scoonsalicious

[scoonsalicious]

Your Time Starts Now

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes / Stucky x reader

Summary: Game night gets a steamy twist when you challenge Steve and Bucky to a private Taskmaster-style competition— with one very intimate goal. One task. One attempt each. Fastest climax wins. But let’s just say both super soldiers are… very motivated to take home the prize.

Expect filthy creativity, intense focus, and a lot of mutual worship— because when these two play, they play to win.

Who finishes fastest? Who makes you scream? Who ends up on their knees? You’ll just have to read and find out!

Genre: stablished relationship | Domestic fluff turned smutfest

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Oral sex (f. receiving), Use of sex toys (wand vibrator, mentions of gag, cuffs, spreader bar), Thigh riding, Praise kink, Rough sex elements / dominance (esp. Bucky), Soft dom vibes (Steve), MFM dynamics / implied future threesome, Jealousy and competition kink, Consensual power exchange, Minor spanking/bruising mentions, Language (dirty talk, filthy language throughout), Light voyeurism / reader watching Bucky + Steve at the end, Humor and banter laced with smut.

Word Count: ~4.5k

A/N: Biggest shoutout to @navybrat817 and @probablybucky for looking this over and your suggestions!

You were sprawled across the couch, remote resting in your hand, eyes still on the TV as the theme tune of Taskmaster played with the credit roll. A sly grin slowly crept across your face.

“Okay,” you announced, sitting up a little straighter. “So, hear me out.”

Steve glanced up from the book resting on his knee. Bucky shifted on the other end of the couch, his feet were tangled with yours and the bottle of beer was now tilting dangerously in his grip.

“That’s never a good start,” Bucky muttered, glancing over at Steve.

You ignored him. “So we’ve been watching Taskmaster, right? And it got me thinking... what if we did our own version? Just for fun. One task. Winner gets…” You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smirk. “...a special favor.”

Steve squinted at you, a suspicious look on his face. “What kind of task?”

You bit your lip again but you couldn't hold back a grin, your eyes gleaming. “Can’t tell you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why not?”

“Because that would ruin the challenge. You’ll each do it separately— one at a time. I’ll give you the task when it’s your turn. No advance prep, no watching each other, no comparing notes.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “This is not what I thought you meant when you said ‘game night.’”

You grinned wider. “You’ll go one at a time. The other person has to stay out of earshot so no one cheats or gets inspired. It’ll be fair. Objective. Very official. Stopwatch and everything.”

Bucky leaned forward, eyes narrowed like he was trying to read your mind. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am,” you admitted, a smug smile on your face. “Now. Who wants to go first?”

Steve

You led Steve into the bedroom, wearing a rather conservative robe. He had no idea that you were totally naked underneath. You closed the door behind you. He was clearly a little nervous, not because he doubted himself but because he always took everything so damn seriously. That focused crease between his brows said it all.

You’d gone all out for the occasion— picked out proper stationary, folded the card just right, sealed the envelope with a red wax stamp that was worthy of little Alex Horne. Steve deserved the full Taskmaster experience, after all.

He sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing the envelope with wary amusement. It was placed on a satin cushion ready for opening.

He raised a brow. “You really committed to this, huh?”

“Read it out loud,” you advised, stepping back to watch.

Steve broke the seal carefully— of course he would— and unfolded the heavy paper with a reverence usually reserved for mission briefings. His eyes skimmed the page, and you saw the exact moment it hit him. He looked up at you and you saw a flicker of heat behind that all-American composure.

You arched a brow. “Out loud, Rogers.”

He cleared his throat, voice steady but already warming. “Make your girl climax. You have one attempt only. Fastest wins.” He paused. Then, with a tiny, crooked smile: “Your time starts now.”

You barely had time to set the stopwatch.

Because Steve— your Captain freaking America— rose like this was sacred duty, and you were the nation in need.

He had a focused look on his face, that determined crease between his brows, like he was cataloguing every sound and shift you made. He knew how to read your body like a map that he had memorized and still revered.

He walked you back towards the bed, a man on a mission. His shoulders were squared and jaw set. His eyes were locked on yours with that quiet unshakeable intensity he had always had. Like you were everything to him. 

He didn't move immediately, watching you, soaking in your essence. Then, he took a step forward until he was pressed against you and he spoke. Low and measured. “Is this okay?”

You know he knew the answer. But he asked anyway because that was who Steve was. Even here— even now— he sought your permission like being with you was a privilege, not a right.

You nodded, your voice soft. “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, a flicker of a smile touching his lips. As though your trust was the greatest gift he had ever been given.

Oh so slowly, he knelt down in front of you, his large hands slowly sliding up your calves, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your skin in wide, adoring strokes. His touch was warm and steady, it wasn't possessive, it was protective. It was one of the things he did that turned you on and he knew it. He touched every inch of you to remind you that you were safe. That you were cherished.

“Sit on the bed, darling.”

He coaxed your legs apart with a gentle insistence, sweeping away your silky robe without his hands never leaving you, his eyes still locked on yours. When he looked down, it was only to watch his own progress— to admire the way your body responds to him.

Steve had a quiet confidence. He knew what you responded to and he knew that if he was calm and consistent, he would have you coming in record time.

His palms skimmed up your thighs, and he made a quiet, appreciative sound in the back of his throat. Not because he’s thinking about what he’s going to do to you— but because he was in awe. Of you. Of this. Always.

His fingers dipped inward, tracing the lines on the inside of your knees, before gliding up with excruciating patience, like he was learning you all over again.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he breathed.

His lips followed the trail his hands had made— soft, peppered kisses along the inside of your thigh, before going up again. He lingered in places people normally didn't, mapping you with his mouth like he was savoring every taste, every touch. He nuzzled closer, his breath warm, but he still hadn’t touched where your body ached for him most.

He pressed a kiss to the soft curve where your thigh met your hip. And another. Then one more. His nose brushed your skin and he inhaled deeply before letting out a slow breath. Almost like he was grounding himself.

“Everything about you,” he murmured, “your skin, your scent, the way you breathe when I get close… I could do this all day.”

He glanced up at you as you moaned, his gaze steady and pupils blown. “Will you let me?”

And God yes, you would. You’d let him do anything, especially when he looked at you like that. Like you’re not just a lover. Like you were his to treasure.

You shivered under the weight of it— of his touch, his words, his gaze— and your body ached with anticipation. Not because he’s rushing you toward release, but because you already felt like you were falling apart by how seen he was making you feel.

He leaned closer, that dangerous gleam in his brilliant blue eyes. And you braced yourself for it— for that first stroke of his tongue— but instead, he spoke.

“Oh darling, look at you. Trembling already.” His voice was low and woven with the kind of pride that made your chest tighten and your pussy leak. “That’s good… so good. Means you want this. Means you trust me.”

It wasn't cocky. It wasn't him teasing. It was reverent. Grateful.

You gasped when his tongue finally grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. But it still wasn't quite where you needed him. But it was close enough to make you whimper. He hummed softly at the sound from your mouth, his lips curling up against your skin.

One hand came up to cup the back of your knee, urging you to open wider. And you did as you were asked. Utterly helpless under his touch.

His other hand glided upward, slow and certain, grazing along your waist, under the sash of your robe, then up over the swell of your breast. The Captain didn't grab, didn't squeeze. He held you. A firm, grounding touch that rested over your ribs, right where your heart was pounding its hardest.

Just as you were revelling in the feel of his calloused touch, he kissed you— right there— the loving press of his lips.

Once. Twice.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses. “Sweet girl. So good for me.”

Your hips twitched. It was instinctive, and he chuckled against you— not mockingly, but tender, like he loved that you couldn’t help it. That your body answered to him before your mind could catch up.

“Stevie,” you mumbled, softly encouraging.

He started to build a rhythm with his tongue, slow and sure. Each thick stroke was deliberate. Each pause intentional. He didn’t race toward the end. He savored you. Like you were his only focus in the whole world. Like he wanted to commit this to memory.

His hand on your hip tightened— not to pin you down, but to anchor you. To keep you from drifting too far from the pleasure swelling inside you. And he kept talking. Kept your focus on him. On his actions. On the building pleasure 

“You taste like heaven, darling.”

You whimpered and your thighs started to tremble as his tongue delved between your folds and found your clit.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice vibrating with adoration against your dropping cunt, “already so wet. You’re making this too easy, darling.”

He pressed his mouth harder against you, tongue flicking your sensitive clit in just the right way, and your back arched off the bed in response. And his praise didn't stop there. In fact, your moans just goaded him further.

“You’re doing so well. Can you take a little more?”

You nodded frantically, words lost to the pressure building deep in your core.

Then, finally — fucking finally— he slid a finger inside you. Just one. Just enough. It was slow and smooth, unhurried— he played your body like he had it memorized, and when he hit the note that made your breath hitch, he made a low sound in his throat. A pleased little groan, like your pleasure was the best thing he had ever felt. Another finger slid in.

“That’s it,” he whispers, curling his finger just right. “That’s perfect. Let me take care of you.”

Your breathing turns ragged. Your hips shifted to meet him, seeking more, and he gave it, without hesitation. Another stroke of his tongue, rougher now. Firmer. In sync with the rhythm of his hand. The coil inside you winding tighter and tighter until you were right on the edge, trembling under his mouth, your hands fisting the sheets.

And he felt it— knew exactly what you needed.

One more deliberate flick of his tongue. One more gentle thrust of his fingers. One more whispered command that unraveled you completely.

“Let go for me. Come on, sweetheart. Let me see you fall apart.”

And you did. With his name on your lips, your body arched into him, splintering around the crest of that overwhelming wave. He didn’t stop— not until he’d felt every last tremor, until you were wrung out and breathless, and still gasping his name like a prayer.

Then, and only then, did he ease off— slow and careful, like he was afraid to let go too soon. He kissed the inside of your thigh again, murmuring something soft you couldn’t quite hear, and rested his forehead against your flesh. 

“You did so good, darling. So damn good. But stop that clock, will ya?”

Bucky

You handed him the envelope without a word, just like you had with Steve. Same sexy robe. Same setting. Same rules. Fresh panties.

But Bucky was different. He took the task from you with a knowing little grin, his metal fingers brushing yours. “What’s this, sweetheart?” he asked innocently, already tearing the flap with those quick, clever hands. Then he read it aloud in a low husky voice.

“Make your girl climax. You have one attempt only. Fastest wins.”

There was a pause before he let out a dark laugh.

“Fuckin’ hell, love,” he muttered, licking his bottom lip as he tossed the envelope aside carelessly. His eyes immediately dropped to the curve of your thighs under your silky robe, pupils already blown. “You wore this for me, huh? You’re lucky I got any self-control at all, lookin’ like that.”

“You need to say the last bit,” you said, breathlessly.

You shifted under his gaze— his whole body language had changed, almost predatory. Tension coiled in his shoulders, sharp and hungry.

“Your time starts now,” he growled, closing the distance in two long strides, he gripped your hips, and pulled you against him with a rough, effortless tug.

You could feel just how hard he was already.

“Stevie hates it when I use you like a fuckin’ ragdoll,” he breathed heavily against your neck, voice low and filthy. “Hates when I leave bruises on those perfect thighs. But you like it though… don’t you, doll?”

He leaned back just enough to let his eyes flick over the room… and spotted the toys scattered near the bed. His brows lift, grin turning sharp.

“You naughty little minx,” he smirked.

He stepped back a touch, just far enough to let his eyes rake down your body, and he dragged a metal finger from the hollow of your throat to the sash at your waist, pulling it apart with a single flick.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he said, tone low and rough, “you into this? Gag, wand, cuffs— fuck, is that a spreader bar?”

You hesitated— just half a breath— but it was enough.

His smirk widened.

“You don’t gotta answer.” He leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, inhaling deeply. “I can smell how wet you are. Jesus, sweetheart.”

He pressed a kiss to your jaw, before taking a little nip at it.

“I can use this, right?” He picked up the wand.

“All the information is on the task, Buck.”

“Alright, I’ll play your game. One attempt, huh?” His thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Then I better make it count.”

He kissed you— deep, dirty, demanding. Tongue claiming you, hand sliding into your hair. By the time he pulled back, you’re breathless, dazed, and his grin is feral.

“You look fuckin’ edible in that little robe.” His eyes flicked to the wand lying momentarily discarded near the edge of the bed. “And that’s comin’ with me.”

He pushed down his pants before grabbing the wand. He dropped onto the edge of the mattress, dragging you between his legs. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension, like a fuse already lit.

“C’mon, doll. On here.” He patted his thigh with a glint in his eye. “Want you ridin’ my leg while I hold this right where you need it. Gonna win this the right way.”

You hesitated— just for a breath—and he tilted his head to the right, that metal hand gripping your hip.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice filled with a dark amusement. “Shy now? After layin’ all these toys out like you’re beggin’ me to use them?”

He tugged your robe open slowly, deliberately, and groaned. “Fuck me, you’re soaked already.” He pressed his face against your neck, breathing you in.

Bucky huffed out a dark, satisfied sound against your neck— part groan, part growl— and you felt it vibrate through his chest, through you. His hands slid around your thighs and hauled you up effortlessly, guiding you until you're straddling his leg, the muscle beneath your folds solid and thick and already slick with your arousal.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice rough with promise. “Look at you. Dripping all over me and I haven’t even started touching you yet.”

He flicked on the wand, and the low hum immediately set your nerves on fire. You reached for something to balance on, but he was already there— one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in tight, while the other brought the toy just to the edge of where you wanted, no— needed it.

“Nah,” he drawled, pulling it back slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief and heat. “Not yet. You wanna win, doll? Gotta earn it.”

“You’re the one competing here, Buck. Not me.”

He set the wand aside just for a second— not forgotten, just delayed—and tilted his thigh up, grinding it between your legs.

“C’mon, ride it.” His voice is a low command, thick and dark. “Rub that sweet little pussy on me while you beg for the real thing.”

You start to move, and fuck, the pressure’s maddening. His metal hand slides up your spine, holding you firm as you rock against him, while his other presses warm and steady against the small of your back.

“God, you feel that?” His teeth grazed your jaw, followed by the gentle scratch of his salt and pepper stubble. “So needy for it. Stevie probably played all sweet, huh? Took his time. Wanted to win like a gentleman?”

The wand was suddenly back— nestled between your thighs. Still off… for now.

“But see, I’m not a gentleman.”

His tone dropped darker, filthier.

“I’m gonna wreck you. Gonna use this until you’re shakin’, cryin’, maybe even beggin’ me to stop. But you won’t, will you? You’ll beg me to keep goin’, like the desperate little doll you are.”

You whimpered, hips stuttering against his thigh, and he finally flipped the wand on.

Low at first— just to tease. You jolted.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “There’s my good girl. Let it build. You know I could make you come in a minute flat if I wanted to— but where’s the fun in that?”

The wand lifted to a higher setting.

He had completely forgotten the timer. Forgotten the rules. Or morley likely, he just didn’t care anymore. Because he was watching you unravel with the utmost attention. Watching your thighs tremble, your mouth part, your hips grind.

“Faster, baby,” he growled, “ride it. Want you to soak me. Want you to scream so loud Stevie’ll hear it through the fuckin’ walls.”

And when your legs started to shake, that’s when he really turned it up. Bucky saw the way your thighs were trembling, the way your nails dig into his shoulders. His whole expression morphed into something hungry… focused… possessive.

“Oh, you’re close, sweetheart,” he purred, voice dripping with lust. “I can feel it. You're right there, grindin’ like a good little slut— so fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart.”

The wand kicked up yet another setting— stronger now, nearly overwhelming—and he held it right there, pressed firm against your clit, angled just right, while his other hand molded you into him, keeping you from shying away from the intensity.

“C’mon, doll,” he growled, jaw tight, eyes fixed on yours. “You wanna win? Then come for me. Come now.”

You cried out—hips jerking, breath catching—and that’s when it hit you. Hard. You come with a shudder so sharp it knocked the air right out of your lungs. Your thighs locked up, your back arched, and your moan is nothing short of wrecked— raw, high-pitched, desperate.

“That’s it,” Bucky snarled, holding you through it, not letting up. “God, look at you— makin’ such a fuckin’ mess, just from my thigh and a little toy. Didn’t even have to fuck you to ruin you, did I?”

You’re shaking— body limp and sweating against him— and still he didn’t move, didn’t ease off, not just yet.

“One attempt only?” he reminded you with a wicked grin, brushing hair from your damp, flushed face. “Good thing I made it count.”

He finally clicked the wand off, tossing it aside, and wrapped both arms around you, holding you close against his chest, now slick with your sweat. He picked up your discarded stopwatch and tapped the stop button with a small sigh.

“Might not’ve been the fastest,” he murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin, “but I’m pretty sure I won anyway.”

Then he kissed your temple, and added with a low chuckle— “Bet Stevie didn’t make you scream like that, huh?”

Taskmaster

You were draped across Bucky’s chest, legs feeling completely boneless and breath still coming in uneven gasps, when the door swung open.

You tensed— just slightly— but Bucky didn’t even flinch. He casually moved between your thighs, gentle now, wiping you down with a warm, damp cloth he had grabbed from the bathroom barely a minute ago. His metal hand stroked your knee, soothing, while his eyes flicked up lazily toward the doorway.

“Hey, Stevie,” he grinned at the captain.

Steve froze mid-step. His gaze immediately dropped to you, lying on your back, flushed and wrecked, robe hanging off one shoulder and then to the wand Bucky just wiped on his jeans and set down down on the dresser. His jaw tightened.

“You’re early,” Bucky smirked casually, like he didn’t still have his hand between your thighs.

Steve didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on the toy— then on you— then back again on the toy.

“A wand?” he asked, tight-lipped.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Bucky tossed the towel onto the nightstand and stood, running a hand through his hair like he hadn’t just ruined you. “Nothing in the rules prohibiting the use of aids.”

Steve's eyes narrowed.

“They were on the dresser for you, baby,” you said sweetly, turning toward him, still breathless but trying not to let the nerves show. “You could’ve used them if you wanted.”

His gaze softened as it landed on you, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully dissipate. There was something in his face— disappointment, the simple desire to win, or did you detect a flicker of jealousy behind his blue eyes.

You slid off the bed, your legs like jelly, and pulled the robe around yourself, tying it tight around your waist.

“We should go announce the winner,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on. Living room.”

You led the way, your hand slipping into Steve’s as you walked. The two super-soldiers fell in behind you— Steve a little too quiet, Bucky smug as hell.

And you? You were walking like you’ve just survived a warzone.

You settled into your corner of the couch, robe riding up over your thighs. You folded your legs underneath you. Steve stood by the wall with his arms folded, trying to look casual— but the muscle twitching in his jaw gave him away. Bucky lounged at the other end of the couch, legs spread, shirt still undone, face still smug.

You let the silence stretch for just a second longer, before you sighed dramatically.

“Okay,” you start, drawing both their eyes. “So. Points for each of you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, grinning. Steve shifted his weight from one leg to another.

“Stevie,” you said sweetly, turning to him first. “You were so focused. No distractions. Very efficient.”

He straightened a little.

“I loved how you kissed me first. How you held me. Like you wanted to savour it, but you were still trying to win.” You held out your hand for Steve to come and sit beside you, which he did, albeit with a small reluctance. As soon as he was sitting beside you, you wrapped his arm around your waist and leaned into him. “You always make me feel loved.”

Finally, Steve’s face softened and a small smile crept across his lips. You cupped his cheek lovingly and pressed a soft kiss on the edge of his lips. You paused, slipping your hand into Steve’s before you let your eyes drift slowly toward Bucky.

“Then there’s you.”

He smirked. “I’m listening.”

“You came in like a wrecking ball. Dirty mouth, wandering hands, already picking out your weapon of choice before I could blink.”

“You liked that, though,” Bucky said, clearly still in a mood.

“Mmhm.” You rolled your eyes but your smile gave you away, “you used the wand and made me ride your thigh. That was…” You trailed off, eyes distant for just a second. “Creative. Intense.”

Steve huffed but Bucky beamed.

“But.” You held up a finger. “You got a little… distracted, didn’t you?”

Bucky’s grin faltered. “I mean, you were kinda moaning like—”

“Fastest wins,” you remind him. “You forgot that halfway through.”

Bucky shrugged, totally unrepentant. “I was busy enjoying myself.”

“I know,” you murmured, shifting in your seat. Then you looked at Steve again. “You, on the other hand, finished the job. Quick. Thorough. No extra help.”

The tension in the room was thick now and you let your gaze flick between them.

“So. By the rules… the winner is…”

You trailed off again, letting the silence build, watching Steve’s shoulders square and Bucky tilt his head like he was daring you.

“Steve!”

Steve blinked, surprised. Then smirked, just a little, shoulders relaxing.

Bucky groaned. “Oh, come on. I made you scream. You begged me to—”

“You did,” you interrupted, licking your lips. “And I’ll be dreaming about it for days. But the game was fastest, Buck.”

He threw his head back with a dramatic sigh. “This is rigged. You liked mine better.”

You winked. “That’s not the point.”

Steve was still smirking when he leaned in and kissed your cheek. “I’ll take my victory graciously, darling,” he muttered in your ear.

Bucky muttered under his breath and slumped back against the couch cushions with a petulant scowl. “Punk.”

“Oh, come on, don't be a jerk,” Steve said, glancing over at him with a glint in his eye. 

You watched the way Steve's hand slid from your waist, over to Bucky's thigh, fingers spreading into a firm grip.

“And since we are a team,” Steve added, his gaze moving to Bucky, “I think it’s only fair the loser shows some appreciation for the winner.”

Bucky arched a brow, recognizing the tone instantly. “Yeah? Captain’s orders?”

Steve shrugged, smirking lightly. “You gonna follow them, honey?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you. You were biting your lip, pulse quickening, watching the silent challenge unfold.

He huffed a laugh, pushed himself up from the couch, and dropped to his knees between Steve’s legs with a roll of his eyes and a low, muttered, “Fucking hate this.”

“No you don’t,” you teased, scooching aside to give them room, eyes wide and greedy.

Bucky glanced up at Steve, who was already leaning back against the couch, legs spread, gaze heavy-lidded. Then he looked at you and smirked. “You just gonna watch, darling?”

Your lips curved. “For now.”

Steve cupped Bucky’s jaw, thumb stroking the edge of his cheekbone. “Be good,” he said quietly.

Bucky scoffed, voice rough. “You’ll be lucky if you’re still coherent.”

And as he leaned in, you settled back against the cushions— heart pounding, robe slipping open at the thigh again— and thought, best game night ever.

[scoonsalicious]

RIGHT?!

So, it’s a praise kink, but he has to say “clever girl,” and then I chirp like a velociraptor.

[scoonsalicious]

So, it’s a praise kink, but he has to say “clever girl,” and then I chirp like a velociraptor.

[scoonsalicious]

Heal all I never knew was broken

A romcom starring the four of them would fix me I think🙂‍↕️

[scoonsalicious]

Unabashed Angela Bassett Appreciation Posting

“When I met Angela, she looked nothing like me, but she was likable. I liked her immediately.” - Tina Turner

“She’s [Tina] so supportive, and so beautiful. And if I could keep on I’m just gonna start crying.” - Angela Bassett

You can really tell how much Angela loved and enjoyed portraying Tina in ‘What’s Love Got to Do With It’. The love and adoration was mutual and their dynamic will always be so beautiful and special ❤️

[clips from ET’s How Angela Bassett Turned Her Hollywood Dreams Into an Iconic Career | ET Vault Unlocked ✨]

[scoonsalicious]

My Queen. My goddess.

Thank you, @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for blessing me with Mother Athena in my inbox.

Thank you, Mission Impossible press tour, for giving Angela Bassett an excuse to serve cunt every goddamn day

[scoonsalicious]

So pocket and Bucky ends with them in their own apartment correct? And then we will read what happens during infinity war/end game and then also read what happens in TFATWS? Then we will read pocketbolts? I just wanna make sure I didn’t miss anything. Love you and these characters. You’re seriously amazing ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Thank you so much! You didn’t miss anything! Unwanted ends with them moving into their penthouse in the epilogue, then I have my Unoshots, which are just some in between stories. Then I have Unfamiliar, which is what I’m kind of in the middle of now. Then we will get into Unbroken, which will cover IW, EG and probably FATWS, and then this Pocketbolts thing was just something I wrote that will take place after all that but came to me so I had to put it out there lol

[scoonsalicious]

Working Title: Pocketbolts* ;)

Pairing: Thunderbolts*!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: Pocket's been losing since the moment Thanos snapped his fingers. Her family. Her best friend. Her team. Her sense of puprose. The love of her life. But when her former fiance and his gaggle of lost, limping antiheroes come bursting through her front door?

Well. She's about to lose her damned mind.

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2.5k Author's Note: So... Like many, Thunderbolts* got me feeling some kinda away, and I couldn't help but begin imagining how I would fold Pocket into the events of the film. I have plans for her post-Unwanted that take her through IW, EG, FATWS and BNW that I'm working on in Unbroken. Girl's gonna go through it and this piece is showing us where she's at after the dust has settled. Tony and Nat-- gone. The Avengers-- scattered. And Bucky? Well... you'll have to read to find out.

Banner By: My bestie @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Something was going on at the Tower. You weren’t sure what, but since Valentina Whatever-the-Fuck de Fontaine had gotten herself involved, you were pretty sure it couldn’t be anything good. 

You’d spent a good year trying to buy the building back for Stark Industries, but no dice. It had broken your heart when Pepper had sold it to begin with, though you could understand why. 

Too many memories, she’d told you. 

Before she’d cut you off. 

Until you got better.

As if your grief made you unfit.

As if looking for a way to bring her husband back made you broken.

You’d just wish you’d known about the sale before it had happened, so you could have made a counter-offer. 

Kept it in the family, at least. 

Now? Who knew what the fuck was going on over there? 

You sighed and pushed back from the penthouse balcony, determined to put it out of your mind.

Not your circus, not your monkeys, you thought to yourself. 

Not anymore.

But God, you wished it still was.

You were about to head up to the bathroom, draw yourself a bath and pour a glass of wine; wallow in the memories of everything you no longer had–just another Tuesday, really, when the sound of the private elevator whirling to life drew your focus. In the silence of what your life had become in the years since Tony snapped his fingers, it echoed like a gunshot.

You froze in your tracks, staring—disbelieving. No one came by anymore. There was no one left. And besides, no one had had access to the elevator code, save for you and…

But… no. He was gone, too.

The doors opened–

and a mess of disheveled individuals essentially poured themselves into your foyer like the universe was dumping its broken toys at your feet. 

They were battered, bloody, bruised.

And–what the hell? 

John. 

Fucking. 

Walker.

You had to be hallucinating.

Because unless this was a fever dream—or some kind of sick, karmic joke—there was no other reason for Bargain Bin Captain Fauxmerica to be leaking red, white, and bullshit all over your marble floors.

“Stark,” he grinned, flashing that All-American smile that never failed to set your teeth on edge. “Long time, no see. You look good”

You were seconds from activating your suit—half a mind to send him down the elevator shaft with a repulsor blast, the rest of his group of whatevers be damned—when a quiet voice from behind him stole the breath from your lungs.

“Hey, sweetheart” Bucky said, stepping forward with an awkward, apologetic smile, one hand clutching his side like it hurt. “Sorry to just barge in on you like this.”

You just stared at him, speechless. The words wouldn’t come. What was he even doing here? He was supposed to be in D.C.. That was part of the entire problem.

“You know I wouldn’t have shown up without warning you first,” he added gently, “if I’d had a choice.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

You just stared. At his eyes. At his hand. At the way he still said “sweetheart” like it fucking meant something instead of hurt.

As if he’d hadn’t left you at your lowest point, hadn’t chosen a life that could never fit you in it.

“Hold up, hold up.”

A petite blonde—just a few inches taller than you—stepped forward, hands raised in a loose mirror of the questioning look on her face.

God. You’d been so thrown by the sight of Bucky, you hadn’t even clocked her presence. Some hero you were. Tony would be ashamed. You took a second to catalog the rest of them: A large, hairy man in too-tight red BDSM getup; a dark-complexioned woman who looked more bored than anything else; and John Fucking Walker. Watching you like he already knew what you looked like naked.

The blonde looked at Bucky. “You’re telling me,” she began, her thick Russian accent hitting something achingly familiar in you, setting up an unexpected wave of longing you didn’t know how to process, “your ex has been Iron Maiden all this time, and you didn’t think ‘oh, hey guys, this might come in handy when we are getting our asses handed to us?”

She swatted at him, hitting him in the chest. The action spoke of familiarity, of trust. Of things you didn’t have anymore, but he, apparently, still did. With people you didn’t know.

“We’re out there getting wrecked, and you’re hiding your ex who flies and probably shoots lasers out of her ass?”

She turned to you. “No offense, I’m just saying, that was selfish of him.”

She turned back to him. “Not very ‘team-player’ of you.”

“Calm down, Yelena,” Leather Daddy said, puffing out his chest. “If the great Winter Soldier wishes to protect his woman from danger, then we must respect it. It is the Super Soldier’s code!”

You wanted to retort to that—fuck, there were so many things you could say:

I don’t belong to anyone. If I were his woman, we’d both have killed you for saying that. I haven’t been his anything in a long time, so maybe update your fucking notes. The Super Soldier’s code can kiss my Iron Ass.

But, instead, your brain was too busy putting together the pieces that had just been put before it:

Heavy Russian accent.

Body built like a Widow.

Sass that somehow came out endearing in spite of itself.

Yelena.

For the second time in nearly as many minutes, your breath caught in your lungs. 

This was Natasha’s sister.

You’d never met. In all the years you’d known Natty, loved her like a sister of your own, you’d never had the opportunity. You’d spoken on the phone, maybe a handful of times—just brief exchanges when you’d walked into the room while Nat was talking to her—and she’d always made you laugh with the absolute insane shit that came out of her mouth.

But then she’d been gone in the Blip.

And then Natty had died. You’d looked for Yelena, after. Of course you had. Desperate for some connection, some tie to Nat that you could still hold onto.

Someone who knew the shape of your pain.

But a former Widow in the wind was harder to find than a ghost.

And you would know. Because you’d spent the last few years of your life searching for a way to bring the ghosts home.

And then your feet were moving, carrying you across the floor, and your arms were around her, pulling her into you as the tears you’d never let yourself cry for your best friend finally began streaming down your face.

Yelena stiffened beneath you. “Ooooooohkay,” she said, her arms pressed awkwardly against her side as she froze, “what is actually happening right now?”

“She loved your sister,” was all Bucky had to say.

Because those words did something to Yelena. Her arms were around you then, hugging you back so tight, it hurt.

But it didn’t matter.

You didn’t care.

She started crying, too.

“You’re Pocket,” she said inbetween gasps for breath. “You were her best friend.” 

She pulled back, studying your face. “We’ve talked on the phone. I know you.”

Before you could say anything, though, giant arms wrapped themselves around you both, and Leather Daddy was squeezing you, sobbing. “You knew my Tasha?” he bawled. 

Yelena threw her head back and groaned through the tears, though she had a faint smile on her face. “Oh my God, Dad. Stop it! You’re so embarrassing.”

Dad. This was Alexei, then. Natasha’s “father;” the man that had raised her… then delivered her right back to the Red Room. Natty’s relationship with the man had been complicated, even after they had reconnected following Tony and Steve’s fallout, but still, you knew, she had loved him.

“Nonsense, my ‘Lena,” Alexei said affectionately. “She loved your sister; she is family! There is no embarrassment in family!” And he squeezed you both even tighter.

“Right,” said a female voice, British accent, and you realized it was the one remaining member of your house crashers that hadn’t yet spoken. “As painfully weird as this touching moment is, have you all forgotten that Bob just tried to kill us?” 

You opened your mouth and spoke the first words you’d uttered since before the elevator doors had opened:

“Who the fuck is Bob?”

They all just… kind of stood there, awkwardly looking at one another, as if no one knew how, exactly, to explain who–or, maybe, what?-- Bob was to you. 

Finally, the British woman sighed, exasperated, and began walking toward your living room. “Barnes, she’s your girlfriend. You explain it,” she said, throwing herself onto your sectional. 

You turned to look at him–really look at him– for the first time. He looked… older. Not in a bad way, though. In fact, he was furstratingly more handsome, his hair longer than it had been the last time you’d seen him. 

But he looked more tired, too. 

In Delacroix, surrounded by Sam’s family, he’d finally lost some of the haunted look that had always followed him, except in those quiet moments between your sheets and your legs, but now? 

He looked exhausted, as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders against his will.

Yet again.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

“Can we talk?” he asked. “Upstairs.”

You took a beat. Upstairs. The bedroom you’d shared. 

Where you’d come back together, after Carthage. 

Where you’d planned your future. 

Where you’d moaned his name and he whispered yours like a prayer.

Where he’d asked for his ring back and broke your heart.

You didn’t let yourself answer; didn’t trust yourself to.

You just nodded.

Instead, you turned to the others. 

“Make yourselves at home. First aid kit’s in the bathroom down the hall, under the sink. There’s food and beer in the fridge. Liquor’s in the bar if you need something harder.” You glanced back at Bucky. “I know I will.”

He swallowed thickly before motioning for you to lead the way upstairs, as though recognizing he no longer had any right to treat the space like it was his own.

Good, you thought. Because he didn’t. And it wasn’t.

Neither were you.

You made it up two steps before you paused, turned.

“Hey, Walker?” you called over your shoulder. The blond popped his head up from where he’d already had it buried inside the fridge. “Yeah?”

“Don’t fucking touch anything.”

As you ascended, you could just make out the British woman addressing him:

“Well. Does no one like you, then?”

Once upstairs, the silence was awkward between you, and that hurt.

Because it never used to be. Not when he’d been your fiance. Your lover. Your best fucking friend.

It was only once your grief had brought you to a place where he couldn’t follow that the quiet had begun to stretch into something uncomfortable, something with teeth.

And then, after you thought maybe–maybe–after the Flagsmashers, that there could be a way back, a way through the pain of losing Tony and into a future with Bucky again, he’d hit you with his decision to run for Congress; to forge a path that would require paving over your identity with his dreams and good intentions.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he said eventually. His tone was casual, almost playful, but laced with an edge of caution. “That’s never been a good thing.”

But you could sense the way he was surveying the room now, making note of all the ways in which it was different from when he’d called it home. It wasn’t so much that you’d filled it with new memories in the absence of where the ones with him had been; it was that you had simply left the spaces empty, collecting dust, as if the effort to fill them with anything new had been more than you could manage.

Because it had been. 

“I really don’t know what you want me to say, James,” you said finally, your back to him, not able to look in his direction just yet.

James.

It was childish.

You knew he hated it. 

Despised it, really.

Especially when it came from you.

But you needed the distance it provided. Needed to wrap yourself up in it like armor and let it protect you, because him just being here? Breathing your same air?

It ripped open all your wounds.

You heard him take a step toward you. Could almost hear him reaching for you, but you didn’t turn around. 

“Doll,” he said, and there was a ragged crack to his voice that you recognized, because it shared the same frequency as the one in your chest. “Jesus Christ, Pocket, can you just look at me? Пожалуйста.”

Please.

And in an instant, you were in a different bedroom, all those years ago, when another please, spoken in desperate Russian, had drawn you to him, done you in, started you down this path of ecstasy and agony. Just one simple, stupid word.

And finally, you turned to him.

Because grief you could fight. Rage, you could burn through. But that kind of pleading? The need that lay beyond it? That kind of softness from a man made entirely of stone and scars?

You had no defense against that.

And you never had.

Finally looking at him was like looking into a mirror. The pain, the loss, the loneliness you felt, all mirrored back to you in a pair of ice blue eyes that had always been more home to you than any four walls ever had ever been.

“How’s Torres?” he asked, and you barked out a laugh, because–really?-- it was the single dumbest thing he could say in the moment. 

You gave him a skeptical look. “You’re really asking about him right now?” you asked.

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the gesture cost him everything. “I just want to know that you’re happy,” he said.

“Who’s Bob?” you asked, instead of answering him.

“I asked you first,” he retorted, though there was a flicker of… something in his eyes. And you felt a heat ignite in your gut. He was still jealous.

“Yeah, but given the circumstances, my question kinda feels more pressing, considering you and your merry band of weirdos burst in like kids who got knocked down on the playground crying that Bob pushed you.” You felt the edge of your lip pick up in the tiniest of smirks.

It felt stiff, foreign.

But at the same time, so familiar.

“I dunno,” said Bucky, voice low and dripping now, with something dangerous behind it that you could never resist, and you hadn’t realized it, but with each line spoken, you had stepped closer to one another, “you seem to be pretty eager to avoid talking about your boyfriend.”

The distance between you was minimal now, as if you couldn’t help yourselves. “He was never my boyfriend,” you countered. “And I haven’t seen him since your little chat with him at the hospital. He was sweet and I liked spending time with him, but let’s be honest– he was just a means to an orgasm.” Bucky’s eyes flashed something dark. “There’s that dirty mouth,” he murmured, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. Then, his hand was on your hip, yanking you flush against him. “Missed the fuck out of it.” And he was kissing you.

[scoonsalicious]

Helvetica.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Domestic Bucky

Summary: You’re finally off call and ready to crash— except Bucky has dinner on the stove, a suspiciously charming smile, and something new inked into his chest. Seven words. One name. A whole lot of feelings. You weren’t ready. He was.

Warnings: Discussions of memory loss, emotional vulnerability, trauma references

A/N: Early birthday gift for @riddikulus-obsessions. Have a good one my lovely!

It was Wednesday— the middle of the week.

Fortunately, not the middle of your week. It was the end of a grueling stretch of on-call shifts, and you were more than ready to crash with your gorgeous boyfriend. You dropped your bag in the hallway of your apartment, shedding your outer layers like a banana peel. Bucky was already home— padding barefoot around the apartment in nothing but a pair of grey sweats. You followed the delicious aroma of dinner into the kitchen where Bucky was hovering over the stove, shirtless.

He had a very clever way of diverting your attention from things that needed to be done. The lowkey casual but sexy sweats which highlighted his assets perfectly always drove you to distraction. He only did this when he was trying to pull you away from a mundane task, like tackling a pile of laundry, or the dirty dishes, or when he was trying to soften you up before he dropped an emotionally devastating grenade into your lap.

“Buck?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he answered without turning around.

“You alright?”

He turned his head over his shoulder, flashing you his signature cocky smirk. “Yeah. Made your favorite,” he said, holding up the wooden spoon he was using to stir.

You smiled and skipped over to him. Slowly you wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder blade. “Thank you, babe. But what are you buttering me up for?”

“Can’t a guy do something nice for his best girl without being accused of having an ulterior motive?”

“Not in this life,” you laughed, running your palm down his arm and snaking your fingers around the handle of the spoon before easing it from his grasp. You raised the end of it to your mouth to get a taste.

He turned towards you to get a better look at your face. You had the spoon halfway to your mouth when you spotted it.

Black ink. Small, neat lettering, just over his heart.

You squinted. Momentarily stunned. The spoon hitting your nose instead of your mouth.

“What the hell is that?”

Bucky glanced down like he forgot it was there. “Hm? Oh. That.”

“That,” you repeated, blinking hard. “That says— ‘If found, please return to…’.” Your voice trailed off.

Your name was written there, permanently inked into his skin.

He nodded, utterly unfazed. “Yeah.”

“You got a tattoo?”

“Mhm.”

“Of my name?”

He didn't answer immediately, grabbing a towel and wiping sauce off your nose, like this was a totally normal conversation to be having over cooking dinner.

“Yeah. It’s just... in case.”

“In case what, exactly?”

His voice dropped a few decibels, much softer now, and careful… too careful. “In case someone wipes my brain again.”

His words made your chest tighten. He had once confessed to you that he constantly lived with this fear, like a second pulse thrumming away inside him, just under the surface. 

But this? This felt different. More permanent.

“That’s not funny, Buck.”

“I’m not joking.”

You sat down at the kitchen table, your heart pounding loudly. 

“So your plan is that if some evil mastermind scrambles your memories again, someone will find you half-dead and shirtless and just… see this and bring you back to me?”

“Well, ideally they’d call you,” he answered, like his logic was totally sound. “Take me to a hospital and say, ‘Hey, this one says he belongs to her.’”

You covered your face with your palm. “Jesus Christ, James.”

He crouched down in front of you, resting one hand— warm flesh— on your knee, and the other— cold metal— beside it.

“You’re mad?”

“I’m freaked out,” you hissed, lifting your head. “That’s— do you understand what that means? You branded yourself with my name!”

“It’s not branding,” he chuckled, countering your argument. “It’s seven words. In Helvetica.”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped. “Although— also, seriously, Helvetica?”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Would it be better if I asked you first?”

“No!” you exploded, throwing your hands up. “I would’ve told you it was a terrible idea!”

He just smiled, soft and sure. “Yeah, figured as much.”

You stood, pacing now, spoon still in hand like it was a prop in a really stressful play.

“What if we break up?” you blurted out, the absurdity of the concept reflecting how off kilter this had knocked you.

But Bucky remained calm. Steady. Certain.

“I’d still trust you with my life,” he answered quietly. 

Your breath caught. Your restless pacing stilled but you pushed on with your arguments, scared now— not of him, but of what this meant. How much it cost, emotionally, to love someone this broken and this loyal.

“And what if—” You swallowed hard. “What if I’m the one trying to kill you?” you whispered, desperate to find the flaw in his logic.

He didn’t blink.

“Then I’ll die by your hand.”

You felt like the floor was dropping out under you. His words were followed by a long silence. He stood, simply watching you in all his quiet intensity and gentle defiance. You could tell he had already made peace with his fate in the wake of his love for you.

You pressed your fingers to your mouth, trembling. “You’re so messed up,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“Probably,” he agreed easily, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “But I’m yours.”

God help you, your heart felt like it was splitting wide open. A part of you hated him for doing this— for loving you so hard and so fiercely that it felt like a responsibility too heavy to carry. And a part of you wanted to press your palm to his inked skin— your name, your heart— and swear you would never let anyone take him away again.

You leaned down slowly, until you were eye to eye. Without thinking, your fingers brushed over the fresh tattoo and Bucky’s breath hitched. He stayed still, like he didn’t want to scare you off. 

“I’m not gonna let you go, Buck. Ever.”

And for the first time all night, he was the one who looked like he might break.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted By the Numbers

Pocket swears 771 times in Unwanted.

Pocket says 'fuck' 125 times.

Pocket swears approximately every 200 words.

0.48% of the story is Pocket cursing. I am stupidly proud of myself.

[scoonsalicious]

So good. Absolutely loved it.

Into The Void

Summary: There are rooms in the Void meant to break you. Bucky never expected to find his name on the door—let alone more than one. Each one peels back something he’d rather forget. Surviving them? That’s the easy part. Facing what’s inside... not so much.

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers, psychological horror, emotional distress, trauma themes

Word count: 2k+

Bucky took a deep breath. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides as he steeled himself against his next step. He stood at the edge of the darkness. It didn’t look like anything special. Just a smear of black across the wide streets of the city of New York. The air felt oddly distorted and the closer he stepped it buzzed around him.

He stood just outside it, wondering what was in store for him. He’d been here before. Not here exactly, but in this place. The choice between running, or standing and fighting. He had walked away from this so many times, but he just kept being dragged back to this edge. There was no choice left. Not this time.

The Void.

“All right,” he muttered. And then, without ceremony, he stepped into the darkness.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

It wasn’t the kind of peace of solitude, but an unnatural, almost brittle kind of silence that came before something cracked. The concrete walls stretched endlessly in every direction, bathed in shadows. No windows. No doors. No exit. The space was lit by a series of flickering tube lights which pulsed irregularly and cast jerky shadows like skittish ghosts flying across the floor.

Bucky turned around, seeing himself sitting in a cold steel cage in the middle of a cell, head bowed. The air reeked of bleach and lubrication oil. His left hand— dulled titanium— rested heavily against his thigh, twitching every so often.

Across from him sat a figure— so familiar and yet unwelcome. It made Bucky’s teeth clench.

Helmut Zemo.

Impeccably dressed, as always. Fur collar, gloves tucked neatly beneath one arm. A red leatherbound book was balanced on his lap. He looked at home here, like he’d built this place, brick by brick, from Bucky’s worst memories.

“Asset response time,” Zemo stated, his voice calm and measured, “four-point-two seconds. Kill confirmation ratio: one hundred percent. Psychological resistance: low. Reconditioning required after prolonged inactivity.”

Every so often he turned a page in the journal. The crisp paper crackled in the silence.

“Impressive, no?” Zemo asked, lifting his gaze to the soldier in the cage.

Bucky didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed firmly on the floor. But the tension was palpable, his jaw was clenched tight enough to hurt.

Zemo smiled. Just a quiet, calculated smirk. He’d found exactly the right button to press.

“You flinch,” he observed, speaking softly, head tilting slightly. “Not at these numbers. But at the truth behind them. These files. You remember the missions? The blood? The screams in the dark?”

The words stirred something in Bucky’s chest. Acid rose behind his ribs.

“And yet,” Zemo continued in the same relaxed tone, “they let you walk free. The Avengers. The Wakandans. Even that therapist. Curious, isn’t it?”

Bucky still didn’t speak.

Zemo stood— slow, leisurely— circling him like a vulture scavenging its prey. The red ledger held just under his nose.

“You know what I find most fascinating, James?” he asked. “It’s not how easily they forgave you. It’s how quickly you believed them.”

He stopped behind Bucky’s shoulder. The air felt thick, almost suffocating.

“Tell me…” Zemo leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. Close enough that Bucky could feel Zemo’s breath against his ear. “When will they stop seeing the gun— and start seeing the man?”

He paused. Then, ever so softly, “Or do you fear… they are the same thing?”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, like a man who’d been punched in the gut.

“I didn’t choose this,” he whispered, voice rough and riddled with guilt.

Zemo straightened, footsteps echoing through the hollow hall as he prowled around Bucky.

“No,” he agreed. “But you didn’t fight it either. Not always.”

He settled into the chair once more, putting one leg over the other and reopening the book, idly flipping through its pages. 

“That’s the worst part of this, isn’t it? Somewhere in the haze. There were moments where you craved it. The purpose. The simplicity. Just the mission. Pull the trigger. Forget the name.”

He stopped on a photo. Turned it so Bucky could see.

A woman. She was young. Had the audacity to smile. A literal sunbeam of a person. The shot was a moment frozen in time.

Bucky’s breath caught.

Zemo’s tone had become mockingly thoughtful. “This one. You hesitated. HYDRA had to recondition you for almost six hours afterward. They said you spoke her name in your sleep.” He shrugged, almost casually. “They were concerned. They needn’t have been. Your next mission? Clean shot between the eyes.”

Bucky looked away. His throat was thick with bile. His heart thudded in his chest, heavy and uneven. But he knew that face. God, he remembered her. She’d been kind. Brave. She’d smiled at him once, just before he’d pulled the trigger. She hadn’t even seen it coming. The smile hadn’t even had time to leave her face before she hit the floor.

“I remember them,” he whispered. His voice barely carried.

Zemo tilted his head.

“What was that?”

Bucky looked up. Met his gaze for the first time.

“I remember. All of them. That’s why I keep going.”

Zemo paused, studying him. Then, he laughed. Bemused.

“No,” he said. “You keep going because you’re afraid to stop. Because if you stop moving, you’ll have to face it. With the silence. The grief. The guilt.”

He closed the book with a sharp snap.

“Not to worry,” he said, slipping the book under his arm. “The world will always need a weapon. And they will always remember exactly what you are.”

Zemo walked away into the shadows, his footsteps fading as the light above flickered faster and faster— before everything blinked out, plunging Bucky into darkness.

Total blackout swallowed him. Bucky stood in it for a heartbeat, then two, until they had multiplied into an unfathomable pit. Breath coming too fast, too shallow. Sweat beading at his temples despite the cold on his skin.

And then—

The click of a halogen bulb. One single diode. Then another. A cold, sterile buzz hummed to life above him, point by point, until the room was flooded with harsh, surgical light.

Not the concrete void anymore.

A HYDRA lab.

Bucky knew it instantly— the stench of antiseptic and dried blood, the eerie stillness, the vague humming of machines bathed in shadow. He was strapped into an open cryostasis chamber and a wall-length mirror was placed before him by a faceless man. Clean, silvered, and unbroken. Bucky glanced into it instinctively, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. He didn’t know why.

And then he saw it. The reflection. It wasn’t his.

Not the man with shoulder-length hair and tired eyes, wearing civilian clothes and guilt like armor.

No. This man stood straight. Boots planted, tactical vest gleaming, the red star on his shoulder sharp as a scar. Black mask pulled down just enough to show an expression devoid of emotion. His gloved right hand was clenched at his side. His metal hand was painted in blood.

The Winter Soldier stared back.

Bucky’s stomach dropped. Tried to take a step back, stopped by restraints.

The reflection didn’t move. It tilted its head, just slightly, like a predator watching a wounded version of itself.

“You were good at it,” his reflection mused.

Bucky’s mouth went dry. “No.”

“You liked it,” it continued, an echo of all the voices that whispered in his ear in the dead of night. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Bucky said, louder now, trying to convince himself more than anything.

The Winter Soldier took a step forward. Remaining behind the glass— yet closer somehow.

“Choices didn’t matter. You didn’t hesitate. Not even at the end. You didn’t scream. You didn’t beg. You executed.”

“I was brainwashed.”

“You were effective.” The Soldier lifted his bloodied metal hand, holding it up to the mirror like a priest offering communion and Bucky’s hand mimicked his movements, like a puppet. “You didn’t just survive. You thrived. You became the perfect thing they asked you to be.”

“I hated it,” Bucky whispered, argumentatively.

The reflection smiled wider. “No. You hate it now. You hated remembering. But in that moment?”

Images flickered behind the soldier. Images flashed in the glass— of missions, of kills, brutal and fast. A knife sliding into someone’s gut. The recoil of a sniper rifle. A gloved hand dragging someone from their car and slamming their skull into the pavement. All in silence. All clean. All efficient.

“You didn’t even blink,” the reflection said.

Bucky stepped closer to the mirror. Anger bubbling up now, hot and blinding.

“You think that’s me?” he demanded.

The reflection shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I’m not that anymore.”

“But I am,” the Soldier said. “And I live here.” He tapped the side of his head with a finger. “In every room. Every scar. Every nightmare. I don’t go away, James. You just dress me up in therapy, you try to kill me with Wakandan technology and hope no one notices when your hand starts to shake.”

The lights flickered. Bucky’s knees nearly gave out. The restraints had disappeared, he was tethered only by the shackles of his mind. He dropped to a crouch, breath ragged, hands braced against the floor. He didn’t want to look up, but the mirror pulled at him, like gravity. He had to look.

When he did, the Soldier was kneeling too, perfectly mirroring him.

Bucky’s voice cracked when he spoke. “You’re not real.”

The Soldier leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Aren’t I?”

Silence. Long and trembling.

Then— the reflection moved. But Bucky didn’t. But the Soldier stood up. Slow and smooth. Just as a gun lifts before its trigger is pulled. One final glance. Before he turned his back and walked away.

But his voice lingered, curling around the edges of the room like smoke.

“You’ll never outrun me.”

His words cracked the mirror. Fracturing Soldat’s diminishing silhouette into a thousand pieces and crumbling into darkness.

The next room wasn’t a room at all. He caught the dull rumble of the Quinjet around him before he recognized the soft glow of the Siberian Mountain range outside the window. Bucky sat in the cockpit, his hands loosely collapsed in his lap. He knew this moment. He had lived it before. Another tragedy he was responsible for.

Steve Rogers sat silently in the pilot’s seat.

Then Bucky spoke. “What’s gonna happen to your friends?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. He simply stared straight ahead, jaw clenched. After a long beat, he sighed and shook his head. “Whatever it is… I’ll deal with it.”

His answer was calm, but there was a weariness in it..

Bucky hesitated. But the words somehow managed to tumble to the tip of his tongue. Ones that always haunted him, the confession that always hung on the edge. “I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”

Steve looked back at him. His eyes were as blue as Bucky remembered, but colder now. Clouded with something harder than grief.

“What you did all those years… it wasn’t you,” he said, almost by rote. Emotionless.

Bucky exhaled, his jaw taut. “I know.” 

He waited. Waited for the rest. For the part that always came next. You didn’t have a choice.

But Steve didn’t say it. Instead, he turned away, staring out at the mountains, hands tightening on the controls. His voice was quiet when it finally came.

“But you did it.”

Bucky blinked. 

But Steve went on. “You pulled the trigger. You ended lives. Over and over again.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged, his chest caving in. “I was controlled,” he stuttered.

Steve shook his head slowly. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He turned to Bucky, a tired disappointment in his eyes. One that cut deeper than any rage he might have displayed.

“I believed in you,” he said. “I needed to.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. Steve’s voice was steady, but each word landed like a blow.

“I burned every bridge for you. I tore the Avengers apart. I lied to people I cared about. I fought people who trusted me. I broke the world trying to save you.”

He paused. The temperature in the cockpit felt colder.

“And maybe… maybe I was wrong.”

The silence afterward was absolute. Terrible. He couldn’t breathe. It was like Steve didn’t recognize the man beside him. This wasn’t the man who had once followed him into war, or pulled him out of the river.

His voice came out small. The same tone he had used when they had first fought as children.

“Steve…” he pleaded.

But Steve didn’t turn around.

“You asked me if you were worth all this,” he said. “And I thought you were. I wanted you to be.” He let out a slow sigh. “But I don’t know anymore.”

Bucky sat back in his seat. Whole body numb. The quinjet continued its flight path, soaring over the endless mountain range. He stood up and made his way to the back of the plane, pulling open the cargo door. He stood there, looking down, wind billowing around him.

In the real memory, Steve had looked at him like he was human. Like he could be saved.

But this wasn’t memory. This was the Void. And here, even Steve could give up on him.

[scoonsalicious]

I can't believe we're finally here! <3

31: WISH UPON A STAR

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: Bucky plans a surprise date for you, filled with thoughtful details and sentimental gestures, as he takes you on a nighttime drive away from the city. Through laughter, moments of vulnerability, and shared silence, the evening becomes one of connection, healing, and romance.

Warnings: Fluff, angst (mentions of grief, loss of a loved one), emotional moments, light humor, angst/comfort

Word Count: 3916

Bucky was never one for words. He could hold his own in a fight, had the endurance to run a marathon with no training, but somehow, asking you to spend an evening with him had him feeling like he was gearing up for another battle with Thanos. He had been planning this for well over a week, the idea rolling around in his head over and over, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t too much. Not too sentimental. Not too personal. But then again, that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

So now, here he was. Standing at your door, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, trying to figure out the right words to say. The moment you opened the door, he was rendered speechless anyway.

“Hey, Buck!”

“Hey,” he smiled shyly.

“What’s going on?” you asked, pulling on a cardigan and grabbing your work bag.

“I…” Bucky stuttered slightly.

You stopped your hurried movements and stood in front of him with a reassuring smile, giving him the time to find his words.

He exhaled, glancing away for a brief second before forcing himself to meet your eyes. “Clear your evening.”

“Excuse me?” you blinked in surprise.

“I, uh—” Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like an idiot. This was a bad idea.

“Are you telling me… or asking me?” Your lips twitched in amusement.

“Asking?” he said with uncertainty.

He was cute when he was nervous, you thought to yourself, while you pretended to consider his offer. “What’s the plan?”

His expression changed from cautious to teasing in a flash. “You’ll find out.”

You pulled your door shut and started walking down the corridor. Bucky walked beside you and you playfully narrowed your eyes at him, no real suspicion behind your gaze, just intrigue. “That’s not ominous at all.”

Bucky huffed at you, rolling his eyes dramatically. “It’s not ominous, it’s just…” He gestured vaguely, searching for the right word. “A surprise.”

“A surprise? Now I really am intrigued.”

You leaned into him playfully. For as long as you’d known Bucky, he had never given off the vibe that he was someone who planned surprises. But the Bucky you had agreed to date was someone entirely different. He brought you flowers out of the blue, for crying out loud. He was different— sweet and charming. You could see he was trying. Suddenly you realized that he was watching you, waiting for an answer. Like he was waiting for you to say no.

“Okay,” You gave him a small smile, stopping at the elevator.

He pushed the button for you, raising his brow as though he hadn’t expected you to agree. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smirked. “I’ll clear my evening.”

The elevator doors opened and Bucky put his vibranium hand over the door, while motioning you in with this other hand. “Good,” he said, following you inside.

You leaned against the wall of the elevator, arms crossed over your chest. “What should I wear?”

He paused to think. “Something warm.”

The elevator doors opened, but you didn’t exit the box. You stood and stared at him thoughtfully. “I’ll allow it.”

Bucky smiled, trailing behind you as you walked to your car.

“You coming to work with me? Because Anita would be thrilled to see you.”

He smiled, opening your car door as you pressed down on the clicker. “Nah, just got some arrangements to make.” He leaned down, his hand on the top of your car.

“Looking forward to it.” You gave him a peck on the lips and sat down.

Bucky closed the door behind you and watched you drive away. As you glanced back in the side view mirror, you realized that this wasn’t just a casual outing, it would be something special. And for the first time in a long time, you were genuinely looking forward to finding out what it was.

The truck rumbled as Bucky drove along the highway, his fingers drumming nervously on the wheel. He couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous. He knew you liked him, that should have taken some of the pressure off, but this very reason the stakes felt so much higher. As many times he had told himself that this shouldn’t be a big deal, the second he saw you, he knew he’d been lying to himself.

He had knocked on your door with a bunch of pink peonies in his hand and given you a sheepish smile as he handed them to you. You had been delighted, putting them in a vase before you eagerly pulled on an oversized sweater and joined him.

You were strangely quiet and he wondered if you felt the same way. Normally you’d be happy to fill the silences with friendly chatter, but today you were staring dreamily out of the window, fiddling with the ends of your scarf. You looked so snug, bundled up against the uncharacteristically cool October evening, so effortlessly beautiful, like you always did. It should have been illegal for someone to look that good in a damn scarf.

You must have felt his gaze on you because you turned to look at him, an easy smirk tugging at your lips. “Okay, Barnes. Where’re you taking me?”

Bucky shifted the gear of the truck, shaking his head. “Not telling.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing your head back against the headrest. “You know, most people wouldn’t even agree to a secret night drive with a former assassin.”

He fought back a smirk, keeping his eyes on the road. “And yet, here you are.”

You hummed, pulling your sweater more tightly around you and tapping your chin, like you were contemplating a serious decision. “Maybe I have poor judgment,” you quipped, watching the city skyline shrink in the rearview mirror.

“You might be onto something.” Bucky glanced over at you briefly, before turning his focus back to the road. He flipped the signal and took a turn on to an unlit road.

“Okay… you’re not taking me out to some remote location to kill me, right?” you asked jokingly, but Bucky could detect a mild hint of anxiety in your tone.

He scoffed and shook his head. “Wouldn’t be very original, would it?”

You laughed. “No, but it’d be effective.”

He huffed, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Relax, Princess. If I was gonna kill you, I’d have done it already.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Wow. Okay. I see how it is.”

Bucky smirked, sparing you another glance. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to smile. “Guess I must be special.”

More than you know, Bucky thought. The idea slipped into his mind before he could stop it, totally unsolicited. He swallowed, pushing the butterflies aside as he focused on the dark road ahead.

You tucked your legs under you, swiveling your body towards him on the long seat of the truck. “Okay, but seriously— where are we going?”

Bucky bit back his smile. “You’ll see.”

You let out an exasperated exhale. “You do realize that saying ‘you’ll see’ just makes me more impatient, right?”

“Hmm,” he shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“You’re insufferable!” you exclaimed dramatically. 

Bucky smirked. “And yet, here you are.”

You gave him a scowl, eyes narrowed into a death glare. Not that there was any real anger in it. As Bucky's eyes flicked over for a second, your face dissolved into laughter.

“Yeah,” you murmured, smiling to yourself. “Here I am.”

The truck's tires crunched over the gravel road as he eased the vehicle onto a secluded hilltop and killed the headlights. The absence of the city glow made everything feel more— the shadows darker and the stars brighter. Bucky shifted the gear stick into Park and turned off the engine, his fingers nervously gripping the wheel again as he waited for your reaction.

You were already sitting forwards, peering out of the windshield, getting annoyed as your breath fogged up the glass. Eagerly, you jumped down from the truck, turning in a slow circle and taking in the view, finally understanding why he had brought you here.

Above you, the sky stretched out widely, crowded with stars, clearer than you’d probably seen in years. 

“Bucky…” you breathed, barely above a whisper as he climbed out of the truck.

His chest tightened at the way you said his name. Instead of joining you, he busied himself with the truck bed, grabbing the blankets and thermos he had stashed in the back— essentially giving himself a timeout to let those butterflies in his chest settle down. Bucky spread out the blankets to create a soft sitting space, piling a mountain of pillows up against the back of the cab.

By the time he jumped down, you were tilting your head up. He could see your eyes darting between constellations.

“There’s Orion,” you cried, grabbing his arm and pointing up at the sky. “And The Big Dipper— God, you can actually see the Milky Way.”

Bucky marvelled at the way your eyes lit up, the way you grinned like a kid seeing snow for the first time. This. This was the reason he had brought you here.

“Come on,” he said, nodding towards the truck.

“We’re leaving?”

Bucky chuckled. “No, just come with me.” He took your hand and led you around to the back beside the tailgate.

You tore your eyes away from the sky long enough to follow him to the tailgate, gasping as you saw a string of fairy lights lining the bed of the truck. It lit up the soft tartan blankets spread across it. He took your hand, supporting you as you climbed onto it and then he stepped up behind you. He draped a blanket over your shoulders and handed you a thermos.

“You thought of everything, huh?”

Bucky shrugged. “Didn’t want you whining about the cold.”

You scoffed and elbowed him playfully and as he looked into your eyes, seeing the stars reflected in them, he forgot about everything else— the mission he just returned from, the wedding fiasco, the weight of his past pushed into the background. Because right now, he had made you smile, he had brought joy to your face, he had made you look at him like there was no one else for you. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he’d done something right.

The thermos rested between you, steam curling into the cold night air. The two of you were lying back on the cushions now. Bucky said very little, preferring to listen to you as you traced patterns in the sky with your finger, explaining the story behind constellations and rattling off facts about space that even surprised him.

“Do you see it?” you asked.

Bucky squinted at the sky in the vague direction of your finger.

“Ugh,” you groaned and shuffled closer, almost knocking over the thermos in the process. You picked it up and placed it in a safe corner of the pickup and lay back down beside him, so close that your temples were now touching. You pointed again at The Pleiades, explaining how the seven sisters were a sign that winter was coming.

Suddenly you sighed, dropping your arm. Bucky turned his head in time to catch a flicker of sadness cross your features.

“What’s wrong?”

“My grandmother got me into space stuff,” you said, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “I found my grandfather’s old telescope in the attic when I was a kid. It wasn’t fancy but it felt magical. She showed me how to use it and told me about all the times they went stargazing together. You couldn’t see much where we lived, but she would take me to the planetarium all the time when I was a kid to teach me about the stars.”

Bucky propped himself up on his elbow, rolling over to face you.

“She used to tell me that everything was made of stardust,” you continued, your eyes fixed on the sky. “She promised me that one day, we’d see something incredible together. A comet, a meteor shower— didn’t matter, as long as we were out there, watching it together.”

Your voice wavered slightly, and you swallowed thickly.

“But we never got the chance. She got sick, and…” You took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears.. “We always said ‘next year’— but somehow we ran out of them. She’s the stardust out there now.”

Bucky’s heart ached at the quiet sadness in your voice. He was all too familiar with that feeling— the weight of unfinished plans, of losing someone before you got to do everything you thought you had time for. You sat up and reached for a napkin, taking another sip from the thermos to warm your cool fingers.

Bucky hesitated, fingers pressing against the envelope in his pocket. He’d been carrying it since it arrived, waiting for the right moment. Up until now, he hadn’t been sure there was even a right moment. But tonight felt different. Carefully, he pulled it outs, smoothing away the creases between his fingers while your face was turned. He waited for you to wipe away the tears surreptitiously and turn back to him.

He hesitated for a second before holding it out to you.

You looked at him blankly, blinking a few times, wondering if what you were seeing was real. With your brows drawn together, you accepted the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Just… open it,” Bucky murmured.

He held his breath as you unfolded the paper, watching you closely as your finger ran under the flap and pulled out the certificate inside.

Suddenly, the night air felt very still as you read the words on the certificate. The only sounds he could hear were the distant rustling of leaves on the foliage at the bottom of the hill and your soft, steady breaths as you read.

Then you stopped, lips parted slightly. Your eyes scanned the page again, like you weren’t sure you read it right the first time. He watched as you let out a shuddering breath, your trembling fingers traced over the words on the official document— the star registry with your grandmother’s name printed on it in an elegant script.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting— a smile, even a simple thank you. Maybe you would have laughed and told him he was being utterly ridiculous and overly sentimental. But you said nothing— nothing at all. Had he overstepped? Completely freaked you out? Was it too much? He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh—” He cleared his throat nervously. “I figured… this way you still get to share the stars with her.”

A small shuddering breath fell from your lips and Bucky barely had time to register the emotion before you had flung yourself into his chest. His arms caught you with ease, instinctively closing around your body, hands settling on your back as you buried your face in his shoulder. He squeezed a little as he felt you trembling in his embrace, his heart pounding against his rib cage.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You okay?”

He saw your head nod slowly against his chest. Slowly you pulled back, eyes shining with tears. He could see your joy, but also grief, both of them tangled together with something else.

You left out a shaky laugh, blinking away the tears. “You absolute sap!” You swatted his chest.

Bucky huffed a soft chuckle, the tension in his chest easing. “Yeah, well... just don’t tell anyone.”

You shook your head in disbelief. And then, without thought or hesitation, you lifted your hand to his face, fingers curling around his jaw. You felt him tense but you didn’t say anything, just looked at him as though this was the first time you truly saw him. Slowly, your thumb brushed over his cheek with unnerving tenderness.

He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to lean into it.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Bucky felt his throat tighten. He wanted to say something… something simple, something to break the moment before it became too much. But all he could do was nod. Because yeah, he was completely and utterly gone for you.

He shuffled back against the cushions, lying down on top of them. You snuggled into his right arm, resting your head on his shoulder. Together, the two of you lay in silence, enjoying the moment of closeness.

Unfortunately, it was interrupted by the sharp vibration of Bucky’s phone as it cut through the quiet warmth between you. Bucky sighed, already knowing who was on the other end of the call. There were only two people who called him and you were already lying in his arms, so that left— Sam’s name lit up the screen as he pulled the cellular device from his jacket pocket.

You looked up at him. “You gonna get that?”

He exhaled through his nose, swiping his nose across the screen to answer. “What?” he grumbled.

“Nice to hear from you too, man!” Sam’s disgruntled voice crackled loudly through the speaker. “What you up to?”

Bucky rolled his eyes before going back to staring up at the star-strewn sky. “Busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips, his gaze flicking down to you as you tried to pretend you weren’t eavesdropping even though you could hear every word.

“Busy having a life,” he said, then, before Sam could get another word in— “Bye.”

He hung up before Sam had a chance to argue, tossing the phone aside with a smirk.

You stifled a laugh against his chest, shaking your head. “You know, I don’t mind, right? I never minded you doing this.”

Bucky’s smirk faded slightly, and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I just wonder if I’m making a difference with all this, you know?”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Bucky shrugged, staring at the sky as he thought about the meaning of his very existence. “Feels like we’re just fighting fires. Putting one out, two more pop up.”

You were quiet for a moment, considering. “What’re you thinking?”

Bucky sighed. “I don’t know.”

You tilted your head, thoughtful, before nudging him playfully. “Well, you could always run for office. Take them down from the inside.”

Bucky let out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what this country needs— James Buchanan Barnes giving political speeches.”

“I’d pay good money to watch you argue with some senators.” You grinned at him.

Bucky smirked, finally looking at you. “That so?”

She nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”

Bucky just chuckled, shaking his head. “Not happening.”

“Coward,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

Somehow the weight in his chest lightened, if only just a little. So what if he didn’t have all the answers. Maybe he never would. But right now, under the open sky, lying beside you, it didn’t feel quite so impossible to figure it out.

Silence fell between you again as you admired the deep indigo sky stretched out above you. Bucky would sneak a glance now and again, almost transfixed by the way your eyes shimmered with reflected starlight. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the first streak of light flash across the sky— brief, brilliant, gone in an instant.

You gasped softly. “Did you see that?”

Bucky smiled. “Yeah.”

Another flash— then another.

You let out a delighted laugh, nudging him. “Bucky!” you squealed. “Did you know?”

“Small chance I might have known about this,” Bucky smiled softly. “Want to make a wish?”

You shook your head. “Don’t need to. I have everything I want.”

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh. He barely noticed when his body moved on instinct— tugging you even closer against his side. You didn’t tense. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you sighed softly, leaning into him like you belonged there. Warmth settled in his chest, one he had growth accustomed, one he only felt when you were around.

For a while, you lay just like that, watching as the meteors painted bright arcs through the darkness.

Then, like a secret slipping out, you said, “This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

He turned his head slightly, smirking. “Competition not tough enough, huh?”

You scoffed, elbowing him lightly. “Don’t ruin it, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, giving you a squeeze before resting his chin against the top of your head. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.”

It was well past midnight by the time Bucky suggested getting back to the city. The truck rumbled softly as he drove down the dark, empty roads. You sat quietly, no awkwardness or discomfort, but one where you knew your cup was full.

You were curled up on the seat, hands tucked inside the sleeves of your sweater, your eyes half closed. You looked peaceful. Content. Every so often you would sneak a glance at him, making sure he was still there, still real, still yours.

Bucky exhaled softly through his nose. He liked this. The ease, the warmth. Even though it scared the hell out of him.

The city lights reappeared as you crossed the bridge, the skyline coming into view, golden and shimmering against the night. He stole one last glance at you as he pulled up outside your apartment building.

He turned off the engine but didn’t move right away.

Neither did you.

You just sat there, silence filling the space between you.

“Thanks for tonight, Bucky.”

He met your eyes. “Yeah.” He swallowed, then offered you a small smile. “Anytime, Princess.”

It was only when you suppressed a yawn that he got out of the truck, whipping around to your side to open the door before you’d even wrapped your hand round the door handle. Your footsteps echoed through the quiet hallway as you stepped out of the elevator to your floor. And finally you were standing outside your doors.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, glancing up at him like there was something you wanted to say, but weren’t sure how.

Bucky wasn’t ready to let the night end either.

“Wanna come in?” The words were out before he could stop them.

A slow, knowing smirk tugging at your lips. “I don’t sleep with a guy on the first date,” you answered cheekily.

Bucky tilted his head to the side. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

You snorted and shook your head, reaching for your door, but before she could step inside, Bucky reached out and caught your wrist, wrapping his fingers around it gently.

You turned around, eyes searching his. Then, slowly he took a step closer to you and leaned in. He felt your breath hitch, but you didn’t pull away. In fact, you met him halfway. Your lips brushed against his, a strange tentativeness before you melted into the comfort and familiarity of your bond— warm, loving and real.

There was no rush, there was no desperation, no push to take things further. It felt good, right.

When you finally pulled apart, you let out a breathless sigh, eyes staying closed for just a second longer.

Bucky smirked. “Night, Princess.”

You shook your head slightly, lips curving into a smile. “Night, Barnes.”

And as you slipped inside, closing the door softly behind you, Bucky stood there for a moment, fingers still tingling where they had touched your skin.

Yeah. He had finally found something good.

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Posting schedule will be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays around 2.30pm EST / 11.30am PST / 7.30pm BST

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30: REAL, FOR US

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: Bucky returns from a long mission to find you by Winnie’s side at the hospital, exhausted but steadfast. After a quiet evening spent in her company, he opens up about his feelings for you, no longer willing to leave things unspoken. As the night unfolds, a playful moment turns intimate, with Bucky finally taking a step toward deepening your connection.

Warnings: Mild medical content, emotional angst, vulnerability and relationship talk, explicit sexual content, smut, mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 3409

The midmorning light filtered through the hospital room blinds, casting soft shadows over the crisp white sheets. Winnie looked a little better than she had done the previous night. She was still pale and weak, but her breathing was steadier and the greyish tinge that had colored her lips had disappeared. You heaved a sigh of relief as you sat down at her bedside, your fingers curling loosely around hers.

“You gave us quite a scare, Winnie,” you murmured, smoothing the blanket at her side.

Winnie’s eyelids fluttered open and she hummed faintly, squeezing your hand with the little strength she had. “Not going anywhere yet, sweetheart,” she rasped, a ghost of her usual humor in her voice.

“Good!” You smiled, squeezing her hand back.

You didn’t talk much, Winnie fell asleep very quickly after you arrived. She was exhausted and you worried about how she would be when she returned home. After sitting silently for a while, you stepped outside to send Bucky an update on her condition.

11:32 AM - You: Winnie’s awake. Weak, but stable. Docs say she’ll need to rest, but she’s going to be okay.

You wonder how he was doing, if he was safe. It only took a few minutes for you to receive a response.

11:36 AM - Bucky: Thank you for letting me know.

11:37 AM - Bucky: Wish I was there.

You chewed on your lip, staring down at his words. He should have been here. And you knew that if Sam hadn’t called, he would be. You typed out a response before you had time to overthink things.

11:38 AM - You: I know.

A beat later, your phone vibrated again.

11:38 AM - Bucky: I’ll be back soon.

You sighed, shoving your phone back in your pocket and slipping back into Winne’s room. She stirred when you sat down, but didn’t open her eyes. You sighed, leaning back in your chair. For now, all you could do was wait.

The hospital room was quiet, except for the steady beep of Winnie’s cardiac monitor. It was later than he had expected to return. He stood in the doorway, shoulders tense. He scanned the room, like he half expected something to be wrong. But Winnie’s breathing was slow and steady, reassuringly so. His eyes finally fell on you. You were curled up in a chair beside Winnie’s bed, fast asleep, your head resting against your folded arms on the hospital mattress. Even in sleep, he could see the exhaustion and worry in your features. It probably matched his own expression, but seeing you eased some of the tightness in his chest. He exhaled slowly. He hadn’t been able to get away for a few days and every second away from you had been agony.

“‘Bout time you got back,” Winnie murmured, her voice scratchy but warm.

Bucky dragged his eyes away from you to find Winnie watching him with a knowing expression. Despite the IV in her arm, and the loose fitting hospital gown, there was a twinkle in her eye. There was very little that could dampen Winnie’s spirit. Bucky admired that about her. 

“Came straight here,” he mumbled, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

“I can see that, you’re a right mess, James.”

Bucky chuckled sheepishly, his eyes flicking back to you now and again. Winnie hummed softly, trying to make herself comfortable against her pillows. Immediately Bucky moved around to the other side of the bed so he could help her.

“She’s been here every day, you know,” she said, nodding toward you. “Hasn’t left my side much.”

Bucky glanced at you again, his jaw tightening. He already knew that. You had updated him about Winnie’s condition over the phone, but hearing it like this— from Winnie herself— made his insides ache with guilt. He didn’t want you to have to shoulder this burden alone.

“She worries,” Winnie continued, watching him carefully. “About me. About you.”

Bucky swallowed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I know.”

There was a long pause before Winnie tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile on her face. “So what happened between the two of you?”

Bucky froze, his fingers twitching slightly.

“I don’t need details, dear,” she added dryly, one brow arching. “But I’m not blind.”

Bucky let out a short breath, shaking his head. “We… talked,” he admitted. “I think we came to an understanding.”

Winnie hummed again, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And does she know what it meant to you?”

Bucky hesitated, fingers flexing at his sides.

“She should,” Winnie said simply, her tone matter-of-fact. “You boys never say things when you should. Always think you’ve got more time.” She sighed, then fixed him with a stern look. “You want her? Tell her. Don’t leave her guessing.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, huffing out a quiet laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winnie followed his eyes as he looked over at you. You were still fast asleep, trying to maintain work while being at the hospital had worn you out. 

“You gonna wake her up?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not yet.”

He grabbed a spare blanket from the side cabinet and draped it over the back of your shoulders, his fingers ghosting over your wrist for a moment before he straightened up. He picked up the spare chair and put it down right next to you.

“Get some rest, Winnie,” he murmured. “I’ll be here until they ask us to leave.”

Winnie smiled at him for a moment before closing her eyes. Bucky sighed, leaning his head against the wall. He was exhausted, his body was aching from the mission and the stress and worry he had felt while he was away. He could finally put the weight down— now he was here next to you.

And when you eventually stirred, sleepily blinking up at him, his decision was already made. He was going to tell you everything.

As you woke, you groaned softly, the stiffness in your neck made you wince as you shifted in your chair. The sun had set and the hospital room’s lighting had been dimmed. And for a moment, you were disoriented about where you were. You sat bolt upright in a confused panic, that is until your eyes landed on Bucky sitting right beside you. He looked tired, his broad frame was bent over his chair at an awkward angle. The only thing that looked steady was his eyes on you. He offered you a small smile and you felt your heart melt.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured.

You relaxed a little, rubbing at your eyes before glancing at Winnie, who was now sleeping peacefully.

“You’re back,” you said, your voice still thick with sleep.

Bucky nodded. “Came straight here… so sorry about the smell.”

You covered your mouth to suppress the noise of your giggle, a warmth blossoming in your stomach at his words. You twisted around to look at the clock before letting out a soft sigh. “Visiting hours are almost over.”

He nodded, glancing toward Winnie one last time. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“I feel like I should tell her we’re leaving, but I don’t want to wake her up,” you whispered.

“It’s okay,” he answered back in the same hushed tone. “She knows.”

The two of you left quietly, stepping out into the cool night air. Bucky had brought his bike. Wordlessly, he handed you the spare helmet and waited for you to clamber onto the back. He pulled your arms tighter around his waist when you only gripped him loosely.

When you reached your apartments, Bucky hesitated at his door. “Gonna shower,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then I’ll come by?”

You nodded. “I’ll order dinner.”

His lips twitched. "Ordering for me now?"

You rolled your eyes. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Gotta get some flesh on those bones.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh before unlocking his door. “Be there soon, Princess.” He gave you a cheeky wink before closing the door behind him.

By the time his distinctive knock sounded on your door, you’d already set out the food, the smell of warm takeout filled your apartment. You pulled open the door to find Bucky standing in front of you, his damp hair looking tousled and his dark t-shirt clung to his torso.

“You okay?” you asked. “I was about to send out a search party!”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, eyeing the food over your shoulder. 

You stepped aside to let him in.

“You fall asleep in the shower or something?” you joked.

“I don’t even know how I got dirt in all the places I found it,” Bucky laughed. “This smells good.”

You snorted. “You haven’t even sat down yet.”

Bucky smirked, his shoulder brushing yours as you came up beside him. “Still smells good.”

The two of you settled yourselves at the table, an easy silence falling between you as you filled your stomachs. For a while the only sounds that were heard was the clinking of your forks on plates, maybe an occasion clanking of a glass as you washed down your meal.

Once you had satisfied some of the immediate pangs of hunger, you spoke up.

“How was your mission?”

“Mission was fine,” he said, reaching for his drink. “Not the hardest I’ve had, but… long. Longer than I wanted.”

You gave him a reassuring nudge with your elbow, indicating that you understood his absence.

“Sam needed an extra set of hands,” he continued. “Some government convoy got caught up in a bad storm. Cargo spilled everywhere, and local gangs saw an opportunity. By the time we got there, it was already a mess.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“More annoying than anything else,” Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh. “Sam kept trying to talk them down while I was getting shot at.”

“Classic Cap,” you snorted.

He smirked. “Yeah. Got it handled, though.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the way his fingers tapped against the table, the slight crease in his brow. “You okay?”

Bucky leaned forward on the table, he propped his chin up on his vibranium hand and shovelled some more chicken into his mouth and mumbled, “Yeah… just tired.”

You reached across the table before you could stop yourself, fingers brushing against his wrist. “You’re back now,” you said softly as he looked at you curiously. “That’s what matters.”

His eyes held yours for a moment, a smile twitching at his lips. Slowly, he nodded before reaching for another container of rice. “Enough about that. What’ve I missed?”

You smirked, spearing a piece of chicken with your fork. “I don’t know… things have been pretty quiet without you causing trouble.”

“Trouble?” Bucky scoffed. “I’m a delight.”

You snorted. “Sure, Barnes.”

The conversation died down a little, the two of you picking up on your easy banter. Things had shifted between you, the barrier that you had put up between you and him had slowly been crumbling and you realized that it had disappeared completely. And as you sat there, eating dinner with him like nothing had ever changed, you realized just how much you had missed him.

After dinner, you carried the empty containers to the kitchen while Bucky lingered in the living room. By the time you returned, he had settled on the couch, leaning back like he belonged there, one arm stretched across the backrest. You grabbed the blanket on the arm rest and curled up in the middle of the couch right next to him. You offered him a corner of the blanket which he pulled over his legs half heartedly, not wanting to take away from your warmth. You leaned back and sighed with contentment. Bucky shifted slightly so his knee brushed against yours and you let yourself relax, knowing you could finally be completely and utterly yourself. No reservations or barriers.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The low hum of the city outside filled the quiet, the sound of a distant car horn bled through the walls. You sighed softly and glanced over at Bucky out of the corner of your eye, he was rubbing his sweaty palm on his thigh, fingers tapping in a seemingly restless movement.

“What?” you asked.

He blinked, like he hadn’t realized he was being so obvious. “What?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re overthinking… something.”

He hesitated, his jaw working as he stared ahead. Then, with a sigh, he let his head drop back against the couch. “I don’t know how to say it.”

You turned toward him slightly, the blanket shifting around you. “Then don’t think about saying it the right way. Just… say it.”

He pressed his lips together, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed. His fingers flexed, then curled into a fist before he relaxed them again. “I keep thinking about something Winnie said.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What about?”

Bucky took a slow breath, then turned his head to look at you. His gaze was steady, but there was something uncertain beneath it. “Us.”

Your breath hitched slightly, your muscles tensing. Bucky noticed the change in your expression because he was quick to reassure you. “Hey, no— not in a bad way.”

You didn’t say anything, letting him find the words at his own pace.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I’ve been thinking a lot. About everything. About how I feel. And about what I want.” He swallowed hard, his voice quieter when he added, “About… what we are.”

The room suddenly felt warmer, a flush creeping up your neck.

“And?” you prompted gently.

Bucky looked at you then, really looked at you, his blue eyes searching. His fingers twitched against his thigh like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

“I think,” he started, then stopped, shaking his head like he was frustrated with himself. “No. I know. I want to be with you.”

Your breath stopped.

“I don’t want this to be some— some undefined thing,” he continued, his voice rough and vulnerable. “I don’t want to leave things unspoken anymore. I want this to be real. For us to be real.”

You stared at him, your chest tight, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Then, after a long pause, a playful grin spreading across your face, you asked, “James Bucky Barnes… are you asking me out?”

His lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to phrase it that way. Then, after a beat, he let out a short, almost incredulous laugh.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice so much softer now. “I guess I am.”

You bit your lip, fighting the smile threatening to break free. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky Barnes looked nervous.

You blinked at him, processing his words. Then, as if it was second nature to you, you muttered, “So… do we, like, need a real relationship agreement?”

“What?” Bucky huffed out the word through a laugh.

Without hesitation, you leaned over his lap and grabbed your laptop from the small table beside the couch and flipped open the display with practiced ease. It only took you a few seconds to pull up a new Excel document.

Bucky stared at you, his mouth slightly open. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “A good relationship needs structure, Barnes. Clear expectations.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And you think a spreadsheet is the way to do that?”

“I have different tabs,” you said, scrolling through. “One for boundaries, one for communication preferences—”

“Oh my God,” Bucky ran a hand down his face, looking like he was questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment.

You smirked. You had fully expected him to roll his eyes and call you out for being ridiculous. But instead, he reached over and plucked the laptop from your hands, carefully setting it aside. Then he turned back to you, his gaze darkening, his expression morphing into something else entirely.

“This,” he murmured, sliding closer, “is how we make an agreement.”

Before you had the chance to ask for more details, his hands were on you— one warm, one cold, but both firm as they slid up your thighs. He leaned towards you until your head was resting on the arm of the couch. A shiver ran through you as he dipped his head, his lips ghosting over your skin. And when his mouth found you, hot and eager, all thoughts of spreadsheets and agreements melted away.

His hands were slow, deliberate in the way they massaged your thighs with a steady rhythm that made you melt into the cushions. Up and down, slow and soft, they teased away any lingering tension in your body. Each pass of his palms inched closer to your core, kneading, coaxing, making your breath hitch in anticipation.

The path of his hands was followed promptly by his mouth, leaving gentle kisses along the sensitive skin of your thighs. The warmth of his lips sent shivers up your spine. He paused, reaching the delicate line of your underwear, his breath fanning out over your lower stomach. His fingers traced the soft fabric and his featherlight touches had your hips arching toward him instinctively.

Then, with an excruciatingly slow pace, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and oh, so slowly pulled them down, his gaze transfixed on yours as he bared you to him. Bucky groaned, his lips against your core. The vibration sent another jolt of pleasure rippling through your body. His hands gripped your thighs again, keeping you spread open for him as he worked his tongue over you with incredible precision. It moved in languid strokes at first, teasing and tasting, before the pressure increased— flicking, circling, sucking until your legs trembled against his shoulders.

You gasped, your fingers tangling into his hair, desperate for something to anchor yourself as he now devoured you with fervor. Every sensation built upon the last, a crescendo of pleasure winding tighter and tighter inside you.

“Bucky,” you whimpered. Your hips lifted involuntarily, chasing his mouth, the firmness of his tongue, his relentless hunger for you.

His laugh rumbled against you, the sound almost dark and sinister, sending another shiver down your spine.

“That's it, Princess,” he murmured against your soft skin before he dived back in, as though his sole purpose was to unravel you completely.

There was no stopping him. Even as your orgasm overtook you. He lapped at you gently, coaxing every last tremor from your body as you gasped for breath. His fingers stayed inside you, moving slower now, savoring the way you pulsed around him. Your thighs twitched against his shoulders, oversensitive but unwilling to pull away just yet. He pressed one last kiss to your clit before finally retreating, his fingers slipping out of you with deliberate care.

As he moved up your body, his hands roamed over your flushed skin, grounding you, bringing you back down from the high he had so thoroughly sent you spiraling into. He hovered above you, watching you with a mix of satisfaction and reverence.

“You okay, Princess?”

You let out a shaky laugh, still breathless from your climax. “Give me a second. I think you just melted my brain.”

Bucky smirked, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then another to the corner of your mouth. “Good.” 

His hands rested on your thighs, thumbs stroking absent patterns as he deepened the kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. And when he finally pulled back, he lingered— barely a breath away, his blue eyes darkened with lust but laced with a welcome tenderness. Better?” he murmured.

You let out a contented sigh, brushing your fingers over his stubbled jaw. “Much.”

He looked down at you, eyes flickering over your face, like he was trying to commit you to memory… almost like he couldn’t believe you were real. That you were really his.

“You’re staring,” you teased, tilting your head.

His thumb traced a slow line up your thigh. “Just admiring my work.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

His grin widened as he leaned in again, kissing you once more. His fingers curling around your waist as if he wasn’t ready to let go.

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[scoonsalicious]

29: WORDS THAT HEAL

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: A quiet evening interaction between you and Bucky reader takes an unexpected turn when you find your elderly neighbor in distress. At the hospital, with emotions running high, the night uncovers more than either of you anticipated, leaving you with a deeper understanding of each other.

Warnings: Medical emergency, anxiety, heavy emotional themes, past trauma, implied sexual intercourse

Word Count: 4874

The lobby had always been dimly lit, giving off a horror movie vibe on late nights, worsened only by the faint hum of the elevator and the occasional flicking of the old fashioned lights that the landlord refused to bring into the modern era. The eerie quietness was broken by the shuffle of letters being sorted. You slowed your stride and glanced over to see Bucky standing in front of the row of mailboxes, sifting through envelopes with a furrowed brow.

“Hey,” you said softly, coming up beside him.

He glanced over, eyes softening just a little. “Hey.”

You took the opportunity to open your own mailbox, flipping through the usual stack of bills and flyers. Then, something bright caught your eye— a thick envelope with a gold seal. You ripped it open, skimming the contents before letting out an excited squeal.

Bucky tensed on instinct, turning toward you. “What—?”

"I won!" you exclaimed, holding up the paper. Not that he could read it with the way you were bouncing up and down “I actually won something! A whole set of vouchers to that fancy chocolatier downtown!” You fanned out the vouchers to display.

He watched, bemused, as you practically jumped up and down on your feet. There was something about seeing you like this— so genuinely happy, eyes sparkling and mouth curled into an unrestrained smile— that made his chest tighten in the best possible way. He lifted his own mail with a dry smirk. “Meanwhile, I’ve got bills. Exciting, huh?”

Without thinking, you blurted out, “Come with me?”

Bucky stilled. “What?”

“To the chocolatier. You should come with me.” You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling shy about your forwardness. “It’s not an imposition or anything. I just…” You hesitated, voice quieter now. “I miss your company. And I… we’re still friends, right?”

His heart stumbled over your last words. Still friends. But it was the soft way you said it, the slight unsteadiness in your voice, that caught his attention. The unspoken still lingering in the air between you. For a moment, he just looked at you, trying to figure out if you meant more than you were saying. Then, he nodded. “Alright.”

You exhaled a relieved breath, offering a small smile. You turned towards your apartment, stepping towards the stairwell. Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing at the elevator doors before looking back at you.

“So, you not taking the elevator anymore?” he asked, his tone was light but curious, like he already knew the answer.

Your steps faltered slightly before you recovered, giving a nervous little laugh. “Better not to risk it,” you answered, focusing on the steps ahead, trying not to think about the way the elevator had trapped the two of you together. Then, more quietly you confessed, “I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been in there with me.”

Bucky stopped for a second, watching you. There was something in your voice, something unguarded, and it made his chest tighten. “You got through it,” he said. “With or without me, you would've figured it out.”

You huffed a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know about that.”

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, taking another step up beside you, “I do.”

You peeked over at him, meeting his gaze for just a beat too long before you cleared your throat and kept climbing. There was something different in the air between the two of you. It lingered over you, just out of reach.

You were still smiling as you climbed the last few steps to your floor, the warmth of Bucky’s presence beside you. The conversation had been easy, almost light— something you hadn’t felt in a long time. The two of you were almost at the end of the corridor while he was teasing you about the vouchers, and you were playfully rolling your eyes when you heard it.

A thump. The sound was heavy, sudden— just wrong. Your smile vanished in an instant and the air shifted between you.

Bucky stilled beside you, his entire body tensing. Your stomach twisted as you glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source. It had come from somewhere close. Another beat of silence as you listened. It was too quiet. Your skin prickled. Bucky's eyes darted across the hall, his instincts razor-sharp. And then you both realized— you were standing right outside Winnie’s apartment. Your breath caught in your throat and a cold dread seeped into your chest.

“Winnie?” you called out. There was no answer.

You knocked. Hard. “Winnie! Are you okay?”

Nothing. A terrible feeling settled in your bones. You reached for the doorknob, your pulse hammering. It was locked. You turned to Bucky, and before you could even ask, he was already moving.

“Move,” he said, gently pushing you to the side. Before you could protest, he braced himself and slammed his shoulder into the door.

The door gave way with ease, the force of Bucky’s shoulder knocking it clean off the latch. The sound was loud, echoing in the stillness of the apartment. You had stopped breathing before you even saw her.

Winnie was on the floor, her gray cardigan bunched beneath her, one arm bent awkwardly at her side. Her hair had fallen forward, obscuring her face, and for a horrible, breathless moment, you couldn’t tell if she was breathing. A cold dread clawed up your spine.

“Winnie?” Your voice wobbled as you dropped to your knees, hands trembling as you reached out. You rolled her onto her back, trying to dredge up the basic CPR training you’d had years ago. You opened her mouth, but there was nothing there other than her tongue which had fallen backwards and she was making the most terrifying noises whenever she took a shallow breath.

“She’s alive,” you managed, though it barely felt like relief as you tilted back her head and lifted her chin and the grunting noise stopped.

Bucky was already pulling his phone out, fingers flying over the screen. “I need an ambulance,” he said, voice clipped and steady, though you could see the tension in his jaw, the sharp set of his shoulders. “Elderly woman, unconscious, breathing but unresponsive.” His eyes flicked to you.

“She’s clammy,” you supplied, feeling the damp chill of her skin against your fingertips. “Pulse is weak.”

He relayed the information with practiced efficiency, but your own hands were shaking as you pushed Winnie’s hair back.

“Winnie, can you hear me?” you murmured. You checked her pupils, ran through possibilities in your head. She had told you she was diabetic. Was it hypoglycemia? Was it a stroke? Maybe something worse?

She didn’t respond. And the silence was unbearable. Bucky knelt beside you, his hand hovering near your shoulder like he wanted to ground you, but didn’t know if he should.

“We should put her in the recovery position,” you said, voice tight. “Just in case.”

Bucky nodded, and together you moved her as gently as possible. Her breathing stuttered, and your stomach lurched, glancing toward the door, willing the ambulance to get here faster. Every second dragged out like an eternity while you waited. The weight of worry was suffocating as it pressed down on your ribs. You felt helpless… and you hated feeling helpless.

Then— finally— the distant sound of sirens cut through the quiet.

The rest of the evening passed in a strange, hazy blur. You and Bucky trailed after the paramedics, watching as they lifted poor Winnie into the ambulance, their actions efficient but controlled. Someone asked if you were family, and when you hesitated, Bucky spoke up, his voice calm and confident. “We’re her neighbors. She doesn’t have anyone else.”

They let you come. But the ride to the hospital was silent… and tense. You sat across from Winnie’s supine form, your hands clenched in your lap, the cold plastic bench beneath you grounding but uncomfortable. The ambulance rocked over a pothole, and your stomach lurched with it, making you feel rather queasy. Bucky sat beside you, shoulders hunched, his hands clasped between his knees. He didn’t say anything, but the pressure of his thigh against yours felt like a steadying force.

At the hospital, they wheeled Winnie through double doors where you couldn’t follow. Now came the waiting.

You sank into one of the stiff plastic chairs, emotional exhaustion settling deep into your bones. The adrenaline that had propelled you through the past hour was fading fast, leaving you drained and cold. You folded your arms over your stomach, trying to contain the restless, gnawing worry. Bucky sat down beside you. To your surprise, he didn’t fidget, he didn’t pull out his phone, he didn’t try to fill the silence. He just sat, still and quiet, his knee brushing against yours now and again.

You stole a glance at him. His face was unreadable, but you saw the subtle signs of his distress— the tightness in his jaw, the dullness in his eyes.

“She’s tough,” he said finally, his voice low. “She’ll pull through.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to tell him that this reminds you too much of another hospital, another night, waiting for good news that never came. You wanted to tell him that you hate how fragile everything feels. Instead, you just nodded.

Minutes stretched into an hour, maybe more, you had lost all track of time. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, the waiting room half-empty except for a tired-looking receptionist  at the front desk and an older man dozing in the corner.

At some point, Bucky shifted. “You should eat something,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

His brow furrowed, like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back, arms crossed, staying close. You didn’t realize how much you needed that until now. Your stomach was twisted in knots and you lowered your head into your hands, fingers tangling into your hair. The waiting was unbearable— the time dragging on like feeling like an eternity as the uncertainty gnawed at you.

"Why is this taking so long?" you whispered in a strained voice. You leaned forward again, elbows on your knees, trying to steady yourself against the overwhelming weight of your own fear.

Bucky sighed beside you. “I don’t know.” His voice was quiet, but there was something in it, something tired that told you he’d been here before. Waiting. Hoping. Dreading. You heard him shift in his seat, then you felt a warm, steady hand pressed against your back. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. No attempts at false reassurances, he just rubbed slow, grounding circles between your shoulders.

Your breath hitched, the tension inside you threatening to spill over. "I can’t deal with this," you choked out, your voice cracking.

Bucky didn’t answer. He just kept rubbing your back, slow and steady, anchoring you in place and letting your tempestuous thoughts calm. 

Just as your mind settled, a different thought hit you.

“Oh, shit,” you groaned.

Bucky froze, his hand stilled for a fraction of a second before he pulled it away, giving you space. You sat up abruptly, heart hammering in fresh panic.

“Fuck, I was supposed to text Aditi and Hanna when I got home. I promised them.”

You dug through your bag frantically, fingers fumbling for your phone. But when you pulled it out, the screen stayed dark. The battery was dead. “Dammit,” you growled in frustration.

Before you could spiral any further, Bucky wordlessly, he held out his phone. You accepted it slowly looking surprised that he had Hanna’s number and the message app open. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you started typing a message to your friend, reassuring her that you're okay, that you're at the hospital, that you’re sorry for not checking in sooner.

But as soon as you were done, you noticed that your message wasn’t the only one on the screen. You scrolled up slightly. There were messages. Not just yours. Not just from tonight— but from before. Your fingers stilled. Your stomach tugged with unease. You didn’t read them, but you could see enough to know that there had been exchanges between Bucky and Hanna

You frowned, tilting your head to look over at Bucky. “You’ve been talking to Hanna?”

He hesitated, only for a second, before nodding. “Yeah.”

You searched his face, trying to make sense of it. A flare of apprehension sparked inside you. Why? What had they been saying? What had he told her? 

“About what?”

He exhaled, rubbing a jaw before meeting your gaze again. “You, mostly.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Me?”

“They were worried about you,” he said simply. “I guess… I was too.”

You gripped the phone a little tighter and cleared your throat, looking down at the phone to skim over Hanna’s reply. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky watched you carefully. “Would it have changed anything?”

You didn’t know if it would have then. But now… 

Something inside you changed, know that despite everything, despite the hurt, despite the walls still standing between you— Bucky had been looking out for you. In ways you hadn’t even noticed.

Bucky shifted in his seat once more. “And… I've been trying to help them get visitation with Mr. Sharma.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

“It's been complicated,” he continued, his eyes fixated on his hands. “Not easy to arrange, especially with everything still so fresh. But I’ve been pulling some strings, trying to make it happen.”

You blinked, struggling to process it. He’d been doing this? Helping your friends without telling you? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky exhaled softly through his nose. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was just doing it to get in your good graces,” he admitted. “That’s not why I did it.”

You stared at him for a moment, completely baffled. Your initial thought would have been that he had done it to curry favor with you but now, you believed that he had really done it for them. He watched you carefully, then sighed, rubbing a metal hand over the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “One of the conditions of my pardon was seeing a therapist— to help me with the whole Winter Soldier thing. She came up with this… statement. Some ridiculous mantra for me to say when I tried to make amends with the people I hurt when I was… him.”

His voice dropped slightly on the last word. Then he gave you a small, sad smile before looking at you directly, eyes impossibly blue under the harsh hospital lights.

“I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James Bucky Barnes, and you are part of my efforts to make amends.”

The words sounded rehearsed. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he’s clearly said them before. Maybe to others. Maybe in that same exhausted, pained tone. But something about this moment felt different. Maybe because you could hear what remained unspoken beneath them.

You stared at him, not even realizing you’re shaking your head slightly, like you’re trying to piece something together. Like there was something still missing in all of this.

“You keep saying that,” you murmured. “Making amends. But it’s not just about Mr. Sharma, is it?”

Bucky’s lips pressed together, staying quiet.

You took a slow breath, gripping his phone tighter in your hands. “This is about HYDRA.”

The silence between you stretched out further and Bucky looked away. His fingers flexed slightly, like there was a ghost of something he wanted to hold onto, but he didn’t move.

You swallowed, a new understanding dawning on you. “That’s why you did what you did at the wedding.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, eyes still fixed on some invisible point beyond the waiting room. His voice was rougher and more quiet when he spoke again.

“I needed to stop them.”

You waited, your heart pounding, because you knew there was more. You knew him better now.

“I needed to make sure they never got the chance to evolve,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched.

“HYDRA isn’t gone,” he sighed. “They’ve just gone underground. Regrouping, waiting. They don’t need to start from scratch— they’re already there, in the shadows, gathering their forces. I know how they work. They don’t stop. They adapt.”

His fingers tighten into a fist.

“If I let them keep going— if I don’t cut them off before they get strong enough again—” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I know what happens next. I’ve seen it before. And I’ll be damned if I let it happen on my watch .”

The implication of his words sunk deep into your chest.

Bucky looked over at you and then away, looking like he was struggling to decide how much more to say. His shoulders tightened, like he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

“Do you think stopping them will change anything?” you asked quietly. “That it… I dunno, balances the scales?”

The breath that left his mouth sounded almost like a bitter laugh. “Nothing balances the scales,” he muttered and shook his head. “Not after what I’ve done.”

You stared at him, feeling the weight of his crushing burden.

“So this isn't just about stopping HYDRA… It's about proving that you’re not still—”

He looked at you then. No anger. No defensiveness. Just exhaustion painted across his face. “That I'm not still a weapon.”

The words hit you harder than expected.

Bucky exhaled, leaning back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them,” he admitted. “The people they sent me after. The ones I didn’t save. And I think about how easily it could’ve been someone else… someone like you.” His voice softened on the last three words.

You froze.

Bucky shook his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “If things had gone differently… if the wrong people wanted to hurt me, or use me again—” His jaw clenched, his voice going quieter now. “They’d go after you just to get to me.”

Something cold ran through you.

You’d seen some of what HYDRA was capable of. What they did to him. To others. And even if you weren’t someone they’d target for their own use— there was another risk entirely.

If they knew what Bucky cared about, if they saw you as a way to control him… the thought was suffocating. You exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of your chair.

“I couldn’t let them do it again.” His fingers flexed slightly against his knee and his voice was rough in his admission. “So, yeah. I wanted to stop them. And maybe that doesn't fix anything, it certainly doesn’t erase what I did. But at least this time, I wasn’t the one pulling the trigger.”

For the first time, you realized that Bucky wasn’t just trying to make amends. He was trying to rewrite the narrative.

To prove to himself and to the world that he could still be something other than what HYDRA had made him.

Your chest ached.

“Bucky…” you murmured, not knowing what you even wanted to say.

He shook his head, offering you a small, sad smile. “I’m really sorry, Princess. For all of it.”

And for the first time you felt like you could accept it. He wasn’t saying it just to fulfill some part of his redemption. He was saying it because he meant it. Because he wished he could take it all back. Not because it was an obligation, but because he truly cared. Because Bucky Barnes was still trying to figure out how to be more than what HYDRA made him.

And maybe, just maybe you were willing to let him try. There was an understanding in your silence now.

Bucky exhaled slowly again, leaning his head back against the wall. His eyes were heavy and his sagging shoulders showed the exhaustion in his usually strong body. He had been carrying so much for so long.

You weren't sure if it was the weariness of the day, the conversation, or just the healing effects of time, but you found yourself wanting to be closer to him. You leaned back against the chair, inching closer until your shoulder brushed against his.

He didn't move away. And at some point, without you realizing it, your head was resting lightly against his arm. He was so still, but the tension he carried seemed to ease. He exuded warmth and safety and you allowed yourself to close your eyes. Just for a moment, you told yourself.

You didn't know long your eyes stayed closed, only that when you woke up, Bucky hadn't moved. He was the same warm, steady, solid man who you'd fallen for.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?”

The doctor's voice snapped both of you back to awareness. You blinked blearily, sitting up, your heart galloping in your chest as Bucky straightened beside you. Neither of you quite corrected the mistake that the doctor has made about your relationship.

“Hi, I’m Dr Robinavitch. You’re Mrs. Winifred Burke’s family?

You and Bucky nodded without hesitation.

“Well unfortunately Mrs. Burke suffered a heart attack,” he explained, his voice gentle and calm. “But, you should know that your prompt action saved her life. The cardiologists performed an angioplasty, and she’s stable now— resting and sedated.” She gave you and Bucky a small nod. “She’ll be in the ICU overnight for observation, but she won’t be awake until tomorrow.”

You didn’t quite understand half of what the doctor had said, but the words stable and resting were reassuring. Winnie may not be totally out of the woods, but she was fighting, and that’s what mattered. You exhaled slowly, your shoulders sagging in relief.

Bucky nodded, but he still had a question. “So she’s gonna be okay?”

The ER attending offered both of you a reassuring look. “We’re optimistic. But, it’s late. She’s asleep. So I suggest you go home and get some rest. You can come back to visit her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Both of you mumbled and watched Dr Robinavitch walk back into his ER.

Slowly you looked up at Bucky, only to find his eyes already on you. There was so much in his gaze— relief, exhaustion and something softer.

You nodded, exhaling softly. “Okay… tomorrow…” you murmured. And for the first time since you’d arrived, you felt like there was room in your chest to take a breath.

Surprisingly, Bucky was able to call a cab at 1am and you rode home in shared silence. The night’s events were weighing heavily on both of you and neither of you had anything left to say. But you still craved the comfort of each other’s presence and you found yourself sitting close together in the back of the cab, barely any space between you. The backs of your hands brushed against each other, the touch almost accidental— neither of you made any effort to pull away, but not quite finding the courage to close the distance, either.

When you reached your apartment building, everything felt eerily still. The two of you made your way up to your floor, where Winnie’s door remained ajar, a quiet reminder of the chaos from earlier. The place was a mess— a knocked over chair, overturned pill bottles when the paramedics had taken stock of Winnie’s condition. The atmosphere was still filled with remnants of fear, it clung to the empty space. Together, you and Bucky straightened up what you could. It wasn’t much but at least now it felt less like something terrible had happened. You grabbed Winnie’s keys and slipped them into your pocket and Bucky pulled the door back into the frame. 

And then, finally, it was just the two of you again. Standing outside your respective doors, like you had done so many times before.

You turned to Bucky. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she?” You voice quiet and uncertain, despite Dr Robinavitch’s reassurances.

Bucky nodded, offering the faintest smile. “She’s a pretty tough cookie.”

“I’m glad you were here,” you said, trying to let Bucky’s words reassure you. “Not sure I could have done this alone.”

Bucky tilted his head to one side, assessing you. His expression was soft and his eyes gentle. He only hesitated for a second before stepping forward slowly. When you didn’t step back or stop him, he wrapped his arms around you. You melted immediately, falling into his solid, warm chest, letting his steady presence ground you. His arms tightened around you, like he needed this just as much as you did… maybe more.

“I don’t wanna lose anyone else,” he murmured. “Not again.”

You reached around his back and under his jacket, your fingers curling into his shirt, anchoring him to you. “Me neither.”

You pulled back just slightly, just enough to look up at him. His deep blue eyes looked down into yours, his ruggedly handsome features looked so soft in the dim light. You could just make out the faint freckles dusted across his tanned skin from the hot summer months, they were barely visible but you knew them. Your eyes flicked to his lips, the way they curved beautifully, looking impossibly soft despite the cracks from forgotten hydration. They were so inviting.

Gods, you missed him. Not just his presence, but the closeness, the comfort, the intimacy. The way it felt to be held by him, to be known by him. The weight of the past couple of months pressed down heavily in your chest— grief, fear, longing, pain, love— all of it trying to escape. 

Before you could stop yourself, before you could even think, you closed the distance between you.

Your lips met his, and every feeling you’d been holding in, everything you hadn’t been able to say, spilled into the kiss— desperate and aching, a silent plea for comfort, for the familiarity in all the chaos.

Bucky froze, startled by your forwardness. But then, with a quiet, almost broken sound, he was kissing you back. He pulled you in, arms tightening around you like he was afraid to let go. And right here, at this moment, nothing else existed. No fear, no nightmares, no betrayal or ghosts of the past— just this, you and him, holding each other, keeping each other from falling apart.

You needed more, pushing your body closer to him, into his, seeking more— more warmth, more closeness, more of him, all of him. When you grinded against him, a guttural moan escaped his lips and his arms tightened around you instinctively. Your hands slid up his back, tangling into his hair, pulling him down to deepen the kiss.

Bucky’s grip shifted and he straightened, and suddenly your feet were no longer touching the ground. His hands had slid down under your ass, pulling you flush against him, sparks flying between you. Without thinking, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as his arms secured you against him.

Your fingers fumbled over the keys in your pocket and you pressed them into his palm, a silent plea. He understood. Without breaking the kiss, he maneuvered the two of you toward your door. He blindly found the lock, the metal clinking as he pushed it open, and then you were stumbling inside together, breathless and wanting. The door swung shut behind you.

He didn’t stop, lips still on yours, hands holding you close. He carried you through the darkened apartment. Every step he took sent waves of anticipation and need rushing through you. And then, you felt the edge of your bed against the back of your legs. He lowered you down, his weight on top of you.

You’d missed this. You’d missed him. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him go.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and rolled over, instinctively reaching for the warmth of Bucky’s embrace that had been beside you only hours ago. Except his side of the bed was cold and empty. Your stomach sank.

You lifted your hand up to touch the spot where his head had been. And that’s when you felt it. A note. Folded on the pillow where he should have been. You sat up slowly, picking up the paper and smoothing out the creases. You had ignored his last letter for too long, you wouldn’t make the same mistake again. His handwriting was messier than the last note, like he had written it in the darkness and in a hurry, but the words were more thoughtful than you’d expected.

Princess,

I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave, but Sam called— he needs backup, and I owe it to him.

That doesn’t mean I wanted to go.

I’d give anything to stay, to hold you a little longer. This is a part of who I am, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you.

I love you. I hope you know that.

I’ll call as soon as I can.

Bucky

You traced the words with your fingertips, a smile tugging at your lips. He was trying. You realized that now. And despite the ache of loneliness in the cold sheets, you believed him.

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[scoonsalicious]

Chapter 8: Unexpected

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: Things are going so well with Bucky it feels like a dream—romance, bubble baths, and the kind of love that makes you believe in second chances. But when Jade officially moves into the Tower, and Steve starts acting even weirder than usual, cracks begin to form in the fantasy. A hallway confrontation leads to a revelation neither of you saw coming, and suddenly, you're not just fighting to stay in love—you’re fighting to make Bucky believe he’s worthy of it. Oh, and there’s Thai food, a blowjob, some bathtub confessions, and maybe a little “Sergeant” kink, too. 👀

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) language // explicit sexual content // oral sex (m receiving) // bathtub cuddles // possessive behavior (healthy) // insecurity & self-worth issues // discussion of past trauma (Hydra/Siberia) // jealousy / love triangle vibes // minor bullying & female rivalry // emotionally vulnerable Bucky Barnes // Steve Rogers being confusing af // use of the phrase "prettiest pussy I’ve ever laid my tongue on" (you've been warned) // domestic fluff meets emotional angst // jokes about tits, lots of them // military kink undertones ("Sergeant" dynamics) // Bucky Barnes having the audacity to be perfect

Word Count: 6.9k

Previously On...: Jealousy, honesty, and a whole lot of emotional whiplash collide when Pocket confronts Bucky about his flirtation with Jade. But what starts as a heartbreaking misunderstanding turns into the confession of a lifetime, as both Bucky and Pocket finally admit they’re in love—and terrified of losing one another. Just as things start heating up (literally), Tony’s interruption leads to a Tower-wide game of “What the F?!” that ends with unexpected declarations, awkward bets, and one unwelcome surprise: Jade’s staying. Officially. On the team. Buckle up, baby—it’s only gonna get messier from here.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

The next few weeks were some of the best of your life. True to his word, Bucky was romancing the absolute shit out of you. It seemed like nearly every night, he was whisking you out for another romantic dinner, or to this hole-in-the-wall jazz club he found so he could finally take you dancing ("the proper way, not this humping-while-standing-up-thing you kids do nowadays"). He brought fresh flowers to both your suite and your office once a week like clockwork, and the sex-- well, there were some mornings you couldn't even walk properly. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Together, you existed in your own little bubble, a new level of happiness unlocked in both of you that neither one ever expected to achieve.

The day of Jade's move-in to the Tower arrived, and you would have completely forgotten all about it if Tony hadn't mentioned it to you when you passed him in the hall on your way to meet Bucky in the common room for lunch. The reminder didn't weigh you down like you had expected it to. While she was unpleasant, and you didn't expect to become chums with her anytime soon, that burning rage you'd felt for her when she'd flirted with Bucky had subsided. Knowing how he felt about you had worn your jealousy down to non-existent.

You entered the common room, spotting Bucky kneeling in front of the coffee table, his back to you, as he took the lunches he'd ordered for you out of their takeout carriers and arranging them on the surface.

Feeling playful, you decided to sneak up on him, covering his eyes with your hands when you finally reached him.

"You know I heard you coming a mile away, doll," he chuckled, reaching around to pull you into a kiss. "Could smell you, too."

"Oh, I--" You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you sank next to him on the floor. Just thinking about Bucky was enough to get you aroused most days, but for it to be enough for him to smell--

"Relax, ya pervert; I meant your perfume," Bucky laughed, passing you a bottle of iced tea from the take out bag. You playfully swatted at him.

"You're awful," you admonished with a grin.

"Yet, you love me," he shot back, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

"The world is full of mysteries," you teased. You started opening up the container of Gaeng Daeng Bucky had ordered from your favorite Thai place. The portions were so large, you'd only ever be able to eat half of it, but that was just fine; your super soldier boyfriend would make sure none of it went to waste.

"I do love that lilac perfume on you," Bucky mused as he dug into his own plate of Pad Krapow Moo Saap. "Mixes so nice with the scent of your pussy."

You choked on a bite of your curry as Bucky broke into a fit of laughter. Handing you your bottle of tea, Bucky gently rubbed your back as he tried to reel himself in. "I'm sorry, doll. Drink this. Don't go choking to death on me, now."

When you were finally able to get your breathing back under control, you shot him a look.

"What?" he said, face the picture of innocence as he held up his hands in surrender. "'s not my fault you have the prettiest pussy I've ever laid my tongue on."

For the sake of propriety, you wanted to be mad at, or at least a little annoyed by him. But, Lord, if his words didn't do things to you. So, instead, you grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him toward you in a bruising kiss. His hands quickly guided your body down, until you were lying on the floor and he was resting on top of you, your Thai food temporarily abandoned as you gave in to one another.

Bucky had just begun pawing at your clothes when you both froze at the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat in the doorway.

"Common Room's closed for maintenance. Come back later," Bucky called over his shoulder without even looking. You couldn't help but laugh as he resumed kissing you. The man had no shame and you were kinda into it.

"Buck." The single word, low and harsh from Steve left you both frozen in place. In unison, you picked your heads up and looked to the door. Standing in the archway were three individuals-- one looking at you with barely disguised amusement, one with undisguised rage, and one who was trying very hard not to look at you at all.

"I hope you're not fraternizing on company time, Pocket," Tony said with a grin. Surprisingly, he had warmed up to the idea of you and Bucky being together (especially after you had threatened to "take my talents somewhere where my personal life won't be scrutinized and judged." "You wouldn't!" he'd gasped. "I wouldn't want to," you'd replied. "Don't let that be my only remaining option." It had been an empty threat; you both knew it, but it had been enough to get him on board).

The same couldn't be said for the man who refused to look at you, though. Since you and Bucky had officially begun dating, Steve had been ignoring you like you had cooties and he was unvaccinated, and you couldn't, for the life of you, figure out why. You'd brought your concern up to Bucky one evening, sure he'd assuage your anxiety, but he just told you to give the other man time to sort himself, leaving you with more questions. Did Steve hate you now because he thought you'd stolen his best friend from him? Or were those ‘Stucky’ shippers on Tumblr onto something?

"Like you're one to talk, Boss," you sassed back to Tony as you and Bucky extricated yourselves from your compromising position and stood up. Brushing down your pants, you turned to Bucky. "Can't even begin to tell you how many girls I've walked in on this guy with in the office before Pep came into the picture. Scarred me for life."

Tony had a faux-sappy look on his face and let loose a couple of fake sniffles as he clutched his hands to his heart. "Office dalliances of her very own. My little girl is all grown up. There is nothing more for me to teach you, precious Padawan." His hands moved to wipe away at a fake tear.

"Tony," Steve warned with a raised brow.

Tony blanched, as though just remembering his purpose for being in the common room. "Oh, yeah. Um, very unprofessional, you two. I'm shocked. Just scandalized. This is a place of business, blah blah blah and all that. Anyway, you remember Jade Carthage, our newest Probationary Avenger."

Ah, the third individual who was glaring at you with unadulterated hatred in her eyes.

"Vixen, nice to see you again. Welcome to the team." Bucky extended his hand for Jade to shake, and you watched her gaze soften and melt under his as she took his hand.

"Such a pleasure to see you again, Sergeant Barnes," she cooed. When Bucky released her hand, she turned to you, a cold, wicked smile that cut like a knife across her face.

"I don't think we've met," she said, extending her hand to you. "I'm Jade Carthage, but please, call me 'Vixen.'"

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)," you said, with a shrug, as if completely nonplussed that she claimed not to know you. “My friends call me ‘Pocket,’ but Ms. (Y/L/N) should suffice.'" You took her hand to shake it. "CTO of Stark Industries, head of Innovation and Technology for the Avengers’ Initiative. Bucky's girlfriend." Jade's grip around your hand tightened, her super soldier strength making it feel as though she were crushing your very bones, but you held on, not letting a single ounce of pain show on your face. You'd dealt with worse.

When you didn't back down, Jade let your hand go. You flexed your fingers, relishing in the return of blood flow to your appendages.

"Buck," Steve said, and you were kind of hoping for more than just a single syllable out of him this time, "we're putting Jade next door to you. Mind showing her where to go? We've already had her stuff moved in. Tony and I just need to finalize some paperwork with her and we'll have her back down."

Sensing your body tense up at Steve's request, Bucky placed a reassuring hand at the small of your back. "Well, I'm in Pocket's room most nights now, anyway." He looked down at you, offering a soft smile that you returned. "But since she's just across the hall, yeah. We can walk you down, Jade. That is," he added, his smile turning a little naughty, "if I can convince my girl here to take the afternoon off and indulge me with a bit of her time." His arm moved from your back up to around your shoulders, and he pulled you into him.

"Well," you hemmed, as though not already completely convinced that would be an absolutely wonderful idea, "I have to check with my boss first. Hey, Tony?" He pursed his lips at you, clearly not pleased that you wanted to slack off. "Can I take the afternoon off?" He opened his mouth, most likely to deny you, but you cut him off "Oh, wait-- that's right. I don't actually report to you anymore." You turned back to Bucky. "We're good to go, baby." You winked and blew Tony a kiss. You both knew you had so much unused vacation time stacked up, you could not show up to work for a year and you'd barely tap into it.

"Great," Bucky said with a smile. "We'll finish our lunch and you can meet us back here when you're done finalizing your paperwork, and we'll show you your new digs."

Steve nodded and grunted his consent, while Jade just glared at you.

"Perfect," said Tony with a clap of his hands. Before turning to leave, he looked back at you and Bucky with a conspiratorial nod. "Just make sure to finish off your lunch and not each other, got it? I'm not due to have this carpet shampooed for another couple of weeks, and they charge extra for dealing with bodily fluids."

"Oh, gross, Tony," you moaned, while they walked off, Tony laughing to himself.

Once they were gone and you and Bucky had settled back around the coffee table to eat your now cooling Thai, you leaned in and kissed him. "Thank you," you said when you'd pulled away.

"For what?" he asked, breath a little uneven from the kiss.

"For being amazing and handling that entire thing perfectly," you told him, putting a hand on his knee.

He smiled at you, his blue eyes like crystals. "I told you, sweetheart, gonna be the best goddamned boyfriend you ever had, and that means making sure I'm not putting myself in a situation with her" he nodded his head toward the now empty doorway, "that makes you uncomfortable. Besides, it was really immature of her to pretend she didn't know who you were. I'm not going to spend alone time with someone who disrespects my girl like that."

You brought your hand up to stroke his jaw. "Have I told you how much I fucking love you?"

"Yeah," said Bucky, smiling at you through a big bite of his food, "but you might have to repeat yourself a lot. I am over a hundred, you know. My hearing's not what it used to be."

*

You were leaning against a couch and mindlessly scrolling through your social media feed when Jade walked back into the common room about twenty minutes later.

"Where's Sergeant Barnes?" she asked by way of greeting.

"Bathroom," you said, slipping your phone into your pocket. "Should be back in a minute."

Jade sighed and walked closer to you, her stiletto heels sending her towering above your head. "You know, you really don't have to come with us," she drawled, as if offering you a way out was doing you some kind of favor. "I'm sure Bucky can show me to my room all by himself. There's no need for you to inconvenience yourself to babysit him. Unless, of course, you don't trust him around me." She smirked at you, emerald eyes hard and cutting.

You chuckled, moving away from the couch and standing up straight, though you couldn't hope to match her height. "It's no trouble at all," you replied, your tone sickeningly saccharine. "I'd hardly call it an inconvenience to take a nanosecond to point to your door while my boyfriend and I are already on our way back to my room to fuck."

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" Jade seethed at you. Well. That took you aback.

"Excuse me?" you countered. "I'm a bitch?"

"It wasn't enough for you to humiliate me in front of Stark and Rogers during my interview, but you had to go and make a play for Bucky once you knew I was interested in him," Jade scoffed. "That was a real mature stunt you pulled at dinner, by the way, storming off like a baby, hoping he'd follow you."

You stared at her, at a loss for words. She couldn't be serious; no one suffered this heavily from Main Character Syndrome. "Look," you said after staring at her for a moment, "you're free to think whatever you want, but Bucky and I--"

"You and I what, Sweets?" Bucky returned from the bathroom, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to your temple. "Hey, Vixen; ready to see your new home away from home?"

Jade battered her lashes up at him. "I can't wait, Sergeant," she purred at him.

"Uh, Bucky's just fine," he said, a slight blush creeping up the side of his neck. You couldn't help but wonder what that was all about. No, you reminded yourself. You two were in a good place. It wouldn't do you any good working yourself up over something that was most likely nothing. Instead, you took Bucky's hand.

"Ready to go, then?" you asked him. "The sooner we show Jade here her room, the sooner you and I can take advantage of my impromptu half day."

It was a tense trip from the common room down to your floor, though Bucky was doing his best to keep up a casual and friendly conversation.

Exiting the elevator onto your floor, Jade said: "Sorry if this is overstepping but, they kept you at the facility in Siberia, didn't they?" You froze in your steps, immediately squeezing Bucky's hand as you felt his entire body go rigid alongside you.

"Jade," you said, your voice almost pleading, "he doesn't really like to talk--"

"Yes," said Bucky, stiffly, as though his voice was coming on autopilot. "Yes, they did."

"They kept me there for a little while in the early 2000s," she said. "I wonder if our time there ever overlapped."

Bucky coughed into his hand. "I, uh... I wouldn't really be able to tell you. I was on cryo most of the time."

Jade gave a soft laugh. "Nu, dazhe ne nakhodyas' na l'du, etogo mesta bylo dostatochno, chtoby zastavit' menya nenavidet' kholod do kontsa moyey grebanoy zhizni." Well, even without being on ice, that place was enough to make me hate the cold for the rest of my fucking life.

Bucky's barked a short but genuine laugh, startling you. "Kholodneye, chem ved'minskaya sis'ka, ya prav?" Colder than a witch's tit, am I right?

"Vo vsyakom sluchaye, kholodneye, chem moi sis'ki." She said to him with a wink. Colder than my tits, anyway.

Bucky threw his head back and laughed aloud at that, and Jade shot you a side smirk. You rolled your eyes.

"If you want to stand here all day and make jokes about tits, Bucky, I may as well go back to work." Your voice was annoyed as you made to extract your hand from his and move away, but Bucky's grip on you tightened.

"What? No! You are not going back to work, Doll," he said as he pulled you into him, letting his arms envelop you. "Vix, your door's right over there," he pointed down the hall, "and please feel free to let us know if you need anything. But for now, if you'll excuse us," without warning, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder like a goddamn caveman, "I have to fix it so work's the last thing on this one's mind." With a grin, he carried your shrieking self down the hall and into your room.

*

"Sorry to take you away from your tit-ilating conversation, Barnes," you giggled as he carried you inside and deposited you on your sofa. He draped his massive frame over you, peppering kisses along your jaw bone.

"Mm, someone's got jokes," he hummed as he began working open the buttons of your silk blouse. "Only one pair of tits I'm interested in, and they are right..." he undid the final button, exposing your lace bra to his hungry gaze, "here. Hello, ladies." He brought his mouth to the curve of your breasts, planting open-mouthed kisses on your heated skin. "I missed them."

You reached up to card your hands through his hair while he continued his loving attention. "Pretty sure you saw them both this morning, Buck," you laughed.

“But that was hours ago, sweetheart.” Bucky ran his tongue lazily down the valley between your breasts, taking his time to lap and suck at the flesh, his stubble tickling at your skin. "Remember the first time I saw these beauties. You had your tac-suit down around your waist, were wearing that purple bra. God, I love that bra. Couldn't get them outta my head for days after that."

"Ugh." You threw your head back against the couch pillow with a laugh. "That was right after you asked me if I slept with Steve in Latvia." You felt Bucky hesitate in his ministrations. The pause was brief, barely noticeable, but you were so attuned to each other by this point in your relationship it may as well have been a neon sign blazing at you. "Hey," you said, putting a hand on his cheek and turning him to face you, "what's up?" He avoided your gaze. "Buck," you said, more forcefully, "talk to me."

Bucky sighed and rested his head on the swell of your breasts. "'s nothing," he murmured. "Just lemme love on you like you deserve, okay?" He started running the finger of his metallic hand in circles around the clothed nipple of your right breast, the bud tightening and hardening beneath his touch.

"Stop trying to distract me, Barnes," you admonished, swatting gently at his hand. "Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours."

Bucky flicked his eyes up to yours, the sparkling blue reflecting back an emotion you'd never seen in them before: fear.

"Hey," you said, your voice turning serious as you sat up, taking his hands in yours as you positioned yourself to face him on the couch, "now you're freaking me out. Honesty, remember?"

Releasing one of your hands, Bucky ran his through his hair. He looked down at his feet. "I'm worried..." he mumbled, not meeting your gaze. "I'm worried if I tell you, you're gonna wanna leave me."

Your breath hitched with concern as you pulled your shoulders back, your mind wandering to all the possible worst-case scenarios of what he could possibly have to tell you that would make you want to leave him. Most of them involved Jade Carthage.

"It's Steve," Bucky said eventually, his voice so low you had to strain to hear him.

You released the breath you'd been holding. "Sweetheart," you said, climbing to your knees and pressing yourself against him, "why on Earth would you think anything having to do with Steve would make me want to leave you?"

Bucky turned to you, a look of complete devastation on his face. "Because he's in love with you, Pocket," he said, his voice so broken it hurt your heart. "He's been in love with you for years."

You couldn’t help it– you threw your head back and laughed. You weren't laughing at Bucky, or the pain he was obviously in, but the idea of Steve Rogers being in love with you, of all people, was absolutely hilarious.

"Steve is not in love with me, Buck. That's... that's ridiculous."

"'s not funny, doll," Bucky said, an adorable pout forming on his lips. "Right before I started going on missions, I told him-- I told him I thought I was fallin' for you. He told me he understood, because he'd fallen for you ages ago, but he was pretty sure he'd lost any chance he had with you after Berlin."

A memory hit you then, of the words Bucky had spoken to you that night at Gino's, when he was drunk on Asgardian liquor. "Don'tcha dare tell Stevie, though, doll," he'd said, "'cause he'd be real put out if he found out I was your fav'rite. Don't want 'im feelin' bad, but 'm not sorry. 'S not my fault, either. He had ages and he didn't do nuthin'. That's on 'im. Not on me, not on you. On 'im." And your argument in the elevator the night you'd finally gotten together: "Promise me: no matter how angry you are with me, don't sleep with Steve. You wanna fuck someone else to piss me off? ... I'll hate it, but if it's Steve, it'll fucking kill me."

You sat back on your heels. "Well, shit," you murmured, completely taken aback in shock.

"I won't get in the way of it," Bucky's voice was small, and when your eyes snapped to him, you saw his were full with unshed tears.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," you said, crawling onto him to straddle his lap and cupping his face with your hands to ensure he was looking at you. "'Get in the way of it'? James Buchanan Barnes, do you honestly think I'm going to break up with you so I can go run off and be with Steve fucking Rogers?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and scoffed at you. "Why not? He's a God damned legend, for fucks’ sake! The kind of man you deserve. You don't think I know that you're too good for me? That it's just a matter of time before you realize I'm not worth it? I’m just an executioner with all his screws loose. You and Steve make more sense than you and I ever would."

You put a hand to your chest, his words causing your heart physical pain. He had made so much progress, but to know that he still held so much self-doubt as to think that he didn't deserve you? "Bucky," you began, tears coming to your eyes as you choked out the words, "I don't want Steve. I want you. I love you. You are everything to me."

"I don't deserve you, doll. I keep waiting for you to realize I'm no good for you and--"

You put your fingers to his lips, cutting him off before he could finish. "I decide what I deserve, Buck," you told him. "I decide what's good for me, and it breaks my fucking heart that you think you're not it, that you've been carrying this around inside all this time, on your own. You are the only man I have ever loved, the only man I ever want to love. How can I make you see that?"

Bucky's arms wrapped around you and he pulled you close, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. You hugged him to you, rubbing your fingers along the back of his head.

"I do see it, sweetheart," he murmured into your skin, "in my heart, I know it. I just... I'm just so fucked up I can't always make my head believe it."

"Baby, have you talked to Dr. Raynor about this?" you asked. You knew Bucky's relationship with his court-appointed therapist was... rocky, at best, but she had done a lot of good for him in the time they'd been working together.

Bucky shook his head. "She, uh, she doesn't know about you," he admitted, embarrassed.

"Oh," you whispered. You were surprised to find that the admission hurt you. Even before becoming his girlfriend, you'd still been Bucky's best friend, and he'd never thought to mention you to his therapist?

"Hey, it's not like that," Bucky began, having read correctly into your silence. "You know everything I talk about with the doc goes in my court record, yeah? I-I couldn't stand the idea of other people reading it, reading about you, how I felt about you. Because, what if someone used it against you one day? Or came at you to hurt me? I’d never forgive myself. So I kept quiet about you. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Buck." You brushed your lips to the top of his head. "That's not something you need to be sorry for, I promise, but, baby, I'm worried about you. It scares me that you still think so little of yourself that you don't think you deserve to be loved when you deserve everything good. Promise me you'll talk to Dr. Raynor about it, please? For me?"

Bucky raised his head from your neck and rested his forehead against yours. "Yeah," he conceded, letting out a breath. "I promise. I'll talk to Raynor."

You kissed his forehead. "Thank you." You moved down to kiss his eyes. "Thank you." His nose. "Thank you." You brought your lips to his, running your tongue gently across the seam of his lips until he parted them for you, deepening the kiss.

"'m sorry I ruined our afternoon, darlin'," Bucky murmured against your lips, his voice heavy with regret. "Shouldn’t have brought it up like that." His fingers traced soft patterns along the smooth skin of your exposed sides.

"Hey, nothing's ruined," you told him. "I'm just glad you finally said something. I hate the idea of you dealing with things alone, when you don't have to." You rubbed your nose against his before trying to lighten the mood a little. "So Captain America's really in love with me, huh?" you teased.

"Pocket," Bucky growled, nipping at the soft skin at the base of your neck.

"What?" Your voice was the epitome of innocence. "It's very flattering. Going to do wonders for my ego, having two Avengers in love with me."

"I've created a monster," Bucky moaned with a laugh. "I should have never told you."

You shrugged your shoulders. "Too late now; cat's outta the bag. No offense to Cap, though-- I'm only in love with one Avenger, so his feelings are irrelevant."

Bucky gave you a teasing smirk. "That so?"

You nodded, a mischievous grin sweeping across your face. "That's right. Think Thor would ever give me a second look?"

"Oh, you've got jokes, huh?" Bucky's fingers moved from gently caressing the skin of your sides to a full on onslaught of tickling.

"Barnes," you cried through your laughter as you struggled to get away from him, "you knock that off this instant!" Bucky just held you closer to him, his fingers dancing along your skin until you were writhing in his grasp.

"You gonna take it back?" he asked, grinning as you struggled.

"Yes, yes! I take it back," you managed to get out. Bucky ceased his assault and brought his hands to rest on your hips while you caught your breath. "You do not play fair, Barnes," you chastised once you could get a full sentence out again.

Bucky's blue eyes twinkled with laughter, the sight of it such a contrast to his earlier dismay that it made your heart soar. You'd give your life in this very moment if it meant that look would never leave his eyes (though, you were pretty sure that, if you died, he’d never laugh again). "You fired the first shot, doll," he said, pressing a kiss to your nose. "Though by this point, shouldn't find it that surprising."

"I love you," you said, all traces of levity suddenly leaving your expression.

He cocked his head, eyes questioning as he took in your sudden change in demeanor. "What brought that on?"

You shrugged, your silk shirt falling back slightly off your shoulders. "Just want you to know it," you told him. "Really, really know it. Trying to be serious, for once in my fucking life." Bucky chuffed, but you went on: "I don't ever want you to doubt it, or wonder if it's real, if you deserve it. I love you. With everything I have. Everything I am." You bit your lip, and though you'd told him countless times now that you loved him, something about this particular declaration left you feeling self-conscious.

Bucky reached a hand up and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen into your face behind your ear. "Sometimes," he said, voice low and husky, "I think I dreamed you up, that you're just a figment of my imagination. I'm terrified I'm going to wake up in some Hydra base, and the last year and a half's been a dream my broken mind invented to keep me from losing my shit, because how could someone so perfect possibly be real?"

Your breath hitched as he traced his index and middle finger of his human hand along your jawline and down your neck, across your collarbone, sending you into a full-body shiver.

"I promise, it's real, Buck," you whispered. "Tell me: Does this..." you rolled your hips to press your heated core against the semi-hard length of him "feel like a dream to you?"

The rakish, smug smirk that Bucky unleashed on you then was seduction personified. "That always feels like a fucking dream, sweetheart," he drawled, pushing his own hips up against you and stealing a soft gasp from your lips. He began pressing soft kisses to your neck and chest.

"Weren't we supposed to spend this afternoon fucking?" you breathed. Bucky huffed a laugh and began nipping tiny marks into your neck.

"That was the implied, yet unspecified arrangement, yup."

"Then why are we still wearing so many fucking clothes?"

Instead of a response, you felt Bucky's hands reach up under your ass, lifting you up as he stood. You wrapped your legs around his waist and let him carry you to your bed. Letting you down with the utmost gentleness, he slid your shirt all the way off your arms before he nestled himself beside you, lips never leaving your skin.

Your hands made their way under the fabric of his tight tee, fingers running along the lines of the taut muscles of his chest. Gently scratching your nails down his skin, you elicited a low moan from Bucky's lips.

"Fuck, doll," he murmured into your lips, "do that again." You did, only slightly harder this time around, and Bucky moaned even louder.

You reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it, needing him to sit up so you could pull it over his head. Emboldened now, you took his hands and placed them on the button of your waistband.

"Too many clothes, Barnes," you warned him. Bucky didn't need to be told again before he started unbuttoning your pants, helping you pull them down and off. He made to reach for your covered heat, but you gently pushed his hand away. "Not yet," you told him before bringing your lips to kiss him again.

While your tongues gently swept across one another, you reached down and began unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. Once that was done, you broke the kiss and crawled down the bed, Bucky trying to chase your lips.

"Lie back," you ordered, eyes wicked. When he complied, you reached for his waistband, pulling his pants and boxer briefs down and off his muscled legs. His raging erection sprang free from the confines of its cloth prison. You pushed his legs apart as you positioned yourself between them on your knees.

"Well, isn't this a pretty sight?" you hummed, brushing your hair back from your face. Leaning down, you licked a long, slow stripe along the underside of his cock, letting your tongue twirl around the aching red tip that was already dripping with pre-cum.

"Fuck, Pocket," Bucky moaned. You felt his hands reach for your hair, but you pulled back.

"Nuh-huh, Sergeant," you admonished with a wagging finger. "No touching. You'll get your turn." Three things happened at once in conjunction with your words: first, you noticed Bucky's pupils dilate with lust; second, a blush began to spread up his neck; and third, and perhaps most revealing of all, his cock twitched beneath your hand.

"Well, well, well," you mused, realization suddenly dawning on you, "it seems like somebody has a Sergeant kink. Good to know."

Bucky chuffed and put his vibranium arm behind his head, propping himself up so he could watch you, and rested his flesh arm across his abdomen. Bless him; you knew he'd try to keep his hands to himself, but would ultimately end up failing. "I don't know what you're talking 'bout, sweets."

You just smiled at him before returning to the task at hand, you proceeded to devour his cock as though it were your last meal, bringing him deep into your throat and hollowing out your cheeks as you sucked before pulling back off.

"So fucking heavy, Sarge," you murmured as you rolled his balls in your hands. "Bet you're getting real close, huh?" You looked up to see Bucky's eyes screwed shut as he nodded, his human hand now fisting the sheet next to him as a dark red flush spread across his cheeks. "Hey," you said, tapping him on the thigh, "eyes on me, soldier."

When his beautiful blue orbs had returned to yours, you smiled at him, then proceeded to move from your position, crawling yourself up until you were straddling him. Moving the gusset of your panties to the side, you slowly eased yourself down on him, relishing in the stretch until you were fully seated, your clit rubbing against his public bone as you leaned forward.

"Jesus," Bucky groaned when you began moving yourself up and down on his length, riding him at a slow, steady pace. "You're so fucking perfect, doll. I love you. Love you so fucking much."

With a smile you leaned back, letting your spine arch as you moved. Without warning, you felt Bucky sit up to meet you. You knew he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

"Think you can throw these in my face and expect me to keep my hands off?" he asked with a grin, pulling the cups of your lace bra down to expose your breasts. He brought his mouth to your nipple, teasing and sucking at the supple flesh as his hands found your waist. He began fucking up into you, the sensation combined with his attention to your breasts building your high.

"Oh, God. Right there, Buck," you moaned when his cock hit the right spot inside of you. "Just like that; don't stop!" You moved your hands to his back, fingernails leaving long, red marks in his skin. 

"Fuck," he growled. He increased the pace and intensity of his thrusting, working himself in and out of you like a piston. "God, you feel so fucking good. So tight. I wanna stay inside you for the rest of my damned life."

"I'd let you," you gasped, your thoughts becoming hazy as the tension inside you continued to build. "Always want you inside me."

Bucky's metal hand left your hip and made its way to your clit. The sudden, cold sensation as he began rubbing tight circles across the sensitive bundle of nerves sent you over the edge, and soon you were coming undone. You could feel your inner walls clenching around Bucky's cock, squeezing and begging it for his own release.

"Fuck, you're gripping me so tight. I'm gonna--" With a guttural moan that was practically a howl, Bucky reached his own peak, sending rope after rope of cum into your waiting channel. You draped your body across him in your spent state, resting your head on his shoulder as he collapsed back onto the bed.

"Was that real enough for you?" you asked him with a smirk as you worked to catch your breath. Bucky hummed, working both hands along the line of your spine.

"Mmm, I dunno, sweets. Felt like the best kinda dream to me." You nipped playfully at his jaw. "Thank you for being so good to me."

"My pleasure," you giggled, "truly."

"My girl and her jokes," he laughed, planting a kiss to the top of your head. "How 'bout I run us a bath, get you all cleaned up?"

You turned your head to look up at him, batting your lashes. "Bubbles, too?" you asked sweetly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Fine, bubbles, too." You tried to suppress your snort; though he would never admit it out loud, you knew Bucky secretly loved bubble baths, possibly more than you did. A simple indulgence of the comfort he'd so long been denied.

While he was in the bathroom, running the water, his phone buzzed from the pocket of his discarded jeans.

"Baby, you got a text message," you called.

"Can you check it for me, doll?" he called back. "Got bubbles on my hands."

You laughed to yourself as you crawled to the edge of the bed, picking his jeans up from the floor and searching the pockets for his phone. You stole a quick glance at the screen.

"It's Steve," you told him as you walked his phone back to him in the bathroom. You held it out to him, but he had his hand under the tap, checking the temperature of the water.

"What's he want?" Bucky asked. You didn't know; you hadn't wanted to invade his privacy by looking at his messages, and now his phone had locked itself. "Can you read it to me? Passcode's your birthday."

You held the phone to your chest, cheeks heating with affection. "Bucky Barnes," you said softly. "That..." You had trouble putting the emotions into words. First, that he trusted you with his passcode, and second, that he'd chosen your birthday.

He turned from the tub to look at you, shit-eating grin on his face. "What?"

"That is incredibly fucking sweet, thank you." You entered the numbers into the phone and checked the message from Steve.

"Oh," you pouted, the sweetness in your chest deflating somewhat. "Steve wants you to take point on Jade's training." You stuck out your tongue. "Ew."

Bucky laughed, running a wet hand through his hair, causing it to stick up adorably in all directions. "Tell him I'll think about it and let him know," he said. "I need to discuss it with my girl first."

You smiled as you thumbed the reply back to Steve. "Thank you, Buck."

"Of course, doll." He beckoned you over. "Now come here, time to get you all cleaned up."

"Aw, but Buck," you whined as you walked over, unclasping your bra and stepping out of your panties, "I thought you liked me dirty."

Bucky paused in his removal of his boxer briefs. "You keep that kind of talk up, I have half a mind to keep you dirty."

You tapped his chest as you stepped into the blissfully warm water of the sunken tub. "Promises, promises." He quickly followed you, and you soon settled, him with his back against the wall of the tub, and you against his chest. "57038," you said to him, once you both were submerged in bubbles.

"What now?" he asked in surprise.

"My phone," you told him. "The passcode's 57038. I want you to have it."

He leaned down to kiss the side of your neck. "Thank you, sweets, but you didn't have to tell me just because I told you mine." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Why does that number sound so familiar?"

You chuckled and turned to pull on the chain that held his dog tags around his neck. Holding it out in front of him, you pointed to the last five digits of his military service number. You watched him swallow thickly as he made the realization.

"You..." he paused to clear his throat, "you use my numbers for your passcode?" You shrugged your shoulders.

"Is that too much?" you asked hesitantly, feeling suddenly shy.

"No! God, no!" Bucky wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your shoulder. "I honestly don't know how you're even real," he murmured into your skin. "Keep thinking I'll close my eyes and you'll disappear." Reaching around, you ran your fingers through his hair.

"I'm real," you promised him, leaning back into his chest, "I'm real, this is real. And I'm not going anywhere."

He nuzzled into you, as if he could burrow into your skin in order to be closer to you. "I know I said I'd get you all cleaned up but, fuck, doll, you keep saying stuff like that..."

You wiggled around in his arms until you were facing him, legs wrapped back around his waist and arms draped around his neck; your favorite place to be. "Tub sex?" you asked, voice full of hope and excitement.

Bucky threw his head back and laughed before coming back down to kiss you. "Tub sex," he agreed with a smile.

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[scoonsalicious]

28: LOST AND FOUND

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: After a long day at work, you return home to find Bucky pacing outside, tense and worried— Alpine, is missing. You step in to help him search. As the search stretches on, Bucky reveals just how much Alpine means to him, and you realize this is about more than just a lost pet.

Warnings: Emotional distress (Bucky struggling with loss/abandonment issues), mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 4200

The sun was beginning its descent in the sky when you strolled up to your building. It had been an arduous day at work and Anita had suggested you hot foot it home before another customer came in requesting a customized piece of jewelry. In short, business was booming. But it came with its own issues, which included being hunched over for hours working on new designs and this inevitably led to muscle soreness. You rolled your neck and shoulders as you walked down the front path to your apartment complex, eager to shed the day’s weight. But before you reached the door, a nearby movement caught your eye.

It was Bucky. He was pacing around the far side of the building, near the bushes. Which wasn’t the thing you found odd. His movements were stiff— they felt off. As you peered in his direction, you noticed how he held his hands to his sides, slightly flexed, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. And his jaw was tight— you’d learned to recognize that look, even from a distance— his whole body oozed a sense of frustration… or maybe something worse.

You frowned, watching him, your steps naturally slowed to a halt. His lips were moving and you strained your ears to catch what he was saying. It was barely audible over the hum of city traffic, but you caught the name. “Alpine.”

The way he called her name, it made your chest tighten with anxiety.

You walked closer and called out to him. “Bucky?”

He froze as you approached, turning to face you. His face remained impassive, like he hadn’t expected you to call his name, let alone come over.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

He looked at you with hesitation before he let out a long exhale through his nose. “I can’t find her,” he whispered, running his hand through his hair. 

It took you a moment to understand what he meant. “Alpine?”

He nodded.

You glanced around instinctively, even though you knew she wouldn’t just appear out of thin air. “She disappears sometimes, though, right? Does her own thing?”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “Yeah. A day, maybe two. But it’s been four.”

Four. That wasn’t just a feline adventure. That was worrying.

You felt your stomach drop. “And… you’ve checked around?”

“No, I stood here calling her name,” he answered snarkily. It only took a second for his head to drop back and his shoulders to sag. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

You put a hand on his arm, cutting him off. “It’s okay.” You didn’t take his sarcastic response to heart, knowing that he was probably stressed.

“I’ve checked everywhere. She’s never been gone this long.”

You could see it now— the way he was trying not to let the concern eat him alive. The tension in his shoulders, the restless way he kept shifting his stance, like standing still might make the feeling worse. The way his eyes flicked back to the street, like maybe she’d just appear.

“Okay,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Then let’s figure this out.”

You found it hard to believe that the man in front of you had once been a cold blooded assassin. He seemed so helpless.

“You checked the alley?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

“Called the local shelters? In case someone picked her up.”

He looked back at you slightly cluelessly.

You gave him a gentle smile and patted his arm. “Then let’s do that, shall we?” you said kindly.

For a beat, he just looked at you. Like he wasn’t used to someone stepping into his problems so easily. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Then, finally, he gave a small nod.

“Alright. Come on, let’s go inside.” You took his arm and guided him toward the door.

The two of you trudged up the stairs since there was an out of order sign still taped over the elevator. You waited for him to open his door and you followed him inside. He looked at you apprehensively, surprised that you were there. Some tension still lingered between you— this cautious uncertainty— but right now, it wasn’t about the past. Right now, it was about finding Alpine. And for now, that was enough.

Bucky handed you his laptop and you fired it up, searching the local shelters on his browser.

“Remind me to download a better browser for you later.”

Bucky frowned at you in confusion, but you didn’t give him much time to react.

“Here we go.” You turned the screen to show him a list of local shelters. “Why don’t you start by calling these?”

Bucky just looked at you blankly. It hadn’t been your plan, but you stayed with him for an hour, calling around at the nearest shelters and leaving a description of Alpine with them. You gave them your number so they could contact you if they had any information. Just before you got to the end of the list, your call was cut short by the person telling you that they were about to close. You looked at the remaining two on the list and they were both already shut.

You sighed, your stomach rumbling.

“You’re hungry,” Bucky commented. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. I guess there isn’t much else we can do tonight.”

Bucky shook his head. “Want me to order something?”

“It’s okay. I have some leftovers that I need to finish. And I’d better start working on my commissions.”

Bucky’s eyes brightened for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re getting commissions?

“Yeah,” you answered shyly. It was all thanks to him that you had been able to develop that aspect of your business and you were grateful. “It’s actually going really well. Keeping me super busy recently. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“Not really, it’s all you.”

“Well, thank you for believing in me.”

“Of course.”

You stood up slowly, as though your body was protesting the action. “I guess, I’d better…” you pointed at the door and your apartment beyond.

Bucky rose too, nodding. He walked you to the door and opened it for you. At the threshold you turned back to him.

“We’ll bring her home, Buck.”

He sighed, leaning against the door. He gave you a small nod, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe you.

“I’ll call you if anyone gets back to me. Now just try and relax tonight okay?”

“‘Kay,” he said quietly.

You couldn’t help it, you reached out and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. 

“We’ll find her.”

You spent most of the day checking your phone repeatedly. You had even taken to designing a Missing poster when Anita snuck up on you and called you out for procrastinating on company time. Sheepishly, you saved your file and re-opened your design documents. But you couldn’t focus, all that your mind was picturing was Bucky’s worried face. You were certain that he wasn’t sitting back waiting for your call. No, he was out there right now, searching for his furry friend— every alley, the spots she often frequented, calling her name until his throat was raw.

It surprised you how much you wished you were with him. Just when you had forced your mind to the idea you were working on, your phone rang. It was one of the shelters you’d called last night, you answered before the second ring.

“We had someone bring in a white cat with blue eyes this morning.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, if you’d like to come down and see her, we’re open until six today.”

“That’s great, that’s… we’ll see you soon!” you cried excitedly down the phone. Yelling a ‘thank you!’ before hanging up.

“You’re not getting any work done today, are you?” Anita’s voice startled you.

You gasped promptly followed by a sigh when you got over your surprise at her presence. “Sorry, Anita. I… I’m just so—”

Anita waved away your apologies. “You’re worried about your cat.”

You nodded, not bothering to correct her about who the cat belonged to.

“It’s a good thing I know you’re a hard worker.”

A spark of hope ignited inside you but Anita didn’t stop talking.

“Now, go find your pet.”

“Wait, really?”

Anita nodded.

“Oh my God, you’re the best!” You hugged Anita and rushed off before she had the opportunity to change her mind.

You grabbed your phone and bag and ran to your car, dialing Bucky along the way.

Now he was sitting in the passenger seat of your car, his fingers drumming lightly against the door handle. He looked like he hadn’t slept, or bothered to groom his beard in the morning.  The look on his face now was different, he was still tense, but this wasn’t just worry. It was anticipation. You glanced over at him as you drove to the address that your navigation system was directing you to. As you pulled up at a red light, you heard a faint whirring in his vibranium arm which usually meant that it was struggling to keep up with the quick fine movements he was making.

“You okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he wasn’t sure how to answer. “I just… need her to be there.”

Something in his tone made your heart ache. He had never really told you how much Alpine meant to him, but right now, he didn’t have to. It was all in his body language— his restless hands, his furrowed brows, the way his foot tapped restlessly against the car floor.

He wasn’t just worried about Alpine. He was afraid of what it meant if she didn’t come back.

“She’s a smart girl, Bucky,” you said, tightening your grip on the wheel as you pulled away from the lights. “Even if this isn’t her, we’ll find her. She’ll come home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice him giving a slow nod, but you weren’t sure he actually believed it.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then—

“She’s the only one that’s ever stayed.” He stared out of the window and his voice was low, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

It killed you to hear it. “Bucky…”

He shook his head, turning to you knowing that your eyes were on the road. “I mean it. People leave. Places disappear. Even my own mind—” He stopped short, swallowing thickly and sniffing. “But Alpine? She always comes back.”

And there it was. This wasn’t just about his cat. This was about something so much bigger. You knew he still carried that deep-rooted fear of loss, of abandonment, of waking up and finding everything ripped away from him again and again. Even if he’d never admit it, Alpine had become something constant in his life. And now, for the first time, she wasn’t there.

And momentarily, you felt a pang of guilt for walking away from him. You reached across the center console and squeezed his vibranium arm. It wasn’t much but you wanted him to know you were there for him.

“Then let’s go get her back.”

His fingers twitched under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. He just nodded.

The woman at the front desk looked up and gave you a bright smile as the two of you walked in. “You’re the ones who called about the white cat, right?”

Bucky nodded stiffly.

She motioned for the two of you to follow, opening the door to the back of the shelter. “She’s in the back— come on, I’ll take you.”

Bucky followed quickly, and you fell into step behind him, noting how tense his broad frame looked as he walked down the narrow hallway. As he turned his head to scan every cage, you caught sight of the haunted look in his eyes searching for every glimpse of white fur. 

You could feel his hope, the way it swelled inside him, something desperate. But then the shelter worker stopped in front of a kennel, gesturing at the creature curled up inside.

Your stomach dropped. The cat chilling inside on a ratty blanket was definitely not Alpine.

White fur, yes. Blue-eyed, yes. But this feline was small and far thinner. The poor thing looked like she had been through the ringer. And instead of lifting her head, perking up like she knew Bucky, she simply blinked— zero recognition in her timid eyes— before tucking herself back into a tight little ball as if your presence frightened her.

You heard Bucky’s breath hitch and you felt it— the moment his hope was shattered into a thousand pieces. His fists curled into fists, his muscles tightening again and after a moment he cleared his throat, but his voice stayed rough when he spoke. “…That’s not her.”

The shelter worker gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. We get a lot of strays that match similar descriptions.”

Bucky’s nod of acknowledgement was stiff as he stepped back. You could see him shutting down already, retreating behind that carefully curated mask he wore, tucking his disappointment away where no one could see it. But you weren’t prepared to let him push it all away, act like his feelings didn’t exist. As you stepped outside the shelter, you reached for his wrist gently, stopping him in his tracks.

“Bucky…”

He didn’t look at you, just keeping his gaze glued to the floor. His jaw was clenched so tightly that you could see the muscle twitching. “It’s fine. Maybe next time.”

It wasn’t fine. Far from it. You waited for a bit, giving him some space to take a breath. Letting the weight of disappointment settle in troubled waters. 

“She’s still out there,” you whispered, your hand still round his wrist.

After a really long pause, his body sagged a little and he exhaled an answer, “...Yeah.” His voice was hollow.

You gave his wrist one last squeeze before letting go. “We won’t stop looking.”

For the first time since you walked into the shelter, Bucky finally met your eyes— they were filled with gratitude and sorrow and something that told you that just maybe he felt a little less alone.

The ride home was quiet, far quieter than the drive there. Bucky wasn’t sulking, as such, but you could tell how hard he was trying not to feel disappointed, not to let this get to him.

You let him be for a while, walking beside him from the car back into the building. You stayed close, not wanting him to feel alone. He wasn’t the type to discuss his feelings just because he was hurting. As you reached the building, Bucky pulled the door open and stood aside to let you enter first. You stepped inside, stealing a glance at him over your shoulder, remembering the chivalrous manner in which he had always treated you. He had always been a knight in black and gold armor, but you now realized that he had never really taken off his armor for you. But today things felt different.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you nudged his arm lightly. “C’mon. I’m making dinner.”

Bucky glanced at you, one brow raising slightly. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. But I’m going to.” You shot him a look. “Unless you wanna sit in your apartment and stew all night.”

His mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to argue. But after a second, he sighed and gave a small nod. “Alright.”

That was as good as a thank you coming from him.

Cooking together turned out to be surprisingly easy. It felt as though the two of you were meant to be a team and he seemed to anticipate your needs. Bucky fell into a natural rhythm of chopping vegetables, his movements precise and swift, while you handled the more delicate tasks, adding the seasonings and spices.

There wasn’t much thinking involved, but it gave Bucky something to do. Something nice and simple. And it seemed that that was exactly what he needed.

At one point, you bumped your hip against his playfully as you passed by, smirking. “See? You do have other skills besides brooding and stealing my eggs.”

Bucky chuckled quietly and let out a small huff. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

Once all the ingredients had been stuffed into a casserole dish, you opened the oven and popped it in. Soon the aroma of garlic filled your apartment and you opened the window beside your fire escape to avoid having your apartment smelling for days.

Bucky sat down on his usual spot on the couch, absently picking at the label of his beer bottle while you tapped on your phone, answering an email from Anita. You had sat down much closer to him than you had done the last time you’d been together. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something lingering in the air between you— it was subtle, almost fragile that neither of you wanted to disturb.

It was Bucky who finally spoke first.

“You left work early today.”

It was an observation, not a question.

“Noticed that, did you?”

He tilted his beer bottle slightly, his piercing gaze quietly assessing you. “Yeah.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, well, the shelter called.”

His fingers stopped picking at the label. “So you left… for me?” There was a hint of hope in his voice.

A faint blush tinged your cheeks and you opened your mouth to answer but decided to close it again and reach for your glass of water from the coffee table. “For Alpine,” you said finally, taking a slow sip.

Bucky hummed softly, his lips pressing together, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t convinced. “You could’ve just texted me.”

You exhaled a soft laugh and rolled your eyes. “I’m worried about Alpine too, you know.” You picked up your phone and pretended to look through your notifications. “And… maybe I was a bit worried about you.”

When Bucky didn’t speak, you stole a glance at him. He was staring at you— not the brooding pout that normally graced his feature— no, this was a questioning look, like he was trying to figure out how much of that was true, how much you were willing to give him. But instead of pressing, he just nodded, looking back down at his bottle. “Yeah. Well… thanks.”

The simple word, spoken with low volume but carried so much meaning. It wasn’t just gratitude. It was relief. The moment stretched out between you, something that felt so warm and easy in a way that hadn’t existed between you for a long while.

“So, what about you?” you tilted your head after a few moments of quiet.

“What about me?”

You shrugged. “Any missions coming up?”

The question was innocent enough, but you felt Bucky bristle beside you. The warmth in his expression dimmed just a little. “Yeah.”

You hadn’t meant it as an accusation or a prod at your past conflict, but he looked like he was bracing for a fight. You didn’t want to push him away. “Gonna be gone long?”

“A week. Maybe a little more.”

It finally hit you. The worry, the restlessness— it wasn’t just that Alpine was missing. It was that Alpine was missing while he was on a time limit.

You sighed. “You don’t wanna leave without knowing she’s okay.”

Bucky let out a slow, shaky breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You took his hand in both of yours, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb and laid your head on his shoulder. You felt him melt under your touch, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding as he rested his lips against the top of your head and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I get it,” you murmured, without lifting your head from his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to go either.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched slightly beneath yours, but he did nothing to move his hand away. “Feels wrong,” he admitted. “Leaving without knowing she’s safe.”

You nodded against his shoulder, squeezing his hand just a little tighter. “We’ll find her,” you promised. “Before you go.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just sat there, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles, like he was grounding himself in the softness of your touch.

“Yeah…” he finally said, as if he wanted to believe you. “Thank you.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him. “For what?”

Bucky met your gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “For this,” he said simply.

The timer you had set on your oven when you put the casserole in beeped unceremoniously, breaking the moment of stillness between you. The warmth of Bucky’s hand was still imprinted on your skin and you were reluctant to let go. With a deep breath, you pulled yourself away and onto your feet. You went to the kitchen and grabbed some oven mitts before carefully pulling the steaming casserole out of the oven.

Bucky followed, silently opening the cupboard and pulling out some plates. There was an air of shyness between you, the weight of the tender moment lingering between you. But neither of you mentioned it further.

As soon as you ladled a generous helping into both of your plates, you sat down at the table. For a few moments, all that could be heard was the light scraping of your forks against the plate before you felt the need to fill it with some casual conversation. Bucky was relatively silent while you rambled on about an overly complicated brooch design that you were working on for a client. But despite Bucky’s reticence, things somehow felt comfortable.

Bucky was smiling softly at you while you imitated the small gentleman who was commissioning the brooch from you when he heard it.

A small, soft mrrp.

Your fork hovered midair as you frowned at him as you noticed Bucky’s expression change, his whole body tensing. You could see his relaxed features change to a look of alertness— like a startled rabbit.

“What is it?”

His eyes flickered toward the window, but he shook his head almost instantly. “I thought I heard…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face. “Never mind.”

Your heart clenched at the way his voice quietly deflated, how easily he shut down as he lost a hold on the hope he was barely clinging to. You watched as he forced himself to take a bite of the dinner you’d made.

This time you both heard it.

A soft thud just outside your open window, by the fire escape. Your head snapped towards the noise, your heart thundering in your chest. Bucky was on his feet before you could look back at him, his chair scraping slightly against the floor as he stood abruptly.

You followed behind him and there, perched just outside your window, was a fluffy, white, blue-eyed menace.

“Alpine?” you whispered, as if questioning the reality of her presence.

But Bucky— Bucky looked like the whole world had stood still. For one very long second, he didn’t move— in fact you wondered if he even took a breath— just staring at the small feline as though he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

As you both watched, Alpine hopped down from the windowsill with a graceful little leap, landing softly on the floor. She stretched out leisurely, completely and utterly unbothered by your shocked faces. Then she let out a long, slow meow— almost like she was announcing her presence, as if she hadn't just disappeared for days and driven Bucky out of his mind with worry.

He still hadn’t moved. His chest heaving while his fingers twitched by his sides. It was like he didn’t know what to do. Alpine rubbed herself against his legs, tail curling around him, her soft little meows now more insistent. That was all it took for him to melt. You heard him take a shaky breath as he dropped down to his knees, scooping up the cat with both arms and pressing her against his chest.

“Where the hell have you been?” he muttered, his voice rough with relief. He cradled her close, one hand stroking over the back of her head, down her spine. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

The feisty feline purred loudly in response, like she had done absolutely nothing wrong, rubbing her face against his stubbled jaw. You took a step closer, your chest tightening at the sight of him holding her so close, like he was afraid she might disappear again if he let go. Slowly, you reached out, scratching Alpine behind the ears. She let out a contented little sigh, and when you looked up, you found Bucky already watching you.

You smiled up at him, your cheek grazing across his shoulder. “Told you we’d find her.”

The smile on his face dropped, but it was replaced by a look of tenderness. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. He just nodded, moving his head a fraction.

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[scoonsalicious]

27: THE HUNGER GAMES: SUPER SOLDIER EDITION

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Summary: A late-night grocery run leads to an unexpected encounter with Bucky Barnes, a carton of eggs, and a reluctant truce. A simple offer of pancakes turns into something more: a quiet step toward mending what was broken.

Warnings: Past conflict/strained relationship, excessive amounts of maple syrup

Word Count: 2427

The local grocery store was far from busy, but there was a strange vibe in the quiet— the hum of the overhead lighting, the quiet chatter, the squeak of rolling carts and the occasional beeping of the checkout scanner. You wandered through the aisles, tossing random items into your basket until you reached the refrigerated aisle. It was late in the day and you noticed that there was only one carton of eggs left on the shelf.

There were a few people making their way down the aisle, so you quickened your pace, slipping past the stragglers and made your way to your target. Your eye was caught by a deal on a pot of Greek yoghurt which you deposited in your basket before you reached up for the eggs. Just as your hand was about to close around it, another hand— a larger, rougher and very familiar hand beat you to it. Your fingers had barely brushed against the cardboard when you pulled back like you’d been burned.

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me,” you muttered under your breath after turning to see who had taken your eggs.

Bucky Barnes stood beside you, his face impassive. But you could see a glint in his blue eyes, something dangerously akin to amusement. He glanced down at the eggs, then back at you, one brow lifting.

“Go ahead.” He held out the eggs to you.

It threw you. Although you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting— a sarcastic comment, maybe a fight for possession— but this, this quiet surrender was disarming.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Not feeling competitive today?”

Bucky shrugged, he scratched the back of his neck and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Figured I owe you more than eggs.”

The simplicity of his words knocked you for six. You just stared at him, not touching the eggs in his outstretched hand. Everything that had happened between you swirled through your mind. First the betrayal and anger, the loneliness, but the good memories also slipped in right behind. The moments of laughter, your closeness, the intimacy. And lastly, the consistency he had shown in his support and remorse.

For a second, you almost said something sharp. Something that would keep you on the battlefield you’d been fighting on for weeks. Instead, you huffed and accepted the carton. “Thanks,” you mumbled.

Bucky didn’t stop you when you turned away, but as you moved down the aisle, you could feel the ghost of his smirk following you. And somehow, you weren’t quite as annoyed by it as you should’ve been.

The line at the checkout was moving excruciatingly slowly, just the right amount of time for you to overthink your encounter with Bucky. “Figured I owe you more than eggs.” A few weeks ago, you would have agreed, now you were not so sure it even mattered. You tried to shake off the unsettled feeling inside you. His words hadn’t been that deep. You paid and loaded your groceries into the bags you had brought with you. As you picked them up, you noticed that the load was uneven, throwing you a little off balance, but before you could adjust your grip, the bottom of the bag gave out completely. A number of your items hit the floor, a plastic tub of soup burst open across the linoleum, and you heard a very unimpressed sigh from the cashier behind the counter.

“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, kneeling down quickly to start gathering your things.

Before you could even blink, Bucky was there. He crouched beside you without hesitation, grabbing an apple before it could roll any further. “You always this graceful, Princess?” His voice was light, but his hands worked efficiently, scooping up your fallen groceries.

You didn’t even realize how close he was until his shoulder brushed against yours as he passed you a now-dented box of pasta. You could feel him watching you, the warmth of his presence making your frustration flicker into something else entirely.

The cashier was not at all amused by your exchange. He watched you attempt to clean up and exhaled sharply with frustration. “You two need to move. Now. Just leave it. Take your things and just go.”

You fled, with Bucky on your heels. Your arms were full, with your remaining bags and the items that he had helped you rescue.

“I got it,” Bucky muttered, pulling a spare bag from his pocket. He held it open, and without thinking, you started loading your unbroken groceries into it.

Once you’d unburdened your arms, he straightened up, holding the bag like it weighed nothing. Wordlessly, he took the other bag from your hand and started walking away from the store.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before they ban you for life.”

You let out a huff of laughter despite yourself and followed him outside.

The air was cooling as the sun set and the scent of September rain lingered faintly on the pavement as you fell into step beside Bucky. It was nice. The silence wasn’t awkward, and he wasn’t hovering around you, like he was on edge in your presence. Just walking with you. Eventually, you glanced over at the bags in his hands, counting only two— both of them yours.

“You didn’t get anything?” you said, realization dawning.

Bucky barely looked over, shrugging lightly. “Only came for the eggs.”

You stopped walking for half a second before quickly catching up again. “But you gave them to me.”

“Good thing they survived.”

Embarrassment flushed through you.

“All that, and you—” You let out an incredulous laugh. “God, you must think I’m a disaster.”

Bucky smirked, shrugging. “Nah… maybe a little dramatic?”

You rolled your eyes but still felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “…What’d you need the eggs for, anyway?”

“Had a hankering for pancakes,” he said simply. “Figured I’d make some.”

You shot him a look, still trying to process the fact that this entire interaction had happened over a craving for pancakes. “Seriously?”

He just shrugged, like that was a perfectly normal explanation.

As the apartment building came into view, Bucky’s voice cut through the quiet.

“You look good, you know,” he said, his tone quieter this time. “Happier.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his words, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was just walking, eyes forward, bags around his wrists and hands tucked in his pockets. You thought about what he had said and he was right, you had found a sense of peace and you realized that it had come after you had read his letter.

“Yeah,” you admitted, the corner of your lips twitching up. “I feel better.”

And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like a lie.

Bucky handed you your bags once you’d opened your apartment door and bid you good night, quickly disappearing into his own abode. The apartment door shut behind you with a soft click, and you exhaled, setting your shopping bag down on the counter. You glanced over your haul— what was left of it, anyway— and then at the carton of eggs.

You hesitated. Only for a second.

Then, with a quiet sigh, you picked up the carton and turned back to your door. You went outside and knocked on his door.

“Here,” you said, holding it out to him as he opened the door.

Bucky blinked at you, then at the eggs. “I can’t take those.”

“You came for eggs and left with nothing,” you reasoned. “Seems unfair.”

He shook his head and held up his hands. “You went through the whole Hunger Games for these. I’m not stealing your victory.”

“You watched the Hunger Games?”

“No, I read the books.”

You snorted, shoving them toward him again. “Just take them, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he still hesitated. “What if we go half and half?”

You tilted your head. “That… is the most unnecessary compromise I’ve ever heard.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he threw caution to the wind.

“Or,” he said slowly, watching you carefully, “you could just come over and we’ll make pancakes.”

The question hung in the air between you, heavier than it should have been. It wasn’t just about pancakes. It was about… this. Whatever this was.

A tentative step forward. A quiet peace offering. A small, deliberate choice.

You eyed him for a beat, considering. Then, finally, you exhaled, rolling your eyes like you weren’t completely softening.

“Fine,” you said, grabbing the eggs. “But I get first pick of the toppings.”

Bucky smirked. “Not if I beat you to it, Princess.”

And just like that, you knew you could be friends.

You stuck your fork into the pile of pancakes between you, scooping up two of them and depositing them onto your plate. Bucky pushed a bottle of maple syrup towards you and you proceeded to empty half its contents onto your plate, ignoring the grimace on Bucky’s face. You cut a piece and speared it onto your fork, brandishing it at Bucky.

“Alright, Bucky. The real question— are you team Peeta or team Gale?”

Bucky barely paused, cutting into his own stack. “Peeta.”

Your fork hovered mid-way to your mouth. “Huh.”

He glanced up at you, brow furrowed. “What?”

“I just… didn’t expect you to have an answer that fast.”

Bucky shrugged, focusing on his plate. “Seemed obvious.”

You studied his face for a second, chewing thoughtfully. “Why, though?”

His knife scraped against his plate, his movements slowing just a fraction. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?” you asked incredulously, narrowing your eyes at him. “Come on, Barnes. You’ve got opinions on everything. Why Peeta?”

He exhaled sharply and set down his fork as though your questions were unnecessary and you should automatically know his reasoning. “Gale’s an ass.”

“That’s true,” you snorted. “But that’s not really an explanation.”

Bucky shifted in his seat, suddenly looking like he regretted entering into this entire conversation. He could have refused to pick, but he knew how stubborn you were and wouldn’t drop the topic until he gave you an answer. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I just— I dunno. Peeta deserved better.”

Something about the way he answered, it made your chest tighten and you weren’t sure if he was still talking about the Hunger Games. The silence hung between you for a moment and you watched, almost mesmerized by the way he tapped his vibranium fingers against his coffee mug. His jaw flexed a fraction, as though there was something more he could say, but he just couldn’t find the words to express his feelings. 

And then it clicked. Peeta was the boy who was tortured, manipulated, turned into something he didn’t want to be. The boy who lost so many pieces of himself after the war, that he couldn’t recognize himself anymore. The one who had to keep fighting to feel real again. Just like him.

You swallowed, suddenly regretting asking in the first place. “Yeah,” you said quietly, offering him an easy way out. “Peeta did deserve better.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you as he took another bite. “So? You still haven’t answered.”

You smirked, twirling your fork between your fingers. “I don’t know… Gale had that whole strong, silent hunter thing going for him.”

Bucky scoffed. “Oh, please. Guy had one personality trait, and it was ‘angry.’”

You bit your lip to hide your grin. “He was passionate.”

“He was vengeful.” Bucky pointed his fork at you. “You think he would’ve taken care of Katniss? Fed her when she was starving? Kept her sane?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe she didn’t need taking care of.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “That’s not the point.”

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral even as amusement bubbled inside you. “Gale was strong. Reliable. He knew how to hunt…”

“Oh yeah, great skill set. Too bad he also made bombs that killed kids.”

You gasped dramatically, your face the perfect picture of mock offence. “Are you calling me out for supporting war crimes?”

Bucky gave you an unimpressed look. “I’m calling you out for having trash taste.”

That was it. You lost it completely, dissolving into laughter as you dropped your fork onto your plate.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you. “You… don’t actually think Gale was the better choice…”

You wiped a tear from your eye and sniffed, finally regaining some composure and giving him a grin. “Nope.”

His brows furrowed. “So you’re Team Peeta?”

“Obviously.” You huffed the word and followed it up with a laugh and grabbed the last pancake from the center of the table.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You smirked, reaching for the syrup again.

He watched you with narrowed eyes before suddenly swiping the last pancake off your plate and taking a massive bite.

Your jaw dropped. “You absolute menace.”

Bucky just smirked, chewing smugly. “Call it a reward for being right.”

You pointed your fork at him. “This means war.”

He shrugged. “Bring it, Princess.”

And just like that, you both dissolved into laughter again.

As the last of the dishes were dried and put away, a comfortable quiet settled between you. The kind that didn’t feel awkward, it felt easy— just like it used to. Bucky wiped his hands on a dish towel and glanced over at you, like he was waiting for you to say something first. But you didn’t. Instead, you gave him a small, knowing smile before stepping toward the door.

“I should get going,” you said, reaching for the handle.

Bucky nodded once, something flickering behind his eyes. The look was hesitant, like he wanted to say something more, but couldn’t quite find the words.

You let the silence stretch for just a second longer before finally offering him an out. “See you around, Sarge.”

His lips twitched, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw a hint of a smirk. He gave you a lazy salute, tipping two fingers to his forehead. “Yeah. See you around, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head but felt the warmth bloom in your chest despite yourself. Then, without another word, you stepped out into the hallway, leaving behind the lingering scent of pancakes and something else— something so familiar. And as you shut your own door behind you, you realized just how much you had missed him.

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