missvelvetsstuff

[missvelvetsstuff]

Grade-A Pain in My Ass

Chapter 11: Hold Me

masterlist

Pairing: Single dad!Bucky Barnes x Teacher!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, sexual tension, angst and hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, sex, f!reader, alcohol consumption, pregnancy

Word Count: 5.9k

gif by unearthlydust || dividers by cafekitsune

Ever since what happened with Rebecca at recess, Bucky had kept her home for the rest of the week. He’d arranged it all through Principal Bennett with absolutely no direct contact with you. He collected the rest of the week’s assignments in the main office, keeping things strictly formal, and most importantly—detached. 

Now here he was, sitting on the couch behind Rebecca while she sat on the living room floor, gently brushing her long brown hair. She sat quietly with her head hung down, absentmindedly tracing random shapes into the rug with her little finger. She hadn’t said much all day. 

Actually, she hadn’t said much for the whole week since the incident. 

Bucky had been trying everything to lift her spirits, even just a little bit. He would try to cook her  favorite meals, play her favorite movies, and even try to convince her to play Just Dance again. But still, nothing. It was hard to not remember how, just a few weeks ago, she was bright and happy playing that game with you. And you were here, laughing like you belonged. 

It was crazy how things changed. 

“What do you feel like eating for lunch?” he asked gently, the brush gliding through her hair. “I could make sandwiches… or we could fire up the grill?” 

She stayed silent, still playing with the rug with a dozed off look in her eye. 

He sighs and sets the hairbrush down. He can understand her silence, but it kills him more and more each minute she isn’t speaking. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to draw her attention back to him. “Becks, sweetheart… talk to me. Don’t shut me out.” 

Silence. 

He leans over her, nudging her shoulder a bit harsher this time. “Becks—” 

“Are you and Mommy fighting?” she asks finally, with a small and fragile voice. Her head was still hung down, still making patterns on the rug, and she didn’t turn to look at him. 

Bucky froze for a moment, removing his hand on her shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair nervously and let out a low exhale while he tried to figure out how to tread through this. 

Well, this is what you wanted, he thought to himself. You wanted her to talk. 

“I…I don’t want you calling her that anymore,” he begins carefully. 

Her finger stills in the rug and she tenses slightly, but she still doesn’t look up. “Why?” 

Bucky picked up the brush again, running it through her hair as he tried to find the right words. He didn’t want to make this situation any worse than it already was, but he had to remind her. 

“Because… she’s not your mom, Becks.” 

Even hearing the words that just came out of his own mouth hurt him. He had just encouraged the idea that you were Rebecca’s mom not that long ago, and now since the conference, he’s taking it back entirely. 

I don’t know anymore , he thinks to himself. 

I don’t want to take it back. I don’t mean it. She’s her mom. But I don’t know what I want. I don’t know anything anymore. 

This time she turns to look back at him. The expression she wore on her face nearly shattered him. It was a mixture of pain, disappointment, anger, and sadness—all tangled up in one little girl’s glare. He didn’t know a little girl like Rebecca could even experience that many emotions at once. He always tried his best to keep her happy and safe, so seeing her like this was like a gunshot right through his heart. 

“She’s not my mom because she’s my teacher?” she asked, her voice tighter now. “Is that why? Just like the other kids said?”

Bucky sat there completely frozen with wide eyes. The way she said it… so direct and so serious, it made her sound so much older than she actually was. She didn’t sound like his little girl at all. He just stared at her, stunned. He had never heard Rebecca speak to him like that before. And if he’d been at a loss for words earlier, now he didn’t have the faintest idea how to respond.

“Becca—”

She stood up abruptly, her little hands clenched at her sides as she glared at him. “Is it true?” Her voice was still filled with all the anger a child could muster, but her trembling bottom lip gave away her sadness.

“No,” Bucky said quickly, his throat dry. He felt like he was being reprimanded now, and he wasn’t liking it. “No, baby. Just because she’s your teacher doesn’t mean she can’t be your mom—”

“Then where is she!” Rebecca shouted, her voice rising, cheeks flushing a deep red. “Why isn’t she here with us! Isn’t she part of our family?”

He sat there frozen, his mouth agape and his words caught in his throat. He’d wanted her to open up and stop shutting him down, but every word she was hurling at him was like a punch. But still, he had to try and keep his composure for her sake. 

“Sweetheart—” 

“She just dropped off my homework at the main office but didn’t even say hi to me!” she cried, her loud voice cracking. “Why won’t she talk to me? Why doesn’t she want to see me?” 

Her tiny foot stomped against the rug in frustration, her face scrunching up with every effort to not break down crying. “Why don’t I have a mom, Daddy? Why not me?!”

“Enough!” he yells out, surging to his feet from the couch. He completely towered over her now, angry. 

His presence was so big that it swallowed the whole living room. Rebecca looked up at him, the fire in her eyes extinguishing in a heartbeat. Her lips parted in shock, and the tears that she had been holding back were finally spilling over, all at once. 

Just like that, the fierce girl was gone and replaced by a small child, who was shaken and scared. But Bucky… was too frustrated now to even notice. 

His chest was heaving, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to contain the rage and the helplessness that was coursing through him. He hadn’t meant to shout—he never shouted at his little girl. But in the heat of the moment, the pain in her words, the guilty feeling eating at him, it all came spilling out at once. He saw her flinch at the sound of his voice. Her shoulders jerked up, recoiling like she’d been physically hit—even though he would never lay a hand on her. 

The sight was unbearable. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to handle this without making it worse. 

“Go to your room,” Bucky said sharply with a low exhale, trying to keep himself composed. 

She didn’t move. She just kept looking up at her dad with her pained blue eyes. 

“I said go,” he demanded again as he pointed towards the staircase. “Now, Rebecca!” 

She blinked up at him, lips still trembling, but she didn’t argue. She sniffled and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Then she turned on her heel, disappearing down the hallway and up the stairs. He heard her little stomps all the way up to her room, her bedroom door slamming hard enough to make the picture frames in the hallway shake. 

And just like that, her daughter shut him out again. 

Bucky buried his face in his hands, dragging his palms down slowly as he let out a heavy and exhausted sigh. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He sinks back down onto the couch with his head hung low, eyes glued to the floor in shame. 

He yelled at her. 

He yelled at her. 

All he wanted was for her to talk to him. But he wasn’t ready for what she had to say. And the way she looked at him… with those blue eyes that were wide with fear and hurt. It pained him. He should’ve known better, he should’ve just given her space and let her come to him when she was ready. But no. He had to be a terrible father and push too hard, resulting in him losing his temper. 

And now she was upstairs alone, thinking that her dad was an asshole, and that she didn’t deserve a mom like the other kids.

A mom… like you . 

Ever since that day in the principal’s office, he’d been bottling everything up and keeping his distance. But the guilt, the pressure, the stress—it all came crashing down today in the worst possible way. His daughter was in tears again, just like when he picked her up early after being called in by the principal. 

Except this time, he was the reason why. 

“Fuck, fuck !” he cursed, eyes squeezing shut as he gripped at his hair, tugging it in frustration. He was spiraling, now remembering the last time he saw you. The way you looked at him, like he’d broken your heart. 

It hurt. God, everything hurts. 

And now seeing that same level of devastation on his daughter’s face, it shattered him completely. How had he managed to hurt the only two people in the world he ever truly loved? How could he be a terrible father, and a partner to you, all at once? 

He knew he needed to make things right, but where was he even supposed to start? This was exactly why he didn’t let anyone else in. 

It would only lead to heartache.

You’d spent the past three days buried in bed, not being bothered to move. 

After that awful conference with Principal Bennett and Bucky, you’d tried to push through the rest of the week like nothing had happened. You kept your head up, pretending everything was fine in a sad attempt to keep the gossip from spiraling even further. You were so tired of the whispers and the silent judgement, so you forced a smile and continued teaching just to prove to everyone that nothing was wrong.

But on the inside, you were falling apart. 

When you dropped off Rebecca’s assignments at the front office, you expected to just hand it to Principal Bennett—who would then hand it over to Bucky—and then leave. But what you didn’t expect was to see Bucky already there, waiting. With Rebecca sitting right beside him. 

Knowing them, Bucky had likely told her to wait in the car. But Rebecca, stubborn and as sweet as ever, must have insisted on coming in. Probably just for a chance to see you. 

You spotted them as you stepped into the office. Bucky’s back was turned, arms crossed and stiff as always. But Rebecca… she saw you immediately, like she was waiting for you. Her wide blue eyes lit up with hope, and she sat up straighter in her chair. Then she waited, waiting for you to say something, to do something. 

But you didn’t. You bit your lip and looked away, pretending you didn’t see her. 

It hurt. It hurt you so bad. It tore you apart. You wanted to run over to her, scoop her up in your arms and hold her until every doubt and rumor vanished—but you couldn’t. You were her teacher, and more than that, you had to respect her father’s wishes. Even if it felt like he didn’t respect you at all. 

After just two days of trying to teach through the pain, you finally told Principal Bennett that you weren’t feeling well. It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. He understood and gave you the rest of the week off while the substitute took your place. So, whatever attempt you made to try and dispel the rumors completely unraveled the minute you called off. 

Now you were here, curled up in bed with a silver spoon scraping the bottom of an empty ice cream tub. All while some overly sentimental rom-com played on the TV. God, you hated this feeling. The last time you’d do anything like this was after your divorce. But somehow, this hurt worse. Way worse. 

You sniffled, frowning down at the container. “No…” you whimpered, eyes swelling with tears. Wait. Were you seriously crying over empty ice cream? 

You sat up straight, the blanket falling around your waist as you wiped your cheek with your fingers, feeling the dampness. “What the hell is wrong with me—” 

But before you could get the words out, you felt it. 

Without thinking, you immediately jumped out of bed, the ice cream tub and spoon hitting the floor with a thud . You rushed to the bathroom, swinging the door open. You lifted the toilet lid and dropped to your knees, retching violently into the bowl. 

You’ve been having these urges for a while. The urge to just… throw up out of nowhere. This was the second time that you actually did it. At first, you thought that it was just the anxiety and the depression of the breakup, or whatever the hell you and Bucky were at right now. But you’ve also been having these weird cravings, all while not being able to stomach anything. 

The last time you felt this way was—

No. No way. There was no way in hell you were pregnant. That was impossible. You’d spent years trying with your ex-husband and had nothing to show for it. But now, after one messy, beautiful, tragic relationship with Bucky and suddenly… this? 

No. Nope. You shook your head, but then came the second wave.

You hunched forward once more, vomiting again.

Fuck . Pregnant or not, there was only one way to find out. You needed to take a test. And since it had been a long time since you'd even needed to think about something like that, of course, you didn’t have any at home.

You dragged yourself up, brushed your teeth, splashed your face with cold water, and threw on the first remotely acceptable outfit you could find. You grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

You still felt terrible, and you wanted nothing more than to just go back to bed like nothing ever happened, but you knew you couldn’t ignore this feeling anymore. At the very least, buying a test would ease your mind. And while you were out… you might as well pick up more ice cream too.

The corner grocery store was close by. It was only a few blocks from the school, and the last thing you needed was to run into a student’s parent. So you pulled your hoodie up, kept your head down, and moved quickly.

First stop, frozen section. One tub of ice cream. Easy. Next stop, the health aisle. Your fingers hovered briefly before grabbing the box. You didn’t even look at the brand. You just wanted it done.

Then, you made your way to the checkout section. Anyone who walked by could probably guess what kind of day you were having. You had a pregnancy test in one hand and a tub of ice cream in another. Plus, you looking like shit definitely tied this all together. 

You glanced down at the test, eyes skimming the back of the box. Your chest tightened with that familiar feeling. All of the times you’d taken this test before, all the times the result came back negative… the memories were rushing back to you like a nightmare. The feeling of being heartbroken, the disappointment. It had taken years to make peace with that chapter of your life. 

So, what if this one came back positive? Would you be happy knowing that you’re able to conceive again? 

But it didn’t matter. You weren’t there yet. You shouldn’t be dwelling on these stupid what if situations. You just had to pay, go home, and finish your sad little movie. 

But you were jolted out of your thoughts when you bumped hard into someone’s shoulder. He didn’t stop walking. 

Seriously? What a dick. 

“Excuse me!” you snapped, your voice harsher than you expected. You had just meant to throw that out as a petty remark and then keep walking, expecting him to just ignore you. 

Except he didn’t. 

The man halted in his tracks, turning halfway with a bag of dinosaur nuggets in one hand and Goldfish crackers in the other.

“Watch where the hell you’re going—” 

He stopped mid-sentence.

And then he saw you.

Bucky’s eyes flickered to your face, then down to your clothes, and finally to the items in your hands. His expression shifted instantly—you saw it. His eyes widened and his lips parted in pure disbelief. 

Oh, no. No, no, no. 

You were hoping not to see any parents today, and of all the people to run into, it had to be him. 

Your heart jumped out of your chest. You said nothing. Instead, you just turn on your heel and head for the checkout. You clutched the pregnancy box to your chest as a poor attempt to hide it. But maybe if you moved fast enough, he wouldn’t be able to get a good look. 

“Wait—” he calls out to you, and you can already hear his heavy footsteps towards you. But you ignore him. You didn’t stop. You just keep walking. You can’t look at him, you can’t speak to him. If you do, you’ll start crying on the spot. 

You reached for the register, fumbling to scan your items. With a shaky but quick hand, you scanned your ice cream first. Then— 

But before you could scan the test, Bucky’s hand tightens around your wrist. You flinched at the sudden contact, instinctively trying to pull back, but he lifted your wrist just enough to see what you were holding.  

His voice was low, rough, and confused. “What is this?” 

You pulled your wrist free from his grip, quickly scanning the test and shoving it into the plastic bag. Your hands trembled as you dug through your purse for your wallet.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly. 

He lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “Nothing?” His tone was sharp and filled with frustration. “You’re buying a pregnancy test and you’re telling me it’s nothing?” 

You finally pulled your wallet out. “Not just a pregnancy test…” you mumbled, pulling out your credit card. “I’m buying ice cream, too.” 

“Oh, hilarious,” he snapped sarcastically, stepping in front of you as he pulled out his own card. He nudged you aside with a light shove and swiped his payment instead.

Normally you would protest, but you don’t. You can’t be bothered fighting with him right now. As he’s punching in his pin, you snatched the plastic bag from the counter and turned, heading straight for the exit without another word.

“Wait—” he called behind you, grabbing the receipt and hurrying after you. “ Jesus, are you being serious right now?” he barked in disbelief.

He didn’t even realize he didn’t pay for his own items until a worker stopped him. He just mumbled something grumpily and handed her the dinosaur nuggets and Goldfish crackers before heading after you in a hurry. 

You kept your head low as you were speed walking through the parking lot until you reached your car. You unlocked the door and opened it, but before you could slip inside, Bucky caught up to you quickly and slammed your door shut with one heavy hand. He stayed there, keeping you boxed in between his body and the vehicle.

“Bucky, leave me alone—” 

“No,” he huffs, leaning in closer. “Are you… do you think you’re…” He trails off.

You sigh in frustration. “It’s none of your business.” 

His jaw clenched at your words and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just gazes into your eyes, like he’s trying to read your mind. 

Eventually he sighs and speaks softer now. “How is this not my business?” he asks quietly. “If there’s even the slightest chance… I mean—are you… have you been feeling sick?” 

He’s stumbling on his words now, and even in your frustration, you can’t help but feel bad for him. This is what happens when you love someone deeply. 

“How I’ve been feeling has nothing to do with you,” you replied, your voice calm and stern. “It’s not your concern anymore.” 

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? Why would you say that?” 

You let out a breath, your shoulders sinking as your eyes dropped to the ground. You hadn’t said it aloud yet, but just the mere thought of it was enough to make you breakdown. “Because you shut me out.”

That made him flinch. His posture stiffened, and the guilt washed over his face so plainly it almost hurt to look at him. But you continued anyway. 

“This is why you don’t let anyone in, right? So that stuff like this doesn’t concern you?” you say as you raise the shopping bag up, silently referring to the pregnancy test. “I heard you loud and clear. You said you shouldn’t have done this. That you should’ve known better.” 

Your voice cracked. The tears you’d been holding back finally broke free, streaking down your cheeks. And you didn’t care who saw. You were hurting, angry, heartbroken—and all of it was bleeding out right there in the middle of the parking lot. 

You hated him. And you loved him. And that’s what made this whole thing so unbearable.

How dare he try to be there now, after everything? After pushing you away, after making you feel like a mistake? After making you feel like you didn’t belong in Rebecca’s life, like you had no place? 

It just hurts so bad. You want Rebecca back. You want Bucky back. But it’s clear he doesn’t want you in their life. 

Bucky just stood there, taking a step back. He was frozen, and he didn’t know what to say. No more stupid remarks, no more hollow words of comfort. He just stood there. 

“You’re right,” you scoffed bitterly. “We shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have gone to that stupid bar before the school year started. I shouldn’t have gotten close to Rebecca. I shouldn’t have bet a thousand dollars on you. And I shouldn’t have agreed to your stupid date.” 

He takes a step closer, his face scrunched up in pain. You were hurting him, but you didn’t care. You were hurting too—in the principal's office, at the parking lot where he was saying his regrets right in front of you as if you weren’t there. 

You shoved him at his chest, forcing him to stumble back despite his size. 

“And most importantly…” you said, your hand trembling as you gripped the door handle, “I shouldn’t have believed you when you told me everything was going to be okay. Because it’s not.”

You yanked open the car door, slid into the driver’s seat, and slammed it shut before he could get any word in. 

And then you drove away, leaving him behind in the parking lot.

Just like how he left you.

You finally made it home with a pregnancy test and your now half-melted ice cream. The moment the door shut behind you, you kicked off your shoes and tossed the tub back into the freezer without looking. You didn’t care about the mess. You didn’t care about anything except getting this over with.

You headed straight for the bathroom.

After taking the test, you paced the floor like a storm, chewing on your fingernail, heart pounding in your chest. The seconds felt like hours. You were a complete mess. You were frantic and overwhelmed. The image of Bucky at the store kept replaying in your head, that look on his face, the pain in his eyes.

So many thoughts were running through your head. What if you were pregnant, then what? You’d finally be carrying the child you used to dream about. A family. A future. Just… not with anyone by your side. Not with a partner. But that’s fine, right? Plenty of strong, capable women do this on their own. You could be one of them.

You glanced at the clock. Three minutes had passed. You still hadn’t looked.

Your eyes hovered near the counter where the test was sitting, but you refused to look directly at it. Because the second you saw it, everything would change.

You took one deep breath, then another. Then, finally, you looked down. 

And you see two pink lines staring back at you. 

You let out a sharp and breathless laugh. Your knees buckled beneath you, and crumpled to the bathroom floor, your hands clutching the sink counter. 

“I’m pregnant…” you whispered. Then you repeat, louder this time, like you’re trying to convince yourself. “I’m… pregnant.” 

You’re able to conceive. You could do this. You could raise a child. You were capable. You were strong. You were going to be a mother, but you were alone. You had no partner, no husband, no one to hold your hand through this. 

And most importantly, no Bucky. 

Then the tears came pouring out, relentless and all at once.

And maybe that should be okay. You should feel happy about this. This is what you wanted, right? 

Everything’s going to be okay. 

You repeated the lie over and over, that maybe if you said it enough, then it’d actually soothe the storm inside you. If Bucky didn’t mean it when he told you that, then surely, you can mean it for yourself. Right?

Everything will be okay…  

You curled up on the cold tile, cheek pressed to the floor, the sobs finally escaping in full. 

No. 

It wasn’t okay. It wouldn’t be. You were terrified. You didn’t want to be pregnant alone. You didn’t want to give birth without someone beside you.

You already had a daughter. Her name was Rebecca Barnes.

And you loved her like she was your own. You were a mother already, and you lost her. You’ve already gone through the horrors of a miscarriage, and yet you’d do it over and over again if it meant having Rebecca back in your arms. 

That realization cracked you open all over again. You clutched your stomach as the cries poured out. Your thoughts in combination with your sobs were so loud, so overwhelming, you couldn’t hear anything beyond them.

Not even the knocking at your front door.

Not even your name, shouted over and over by a deep, desperate voice.

“Let me in!”

Pounding. More shouting. But everything hurts. You can’t bring yourself to get up. Despite the tile floor being cold, it was the only thing comforting you. 

“Open the damn door!” 

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. You just continued to lay there, crying and lost in the ache. It was not okay. Nothing was ever okay. This was what he was afraid of. This was why he didn’t want to let anyone in. 

He said he loved you, yet he regretted you. 

“If you don’t open the door, I swear to God—I’m going to break it down.”

On the other side of the front door, Bucky was met with cold silence. He knew you were in there, because after running into you at the grocery store, he called Steve to watch over Rebecca at his house, then he followed you straight home. 

He couldn’t wait another second anymore. He’s been patient enough. He glanced around briefly, making sure no neighbors were eavesdropping or watching him—a beefy and scary looking man—about to break into his girlfriend’s home. 

When the coast was clear, he took a step back, bracing his body before slamming his shoulder into the door. He did this once, twice, and by the third time, the old hinges finally broke in with a crack. The door was sent flying open and crashing against the wall. 

His chest heaved as he rushed inside. “Where are you?” he called out loudly in a panic. 

He looked around frantically in hopes to find you in the living room. Then he heard it—your muffled and broken sobs coming from the bathroom. Without thinking, Bucky followed it. His feet moved on instinct, faster than his thoughts, until he found you.

You were crumpled on the cold tile floor, curled in on yourself like you were trying to become smaller, like you were your only source of comfort. Every shaky breath and choked sob that escaped you tore at him. You looked so helpless, so fragile. 

All he could think about was getting to you—holding you, being there for you when you needed him the most. 

He made soft and careful steps towards you, like one wrong move might shatter you completely, like glass. He didn’t even notice the positive pregnancy test that you were once holding now laid on the floor. Because right now, it didn’t matter. What mattered to him most was taking care of you first. 

“Hey, hey…” he says softly as he drops to his knees beside you. “I’m here, baby.” 

Gently and carefully, he reached out and brushed your hair away from your face. His heart broke at the sight of you like this, covered in tears and trembling. 

You didn’t respond. You didn’t even lift your head. But when his arms wrapped around you and he pulled you carefully into his lap, you didn’t resist. You flinched at first, startled by how easily he moved you, how solid his embrace felt… but you didn’t pull away.

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered, rocking you gently as he strokes your hair. “Shh, I’m here…” 

You’re lifted from the cold tile into his warm embrace. The arms that you love so much held you dearly as he rocked you back and forth gently. You hated yourself for how easy it was for you to melt into his arms, even though you were supposed to be mad at him right now. Your hands clenched onto his shirt as you sobbed into his chest. 

“Bucky…” you choked out, barely able to breathe through your crying. “I’m… I’m—” 

“I know, baby girl,” he murmured softly. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be—” 

“No it’s not!” you interrupt with a voice crack, holding onto him tighter. “You always say that, but you don’t—you never... actually mean it.” 

He tensed under you for a moment before lifting his hands to gently tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. His expression was traced with guilt and his eyes were full of regret. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping your tears. “I never should’ve left you in that parking lot. I never should’ve said any of that. I was scared… Rebecca was hurting, and seeing you hurt too, it broke me. And instead of dealing with it, I shut down.” 

His voice cracks at the end, and his face scrunches with every effort it takes to not fall apart. He needed to be strong. He needed to be there for you. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t regret us. Not for a second. The only thing I regret is making you think I ever did.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at him with glossy and puffy eyes. Your breathing was uneven and shallow. There were so many feelings running through you. You were scared about being pregnant, you were mad at him for making you feel this way, but you were happy that he was here to hold you. 

So, you stayed in his arms. 

Bucky held you tighter. 

“I love you,” he whispered with a shaky breath. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t wanted. You are. You’re everything to me.” He pressed his forehead gently against yours, his thumb still stroking your cheek. 

“You’re my family,” he continued softly. “You and Rebecca. You’re her mom. That’s never changed, and it’s not going to.” 

Your breath hitched, and your hand curled tighter into his shirt. 

“She’s not my only baby,” you finally whispered. “I’m pregnant.”  

Bucky’s eyes never left yours. His expression softens, a small smile forming as he holds you closer to him. “I know, sweetheart.” 

And it’s like the realization of being pregnant hits you all over again. God. You were pregnant. And you have Bucky now. You have someone who is going to hold your hand through this, but what if you lose it again? What if you go through another miscarriage, spiral downhill, and Bucky won’t be there to catch you? What if he just gives up on you like your ex-husband did? Leaving you alone to deal with the mess yourself? 

Your body trembles, and your face contorts to prepare for another round of crying. Bucky sees this, and both of his hands find your face, holding you gently to keep you grounded. 

“Hey, hey…” he whispers reassuringly. “Don’t cry, my beautiful girl. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this. Together.” 

“I’m scared, Bucky.” 

“I know,” he presses a kiss to your head. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

You let out a broken sniffle, and Bucky rubs your back in slow, soothing circles. You two stay like that for a moment, the only sound of you whimpering and sniffling filling the air.

“Rebecca’s finally going to have a sibling,” he says softly, a breathless laugh slipping out. “She’s gonna be over the moon.”

A small laugh escapes you. 

You can already picture it—Rebecca’s little face lighting up, her excitement practically bursting out of her. She’d probably wrap a superhero cape around her newborn sibling and try to teach them how to fly before they could even sit up.

“I miss her,” you whisper.

“She misses you too,” Bucky replies without hesitation.

You lift your eyes to meet his, a small frown tugging at your lips. “I want to see her.”

His expression softens, thumb brushing away the tears that were lingering under your eyes. “She’s home with Steve. Do you want to go now?”

You nod, almost shyly.

His smile widens as he leans in and presses a soft and gentle kiss to your lips. Then another to your cheek, and one more to your forehead. “So fucking adorable,” he mutters.

You let out a weak little whine as he gets to his feet, still holding onto you, his arms gentle but firm as he helps you stand. You smooth down your clothes with a tired sigh.

“I should change,” you say, looking down at yourself. “I look like shit.”

He shakes his head.“No, you don’t. You look beautiful.”

You give him a skeptical glance, your frown deepening. “I don’t want Rebecca to see me like this.”

“So what?” he says, shrugging. “You’re vulnerable. And beautiful. It’s okay for Rebecca to see that. I want her to know that being strong doesn’t mean hiding your feelings. I want her to see that from her mom.”

Your heart melts, and a sad smile tugs at your lips.

He steps in closer, takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. Then he leans down to pick up the pregnancy test off the floor. He looks at it for a moment, then holds it up with a proud little smile that reminds you so much of Rebecca. 

And your heart crumbles in the best way possible. 

“Come on,” he says quietly, blue eyes bright. “Let’s go give our little girl some big news.”

back || next

[missvelvetsstuff]

Could I request a Bucky Barnes x Reader enemies to lovers? Maybe they knew each other back in the hydra days or something and both didn't know each other was also the victim and just associated them with hydra still? Something good n angsty.

Hullo nonnie! Ofc you can! I tried making it below 1k for the challenge and just about succeeded. Thanks for the ask!

Shadowing

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!reader

Tags/warnings: Angsty, enemies to lovers, implied HYDRA stuff but really not much, implied smut, Bucky being an ass, canon typical violence, not beta'd

Summary: You join the team and for one team member, it's on sight.

Word Count: 933

Navigation | 500 Follower Mini-Celebration Masterlist

Out of all of the Thunderbolts, no one would have expected Bucky to be the one to throw himself at you. Literally.

You had been unassuming, stoic even, stood beside Valentina in a pinstripe pantsuit that screamed elegantly dangerous. However, everyone else had assumed you were a scary HR Person, or worse, the Budget Person. Given Alexei's spending habits on merch that was 100% copyright infringement it would make sense but with Bucky throwing punches with his metal arm everyone was in a tailspin.

"They're dodging," Yelena realises after a moment, watching you weave and dip your way around Bucky - occasionally blocking with your wrist. "They're blocking Bucky."

Everyone stalls to watch and they're right. You're not even breaking a sweat, either.

"They're HYDRA," Bucky grits out as you sweep his legs and he lands with a thud on his back.

You stare him down with a look of distaste, like you considered spitting at him, and Bucky bares his teeth. "Not anymore."

"Well," Valentina claps her hands together, getting everyone's attention. "What an introduction. This is our newest avenger, Y/N."

Valentina punctuates the word avenger like the power of word would remove all the lawsuits and empower the team. But it doesn't.

"Y/N, have you met Ava? She can do this thing where…"

You turn your back on Bucky and listen to Valentina, letting her introduce you to your new team whilst Bucky skulks away to lick his wounds.

He'd have to keep an eye on you.

🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾

"Can you stop staring? It's annoying."

"No."

You sigh and flip your pancake. Even after two team missions and three months with the Thunderbolts*/New Avengers/Avengerz - Bucky is your shadow. Thick folded arms and a piercing glare got old real fast when that was all he'd do. Conversation was short - cold, even - and only when mandatory.

On missions, he'd volunteer to go with you each time and almost stopped you from saving everyone with a plan once because he was paranoid you would purposefully put them in harm's way.

"Do you want a pancake at least?"

"…no."

"Suit yourself." You shrug, flopping the final pancake onto your stack before smothering it in maple syrup and moving to the dining table.

Bucky, of course, moves with you. "Enough syrup?"

"It speaksh." You garble nonchalantly around fluffy pancake, scrolling on your phone. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

"Having that stick up your ass twenty-four-seven?"

Bob, who was about to greet you both, immediately turned on his heel upon hearing the bickering begin.

Bucky huffs and folds his arms. "I saw you. More than once."

You raise an eyebrow at him and proceed to mimic his tone back at him. "I saw you. More than once."

Bucky frowns. You roll your eyes.

"I just want to enjoy a nice stack of pancakes." You grumble, stabbing at the stack with your fork.

"Bad people don't-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" You get to your feet and snatch your plate, glowering at Bucky. "I know I'm a bad person, alright? I'm just trying to do some good for once."

You stomp in the direction of your room but not before adding, "Thanks for making it difficult!"

🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾

Bucky felt bad.

In an odd turn of events, and a stern talking to from Alexei of all people, Bucky ended up feeling guilty about all he'd put you through.

Knocking your door gently, he stood with his gaze on his feet, thinking of how to best apologise. However when you opened the door and Bucky could see that you had been crying, he physically shrank.

"What do you want?"

"I…um, I came to apologise." Bucky says stiffly. "For everything."

You don't slam the door in his face which is a good thing. "Alright."

"Can I come in?"

You regard him for a moment before nodding and then opening the door wider, allowing him into your space. He steps inside gingerly, taking in the barren room. It reminded him of his first apartment when he came back from the Snap.

"You wanna know what I did, huh?" You give him a wry smile.

Bucky shakes his head. "No. You don't need to tell me. I shouldn't have…"

He trails for a moment and then clears his throat, gesturing to one of the only items in your room that stood out.

"Cute bear."

"Thanks." You say, following his gaze. "My dad won it for me when I was eight at Coney Island."

"Man, the old guy that used to run it made a buck and a half offa me in the thirties." Bucky chuckles and you snort.

"It's his grandson that still runs it."

"No way." Bucky barks incredulously.

"Way." You grin at him then and Bucky finds breathing more difficult than usual. "Quite the womaniser back in the day, I take it?"

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, looking embarassed. "Yes and no. Sometimes I would take Steve to make him feel better about something but-"

Your gazes meet and his eyes twinkle. You both know he had a different woman on his arm each time he went.

"I'm glad they took your money." You laugh and Bucky smiles.

From there conversation flows easily, like three months of shadowing never occurred. And when you decide to take a team trip to Coney Island the following month after a mission (to both Bob and Alexei's excitement) you bet Bucky he can't win a prize. You lose the bet horrifically and are forced to carry home a freakish looking teddy and keep one Bucky Barnes in your bed.

🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾🦾

Taglist TBA

Follow @grems-library for fic reblogs

[missvelvetsstuff]

The Purple Titan

prompt: ( requested ) after a fight, Bucky goes to work while you blow off steam at a club for your friend's birthday. chaos ensues. -> "a bit of angst, hurt comfort and fluff... when they['re] mad at each other"

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 7.3k+

warnings: some general angst, relationship angst (couples argue), emotions are hard, a whisper of the threat of financial abuse, a hint of self sabotage, alcohol consumption, reader is NOT the mom friend in this, couple of named background OC's (some Marvel, some not), unwanted / unwelcome advances and touching [from a man], violence, brief mention of guns / gunshots, depiction of blood, Scott Lang is a GEM, Lord's name in vain, use of Y/N, kinda abrupt ending.

Few things in the world could ruin your fabulous mood as you danced (cautiously) out of the shower stall and into your robe. Music played at a moderate volume through the steam; taking care to dry off, lotion up, wrap your hair to dry, and do your moisturizing skincare routine. You were primping and preening in preparation for that night, intending to spend it care-free with good friends, hot outfits, strong drinks, and shitty music - but hey, you win some, you lose some.

This evening was your best friend's birthday and she had decided to celebrate this year after a decade-long hiatus. It was a sure promise to be a memorable occasion, and in a stroke of luck, the weather held out so you could wear something you thought was tasteful yet tantalizing. Feeling like a wet seal, you opened the bathroom door before sitting at the personalized vanity your boyfriend of 3 years commissioned for you. Knowing your night was sure to be heated and sweaty and clammy, you opted for minimal make-up with nearly zero face products while trying to stay on the lighter (read: sparkly) side for pictures.

"Peach?" You heard your boyfriend call from the hallway.

"In here!"

Using your phone to turn the music down, you watched in the mirror as Bucky's thumping footsteps turned into his meaty form behind you. "Hey, pretty girl," he greeted with a kiss to the crown of your head, leaning his weight on the wall after. "Ooh, what'chu gettin' fancy for, baby? I like that eyeshadow - very glittery." The smile immediately dropped from your face and Bucky noticed. He went pale, asking your reflection with wide eyes, "What?"

"Are you serious? Or just messing with me?" You asked, lowering the make-up brush from your face to stare at him expressionless in the mirror. "'Cause I don't find it funny."

"I want to answer, but it feels like a trap," he tried to joke. "What'd I say?"

"Bucky, I reminded you this morning about tonight."

"Remind me again, please, it's been a long day, doll. We got a turf war gettin' outta line so I gotta work tonight, too."

"It's Sidney's birthday!"

"Woah, hey, okay, don't get loud with me, I just got home," Bucky scoffed, pushing off the wall - a telltale sign he meant to walk away.

Before he could, you asked, "Why does it suddenly just feel like you're not going anymore? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Listen, peach," he sighed.

"Are you serious!? Tell me you're joking!" You rounded on him, standing from your chair. "Oh, my God, Bucky! For weeks, we've had this plan! Dinner, drinks, dancing! You're supposed to come with me - you said you were, you committed, but now you're bailing? At the last minute? After I already shaved? Again?"

"I gotta work tonight, I'm sorry! All right? Fuck's sake, this shit just happens, it's not like I'm the one who started the war - but you better believe I gotta be the one who ends it. It's outta my hands, baby, this is just one of them unavoidable things."

"It's a little exhausting when this always conveniently happens around events I personally classify as important!"

"That's not true."

"No? When we agreed to go to my cousin's college grad - "

"That was two fucking years ago!"

"Exactly! And what happened!?"

He glared at you, answering with a growl, "I had to fly to New Orleans for work."

"And when my parents wanted us to come to their 50th anniversary party? What then?"

"You went alone 'cause I had to settle a shipping dispute in Miami."

"What about my birthday, Buck?"

"Oh, don't throw that in my face!"

"We were at the fucking airport, James, already through TSA! But when work calls, you drop everything and run!"

"The warehouse was literally on fire! How do you not get that by now?"

"I can't have this argument again," you stressed, tired of the repetitive dismissal instead of the actual conversation you needed to have for resolution and peace.

"I don't know what you want me to say!"

"I don't think I want you to say anything, you say enough as is. Why don't you try showing me - proving to me you're still in this relationship and it's not just me."

"Oh, don't be dramatic."

You scoffed, "Tell me the last time you came with me to anything that was 'my' event. I don't mean our friends, I don't mean my work, I don't mean social obligations. When was the last time you came to anything meaningful with me?" When he had no response except the aversion of his eyes, you frowned and just shook your head, "You know what? Fine, it's fine, it's fine, this is allllll fiiiiiine! you go to work - like always - and I'll go to this event alone - like always."

"Only reason you're able to go to any these kinds of Goddamn events in the first place is because of me. So, yeah, maybe I don't go to 'em, big fuckin' deal - but I'm busy working for the money you fuckin' burn through."

Your eyes widened, shot straight in the chest by his words. His eyes widened, unaware when he even loaded the smoking gun.

"W-What? What the fuck did you just say?" You breathed unevenly. "Oh, I fucking knew it! You callin' me a gold digger?"

"No, no, no, no, no, hang on, no, no, no, I didn't mean it, sugar, hang on - "

"I think you should go get ready for work now and leave me alone," you shied back from his approach enough to bump into the vanity. Bucky frowned at the action, hating how much you looked like a deer in headlights, or a scared, caged animal backed into a corner. He backed off as if having been physically struck before swiftly vacating the bathroom with a deep sigh. You turned the music off completely and curled your arms around yourself; feeling nauseous once alone. All you could do was wonder how long those words had brewed in his mind, surely being twice as long as they've sat on his tongue.

The weight of crushing hurt overwhelmed you like a flood.

You finished your make-up and hair while recalling how after an emergency left you destitute, Bucky insisted he would pay for your education (and few other accompanying bills) so you could just work and save your own paychecks to rebuild what you had lost. "Just for 6 months," he promised. It was a huge relief and you're now ashamed to admit you had grown to appreciate his generosity after finding the ability to comfortably fund basic needs terribly relieving. On top of that, in this day and age, to have an actual savings account was simply a privilege you relished having. You should've protested harder. Should've refused Bucky for another 6 weeks, then another and another - which would've brought you to now - and then another. This was exactly why you never borrowed money or let anyone have any kind of hand or influence in your finances: it can be used against you.

There was no doubt about the pay disparage between your career and Bucky's. While both were hardworking, you had a more humble job; something that gave you healthcare but not a lot of cash cushion, you know? On the other hand, Bucky made more in a month than you could fathom in a lifetime - it was obscene amounts of money. So when he offered to pay for you, you refused because you still had a sense of humility and independence; worried about taking advantage of him after already living together in a gorgeous downtown high-rise he paid for.

Bucky assured that he knew you loved him for him, that you weren't taking advantage of him, that he wanted to help because that's what you do for the people you love. You were stubborn in your refusal.

It wasn't a secret you and Bucky were in VASTLY different tax brackets and social classes. You had actually refused to date Bucky seriously because of the fear of the stigma of being labeled a gold digger; but the sweet boy convinced you money was never an object to him. He assured it would never matter how much he had, how much you had - because as long as you both had this great love, neither could ever be broke or unequal in wealth.

Yet, what happened? Exactly what you had feared.

For 3 years, you despised yet gracefully endured the rumors hissed about you obviously being a gold digger; using Bucky for his money and influence citing how convenient it was you found the means to return to higher education. Nevermind you worked (over) full time and still earned multiple scholarships and grants. Nevermind you were saving while simultaneously working towards higher-paying promotions at your job. Nevermind that despite being unable to ever afford Bucky's lifestyle, but still demanded to pay equally into this relationship before marriage - covering all utilities and such since he covered rent.

He understood your want for equality, to prove to yourself (and perhaps, others) that you weren't taking advantage of him. Bucky respected the hell out of this, knowing you were raised to never depend on anyone (especially a man); but after finding you in a panic attack severe enough to call 911 for, he knew this arrangement couldn't continue. So, he convinced you to let him cover more expenses to lessen the stressful burden on you.

So now, for him to throw anything financial in your face was the lowest blow possible. It struck something deeply insecure within your heart.

You entered the ensuite bedroom to find your outfit on the bed, suddenly crushingly insecure about the objectively scandalous option. You fingered the price tag - nothing lucratively expensive, but still, in tact - and decided to return the pretty little number when you felt embarrassed by how desperate it now looked. In the walk-in closet, you tossed the dress on a hanger and left it on the over-the-door hook; then perusing options for something new to wear. Your energy had depleted into mere obligation.

You heard Bucky approaching.

"Hey, you done in the bathroom?" He asked, watching you from the mouth of the closet.

"Yeah, go 'head."

He nodded and from your peripheral, walked away before doubling back in frame. He asked, "Thought you already picked out what to wear? Somethin' wrong with it?"

"Just changed my mind."

Bucky didn't say anything, leaving you alone after the harsh tick to your tone made him cautious. He knew he was wrong, he wanted to apologize until you declared your forgiveness, to turn back time and never have said something so untrue, but he couldn't do anything except let you have your reaction. He was already thinking of ways to make it up to you because he adored you and spoke out of turn; perhaps frustrated by the very notion of needing to work instead of being able to play with you, like he wanted - like he planned, like he promised.

They said if you worked hard, you played hard, right? Bucky wondered when he'd be allowed to start playing.

Because he never left without a goodbye, after finishing getting ready, he popped back to see you changed into a clingy, long sleeve, charcoal grey dress that went up to your collarbones. "You look beautiful, baby," he complimented, frowning when you winced - though hid it by adjusting the form-fitting material. He didn't know that in your head, you were making yourself more upset by labeling his compliment as disingenuous, repetitive, and generic. "I'm gonna head out, but I'll be home later - I just don't know a time, but I'll see you then, all right?" He paused, but you just nodded, so he continued, "Have fun, be safe; and please, baby, please, call me for anything. Seriously. Okay?"

"Okay."

He sighed, watching you closely, "I love you."

"Love you, too."

There was only some relief from hearing your reciprocation, Bucky's guilt far more prominent. He knew in the grand scheme, tonight wasn't the biggest event he's had to skip but it was the straw that broke your camel's back. He reprimanded himself when he even recalled the direct memory from this morning of you reminding him about the birthday party tonight - kicking himself for letting priority of your relationship slip through the cracks.

If he could've, Bucky would've skipped out on work that moment - but tonight was all meeting that were arranged in the past 6 hours, there was no skipping out. There was a sticky situation involving a new gang encroaching on settled territory and it wasn't something Bucky could ignore; this was something that needed handled as soon as possible to save the headache, stress, and paperwork later.

You accessorized your seemingly plain outfit by dousing it in an unscented glittery spray so the dark material would twinkle in the lighting. Nothing too serious, but just enough before hooking all "glitz and glam" jewelry in place. In the body mirror, you turned each way to get the full view; feeling modest enough - a sharp comparison to what you originally planned to wear. Suddenly, you came to the sharp realization: you didn't want to dress modestly, you want to wear the little number you bought specifically for tonight's occasion. This was not the time for self sabotage.

After a quick time check, you rapidly changed from your clingy long sleeve to the slutty chic dress; teeth brushed, perfume sprayed, hair fixed, titties adjusted, heels latched, jewelry exchanged, purse packed, and lips glossed in record time. Grabbing Sydney's birthday gift, you messaged the group chat you were officially on the way after ordering an Uber; shutting the apartment door, locking it, and venturing to the lobby.

"Sheesh!" The concierge cried when you came strutting from the elevator. "Hot damn! Lookin' good, Mrs. Barnes!"

You snickered and thanked him for the compliment, not bothering to correct the building's attendants anymore when they mistook you for Bucky's wife. It was usually endearing and made your heart pitter-patter; but tonight, it only served to sadden you.

You were far from being the most sober of the group. Loved that for you.

When you arrived at Sydney's apartment for the pregame, you evidently weren't hiding your emotional state very well and was instantly hounded for details by multiple friends. So lead into an hour of you intermittently relaying details of your 90 second argument with Bucky, constantly interrupted every few words by boisterous comments from the others. They fed you drinks and reminded how Bucky was next to perfect; your relationship was envious, talk of the town, the blueprint for what everyone strode for; and how you fought because you cared enough to fight - meaning, you care enough to have resolution. They also reminded you that no matter how perfect, Bucky was still a guy and guys did dumb, questionable shit. There was no reason to despair.

Yet, for tonight, you were given a free pass to drink until you didn't feel upset, until you didn't feel anything except elation. It was incredible, the way the girlies were able to flip your mood so easily, effortlessly, mindlessly; evident they cared about your situation and listened wholeheartedly, but also capable of distracting you almost too easily. They steered you back towards excitement; gearing up for a long out night that you needed to fully participate in since it was for such a good cause. Sydney was finally celebrating her birthday again.

This wasn't the night to sulk.

This was the night to drink carelessly, share jokes with your friends, and dance until your feet were bloody and thighs burned as if recovering from a marathon.

There was six of you, a perfectly even number to allow everyone a buddy for safety reasons. You and Syd were paired, stumbling from her apartment and onto the bustling street as New York's nightlife emerged from its slumber; narrowly dodging and avoiding colliding into people as your heels began to protest.

Naturally, the tea being spilled was scalding the entire walk to the desired club - The Purple Titan - Friend Three reserved a booth in for Syd's celebrations. Not only was it one of the best places in the city, but it was also conveniently owned by Bucky; which earned a place on the list of "acceptable" venues to visit without chaperones. Your boyfriend was typically protective, sure, but he'd gotten a lot more lax; however, when tensions run high, he reverts to old habits - such as sending his men with you. However, tonight, he didn't dare after your fight, knowing it would've added fuel to the fire if he sent someone else instead of accompanying you himself.

You had a single mission tonight: drink enough to forget your anger. Luckily, anywhere with your ladies was a guaranteed great time. To anyone passed on the street, they might've been amused by the overheard gossip your group shared; but they definitely smirked or gawked or nodded or did a doubletake when they saw how delectable you all looked. The theme of the night was apparently "unavailable but go ahead and look anyway"; each of you wearing exactly what you chose, exactly what made you feel confident, exactly what you wanted to be seen in. It felt good, the innocent but longing stares of others; yet as you approached the familiar building, something in the air turned heavy and suddenly, innocent gazes felt heated and hateful.

"Okay," Friend Six smirked, pushing you to the front of the group, "go, get us in - fuck this line."

"Seriously, you guys?" You snickered. "This is a little on the nose."

"What? Our girl's man owns the hottest club in town and we don't take advantage? C'mon, figured you could get us drink vouchers," joked Friend Six.

"You're so right. Okay, c'mon, follow me," you beamed, taking Syd's hand as the others paired up. You lead the charge up to the bouncer, bypassing the incredibly long and almost comically large line of hopeful patrons. They groaned and protested your actions, grumbling as you dapped up the bouncer before giving him a friendly hug. "How's it going tonight, Happy?" You asked kindly.

"Not as bad as usual," he answered with a smile. "You look stunning tonight."

"It's not too much? Or... Too little?" You asked, trusting Happy to tell you his honest opinion. He always has, why stop now?

"It's not too anything, it's just right; you look spectacular in it. So much so," he smirked, reaching for the lapel-clipped wired microphone connected to his earpiece. He announced, "Look alive, boys, Miss Y/N's here - and she's in a dress that's gonna break a lot of hearts. Let's keep an eye out for any, uh," he shrugged, "unsavory attention."

"You're kinda dramatic," you grinned.

"I'm kinda saving all of us from Bucky's wrath later," he corrected, both snickering. "Lemme see hands," he pulled out his silver Sharpie; drawing an uppercase 'B' on the back of all your hands. "Show this to the waitstaff or bartenders, you won't pay," he explained.

"No shit?" You checked.

"Real shit," he confirmed. "Go on in, have fun - ladies, any of you need help, find an employee. Be safe, go on in," Happy waved you all through, taking the rear just to pause and peck his check in thanks.

Happy chuckled to himself, cheeks blooming bright as he cleared his throat and tried to shake off his flood of attraction for his boss's woman. The front few persons waiting to get into The Purple Titan weren't the only ones who noticed this.

After passing Happy, your group was held in a sort of foyer where coats could be checked (you had none) and everyone was expected to primp and preen one last time. Friend Four fixed your hair, Friend Six readjusted Syd's breasts for optimal cleavage, and Friend Three pointed out which tooth had lipstick residue to wipe away. Friend Five showed the bouncer her phone to prove the reservation, the man nodding and insisting you follow him closely as it was decently packed tonight and easy to get lost in. He explained the door would open onto the main dance floor but there was an immediate set of stairs to venture up in order to reach the VIP seating where your reserved table was located.

The floor of the warehouse was for anyone; DJ high away in his booth; a large, wraparound bar in full swing with at least 10 bartenders, leaving a vast open space for wall-to-wall sweaty bodies to be corralled in. There was also mounted walkways above the main landing stretching around the perimeter of the room with few staircases. When you ascended, it revealed sunken private rooms in the walls; the walkway posing as banisters. There was an additional bar, literally on top of the main one; though only about 6 bartenders manning this one. Every VIP room was occupied; leaving only fleeting glances inside each to give discovery that some were larger to accommodate such parties, others smaller for an intimate setting. A few had erotic dance poles, others had hookah bongs, some had their track lights set to different colors; all had plush and supportive furniture.

You were lead to a decent sized room, definitely too big for 6 but considered it extra room to dance and mingle. "Now this," Friend One, Sydney, leered as she dropped to the curved couch, "is fucking nice. Holy shit."

As Friend Two, you informed wistfully with a smile, "It was Buck's first investment in the city, he's poured a lot of love into this place."

A cocktail waitress approached.

"Miss L/N, hi," she greeted instantly with a gorgeous pearly grin, "I'm Kate, I'll be your server tonight. Is there anything I can start you guys off with?"

Friend Three, the 'Mom Friend', ordered waters for everyone instantly before different martinis and cocktails were being rattled off. And we're not talking just one each, no, we're talking at least two to prevent lag in order-time delivery.

Three drinks later, the group of you were gathered on the dance floor in a sweaty, grinding orgy of limbs and laughter. The music was - as previously stated - shitty; being whatever was popular, but autotuned and mixed with an electronic dance beat. Yet it was still catchy and the more you drank, the more you just wanted to move and the beat was well-enough that it got the party on the floor.

Kate found you in the crowd, expertly navigating the sea of bumping bodies to present the next round of drinks; promising she'd make her next round soon after her other tables are checked on. It was no matter to you - happy, drunk, and moving your two left feet to the rhythm (or not, who knows) of the hammering music. There was no thought in your head but the hum of your blood; the way the beat thumped in your soul; how you were perfectly elated to spend time with your friends. You danced together, as a group, individually, with your partners, with other partners, and of course, with club-lighting-attractive strangers.

Steady in a relationship, you were content just dancing with your ladies and nobody else. Just because you looked tantalizing didn't mean you wanted any sort of attention or interaction.

That didn't stop a pair of hands sliding around your hips and you from instantly taking a step forward towards Sydney, turning to look at whoever with a grimace, shaking your head "no" over the deafening music. The man was burly, getting money out of the wife beater he wore; bushy beard, both arms tattooed, something of a Peaky Blinder haircut but longer. He offered you an innocent look before holding up his hands and doing a silly dance away, allowing you to step back from Syd to resume dancing.

Three times, some man tried approaching you the same way: from behind. Four others were bolder and came at you head-on. Too many tried to flirt. The barrage of drinks you rejected could've filled a tray. All of them were shot down, shunned. Dismissed, denied. Refused, rebuffed. Rejected.

Except the guy who stumbled over in sober panic, asking if anyone's phone had battery because his girlfriend was drunk and he couldn't find her with a dead phone. Luckily, Friend Three / the Mom Friend had significant battery to let him track her down - sending him off with loud, drunken good luck wishes.

Hands grabbed your waist forcefully from behind - again - making you squirm as they refused to release when you tried to step away again. You grit your teeth and was ready to offer legitimate fight when suddenly released, turning while simultaneously stepping towards your distracted friends to reveal the same burly man from before. You glanced around as if searching for the audacity, using body language to first convey your thoughts of, "What the fuck, dude? My answer hasn't changed." The music was still too loud to hear one another unless screaming or in one another's ear so you were forced to rely on nonverbal communication.

Yet this guy couldn't take a fucking hint.

He lurked around your group like a predator in wait. Similar to the Mona Lisa, it didn't matter where you were in the room, his eyes were on you. The few times he had disappeared into the crowd, you allowed yourself moments of distraction - only to have him reappear and announce himself by touching you in some sudden, unwelcome way. No matter how you slapped his hands away, literally jumped or pushed; no matter the words you shouted or the way your friends would gang up on him, the man wouldn't leave. He might've backed off, but he was never far; just watching, waiting. Waiting for what, you didn't know, but had no intention of finding out.

The man lingered the entire duration of your celebration, causing you to finally pull out your phone and text Bucky despite your irritation: you busy?

His response was pretty rapid: Just getting in the car baby, why what's up? He double texted: You good? What's wrong?

In line for the ladies room, literally shielded by your friends, you answered: super creepy guy hre 🤢 can yu txt Happy meet me at bthroom? i dn't have his new #

Bucky: What? Wym?

You: Hppy changd his # i don't hve it && this dude is fuckig WEIRD, i ffel lke somone shuld b here

Bucky: Sit tight

You 'questioned' his message, scooting along the wall while your friends spoke drunkenly about their own endeavors. Unknown to you, Bucky had accepted a call from one of the usual bartenders, who told him in explicit detail what this creep was doing and how he wouldn't leave you alone. The bartender reported your vigorous and repeated rejection, your aggression to make the man leave you alone. The bartender even told Buck how the guy was with a group of equally creepy friends and how your own group had been knocking drinks back - being a surefire recipe for conflict. Then, the bartender claimed the men looked familiar; thinking maybe they could've had red skull neck tattoos hidden beneath bushy beards.

This made the gangster's stomach coil. More so when Kate, a cocktail waitress with a bright future in his enterprise, confirmed everything.

Bucky glanced at the two men in his car, saying over the phone, "All right, Bishop, I'm on my way, don't let them out your sight."

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks, Kate."

When Bucky hung up, Sam and Scott sat forward from the backseat as Steve asked from the passenger, "What's going on?"

"There's a situation for us to go handle," he seethed, pulling into traffic seamlessly. "Y/N's at Titan tonight for a friend's birthday, went with a group - "

"You didn't go with her?" Scott questioned, earning three deadpanned looks.

"We've been at work all night, Scottie, obviously not," Bucky sighed patiently, facing the wheel again. "Work takes up a lot of time."

"Yeah, but you should, like, always make time for your lady," he advised.

"I do - "

"Do you?" Scott questioned, making Steve and Sam's eyes widen a fraction. "I mean, no offense, boss, but I think I've seen you more the past 6 months than Y/N has, and hey, don't get me wrong, you're a very handsome guy - like, made in a lab type of handsome, it's not fair, oh, my God - but I-I don't wanna see you this often, I'm not the one dating you."

"Holy shit, Scottie, stop fucking talking," Sam snipped.

"What? What'd I say? Am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong and I'll apologize, buy Y/N something to make amends, and shut the fuck up - but am I wrong?"

"No," Bucky growled before anyone could answer, tension nearly palpable, "you're not wrong, Scottie, you're absolutely right."

"Ha! See?" He barked at Sam; a thump heard, then Scott's whimpered, "Ow..."

Bucky's phone rang again, thinking it Kate with an update; surprised when he clocked the name of his designated 'guy in chair'. However, after answering, Tony Stark revealed, "We got a situation, boss... Schmidt was found in the Hudson; and while we don't have definitive proof, it's probably the Power Broker - if the collection of Red Skulls is any indication."

"Red Skulls are running for the Power Broker?" Bucky growled, sharing a look with his righthand men.

"That's not the worst of it, boss. I just hacked one of their cell phones - the Skulls are going to The Purple Titan tonight with the intent to corner you I bet. Isn't that where Y/N and her friends are right now...?"

"Call the men!" Bucky barked, "Call the men to The Titan, Tony, now! Do it now! We'll meet them there!"

Tires screeched on asphalt.

Bucky's tinted SUV pulled up to the bustling building and parked on the curb at the front. A few guys attempted to reprimand the driver but silenced themselves when Bucky emerged. By now, mostly everyone in New York - if they knew what was good for them - recognized Bucky on sight and would never dare so much as tell the guy to wear a seatbelt let alone that he's parked illegally. Seeing the SUV, Happy began rambling orders in his ear piece, and when the four men adjusted their suits while striding up to the door, he immediately let them through but froze when Steve paused at his side.

"We got word, Red Skulls are making a move," he warned quietly, "few are inside already, got a couple still in line - sweep 'em."

Happy nodded and relaid direction in his earpiece while holding the door open for the sandy blonde gangster; following immediately after him. Another bouncer fluidly took Happy's position as 3 more descended to yank 4 men out of line to be directed down a dark alley.

Inside The Purple Titan, it was the usual scene of public and audible debauchery; the group pausing to let Happy call for other bouncers and bartenders to be on the lookout for your group of friends. They spread out and pushed into the crowd, manners long forgotten as there was a task at hand - and nobody wanted to disappoint the boss on something so important. Bucky maneuvered past sweaty and bumping bodies, leering over the crowd; turning this way and that, trying to locate any sign of you - specifically, anyone in a long sleeved dress. It was a large amount of space to search, being an expansive warehouse-style building, delayed by the tar pit of drunken persons trying to impregnate one another through their clothes.

"Yo!" Steve literally barreled into Bucky's side, wrapping his arm around his shoulder tightly to keep from toppling over. Steve pointed a tattooed finger into the crowd, sneering, "That's him - that's the dude! I just talked to Kate, that's fucking him!"

"Where he is, apparently, so's my girl."

"Okay, so, what's the plan, Buck? What're you gonna - oh, you're just gonna go? Okay, respect - oh shit," Steve blanched when Bucky went surging through the crowd; now, very much indeed pushing and shoving people from his warpath.

When he reached the bushy bearded man, Bucky's metal hand gripped his shoulder and whipped him around - both sizing the other up almost instantly. People cleared back several steps at the aggressive display, the man snarling, "What the fuck, dude!?"

"Bucky? What the hell are you doing here?" He heard your sharp tone, looking from the deadman to find you standing isolated from the crowd. It was as if everyone else shied away and you stepped forward in the face of aggression.

"There you are," Bucky crooned, arm opening to welcome you into his side while looking at the other goons casually. The club's music lowered and the patrons hushed their shock and awe. A wave of recognition flooded the bearded man's features, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Ohhh, you're him, huh? The Wolf of Brooklyn? Yeah, mhm," He looked Bucky up and down. "I've heard so much about you," he grinned, shifting his weight as if energized by the confrontation. "Yeah, you know, I was really hoping we'd run into each other."

"Oh, that's funny 'cause I've heard nothing about you other than the fact that you can't keep your fucking hands off my lady."

"What? You got a problem with sharing? You ain't see the way she was dancing on me all night, bro," the jagoff grinned as he grabbed his crotch in a provocative manner, making his boys taunt and jeer at the leader of the Brooklyn Mafia.

Bucky knew it was untrue, he had multiple reports of your abundant distain for this guy; but the mental image of you dancing with this jackass (or anyone, really) made his blood boil. So, a sadistic smirk stretched across Bucky's lips, nodding with a dry chuckle, "Oh, yeah? My girl was dancing on you?"

"Yeah - she's got a helluva ass, man, kudos."

Bucky hummed and squeezed your side, pecking your temple, then slowly released you. Quietly, he whispered, "Step back, baby, outta the swing zone," while shedding his blazer, eyes locked on the deadman as tension permeated the air. He slowly asked, "So, you're telling me... You danced with my girl?"

"Sure did. You deaf or some shit? I know it's loud, but c'mon. Could at least try to hear me when I tell you 'bout what your bitch is doin'. Might wanna leash her; she's wild, big man, probably too much for even you to handle."

The crowd oooh'ed. Sam had to lunge to catch Scott, who was trying to charge towards the fray at the word 'bitch'.

"You came in my club and touched my lady? Got the nerve to call her out her name?" Bucky chuckled in a deranged manner, nudging Steve, "Am I hearing correctly, man?"

His men magnetized to their flanks.

"I heard all that, too," Steve narrowed his eyes. "Which is weird, boss."

"Tell me why's it weird, Stevie."

"'Cause we got those rules, you know?" Steve turned to look at the opposing goons as both men rolled up their shirt sleeves, seething in exaggerated pronunciation, "Don't. Touch. Y/N. And anyone that insults her," he shrugged, "gets their shit rocked."

"You run for HYDRA?" Bucky asked, swiping his thumb to the corner of his mouth.

The stranger scoffed, "News must travel as slow as you think 'round here. HYDRA's done, old man, ain't no more - got taken down by the Power Broker."

"Yet you still haven't found the time to cover that very interesting tattoo," Bucky's finger twiddled in gesture at his neck. "What's the Power Broker want so Goddamn bad that they'd send Red Skulls in here to die? You want my attention, you fucking got it - welcome to the table."

"Think you're in any position to make threats?"

"Are you? Look 'round, man..."

The man chuckled and opened his arms broadly, "We're deeper than you think."

"That so?" Bucky scoffed. "Hey, Happy?"

"Boss," Happy stepped forward.

"I think our friend means to reference the men he planted earlier."

"All those in line have been neutralized, boss."

"Right. And the men they managed to get inside?"

"Neutralized as well, boss."

"Hm, excellent, thank you," he hummed, letting Happy step back to watch the stranger fidget and shift his weight in a nervous habit; his boys all doing much of the same. "Hear that? You see, I don't think you're in any position to say anythin'." Bucky's men slowly encroached on their newest enemy, the crowd backing up further to give them space. "And you fucked up by insulting and harassing my lady. That's punishable, see, 'cause I take her deadly serious." In fear, their prey tried backing away, but there was a wall of bricked bouncers behind them, cutting off any retreat. "You tell the Power Broker know this city isn't for sale," Bucky paused to crack his neck, readjusting the three rings he always wore.

"Everything's for sale, i-if the price is right," the man tried to barter. "So just name it - name your price, the Power Broker wants in."

"This ain't an open door policy," Bucky laughed, "and you waived any guest rights when you harassed my woman. Now, I'll give you one last opportunity: let the Power Broker know I said, 'No dice'."

"You're making a mistake."

"And you're stalling."

"Man, fuck this, he put hands on our girl!" Scott snarled, charging first to launch his first into the bushy bearded man's jaw; laughing in triumph when he folded at the waist. However, when the man with a red skull neck tattoo rightened, it made Scott blink, "Oh, shit..."

His nose was instantly broken by a flying fist, but it was the punch heard around the world; exactly what the others needed to jump in and assault their rivals.

It was a blood bath.

Kate Bishop swooped in to yank you into her embrace just as Steve punched a guy out cold to the floor where you once stood. It was chaotic, the way the crowd scrambled backwards to avoid collateral injury; giving room to the lads wrecking the Powerbroker's men. Fists flew in a flurry, sending bits of flesh and meat and blood into the air; the sounds of screams, cries, and gasps erupting from the panicked patrons as the music cut completely.

After being yanked to a safe distance, you shook Kate off and insisted, "You need to go help get civilians out of here - they're in a stampede, people could get hurt!"

"Happy's on it, I'm staying with you," she scoffed, shaking her head. "Where're your friends?"

"I don't - "

"C'mon," she ushered you towards the bar, ducking behind it. "All right, stay here, I'll find your girls. Look - " She winced when a glass bottle shattered against the wall, "just stay put, stay low and outta sight; don't move until Bucky comes t'get you. Okay?"

You were close to protesting when two gunshots rang out, making you snap your mouth shut and nod. Kate tried to smile in assurance before standing to catapult over the bartop; throwing herself back into the fray.

Far too long for your liking, Steve Rogers appeared behind the bar, panting, "Oh, there you are - thank God!"

"What the fuck, Stevie?" You squeaked.

"C'mon," he encouraged, offering his hand. "C'mon, sweetheart, let's go - you're okay, you're all right, all good, it's all okay now, c'mon, c'mere," he gently assisted you to your feet; cautiously glancing around at the makeshift battlefield.

The club was mostly emptied of patrons, few unlucky individuals being spoken to in hushed tones from Buck's men. Surely trying to ensure their silence. You didn't see any more Red Skulls, only the few heaps of bodies left on the ground now covered by dark tarps; a splattering of tacky blood over their bodies, the floor, even the walls. "Jesus fucking Christ..." You shakily whispered, gripping Steve's forearms tightly as you frantically searched for your boyfriend.

Suddenly, everything seemed so silly, so minuscule, so unimportant. Suddenly, you didn't care his job often took prescience in his life - grateful he still had a life to partake in. Suddenly, you felt the desire to straighten what you bent out of shape and apologize for the earlier argument and animosity.

"He's over there," Steve muttered, reading your worriment correctly; is name being requested by another gangster. To the side, Bucky was snarling unheard words to his men before seemingly feeling your gaze, catching your eye; swiftly and perhaps a bit rudely, ending the conversation to start towards you.

Steve silently patted your back and stepped away, giving you room to rush for Bucky; essentially colliding into his chest. Tears of stressful panic and fear suffocated you, loosening the moment his familiar cologne filled your sinuses to soak into expensive Italian silk. "Baby, hey, hey, hey," Bucky whispered, giving you a squeeze before trying to pry you off him, "wait, hang on - lemme see, look at me - baby, please, I need to see you, please."

Your eyes were wide as his hands held either cheek while looking you head to toe; needing to make sure you were physically unharmed, carefully sweeping his thumbs to clear any tear tracks.

"Oh, thank God," he huffed when not a single blemish was seen, yanking you back into his chest. One arm anchored your waist, the other lifted to caress the back of your head and keep you nuzzled close. "All right, sweet girl, you're okay, I promise - I'm so sorry. Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry," he repeated, kissing the top of your head between most words. "I'm so sorry, I should've been here, should've been with you - like I fucking promised. Fuck, this is my fault - you were alone, I should've been here, I'm so sorry - "

"I'm the one who's sorry, Bucky," you rushed, pulling back to look at him with bleary eyes, "please stop apologizing, I-I'm the one who picked a fight earlier - "

"And I'm the one who broke a promise," he shook his head. "Don't apologize for being rightfully upset, sugar, I fucked up. I should've prioritized what's important to you, not just myself. I should've been here tonight, I'm so sorry you had to endure any of this alone - "

"It's okay, it's okay, baby, y-you didn't know," you whispered into his pectoral after reclaiming your embrace, "nobody could've known. This was totally random... Wasn't it?"

You chose not to comment on his obvious avoidance, as he opted to repeat, "I should've been here."

"Could've been worse if you were, love - "

"I could've protected you!" He snarled, "Kept an eye out for danger - Goddamnit, I know better than to leave my girl - "

"Well, what if you were here, huh? What if you were the target with their guard down? What if you were here, Bucky? And you were so distracted with our antics that you missed the Red Skulls? And they were able to - "

"Wouldn't have happened, sweetheart, but it doesn't matter now. I should've fuckin' been here - I'm sorry, doll, fuck - "

You snickered through tears, "Fine, you should've kept your promise and come with me. But you're here now and that's what matters."

With a sigh, Bucky placed one last peck to your head before lifting your chin to promise, "I won't miss another event, baby, I don't care what I got goin' on."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Nah, I know, I wasn't sayin' that. What I am sayin' is fuck any meeting, fuck this job - I'll be here. I'm sorry I wasn't... It won't happen again, swear t'God."

You just nodded, deflating back into the safety of his embrace, and when he escorted you out of the nightclub in favor of the safety of home, you forced yourself to ignore the tackiness of the blood clinging to the soles of your heels.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

[missvelvetsstuff]

“But, there was a time…”

Summary: What you thought was forever turned out to have an end….granted you always knew the inevitable but it doesn’t hurt any less. Wasn’t he happy with you? No, because what could possibly compare to a first love….

Disclaimers: Angst, Endgame era but everyone lives+slight canon changes lol, basically cheating, not graphic, Read at your own discretion!

A/N: Originally….I was gonna make this a found family trope and kept the ending HOWEVER I firmly believe that Steve would not have done that if that was the case🤞🏼😔trust. So the next best thing is an abandoned lover😋who doesn’t love that lol (this is not #dadbuckypropaganda but I will come back to that!) *not reread, to be fair none of them are I just wing it*

You’ve been recognized as a dynamic trio with Natasha and Yelena. Three bonded siblings with a love so strong, what one feels, the others follow through.

After breaking free from the Red Room and finding refuge under Shield, the three of you agreed that it would be better to not trust anyone else. Only between each other could any decision be made. That was a well known fact to anyone who came across you three.

So, to everyone’s surprise when you had announced your relationship with Steve Rogers, your sisters couldn’t help but feel a bit betrayed and a sense of unease.

~⍟~

“How could you not tell us Y/N?” Yelena asked in a grave tone

Natasha chipped in

“You do know his past right….”

“Of course, we’ve spoken over it all…guys (take a deep breath) I’m so happy! Beyond what you can imagine…” you replied almost dreamily

The girls couldn’t help but feel a sense of worry. You were their kin, they were happy of course! but this relationship, it’s coming out of nowhere…and all Steve could mention when it comes to love is…her. Peggy Carter. Granted, she’s not in the picture. But who knows….they just don’t want your heart to be broken. You’ve all gone through enough in this life.

~⍟~

Worries couldn’t help but be dispelled when Steve, ever the gentleman, would shower you in gifts and just pure love in public and private.

Trips to themed parks, late night walks at the beach, all your favorite foods and snacks at your disposal. He never forgot a single thing you loved or showed interest in.

If you love jewelry, he would get the most beautiful sets a person could find. It didn’t matter the metal either. Gold or silver. He offered you the world. Like no other man ever did in your life.

If nature was where your heart was, he’d build you the most spacious greenhouse there could ever be. He’d learn about various plants and wildlife to impress you further.

If cooking and baking was your passion, there he was buying you cookbooks from reputable brands just so you could whip up the best from the best.

Anything you picked up, he’d indulge alongside you. Your heart was entirely his. And his was yours as well.

~⍟~

After a late night shower, you and Steve finally laid in bed. Tired, but satisfied. With everything. A conversation ensued that would leave a mark. All good things must come to an end. Real or fake.

“Hmm..what do you think will happen in about….seven years?” You say cheekily, staring at his side profile.

Steve looks at you, fixing his pillow to get a better view of your face. He moves aside a few strands of hair away from your eyes and gazes deeply into them. Smiling softly, he replies

“Seven…that’s so specific sweetheart. Um..I think maybe….we could be married…maybe a child or two running around…what do you think?”

By this point, you’re smiling just imagining how domestic it all seemed. Even just this moment felt, different. Perfect one would say.

“I’m specific? You practically have our whole life figured out!”

“Hey, you asked. I answered.” He laughs lightly.

“What would you want…a girl or boy?”

“I think….a girl…”

“A girl! And her name would be?”

“Hmm���I actually don’t know. Maybe you should name her. You’re the one who would be doing most of the work anyways my love.”

Very domestic indeed.

“I think…maybe a name starting with S…she could match with her father!” You reply shyly, trying to hide your face into his chest. Smiling very hardly now. No amount of darkness could cover that shining smile and glow of happiness.

“Oh don’t get shy on me now!” He attempts to draw you back out. Once he gets the idea that no amount of convincing will get you out, he continues tiredly.

“I’m thinking…of…peggy…simple and old….love.” He falls asleep.

In that instant. Hearing her name in such an intimate moment made you freeze. Steve has always been a fast sleeper so of course he didn’t feel you quickly pull away. However, his grip on your waist remained. His arms slowly loosened as he turned to face the other side. When he finally did turn and settled, you sat straight up, staring right at him.

Pondering on his words. Attempting to not overthink.

There’s no way he could be hung up on her still right? It’s been years. And what does he mean about old…love? Why mention any of that when talking about our future?

It’s not like there’s a chance of them getting together again. Right?

Right.

Your thoughts circled and circled and circled. Until finally, you heard small birds chirping in the still dark sky. You’ve been awake for far too long. Maybe it was just a slip up. Nothing to hold onto.

~⍟~

The morning after that conversation, he didn’t bring it up. Then again, neither did you. Just like that, it was forgotten. At least between you two.

“What’s on your mind? Why do you look so gloomy huh?” Yelena asks, almost like if she was offended by the sight.

Natasha had just been staring at you. Observing. Trying to get a feel on what it could be.

You spoke about the late night conversation. Leaving out his mention of a past lover as a name suggestion.

“I don’t want to be that person, but, he is aware that you can’t have children…right?” Natasha interjects, cautiously.

“Huh? Oh yeah…it was a small moment. Very fleeting. He knows….you know adoption is always an option!” You laughed it off. Right…you’ve been stripped away of a certain livelihood. But it’s a new era now. There are more options!

~⍟~

A couple years go by, a new threat is on the horizon. It’s something that threatens everyone’s life. Something that will bring change to all who lives and survives.

Things at the compound have been tense. With only you and Natasha of the trio remaining, your only job has been to bring back everyone affected by the snap of Thanos. Most importantly, bringing back your beloved sister, Yelena.

In the meantime, your relationship with Steve was deteriorating. The last thing you needed. Many moments shared were no longer innocent and cute. But tense and emotional. Her name would be brought up. More than once in a week.

Natasha tried to intervene twice, but was shut down by an overwhelmed you….

Everyone was focused on helping those who remained. Focused on finding a solution. You had no choice but to boil all the arguments down to a rough bump in the relationship. To be fair, it’s not a very great time. Things just aren’t the same.

~⍟~

Every so often, when things cooled down a bit, you and Steve shared a more milder moment compared to other days.

You were sitting on the porch of your shared home. Gazing at the rolling hills during sunset.

“I brought you some tea….beautiful view today…” Steve approaches carefully.

You look at him, accepting the hot mug of tea.

“Yeah…I see you planted those daisies over there…”

“Uh yeah…they, um, remind me of someone back then.”

The sentence comes out melancholic, but to you…it’s practically poison. You sigh deeply. Setting the mug down, you stand up getting ready to walk away.

“Now what? Can’t stand the sight of daisies?” Annoyance is laced in the voice of the man you once fully adored.

You pause right in front of the door. Not looking back;

“No. What annoys me is your constant insistence in bringing HER up. And then of course, expecting me to just take it.”

As you enter the house, you run to your shared room. Hyperventilating practically, you slid down behind the closed door. Allowing held back tears to finally shed. Not the first time that’s happened.

~⍟~

Throughout the final attempt for humanity, both you and Steve had been on better terms. The arguments and tense moments ceased when Tony presented a possible solution.

But, everyone knew better. This was temporary. The relationship was reaching its end. Just a matter of time.

Natasha became, once again, the person you confided in. And oh…did you break her heart….. your cries never ended. Every night, your tears would shed like if the ocean relied on it to survive. Every morning, they would be puffy…but hidden by some light makeup. Only that could do so much.

You began to think of the romantic moments you had shared. The plans you made. A wedding. (with no groom) Children. (who could never be brought to life) You wondered when it all went sour. Was it always that way? Were you just a placeholder?

~⍟~

Throughout the final battle, even if you and Steve weren’t exactly on the best of terms, you continued to check in with one another. A small amount of hope bloomed in your chest. After this, maybe, your relationship could be fixed.

With the arrival of all those that were lost five years ago, the chances of survival was at its highest.

Surviving you all indeed achieve. Humanity was back. The threat was neutralized. Now it’s time to pick up the pieces and try again.

~⍟~

“One last mission. Y/N….I know I haven’t been the best partner you deserve…but I want you to know that I’ll always be yours.” Steve says endearingly. He gazes into your eyes, almost as if searching for something.

“You act..like you’re going to pass away or something…you’ll put the stones back and I’ll be here waiting. Along with Bucky…and Sam…just come back…” You know something is being decided in Steve’s mind. What is it? That you don’t know. Maybe you don’t want to know anyways.

You grab onto his hand…trying to prove that you’re willing to try all over. Trying to be at your most gentlest and reassuring. It’s almost desperate. A sad scene that is awkwardly being seen by Bucky and Sam.

While, they would like to intervene. Prevent further pain to brew….they let it play out. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s something Bucky will have guilt over. He’s grown to like you, how could he let his best friend hurt you in such a way….

~⍟~

“Alright, let’s be quick!” Bruce/Hulk states enthusiastically.

Steve looks at you…and for a moment a speck of regret shines through…however there was no turning back.

Optimistically, you hold out hope that he’ll be back. It will all be okay. Gosh, since when did you get so weak?

~⍟~

The minutes passed. He’s still not back. Panic rises in everyone, maybe something went wrong? Maybe he’s stuck? Where is he? You head towards the computers focused on finding what went wrong.

Out of the blue, Bucky grabs ahold of your shoulders…you turn to look at him. Very quietly…

“look over there…”

Sam was receiving the mantle. His mantle. You expected change. Just not this kind.

As final words were relayed to Sam.. Steve takes a moment to make eye contact with you. He motions for you to move forward. Don’t be scared.

Cautiously. Timidly. You move towards him. Once in his range Steve carefully grabs your hands. You try pulling back. Frightened at what you are seeing. Confused on what’s happening.

“You once told me…you’ve lived your whole life with regrets. With guilt. When I told you the same thing, you spent all your time making sure I was happy. Y/N, I’m happy…”

Taking notice of the advanced age Steve was in. You sit beside him, grabbing his hands back. Tears are threatening to fall, but you make your reply.

“Was this your choice the whole time? What about…our plans?” Sorrow is all that can be heard.

“My dear Y/N.” Steve could only embrace you. A hug not full of warmth. But unspoken guilt.

You did not hug back. Now holding onto his arms. Frail and weak. An epiphany hit you. Not a happy one, but one that made sense. You spent all your time trying to make someone you loved feel loved. All while knowing that this person already knew that kind of love. It was no secret what Steve wanted in reality.

You’ve blinded yourself. In a fantasy. In a temporary state of denial.

Once released of the hug, you wipe away stray tears. Giving him one last look and a small but gentle smile. You move back. What are you? A teenager? Lost in a love that never made sense. Of course it was one sided. At least just for a while, it did seem real.

~⍟~

[missvelvetsstuff]

Hii! I absolutely love your bucky fics, like aaaah 😩 And I'm obsessed with Obvious! I wanted to ask if you could do smth where the roles are switched and reader is more nervous to ask bucky out bc he's like ancient and maybe he had a lover in the 40's like Steve, and he's probably super super popular amongst girls so she'd never have a shot?

I'd eat it up and be forever grateful for it 🫶

A Political Affliction

Summary: You're the assistant to the newly elected Congressman Barnes and you're damn good at your job. However, deep down you care more for him than an employee should for their boss. You do your best not too let feelings get in the way of your work but Bucky is determined not to make it easy.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

CW: swearing (I think this is all but let me know if there is anything else).

Sorry for the delay! It took me a while to figure out what to do here but I hope you enjoy it!

Despite my already far too long list of fics to get done, I see potential for this to be a mini-series so let me know if you guys want me to continue this one.

Writing this also taught me that I know absolutely nothing about how Congress Runs, especially in the US since I'm Australian. A lot of research was involved here and I apologize for the inaccuracies that are probably present.

--

Your uncomfortable heels made a clicking noise as they tapped along the floor of the office building. You moved with urgency, paperwork clutched tightly to your chest.

It had been a long day; full of meetings and errands and as the clock ticked further towards 6pm, your were champing at the bit to get home.

Your last job of the day was to deliver the documents in your hands to Congressman Barnes. You'd been working as the congressman's scheduler slash executive assistant for just over four months now and while it was challenging and oftentimes very stressful, there was one thing that made it all seem worth it somehow; you got to see him every day.

Exiting the lift, you hurried towards his office. You knocked softly, not wanting to disturb him should he be on the phone.

"Come in."

His voice sounded gruff and tired. You'd gotten to know the Congressman intimately over the last few months and you could, tell just by hearing him, that he was having a tough day. Tentatively, you pushed open the door.

"Congressman?"

He was hunched over his desk, mulling over some documents with a pinch in his brows. His hair was pushed back, like it often was when he was working but a few strands had broken free and fell forward over his face. His perfect lips were curled into a frown but they twitched upwards when he saw that it was you at the door.

"Yeah, hey. Come on in." He repeated, his voice softening when he saw you. He gestured loosely for you to enter the space.

You smiled at him politely, however, you couldn't deny the hint of fondness that lingered beneath it.

"I'm about to finish up for the day but I wanted to make sure you got these before I left."

He smiled graciously as you placed the paperwork on the desk. "Thank you. You.. uh, didn't have to stay late. I could've picked them up myself."

"Oh, it was no trouble. You already have so much on your plate right now. It was the least I could do," you uttered kindly.

"Well, thank you for that."

"I also rescheduled your meeting tomorrow afternoon with Congressmen Brown. I figured you needed the extra time to work on your proposal."

"That's great, thanks. Anything else?"

You smirked down at him from where you stood. "Shelley from reception wants to know if you're free Saturday night."

He huffed out a dry laugh, lifting a hand to push the runaway strands of hair out of his eyes. "You can tell her I'm very flattered."

"But not available?" you finished for him. It wasn't the first time that you'd been commissioned as messenger for someone trying to get the handsome congressman on a date. Each time, his response was much the same.

"I don't have a lot of time for dating these days," he muttered softly.

You pursed your lips to keep the smile from your face. Part of you was relieved each time he turned down the advances of one of his many admirers. You knew it was terribly unprofessional but you couldn't help it. He was Bucky Barnes. You were pretty sure at least half of New York was in love with him. You remembered girls back in high school cutting pictures of him out of their textbooks and sticking them up in the lockers after they were taught about the Howling Commandos in History class. in fact, you were pretty sure a large sum of the votes that got him into office were based on attractiveness alone — not that you'd ever have the heart to tell him that.

"I'll be sure to let her know," you responded softly.

He nodded up at you. "Great work today. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good night. Congressman," you murmured. "Don't stay too late okay?"

He chuckled loosely. "I'll try not to."

--

"So, how is it working for Congressman Grumpy?"

You looked up from where you were stirring your coffee, meeting the curious gaze of your best friend. You rolled your eyes in response.

"He's not grumpy."

Dakota chuckled, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "Could've fooled me. Every time I see him on TV he looks like he's being held at gunpoint."

You scoffed, carefully sipping your drink. "He's really not that bad. He's just... new and busy. He's got a lot on his plate right now. He's actually sweet when you get to know him."

Dakota's eyes lit up at your words. She leaned in across the table eagerly, brushing a strand of ginger hair behind her ear. "He's cute though, don't you think?"

You tried to act casual in response, so as not to give away your unfortunate attraction to the man.

"Yeah, I guess. He's also a World War II veteran."

Dakota shrugged. "I don't think that matters."

You raised a brow at her over a sip of your coffee.

"I mean, you're into him right?"

You choked on your drink, coughing as her words caught you by surprise.

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes on you. "Come on, hun. Don't play dumb. I know you well enough to tell when you like someone. You're getting all flustered just talking about him."

Your eyes widened in embarrassment. "What? N-no I'm not."

"Yes you are! Honestly, I don't see what the big deal is. You should ask him out."

"Dakota! He's my boss."

"Yeah but he's also hot and apparently sweet. You have a great resume, you'll have no trouble finding someone else to boss around for a living. I don't see what the problem is!"

You sighed thickly, eyes flicking away from hers and scanning around the coffee shop where you sat. To your left, a kid sitting with his mother, knocked the cutlery off their table and it clattered to the floor with a crash.

"I'm not going to ask him out, okay?" You mumbled, turning back to your friend. "It's unprofessional. Besides, he already gets hit on all the time and he's constantly turning people down. He could literally have any girl in New York. There's no way he's interested in me like that."

Dakota huffed. "Fine. Whatever you say. But for the record, I think you're missing an opportunity here. Maybe the reason he rejects everyone else is because he already has feelings for you!"

You shook your head. "You literally have zero evidence of that being the case."

"I don't know," Dakota shrugged. "He definitely seems to like having you around."

As of on cue, it was at that moment that your phone buzzed on the table in front of you.

Congressman Barnes: Are you heading back to the office soon? I could really use you in this meeting.

You looked up at Dakota apologetically. "Sorry but I've got to run. Duty calls."

Dakota laughed. "Of course it does. Go on, run off and tend to Congressman Hottie if you must."

"Shut up," you murmured affectionately, leaning down to give her a hug as you scrambled to gather your things.

--

The meeting ran long, as it always did, and by the time it was finished, you were severely behind on your work. It took you ours to catch up and before you knew it, the sun was setting over the DC Skyline.

You yawned and checked your watch. It was nearing 8pm. Almost everyone had gone home by now and the office was eerily quiet. The only person you hadn't seen leave was the Congressman himself, then again, you were so focused on your work that you could easily not have noticed him slipping past. He was an ex-assassin after all, he was used to moving from place to place with almost terrifyingly little sound. You'd been jump-scared by him on more than one occasion.

As if that thought summoned it into existence, the door to his private office swung open and he stepped out, pulling on his coat as he went. He paused when he saw you.

"Hey!" he murmured surprised. "What are you still doing here?"

"Oh you know," you gestured to your computer. "Just finishing up."

He sighed and a slight smile crossed his face. "How many times have I told you not to do that? You finish at 5. You should go home after that."

You shrugged playfully. "That's a bit pot calling kettle, don't you think?"

He rolled his eyes but stepped towards you, leaning over your desk and pressing the top of your computer closed.

"Hey! I was using that!"

He just smirked. "Not anymore. Come on, let's get out of here. I'll give you a lift home."

Your eyes widened. "Oh, I appreciate the offer but that's not necessary. I can get home on my own."

"It's no problem, really." He responded, crystal eyes baring down on you in a way that make your stomach somersault. "You usually get the metro, right? It's dark out. I'd feel better knowing you got home safe."

You couldn't contain the smile that flickered across your features. "well, alright. Thank you."

"It's no problem," he uttered softly, flashing you that devastatingly handsome smile of his. You had no idea how you were going to survive the trip.

--

As it turns out, Bucky Barnes had a very nice car. You weren't sure why you were surprised. He was a congressman and an former superhero with friends from Wakanda. However, for some reason you always kind of imagined him to drive an old 90s Buick or something else that reflected his elevated age and blatant disinterest in modern technology.

You sat awkwardly on the black leather of the passenger seat and tried not to let your gaze linger on him more than that of normal person. It suddenly occurred to you, as you sat your laptop bag in your lap, that this may have been the first time the two of you were interacting outside of a work environment. The thought made you even more nervous, if that was even possible.

You drove in silence for a few moments, the only noise punctuating the space was the soft hum of the radio. A few minutes passed before Bucky cleared his throat.

"So, uh, what's your address?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," you muttered dumbly, leaning forward to punch your destination into the car's navigation.

He gave you a fleeting sideways glance.

"Is everything okay?"

You huffed out a breath, sitting back in your seat. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's great."

He chuckled softly. "Okay, good."

City lights flickered around you as you drove, a blurring mosaic of reds and golds and purples that reflected off the windshield. You found yourself watching the way they flitted over the lines of Bucky's face — the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw.

You'd been to the Captain America display at the Smithsonian years ago in college. You remembered seeing his face plastered on the wall beside that of the great Steve Rogers. You also remembered thinking at the time, how beautiful he was. His features were chiseled as though sculpted from marble.

They were the same features you looked at now, if only a bit older and more weather-worn — tarnished slightly by the years of pain and trauma he'd experienced. Darker maybe, but no less handsome.

He frowned, feeling the heat of your gaze on his cheek.

"What?" he murmured cautiously, stealing a glance in your direction. "Do I have something on my face?"

You chuckled nervously. "No, I just..."

You trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe all that you saw in him.

"Just what?"

You settled on a half truth instead. "You're hard to read, is all."

He raised a brow, eyes trained on the road in front of him.

"And... you're just discovering this now?"

You rolled your eyes affectionately. "Well, I guess I'm just not as observant as you, Mr. Super Soldier."

He chuckled. "I don't know. I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. I mean, you always seem to know exactly what I need. Sometimes even before I do. It's kind of scary actually."

You shrugged. "It's my job to know you."

"Well, in that case, you can keep up the good work."

There was a moment of silence as you drove, as though something unspoken was lingering in the air between you.

"You know," Bucky spoke up eventually. "I've been meaning to thank you."

You glanced over at him curiously. "What for?"

He let out a laboured breath. "Just... for keeping me on track, I guess. I mean, this job is sort of kicking my ass. I seriously don't know what I'd do if you weren't there to straighten things out."

You felt heat begin to rise to your cheeks. You bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

"Wow. Thanks," you responded sincerely. "That means a lot actually."

"Of course."

He sent a small smile your way, one that never failed to make your heart stutter where it lay in your chest.

The car pulled up outside your apartment building but you didn't make to get out right away. Something inside of you hesitated as he turned to face you.

"Thanks again for the ride," you told him, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, a habit that tended to kick in when you were feeling nervous.

Bucky nodded gently. "It's no problem, really. I'm more than happy to. Whenever you need, just let me know."

You felt your face grow hot under his tender gaze and a smile of your own crept onto your lips. "Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

Then, like some external force had taken over your being, you leaned across the seat and placed a kiss on his cheek. You didn't know what compelled you to do it. It was completely inappropriate and your stomach sank as you pulled away, expecting him to look confused or even horrified. However, what you were met with instead was a smirk.

You reached for the door handle before he had the chance to say anything.

"Goodnight Congressman," you uttered, hurrying to climb out of the vehicle before he came to his senses and yelled at you or fired you or something equally as mortifying.

"Hey," he said softly, halting your actions. You turned to look at him once more with eyes wide. He just raised a brow at you playfully.

"Call me Bucky."

You blinked up at him for a moment, taken by surprise by his words. That feeling that sat in your gut whenever it was just himself and you in the room began to twist and squirm inside you.

"Okay," you mumbled, once you'd gotten your mouth working again. "Goodnight Bucky."

With that, you stepped out of the car, inhaling deeply and making a mad dash towards your building. Once you made it inside your apartment, you collapsed back against the door, running a shaky hand through your hair.

Your pulse was racing as you pulled your phone from the pocket of your blazer. You pulled up Dakota's contact and began to type.

You: You were right. I'm in deep shit.

[missvelvetsstuff]

omg omg omg i’m so big brained. can we get a silly scene with inspo from thunderbolts. so yk how bucky washes his arm in the dishwasher omg can get gets abby’s reaction to that maybe? like she is absolutely flabbergasted that his arm is there because it’s a dishwasher not an arm washer 🧹

Welcome back lil Anon! Hope you like this! 😘

Bursting through the door to the apartment, after you both enjoyed the morning at the park. "Papa! I's back!" Abby sees Bucky in the kitchen and makes a beeline to him.

"Hey Abigail. Did you have fun"

"Uh huh. So much funs. Can I has juice, pwease?" Abby turns the corner & comes to a sudden stop. "Papa!! Where's your arm?!"

Bucky chuckles as he pours her, her juice. Shrugging, "Ya know, it was getting dirty and I needed to wash it." He hands over her cup and she drinks while scanning the kitchen. She thanks Bucky and tip toes to put her cup in the sink, looking for his arm, as the dishwasher cycle ends. Bucky opens it up and there on the top shelf is Bucky's shiney vibranium arm.

Abby screams and starts cackling. You come running into the kitchen as Bucky reattaches his arm, still steaming from the dishwasher. "Papa wash his arm with our dishes!"

"Eewwww!" Frowning at him, "Really, James?!"

"What? It's fine." Grabbing Abby and flinging her over his shoulder. "Tattletale," giving her a lil shake has her cackling.

[missvelvetsstuff]

All Mine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content (oral, riding, unprotected), jealous!reader but make it hot, possessive smut and marking, mild dom/sub energy, strong language, one very public ass slap, Bucky being smug and wrecked, Sam walks in and regrets everything, smutty fluff and petty humor

----------

You didn’t mean to snoop. Really. You had just opened your phone to check your texts and somehow wound up in a rabbit hole of TikToks tagged #BuckyBarnes. You weren’t even sure how the algorithm knew you were dating him—Bucky didn’t exactly broadcast his private life—but damn if it hadn’t caught on.

And now you were ten videos deep, eyes twitching as another thirst trap played.

This one was a slo-mo montage of Bucky training at the gym, sweat slicked and shirtless, hair tied back and metal arm flexing with every rep. Set to some sultry R&B track, naturally. The comments were even worse:

“i would let him RUIN my life.” “metal arm? yes pls.” “why is this man not illegal.” “he’s got big ‘I can rearrange your guts’ energy 😩”

Your jaw clenched.

Okay, you knew your man was hot. You had lived that rearranged gut life. You weren’t blind. But there was something about the combination of strangers thirsting over him and women in real life constantly hitting on him—at the store, the gym, literally while you were holding hands—that sent a possessive little growl flaring in your chest.

You locked your phone and turned your head.

Bucky was sprawled on the couch, fresh out of the shower with damp hair curling at his neck, t-shirt clinging to muscles, flipping absently through a book. Completely oblivious to the chaos you were in.

You stood slowly.

It was time everyone remembered exactly who he belonged to.

“Bucky?”

He looked up, eyes soft and warm when they landed on you. “Hey, baby.”

You crossed the room without a word and sank into his lap, straddling him with your knees bracketing his hips.

His brows lifted, book dropping to the side. “Well, hello there.”

“You know what I saw today?” you asked, dragging your hands up his chest, voice syrupy-sweet.

“What’s that?”

“Half the damn internet imagining what it’s like to fuck you.”

His mouth twitched. “They’d be right to wonder.”

Your nails scraped down his torso, making him suck in a sharp breath. “Yeah, well, I don’t have to wonder.”

Bucky tilted his head, amused. “You jealous, doll?”

“You don’t think I should be? You should see the comments.”

“I don’t need to,” he said smugly. “I’ve seen the way you ride me when someone flirts with me at the store.”

You leaned in until your lips brushed his ear. “Then maybe I should remind you—and everyone else—what’s yours.”

Bucky groaned low in his throat. “Fuck, baby. I like this side of you.”

“Good.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Because I’m not done.”

—

You didn’t waste time.

Bucky didn’t even make it to the bedroom before you shoved him back against the hallway wall, dropping to your knees with a purpose that made his eyes go wide and his mouth fall open in shock.

“Oh, shit,” he gasped as your fingers tugged his sweatpants down. “You’re really—”

You looked up at him through your lashes and wrapped your lips around the flushed head of his cock.

“Fuck.”

It only took a few strokes of your hand before he was panting, jaw clenched, one big hand buried in your hair like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to stop you or fuck your throat. His hips twitched forward when you took him deeper, and you hummed just to feel the jolt run through him.

“Gonna ruin me, sweetheart,” he muttered, head hitting the wall. “That mouth should be illegal.”

You pulled off with a soft pop, licking your lips as you stood.

“Bedroom,” you ordered. “Now.”

Bucky didn’t need telling twice.

He collapsed back onto the bed as you stripped in the doorway, tossing your clothes to the floor with no fanfare. The sight of you—naked, eyes glinting, full of jealousy-fueled fire—made his cock twitch, still hard and flushed.

“Want me to remind you who I belong to?” he asked, almost teasing.

You climbed over him, bracing your hands on his chest. “No,” you said, lowering your hips until he slipped inside you with one slow, slick stroke. “I want to show you.”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back.

“Jesus—”

“Say it.”

He blinked, glassy and breathless. “What?”

“Say you’re mine.”

His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. “I’m yours, baby. Always.”

“Then you don’t mind if I mark you up a little.”

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Please.”

You did. Bite marks bloomed across his neck and chest as you rode him with slow, possessive rolls of your hips, each thrust punctuated with a scratch or a kiss or a punishing grip to his arms. You loved the way he fell apart underneath you—so strong, so deadly, and still so completely yours.

When you finally leaned down and licked a bruise just below his collarbone, he whimpered.

“You want to come, baby?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”

“Then give it to me. Let them all know who you come for.”

His hands gripped your ass as he drove up into you with sharp, hungry thrusts, chasing the edge until he finally cried out, spilling inside you with a groan that left your ears ringing.

You clenched around him, riding out your own climax with a cry of his name, collapsing against his chest when it washed through you like fire.

You lay there for a minute, catching your breath, your lips pressed to his pulse.

Bucky’s arms curled around you. “I love you when you’re possessive.”

“I’m always possessive,” you murmured. “You’re just lucky I don’t growl at strangers.”

He laughed. “Oh, I’ve seen you growl.”

You kissed the side of his throat, right where the biggest bruise bloomed. “Good. Let that be a warning.”

Bucky tilted your chin up to kiss you, soft and slow and wrecked.

“Think you made your point, doll.”

You smiled against his lips. “Not yet I haven’t.”

—

Later, when Bucky stood shirtless in the kitchen, sipping water with a constellation of bite marks trailing down his neck and chest, Sam walked in.

“Jesus,” Sam said. “You fight a bear, Barnes?”

Bucky just smirked, metal arm glinting as he reached for a plate. “Something like that.”

You passed behind him with a smug grin and slapped his ass.

“Mine.”

Sam looked horrified. “I am too sober for this.”

Bucky just chuckled, tossing you a wink as he leaned back against the counter—marked, glowing, and wholly, undeniably yours.

[missvelvetsstuff]

Just So We're Clear

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

----------

It started with a donut.

Not just any donut—your donut. The last one from that bakery in Brooklyn Bucky liked to grumble about being too trendy but always made sure to drive twenty minutes out of the way to pick up for you.

You’d left it on the counter with a sticky note: “Save me for after training. I will cry.”

And somehow—somehow—Clint thought it was up for grabs.

You weren’t even mad. You just blinked at the empty box, blinked again at Clint’s sticky-sugar fingers, and gave a soft, broken little “oh.”

That was enough to unravel Bucky Barnes.

He stood in the doorway like a statue, towel slung over his shoulder, fresh from the gym and already vibrating with post-workout adrenaline. His eyes snapped to you, then to Clint, then back to you. He saw the little furrow in your brow and the way your shoulders curled inward and decided, then and there, that everyone in the compound clearly needed a reminder.

You were his wife. His wife.

And that meant a few things.

—

Rule #1: Don’t touch her stuff.

“I didn’t even see the note!” Clint defended from his upside-down position, wedged in the couch cushions where Bucky had gently (read: aggressively) planted him.

Sam was laughing too hard to help. “You gonna throw every guy who steals a snack into furniture, Barnes? That’s a long list.”

“She left a note,” Bucky snapped, wiping powdered sugar off your cheek like you were made of spun glass. “You don’t cry over donuts. She does.”

You muttered a soft, “It’s fine, Buck,” but he wasn’t hearing it. He kissed your forehead like a soldier returning from war. Then your hand. Then your cheek. Then forehead again, like a prayer.

“Get back up, Barton, and I swear to God—”

“It’s a donut!” Clint howled.

“To her it matters.” Bucky leveled the room with a look, like he was ready to start flipping tables in your honor.

You slid your arms around his waist and buried your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. “Baby,” you giggled, muffled, “you’re insane.”

“For you, yeah.”

—

Rule #2: If she walks into a room, you look impressed. Or you leave.

The next morning, you showed up to breakfast in one of Bucky’s shirts, hair still messy from sleep, blinking blearily and reaching for coffee. Bucky had just returned from a run with Steve and Sam and barely made it five feet before turning around, breath leaving him in a grunt of awe.

“Whoa,” Sam said, eyebrows raised. “You good, Barnes?”

Bucky ignored him completely.

“Doll,” he said, like he hadn’t just seen you twelve hours ago. He crossed the room, wrapped both arms around your waist from behind, and kissed your shoulder. “Look at you.”

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful.”

You laughed and leaned into his arms. Sam made a gagging noise.

Steve sipped his coffee, calm as ever. “You say that every morning.”

“‘Cause it’s true every morning,” Bucky shot back.

Vision wandered in and gave you a nod. “You appear well-rested this morning, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky looked at him like he might start a war.

“…I meant that platonically,” Vision added quickly.

“Mm-hmm.”

—

Rule #3: If she needs help, Bucky is already on his way.

Tony had once timed it. You sneezed in the common room and, from three floors down, Bucky was at your side in thirty-eight seconds.

Thirty. Eight.

“You’re not even on comms,” Tony said, eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

“She sneezed.”

“Barnes, are you—” Tony squinted—“tracking her?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

Bucky shrugged. “She sneezes like a kitten. You learn things.”

You sniffled again, touched your forehead. “Maybe I’m getting sick.”

Bucky picked you up—off the couch, bridal-style—and turned toward the elevator.

“I’m taking her back to bed.”

Tony stared. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“You’re not my wife.”

—

Rule #4: Don’t flirt. Even by accident.

Peter Parker had not been flirting. He’d been asking a perfectly innocent question about one of the books you were reading, his voice just a little too enthusiastic, his grin a little too bright.

Bucky, walking in halfway through the sentence, did not interpret it that way.

“—and I’ve been meaning to check it out! Maybe we could—uh, I mean I could—borrow it sometime? Or you could recommend another one—”

“Hey, Pete,” Bucky cut in, arm curling tightly around your shoulders. “You done with homework?”

Peter gulped. “Uh—no. But I just—”

“Good. Go finish it.”

“Yessir.”

Peter was gone in a flash. You turned in Bucky’s arms, swatting his chest. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You’re scaring children.”

“They should be scared. You’re married.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned up to kiss him, which effectively ended the conversation—and started a new one when Sam walked in and groaned, “Do y’all ever stop making out?”

“Not really,” you answered sweetly.

—

Rule #5: She is the standard. Period.

You weren’t a superhero. You weren’t an assassin, an engineer, or a witch. You were just… you. Kind, clever, funny. You made the best grilled cheese in the world. You left notes in Bucky’s jacket pockets before missions. You talked to plants and cried at dog commercials.

And Bucky?

Bucky was obsessed.

“You know Nat could snap your neck with two fingers,” Sam said once, after a sparring session.

“Cool,” Bucky said without looking up from his phone. “My wife made banana bread.”

Steve smirked. “You gonna compare every badass woman you meet to your wife?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t even fight.”

“She won me over when I was half a feral metal-armed murder machine,” Bucky said, dead serious. “She’s the deadliest of them all.”

You walked into the gym with a water bottle and smiled. “You left this in the kitchen, baby.”

Bucky’s face lit up.

“See?” he whispered to the others. “Deadly.”

—

Rule #6: He’s not embarrassed. He’s in love.

Natasha had tried to tease him once.

“You’ve gone soft,” she said, flicking a finger toward where you were curled up in Bucky’s lap while he braided your hair.

“I hope so,” Bucky said, without missing a beat. “Took me decades to get soft again.”

You blinked. “That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“And I’ve got more where that came from.” He kissed the top of your head and kept braiding. “You want the little one at the end? The fishtail?”

“You remembered my favorite?”

“Of course.”

Steve groaned in the background.

“I used to be scary,” Bucky said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Now I’m moisturized, well-fed, and deeply in love. Get used to it.”

—

Rule #7: *Don’t call it whipped. Call it devoted.

You found the sticky notes one day—hundreds of them. All over Bucky’s locker, his desk, his nightstand. Your handwriting, your doodles. Silly notes you’d left him over the years.

He’d kept every single one.

“You kept all of these?” you asked, stunned, running your fingers over the rainbow of little squares.

Bucky came up behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. “Course I did.”

“But why?”

“Because they’re from you.” He kissed the curve of your neck. “Because I love how your mind works. Because they got me through hard days. And because when I’m not with you, I still want pieces of you around.”

Your throat got tight. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’ll get you another donut.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

—

So, yeah. Maybe Bucky Barnes was obsessed with his wife.

Maybe he’d burned it into everyone’s brains that you were his. That he loved you with the kind of ferocity that melted metal and rewired his soul. That he had a thousand ways to say “I love you,” and none of them involved subtlety.

The truth was: You’d saved him. And Bucky didn’t let people forget the things that saved him.

Especially not when she was the softest, brightest, most fiercely kind thing in a world that had tried to break him.

So yeah. He was obsessed.

And the whole damn compound better get used to it.

[missvelvetsstuff]

Title: Give. It. Back.

Bucky Barnes was a man of routine.

He woke up at the same time every morning, brewed his coffee with military precision, and folded his laundry so crisply it could’ve passed inspection. His closet was an orderly shrine to monochrome: blacks, greys, and the occasional navy blue, each sweatshirt hanging in a lineup that would make any quartermaster proud.

So naturally, when his favorite charcoal hoodie went missing, he noticed.

He’d searched everywhere his closet, the back of the couch, under the bed, even in the dryer just in case Sam had been screwing with him again. But it was gone. Vanished into thin air like Steve after a difficult conversation.

Bucky was not amused.

Not until he walked into the kitchen that morning and saw you curled up on the couch, coffee in hand, feet tucked under you like a cat wearing it.

His hoodie.

You looked cozy as hell. Too cozy. The sleeves hung over your hands, the hem stretched almost to your thighs, and the hood flopped adorably down your back. It smelled like him, and he knew it because he saw the way your eyes fluttered closed for half a second as you brought the coffee to your lips, like you were savoring something more than just caffeine.

His eye twitched.

“Give. It. Back.”

You didn’t even flinch. Just lifted a brow and looked over your mug like you hadn’t just committed high treason.

“Hm?”

“My hoodie.”

You took another sip. “This hoodie?”

“Yes. That hoodie. Mine. Gimme.”

“You weren’t wearing it.”

“I was going to.”

“Were you, though?”

“Y/N.”

You snorted, standing up slowly and doing a dramatic little twirl. “Bucky, come on. It’s like two sizes too big and the comfiest thing I’ve ever worn. I’m doing it a favor, really. Giving it a new life.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

You smiled sweetly. “Want some coffee?”

“No. I want my hoodie.”

You walked past him, patting his chest as you went. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

He stood there for a full thirty seconds, arms crossed, trying to keep the scowl on his face. But the second you disappeared around the corner, a traitorous grin broke out on his face.

He was doomed.

Bucky thought that would be the end of it. One hoodie. One minor offense.

He was wrong.

Over the next week, you went full klepto on his wardrobe. One by one, his beloved sweatshirts began to disappear, each one turning up days later on you.

The navy one with the frayed cuffs? You wore it to game night.

The dark green zip-up that somehow made his eyes pop? You claimed it on laundry day.

The oversized black crewneck he wore on rainy afternoons? You wrapped yourself in it on the fire escape with a book like you were starring in your own damn indie film.

And every time he caught you, it was the same drama.

“Y/N what the hell.”

“What?” you said innocently, perched on the counter, legs swinging. You were wearing the grey one that he’d been specifically saving for today. “You weren’t using it.”

“I was going to.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

You bit into your apple, unfazed. “You’re being dramatic.”

He pointed at you. “You are stealing. That makes you the criminal. You’re the dramatic one here.”

“Okay, Sergeant Grumpy-Pants.”

“I’m serious!”

You gave him a slow, indulgent once-over. “You’re just mad I look better in it than you.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you hopped off the counter and walked past him, pausing only to lean up and whisper, “…and you like it.”

He glared at your retreating back like it would make you spontaneously combust.

It didn’t.

That night, Bucky found himself lying in bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling and sighing. A lot.

Sam, unfortunately, noticed.

“Okay, what’s with the lovesick war vet act?”

“I’m not lovesick.”

“Right. And I’m not incredibly handsome.”

Bucky gave him a look.

Sam chuckled and leaned against the doorway. “Come on. You’ve been brooding harder than usual lately. You finally gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re absolutely obsessed with her. You think I don’t see the way you watch her walk off in your hoodies like she’s carrying your heart in her pockets?”

Bucky rolled over, groaning into his pillow. “You’re imagining things.”

“Nope,” Sam said. “You’re in deep, Barnes.”

He wasn’t wrong.

By the following weekend, Bucky had lost track of how many sweatshirts had gone missing.

He knew they hadn’t actually disappeared he’d seen them, on you, in every room of the Tower. It was like you were marking territory, claiming each piece of him one hoodie at a time. At this rate, he was starting to wonder if you were going to just steal him next.

He’d probably let you.

Today, it was the dark burgundy pullover, the one he barely wore but had sentimental value. He didn’t even remember you taking it. But here you were, curled up in the corner of the common room with your knees tucked under you and a bowl of popcorn in your lap, the sleeves halfway down your fingers.

You didn’t look up when he walked in. But you smirked like you knew.

He folded his arms across his chest, sighing loud enough to be heard.

“Really?”

You turned your head, gave him a lazy smile. “You should get better locks on your closet.”

“I’m not kidding this time.”

“No?”

“I want it back.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

You looked down at yourself, feigning confusion. “But I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

Bucky short-circuited.

“You’re what?”

You laughed, a devilish sparkle in your eyes. “I’m joking, Buck. Calm down.”

He looked away quickly, cheeks pink despite himself. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love it.”

He mumbled something under his breath as he walked past you, a muttered string of words that included “ridiculous,” “menace,” and “not even warm enough in here for sweatshirts.”

He didn’t stop until he was out of the room.

And then he smiled.

Later That Night

Bucky stood at the foot of his bed, hoodie in hand.

It was the soft, pale blue one you’d always eyed but hadn’t “borrowed” yet. The one he never wore out of habit, because it reminded him of a day in Bucharest when things were… better. Quieter. It had been stuffed in the back of the drawer for years.

Now he couldn’t stop staring at it.

He reached for it, hesitated, then tossed it over the edge of his bed on top of the laundry pile he knew you’d walk by in the morning.

If you stole it, that was fine. If not… well, that was fine too.

The next morning, the hoodie was gone.

And Bucky smiled into his coffee cup.

Bucky was a careful man.

He cleaned his weapons with discipline. He folded his socks the same way every time. He knew which squeaky floorboards to avoid when sneaking in late and which drawer Sam kept his gummy bears in.

But you? You were chaos.

You walked into his life and started unraveling the seams one stolen hoodie at a time.

And he was letting you.

Hell, he was helping you.

Every time you wore one, he pretended to grumble. Pretended to hate it. And maybe, at first, it was just funny. But now? He found himself anticipating it. Found himself checking the hall to see which one you had on today. Found himself choosing which hoodie to leave casually accessible.

The worst part?

It didn’t feel like a game anymore.

That night, it was raining.

You found him sitting on the couch with a book he wasn’t really reading, a blanket over his lap, and that faraway look he got when he wasn’t quite in the present.

He looked up when he heard you pad in barefoot, wearing of course his blue hoodie.

The one he’d left out on purpose.

You rubbed your arms through the sleeves, curling into the corner of the couch beside him.

“I like this one,” you murmured.

He swallowed, trying to sound nonchalant. “You like all of them.”

“I like this one best.”

“Because it’s soft?”

You looked over at him, head tilted slightly. “Because it smells like you.”

He froze.

There it was. A truth, spoken like it was nothing.

You didn’t say it teasingly. You didn’t smile afterward like you were waiting for his reaction. You just said it and settled beside him like it was normal.

His heart was a live wire.

After a long beat, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever gonna stop pretending to hate it?”

He chuckled under his breath. “What if I’m not pretending?”

You turned your head just enough for your voice to soften near his neck. “Then I guess I’ll have to steal every last one.”

Silence.

Then

“You already have.”

It was a quiet night in the Tower. For once.

The team had just gotten back from a low-stakes mission intel retrieval in upstate New York. No explosions, no injuries. Just cold air, long drives, and too much time for Bucky to sit with his thoughts.

He was tired. Not just from the mission but from pretending the way he felt about you didn’t gnaw at him every time you walked by in one of his hoodies.

Especially now. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, hair still damp from your shower, wearing the black zip-up he’d practically gifted you with his silence.

The others were half-watching Ocean’s Eleven but Bucky wasn’t watching anything. Not really. His eyes were on you.

On the way you tugged the sleeves over your knuckles.

On the way your head tilted against the couch like gravity was pulling you toward him.

He shifted slightly, voice low. “You tired?”

You hummed. “A little.”

And then, without asking, you leaned back between his knees, head resting gently on his thigh.

Bucky’s brain short-circuited.

He stayed still. So still. Like moving would scare you off. Like your warmth was something fragile he didn’t want to lose.

From across the room, Sam made a face.

“Oh my god. Just kiss already.”

Bucky glared. “You’re gonna ruin the movie.”

“You’ve seen this movie like ten times.”

“And you’ve been in my business eleven.”

Nat smirked, sipping her tea. “He’s sulking again.”

“Bet it’s the hoodie,” Sam added.

Bucky folded his arms, huffing. “It’s not the hoodie.”

You turned your face slightly so your cheek rested on his thigh, hiding your smile.

“Oh, it’s absolutely the hoodie,” you murmured.

After the movie, everyone scattered. It was just the two of you left in the common room. You didn’t move for a long time, just sat there in his hoodie, in his space, looking like you belonged there.

Eventually, you turned, facing him properly.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I don’t take your stuff to annoy you, right?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the softness in your voice.

“I know.”

“I wear it because…” You trailed off, tugging the zipper up halfway. “It makes me feel safe.”

He swallowed. That damn lump in his throat again.

“I don’t know what this is,” you added quietly, “but I just… I like being close to you.”

His voice was hoarse. “Yeah?”

You looked up at him with shy but steady eyes. “Yeah.”

He reached forward slowly metal fingers brushing your sleeve, thumb grazing your wrist.

“Good,” he said. “Because I like being close to you, too.”

The next morning, Bucky stood in front of your door holding a hoodie.

Not just any hoodie his favorite one. Dark gray, threadbare at the cuffs, soft from a hundred washes. He’d worn it during early training sessions and sleepless nights, tugged it on after long missions, buried his hands in the sleeves when his head was too loud.

It was comfort. It was home.

And now he wanted you to have it.

He stared at the door for a solid minute, willing himself to knock.

He could fight HYDRA operatives with his bare hands. He could stand up to Tony’s sarcasm. He could even sit through one of Sam’s “Why You Need Therapy” PowerPoints.

But giving you this?

Terrifying.

He knocked twice, soft and hesitant.

You opened the door in a sleepy daze, hair mussed, wearing another one of his hoodies one he hadn’t even realized had gone missing yet.

“Morning,” you mumbled, rubbing your eye.

“Hey.”

You blinked at the sight of the folded hoodie in his hand. “What’s this?”

He offered it to you, wordlessly.

You took it, confused, fingers brushing his. “Are you… giving this to me?”

“Yeah.”

Your brows lifted, surprised. “Voluntarily?”

“Don’t make it weird,” he said, flustered.

“I’m not making it weird. I’m just shocked. I figured I’d have to wrestle it from you like the others.”

He smirked a little, scratching the back of his neck. “This one’s… different.”

“How so?”

“It’s not stolen,” he said softly. “It’s yours.”

Your breath hitched. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then

“Wait does this mean… are we ?”

“I don’t know,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “But I want to be.”

You stared at him, the hoodie clutched to your chest.

Then, without warning, you launched forward, arms going around his neck, knocking him back a step.

Bucky caught you instantly, arms tightening around your waist, metal hand splayed against your back.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’ll wrinkle it.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Then you leaned back, looked into his eyes, and kissed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t fireworks and trembling hands. It was warm. Familiar. Like slipping into one of his hoodies: soft and safe and perfectly broken-in.

And when you finally pulled away, cheeks flushed, you whispered

“So… can I keep stealing them?”

He grinned, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“They’re all yours.”

Two weeks later, it was official: Bucky Barnes was whipped.

Utterly, irrevocably, publicly whipped.

You wore his hoodies like they were your uniform. You curled up under his arm every night. You made him laugh out loud in front of people. And worst of all?

He let you.

Worse than that?

He liked it.

Which is exactly what made him a prime target.

It started during a team breakfast.

You walked into the kitchen wearing his green hoodie the green hoodie. The one that made his eyes pop. The one that made Steve once say, “Didn’t you die in that?”

It was practically vintage.

You shuffled in like you owned the place, rubbing sleep from your eyes, yawning as you poured a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” you murmured, slipping into the seat next to Bucky and leaning into him without a second thought.

Sam choked on his toast.

“Again?” he said loudly, waving his butter knife in your direction. “Isn’t that, like, hoodie number twelve?”

“Seventeen, actually,” Natasha said from behind her mug.

You raised your brows. “You guys are keeping count?”

“Someone has to,” Sam grinned. “At this point you’ve got enough of his wardrobe to open a gift shop.”

“‘Hoodies of Barnes’,” Tony offered. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“I’d buy one,” Clint added.

“Only if it comes with the pouty grumpy face he makes every time she steals one,” Nat deadpanned.

Bucky opened his mouth to defend himself but then you turned and pressed a kiss to his cheek, in front of everyone, and he immediately short-circuited.

“Oh my god,” Sam said, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. “He’s smiling.”

“Disgusting,” Tony muttered.

“I think it’s cute,” Wanda said sweetly. “He’s like a teddy bear with knives.”

“You guys are insufferable,” Bucky grumbled, but his arm tightened around your waist anyway.

You sipped your coffee and smirked up at him. “You like it.”

He kissed the top of your head and muttered, “Yeah, I do.”

Later That Day

You were snuggled up on the couch, legs across Bucky’s lap, a movie playing quietly in the background. You wore yet another hoodie this one new. One he’d just ordered for himself online.

He hadn’t even worn it yet.

“You didn’t even let me try it on first,” he groaned dramatically.

“You snooze, you lose.”

“I was at work.”

“Again snooze.”

He gave you an exaggerated look of betrayal. “I thought we had a system.”

You leaned over, kissed him slow and soft. “We do. I take. You surrender.”

He mumbled something about “unbelievable” and “textbook theft” before pulling you closer and burying his face in your neck.

When Steve passed by, he paused in the doorway and smirked. “You giving away hoodies now, Buck?”

“Shut up, Rogers.”

“You gonna start embroidering initials into ‘em too?”

“I said shut up.”

Steve just winked. “Domestic looks good on you.”

One Week Later

You opened the dresser drawer one morning to find something folded neatly on top of your clothes: a brand new hoodie.

Cream-colored. Oversized. Still smelled like him.

Pinned to it was a little note in his messy, all-caps handwriting:

“Since you’re gonna steal another one anyway. Figured I’d make it easy.

– B”

(P.S. You look better in them than I ever did.)”

You stared at it for a long second, then tucked it on like armor.

That evening, Bucky walked into the kitchen, spotted you wearing it, and smiled to himself.

“You’re not gonna be dramatic this time?” you teased.

He stepped up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder.

“Nope. This one’s yours.”

“Wow. Look at you. Character development.”

He smirked. “Don’t push it.”

Bonus Scene: (Sam’s POV)

Sam wasn’t trying to spy.

Really, he wasn’t.

He just walked into the common room one random Tuesday afternoon, planning to grab a protein shake and not deal with other people’s relationship drama for once.

What he didn’t expect?

Bucky Barnes, sitting alone on the couch with his phone in hand, hunched over it like it held the launch codes to a nuclear warhead.

Suspicious.

Sam slowed his steps, keeping his voice casual. “What you doin’, Barnes?”

Bucky jumped.

“Nothing.”

That was already suspicious.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re ordering something online.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Your guilty face is literally screaming Amazon Prime.”

Bucky scowled, trying to turn his phone screen away without being obvious about it.

Sam was faster.

He lunged over the couch before Bucky could stop him, peeking at the screen then froze.

And blinked.

Then blinked again.

“Oh my god.”

Bucky groaned. “Don’t.”

“You’re ordering. More. Hoodies.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“You have six in the cart.”

“I’m just preparing.”

“For what? A hoodie apocalypse?”

“She keeps stealing them, okay?” Bucky muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need backups.”

Sam stared.

“Wait,” he said slowly, “are you… are you replacing them now? Like, are you building hoodie stock for her the way people prep for winter?”

“She likes the soft ones.”

Sam flopped onto the couch dramatically. “This is worse than I thought.”

“She gets cold!”

“Oh my god, you’re in love.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

He just stared at his phone, then tapped Place Order.

Sam sat up slowly, a hand over his heart. “You’re building a hoodie hoard for your girl.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s too late. This is already the weirdest and softest thing you’ve ever done.”

Bucky stood up and stalked toward the hallway, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Not as much as I love her.”

“Wait what?!”

But Bucky was gone.

Later That Night

You found a stack of brand-new hoodies folded neatly on your bed.

Different colors. All oversized. All soft as clouds.

No note this time just a quiet admission through action.

You held one to your chest and smiled to yourself.

From the hallway, Bucky peeked in, then leaned on the doorframe.

“Figured you might need reinforcements.”

You turned, heart full. “You know what this means, right?”

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You just gave me full legal permission to steal more.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

Then he grinned, crooked and fond.

“And honestly? I hope you do.”

[missvelvetsstuff]

Bucky Barnes + Protective x Completely reckless 💕

Ice , Ice , Baby Don’t Fall!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A winter team-building activity turns into chaos when your reckless streak ends in injury—and Bucky's gruff concern reveals just how much he truly cares.

Word Count: 1.2K+

Content: Mild injury / Swearing / Emotional distress / Light romantic tension / protective behavior / Some medical caretaking

a/n: catching up on all the requests from my 600 follower event! <3 thank you @writing-for-marvel for the request! i hope i did it justice!!

masterlist -- requests/inbox open!

“This is a very , very bad idea.”

Bucky said it with his arms crossed tight , eyes narrowed behind his navy beanie , watching the rink like it was some sort of war zone instead of a holiday team-building activity.

You—cheeks pink from the cold air , red scarf wrapped haphazardly around your neck , grinning ear to ear. You were practically bouncing beside him.

“It’s ice skating, Barnes. Not a tactical op.”

“I’ve seen less risk in tactical ops.”

You laughed , patting his muscular chest with your mitten clad hands. “You’re being dramatic.”

Valentina had demanded the Thunderbolts do something “festive” as a team to show the world the New Avengers were still people , which naturally meant dumping all of you—mercenaries, assassins, emotionally-stunted lunatics—onto a very crowded very public rink with hot chocolate and the subtle threat of photos being snapped the entire time.

Yelena had already hip-checked Alexei into ice twice. John was attempting pirouettes and nearly decapitated a twelve-year-old girl with pigtails while Ava had vanished. Literally.

You laced up your skates , tugging the laces tight with a perfect bow, then straightened up and beamed hands on hips at Bucky. “Come on , Buck. Live a little.”

He stared at you like you’d asked him to bungee jump into an active volcano.

“You’ve never done this before,” he muttered , worry coating the entirety of his handsome face.

“So?”

“So let me show you before you just head out there.”

You rolled your eyes shaking your head. “You gonna give me an ice skating tutorial, soldier boy?”

“Yes.” He dead panned.

You laughed again, grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the rink.

“Okay, okay. Let’s see what you’ve got, Professor.”

Ten Minutes Later

“You’re leaning too far forward,” Bucky grumbled , guiding your hips to be more straight  , gently with both hands. “Center your weight.”

“Mm-hmm.” Your tongue was poked out with concentration.

“Your knees should bend. Don’t lock them.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t take sharp turns–”

You looked over your shoulder, smirking. “You worry too much.”

“That’s because you get hurt too much.”

You gave a dramatic gasp. “I never get hurt.”

“You got a concussion last month from trying to backflip off a moving jeep.”

“I almost landed it , if Alexie kept it steady I would have!”

Bucky growled under his breath before sighing loudly. “Just go slow, okay?”

You winked, skating ahead a little faster, arms out for balance. He followed behind, eye twitching. His eyes never left you. Not for a second.

And that was his fatal flaw.

Because you?

You never listened.

You picked up speed.

It wasn’t graceful—it was like Bambi on espresso , but it was fun. You dodged a cluster of kids of a field trip , made a sharp (and stupid) turn around one of the snowbanks, and then—

Crack-thump.

Pain.

Instant. Hot. Stabbing up your leg from your ankle.

You gasped, fell hard onto your side, skates sprawled out beneath you, eyes squeezing shut , tight.

People gasped as they skated by.

And Bucky?

He ran.

Not skated—ran.

“Doll—doll, hey!”

He dropped to his knees beside you, hands all over, checking, assessing, cataloging damage like he was back on active battlefield. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it hurt worse than you.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he hissed. “Are you—? Did you hit your head? What hurts?”

“My ankle,” you whispered, blinking up at him holding the injured foot.

Your voice was shaky. You hated that.

“I think I twisted it, Buck. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to—”

“I told you not to make sharp turns,” he bit out, pulling your skate off with slow, careful fingers.

The moment the boot slid off, pain shot through your leg and you whimpered, gripping his coat.

He paled. “Okay. That’s it. We’re done. You’re done.”

“Bucky–”

“No. I knew this would happen.”

“I was just having fun—”

“You don’t need to break your damn ankle to have fun!”

You flinched at his tone. He instantly softened feeling awful.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with his metal fingers. “I just—god, doll, you scared the shit out of me.”

“I’ve scared you worse.”

“Doesn’t mean I ever get used to it.”

He moved slowly, sliding his arms beneath you, and lifted you effortlessly off the ice. You hissed in pain, but curled into him.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold. And injured. And maybe mildly humiliated.”

You buried your face in his scarf, voice muffled.

“I was trying to impress you.”

Bucky blinked. “By giving yourself a sprain?”

“…It sounded better in my head.”

He laughed under his breath, tight and fond and exasperated , and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You impress me by breathing. You don’t have to kill yourself to prove a point.”

“That’s romantic,” you murmured.

“I’m serious.”

You didn’t reply right away.

Instead, you let yourself relax in his hold, cheek pressed to his heartbeat, surrounded by the buzz of the blades on the rink and the sound of snow starting to fall gently around you.

Then—

“I still almost landed that jeep backflip.”

“Dont”

Later That Night

“You need to ice it every hour.”

“Yes,  Bucky.”

“And keep it elevated.”

“Yes, Bucky.”

“And no walking without the brace. I mean it.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re very bossy when I’m injured.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t so reckless.”

You smirked from the couch. “You like it.”

He growled, half a glare, half a smile, as he knelt beside you with a fresh ice pack. His hands were gentle on your ankle. Too gentle. You could see the stress in the tight line of his mouth.

“You okay?” you asked.

He looked up, surprised.

“I’m not the one with a busted ankle.”

“No, but you look like i just ran over your cat.”

He exhaled, pressing his forehead to your knee , and mumbled, “I just…I hate seeing you hurt. I really hate it.”

“I know,” you whispered, threading your fingers in his hair.

He looked up again.

“You’re not mad at me for getting upset?” he asked.

“I mean, I’m mad at myself. And at physics. But no , never at you.”

“You’re not gonna listen next time either, are you?”

“…probably not.”

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“I’ll be there to catch you,” he murmured.

You tilted your head. “Always?”

He leaned in, kissed your bandaged ankle, then your knee, then your hand.

“Always, reckless girl.”

You smiled softly.

And Bucky , the grumpy, protective, old-soul Bucky—sat on the floor beside you all night, grumbling about your poor choices and refilling your hot cocoa every time it got cold.

Because that’s what you do when the love of your life insists on flying headfirst into danger.

You hold them tight. You patch them up.

And you stay ready to catch them every time they fall.

-end

Comments , Likes , Inbox Messages/Asks and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[missvelvetsstuff]

(i only came to this) party 4 u

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

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

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

Because of James Bucky Barnes.

WC: 11.4k

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

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

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

Not after what happened last night. 

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

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

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

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

Either way, you shouldn’t risk it. 

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

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

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

Sometimes you would attend. Key word, sometimes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay in there?” 

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

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

“Are you alright? I heard a crash.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah sure,” you nodded. 

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

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

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

“What song is that?” 

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

You pointed to a YouTube video playing on your computer. 

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

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

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

“Really?” you asked with growing enthusiasm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks. And thank you for helping.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

You were still listening to those songs weeks later.

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

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

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

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

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

“Stress baking.” 

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

“Can’t sleep?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked relieved to hear that. 

“What are you making?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Billie Holiday?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in love 

You’re hearts a flutter 

And all day long, 

You only stutter 

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

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

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

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

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

Something strong. 

Something you couldn’t get rid of.

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

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

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

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

It should be illegal for him to look that good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

Was it because of Bucky? Maybe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged, “Maybe I could stop by.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, until last night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head perked up in confusion. 

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

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

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

“I might.” 

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

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

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

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

You awkwardly smiled in return. 

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

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

_____

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

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

Now, you wanted to rip it off your wall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha: Morning sleepyhead, you hungover? Feeling alright?

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

Steve: Hey, you doing okay? 

Let me know if you need anything

And 1 missed call followed by 2 texts from Bucky:

I know you’re hiding in your room 

Can we talk?

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

Maybe later tonight. Depending on your bravery. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky grumbled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________________

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

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

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

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

Bucky hates parties. 

Actually that's a lie. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I might.”

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

“Yes seriously, I'm considering it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

Steve Rogers is a traitor.

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

Slow dancing with you. 

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

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

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

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

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

And now the little punk was dancing with you. 

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

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

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

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

“Sure, and Tony isn’t drunk.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was also much stronger than he expected. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”No.”

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

“Maybe,” he mumbled. 

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

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

“I think it’s mead.”

He looked baffled, “what’s mead?”

You shook your head amused, “not beer.” 

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

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

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

”You should do it more often.”

”Drink?

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

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

“Is that a promise?” 

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never spoke to me!” 

“I gave you cookies!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t say watching.”

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

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

You tilted your head, “like what?” 

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

“Like the most beautiful woman at this party.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I was not that drunk,” Bucky protested.

“Drunk enough to get freaky in the hallway?” 

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

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

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

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

“Sam,” Bucky warned with a sharp tone.

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

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

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

“You will be soon,” Clint insisted. 

“Don’t bet on it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”No, Clint,” Bucky cringed. 

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

Bucky’s tense shoulders relaxed at the explanation. 

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

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

____

It’s been three days. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want some help?” 

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

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

You looked at him with puzzled, furrowed brows. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Like hiding in your room?”

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

“I am not hiding.”

“I haven’t seen you in three days.” 

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

“I texted you.”

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

Bucky exhaled, “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not-“ 

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

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

You’re ignoring me, he wanted to say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this about the kiss?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I gotta know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt the same way about him. 

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

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

His eyes stayed on you. He never wavered. 

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

Your eyes widened and lips parted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He felt your breath against him as you whispered back. 

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m asking you out.” 

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

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

“Would you like to go dancing with me?” 

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Awe, what a gentleman,” Yelena remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[missvelvetsstuff]

Hello love

I really enjoy all of your content and i was wondering if you would write something about Bucky and femxreader. Angst, fluff, more angst, happy ending. Them hooking up once a while but not really dating, just casual. When reader gets knocked up and kinda spirals. She does tell Bucky but she tells him not to worry, she'll take care of it. Shes a pain in the ass stubborn and doesn't want to be inconvenient. And Bucky gets furious, because why would she do that. And reader doesn't want to make things more hard for him, because hes been dealt a shitty hand anyway, so thats the why she decides against having it. But Bucky is devastated and reader secretly wants to keep it to. Basically HUGE misunderstanding but she doesn't go through with it and Bucky is over the moon. And they both try to work things out. Even though its not planned and so on. But when they are both on the same page with the whole baby thing, she loses it or it was a false positive, like there is no baby when they go in for their first scan. But now they want a baby, so they work on their relationship and try etc... and eventually have a little family...

If this is too weird to write or makes you uncomfortable i totally get it and would understand if you don't want to do this.

I already appreciate you taking the time reading this!

Thank for all the hard work and love you put into your fics!!!!

*muah* 💋

Hello there!!! I must say this was certainly a well-loved request and I hope I was able to turn it into something you’ll enjoy! Thank you so much for the care, time, and thought into sharing this with me!!! A lot of this fic is pretty angsty due to the content and I do advise to read the disclaimer before diving into it. Nonetheless, thank you for the kind words and happy reading!!!

Built From Loss

Summary: You and Bucky were never supposed to be serious, just something casual, simple, and unspoken. That is until a surprise pregnancy sent you spiraling and pushed him into a fury you didn’t expect. After heartbreak, healing, and choosing each other for real, you build a life together, one filled with grief, growth, and the family you never knew you both needed. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 3.8k+

Disclaimer: ANGST. Hurt/Comfort. Grief. Scenes that reflect/are similar to having a miscarriage. A few time skips. Pregnancy. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Main Masterlist

You and Bucky had an understanding.

It wasn’t love. Not officially. It wasn’t anything serious. No labels, no messy attachments. Just long nights tangled in sheets, moments stolen in quiet corners of the Tower, and a mutual need for something that felt human in a world that so often wasn’t. You never stayed the night, never called first, and never expected a “what are we?” talk.

And that was fine. That was safe.

Because you’d seen what happened when people tried to ask for more. Relationships in your line of work didn’t often survive. Feelings got people killed. Or worse, they made you weak, and you’d worked too hard to be seen as anything but capable.

So when the nausea started, you ignored it. When your chest ached and you missed your period, you rationalized with stress or hormones. Maybe a cold. It wasn’t until you stood shaking in your bathroom with a test in hand, staring at two faint pink lines, that reality punched you in the ribs.

You were pregnant.

Pregnant with Bucky Barnes’ baby.

You sat on the cold tile floor, knees pulled up to your chest, and let the silence settle like dust around you. The world didn’t end. The building didn’t fall down. But something inside you cracked.

There was no plan for this.

You weren’t the kind of person who got pregnant. You were the kind of person who avoided feelings, who kept people at arm’s length, who prided herself on being low-maintenance and invincible. And now? You were a walking contradiction. A walking liability. A complication Bucky didn’t ask for.

So you made a decision.

You wouldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. It would ruin everything. Your dynamic, your fragile trust, and the little unspoken comfort that came from pretending you weren’t already halfway in love with him.

But you did tell him.

You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe a part of you needed to see what he’d say. Maybe you just… wanted him to know, even if it was only for a moment. So you waited until you knew he’d be alone, found him in the training room with sweat slicked down his neck and his fists taped.

And you told him.

“I’m pregnant,” You admitted quietly, arms crossed, and trying not to look him in the eyes. “It’s yours.”

His world slowed to a halt. You could see it in the way his body tensed, every inch of him going rigid like he’d been yanked back to the war or to Hydra or to one of the million things that had taken choice away from him. You hated that you’d done this to him. That you were another problem he’d never asked for.

“I’m handling it,” You added quickly, before he could speak. “You don’t have to worry about it. I just thought you should know.”

You didn’t tell him how terrified you were, how much a part of you secretly wanted to keep it, or how your hand had drifted over your stomach that morning without thinking.

You just stood there, waiting for him to be relieved. Maybe even grateful. Because if he didn’t want this, neither did you.

You were doing the right thing. Weren’t you?

But when you saw his expression, you realized you weren’t actually sure what reaction you expected from him.

Shock, maybe or silence. You thought he’d give a tight nod and a quick exit. Maybe he’d feel relief even, hell, maybe even indifference. That would’ve hurt, but it would’ve made this easier. You had braced for that.

But not this.

Not the way Bucky stared at you like you’d ripped something out of him. Not the way his expression cracked, so visibly and so fast, you were certain you’d never seen him look so… wrecked.

“What do you mean you’re handling it?” He asked slowly, voice gravel-deep, controlled only by a fraying thread.

Your throat felt dry. “It’s not– Bucky, come on. You and I both know this wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s not– this isn’t what you need in your life right now.”

He took a step toward you, fists clenched at his sides, eyes wild. “You think I don’t need you? You think I wouldn’t want… this?”

That stunned you into silence.

The words echoed strangely in your ears. You’d always been a temporary fix, a comfort in passing. That was the unspoken deal. This wasn’t supposed to become real.

He kept going, voice rising just enough to make your heart stumble, like he was unable to stop himself.

“You think I’ve ever had a choice in anything?” “You think when Hydra was ripping my mind apart, I got to choose who I was?” “You think when I got it all back, I didn’t wonder what the hell was left for me?” “And now I get told maybe—maybe—I’ve got something that’s mine, and you’re just gonna decide I don’t get that either?”

Your chest squeezed. His eyes were burning. And not with anger but with grief.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” You whispered.

“You didn’t even ask me.”

That broke something in both of you.

He stepped back like your silence had hit him harder than any Hydra agent ever could. His shoulders fell. His mouth opened to continue before he closed it again. Then he turned away and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh.

You felt like you were floating outside your body.

Maybe you should’ve asked. Maybe you should’ve given him the chance to tell you what this meant to him. But everything about this felt impossible: too messy, too fast, and too much. And you were always the one who didn’t ask for too much.

That was the whole reason he liked you, right?

Low maintenance, easy, and detached. Not emotional, not vulnerable, and not pregnant.

“I didn’t think you’d want this,” You said, too quiet. “I thought you’d feel trapped.”

He turned back toward you. His jaw clenched.

“You weren’t a mistake,” He said sharply. “You think anything we’ve been doing has felt casual to me? Jesus… have you even looked at me lately? You think I stare at anyone else like I stare at you?”

You blinked. He was right. You just hadn’t let yourself believe it. You’d pushed it down, told yourself none of it meant anything because it wasn’t allowed to mean anything.

You opened your mouth to apologize. He beat you to it.

“I should’ve said something sooner. I should’ve told you what I wanted instead of assuming you didn’t want the same.”

You shook your head. “No. This is on me.”

But he stepped closer again, gentler this time. One hand hovered near your arm, not touching, just waiting.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” He said, softer now. “Not if you don’t want to.”

And that was when your walls finally cracked.

You didn’t cry, but instead leaned forward and let your forehead press against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

You still didn’t know what was going to happen. You were still scared. Still overwhelmed.

But now, at least, you weren’t alone.

And that changed everything.

Everything between you and Bucky shifted after that day.

He didn’t just show up, he stayed. Walked you to appointments, made your tea in the mornings, and sat next to you on the couch when the anxiety got too loud. He asked about how you felt. He let you lean on him even when you didn’t know how. He kissed you like he was trying to make a home out of every second.

You hadn’t planned on having anything with him. But somehow, you started planning anyway. Not with calendars, names, or Pinterest boards; but with the way he pulled you close when you woke from a nightmare. With the way his hand always found yours under the table during team meetings or with the way he whispered We’ll figure this out into your skin when the doubt crept back in.

You caught yourself dreaming of soft blankets and tiny socks. Of a nursery you didn’t have yet, of a future you didn’t even know you wanted until now.

And Bucky? He never missed a moment.

He’d never admit it, but he was excited. Nervous, yes, but you saw the way he lit up every time he talked about the baby: “Maybe they’ll have your eyes or your sarcasm. Or maybe my hair.” The thought of someone small, someone half you and half him, gave him something to hold onto. Something that was finally his.

The first scan came faster than expected.

The exam room was too bright, too cold. Your fingers were locked with his as the tech rolled the wand over your stomach. Bucky had barely blinked the entire time. His grip on your hand was steady, but his knee bounced nervously, like he couldn’t quite keep all the emotion still.

The silence stretched.

The technician tilted her head. Clicked a few buttons then tilted her head again.

You knew. You felt it. Something was wrong.

You didn’t want to be the one to say it. You just kept staring at the monitor, looking for something, anything that would tell you this wasn’t what it felt like.

The woman’s voice was soft, apologetic, and clinical even when trying not to be.

“I’m… I’m sorry. There’s no heartbeat.”

You blinked at the screen. You stared at the blur of grey and white static, your mind refusing to connect the words with what they meant.

“I don’t understand,” You whispered. “I–I took the tests. I’ve been sick. I–”

“It may have been a false positive,” She explained gently. “Or… it may have stopped developing early on. It happens. It’s no one’s fault.”

But that didn’t stop it from feeling like one.

Bucky’s hand slipped from yours. Not because he pulled away, but because you went numb. You sat there with your legs still covered in the crinkling paper, your shirt hiked up, and the gel still on your stomach.

You didn’t cry. You just felt hollow. Like something had been carved out of you without warning. The woman gave you two some space, stepping out of the room for a moment.

Bucky moved slowly, standing and crouching beside you. He didn’t say anything at first. He just rested his forehead against your arm and stayed there, breathing unevenly, like his lungs didn’t quite work right anymore.

“I wanted them,” He said after a long time, voice breaking. “I didn’t even know I could want something like that, but I did.”

You reached for him, fingers trembling as you touched his hair. He leaned into you, and suddenly you realized you weren’t comforting him, he was keeping you from falling apart.

“I did too,” You admitted, and this time, the tears came.

The rest of the day blurred.

They let you leave through the back door so no one would see you cry in the lobby. Bucky held your coat for you, carried your bag, and kept his arm around your shoulders as if he thought you might disappear. Maybe he was afraid you would.

You spent the night on his couch. There wasn’t any talking, just existing in the same space and surviving the heartbreak in the same room.

There was no baby. There was nothing in your belly but silence.

But something still lived in that space between you and him, and neither of you were willing to let it go.

The grief didn’t come all at once.

It snuck in slowly, between sips of coffee and empty spaces where a hand used to rest on your stomach. It curled up in the quiet between conversations, in the way Bucky looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. It lived in the routines you never got to build, the milestones you never got to reach.

For a while, you didn’t know how to talk about it.

You’d wake up in his bed and wonder if it still made sense to be there. He’d make you breakfast without asking how you were. You’d both pretend everything was fine.

But it wasn’t.

You were two people grieving a future that had never really existed.

Except..in a way it had. Because hope was real, because plans had started to form, and because you’d let yourself imagine life with him, not just next to him.

One night, nearly two weeks after the scan, it all cracked open.

You were sitting beside him on the floor, your legs stretched out and a blanket tossed over both of your laps. You were staring at the muted TV, neither of you watching it.

“I keep thinking I did something wrong,” You whispered.

His head turned immediately, eyes narrowing.

“You didn’t,” He said, with such finality that it made you flinch. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t start that.”

“I know,” You said. “I just… I can’t stop feeling it.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, “Me too.”

You looked over at him. Bucky wasn’t great with words. He never had been. But something had softened in him over the last few months, especially when it came to you.

“I keep thinking if I hadn’t hesitated that day, maybe you would’ve told me sooner,” He said. “Maybe we could’ve been more ready. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much.”

You frowned. “You think I didn’t want it just because I panicked?”

He met your eyes. “Did you?”

You swallowed hard. The answer was fragile, but it was still the truth.

“No,” You said. “I wanted them. I think… I was scared of what it would mean. What it would do to you. I didn’t want to be one more burden around your neck.”

“You’re not a burden,” His voice was low, certain. “You’ve never been.”

Silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy.

You rested your head against his shoulder. He leaned into you like he needed it too.

“Do you still want this?” You asked softly.

He didn’t pretend not to understand. Didn’t dodge or change the subject.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I want it with you.”

You turned to face him, heart catching. He looked tired, still grieving, still healing; but there was light behind his eyes. There was something unshakable beneath the pain.

“I think I do too,” You said.

“You think?” He teased, lips twitching.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

His arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you close. “We don’t have to rush it, but I want to try again. When you’re ready, when we both are.”

“And if it doesn’t happen again?”

“Then we keep trying, or we don’t. Doesn’t matter. You and me? That’s what I want.”

The tears came again, but this time, they didn’t sting the same way. These ones weren’t hollow. They were warm and grounding, healing.

You kissed him. Slow and soft as he kissed you back like he was choosing you all over again.

This time, with no rules.

No maybes.

Just you and whatever came next.

Trying again didn’t mean pretending it never happened.

There were still quiet days where you didn’t talk much, where he held you longer in the morning and didn’t ask questions when you stared too long at the window. There were nights when Bucky would wake up sweating, arms trembling around you like he was afraid you’d vanish. He never said what the dream was, but you always knew.

But now, you talked, really talked. When the sadness crept in, you let it stay a while instead of hiding it. And when hope flickered again in that faint and unfamiliar way, you didn’t shove it down.

You’d never planned on being in love with James Buchanan Barnes.

And yet somehow, you found yourself brushing your teeth beside him each night, folding his clothes with yours, learning how he liked his coffee, and where he liked to be touched when words failed him. He made you laugh again, when you didn’t think you had laughter left. And you made him smile without the weight he usually carried behind it.

Trying for a baby wasn’t romantic at first. It was awkward, clinical sometimes, a mix of schedules and tests and disappointing results. You told yourselves you weren’t getting your hopes up. You were just seeing what happened.

But the truth was, every time your period was late, your breath caught. Every time you held your stomach absentmindedly, Bucky’s eyes softened.

And honestly, you weren’t even sure exactly when it finally happened.

You’d been tired for days, really tired, and the smell of Bucky’s protein shake had made you gag. You hadn’t mentioned it because you didn’t want to hope.

But then Bucky found the test you hadn’t meant to take.

You’d left it on the edge of the sink, still sitting there while you paced in the hallway, unable to look at it.

He picked it up and came out holding it with both hands, like it was something sacred.

And then he smiled slowly, like the sun coming through winter.

“Sweetheart,” He said, voice almost shaking. “It’s positive.”

You stared at him, frozen.

“What if it’s like last time?” You whispered. “What if we get excited and it’s not–”

His hands cupped your face, grounding you.

“Then we’ll hurt together,” He said. “But this time, we can hope together every step of the way.”

The first appointment came with fear, but also something else.

You were lying on the table again, holding Bucky’s hand in the same room near the same machine, but everything felt different. The tech clicked buttons, moved the wand, and then: there it was.

A heartbeat. Tiny. Steady. Real.

You both cried. Neither of you tried to hide it.

He kissed your knuckles over and over as he whispered, “There you are…”

That night, you curled up against him on the couch and let him rest his hand on your belly for the first time. There was no pretending it wasn’t happening. No fear of being too much. Just the warmth of his palm and the rise and fall of your breathing together.

“I still don’t know how we got here,” You murmured.

“I do,” Bucky said, tracing slow circles on your skin. “We stayed.”

The last month of your pregnancy felt endless.

You were heavy, tired, and sore in places you didn’t know could hurt. Bucky was worse. He was hovering like a nervous shadow, trying not to hover, and constantly checking in. He massaged your back every night, timed your contractions more than once only to groan when it turned out to be false labor, and you were pretty sure he had a go-bag packed in three different closets.

You’d never seen him like this.

So soft, so devoted, and so in awe of everything about you even when you were snapping at him for breathing too loud or crying because some Instagram post made you emotional.

“You’re doing great,” He kept whispering. “You’re doing so damn good, sweetheart.”

And then one night, it was time.

It was messy, loud, and terrifying. But Bucky was there for every second whether it was for holding your hand, kissing your temple, or whispering just one more push with tears in his voice and a strength in his arms you could lean into when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

And when it was over–

You heard the cry.

High-pitched, beautiful, and alive.

They placed the baby, your baby, on your chest. And the whole world cracked wide open.

Bucky didn’t speak for a long time. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes locked on the two of you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

Then he reached out, gently ran a trembling finger down the baby’s cheek.

“Hey, little one,” He murmured. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

You looked at him through bleary, exhausted eyes.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” You whispered. “Any of this.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t think I deserved it,” He said. “But maybe we both do.”

And so, weeks passed.

You learned quickly how to change diapers with one hand. Bucky learned how to swaddle like a pro. There were sleepless nights, quiet mornings, and little moments that made the exhaustion worth it. Sometimes it was a tiny fist curled around his pinky, their first sleepy smile, or the way the baby settled instantly when resting against Bucky’s chest.

Sometimes you caught him rocking the baby in the nursery, whispering old lullabies in a language he barely spoke anymore. You’d stand in the doorway and watch, heart full of something too big to name.

One night, you said it out loud.

“We made a family.”

Bucky looked up at you, eyes soft.

“Yeah,” He said, grinning. “And maybe we’re gonna mess it up sometimes, but we’ll love the hell out of each other while we do.”

You stepped into his arms and held him close, your baby sleeping in the crib nearby.

For a man who never thought he’d have anything of his own, he had you.

And for a woman who never thought she’d be wanted, you were everything.

Your family wasn’t perfect or initially planned, but it was whole and full of life.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @mouseratface @mel-reads

[missvelvetsstuff]

i love your blog and writing style so much! reading x reader fics is my only type of comfort (besides my cat) so you're making my days better and more bearable i'm really thankful for that! 😭🌷

soo i wanted to ask you to write a fic for me 🥺 i literally have NO ONE like no friends (i have 3 or 2 but not 'friends' friends you know?) and my family is messed up i feel like i have no one in my corner and i would love love love if you write something like reader is lonely and bucky goes in her life and etc etc i would be SO thankful if you choose to write this and if you don't, don't worry you're already making my days better while writing your fics 🤍🩶

Hello, dear! I’m glad you have enjoyed my work and that they’ve been of comfort to you! I appreciate the kind words. It was nice completing your request since I could relate to some of it and always enjoy writing some hurt/comfort. However, I do hope you find some good friends or people you can turn to someday! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Stayed Through it All

Summary: You’d spent most of your life convinced you were too quiet, too much, not enough for anyone to stay. But then Bucky Barnes started showing up in your life slowly and gradually became the first person who made you feel like you didn’t have to be anyone or anything else to be enough.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Main Masterlist

You didn’t mean to let it get this bad.

You didn’t even notice when the loneliness stopped feeling like something temporary and started becoming something permanent.

It was probably after your friend stopped texting back to hang out with their new friend. Maybe it was after your father stopped returning your calls, blaming you for being “too much” when all you’d done was cry quietly on the phone one night. Maybe it was the way your mother’s voice always sharpened when you dared to mention being tired. “You think you have it hard?”

Eventually, you stopped sharing at all. Even in the smallest ways. You nodded along to your coworkers' stories, laughed at the right times, learned to say “I’m good, you?” like a reflex.

But one day turned into a week, then a month of missed calls and unanswered messages. Not that there were many to begin with. Your friends, if you could still call them that, had slowly drifted, slipping into group chats you were no longer in. Family remained… complicated. Cold shoulders wrapped in guilt-trips and sharp words. You’d grown tired of pretending you didn’t notice when they began talking around you instead of to you, or when they only reached out to check boxes you didn’t fit in rather than check on you.

Work had been your only escape, but even that now felt fragile. Hours were cut, supervisors were vague or micro-managing, and you faced an endless stream of people who smiled right through you. It was like being invisible while still somehow feeling too much.

Too sensitive. Too strange. Too needy. You hated how easily you cried these days. How easily you cracked.

It got harder to go home after work with each passing day. The silence in your apartment was different now. It wasn’t peaceful anymore, it reminded you of every thought and thing wrong about yourself. How you must have done something wrong for people to not want you around. How you couldn’t host dinners or parties because there was no one to invite. How even living in this apartment was seen as another disappointment rather than an achievement by your family.

Maybe that’s why you started walking at night, even though you claimed it helped you sleep. Sometimes it did. Sometimes you wandered until your legs ached, until your phone’s battery blinked red. It wasn’t safe, but you didn’t care. You weren’t reckless, you just didn’t feel like you belonged anywhere long enough to be missed.

That night, you weren’t planning to go far. You’d just needed air. You hadn't even bothered with proper shoes, just slipped on your jacket and walked. The streetlamps buzzed overhead as a breeze tugged your hair across your face.

You focused on the ground as you rounded the corner of a quiet street, when you almost ran straight into him.

“Oh–sorry,” You said, stepping back instinctively, your hand pressed to your chest. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The man raised his hands slightly in a gesture of peace. His eyes were sharper than the streetlamp above you, but not unkind. “You okay?”

You blinked. He was wearing a hoodie and gloves, but you’d seen enough photos on newsfeeds and headlines to know exactly who he was. “You’re… Bucky Barnes.”

He looked surprised for a split second, like he hadn’t expected to be recognized. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I am.”

You gave a small, breathless laugh. Not because it was funny, but because your nerves were starting to catch up. “Didn’t expect to bump into an Avenger tonight.”

“Didn’t expect to get bumped into,” He replied, something vaguely teasing in his tone. “But it’s alright.”

There was a pause. You shifted awkwardly, hugging your arms around yourself. “Sorry if I messed up some kind of mission or something.”

His brow furrowed, then smoothed. “Not exactly a mission, just walking the neighborhood. Making sure things are quiet.”

You nodded. “They usually are.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet way that made you feel like he was seeing too much. “You’re out here a lot.”

You hesitated. “That supposed to be a warning?”

His expression softened immediately. “No–no, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… noticed. That’s all.”

You gave a small shrug, trying not to look embarrassed. “It’s quieter out here than it is at home.”

Something in his eyes changed, recognition. “Yeah,” He said quietly. “I get that.”

You looked at him then. His hood couldn’t hold the weight behind his eyes nor could he hide the way exhaustion lived in his posture. You didn’t know all the details, but the world had made sure you knew enough.

“I’m fine,” You added, mostly out of habit.

“Are you?” He asked gently.

You swallowed, glancing away. “I don’t know.”

There was another moment of silence before he took a slow step back, giving you space. “Do you want company? Just to walk. I won’t talk if you don’t want me to.”

You hesitated. Your gut said no. You didn’t let people in, couldn’t. Not anymore. But your heart, the part that had been bruised and stretched thin and aching for something steady whispered yes.

“…Sure,” You said. “Walking with someone sounds… nice.”

He nodded, falling into step beside you. “And what should I call you?”

You glanced at him and smiled softly, giving him your name. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it felt like someone might care enough to remember it.

You never said it out loud, but you started looking for him.

Not in an obvious way. Not with expectation. But your heart would lift, just a little, whenever you turned the corner and saw him there. Hands in his pockets, hood pulled low, and watching the world like it might turn on him at any second until he saw you. Then he softened.

He never greeted you loudly. Just a simple, “Hey,” or a nod, like you’d both agreed long ago that this was normal.

And somehow, it became exactly that. Normal.

It wasn’t every night of course, but it was often enough that absence felt strange. A small ache in your chest when he wasn’t on the corner. You told yourself it was fine, that he had a life, a job, a past filled with shadows. You weren’t owed anything.

But you missed him anyway.

There were other nights where you spoke in fragments.

“What do you do when you can’t stop thinking?” You’d asked once, voice barely audible.

“Walk,” He’d said. “Or hit things.”

You’d laughed, and he’d smiled, just a little.

Other nights, it was quiet. Just walking. Just being near someone who didn’t expect anything from you. Someone who didn’t need you to perform happiness or push down your grief.

Bucky never asked about your family. He never pried. But you could tell he knew something wasn’t right. He noticed the tension in your shoulders. The way your voice got flat when you mentioned home. The way you avoided talking about weekends or holidays altogether.

But he didn’t force you to explain. He just stayed.

And on one Tuesday night, you realized something.

You’d left work exhausted, your brain buzzing from a manager’s sharp words and the hollow ache of pretending to be okay all day. You weren’t thinking about much when you turned the corner that night and there he was.

Same spot. Same faint, crooked smile when he saw you.

And it hit you: he was waiting.

Not just showing up. Not just passing by. He was waiting for you.

You swallowed thickly, not trusting yourself to say much.

“Hey,” You managed.

“Hey,” He said, falling into step beside you.

Like always. Like routine. Like something steady that just kept growing.

Because the next night, he was there again. This time, with two paper cups.

“Tea,” He said simply, holding one out to you. “Figured I’d guess this time.”

You took it, your hands feeling the warmth from the cup.

“…You always this nice?” You asked softly, only half teasing.

He glanced at you. “No.”

You smiled faintly. “So why with me?”

He looked away, the way he always did when he was thinking too much. “Because you remind me of me,” He said finally. “Back when I thought no one saw me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“…I see you,” You whispered.

He looked at you then, something softening in his expression. “I know.”

And that was the night you stopped pretending it didn’t mean anything. The night you realized you weren’t just walking anymore. You were building something. And Bucky Barnes was becoming part of it.

One afternoon, you didn’t expect to see him in the daytime.

Your connection lived in the quiet hours. After sunset, under flickering streetlamps, where shadows were long and words were soft. That was your world. The only time you felt allowed to exist without needing to explain yourself.

But then came Saturday and there he was.

You spotted him from across the street. His hands in the pockets of his jacket. He looked more like a guy running errands than a former assassin on patrol.

He saw you at the same time, gave a little lift of his chin and crossed the street with purpose. You froze halfway to the bus stop, unsure why your stomach flipped the way it did.

“Hey,” He said, a little breathless, like he’d hurried.

“Hi,” You replied, confused but smiling anyway. “Didn’t think I’d see you in daylight. Thought you were strictly nocturnal.”

Bucky actually chuckled, quiet and rare. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t sure if this would be weird.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was gonna grab lunch. There’s this spot a few blocks away. It’s tiny, but kind of quiet. I figured I’d ask if you wanted to come.”

You blinked. It took you a full second too long to register what he meant.

“Oh,” You said. “Like… lunch. Together?”

“Yeah,” He said, then quickly added, “Just food. I mean, not like–unless you–hell, I’m bad at this.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re fine. I just… didn’t expect that.”

“I figured,” He said, eyes scanning your face. “If you say no, it’s okay. We can just stick with nightly walks.”

That made your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect.

Because part of you wanted to say no. Not because you didn’t want to go. But because some part of you was convinced you’d ruin it. That he’d realize you weren’t enough.

That someone like him who was kind, observant, and careful, wasn’t meant to stick around people like you. People who carried too much in their chest and didn’t know how to set it down.

But then you looked at him. Bucky Barnes who had every reason to close himself off and still offered you tea when you were shaking, and quiet when you needed space.

And he was asking to spend time with you. Not out of pity. Not out of obligation. Just… asking.

You nodded. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

The place was small and tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty, just calm. You sat across from each other at a little table by the window. And for the first time, you talked in full sentences. About music. Food. The ridiculous number of people who apparently still thought Bucky liked plums because of some file Steve mentioned once.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. He smiled more than you’d ever seen.

You caught him watching you a few times, like he couldn’t quite believe you were there. And every time, your heart did that quiet, painful twist that came with realizing someone actually wanted you around.

You didn’t talk about family. Or trauma. Or loneliness. But you didn’t need to. Not yet.

Because for now, you let yourself sit across from a man who kept showing up. And for once, you didn’t feel like a burden for accepting it.

When it ended, you both had exchanged numbers and you smiled the whole way home. Not a big, giddy grin. Not the kind that buzzed with new love or rose-colored excitement. Just a small, warm curl at the corner of your mouth that wouldn’t go away.

Because the lunch had been… easy. Natural.

You didn’t remember the last time you’d felt like that with someone. Just sitting across from them and not having to work so hard to be interesting, or likable, or fun. You hadn’t needed to fill the silence, because Bucky never made silence feel like failure.

And he’d even paid, grumbled a little about modern pricing, but still held the door open when you walked out.

You should’ve felt safe. Happy. But of course, that voice came back. The one that always did when something good happened.

He was just being polite. He probably felt bad for you. You talked too much. Or not enough. Or said something weird. He’s probably second-guessing it now.

You told yourself to stop, that none of it was true. But you’d lived most of your life watching people lose interest in you like clockwork. So instead of walking with that same lightness you felt at the table, you found yourself shrinking again.

Head down. Hands in your jacket pockets. Smile fading, bit by bit

And to your surprise, texted later that evening.

Just a simple:

Made it home okay?

You stared at it for a full minute.

Then typed:

Yeah, thanks. And… thanks again for lunch. I really appreciated it.

You added a second message, hesitating.

You didn’t have to do all that.

You almost deleted it. But your finger slipped, and it sent.

A minute later, he responded:

Didn’t do it because I had to.

Another pause and he sent another message.

I wanted to.

You stared at those three words for a long time.

The next night, you almost didn’t go on your walk. You weren’t sure if he’d be there. If it would be weird now. If the quiet thing you’d built would somehow be different just because you’d shared a meal like two normal people.

But you went anyway. And when you rounded that corner, heart in your throat, he was there. Same spot. Same faint smile when he saw you.

“You came,” He said.

You swallowed. “So did you.”

“Of course I did.”

And just like that, without needing to explain the ache in your chest or the thoughts still clawing at the back of your mind, he started walking beside you again. As if the doubt within you never stood a chance.

However, good things never last.

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You’d gotten good at holding things in. Good at keeping your voice even, your expression neutral, your heart locked up behind carefully stacked defenses. You knew how to keep walking. How to keep breathing through the ache.

But some days, some days it didn’t matter how strong you tried to be. And that night, everything hurt.

It wasn’t even about something new. Nothing fresh or sharp. It was the old stuff, the words that never really healed. The ones that resurfaced in this mornings phone call with your father, when he’d said it without hesitation. “You’re just too hard to love, you know that?”

It had gutted you then and it still did.

Because even if you didn’t show it, you’d started to believe it.

The way friends drifted away. The way family only called when they needed something or to criticize. The way people got tired of your quiet, your sadness, your needs. Even when you tried to shrink yourself, to not ask for anything… it was never enough.

You were always too much, and somehow not enough all at once.

So when you walked that night, when you saw Bucky waiting in his usual spot, you almost turned back.

But he saw you. And the moment he did, something in his expression shifted.

You didn’t say anything.

You just walked right up to him, stopped short, and stood there with your arms crossed tight over your chest, like if you let them drop, everything would spill out.

Bucky’s voice was soft. “You alright?”

You shook your head once, too quickly as your voice cracked when you whispered, “Why do you keep showing up?”

He blinked. “What?”

You looked at him then, eyes confused. “Why do you keep coming back? Why do you keep… being nice to me?”

He took a step closer, cautious. “Because I like being around you.”

“You shouldn’t.” The words burst out before you could stop them. “I’m not…– people don’t stay. They get tired of me. They always do.”

“Who said that to you?” He asked quietly, his voice low, steady.

You laughed bitterly. “Does it matter… Friends. Family. Pretty much everyone I ever let get too close.”

You looked away, blinking hard.

“They all said the same thing… that I’m just too hard to love.”

It was out now. Ugly, raw, and terrifying. You waited for him to flinch. To pull away. To prove them right. But he didn’t.

He stepped closer, slow and sure. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached out, one hand hovering at your shoulder until you gave the tiniest nod.

Then his palm pressed gently against your arm.

“They were wrong,” He said.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” He said firmly. “Because I know me. And I don’t waste time on people I don’t care about.”

Your throat tightened.

He wasn’t trying to fix it. He wasn’t telling you to be positive or that it would pass. He wasn’t saying it didn’t matter.

He was just there. With you.

“You’re not hard to love,” He spoke softer now. “You were just surrounded by people who didn’t know how.”

And that broke something loose.

The first tear slid down your cheek. Then another. You tried to speak, to apologize, but your voice disappeared behind a sob that ripped straight out of your chest.

You folded into yourself, ashamed, but Bucky caught you. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms. Not tight. Not smothering. Just enough.

Enough to say I’m here. Enough to say You’re not too much for me. Enough to say I’m not going anywhere.

And in his arms, safe for once, you let yourself cry.

Really cry.

For the first time in a long, long time.

When the tears had finally stopped, you felt worn out like a storm fading to drizzle. You’d stood in the dark with Bucky for longer than you realized, his arms wrapped gently around you. He never rushed you. Never asked you to talk more or explain.

And when you finally stepped back, breath unsteady but lighter somehow, he didn’t say a word about the crying. Just looked at you like you were whole.

“…I’m okay now,” You’d whispered, not sure if you believed it yet.

His head tilted slightly. “You want to walk?”

You nodded.

And you walked until you were both sitting on a cracked bench outside a 24-hour café near a closed bookstore. He’d offered to buy you something, no pressure, just a question, and you said yes without thinking.

It felt… nice. Like last time. Letting someone do something for you without guilt clinging to it.

You had a small paper cup between your hands of warm chai, still steaming. He had black coffee, of course. Of course he drank it black.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was gentle. Companionable. Like your sadness didn’t scare him. He wasn’t expecting you to bounce back or smile to make him feel better.

He was just there.

You took a small sip, then glanced over at him. He was watching the empty street like he was half on patrol, half at peace.

“Thanks for the tea,” You murmured.

He looked at you then, eyes soft. “Thanks for trusting me.”

You looked down at your drink. “I didn’t mean to cry like that.”

“I know,” He said. “It’s okay.”

You hesitated, then asked softly, “But why didn’t you walk away?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just leaned back on the bench, hands wrapped around his cup like it grounded him.

“Because I know what it’s like,” He said finally. “To think you’re too broken or too much. To think you’ve ruined the moment just by being yourself.”

You glanced at him, surprised at the honesty.

He kept his gaze forward. “I’ve been there. I still go there. But… I also know how much it means when someone stays anyway.”

Your heart ached in a different way now. Not from pain. From being understood.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

“Anytime.”

You sat in silence again, drinking your tea slowly, letting the warmth from the cup seep into your fingers.

The city was so quiet this late. No shouting. Barely any cars. Just wind and dim streetlights.

Eventually, you looked over and gave him a small smile. “You think next time we could get donuts or something instead?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, his version of a grin. “You saying I’m not a good coffee date?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened. “You’re passable.”

He let out a soft huff of amusement. “Alright, donuts next time. But only if they have the jelly-filled ones.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “You got a deal.”

And just like that, something fragile began to stitch itself back together inside you.

It may not have been fixed or finished. But it was held together by his love and care.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[missvelvetsstuff]

Floating Hearts

Summary: In this world

Hearts can float

So you shall seek

Who makes your heart beat

You can call it fake

Or you can call it mate

Soulmates, sci-fi, a little fantasy, fated, mates, grumpy Bucky, sunshine reader, awkward Bucky, little angst, little sad too, bucky just needs a hug

A/N: i always thought abt this world, and actually, it's two separate worlds that i rolled into one. Enjoy!! :3

Word count: 3,116

Read it on Ao3!

The air started to smell like rain and soil already these days. Trees became wrapped in an orange colour that made it more beautiful to look at, and the leaves always crunched when you step on them.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

His weather wasn't that bad lately too, it wasn't good either, but he has seen worse days. Endured worse weather in his world.

Bucky made his way back home. Finally. He thought to himself. He was going back from his grocery shopping, the two of his hands were already quite full of grocery bags. He bought a lot of things, too much even. Bucky looked at the plastic bags and stared at it for moments while his feet kept moving.

Yes, this amount will—hopefully—do for the next few weeks. He doesn't like to go outside that much, it's pretty weird trying to get used to this new world. And he'd like to keep his interaction with people and the outside world minimal. So yep, he really hopes it'll do.

And now after he brought the ingredients, what is he going to cook for himself tonight? And what is he going to drink with it? He grumbled under his breath, trying to think of something that would lift his mood a little. Maybe if he had a decent fancy meal for dinner, he could close his eyes for hours without being interrupted and waking up trying to catch his breath.

And oh no, he needs to shoot these thoughts away, because it is getting cloudy already and it's the last thing he wants to happen right now. Inhale, exhale. Again. And again. Now deep breath. He tried to soothe himself seeking some peace because he does not want to get wet with rain. Fine, no more bad thoughts, just happy thoughts, or what close enough to it.

This world is already weird, with its weather and all those stupid myths being real. He can't help himself but always thinking, is it real? Is there really someone out there supposed to be his other half? His true love and all those things? He doesn't know. Sure, some people assured him that it's indeed true, but…..yeah no.

And it looks like destiny overheard Bucky's thoughts and decided to interfere to mock him and prove that he's wrong, because when he was crossing the street, something caught the side of his eyes and he froze in his tracks.

It was a heart, a floating heart.

There it's, above a beautiful young woman. He blinked, and blinked again, trying to check if he's still in reality and that his mind is still working right. He even looked around, trying to see if someone else noticed the heart—the floating heart, why would a heart float even?—but he knows for sure that he's the only one who's supposed to see it. Because that's how the things usually go from what he heard.

People passed him, but he stood there, looking into the café, standing outside of it. A beautiful woman wearing a scarf was sipping the liquid in her cup while listening to her two friends. She smiled at them and nodded her head a little to the one of them who was holding the conversation, talking frantically. And that weird heart is still….there. still floating above her head.

So this is it, the most important moment of his life? That's the person who's supposed to be his soulmate? He found her just like that?

Yeah sure, some people find theirs pretty easily. Sometimes from the moment they became an 18 year-old, sometime between their twenties and forties. Even sixties. And other times.…never.

You'll spend your whole life searching for the one, for your other half, other heart, but you will find nothing in some cases. Just like that. Nothing. Isn't it ironic? The whole constipation of soulmates and their need to find each other but then you might never have the chance to see them even for a split second, let alone know them and talk.

And not just that, if you were lucky enough to find your other half and get to know them, sometimes it doesn't work. A pair of soulmates don't work. They just don't…. click. But how come that? If they were really meant to each other, aren't they supposed to work no matter what? How is it possible that they may or may not end up together, living happily ever after?

What's the point then of all this? What the point of somebody else that's supposed to be your whole world, your lover, shelter and the one who you'll share the years of your life with if there's a high possibility that you either won't find each other or your relationship won't work, if you might end up spending the years with someone else that's not them but get you well and even better?

That was always in Bucky's mind. It occupied his thoughts regularly.

And now he spent too much time in his head and needs to stop staring like a creep outside the café’s glass wall.

People came and went, crossing and passing him. Putting his feet to work again, he casted a final glance at the giggling woman in the café and went into his way.

────────────✪────────────

Fate was a hilarious thing, because it made Bucky laugh. Not a happy laugh, a one more like i-can’t-believe-this-is-happening laugh, but it did nonetheless.

Because why is the person that was supposed to be his soulmate in front of him? Talking to him? He didn't want this, he walked away the first time, but the second she was thrown away in his direction, like a silent sign of “why did you walk away the first time.”

But he didn't want this, didn't need this. He's totally fine, Bucky is more than good not having friends or anyone, let alone his supposed soulmate.

He was just taking a walk by, he wanted fresh air. His mood was surprisingly good, that's why the weather in his world was good too, so he decided to go outside.

He spent his time wandering around aimlessly, trying to clear his mind and focus on the current moments. But he stumbled by a bench in the park, and surprise surprise, the person who was sitting on it was no one but his “soulmate”. Bucky can still see the floating heart above her head, and this time he can see it more clearly. He stopped in his tracks, his body going stiff.

He urges his body to go, to take some steps back before she notices him. But his body was frozen, his heart skipped some beats. And just like that, the girl's gaze settled on him.

She was surrounded by stray cats, one rubbing her head against her legs, one sitting on her lap and the last one she was holding between her hands. When her gaze caught his, she stopped playing and stared. Bucky just stood there, too stund to speak, talk or do anything.

And when her gaze went up, up above his head, it stayed there. And he saw the exact moment that she saw what was above his head. (Bucky always knew—from the stories—that there ought to be a floating heart above his head, and that he can't see it, nobody can see it, except his soulmate. But nonetheless, he felt a little surprised when she acknowledged it.)

The girl's mouth formed and “O” and she just kept staring and blinking. She didn't move, didn't talk or do anything, and he's slowly becoming anxious.

Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to another and tried to break this awkward moment. “So are you just gonna stare at me like a fish or….?” He said, his voice lacked his teasing and flirting tone, it was a little firm due to his uncomfortability. “Because you just look so ridiculous.”

He face-palmed in his mind, not knowing what the hell he's talking about. Yeah, he stares at people all the time—they make sure to tell him every time he does it, and he finds it so annoying because that's his resting face—but he doesn't like it when people stare at him.

“Oh my god!,” the girl finally said. “Is that— oh my god, is this realty?” Her voice squeaked a little at the end.

“It's reality. And actually—”

“This is so cool! Like so cool.”

“—I think I'm just gonna leave and leave you to—”

“What are you kidding? There's no way!” She didn't even give him the chance to complete his sentences, and before he could do anything she stood up from the bench.

The cat that was on her lap let out a meowing sound, protesting at being moved out, and she placed the one between her hands on the bench with a pet on its head, stepping more closely to Bucky.

“Dude,” said the girl with so much amusement in her voice. “This is so cool, I can't believe it.” When she came closer, her eyes were where his floating heart was, eyeing it with so much amazement. Bucky can even see how her eyes spark.

“Can i…?” She gestured above his head. He didn't know what possibly she could be asking permission for, so he hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head slowly, unsurely.

The girl—that he still doesn't have her name—stood on her toes, arm held high. She waved her hand on top of his head a couple times. “What are you doing?” He said, confusion written on his face.

“I'm just—” she moved her hand again, like she's trying to catch something. “—seeing if this is real.” Her face was close to his, he even could feel her breath on his face. Meanwhile his breath seems like it stopped.

She looked him in the eyes and said, “I know it's real,” what a strong eye contact, Bucky though. “But I meant like, real, physically real you know?”

She finally stepped back and oh! His breathing had returned!

Bucky had to take a small step back, to create a little space between them and because he was a little nervous. “So,” he said, then didn't amend it. He shifted his weight again and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Was it?”

“Excuse me?” The girl looked slightly confused.

“The heart, was it real? Physically real?” Bucky felt so embarrassed at his communication skills, it was a stupid question and he knows it. But he didn't know what to do in this kind of situation.

Not everyone finds his soulmate accidentally and then run away—no, not run, walk by, because Bucky didn't “run away” when he first saw her in the café. He did not. There's a big difference between running and walking by—and then meeting them accidentally again in a park and they notice him this time, then they start to try to catch the floating heart on top of his head. So yes, of course he doesn't know how to act right now.

His soulmate—if it's even his soulmate. He keeps denying it despite the heart that he clearly can see above her head, and that she can see his—just shrugged. “I don't think so, i tried but—” she shrugged again.

“What's your name?” Bucky finally asked.

The girl put her hand into her pockets. “Y/N,” she tipped her chin out of her scarf and pointed at him. “I would say that it was a pleasure to meet you, but we don't know yet.”

A small chuckle escaped his lips. “I'm James, but you can call me Bucky.” He extended his hand, holding it for her to take.

Y/N took his hand with her, shaking it. Bucky looked at their shaking hands, then at her face to get a good look at it. Her features were pleasant to look at, like when you're looking at a beautiful painting or view, you just want to take it all and memorize all of it in your mind.

Her little red nose scrunched when she laughed. “Stop staring at me,” her voice was clearly teasing him.

He had to cut his thoughts and land back to reality to answer her. “I'm not staring,”

“But you're,”

“I'm not,” he scoffed.

“Mm-hmm. Sure.” Y/N gave him a strange look with raised brows directed at him.

It took Bucky a few seconds to realize that his hand was still shaking hers and he forgot about it because his mind was in another universe, because he indeed was staring at her. And oh my god, I'm still shaking it. I need to stop shaking it.

After he dropped his hand, he tucked it away from her by shoving it into his pockets again to feel less embarrassed.

“So,” Bucky tried to kill the awkwardness between them, and he hoped he could, because killing was what he's good at. Was, it's all in the past. I'm not like that anymore. (Or he hoped.) “Ummmmm….”

So much for trying to kill the awkwardness of him.

One of the little stray cats came and sniffed him, then rubbed its head on his leg.

“So,” said y/n. “What? You got nothing to say?” She let out a chuckle. “I always thought that my soulmate would be charming and would make me swoon using only two words. But, here we are.” She added a little shrug.

“My soulmate”, oh God, this sounds so weird coming out of her mouth. Bucky thought.

And wait, did he just disappointed her already? From their first meeting? In the past, it was easy for him to flirt with some random girl, it wasn't that hard. But now he can't even talk probably with his other half, let alone flirt.

“So Bucky, do you plan to take me on a date or?” when he blinked at her, she added, “well, you know, because all of this—” she gestured with her hand at what's above their heads. “—soulmate stuff and blah blah. So I thought, it wouldn't be not nice to sit for a while and talk. Or not talk, since you seem so bad at that one. Anyway you caught the idea, so why not?”

Y/N tucked herself deeper into her coat, adjusting the scarf. “Wait,” said Bucky after finally noticing her clothes, “you're wearing winter clothes.”

His soulmate raised a brow, “And?”

“You're wearing winter clothes,” he said more firmly, all the hesitation slipped out of his voice.

She had the audacity to roll her eyes. “If you're asking if I'm depressed then yes. But,” she held her finger out, “the question is, who isn't? Mine just happened to be a little tiny bit more obvious. Like who cares, I'm not the only one in the world wearing winter clothes.”

“Y/N,”

“No seriously,” she let out a huff, face going more serious at his tone. “I'm fine, I promise. I've a therapist, I'm taking meds, I've my friends and family, it's just….” She paused. “Things like that we can't control, but I'm fine, so no need to worry.” The last sentence was more like a question, as if she's telling him to not care much about the topic.

But he hesitated, he knows that not everyone always has a shiny good day, like she said. His weather varies from time to time, sometimes, it snows in his world from how bad he feels, sometimes, it just rains.

So who is he to judge her if she said she's trying to live normally despite her depression?

He still has his doubts, but he can't do anything, so he just silenced it.

Y/N kicked the air, “So, about the date? Are you really going to let me ask you out twice, handsome man?”

Handsome m—? “Um, no?” He fisted the hands that were in his pockets. “No,” he said with more confidence this time.

“Cool. Your phone number?”

Bucky just gave her his phone, saving himself from trying to figure out how to save her number in this new technology.

She typed a couple times on the phone, and when she finished putting her number as he assumed, she gave it back to him. Bucky placed it back into his pockets, thanking her.

To his surprise, Y/N stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Bucky felt his face flush a little at that.

“Don't thank me,” she held his chin gently. “I'll be in touch for the date. See you again?” She let go of his chin, backing slowly.

“See you again.” He said.

She gave him a bright smile, it was so lovely on her face, and even winked at him. Then Y/N said her goodbyes to the cats she sat with, and Bucky watched her disappear.

────────────✪────────────

When Bucky got back to his apartment, he crashed on his bed immediately.

He couldn't stop thinking, his mind kept working. Thinking about the meeting between him and his soulmate, about how he acted awkwardly, how he wasn't charming at all.

How his former self could have acted, how he could have acted smoothly, making his other half giggle and blush a little, make her like him a little.

But he wasn't that person anymore.

Bucky always felt like he was three different individuals. The younger him, the Sargent, when he was the most close to normal.

And there's the Winter Soldier, the brainwashed assassin, the weapon.

He's gone, I'm not him anymore. I'm fine.

Was he though? Isn't that just a lie he tells himself in order to feel normal?

And lastly, there was him after he gained his memories back. The present version. He didn't know what kind of person he's supposed to be. If he wasn't the Sargent, and wasn't the assassin, then who's he?

Bucky kows how messed up he's.

He took out his phone, the screen flashing on his face was the only source of light in his apartment. It took him a lot of time to figure out how, but he blocked his soulmate's number and tried to forget about everything that happened.

He was a mess, a mess no one deserves to clean, or even try.

Bucky was fine alone, he lived most of his life alone and didn't need someone. His soulmate deserved better than him, she'll find love somewhere else.

Because being soulmates isn't destined, being soulmates doesn't mean happily-ever-after. There were a lot of people who didn't end up with their soulmates, and they found someone else, and they lived happily with them. She surely will find someone, and have a happy life.

Or that what Bucky hoped for, because in the end, finding happiness with only your soulmate isn't real, because if it was, why would he ever be someone's soulmate? He can't bring happiness to them.

I'm not her destiny, he told himself, I'm not her happily-ever-after.

That was he trying to convince himself before he fell asleep.

[missvelvetsstuff]

Can I request for Stucky x reader please. They are in a committed relationship. But nowadays Steve and Bucky are spending more time together without the reader. Date and plans get cancelled. The reader tries asking them for some attention or atleast few minutes to spend, but they snap at her calling her selfish and clingy. The reader is not able to understand what she did wrong that they are now spending time with each other without her, compared to how it was before. The team notice this and spend time with the reader. The reader realises how much less time she spent with the team because of Steve and Bucky. So she spends more time with the team. One day Steve and Bucky ask her to hang with them but now she's the one who is busy and they are getting a taste of their own medicine. They wonder if this is some kind of revenge. You can decide the ending. Make it a happy ending if possible.

Hello! This was such good angst material, I loved it so much!!! A good message to, know your worth isn’t based on others. You should never lose who you are no matter what relationship you’re in.

Also! The ending can be seen as happy or lead into a happier part 2 possibly. Nonetheless, thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Forgotten in the Familiar

Summary: After being pushed aside by Steve and Bucky, you find solace and joy in reconnecting with the rest of the team, realizing your worth doesn’t depend on someone else choosing you. Once they realize what they’ve lost, Steve and Bucky work to rebuild your bond with genuine remorse, and together, you begin again, not as an afterthought, but as equals once more. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist

Loving Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was never simple, but for a long time, it was good. It was soft in the places it needed to be, steady in the spaces that held your heart, and built with care like a home the three of you made brick by brick.

The world didn’t always understand the three of you. Two war-scarred soldiers with one super-soldier trying to carry the weight of the past with the grace of a man from another time and the other still stitching together the broken pieces of his mind. Then you, someone not from their past, not built in a lab, and not haunted by HYDRA, serum, or battlefield ghosts. Just you.

And somehow, that had been enough.

They were fire and steel, both forged in war but around you, they were human again. They learned how to slow down. How to laugh without flinching. How to find comfort in mundane things: sleepy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, cooking breakfast together, or movie marathons with popcorn paired with tangled limbs on the couch. You brought peace into their chaos. In turn, they made you feel like the most loved person on the planet. A triad. Equals.

But that was the part that started to fade.

It wasn’t sudden. It was slow, the kind of slow that creeps in when you’re not paying attention. A missed dinner here. A vague text saying “Can we reschedule?” A shared glance between Steve and Bucky that you weren’t part of. They didn’t mean to pull away at first but over time, the space between you all widened, like a gap forming beneath floorboards. And you were the only one who noticed.

At first, you thought they were just going through something. They had history that ran deeper than most people could understand. Sometimes it hit them in waves, and you’d learned to be patient when it did. They’d talk about the 40s, about Brooklyn, or about names of men long dead. You used to be invited into those memories. You used to be the one holding their hands as they sorted through the past.

Now, they did it without you.

You tried not to be jealous. They had a bond you’d never be able to replicate, and you never tried to. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That didn’t mean you didn’t feel invisible when they spent hours behind closed doors laughing, talking, and disappearing into each other without thinking to ask you to join them.

You’d wake up to an empty bed more often than not. Their side of the sheets would be cold. Voices would echo faintly down the hall from the living room or the balcony. And when you got up, sleep still in your eyes and hope in your chest, you’d find them mid-conversation, only to have their laughter dim the moment you walked in.

You were still there but somehow, you weren’t in it anymore.

You told yourself not to read into it. Not to make a big deal out of something small, but the ache didn’t go away. You smiled less. You asked less. And they didn’t notice.

Or if they did, they didn’t say anything.

The three of you had once been a unit. Now, it felt like Steve and Bucky had become their own orbit, spinning together tightly, while you floated somewhere outside of it just far enough that they no longer looked back.

You missed them. But no matter how softly you tried to reach for them, it felt like your hands kept coming back empty.

And it wasn’t like you didn’t try talking to them, you did, more than once. You didn’t want to accuse nor did you want to fight. You just wanted to be seen again.

“Do you think we could have a night? Just us?” You had asked one evening, watching them both laugh about something on Bucky’s phone. “I miss us. All of us.”

Steve barely looked up. “Not tonight. We’re in the middle of something.”

You swallowed your disappointment, nodding.

Another time, when the hurt had been building too long in your chest, you tried again. “I feel like I’m the only one still trying,” You admitted quietly. “Like I’m constantly reaching out for scraps of your time.”

Bucky didn’t even let you finish before exhaling harshly. “God, you’ve been so needy lately.”

“Clingy,” Steve added, rubbing his temple. “We’re trying to handle a lot right now, and it’s not always about you.”

The words didn’t just sting, they stuck. And the silence after them was louder than anything you’d ever heard.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t cry. You just… shut down.

The following days were different after that, but not in the way you hoped. You stopped asking for time. Stopped checking your phone for canceled plans or halfhearted apologies.

You stopped lingering near the places they usually sat and stopped pretending you didn’t notice when they chose to whisper rather than include you. The ache didn’t vanish, but it dulled enough for you to start seeing what else existed outside of the bubble you’d been shrinking inside.

And the team noticed.

It started small with the subtle kindnesses that didn’t feel like pity, but quiet recognition.

Wanda passed you in the kitchen one morning and gently touched your arm. “You doing okay?” She asked. Not a forced, surface-level check-in, but something deeper. When you hesitated, she didn’t push. She just smiled and handed you a cup of coffee exactly the way you liked it. “I’m around if you need someone.”

Natasha didn’t ask. She just showed up in the gym beside you during one of your many recent solo trainings and silently mirrored your stance. “You’re sloppy today,” She said with a smirk. “Let’s fix that.”

Sam was more direct. One afternoon while you sat alone on the terrace, he plopped down beside you with two sandwiches and zero preamble. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” He said. “But don’t disappear on us. You’re part of this team too and we actually like you, unlike those two meatheads you live with.”

It made you laugh, really laugh. The kind that cracked something open inside your chest.

Peter invited you to movie night. Scott brought you a weird board game and asked you to teach him how to not suck at it. Even Clint asked if you’d spot him in the range and told you your aim was “way better than Barnes’s, but don’t tell him I said that.”

And it kept going.

Yelena asked you to braid her hair and gossip over sparkling water and macaroni with hot sauce. Pepper invited you to lunch. Even Bruce, who usually kept to himself, started asking your opinion during lab testing, trusting your input more than most.

Bit by bit, day by day, the rest of the team pulled you back into the world.

You realized something then. You’d stopped being a person outside of Steve and Bucky. You had built so much of your day-to-day around making sure they were okay that somewhere along the way, you forgot you mattered outside of that role.

But now? You were remembering.

Your laughter wasn’t forced anymore. Your smiles didn’t hide a bruise in your chest. And the quiet overall? It didn’t feel empty. It felt peaceful.

You hadn’t meant to distance yourself from Steve and Bucky, but you also weren’t running to meet them anymore.

You were starting to stand on your own.

While the shift wasn’t immediate, it was obvious.

Steve finally noticed it firsthand during breakfast.

He walked into the kitchen expecting to see you at the counter like usual, hair messy, and wrapped in that old hoodie of his you always stole. But the stool was empty, the coffee pot was full, and there was a note on the fridge in your handwriting:

“Training with Nat. Be back later. Don’t wait up :)”

He stared at the smiley face longer than he should’ve.

Bucky noticed it later that day when he returned from a briefing and passed the lounge, he stopped in the doorway when he heard your laughter. It was loud and easy, the kind of unguarded joy he hadn’t heard from you in weeks. You were curled up on the couch between Scott and Peter, all three of you surrounded by junk food and card games spread out like a makeshift battlefield.

Your knees bumped against Scott’s. Peter was showing you how to stack pretzels on your nose for a dumb challenge. You weren’t looking at the door. You didn’t even notice Bucky.

Or maybe you did and just didn’t react.

That’s when the shift clicked for him.

You used to look for him. You used to light up when he entered a room, or at least spare a glance. Now? You didn’t even pause.

He waited a moment longer, then walked away.

And by the end of the week, the signs were impossible to ignore.

You weren’t home much, not in the way you used to be. You still slept in the shared bedroom, but your side of the bed was cold when they crawled in late, and empty when they woke. You left little notes, kept it polite, but the warmth was gone.

And worse, you didn’t ask them for anything anymore.

No “Want to have dinner together?” No “Can we talk?” No attempts to sit between them, wrap an arm around Steve’s waist, or tug Bucky’s hand into yours. You didn’t linger near their private conversations or hover with that hopeful look in your eye.

You weren’t chasing them anymore. Instead, they were watching you.

Steve stood in the hall one afternoon as you leaned against the wall with Sam, the two of you trading stories from missions and laughing like old friends. The sunlight hit your face in a way that made something ache in his chest.

You looked content, without them.

He hated the twist in his gut when you didn’t even glance his way.

And it all came to a head a few days later.

You were sitting cross-legged on the common room floor, surrounded by paint-streaked paper and tiny fantasy miniatures, Peter and Wanda flanking you like excited siblings. You had glitter on your hands. There was something messy and beautiful about how at ease you looked. No weight behind your eyes. No tightness in your shoulders.

Steve and Bucky stood just inside the room, watching you from behind the couch.

“She’s been… happy,” Steve said, his voice hollow.

Bucky nodded slowly. “And not because of us.”

They both fell silent.

For a long time, neither spoke. Then Bucky murmured, “You think she’s doing this on purpose? Like, making us feel what she felt?”

Steve shook his head. “I think we made her feel alone for too long and she just stopped waiting to be seen.”

They looked at you again, how you leaned over to show Peter a technique, how your hands moved with purpose, how Wanda nudged your shoulder and you nudged back without hesitation.

“She’s not doing this to hurt us,” Steve said finally. “She’s doing this because we already did.”

Honestly, it wasn’t that you were trying to avoid them.

You just weren’t available anymore. Not emotionally, not physically, and not the way they were used to. The version of you who once paused everything the moment they said your name had slowly become someone they now had to wait for.

And they didn’t like it.

So they tried to fix it.

It started with small things. Steve asked if you wanted to go over some field reports with him like you used to during quiet evenings, side by side, and soft music in the background. You smiled and said you were already helping Tony in the lab.

Later, Bucky offered to take you to your favorite diner, the one you hadn’t been to in months. “Thought we could talk,” He added awkwardly.

You blinked at him, kind but distant. “Sorry. Pepper just invited me to some kind of gala-planning meeting thing. I think I said yes.”

And then, one night, they both sat waiting in the bedroom while you showered. They had the lights dimmed. Your favorite blanket pulled out. Thai takeout spread out just the way you liked.

You walked in and paused.

It looked… familiar, like a memory of a time when the three of you were something soft and safe.

But the ache in your chest didn’t quite fade.

“I really appreciate this,” You said gently, glancing between them. “But I promised Yelena and Nat I’d meet them on the roof. Girls’ night. We’re trash-talking each other’s knife skills.”

They stared at you. You could see it in their eyes: the subtle flicker of desperation.

Steve stood up. “Are you… avoiding us?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m just not rearranging my life around you anymore.”

Bucky stepped forward. “Is this payback?”

Your expression didn’t flinch, but your voice turned quieter. “It’s not revenge, Bucky. I’m just busy.”

They didn’t stop you when you left the room, but they didn’t move for a long time after.

A few days passed after that before they came to find you again.

You were on the back balcony that day with a blanket over your shoulders, watching the sky melt into orange and rose-gold. The wind was cool against your skin, and for once, the stillness felt good.

You heard the sliding door open but didn’t turn around.

Steve’s voice was soft. “Can we sit with you?”

You gave a small nod.

They sat on either side of you carefully, like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to be that close. You didn’t lean into them but you didn’t move away either.

It was Bucky who spoke first.

“We messed up, badly.”

Steve nodded. “We didn’t just forget to make time. We forgot how to show up for you. How to choose you when you needed us.”

There was no defensiveness. No excuses. Just raw honesty.

“I think we got so wrapped up in each other, so afraid of losing what we had, that we didn’t notice we were losing you instead,” Bucky added. “And that’s on us.”

You looked at them, finally, eyes tired but steady. “It felt like I became invisible. Like I was only part of this when I stayed quiet or waited. And when I finally asked for something, you told me I was clingy, like I was being selfish for wanting even a second of your time.”

Steve’s face crumpled slightly. “I’ve thought about that moment every day since. I was frustrated… at myself, at everything, and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. You were asking for something we should’ve been giving freely.”

“I kept thinking you’d notice,” You whispered. “That one of you would see how small I was starting to feel.”

“We see you,” Bucky said, inching closer. “We didn’t before, but we do now. And we’ll spend as long as it takes proving that to you, if you’ll let us.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Instead, you looked up at the sky. You let the wind blow through your hair, let their words settle, and let the silence sit between you. Not heavy this time, but healing.

Then slowly, you reached out, one hand to Steve and one to Bucky.

You didn’t say yes. You didn’t say no.

But you let them hold you.

And for now, that was enough.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @mouseratface @mel-reads @itsmejen

[missvelvetsstuff]

is she mine?

blurb

bucky barnes x ex!reader

pronouns are she/she

summary: reader and bucky reunite, and he finds out the she has a child around the same age as how many years he left her:

word count: 361

the smell of fresh pressed oranges and lemons wafted though out the house, it was saturday. and on saturday you and your daughter had “together day”. for her first chosen activity she wanted to make homemade breakfast.

more specifically fresh orange juice and lemonade and cheese danish with fresh fruits.

“mommy”

“yes dear”

“can we take chalk to the park?”

“of course”

soon enough the two of you were finished and a fresh nice breakfast.

“we are chefs mommy”

“we sure are sweetie, now’s let’s eat up.

you and your daughter finished up and your meal and got ready to go.

“can we go on the subway and not a taxi, taxi’s are so boring”

“of course”

the two of you gathered and went to the subway and got a ticket, the park was approximately 15 minutes away.

the two of you sat beside each other until you heard a familiar voice.

“is that you, i haven’t seen you since…well along time, it’s good to see you” bucky stumbled

“oh, it’s good to see you too bucky”

“i see you have a child, is she yours”

“yeah”

your daughter whispered yelled “i am 6 years old and we are going to the park and drawing with chalk”

bucky responded “oh yeah, what’s your name”

“Gabriella, gabbi with an i for short.”

bucky tried to carry on the conversation with her but she got bored quickly and went to playing games and her your phones.

bucky tried to start a conversation with you again “she’s six”

“yeah”

“when is her birthday?”

“October 17”

he did the mental math, it lined up

he breathed out a sentence that would break up no matter the answer “is she mine?”

“yes, she is”

he was father. he wanted to break down crying. he left you and his daughter

“why didn’t you tell me”

“you left”

he stopped before he said something he regretted.

“do you think i can be in her life”

you stopped for a second “go to the park with us, see how it goes”

he smiled and thought of the possibility of being an actual dad. and maybe getting back with you.



[missvelvetsstuff]

another shorter one, this time with a tadddd bit of angst. i can just imagine bucky getting worried about you and when you come home he practically engulfs you and won't want to let go

warnings/tags: slight angst, fluff, implied!curvy reader, implied!beefy bucky, cuddling, clingy!bucky

beefy!bucky x curvy!reader masterlist

The sliding glass doors to the common room hissed open as you stepped inside, grocery bags crinkling in your hands. “I’m back!” you called lightly, balancing your tote on your hip. “They were out of the good coffee, but I got that granola you like with the—”

You stopped short.

Bucky was pacing.

Not just pacing—agitated, jaw clenched, eyes dark, vibrating with tension. He hadn’t heard you. His phone was in his hand, gripped so tight the metal fingers squeaked. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, like he’d either come from the gym or had been too anxious to sit still.

“Bucky?”

His head snapped up, eyes locking on you like he was seeing a ghost. Then—he moved.

One second you were standing near the door, the next you were wrapped in solid, unrelenting muscle, your groceries forgotten on the floor as he pulled you against his chest.

“Jesus, Buck—what—?”

“You scared me.” His voice was rough, low, buried in your hair as his arms wrapped around you like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

Your heart stuttered. “What happened?”

“You were gone for hours. You didn’t answer your phone. There was a tip—a Hydra sighting near the city—and I—I thought—”

You felt his breath hitch, the way his chest expanded like he hadn’t taken a full breath in hours.

“I didn’t see the tip,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “My phone died. I just… I didn’t think—”

“I always think,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.”

You closed your eyes, sinking into him. His body was warm, broad, every inch of him carved from hard-earned strength—but right now, he was trembling.

“I’m okay,” you said, firm and gentle. “I’m here. I’m safe.”

His hand slid up your back, palm spreading wide. “You don’t get it,” he murmured. “Every time you leave, every time I blink and you’re not right there, it’s like—I’m waiting for the worst.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just kissed the side of his neck and held him tighter. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.”

“You promise?” It came out quieter, more broken.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, reaching up to touch his jaw. “I promise.”

His eyes searched yours, that familiar flicker of doubt—centuries old and deep as a scar. But then he kissed you. Hard and soft all at once, like you were oxygen.

“Next time,” he said against your lips, “you leave me a damn note. Or wear a tracker. Or drag me with you.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yes, Sergeant.”

He lifted you then—arms under your thighs and back—just carried you straight to the couch like it was nothing. Settled you in his lap, holding you close as if letting go would break him.

You didn’t move for a long time.

---

The first thing you registered was warmth.

Not the early morning sun peeking through the slats of the blinds. Not the blanket that had somehow twisted halfway off the bed. Bucky. That was the warmth.

His body curled around yours, heavy and still. One arm—flesh—slung across your waist. The other—vibranium—tucked under your pillow. Your back pressed to his chest, legs tangled, his nose buried just under your ear.

You tried to shift.

Immediately, his grip tightened. “Don’t,” he mumbled, voice gravelly and sleep-thick. “Not yet.”

You smiled into the pillow. “Buck, I gotta pee.”

He groaned like you’d just told him Hydra was outside. “Fine. But come back.” You sat up and felt the brush of cool air where his body had just been pressed. He followed you with his eyes, propping himself up on one elbow. Hair messy, dog tags tangled around his neck, shirtless and frowning like a grumpy bear.

When you returned, he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with his arm outstretched like a seat reservation.

You took it without comment.

He pulled you down and tucked you in so fast you nearly lost your breath.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered against his chest, heart full.

“I thought I lost you yesterday,” he said softly, hand stroking your back. “Let me be ridiculous.”

You blinked up at him, watching his eyes as they searched your face like he was still confirming you were real.

“I told you I’m okay,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice cracked a little. “But I’ve lost too many people. And I can’t lose you.” Then, quieter, “I don’t know if I’d come back from that.”

You reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. I want boring mornings and grocery runs and you stealing the covers and everything after that.”

He let out a long, shaky breath “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

You frowned, kissing the scarred skin near his collarbone. “Too late. You’ve got me.”

He didn’t say anything else after that. Just held you tighter, lips pressed to your forehead, heartbeat slow and steady beneath your ear.

The sun climbed higher. The rest of the Compound started to stir. But in that room, it was just the two of you—wrapped in each other like the safest place on earth.