miss you:(

[iamthatonefangirl]

oh… 🤭

Oh????

[iamthatonefangirl]

oh my god i’m SCREAMING VIVID HOLY SHIT PLEASEEEEEE

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 💋 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The soldier could not catch you.

You were shadows and smoke, always slipping through his fingers. All across the world, he had chased you, a barking dog at your heels, getting more desperate and angrier the more you played with him.

Those heels, cherry red and killing, were now pressing into his chest. His broad back on the floor, lungs heaving and trying to catch his breath at the devious sight above him. You were both angelic and his ruin - and after you put him on the floor like he was not even worth the talk, he knew you were toying with him.

He smelled your arousal under that sinfully short dress. Could feel his own press painfully against his combat pants.

"I could end this little cat and mouse game right now, soldier." You purred, biting your glossy lip in consideration as your sharp eyes drifted over his body.

He grinned at you, still too damn confident for his current situation. "Nah, you won't. You like to play with your food before you'll eat it, don't you, baby?"

He groaned as the heel on his chest pushed in deeper, a tingly pain spreading through him.

"I should make you beg." You tilted your head, flashy diamond earrings softly clinking in the silence of the room. You let your foot slowly travel down his body, arms still trapped by your knives having pinned the fabric. "It suits you, dominated by a girl and hard because of it too. Bet you're leaking."

You pressed the flat of your high heel against his scrotch and he hissed.

"Minx."

You smiled at him like he called you darling. "Puppy? You're all bark, but no bite. It's cute how hard you're trying to convince yourself."

He glared at you, not able to catch his breath as long as you touched him. Country after country he followed you, dreamed of you at night and yet you were as far away as ever right now.

And he realized with shocking clarity, the only reason he got so close to you this time was because you wanted him to.

You stepped around him, the pressure against his cock disappearing and making his head spin. He was spread out like a feast underneath you, thick thighs spread as you came to stand between them.

You chuckled as you drank him in, crossing your arms in front of your cleavage as if you couldn't decide what to do with him first.

"Please..." The word slipped past his lips before he could stop himself. He didn't even know what he was begging for, only that he was and couldn't help himself. Whatever you were willing to give, he'd take it. "Please, baby."

"Aww, soldier." You pouted your pretty mouth for him, pitifully shaking your head as your hands travelled down your body and wandered underneath your dress. One final punishment. "Maybe next time...if you'll be able to catch me again."

You carelessly threw your soaked black lace panties onto his chest, a final little goodbye as you turned around and left the room.

You'd make sure there would be a next time.

[iamthatonefangirl]

saw ur post about anons… so can i become one without becoming one? 🥹😝 since you became one on my blog as well I want to be one on yours too 🤍🥹

If yes, can I claim this 🥀 emoji?

love you hehe🥀🤭

YESSSS I love you too

🥀🥀🥀

my next fic core? 🥀🥀 who knows

[iamthatonefangirl]

anons i miss you come back. so many of u I haven’t heard from in months

[iamthatonefangirl]

Hello I’ve returned to (s)cream some more about the new photos of him in Italy I can’t sidjsjwndhsjsje I need to bite his biceps (NOT p! links)

https://x.com/fowlerfiles/status/1950585746030469569?s=46&t=OX-whG1uW_W4YJIAPHyv_w

https://x.com/hackersins/status/1950586857844064540?s=46&t=OX-whG1uW_W4YJIAPHyv_w

https://x.com/soorwellystan/status/1950588089539411980?s=46&t=OX-whG1uW_W4YJIAPHyv_w

Annabelle appreciation because she’s gorgeous: https://x.com/paintedstork_/status/1950161159497171367?s=46&t=OX-whG1uW_W4YJIAPHyv_w

the first one… fuck. oh my god. he is so hot help me please

HE LOOKS SO GOOD!!! AND YES BICEPS >>>>>>

please I want to be her so bad

why does he look so fucking good

this isn’t FAIRRRRRR

maybe he’s happy because he’s finished filming his scenes in doomsday and he’s free of marvel forever

i mean what who said that

[iamthatonefangirl]

Bucky is a bush lover, sorry not sorry. That man fucking loves a forest, i can feel it– no take backs.

Thats a bush lover right there

[iamthatonefangirl]

I’m so sorry yall the draft I wrote is not up to standard so plz forgive me for not having a post 🙏🙏🙏

I hope to NOT fail you like this in august 🙏🙏

[iamthatonefangirl]

OHHHH WE'RE PICKING UP RIGHTTTTT WHERE WE LEFT OFF HELL YEAH

„But you didn’t pull the trigger.” not her blindly trusting him as if the baby isn't the only reason he didn't kill you

You shook your head. “I don’t want protection—I want you.” this poor girl oh my god

“I need to know what you’ve been telling them,” he said, voice low and grave. “Everything. Right now.” IS THIS A GLIMMER OF HOPE I AM SEEING???????? maybe i'm just delulu

“‘He’s still oblivious. I didn’t expect him to be so stupid.’” DEAR GOD that's bad girl. oh my god. she'd trying to be overly defensive to keep them off her trail. this is literally gonna break him in two. THIS HURTS

i can't believe she said all this stuff about him I-

THIS IS NOT HELPING HER CASE.

i'm gonna lose it oh my god

„God, I was so stupid for not checking you before,” CLOCKEDDDDDDD 🤣🤣🤣

"It’s been three days." NO HE WAS SUPPOSED TO HEAR HER CRYING AND GO BACK FOR HER.

oh my god what if the stress causes her to have a miscarriage

“How are you feeling?” my jaw dropped.

"But he would find a way to be there. Somehow." brother how

"Not for you." you keep telling yourself that......

"And the entire idea of safety felt like a punishment." i love this. this literally captures everything about how she's so lost and how she's a completely changed person now because of James... ugh

I STILL HAVE HOPE FOR THEM!!!!!! CALL ME CRAZY!!!!!!!!

Illegal

mob!bucky barnes x fbi!reader

summary: You’re an FBI agent sent undercover to get close to the most dangerous mob boss in the city. But the deeper you go, the harder it gets to remember which side you’re really on.

word count: 6,3k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! for all the tags/warnings, please check series masterlist since it may contain spoilers.

Chapter Six — „Mess” | Previous

“I guess we’re both liars then.”

It hit you like a punch to the chest.

You blinked. “What…?”

He finally looked at you. Eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

“Promised?” he repeated after you. “You wanna tell me about promises after everything you’ve done?” He sniffed and his eyes rolled upward, not in annoyance, but like he was searching for patience—or trying to hold back tears.

“I gave you everything I had,” he said, shaking his head, almost like he pitied himself for it. “I fucking believed in you. I let you into my world—let you touch parts of me I didn’t even know still existed. And you stood there, looked me in the eye, and lied.”

James stepped back like even standing this close to you made him sick. “So don’t talk to me about promises. You don’t know the first thing about keeping them.”

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths as you tried to steady yourself—tried to keep from falling apart entirely. You placed a trembling hand over your belly, instinctively, protectively. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

“What… what happens now?” you asked, voice small, raw. Barely above a whisper.

You weren’t even sure if you were asking about you two or the baby—or both.

“I don’t fucking know,” James said, the words torn out of him. “But we are done.”

Your head shook instantly, fiercely, panic climbing up your throat like fire. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Especially not now.

“Please,” you whispered, stepping forward, one hand still clutching your stomach. “Please just give me a chance. Please, James—”

But his head was already shaking, the reaction so visceral it startled you. Sharp and immediate. Like the idea physically hurt him.

“No!” he snapped, voice cracking under the weight of it. “We’re done. We’re fucking done—I don’t even know you! You’re nothing but a stranger to me!”

You crumbled under the weight of it all, tears spilling down your cheeks again, your voice barely more than a breath.

“I don’t know what to do now, James… please,” you choked out. “I’m so scared—”

He flinched like it physically pained him. His eyes darted to you, then away just as quickly, like looking at you was too much. Too raw. Too full of everything he used to love and everything he didn’t know how to forgive.

He ran a hand over his face, the weight of it all pressing down on his shoulders until they slumped. You could see it—the part of him that still cared, that still ached for you, even through the rage and heartbreak.

“What’s your deal with them?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, worn thin. “The FBI. What happens if you tell them you’re pregnant?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “They’d pull me out,” you said quietly. “Immediately. I’d be debriefed, moved… probably put under protection somewhere far. They’d make me testify.”

His jaw tensed, ticking with something unreadable. “Because they’d think I’d come after you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you said quickly, firmly. “I know you wouldn’t. But that’s not how they see it.”

„I just put a gun to your head.” he reminded you.

„But you didn’t pull the trigger.”

James nodded, slow and bitter. A pause stretched between you—long, brittle, heavy with things neither of you wanted to say.

“Do it,” he murmured. “Go. Let them take you somewhere safe. Start over.”

You stared at him, heart plummeting. “You’re telling me to disappear?”

“I’m telling you to live,” he said. “Before this gets worse. Before you’re in deeper than you already are.”

You took a shaky step forward. “I don’t want to leave you. Or hurt you.”

He gave a dry, broken laugh. “Little late for that.”

You stood there, breath catching in your throat as the weight of those words settled over you like ash. Final. Irrevocable.

“I can’t just leave,” you whispered. “I know I lost you, I know I did, but James…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

He looked at you then, eyes glassy and torn, like part of him wanted to believe that—but the rest of him knew better.

“There’s no coming back from this,” he said quietly, not even looking at you. “And you know that.”

Your knees nearly buckled. You sobbed, covering your mouth with your hand like that could keep you from falling apart. But it was too late for that. You already had.

James finally looked up, and though his eyes were rimmed red and full of something close to regret, his voice came steady.

“Tell them,” he said. “Go to the FBI. Make your deal.”

You blinked through your tears and shook your head. „I don’t want that.”

“It’s the only way,” he muttered. “They’ll protect you. Protect the baby. That’s what matters now.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want protection—I want you.”

He sniffed, running a hand down his face. The sound he made was barely a breath, but it so much pain and the final crack of something breaking.

“Please…” he said, eyes glistening. “If you want to fix this—then do it.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. Every part of you resisted what he was asking. What it meant.

“It means I’d have to testify against you, James. I’ll put you in more trouble, I—” Your voice was hollow. Shaken.

His eyes closed for a moment. Then opened, steady. Resolute.

“I said do it,” he said. “Say what you have to. Tell them what you know.”

“I don’t want to, James. I meant what I said, I love—”

He gave you that look. Sharp. Cold. The kind that sliced straight through whatever you were about to say. And it shut you up instantly.

You swallowed, stumbling over your own breath. “Please—I… I just don’t want you to suffer. I—”

He cut you off with a heavy sigh. „Show me your phone.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“I need to know what you’ve been telling them,” he said, voice low and grave. “Everything. Right now.”

You nodded without hesitation. There was no point in resisting—not anymore. You reached for your phone with shaking hands, unlocked it, and pulled up the messages. The ones with Mike. The ones you’ve read over and over the past week with a growing pit in your stomach.

Then, without a word, you held it out to him.

He took it from you slowly, fingers brushing yours for a second too long—enough to remind you what it used to feel like when he touched you with care, not suspicion.

And then he turned away. Silence stretched thick as his eyes scanned the screen, thumb slowly scrolling. His jaw flexed, shoulders rigid. You could hear every shallow breath he took.

Each second felt like a lifetime.

He froze for a moment. His shoulders stiffened. His eyes narrowed. Then he read one of your messages aloud, voice low and raw.

“‘He’s still oblivious. I didn’t expect him to be so stupid.’”

He let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Oh wow.” It wasn’t amusement. It was disbelief—hurt, gut-deep and sharp, cutting clean through his chest. He shook his head, the ghost of that dark laugh still lingering as he looked down at the floor. “Nice. Real fucking nice.”

“James—God, I didn’t mean that,” you said, stepping forward, heart lurching. “I couldn’t just message him saying I fell in love with you. I had to say something.”

He turned toward you slowly, eyes blazing. “So instead, you said I was an idiot.”

“No,” you whispered, voice breaking. “That’s not what I meant, Jesus—”

He didn’t answer. Just looked down at the phone again, jaw clenched so tight it trembled slightly.

Another scroll. Another wound.

“‘He’s way too soft for this. Can’t believe he actually runs the city. Fucking loser.”

His voice was quieter this time, flat and gutted. “Fuck.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “James—”

“You think I’m soft?” he snapped suddenly, eyes flashing as they lifted to meet yours. “That I’m some fucking fool you could manipulate and lead around?”

“No, that’s not—” you started, chest tightening, “…That’s not how I saw you, I was scared, I was trying to throw him off, I didn’t want him to think—”

“That you were falling for me?” he bit, voice sharp and disbelieving. „Yeah I’ve heard that already.”

The silence was unbearable—stretching, suffocating. Each swipe of his thumb felt like another heartbeat you might never get back. He was reading everything now. Every message you’d sent. Every report. Your summaries of his habits, his movements, his past. His triggers. His scars.

He got quieter the deeper he went. No sharp words now. No anger in his voice. Just silence.

A silence that hurt worse than shouting ever could.

His face was unreadable, but you could see his chest rise and fall faster with each second, like he was drowning and trying not to show it. The kind of quiet that only came when the devastation ran too deep to speak.

Then his voice, low—almost numb. “You wrote about my past.”

You swallowed hard. “I—James, I didn’t want to—”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept reading.

“You knew how hard it was for me. You knew what those memories did to me.” He exhaled through his nose, slowly, like holding back something sharp. “And you wrote it down like it was data. Like I was just an assignment.”

„I—I’m sorry.” you whispered.

He handed the phone back to you without a word.

“What else?” he asked, voice flat. “What else did you tell them?”

You blinked, heart pounding so hard it felt like it echoed in your ears. Your throat was dry. You stared down at the phone in your hand for a beat too long.

“There were… files,” you said quietly. “Under your bed.”

His eyes snapped to you then. Sharply. You forced yourself to go on.

“I took pictures of them. Sent them. I didn’t know what they were, just that they looked… important. And you kept them hidden, so—so I logged them…”

He ran a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You went through my shit,” he muttered.

You flinched. “James, I didn’t know I’d feel this way back then—please, I didn’t know it’d turn into—”

“You still did it.” His voice didn’t rise. It dropped. “You still chose to do it.”

You looked down. Shame thrilled up your spine, dark and electric.

„God, I was so stupid for not checking you before,” he muttered, more to himself than to you—like the weight of his own blindness had just landed. His hands curled into fists for a moment. His jaw clenched tight. And then, suddenly, he turned and walked out of the room.

You froze for half a second before your legs moved on instinct, following him. “James? What are you—?”

But he was already in the bedroom, pulling a bag from the closet and tossing it onto the bed. You watched, stunned, as he began packing—clothes, a few essentials, everything with the efficiency of someone who’d done this before. Someone used to disappearing.

“James,” you tried again, voice shaking. “What are you doing?”

“You can stay here,” he said shortly, not looking at you. “For now. Until you make your deal with them. Until they send you away.”

Your stomach twisted. “Wait—what? No, what are you talking about?”

He didn’t stop folding. Didn’t stop packing. “You’re safer here until it’s over. Until they relocate you or wipe your identity or whatever the hell they do for people like you.”

You stepped closer, heart racing. “People like me?”

“Informants,” he said, bitter and flat. “Traitors.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and brushed past you, heading down the stairs like he couldn’t get out fast enough. But you couldn’t stop—you couldn’t just let it end like that. Not without trying.

You followed him, your voice chasing after his retreating back. “What then? What after they send me away? When I start over, when I disappear—what happens then?”

He didn’t turn around. Just said, cold and distant, “I told you. We’re done.”

You swallowed hard, barely keeping upright under the ache in your chest. “And the child?”

He stopped. Right there, in front of the door. Back still turned to you, his shoulders rising and falling with one heavy breath.

“I don’t know yet.”

The door closed shut behind him.

You stood frozen, staring at the space he’d just filled, like maybe if you stood still long enough, he’d come back. Like the echo of his footsteps might turn around. But it didn’t. He was gone.

And then it hit you. All of it—like a flood finally breaching the dam you’d tried so hard to hold up.

Your knees buckled and you sank to the floor, sobbing. Hands pressed to your face, chest heaving, the grief too big for your body. You didn’t even try to stop it this time. You couldn’t. You weren’t sure if it was for him, or for you, or for the life growing inside you—maybe for all of it.

Because he was gone. And somehow, even though he had spared your life, it still felt like you’d lost everything.

———

It’s been three days.

You sat curled up on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago. You hadn’t even noticed. The TV played quietly in the background—some news channel you weren’t watching, just noise to drown out the silence. Or try to.

Your phone sat beside you on the coffee table, face down, but you didn’t need to check it to know there were no new messages. No missed calls. No change.

You’d called him. Again and again. Every hour, sometimes every half. Just to hear his voice, even if it was only his voicemail. You never left a message. You couldn’t. What were you even supposed to say?

Please come home?

I’m sorry?

I miss you?

He wouldn’t pick up. Not once.

You hadn’t slept. Not properly. The guilt kept you up at night, and the fear clawed at you during the day. You hadn’t made the deal yet. Every time you picked up the phone to call Mike, to say the words—to start the process—you froze.

You were too scared. Too fucking ashamed.

And more than anything, you were so, so lonely.

Your fingers drifted to your stomach again. A reflex. A habit. Not tenderness.

Just fear.

You weren’t ready. You hadn’t planned for this. Every time you thought about what was coming, your mind just… stalled. Blank. Nothing. You didn’t feel strong or maternal or protective—you just felt small. Lost.

And he still hadn’t called back.

You were terrified. Of him. Of the deal. Of the baby.

Of being alone in this.

Of deserving to be.

Evening came and you still hadn’t eaten.

You’d taken a shower. Brushed your teeth. Gone through the motions of pretending you were human again. Slipped into a T-shirt and climbed into bed with the same ache in your chest that hadn’t left for three days straight.

The sheets smelled like him.

You pressed your face into the pillow to stop yourself from crying again when your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

For a second, you stared at the screen like it was wrong. Like it was some trick of your exhausted brain.

James

Calling…

Your breath caught in your throat. You blinked at the screen. Then, with trembling hands, you answered.

“Hey,” you said quietly. A sad smile tugged at your mouth. It didn’t reach your eyes. “You called.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just silence on the other end. Breathing. And then—

“Did you talk with them?”

You swallowed. Shame already creeping up your spine like a slow tide.

“No,” you admitted. Your voice cracked on it. “Not yet.”

He nodded slowly, even though you couldn’t see it.

“When?” he asked, voice low, careful.

You pulled the blanket higher over your stomach, as if that could shield you from the weight of the question. From what it meant.

“This week,” you promised. “I swear, I just—”

But he cut you off gently. Not out of cruelty—just tired of the excuses. The delays. The way everything felt stuck in place except the clock.

“I don’t care,” he said quietly. “About that right now.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.

“How are you feeling?”

Your lips parted, stunned. You hadn’t expected that.

You blinked up at the ceiling, vision going blurry with the tears you’d been holding back all day.

“I don’t know,” you said after a while. And it was the truth. “Tired. Sick, sometimes. I haven’t really… thought about it much. I’m just scared.”

You heard him exhale softly on the other end of the line. Not disappointment. Just the same kind of fear, maybe. The same unknown.

“I’m so scared, James,” you repeated, barely more than a whisper. Your voice cracked at the end, and you pressed your hand to your mouth like that could keep the rest from spilling out.

There was silence on the other end—long enough to make your heart race again—until he finally spoke, voice low, rough, but not unkind.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

A pause.

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

You let out a quiet breath, closing your eyes. You wanted to believe him. You wanted it to mean something more. But all it did was remind you that you’d have to figure it out without him.

Because no matter how soft his voice had been, no matter how it used to feel—safe, solid, home—you knew better now. You’d lost that. Lost him.

You hesitated, the silence stretching again between you both. Then, carefully, like the words might shatter in your mouth, you asked,

“What about the deal… with the FBI. What can I say? What shouldn’t I say—so I don’t cause more problems for you?”

There was a pause. Then a tired, worn-out sigh came through the line.

“I don’t know,” James muttered. “It’s too late for that anyway.”

Your throat tightened. “No—James, I swear I… I’m gonna say just enough. I won’t tell them much, I swear.” you whispered. „I just want to keep you safe,” you added quietly. “Even if you never speak to me again—”

„Take care, okay?” he said. „I gotta go.”

You wiped your tears. „Yeah… Yeah, of course.”

And then he hang up. Just like that.

———

He sat in his car long after the call ended, fingers clenched around the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

God, he hated this.

Hated how hearing your voice still made something ache inside his chest, even after everything you did. Hated how you cried like that, scared and uncertain and so damn alone, and how every instinct in him still screamed to fix it—fix you. Hated how weak that made him feel.

He didn’t want to talk to you again. He shouldn’t.

But the baby… That changed everything.

It wasn’t about you anymore. Not entirely. It was about this small, quiet life growing because of something that should’ve never happened. And as much as he wanted to hate you, wanted to shut you out completely and disappear into whatever plan he could salvage—

He couldn’t.

Because what kind of man would that make him?

Not the kind he promised himself he’d be. Not the kind his mother prayed he’d grow into. And sure as hell not the kind a child deserved.

James exhaled through his nose, slow and bitter. His father had always said the job came first. That there was no room for softness in this world, no space for weakness—especially not for family. James had watched that man disappear into smoke and blood and late-night deals, coming home only to bark orders and cast long shadows across the kitchen floor.

He swore he wouldn’t be like him.

And yet—

Here he was, driving around the city with two guns under the seat and a kid on the way.

No. He wasn’t going to be that man. He wasn’t going to let the baby grow up thinking love came with locked doors and hushed voices and someone always leaving.

He wouldn’t stay—not really. Not in the way he used to. Not in the way that would’ve made you smile in the mornings or call out to him from the kitchen with your hands on your lower back, aching from the weight of everything.

Because you were going to be sent away.

Because it was safer that way—for both of you. Because the walls were already closing in, and the only thing left to do was damage control.

But he would find a way to be there. Somehow.

He didn’t know what it would look like, or what the rules would be. He didn’t even know where you’d go or what name you’d have by then.

But he would be there.

Not for you. For the baby. As much as he could be. As much as the mess allowed.

———

It was late afternoon when you got there. That weird hour between lunch and dinner when the café was quiet, just a couple students hunched over laptops and the soft clinking of mugs behind the counter. You sat by the window, where the light hit just right—your usual spot. Or at least it used to be, before everything changed.

You hadn’t been here in weeks. Not since before the lies turned heavy and the truth got too sharp to carry around.

Now you sat nursing a lukewarm tea, hands wrapped tight around the ceramic, trying not to look like you were unraveling in slow motion.

Mike was on his way.

You’d called him yesterday. Told him it was about the job. Told him you needed to see him in person. He hadn’t asked questions—just agreed, like always.

You were done playing the informant. Done playing both sides while trying to keep your heart in one piece.

And you were pregnant.

You hadn’t told Mike that part yet. You weren’t even sure how you’d say it out loud without feeling like the world might collapse on itself. It still didn’t feel real. The test, the ultrasound, the nausea, the unbearable exhaustion—sure, they said otherwise. But your mind hadn’t caught up yet.

James hadn’t called again since that night. You hadn’t expected him to. What else could he say after all that?

But his voice still rang in your head. His silence afterward rang even louder.

You told yourself this meeting was about moving on. About safety. About the future. But even now, every part of you was aching from the past.

The bell over the café door chimed.

Mike stepped in like he owned the place, like this was just another day. Another mission report.

You looked up. Straightened in your seat. And waited.

“Hey,” he said, before sliding into his seat. “Didn’t think you’d pick this place. Bit sentimental, isn’t it?”

You gave a tight smile, eyes flicking to the window. “Guess I just wanted something familiar.”

Mike leaned back, draping an arm across the back of the booth like he had all the time in the world. He looked as always—same leather jacket, same easy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So?” he asked, fingers tapping lightly on the table. “What’s this about? You said it was important.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It is.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You stared down at your tea for a second before speaking. “I’m out.”

There was a pause. A blink. Then his eyes squinted. „Out?”

You swallowed. “I fucked up, Mike.”

“What do you mean? Did he find out or—?”

“I’m pregnant.” You cut him off.

“Holy shit…”

For a moment, there was only silence. Even the usual hum of the café seemed to fade.

You looked at him.. Let him see the fear, the exhaustion, the weight of everything collapsing at once.

“I didn’t plan any of it,” you said quietly. “I didn’t even know for a while. But it happened. And I’m not dragging a child into this mess.”

He blinked, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “You sure it’s his…? I mean was he the only—”

You let out a bitter little laugh. “Don’t insult me, Mike.”

Mike dragged a hand down his face, trying to process. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Shit.”

“We gotta tell the team,” Mike said finally, voice lower now. “You know what that means, right?”

You didn’t answer at first. Just sat there, staring at the window, feeling your chest cave in slowly.

“I know.”

His eyes softened. “Testifying. Full statement. Witness protection. Probably even relocation.”

You nodded once, slow. Like your head was too heavy to move any faster.

“I’ll be gone,” you murmured. “Gone for real this time.”

Mike leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

“And the baby,” you added hollowly.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. That too.”

You exhaled shakily, pressing your palms against the ceramic cup just to keep them from trembling. You had known this was coming. You’d asked for this meeting knowing exactly where it would lead.

But knowing didn’t make it easier. Knowing didn’t stop your heart from aching like something sacred was slipping through your fingers.

You looked out the window again. The sky was turning gray.

“I really didn’t mean it to be like this, Mike.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

„And I’m so afraid.”

„Hey,” he reached for your hand across the table. „You’re gonna be safe, you hear me? We’re gonna make sure of that.”

That didn’t make it better. Because James wouldn’t be there. Not for this part. And the entire idea of safety felt like a punishment.

———

It was late. The sun had dipped below the skyline an hour ago, and the city lights were just beginning to flicker to life. You rubbed your eyes as you stepped out of the cab, exhaustion clinging to your bones like fog. The meeting with Mike had drained you. The decision you’d made—finally, clearly, terrifyingly—was still echoing in your chest like the aftermath of an explosion.

You opened the building door and stepped into the elevator. You were still going back to his apartment—one last time, today. After what you told Mike, all that was left was to pack your things and prepare for the whole process to begin.

The door opened and you barely walked in before freezing in place.

James was standing in the middle of the living room.

You blinked. Once. Twice. “James?”

He turned at the sound of your voice. Looked the same. Tired, maybe. His jaw was tight, arms crossed like he was bracing for something.

You gave a small, surprised smile despite yourself. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” He hesitated. Cleared his throat. “I wanted to see if you’re fine.”

Your breath caught a little. Just a fraction. “You called me two days ago.”

“I know.”

“But you didn’t answer yesterday. Or today.”

“I know,” he said again. Then added, quietly, “I just… I had to think.”

You nodded slowly, setting your bag down by the door, trying not to read into the way his gaze lingered on your face.

“Well,” you said gently, “I’m fine.”

James didn’t look convinced. He didn’t smile. His eyes dropped to your stomach, just for a second. Just long enough.

You wrapped your arms around yourself without thinking.

“I shouldn’t be seeing you right now,” you said after a beat. “I just talked to Mike. Told him everything. It’s not safe.”

“I know that too.”

You tilted your head. “You had your people spy on me?”

He swallowed and avoided your gaze for a moment. “Maybe.”

You huffed—partly amused, but another part of you knew you deserved it.

“So why come?”

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at you with those tired eyes. “Told you. I wanted to see if you’re fine. And the baby.”

You nodded, slow. Your throat felt tight again.

„Do you know where they’re going to move you?” he asked after a beat.

You shook your head. “No. Not yet. Mike will tell the team later. I just need to pack my things and get out of here,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment. Your voice was small, like it didn’t quite belong to you.

The place already felt like a half-empty shell.

You were both silent for a moment. The kind of silence that used to feel comforting between you—shared, warm, familiar. Now it sat heavy in the air, awkward and foreign. Like you were strangers who knew too much about each other.

So you asked, even though it hurt to hear yourself say it. “Are we really done, James?… Is that it? The end?”

He didn’t answer right away. But then his jaw tensed. He swallowed hard and nodded once.

“I can’t trust you again,” he said, voice quiet but resolute. “Not after what you’ve done.”

He stood stiffly in the middle of the apartment, arms crossed like he was trying to hold himself together. Like saying it out loud might split him open.

“But I don’t want to leave this child behind,” James said, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him then. Past the anger, past the walls. Past the betrayal. And something in your expression softened—just enough to let it show. The ache. The understanding.

“You don’t have to,” you said gently. “I never wanted to shut you out.”

He let out a quiet breath, eyes darting down to the floor. „But I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “Be in their life without being in yours.”

You nodded slowly. “We’ll figure it out,” you murmured. “I mean… it’s not going to be perfect. Or easy. But if you want to be there—if you really want that—then I’m not going to stop you… Obviously. God, you know I care about you.”

He looked up at you again. And maybe for the first time in days, something in his face cracked open—just a flicker of relief, guilt, longing. All tangled.

Then he nodded, too.

„Okay.” His voice came quieter this time. Firm, but tired. Like it cost him something to say it.

“But don’t mistake it,” he continued. “I meant what I said. We’re done. Don’t get your hopes up.”

It landed like a stone in your chest. No cruelty in it, just the kind of finality that made your breath catch.

You nodded, even though it hurt more than you could ever admit.

Because god—you still loved him. Every broken, beautiful part of him. And maybe you always would.

But what could you do?

It was over.

“Will you keep me informed? When you know where you’re gonna move?” James asked.

You looked at him for a long second. Something heavy swelled in your chest—hope, ache, love, all tangled up and choking you. But you nodded. Quietly.

“Yeah. I will.”

He nodded too. Just once.

You looked down, your fingers curling around the edge of your sleeve, fidgeting. The silence stretched—quiet, thick. You didn’t lift your gaze when you said it.

“I really did love you. Still do.”

The words came out softer than you meant, barely more than breath. Like a bruise being pressed. A wound reopening.

There was a pause, then his voice—flat, almost cold.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

But something in it cracked. Just a little. A tremble tucked behind the sharpness, like it hurt him to say it.

He stepped forward. Just a few feet between you now. No warmth in it. No comfort. Just presence. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black phone—nothing flashy, just functional—and held it out to you.

“Here. It has my other number on it.”

You blinked, confused for a second, before understanding settled in. A burner. Something clean. Off the grid. A way to talk without the Bureau ever knowing.

You took it slowly, your fingers brushing his.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

He stepped back again almost immediately, like the contact burned. “Only use it if you need something. Or if it’s about the baby.”

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice.

He turned without another word.

No goodbye. No lingering glance. Just the shift of his shoulders as he headed toward the door, heavy steps muffled against the floor.

You stood there, clutching the phone he gave you like it meant something more than it did—like it was still warm from his hand.

He opened the door and for the smallest second, you thought—hoped—he might turn around. Say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

The door closed behind him and you were alone again.

———

A week passed.

Everything was settled now—at least on paper.

You had testified the day before. Just like you promised. Just enough. The bare minimum to keep James out of deeper trouble. Enough to close the chapter, but not enough to damn him completely.

They didn’t like it, but they took it.

And now you were being relocated. England.

Some city with gray skies and clean slates, they said. New name. New address. New story. The whole thing felt surreal, like you were watching someone else’s life move on without you.

You were back in the apartment—your apartment, though it didn’t feel like it anymore. The place was quiet, stripped bare, like it never belonged to you in the first place.

You sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on your stomach, the other holding the burner phone James had given you.

You stared at it for a moment. Then you opened the contacts and called James. It rang a few times before he picked up. Then you heard his voice, low and rough, like he hadn’t spoken all day.

“Yeah?”

You swallowed. “It’s me.”

A beat of silence.

“I know,” he said quietly.

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “It’s settled. I’m leaving next week.”

“Where to?”

“England.”

Another pause.

You could almost hear him shift, like he’d stood up or started pacing. “That far.”

You tried not to sob again. Tried to hold back tears, as if you had any left.

“Yeah. It’s… rather permanent, they said.”

His voice was quieter now. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

You let out a small laugh—thin, shaky. It barely passed for one.

“So… you still wanna be in the baby’s life? Even with me being halfway across the world?”

There was no hesitation in his answer.

“Yes.” Firm. Certain.

You blinked, taken aback by how steady he sounded.

“I’ll find a way,” he added. “Doesn’t matter how far you are.”

You sank deeper into the bed, hand resting gently over your stomach.

“I don’t even know what it’s gonna look like yet,” you whispered. “My life. Over there.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” James said quietly.

That made you close your eyes. Not because it helped—but because it hurt.

He still believed in you, even now.

“You say that like I didn’t fuck everything up.”

“You didn’t. Not everything.”

You opened your eyes again, staring at the ceiling. “I did, James. I did. I lied to you. I got involved in shit I shouldn’t have. And now I’m running away to another continent like a coward.”

“You’re not running,” he said. “You’re doing what you have to. For the baby.”

It was quiet after that. The kind of silence that made your chest ache.

“Do you…” You hesitated. “Do you want me to send updates? When I go to appointments or… I don’t know. When something changes?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see.

“I’ll get a new SIM when I land,” you murmured. “I’ll text you from it.”

“Okay.”

A beat. Then his voice softened, barely above a breath.

“Take care of yourself. Both of you.”

You swallowed hard.

“I will.”

You hung up. The dial tone faded, and still you sat there, phone resting on your belly like it weighed a thousand fucking pounds.

Silence settled in again. Heavier this time. Thicker.

You stared at nothing.

You were really doing this. You were going to leave the country. Change your name. Start over. Alone.

Well— Not alone. Not really.

There was the baby.

Your baby.

Your hands curled slightly over your stomach. No bump yet. No real signs, not beyond the nausea and fatigue and bone-deep fear that had crawled into your lungs and refused to let go.

God. A baby.

What the hell were you doing?

You didn’t know the first thing about raising a kid. You barely knew how to take care of yourself on the good days. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t have anyone waiting on the other side of this. Just a new passport and an empty apartment somewhere in England.

And now—this little thing. This tiny, fragile thing that hadn’t asked for any of this, hadn’t asked to be dragged into the mess of your life, and yet was already tangled up in the worst parts of it.

You pressed your palms to your eyes. Tried not to cry. Again.

You weren’t ready.

You didn’t feel like someone who should be a mother.

Not yet. Not now.

Not without him.

But there was no “with him” anymore.

You were on your own.

And you’d have to figure it out. Because no one else was going to do it for you. Because the world didn’t wait for scared girls who fucked up and got pregnant and wanted someone to hold their hand and say it’s gonna be okay.

You were the one who had to say that now.

You were the one who had to make it true.

God, you hoped you wouldn’t mess it up.

Chapter Seven soon… 💸

series tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you—you’re crossed out—it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @muchwita @its-in-the-woods @taqmari @opheliabbarnes @rabknowstheend @pineapplechuncks @infinitepersuasion @sweetesharley @adalvsseb @miss-chuchu @nandanandada @globetrotter28 @whorunthemfworld-girls @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @ruexj282 @xamapolax @bloodmocha @castawaycreature @wakemeornot @lilylilyyyyyy @rue963 @miirasarchive @fleurenoir @figtreesandmoonlight @steph88x @starstruck-cowgirl @okaytrashpanda @lovely-seb @sinistersnakey @bananaminn @readscreamrepeat @yes-ilovetowrite @g0back2bed @jbuckybarnesimp @zombi3-girlz @paristheonewhoreads @justagirlcalledaddie

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[iamthatonefangirl]

don’t call me a good girl i’ll take off my clothes

[iamthatonefangirl]

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