sosa2imagines

[sosa2imagines]

Thank you so much and I'm happy you enjoyed the series.

Are you mine?

Warnings- Angst, Steve and Bucky are idiots.

Being in love with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes felt like living in a dream.

A dream so perfect, so utterly untouchable, that even the ghosts of the past couldn’t tarnish it. The three of you had fought wars together, bled together, and survived against impossible odds. You trusted them with your life and, more importantly, with your heart.

Steve, ever the protector, held your hand through the nightmares, his voice a quiet promise in the dark. Bucky, all sharp wit and unspoken devotion, pressed kisses into your hair when he thought you weren’t paying attention. They made you feel safe, like nothing in the world could shake the foundation of what you had.

You belonged to them, and they belonged to you.

The compound had always been your sanctuary, a place where the weight of being an assassin and an Avenger didn’t feel so heavy.

Missions were brutal, but coming home to them made it worth it. Your mornings were tangled limbs and soft murmurs, their warmth pulling you from restless sleep. Your nights were laughter and whispered confessions, hands intertwined beneath the sheets.

Everything was fine, until she arrived.

A trainee named Cassidy.

Sent to the compound for a few days of “intense training” with the Avengers. Young, eager at least, that’s what Fury had said. But from the moment she walked through the doors, it was clear training was the last thing on her mind.

You caught the way her eyes lingered on Steve's broad shoulders, the way she smiled just a little too sweetly when Bucky grunted in response to something she said. You noticed the way she conveniently positioned herself between them whenever she could, the way her touch lingered just a second too long.

It was nothing. Just admiration, maybe even hero worship. You told yourself that, again and again. Steve and Bucky were yours. They loved you.

And yet… doubt had a way of creeping in, even where trust once lived.

For the first time in a long time, you felt something unfamiliar in your own home.

Unease.

You weren’t the jealous type, you had no reason to be, not when Steve and Bucky had given you every reassurance, every reason to trust them. And you did trust them. You trusted them blindly.

But can you trust the world?

Trust didn’t stop the ache in your chest when you saw Cassidy wedged between them on the couch, laughing at something Bucky said. It didn’t stop the sting when Steve placed a comforting hand on her back, so absentmindedly, so effortlessly, like it was second nature.

Like it was something he used to do for you.

You stood frozen in the doorway, fingers tightening around the edge of your jacket. That was your spot. That had always been your spot. Between them. Their arms around you. Their warmth surrounding you.

Now?

Now Cassidy sat there, twirling a lock of her hair, giggling, her body angled towards them like she belonged. And Steve and Bucky?

They didn’t even notice you standing there.

“You’re imagining things, Y/n.” Natasha leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee as she watched you pick at your food. She didn’t say it dismissively, but there was caution in her voice. Careful, Y/n. Don’t spiral.

“I’m not...” Your voice was hollow. You pushed your plate away and exhaled shakily. “She’s always there, Nat. Always with them. Always touching them...” You swallowed hard, shame burning in your throat. “I feel like… like I don’t exist anymore.”

Natasha sighed, setting her cup down. “Come on. You know Steve and Bucky. They’d never…”

“I know they wouldn’t.” Your fingers curled into fists. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Natasha studied you, eyes softer now. “Talk to them, then.”

You nodded. You would. Of course, you would.

But deep down, you were terrified they wouldn’t see it, because they never seemed to see you anymore, ever since Cassidy came.

At first, it was small things.

A conversation cut short because Cassidy had a question. A training session where she suddenly needed Bucky to correct her stance, his hands on her wrists, her waist. A mission debrief where she sat beside Steve, too close, her voice too soft.

Then the canceled plans started.

“I’m sorry, Doll, but we promised we’d show Cassidy the training simulations today.”

“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I swear.”

“We’ll take you out tomorrow, okay?”

Tomorrow never came.

And suddenly, your nights felt emptier. You’d wake up reaching for them, only to find cold sheets where they should have been. You weren’t sure what hurt more.

The loneliness or the fact that they didn’t even realize you were lonely.

They were still yours, weren’t they?

Then why did it feel like you were losing them?

It had been days, days since you had a proper conversation with either of them. Days since they held you like they used to. The only time you got them was at night, in bed.

And yet, there she was again, always there, standing too close to Steve as he poured coffee in the kitchen. Bucky leaned against the counter, smirking at something she said, arms crossed over his chest.

“God, Steve, I still don’t know how you carry that shield around all day.” Cassidy reached out, brushing her fingers over his bicep. “Guess it helps that you’re, like, all muscle.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“What about you, Bucky?” She turned to him, eyes bright. “I mean, that metal arm has to be heavy, right? Can I?”

“Nah, sweetheart, it’s lighter than it looks.” Bucky smirked, flexing his vibranium fingers.

Sweetheart.

Your stomach dropped, that was your name. He called you that. Not her.

Your blood ran cold as Cassidy laughed, playfully nudging Bucky’s arm. Steve smiled, amused. Not once did they notice you standing there. Not once did they feel the air shift, the way your entire world was starting to crumble.

That night, you laid in bed alone. Again.

Because, Steve and Bucky had been in the common room with Cassidy, and you couldn’t take it anymore. So you had left.

You curled into yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the sob from escaping.

They were just being nice. Right?

They didn’t see what you saw. Didn’t feel what you felt. Didn’t see how much it was killing you. Right?

And you were too afraid to ask the question burning inside you, “What if they don’t miss me like I miss them?”

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting all alone in the common room.

The compound was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ventilation system. You sat curled up on the couch in the dark, staring at nothing, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold you together. The weight in your chest felt heavier than usual, pressing down, suffocating.

You had spent the entire day alone. Again.

They hadn’t noticed. Again.

The cushion beside you dipped, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. Natasha.

“You’re doing that thing again…” she murmured.

You blinked. “What thing?”

“Shutting down.”

You inhaled sharply, dropping your gaze to your lap.

Natasha sighed, shifting to face you. “Sweets, talk to me.”

Natasha always called you that name, and her reason was you were the only sweet person in her life.

You shook your head. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit.” She reached out, squeezing your knee. “I see you, you know. The way you’re fading. The way you barely eat. The way you don’t sleep until you’re too exhausted to fight it anymore.”

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your pants.

“They love you, Sweets.” Natasha’s voice was gentle but firm. “This… whatever this is, it’s temporary. They’ll see what’s happening.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “No, they won’t…” Your throat burned as you whispered, “They don’t see me anymore, Nat.”

Silence.

Natasha shifted closer, resting her forearm on the back of the couch. “We survived worse, you and me. Remember?”

You knew where she was leading the conversation, but you didn’t care.

“I wish I could remember.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Natasha frowned. “Remember what?”

You exhaled shakily, gaze unfocused. “How they trained us. How they made us feel nothing.”

Natasha tensed. “Don’t do that,” she warned. “Don’t go there.”

You lifted your head to meet her eyes. “Why not? It would be easier.” Your voice cracked. “I wouldn’t have to feel like this. Wouldn’t have to wake up reaching for them only to remember I don’t exist to them anymore.”

Natasha’s grip tightened on your knee. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your smile was hollow. “They canceled our date today, Nat. Again. I was supposed to spend the evening with them. Instead, I spent it watching Cassidy laugh at Bucky’s jokes and touch Steve’s arm and…” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper. “And they let her.”

Natasha’s expression darkened, but she said nothing.

You turned your gaze back to the floor. “I just… I don’t want to feel this anymore.”

She was quiet for a long time before she whispered, “You’re not in the Red Room anymore, Sweets. You have them. You have me.”

You nodded. But the ache in your chest remained, because deep down, you weren’t sure if you still had them at all.

The bed felt massive. You lay curled up on one side, facing away from the door, the covers pulled tightly around you. The scent of Steve and Bucky still lingered on the sheets, but it brought no comfort.

Then the mattress dipped.

First on one side, then the other. Warm bodies slid in beside you, their familiar presence surrounding you.

“Doll?” Steve’s voice was soft, hesitant.

Bucky shifted behind you, his arm resting loosely around your waist. “We’re sorry about earlier, sweetheart.”

Your throat burned.

“We’ll make it up to you,” Steve added quickly. “We’ve got a whole day planned for you tomorrow. Just the three of us. No interruptions, promise.”

Tomorrow.

You closed your eyes.

They had said that last time.

And the time before that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, willing yourself to stay silent.

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Come on, talk to us, Doll. We know you’re mad.”

Mad.

Was that what they thought this was? Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because what was the point? Tomorrow would come, and it would be the same.

Cassidy would be there.

Steve and Bucky wouldn’t notice.

And you? You would be alone again. A tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept your eyes closed. If you stayed quiet, maybe they wouldn’t hear how badly you were breaking.

Morning passed in a blur.

You moved through training sessions on autopilot, barely speaking, barely feeling. Natasha watched you carefully, her sharp gaze catching every falter, every moment you hesitated before leaving the gym. You knew she wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure if you had it in you to listen.

So you just kept going.

Kept pretending.

Kept waiting for Steve and Bucky to remember.

And then they did. Or so you thought.

“Doll, come on! Movie night’s all set up!”

Bucky’s voice rang through the hall as you made your way toward the common room, a flicker of hope stirring in your chest.

They remembered. They finally remembered.

For the first time in days, your heart didn’t feel so heavy. You ran your fingers through your hair, exhaling softly as you reached the doorway, ready to sink into the warmth of your boys.

And then you saw her.

Cassidy.

Sitting between them.

Again.

Your body locked up, breath catching in your throat. She was curled up comfortably, her legs tucked beneath her as she laughed at something Bucky whispered in her ear. Steve sat relaxed beside her, arm draped over the back of the couch, so damn close, so damn easy, like she belonged there.

Like she belonged with them.

You forced yourself to speak, though your voice barely carried. “What is she doing here?”

Steve turned, smiling at you. That easy, oblivious smile that used to make your heart race.

Now?

It made you feel sick.

“She didn’t know it was just meant to be us,” he said lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “And we didn’t wanna be rude, so…”

You didn’t hear the rest, your ears were ringing.

They didn’t want to be rude to her. You stared at them. At her. And then you swallowed down every emotion clawing its way up your throat. “Enjoy the movie.”

That was all you said before turning on your heel and walking away.

They didn’t call after you.

Didn’t chase you.

Didn’t even notice the way your hands were trembling as you pushed open the door.

The tears came before you even reached the elevator, but you didn’t stop walking, didn’t wipe them away, didn’t care if anyone saw.

Not that they would. No one ever did.

You should have gone to your room. You should have buried yourself under the covers and let the ache consume you in silence.

But the walls were closing in too fast.

So instead, you climbed, up the emergency stairwell, up to the roof, where the air was sharp and cold, where the wind bit at your damp cheeks, where no one could see you break.

Your hands gripped the ledge as you sucked in deep, desperate breaths.

They had remembered and it still hadn’t mattered.

A hollow laugh escaped your lips, bitter and broken. You should have known, you should have known it would end up like this.

You closed your eyes, head tilting back as the city lights blurred beneath the weight of your tears.

You had never felt more alone.

By the time you came down from the roof, your tears had dried, but the weight in your chest remained, suffocating and unrelenting.

You stepped into the hallway, head down, steps quick, just wanting to reach your room, just wanting to breathe without feeling like you were drowning.

But the moment you turned the corner, you froze.

Steve.

Bucky.

And her.

They were standing there, talking, laughing.

Cassidy’s hand was on Bucky’s arm, her body tilted toward him in that way she always did, like she was drawn to him. Steve stood beside them, relaxed, like the world wasn’t crumbling around you.

Like they hadn’t just broken your heart a little more.

Their laughter died down when they saw you.

You knew they noticed your red, swollen eyes. Knew they saw the way your shoulders tensed, the way your fists clenched at your sides.

But they didn’t say anything.

Didn’t ask if you were okay.

Didn’t ask where the hell you had gone.

No, Steve just frowned slightly, like he was trying to piece something together. Like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

You didn’t give him the chance, you walked past them without a word, without a glance.

Without acknowledging them at all.

And still, still they didn’t stop you.

The compound doors slammed shut behind you as you ran, your feet pounded against the pavement, muscles burning, lungs heaving, but you didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down, didn’t care where you were going, as long as it was away.

Away from the suffocating silence, away from them, away from her.

You pushed yourself harder, faster, as if you could outrun the pain clawing at your chest, the unbearable ache of being unseen by the two people who were supposed to know you best.

They had always seen you, hadn’t they? Then why did it feel like you were fading? Why did it feel like you were already gone?

You were so lost in your own head, so consumed by the roaring in your ears, that you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until a firm hand grabbed your arm, yanking you to a stop.

“Enough.”

Natasha.

You blinked at her, breathing hard, vision blurring. But she didn’t let go. Didn’t loosen her grip. She just stared at you, her green eyes filled with something sharp, something dangerous.

Something like determination.

“I let this go on for too long,” she muttered. “That’s on me.”

You swallowed hard, chest still rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Nat…”

“No.” Her voice was steel. “You’re not doing this. You’re not running until your body gives out just because they’re too damn blind to see what’s happening.”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t know what to do...”

She sighed, her hand loosening slightly but not letting go. “Then let me do something.”

Your breath hitched, but you believed in her.

Natasha had always been your anchor, your constant. You had survived hell together. She knew you better than anyone, sometimes even better than Steve and Bucky.

So when she said those words, when she looked at you like that, like she was done watching you suffer, something inside you cracked.

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper, “Okay.”

You hadn’t spoken much since that night, since the roof. Since Natasha found you and promised to do something.

You weren’t sure what you had expected, but you hadn’t expected him.

You sat on the rooftop again, legs pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your knees. The city stretched out before you, endless and glowing, but all you saw was the emptiness.

The way you had been fading, the way they had let you, the way it still hurt.

You exhaled shakily, trying to push it all down, trying to keep yourself from breaking again.

“Bub.”

Your breath caught, your heart stopped, that voice.

Rough. Low. Familiar.

A voice that belonged to only one person.

You turned slowly, the cold air biting at your tear-streaked face and there he was.

Logan.

Your brother.

Standing there, broad and tense, his sharp eyes scanning you with a fury you hadn’t seen in a long time, his jaw clenched.

SNIKT.

The sound of his claws unsheathing was sharp, deadly, cutting through the silence like a blade to the heart.

His eyes darkened, fists trembling, rage radiating from his very being.

“Who?”

It was just one word, just one syllable, but it carried the weight of a storm. You swallowed hard, dropping your gaze.

Logan stepped closer, his boots heavy against the rooftop, his presence overwhelming.

“Who did this to you, Bub?” His voice was lower now, dangerous. “Tell me. I’ll gut ‘em.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Logan...”

“Look at me.”

You did and the moment his eyes met yours, whatever restraint he had left snapped.

“Those sons of bitches!” he snarled, pacing now, breathing ragged. His claws flexed, his shoulders heaved, pure, unfiltered rage pouring from him. “You’re telling me those two idiots, our idiots did this? Made you feel like this?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t have to, because your silence was enough.

Logan let out a rough, guttural growl, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles went white despite the metal already tearing through his skin.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

“No, you won’t.” Natasha’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering.

You turned just in time to see her step onto the rooftop, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Why the hell not?” Logan snapped. “They hurt her.”

“I know,” Natasha said evenly. “That’s why she’s leaving.”

Your breath hitched, “What?”

Natasha walked toward you, gaze softening as she reached out and brushed her knuckles against your cheek. “Pack a bag, Sweets. You’re going with Logan.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re actually letting me take her?”

“She needs to get away from here,” Natasha murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “From them.”

You stared at her, then at Logan, your throat tightening so painfully you thought it might close entirely.

“Tasha…”

“No arguments,” she said softly but firmly. “You’re not okay. And I won’t stand here and watch you disappear.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

You felt Logan’s heavy hand settle on your shoulder, grounding you, steadying you.

“C’mon, Bub,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to leave.

But because leaving meant giving up. Leaving meant accepting that they had chosen her, that they had chosen everyone but you.

But maybe... maybe they had already made that choice a long time ago.

You inhaled sharply and nodded.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

Part 2

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[sosa2imagines]

BITCH = Believe It Truly Can Happen.

[sosa2imagines]

Are you mine? Part 3

Warning- Little angst, fluff.

It was just past dawn.

The sky was blushing with faint streaks of peach and silver, the morning air sharp with cold.

You hadn’t meant to open the door, you just needed fresh air. A moment of stillness before the ache behind your ribs reminded you of everything you lost.

But the second you stepped outside barefoot, hoodie tugged tight around your frame, you froze.

They were both awake, sitting on the hood of the car like statues of regret.

Bucky was cradling a thermos between his hands. His eyes snapped up the moment he saw you, and the breath left his lungs. Steve stood immediately, wincing slightly from the healing claw marks across his ribs. His bruised face looked worse in the light, one eye still half-closed, his jaw scraped and tight.

All three of you stared at each other, no one moved.

You didn’t expect your voice to work when you finally spoke, but it did, “Why are you still here?”

Bucky swallowed hard, “Because you’re here...” Steve’s throat bobbed. “And we’re not leaving. Not unless you tell us to…”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of your hoodie, “I left,” you whispered. “You could’ve moved on. Let it go...Cassidy?”

Steve stepped forward, carefully, as if any wrong movement would break the spell. “We don’t want to move on.” Bucky took a single cautious step, still keeping distance. “We want you! To hell with Cassidy!!!”

You looked away, blinking fast. “You already had me. And you let me be forgotten...”

That made Bucky flinch visibly and Steve’s jaw clenched. They didn’t argue. They didn’t deny it.

Steve took a breath. “You’re right. We did. And we’ll never stop being sorry for it.”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the pain behind the blue. At the dried blood in the corner of Bucky’s mouth. At the bruises they didn’t even try to hide.

And the coffee. The notes. The car.

Day after day.

“You stayed…” you whispered.

Steve nodded. “Because you’re worth staying for.”, Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “We don’t deserve a second chance. But we’re gonna keep showing up until we do.”

Silence stretched between you again, but this time, it didn’t ache. You didn’t move closer, didn’t smile and didn’t cry.

You just whispered, “Okay…” and turned around.

Left the door open behind you and Steve and Bucky followed.

Not into your heart.

Not yet.

But into the first moment of something real.

The days passed, not easily though, they dragged. Some heavier than others. Some so quiet it hurt.

You didn’t bounce back and you didn’t crawled back.

Bit by bit, there were days when the sight of them in your periphery made your chest tighten. When Steve’s soft voice felt like salt in a wound. When Bucky’s eyes so full of guilt and tenderness, made you want to scream.

But then there were moments.

Moments when Steve cooked breakfast and burned the eggs so badly even Logan snorted. Moments when Bucky, still aching from his healing wounds, grumbled through washing dishes and almost dropped a pan.

You didn’t laugh.

Slowly, steadily, piece by piece, you started to feel like yourself again.

Logan, ever the protective older brother, watched with cautious eyes as you laughed for the first time in weeks. As you smirked when Steve burned the eggs one morning, and as you rolled your eyes when Bucky tried to charm his way out of washing the dishes.

It was late when it happened.

The kind of late where the stars were loud and the woods had gone still.

You sat on the porch steps, a blanket around your shoulders, the mug in your hands gone cold. You hadn’t said a word in over an hour.

Bucky sat beside you, quiet, not touching. Steve leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, watching the trees like they might give him answers.

“I need you to hear me…”

Both men turned immediately.

Your voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady.

Bucky sat straighter. “We’re listening.”

You stared at the trees. “When Cassidy started showing up, I didn’t say anything at first. I told myself I was overthinking it. That I was being dramatic. That you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed, while your fingers curled around the mug. “But then you started cancelling dates. Forgetting things. Laughing with her the way you used to laugh with me. And every time I came into the room, it felt like I was interrupting something.”

You turned to look at them now, your eyes tired, but burning. “You made me feel invisible.”

Steve opened his mouth, but you lifted a hand to stop him, “Let me finish.”

He nodded, jaw clenched.

Your voice shook, just a little. “I would go to sleep next to you and still feel like I was alone. I would hear you talking to her and wonder what I did wrong. I started walking around the compound like a ghost, trying not to be in the way…”

You blinked, tears threatening but not falling. “And the worst part?” you whispered. “You didn’t even notice I was breaking. Not once.”

Bucky dropped his head, his hands clenched between his knees.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to punish you. I left because I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I was becoming smaller just to fit into the cracks you left me in.”

Silence. Painful and dense.

Steve finally spoke, his voice raw. “You have every right to hate us.”

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly. “That would be easier.”

Your eyes found Bucky’s. “But I’m not ready to forgive you. Not yet. And I don’t know when I will be.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “We understand,” he rasped.

Steve stepped closer, lowering himself onto the step below yours, so he had to look up to meet your gaze. “We’re not asking for forgiveness,” he said. “We’re just asking for time.”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. “Time is all I can give you right now.”

And Steve, the man who once thought he was strong enough to carry the world, let out the most fragile breath of relief you’d ever heard.

After that night on the porch, things didn’t magically fall into place, but they shifted.

Steve and Bucky didn’t press. They didn’t talk about forgiveness. They just worked.

They helped Logan chop wood, hauled supplies from town, fixed the creaky porch step that had been splintering for months. Steve cleaned around, even the drainage like it was penance. Bucky learned how to cook Logan-style stew, thick, over-seasoned, and strangely comforting.

Logan didn’t say much, but the grunts grew less threatening. And once, you saw him nod at Steve as he passed him a toolbox, it meant more than a full conversation.

There were still bad days.

Days where your chest felt too tight, your patience too thin. When they smiled too easily or sat too close, you flinched.

One afternoon, after Steve made some offhand joke about movie night, the words ripped out of you before you could stop them. “It won’t work.”

The porch went quiet.

Bucky was closest. He stood from where he’d been tightening a hinge on the screen door, his brows drawing together. “What?”

You backed away a step, blinking hard. “This. You and Steve. Trying to be better. It’s not going to fix anything…”

Bucky swallowed hard, but stepped toward you anyway, “I’m trying, Doll…”

“I know. And I see it. But that doesn’t change what you did.”

“I’m not asking it to.”

You crossed your arms, pain curling in your chest. “Then why are you still here?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, holding you so tightly you could feel his heartbeat through your hoodie.

“Because I love you,” Bucky whispered into your hair. “And I will never, let you believe you’re not worth fighting for again.”

Your hands stayed frozen for a moment, then slowly, they fisted in the back of his shirt.

You didn’t sob. Didn’t speak.

But you held him back, and that was enough.

That night, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you fell asleep near them.

You were on the couch, curled into the corner with your head against a pillow, the fire crackling low.  You didn’t mean to drift. But the warmth, the silence, the steady hum of their presence, not too close, but not far lulled you.

When your breathing evened out, Bucky looked over from the armchair and stilled. Steve, stretched out on the floor in front of the hearth, lifted his head to look at you.

They didn’t say a word,  just watched.

And when your hand slipped down slightly from the blanket, fingers grazing open air, Steve gently reached up and placed your hand into his.

You didn’t pull away, didn’t stir.

And for them still bruised, broken, aching, that tiny gesture?

Felt like a beginning. You were on the porch, curled up in one of the old chairs, knees drawn to your chest beneath a blanket. The wind had turned colder, whispering through the trees like ghosts that wouldn’t let you sleep.

Your mind wouldn’t quiet.

Memories played on repeat, Steve’s laughter with Cassidy, Bucky’s distracted silences, the way you’d shrunk smaller and smaller without them noticing. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself.

And then you heard it, the porch boards creaking under familiar boots.

Logan.

He stepped out without a word and sat in the chair beside you, a fresh beer in his hand, a bottle of water in the other. He passed the water to you and you took it.

Silence stretched between you.

Then softly, he said, “They’re trying.”

You didn’t look at him. “I know.”

He took a long sip, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ve seen people beg before. Seen people fake redemption to get what they want. That’s not what this is.”

You glanced over, “They’re still them. Still the ones who let me break...”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. But they’re also the ones bleeding to fix what they shattered. The ones splitting wood with broken ribs. The ones who haven’t taken a real bed in weeks just to be near you, just to prove they won’t abandon you again.”

You were quiet, but your grip on the bottle tightened.

Logan leaned back in his chair, sighing. “I’m not telling you to forgive them, bub. That’s not my call.”

He turned his head toward you. “But I am telling you to look at what they’ve done. What they’re doing. And ask yourself, is this worth something?”

He reached over and gently brushed your hair back from your face and kissed your forehead. The gesture was so soft, so achingly warm it undid something in your chest. “You don’t owe them anything,” he whispered. “But don’t throw away something real just because it hurt once.”

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry.

You just leaned your head slightly toward his shoulder and whispered, “I’m so tired of hurting.”

He rested his hand gently on your back.

“I know, Bub,” he murmured. “But maybe it’s time to start healing.”

It was quiet the next morning.

Too quiet.

The kind of stillness that didn’t scream anymore, but waited.

You stepped out onto the porch as the sun broke over the trees, golden light spilling across the cabin steps. Your blanket was wrapped loosely around you, your hands tucked inside. They were already there.

Not on the car this time. But seated on the porch steps, facing the forest, their backs straight despite the exhaustion still carved into their bodies.

They heard your footsteps, but neither of them turned around.

Not until you whispered, “Hey.”

They both looked over, and the expression on their faces made your chest ache.

Hope. Fear. Love.

“I need to say something,” you said, stepping closer.

They stood slowly, carefully but kept their distance.

You stopped a few feet in front of them, the rising sun painting soft light across their bruises, their bandages, the worry lining their faces.

You took a breath, “I hated you…” you said, voice raw. “For what you did. For what you didn’t see. For making me feel like I was replaceable…but I never hated you because I love you…”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. Steve’s gaze dropped to the porch floor.

“But I also saw you try,” you continued, a tremble in your voice. “Every day. Without pushing. Without demanding. Just… showing up.” You swallowed. “That meant more than you’ll ever know.” You stepped forward, just one step and looked between them. “I forgive you.”

Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide, blinking back tears. Bucky’s lips parted, like he didn’t trust what he’d heard.

You nodded. “Not because it didn’t hurt. Not because it’s forgotten. But because I’m tired of carrying the weight alone. And because I still believe in us.”

They didn’t speak at first. Then Steve stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on yours. “We swear to you, Doll…what happened? It’ll never happen again. Ever.”

Bucky followed, voice thick with emotion. “No one, no one will ever take your place. You are it. Always have been.”

Steve took your hands, gently. “We were blind. But never again.”

Bucky rested his forehead against yours, voice low. “You’re everything. We’ll spend forever proving it.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, not from pain. But relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt steady.

Home.

And when they wrapped their arms around you, one from each side, you let them.

Because you knew this time? They’d never let you go.

Bucky let out a sharp exhale, his shoulders sagging in relief. Steve reached for your hand, hesitating for a split second before lacing his fingers with yours.

You let him.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt right. It wasn’t instant. You didn’t just fall back into place like nothing had happened.

No, this time, you started fresh.

As friends first.

You three rebuilt the foundation, step by step. Of course it required Steve and Bucky to take permission from Logan, who threaten that next time the consequences will be non-healable and Natasha who threaten to send them in a dark place.

Steve asked about your missions, truly listening. Bucky made sure to never let a day pass without checking in on you. You teased them again, sparred with them, laughed with them.

And one night, as you sat between them on the couch, watching some terrible action movie, Bucky casually draped his arm around your shoulders.

You didn’t push him away.

And Steve, on your other side, glanced down, a soft smile on his lips as you leaned into them both.

It wasn’t just the way things used to be.

It was better. Stronger.

Because this time, they knew what they had almost lost. And they would never take you for granted again.

The couch was too small, the floor too cold, so eventually the three of you ended up where you belonged, in the bed. Together.

Not because you needed sleep.

But because you needed them.

The light was low, the room warm, your breathing soft and even. It wasn't anything intimate, but more like being grateful and just feel each other.

You lay tangled between them, your back against Bucky’s chest, his metal arm draped protectively over your waist. His flesh hand held your thigh, anchoring you there like he never planned to let go again.

Steve lay on his stomach, face turned toward you, fingers tracing slow, tender patterns along your bare arm.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were home.

“Did you know,” Steve murmured, his voice laced with sleep, “that I couldn't function anymore...”

You blinked, turning your head slightly. “What do you mean?”

He hummed, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. “After you left… I couldn't breathe...I felt weak, you are our strength, our everything doll...”

Your throat tightened.

Behind you, Bucky’s lips pressed against the nape of your neck, warm and reverent. “I never stopped looking for you, Doll. Not really. Even when we knew where you were, I felt like we lost you...and this seperation period was worse than any nightmare and torture...me and Steve never want to live that ever again...”

Your fingers curled around Steve’s, squeezing gently, “I felt lost too...” you admitted softly. “But… not anymore.”

Steve kissed your shoulder, his touch lingering like a promise.

Bucky’s grip on you tightened, like he could physically hold you against any pain, any memory, any threat.

“We’re never letting you go again...” he whispered, voice low, fierce.

You turned slightly in Bucky’s arms, shifting to face Steve now, your hand rising to cup his cheek. He leaned into it, eyes half-lidded with love.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because we are right where we belong...”

Steve smiled, eyes shining as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

And as Bucky pulled you closer, one hand stroking your hip, the other curled protectively around your belly, he whispered soft, unintelligible things into your skin, words he couldn’t speak fully, but you felt every bit of them.

And you knew, this bond between you three?

It wasn’t just fixed.

It was unbreakable.

Part 2- ✅

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As you all can see, I tried to tag everyone but the tags don't work well, sorry 🥲❤️

[sosa2imagines]

Are you mine? Part 2

Warning- Angst, little fluff, blood, bruises, protective brother Logan.

Something was wrong.

Steve felt it first, the emptiness, the eerie quiet that settled over the compound like a storm waiting to break. He had gone looking for you that morning, expecting to find you in the kitchen or the training room, but there was nothing.

Then Bucky felt it too.

The bed was cold. Your scent was fading. Your usual presence, a force of nature they had come to rely on was simply… gone.

At first, they thought you were just upset.

That you were cooling off, still angry over the canceled dates and forgotten promises.

But as the hours passed and you remained missing, a sickening realization took root.

You weren’t just avoiding them.

You were gone.

“Where the hell is she?!” Bucky’s voice echoed through the hallways as he and Steve stormed through the compound, checking every possible place you could have been.

“Maybe she went for a run?” Steve muttered, though doubt laced his words.

But you always came back.

And you never left without telling them.

Something wasn’t right.

“Doll!” Steve called again, desperation creeping into his voice.

Nothing.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his heart pounding. He turned the corner and immediately groaned when he spotted her.

Cassidy, sitting on the common room couch, scrolling through her phone like she had all the time in the world.

“Where is she?” Bucky snapped, making her jolt.

Cassidy blinked up at him. “What?”

“Y/n” Steve said, voice tight. “Have you seen her?”

She rolled her eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “She’s probably sulking somewhere. You know how dramatic she can be…”

Bucky saw red, “Shut up.”

Cassidy flinched, her eyes widening as Bucky glared at her with all the rage burning inside of him, “Get out,” he growled.

“Bucky…”

“I said GET OUT!”

Cassidy paled, scrambling to her feet before practically running out of the room.

Steve barely paid her any attention. His mind was already racing, his chest tightening, “We need to find Natasha.”

Natasha was waiting for them.

She didn’t stand. Didn’t speak. Just sat on the couch, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap, like she had all the time in the world.

When they entered the room, the silence was suffocating.

Steve cleared his throat, “Tasha…”

“You finally noticed.” she said, voice low. Steady. Her eyes didn’t even move to meet his.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “Where is she?”

Natasha lifted her gaze slowly, like it physically pained her to look at them. “Gone.”

Steve’s heart dropped. “Gone?” he echoed.

“She left. What else did you expect?”

The silence stretched for too long.

Steve took a step forward. “We didn’t know…”

“You didn’t care!” she interrupted, voice still calm. Too calm. “There’s a difference.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but Natasha stood, smooth, slow, deliberate. The look in her eyes was lethal.

“You don’t get to speak,” she said, each word precise, like a scalpel carving into flesh. “Neither of you do.”

Bucky shuts his mouth and Steve’s fists clenched, knuckles white. “Natasha, please…”

She walked closer, tilting her head. “Please? You’re asking me for grace? After what you did to her?”

Her lips curled into a bitter, humorless smile. “You let some trainee worm her way into your lives. You sat there, smiling, laughing, letting her take Sweets place. Her spot on the couch. Her seat at the table. Her space between you!”

Steve flinched.

“She didn’t even scream!” Natasha said, her voice quieter now, somehow colder. “Did you notice that? She cried silently. She didn’t beg. She just walked away. That’s how much damage you did.”

Bucky looked like he was going to be sick.

“You let her become invisible,” Natasha whispered. “She trusted you. Completely. And you crushed her. Slowly. Carefully. Like it was nothing.”

“She never told us,” Steve said, voice breaking. “She didn’t…”

“She shouldn’t have had to!” Natasha snapped, but even then, her tone barely rose. “You’re not children. You’re not stupid. You knew what she meant to you and you still let someone else reach for what was hers, without even blinking.”

She stepped back, shaking her head slightly.

“God, every look. Every time I stood between you and that bitch. But you brushed it off. You thought Sweets would just… wait around. Watch herself be replaced. And still stay.”

She scoffed. “That’s not love. That’s possession.”

Steve’s breath hitched.

Natasha met Bucky’s eyes then, and it was the final blow.

“You made her feel like a guest in her own home.” Natasha snapped. “You don’t get to ask questions. You don’t get to act shocked. You don’t get to pretend like you didn’t do this.”

Bucky flinched at the venom in her voice. “Nat…”

“Shut up and listen.”

They did, because for the first time in a long time, maybe ever Natasha was furious at them.

And she had every right to be.

“You trusted Cassidy,” she spat. “You let her get close. You let her take over. And you let Sweets, suffer in silence while you two stood there, completely oblivious.”

Bucky swallowed hard, guilt clawing at his insides. “We didn’t mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Natasha demanded. “Didn’t mean to leave her alone? Didn’t mean to ignore her? Didn’t mean to let some girl take her place like she was nothing?”

Neither of them had an answer.

Because there wasn’t one.

“She trusted you,” Natasha continued, voice cold. “Blindly. Completely. And you broke that trust, piece by piece, every time you let Cassidy sink her claws in deeper. Every time you canceled a date. Every time you let her take Sweets’ spot without a second thought. You let her feel like an outsider in her own home. In her own relationship.”

Steve felt sick, Bucky’s fists clenched. They had done that, they had let that happen.

“Where is she now?” Bucky asked, voice rough.

Natasha’s gaze darkened. “With Logan.”

Bucky stiffened. “Logan?”

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “You know, her brother? The one who actually gives a damn? The one who saw what you couldn’t?”

Steve inhaled sharply, guilt coiling around his heart.

“He just took her?” Bucky muttered, shaking his head.

Natasha scoffed. “Logan is her brother and has every right. More than you do right now.”

Neither of them could argue, because she was right. They had messed up and now, you were gone.

The common room was eerily quiet.

Steve sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Bucky stood near the window, arms crossed, staring out at the city, jaw clenched.

Neither of them spoke.

Because what was there to say? They had fucked up, and they knew it.

At first, when Cassidy arrived, they had thought nothing of it. She was a trainee, young and eager to learn. Or so they had believed. But she hadn’t been interested in training. No she had been interested in them.

And instead of noticing it, instead of seeing what was right in front of them, they had let it happen.

They had let her sit beside them, let her take up space that wasn’t hers. Space that had always belonged to you.

They could still see it so clearly now, the way you had lingered in the doorway, eyes flickering to where she sat too close, where her hands brushed against theirs. The way your expression would shift, just for a moment, before you schooled it into something neutral.

The way Natasha had given them warning looks, subtle but sharp. But they hadn’t listened, hadn’t thought.

Hadn’t realized that every moment they spent with Cassidy, every smile, every conversation, every second of attention, was another crack in the foundation of what they had with you.

Another reason for you to pull away.

And then, the dates started getting canceled. Not because they meant to, at least, that’s what they had told themselves.

There was always a reason.

Something came up. A mission. A meeting. Or sometimes, they had just… forgotten.

Because they were too busy.

Too distracted.

Too stupid.

And every time they promised to make it up to you, your smiles became smaller, your words became quieter.

And still, they hadn’t seen it.

Hadn’t seen how Cassidy was everywhere, how she was taking your place, how she had stolen what was yours, and they had just let her.

Until that night.

The movie night, the one they had planned, thinking it would fix things. They had been so damn proud of themselves, thinking they were doing something right, only for you to walk in and freeze. And that’s when they had realized. Because Cassidy had been between them.

In your spot.

In your place.

They had tried to explain, had told you she hadn’t known it was just for you, that they hadn’t wanted to be rude. But you had just looked at them with those broken eyes, nodded once, and walked away.

No fight.

No anger.

Just defeat.

“Fuck.” Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “How the hell did we let this happen?”

Steve swallowed hard, his throat tight. “We weren’t paying attention.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No shit.”

Steve closed his eyes. “She trusted us.” His voice was quiet. Pained. “Completely. And we let her down.”

Bucky turned, his expression haunted. “She left, Steve. She left us.”

Steve’s stomach twisted, because it was true. You hadn’t fought. Hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t told them you were leaving.

You had just… walked away, because you had given up on them.

And that? That was the part that hurt the most.

Bucky let out a shuddering breath, dropping onto the couch beside Steve, his hands clasped together, his metal fingers tightening around his flesh ones.

“We have to fix this.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know if we can.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Because neither of them knew the truth. Because neither of them knew if you would even want to come back. Because for the first time since they had met you.

You had chosen a world without them in it and they had no one to blame but themselves.

The drive to Logan’s cabin was long.

Too long.

With every mile, the silence between Steve and Bucky thickened, the guilt like a noose tightening around their throats.

But it didn’t prepare them for what waited at the end of the road.

Logan was already outside.

Standing on the porch like a statue carved out of rage, arms crossed over his chest, claws SNIKT out before their car even rolled to a stop.

The moment their boots hit the dirt, he moved.

“You’ve got five seconds to get off my land.”

Bucky raised both hands slowly. “Logan, we just want to…”

“You want to what?” Logan snarled, voice raw with fury. “Say you’re sorry? Offer some half-assed apology after breaking her like that?”

Steve stepped forward, jaw tight. “We need to see her.”

Logan’s eyes gleamed, feral. “Over my dead body.”

Then he charged. No warning. No hesitation.

His claws slashed through the air too fast.

Steve ducked, barely dodging the first blow, but Bucky wasn’t so lucky. Metal met flesh. He grunted, stumbling back as three deep gashes bloomed across his bicep, blood soaking through his shirt.

“Logan!” Steve shouted, trying to block the next strike but it was already too late.

Logan was a storm. Unstoppable. Every move was brutal, efficient. He wasn’t fighting to scare them. He was fighting to punish them.

Steve’s ribs cracked under a punch, and Bucky barely managed to parry with his metal arm as claws scraped down his side.

“You think she cried?” Logan hissed, claws flashing. “You think she screamed?”

He pinned Bucky against a tree, claws digging into his shoulder. “She didn’t make a sound. You ripped her soul out and she didn’t make a damn sound!”

Steve tackled him from behind, and they rolled in the dirt, a blur of fists and claws and snarls.

“She’s my sister!” Logan roared, eyes wild. “You don’t get to break her and walk in here like it didn’t happen!”

“We didn’t come to pretend!” Steve shouted, panting. “We came because we love her. Because we’re not giving up.”

Logan punched his face harder, claws dripping with blood. “Love? Don’t talk to me about love. You had it. You had her. And you destroyed her.”

“We know!” Bucky yelled, wiping blood from his mouth. “We know, Logan!”

Logan’s claws whipped through the air, stopping just inches from Steve’s chest.

“You know?” Logan’s voice was low, deadly. “Know you ignore her? Know you push her aside for some other woman? Know you made her feel like she was nothing?”

For a moment, the woods fell silent.

Only their ragged breathing and the hum of tension filled the space.

Steve stepped forward, chest heaving. “We don’t deserve it. We don’t deserve her. But we’re here because we want to earn back what we broke. Whatever it takes.”

Logan stared them down, breathing hard, blood dripping from the tips of his claws. Then slowly, deliberately, he retracted them. “You want to see her?” he asked coldly.

Bucky nodded, limping toward him. “Please.”

His glare darkened. “I should gut you both right now.”

Steve’s heart pounded, but he didn’t back down. “We came to fix this.”

“You think you can just fix what you broke?” Logan snapped. “Do you have any idea what you did to her?” His fists clenched, his claws trembling. “She was done, Rogers. She wasn’t even mad, she was gone. You took the light out of her eyes.”

Bucky flinched. “We know…”

Logan scoffed. “No, you don’t. But you’re about to.” Logan narrowed his eyes. “Here’s how it’s gonna go,” he said, voice like ice. “You don’t talk to her unless she speaks first. You don’t touch her. You don’t even sit within reach unless she lets you.”

He stepped closer, eye-to-eye with Steve now.

“And if either of you so much as make her flinch…” His claws clicked out again, glinting in the low light. “I will rip you open from neck to navel, Super Serum or not.”

Steve swallowed, his voice steady. “Deal.”

Bucky didn’t hesitate, he accepted, “Understood.”

Logan held their gaze for a long, brutal moment, then he turned toward the cabin. “Follow me,” he growled. “But don’t forget for one second, you’re only breathing because she hasn’t said otherwise.”

Logan finally turned his back on them, but not before one last glare that promised violence was only on pause, not over.

Steve exhaled shakily and staggered, one hand pressed against his ribs where the fabric of his shirt was slashed open. Blood seeped through his fingers. His face was a mess, his left eye swollen nearly shut, a deep purple bruise blooming from temple to cheekbone. A ragged claw mark carved across his side, oozing with every breath.

Bucky wasn’t any better. He leaned against a tree, panting, blood streaking down his metal arm and soaking into the waistband of his jeans. Logan’s claws had torn through his shoulder and ribcage, deep enough to sting with every movement. His knuckles were split, his lip was busted, and one side of his jaw was turning a sickly violet.

Neither of them complained, neither of them even tried to patch the wounds.

Because it felt right, this pain. Deserved. And if it meant a chance to see you again, to try and fix what they shattered, they’d crawl the rest of the way.

Logan didn’t look back as he walked toward the porch.

He stepped back, motioning toward the porch. “Go ahead. Take a look at what you did.”

Steve and Bucky hesitated before stepping inside.

And there you were, sitting by the window, staring at nothing.

You looked… different, your face was blank, your posture slouched, your eyes, once so bright, so alive were empty.

Lifeless.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. “Doll…”

You didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge them. Didn’t even blink. It was like you weren’t even there.

And that was when it truly hit them. They had done this to you.

And suddenly, the pain they had felt since you left was nothing compared to the agony of seeing what they had reduced you to.

Steve swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Doll… please.”

Nothing.

Logan leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “Still think this is something you can just fix overnight?”

Steve and Bucky said nothing, because they knew now, this wouldn’t be easy. And they deserved every second of it.

The next few days were hell.

You didn’t speak to the, didn’t look at them.

Logan made it clear, “she’ll talk when she’s ready. Not before.”

So they didn’t try to push their way inside.

Instead, they stayed in the car, instead of heading back to the compound.

Every night, no beds and warmth. Just bruises, blood-soaked gauze, and guilt.

Steve sat in the driver’s seat, barely moving, his ribs bound but still aching with every breath. His swollen eye throbbed under the butterfly bandages Logan tossed at him, no more, no less. Bucky sat in the passenger seat, shoulder stitched up by Logan who had done it because you told him to, but he didn’t told that to them, watching the cabin through the windshield like it might vanish if he blinked.

They didn’t leave.

Not to shower. Not to eat.

Logan had to drag them a blanket the first night, tossing it into the dirt with a scoff. “You bleed out here, fine. But don’t fucking die on my property.”

Every morning, Bucky walked to the porch and left your favorite coffee on the step. Every afternoon, Steve left a handwritten note, something short. Simple. Honest.

Sometimes it was “We’re still here.” Other times, “We love you.” Once, it was just “I’m sorry. I will never stop being sorry.”

You didn’t react. Not once. But the coffee was always gone by mid-morning.

And every evening, they sat under the quiet hush of the trees, bruised and broken, but still there. Still waiting. Still fighting.

Because this time, they wouldn’t leave first.

And yet, they refused to leave. Every morning, they were there. Helping. Talking. Apologizing.

Every day, they tried.

Not just with words, but with actions, because they knew they had to earn that back.

Logan watched them carefully, his presence a constant warning.

Meanwhile at the compound, Natasha had enough of Cassidy. She had her own way of dealing with things.

Cassidy barely had time to blink before the fist connected with her jaw. She flew backward, crashing into the training mats with a choked gasp. Blood bloomed across her lip.

“Get up,” Natasha said coldly, standing over her like death itself.

Cassidy groaned, dazed. “What the…”

Another strike. This one landed straight to the ribs, a sharp crack echoing across the room. Cassidy screamed in pain.

“You thought this was a game?” Natasha growled, crouching beside her, her voice low and lethal. “You thought you could slide in, smile pretty, and dismantle a woman’s life for fun?”

She grabbed Cassidy by the collar and slammed her into the wall.

Cassidy whimpered. “I didn’t…!”

SMACK. Natasha’s palm connected with her cheek.

“Don’t lie to me!” Natasha’s voice never rose, but every word dripped with fury. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Cassidy’s lip trembled. “They let me…”

“They were stupid,” Natasha spat. “But you? You were calculated.”

She released her, letting Cassidy crumple to the floor, blood stained her teeth. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts. And Natasha straightened her spine, adjusting her sleeves like Cassidy was dirt beneath her boots. “You’re done here.”

Cassidy looked up, eyes wide, voice barely a whisper. “What?”

Natasha didn’t blink. “I already spoke to Fury. Your access is revoked. You’re off the roster. Pack your shit.”

“You can’t do that…”

“I did.”

Cassidy struggled to her feet, clutching her ribs. “You don’t understand…I…”

“I understand perfectly,” Natasha snapped, stepping closer again. “You played with fire, hoping you’d get warm off someone else’s ruin. You didn’t care about Steve or Bucky, you just cared about having something that was never yours.”

She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Congratulations. You got what you wanted.”

Then she stepped back and opened the door to the hallway. “Now get out. Before I forget I’m done hitting you.”

Cassidy staggered out, clutching her side, sobbing softly. And the moment she crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind her.

Back in the silence of the training room, Natasha exhaled and pulled out her phone. A quick text sent. One word.

“Handled.”

Back at the cabin, Logan stood on the porch, a beer in hand and his eyes trained on the car parked near the tree line. The same damn car. Still there. Still full of bleeding, broken, stubborn super-soldiers.

His phone buzzed. One word from Natasha.

“Handled.”

He smirked, good. Cassidy got what she deserved. He slipped the phone back in his pocket, then turned his gaze to the window, where he saw you, sitting curled up on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, face half-shadowed by the fading evening light.

You had seen the text too and you knew what it meant, but you said nothing, just turned your gaze back to the window, to the outline of that car, where they still were.

That night, after Logan went to bed, you stayed on the couch, eyes wide open. The blanket felt heavy. The silence pressed against your ears like water.

Your heart ached.

When you had first heard their voices at the cabin, something inside you had broken again, shattered, because it wasn’t enough that they made you feel small.

Now they were here. Showing up. Bleeding for it.

Your brother’s claws had torn them apart. And they stayed.

The first morning, you thought it was a trick. The second, you thought they were just proving a point. By the third morning, when you found your favorite coffee still warm on the step… your fingers trembled as you brought it inside.

You told yourself it meant nothing, that they were just desperate.

But desperation didn’t look like Steve curled in the driver’s seat, shivering through fevered sleep, one eye swollen shut.

It didn’t look like Bucky dragging himself out of the car every morning despite the gash on his side reopening, limping up the porch just to leave a note with shaking fingers.

This wasn’t just guilt, it was grief.

And it was starting to chip away at your anger, but not your pain.

Because you still remembered how Cassidy smiled beside them. How you’d walked into the room, your spot between them already taken.

You remembered the silence. The way they didn’t even blink. You remembered walking away… and neither of them followed.

Even now, days later, a part of you hated that they were making you feel again. They had shattered something sacred.

And yet here they were, refusing to leave until they helped you put it back together.

A war was playing out in your chest. Fury and longing. Hope and heartbreak.

You curled tighter under the blanket, heart pounding, and whispered into the dark, “I don’t know if I can forgive them...”

But part of you wanted to try and that was enough, for now.

It was just after sunset, and the sky was painted in bruised shades of violet and gold when Logan found you sitting on the porch swing, knees pulled up to your chest, a mug cradled in your hands.

You hadn’t said a word, not about them. Not about anything.

Just silence.

Logan sat beside you without a word, the wood creaking under his weight. For a while, he didn’t speak either. The two of you watched the wind shift through the trees in front of the cabin, the whisper of pine needles your only company.

“They haven’t moved.”

Your eyes flicked toward him.

“They’ve been sleeping in that car for five days,” he said, voice low. “Wounds still bleeding. Busted ribs. Swollen faces. And they haven’t left.”

You stared down into your mug, “They should…” you muttered. “They forgot me...”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, “Yeah. They did.”

You expected more, but that was all he said.

After a long pause, he exhaled. “But they’re trying. Not with speeches or flowers. They’re not trying to talk their way out of this. They’re doing the only thing that matters now.”

“Which is?”

“Staying.”

You blinked at the horizon, eyes burning, “They didn’t stay when it mattered.”

“No,” Logan agreed. “But they’re staying now. In the dirt. In the cold. In the blood they earned. That says something.”

You scoffed. “They feel guilty.”

“They should feel guilty.” Logan turned to look at you. “But guilt doesn’t make a man sleep in a rusting car for five nights with broken ribs and half a face. Guilt makes you say sorry and run. What they’re doing out there? That’s something else.”

You didn’t respond.

He leaned back, one arm across the back of the swing.

“You don’t owe them anything. Not your time. Not your heart.” He looked at you then, softer. “But don’t let what they did stop you from seeing who they are now.”

Your lip trembled.

“And if they’re not that man? You’ll let me carve ‘em up myself.”

That earned a breath of a laugh from you, and he grinned. “There’s my girl.”

You wiped your cheek roughly and looked out at the dark outline of the car at the edge of the property. Still there. Still waiting. And maybe, for the first time you didn’t hate the sight of it.

One morning, as Steve placed a fresh cup of coffee on the table, you finally spoke.

Your voice was hoarse. Quiet. “Why are you still here?”

Steve froze.

Bucky, sitting across from you, slowly set down his fork.

You stared at them, your expression unreadable. “I left. You could’ve moved on. So…why are you here?”

Bucky exhaled, “Because we love you.”

Your jaw clenched, “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Steve leaned forward. “We messed up. We know that. And we’re so sorry, Doll. But we’re here because we won’t give up on you. Not ever.”

You looked away.

Bucky’s voice was rough. “We don’t deserve another chance. But we’re gonna fight for one anyway.”

A long silence stretched between you.

Then, finally you picked up the coffee and took a sip. And for the first time since they had arrived, you didn’t look so empty.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was something. And for Steve and Bucky, that was enough.

For now.

Part 1 - Part 3

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

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As you all can see, I tried to tag everyone but the tags don't work well, sorry 🥲❤️

[sosa2imagines]

I'm glad you are enjoying ☺️

Are you mine?

Warnings- Angst, Steve and Bucky are idiots.

Being in love with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes felt like living in a dream.

A dream so perfect, so utterly untouchable, that even the ghosts of the past couldn’t tarnish it. The three of you had fought wars together, bled together, and survived against impossible odds. You trusted them with your life and, more importantly, with your heart.

Steve, ever the protector, held your hand through the nightmares, his voice a quiet promise in the dark. Bucky, all sharp wit and unspoken devotion, pressed kisses into your hair when he thought you weren’t paying attention. They made you feel safe, like nothing in the world could shake the foundation of what you had.

You belonged to them, and they belonged to you.

The compound had always been your sanctuary, a place where the weight of being an assassin and an Avenger didn’t feel so heavy.

Missions were brutal, but coming home to them made it worth it. Your mornings were tangled limbs and soft murmurs, their warmth pulling you from restless sleep. Your nights were laughter and whispered confessions, hands intertwined beneath the sheets.

Everything was fine, until she arrived.

A trainee named Cassidy.

Sent to the compound for a few days of “intense training” with the Avengers. Young, eager at least, that’s what Fury had said. But from the moment she walked through the doors, it was clear training was the last thing on her mind.

You caught the way her eyes lingered on Steve's broad shoulders, the way she smiled just a little too sweetly when Bucky grunted in response to something she said. You noticed the way she conveniently positioned herself between them whenever she could, the way her touch lingered just a second too long.

It was nothing. Just admiration, maybe even hero worship. You told yourself that, again and again. Steve and Bucky were yours. They loved you.

And yet… doubt had a way of creeping in, even where trust once lived.

For the first time in a long time, you felt something unfamiliar in your own home.

Unease.

You weren’t the jealous type, you had no reason to be, not when Steve and Bucky had given you every reassurance, every reason to trust them. And you did trust them. You trusted them blindly.

But can you trust the world?

Trust didn’t stop the ache in your chest when you saw Cassidy wedged between them on the couch, laughing at something Bucky said. It didn’t stop the sting when Steve placed a comforting hand on her back, so absentmindedly, so effortlessly, like it was second nature.

Like it was something he used to do for you.

You stood frozen in the doorway, fingers tightening around the edge of your jacket. That was your spot. That had always been your spot. Between them. Their arms around you. Their warmth surrounding you.

Now?

Now Cassidy sat there, twirling a lock of her hair, giggling, her body angled towards them like she belonged. And Steve and Bucky?

They didn’t even notice you standing there.

“You’re imagining things, Y/n.” Natasha leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee as she watched you pick at your food. She didn’t say it dismissively, but there was caution in her voice. Careful, Y/n. Don’t spiral.

“I’m not...” Your voice was hollow. You pushed your plate away and exhaled shakily. “She’s always there, Nat. Always with them. Always touching them...” You swallowed hard, shame burning in your throat. “I feel like… like I don’t exist anymore.”

Natasha sighed, setting her cup down. “Come on. You know Steve and Bucky. They’d never…”

“I know they wouldn’t.” Your fingers curled into fists. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Natasha studied you, eyes softer now. “Talk to them, then.”

You nodded. You would. Of course, you would.

But deep down, you were terrified they wouldn’t see it, because they never seemed to see you anymore, ever since Cassidy came.

At first, it was small things.

A conversation cut short because Cassidy had a question. A training session where she suddenly needed Bucky to correct her stance, his hands on her wrists, her waist. A mission debrief where she sat beside Steve, too close, her voice too soft.

Then the canceled plans started.

“I’m sorry, Doll, but we promised we’d show Cassidy the training simulations today.”

“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I swear.”

“We’ll take you out tomorrow, okay?”

Tomorrow never came.

And suddenly, your nights felt emptier. You’d wake up reaching for them, only to find cold sheets where they should have been. You weren’t sure what hurt more.

The loneliness or the fact that they didn’t even realize you were lonely.

They were still yours, weren’t they?

Then why did it feel like you were losing them?

It had been days, days since you had a proper conversation with either of them. Days since they held you like they used to. The only time you got them was at night, in bed.

And yet, there she was again, always there, standing too close to Steve as he poured coffee in the kitchen. Bucky leaned against the counter, smirking at something she said, arms crossed over his chest.

“God, Steve, I still don’t know how you carry that shield around all day.” Cassidy reached out, brushing her fingers over his bicep. “Guess it helps that you’re, like, all muscle.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“What about you, Bucky?” She turned to him, eyes bright. “I mean, that metal arm has to be heavy, right? Can I?”

“Nah, sweetheart, it’s lighter than it looks.” Bucky smirked, flexing his vibranium fingers.

Sweetheart.

Your stomach dropped, that was your name. He called you that. Not her.

Your blood ran cold as Cassidy laughed, playfully nudging Bucky’s arm. Steve smiled, amused. Not once did they notice you standing there. Not once did they feel the air shift, the way your entire world was starting to crumble.

That night, you laid in bed alone. Again.

Because, Steve and Bucky had been in the common room with Cassidy, and you couldn’t take it anymore. So you had left.

You curled into yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the sob from escaping.

They were just being nice. Right?

They didn’t see what you saw. Didn’t feel what you felt. Didn’t see how much it was killing you. Right?

And you were too afraid to ask the question burning inside you, “What if they don’t miss me like I miss them?”

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting all alone in the common room.

The compound was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ventilation system. You sat curled up on the couch in the dark, staring at nothing, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold you together. The weight in your chest felt heavier than usual, pressing down, suffocating.

You had spent the entire day alone. Again.

They hadn’t noticed. Again.

The cushion beside you dipped, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. Natasha.

“You’re doing that thing again…” she murmured.

You blinked. “What thing?”

“Shutting down.”

You inhaled sharply, dropping your gaze to your lap.

Natasha sighed, shifting to face you. “Sweets, talk to me.”

Natasha always called you that name, and her reason was you were the only sweet person in her life.

You shook your head. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit.” She reached out, squeezing your knee. “I see you, you know. The way you’re fading. The way you barely eat. The way you don’t sleep until you’re too exhausted to fight it anymore.”

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your pants.

“They love you, Sweets.” Natasha’s voice was gentle but firm. “This… whatever this is, it’s temporary. They’ll see what’s happening.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “No, they won’t…” Your throat burned as you whispered, “They don’t see me anymore, Nat.”

Silence.

Natasha shifted closer, resting her forearm on the back of the couch. “We survived worse, you and me. Remember?”

You knew where she was leading the conversation, but you didn’t care.

“I wish I could remember.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Natasha frowned. “Remember what?”

You exhaled shakily, gaze unfocused. “How they trained us. How they made us feel nothing.”

Natasha tensed. “Don’t do that,” she warned. “Don’t go there.”

You lifted your head to meet her eyes. “Why not? It would be easier.” Your voice cracked. “I wouldn’t have to feel like this. Wouldn’t have to wake up reaching for them only to remember I don’t exist to them anymore.”

Natasha’s grip tightened on your knee. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your smile was hollow. “They canceled our date today, Nat. Again. I was supposed to spend the evening with them. Instead, I spent it watching Cassidy laugh at Bucky’s jokes and touch Steve’s arm and…” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper. “And they let her.”

Natasha’s expression darkened, but she said nothing.

You turned your gaze back to the floor. “I just… I don’t want to feel this anymore.”

She was quiet for a long time before she whispered, “You’re not in the Red Room anymore, Sweets. You have them. You have me.”

You nodded. But the ache in your chest remained, because deep down, you weren’t sure if you still had them at all.

The bed felt massive. You lay curled up on one side, facing away from the door, the covers pulled tightly around you. The scent of Steve and Bucky still lingered on the sheets, but it brought no comfort.

Then the mattress dipped.

First on one side, then the other. Warm bodies slid in beside you, their familiar presence surrounding you.

“Doll?” Steve’s voice was soft, hesitant.

Bucky shifted behind you, his arm resting loosely around your waist. “We’re sorry about earlier, sweetheart.”

Your throat burned.

“We’ll make it up to you,” Steve added quickly. “We’ve got a whole day planned for you tomorrow. Just the three of us. No interruptions, promise.”

Tomorrow.

You closed your eyes.

They had said that last time.

And the time before that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, willing yourself to stay silent.

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Come on, talk to us, Doll. We know you’re mad.”

Mad.

Was that what they thought this was? Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because what was the point? Tomorrow would come, and it would be the same.

Cassidy would be there.

Steve and Bucky wouldn’t notice.

And you? You would be alone again. A tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept your eyes closed. If you stayed quiet, maybe they wouldn’t hear how badly you were breaking.

Morning passed in a blur.

You moved through training sessions on autopilot, barely speaking, barely feeling. Natasha watched you carefully, her sharp gaze catching every falter, every moment you hesitated before leaving the gym. You knew she wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure if you had it in you to listen.

So you just kept going.

Kept pretending.

Kept waiting for Steve and Bucky to remember.

And then they did. Or so you thought.

“Doll, come on! Movie night’s all set up!”

Bucky’s voice rang through the hall as you made your way toward the common room, a flicker of hope stirring in your chest.

They remembered. They finally remembered.

For the first time in days, your heart didn’t feel so heavy. You ran your fingers through your hair, exhaling softly as you reached the doorway, ready to sink into the warmth of your boys.

And then you saw her.

Cassidy.

Sitting between them.

Again.

Your body locked up, breath catching in your throat. She was curled up comfortably, her legs tucked beneath her as she laughed at something Bucky whispered in her ear. Steve sat relaxed beside her, arm draped over the back of the couch, so damn close, so damn easy, like she belonged there.

Like she belonged with them.

You forced yourself to speak, though your voice barely carried. “What is she doing here?”

Steve turned, smiling at you. That easy, oblivious smile that used to make your heart race.

Now?

It made you feel sick.

“She didn’t know it was just meant to be us,” he said lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “And we didn’t wanna be rude, so…”

You didn’t hear the rest, your ears were ringing.

They didn’t want to be rude to her. You stared at them. At her. And then you swallowed down every emotion clawing its way up your throat. “Enjoy the movie.”

That was all you said before turning on your heel and walking away.

They didn’t call after you.

Didn’t chase you.

Didn’t even notice the way your hands were trembling as you pushed open the door.

The tears came before you even reached the elevator, but you didn’t stop walking, didn’t wipe them away, didn’t care if anyone saw.

Not that they would. No one ever did.

You should have gone to your room. You should have buried yourself under the covers and let the ache consume you in silence.

But the walls were closing in too fast.

So instead, you climbed, up the emergency stairwell, up to the roof, where the air was sharp and cold, where the wind bit at your damp cheeks, where no one could see you break.

Your hands gripped the ledge as you sucked in deep, desperate breaths.

They had remembered and it still hadn’t mattered.

A hollow laugh escaped your lips, bitter and broken. You should have known, you should have known it would end up like this.

You closed your eyes, head tilting back as the city lights blurred beneath the weight of your tears.

You had never felt more alone.

By the time you came down from the roof, your tears had dried, but the weight in your chest remained, suffocating and unrelenting.

You stepped into the hallway, head down, steps quick, just wanting to reach your room, just wanting to breathe without feeling like you were drowning.

But the moment you turned the corner, you froze.

Steve.

Bucky.

And her.

They were standing there, talking, laughing.

Cassidy’s hand was on Bucky’s arm, her body tilted toward him in that way she always did, like she was drawn to him. Steve stood beside them, relaxed, like the world wasn’t crumbling around you.

Like they hadn’t just broken your heart a little more.

Their laughter died down when they saw you.

You knew they noticed your red, swollen eyes. Knew they saw the way your shoulders tensed, the way your fists clenched at your sides.

But they didn’t say anything.

Didn’t ask if you were okay.

Didn’t ask where the hell you had gone.

No, Steve just frowned slightly, like he was trying to piece something together. Like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

You didn’t give him the chance, you walked past them without a word, without a glance.

Without acknowledging them at all.

And still, still they didn’t stop you.

The compound doors slammed shut behind you as you ran, your feet pounded against the pavement, muscles burning, lungs heaving, but you didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down, didn’t care where you were going, as long as it was away.

Away from the suffocating silence, away from them, away from her.

You pushed yourself harder, faster, as if you could outrun the pain clawing at your chest, the unbearable ache of being unseen by the two people who were supposed to know you best.

They had always seen you, hadn’t they? Then why did it feel like you were fading? Why did it feel like you were already gone?

You were so lost in your own head, so consumed by the roaring in your ears, that you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until a firm hand grabbed your arm, yanking you to a stop.

“Enough.”

Natasha.

You blinked at her, breathing hard, vision blurring. But she didn’t let go. Didn’t loosen her grip. She just stared at you, her green eyes filled with something sharp, something dangerous.

Something like determination.

“I let this go on for too long,” she muttered. “That’s on me.”

You swallowed hard, chest still rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Nat…”

“No.” Her voice was steel. “You’re not doing this. You’re not running until your body gives out just because they’re too damn blind to see what’s happening.”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t know what to do...”

She sighed, her hand loosening slightly but not letting go. “Then let me do something.”

Your breath hitched, but you believed in her.

Natasha had always been your anchor, your constant. You had survived hell together. She knew you better than anyone, sometimes even better than Steve and Bucky.

So when she said those words, when she looked at you like that, like she was done watching you suffer, something inside you cracked.

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper, “Okay.”

You hadn’t spoken much since that night, since the roof. Since Natasha found you and promised to do something.

You weren’t sure what you had expected, but you hadn’t expected him.

You sat on the rooftop again, legs pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your knees. The city stretched out before you, endless and glowing, but all you saw was the emptiness.

The way you had been fading, the way they had let you, the way it still hurt.

You exhaled shakily, trying to push it all down, trying to keep yourself from breaking again.

“Bub.”

Your breath caught, your heart stopped, that voice.

Rough. Low. Familiar.

A voice that belonged to only one person.

You turned slowly, the cold air biting at your tear-streaked face and there he was.

Logan.

Your brother.

Standing there, broad and tense, his sharp eyes scanning you with a fury you hadn’t seen in a long time, his jaw clenched.

SNIKT.

The sound of his claws unsheathing was sharp, deadly, cutting through the silence like a blade to the heart.

His eyes darkened, fists trembling, rage radiating from his very being.

“Who?”

It was just one word, just one syllable, but it carried the weight of a storm. You swallowed hard, dropping your gaze.

Logan stepped closer, his boots heavy against the rooftop, his presence overwhelming.

“Who did this to you, Bub?” His voice was lower now, dangerous. “Tell me. I’ll gut ‘em.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Logan...”

“Look at me.”

You did and the moment his eyes met yours, whatever restraint he had left snapped.

“Those sons of bitches!” he snarled, pacing now, breathing ragged. His claws flexed, his shoulders heaved, pure, unfiltered rage pouring from him. “You’re telling me those two idiots, our idiots did this? Made you feel like this?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t have to, because your silence was enough.

Logan let out a rough, guttural growl, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles went white despite the metal already tearing through his skin.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

“No, you won’t.” Natasha’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering.

You turned just in time to see her step onto the rooftop, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Why the hell not?” Logan snapped. “They hurt her.”

“I know,” Natasha said evenly. “That’s why she’s leaving.”

Your breath hitched, “What?”

Natasha walked toward you, gaze softening as she reached out and brushed her knuckles against your cheek. “Pack a bag, Sweets. You’re going with Logan.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re actually letting me take her?”

“She needs to get away from here,” Natasha murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “From them.”

You stared at her, then at Logan, your throat tightening so painfully you thought it might close entirely.

“Tasha…”

“No arguments,” she said softly but firmly. “You’re not okay. And I won’t stand here and watch you disappear.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

You felt Logan’s heavy hand settle on your shoulder, grounding you, steadying you.

“C’mon, Bub,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to leave.

But because leaving meant giving up. Leaving meant accepting that they had chosen her, that they had chosen everyone but you.

But maybe... maybe they had already made that choice a long time ago.

You inhaled sharply and nodded.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

Part 2

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

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@peaches1958 @sebbymybaby21 @ghalouha

[sosa2imagines]

😊

His personal hairstylist.

Warning- Fluff, dad Bucky

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

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

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

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

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

Not once he asked for help.

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

And you weren’t the only one watching.

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

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

You raised an eyebrow, but she smiled sweetly.

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

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

“Daddy…” she said, standing beside him.

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

“You look like you can’t see.”

That made him pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

@emerald-writes @castielscaplan

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

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

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

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

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

@pattiemac1 @peaches1958 @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[sosa2imagines]

His personal hairstylist.

Warning- Fluff, dad Bucky

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

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

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

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

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

Not once he asked for help.

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

And you weren’t the only one watching.

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

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

You raised an eyebrow, but she smiled sweetly.

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

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

“Daddy…” she said, standing beside him.

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

“You look like you can’t see.”

That made him pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

@emerald-writes @castielscaplan

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

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

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

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

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

@pattiemac1 @peaches1958 @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[sosa2imagines]

Bucky Baby!

Warning- Fluff, boobs appreciation, little smut and Bucky Barnes!

You wake up to silence.

Which, in itself, should have been the first red flag.

No weight crushing your chest. No warm stubble against your neck. No muscled arm lazily thrown over your waist like a weighted blanket. No soft morning grumbles from your grumpy husband, who hated waking up before ten unless someone was bleeding or you were naked.

Your brows furrow as you blink away sleep, reaching out with a hand to the side of the bed where Bucky usually was.

Cold sheets.

Empty space.

You sit up quickly, heart skipping a beat as your assassin instincts fire to life. “Bucky?” you call out, voice still hoarse from sleep.

There was no reply.

Then you notice it.

His clothes, on the floor.

Not just his pants and shirt, but everything. Socks. Boxers. Even his dog tags tangled. All of it thrown in a haphazard pile near the foot of the bed.

And in the center of that chaos, your jaw drops.

A baby. A literal baby.

Chubby, soft, and probably not more than a year old, sitting perfectly upright in the middle of the mess. Very much naked. With a shock of dark brown hair curling slightly at the ends. Ice-blue eyes glaring up at you with a level of intensity no baby should be capable of.

And then you see it.

The tiniest vibranium arm you’ve ever seen, sleek, black with delicate gold plating, fitted just perfectly on his tiny little shoulder.

“No…” you whisper, hand flying to your mouth. “No no no…it can’t be!”

The baby narrows his eyes at you.

Scowl.

You blink.

Death glare.

Your eyes widen.

Pout.

“Oh my god, it can be!!!”

You scramble out of bed and kneel in front of him slowly, like approaching a dangerous predator. He doesn’t move. Just gives you a look that practically screams it’s about time.

Then, he sticks his tongue out at you.

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, Bucky. Is that really you?”

The baby raises both tiny arms, one flesh, one metal and gives you the most dramatic sigh a baby could possibly produce.

You pick him up gently, cradling his warm little body to your chest. His pout deepens as he tries to look unimpressed, but the way he nuzzles into your neck kind of gives him away.

“You got hit by magic yesterday, didn’t you?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his ridiculously soft hair.

He nods once. Very seriously. Like he’s confirming a mission report.

“Well…” you sigh, chuckling into his baby ear, “at least you’re still you, Bubba.”

You feel the tiniest of giggling, giggles vibrate against your collarbone.

Your ruthless, hundred-year-old assassin husband just giggled.

Still snuggling him close, you whisper, “God help whoever’s responsible for this.”

Because James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier turned cuddle monster, might be tiny right now, but he’s still the deadliest baby alive.

You rifle through your drawers with a snort and zero guilt.

He’s glaring at you from the bed, arms folded, baby chest puffed out, lips pursed in silent judgment, as he sits on the oversized pillow you fluffed up for him. His metal arm keeps twitching like he’s seriously considering launching a tiny knife at you. Which, frankly, wouldn’t even be surprising.

You dangle the crop top in front of him.

It’s pink. With glittery letters that say “Spicy Like Sriracha!” across the front.

Bucky scowls deeper.

“Yes, I could dress you in something neutral, but where’s the fun in that?” you grin, leaning down to grab him. “Besides, your death glares look extra adorable in pink.”

You’re sure he growled. You’re also sure it came out like a sneeze.

You wrestle him into it with difficulty. The tiny vibranium arm proves problematic, but eventually, after a few near bites (he really tried to chomp you), you manage to get the shirt on.

It barely covers his chubby thighs.

He looks furious.

And like the cutest damn thing you’ve ever seen.

“Aww, you look spicy…” you tease, booping his nose. “Bet you still think you’re scary.”

He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a frustrated “Baaa!”

You scoop him into your arms again, holding him up like Simba, studying his face.

“How are you still so expressive?” you ask, mock squinting at him. “Like…is your brain actually intact in there? Do you…”

SLAP!

Tiny hand, right across your cheek.

You freeze.

He stares at you, unbothered, smug even. The slap wasn’t hard, but the audacity.

“Well damn…” you mutter, blinking. “Guess that answers everything.”

Cradling him in your arms, now cradled like royalty, because you’re not risking another slap, you bolt out of the room, yelling,

“FRIDAY! Call everyone to the common room. Emergency!”

“Understood, Mrs. Barnes. Alerting the team now.”

By the time you get there, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve, Clint, and Bruce are either half-dressed or bleary-eyed. Some in pajamas.

All staring at you as you barge in, breathless, holding a pink crop-top-wearing baby with a vibranium arm who looks ready to declare war.

“Oh my god!” Tony says, blinking. “You cloned Barnes but made him way cuter.”

“This is Barnes!” you cry, holding him up again.

Natasha’s eyes narrow. “No way.”

“Magic!” you snap. “He got hit yesterday! He woke up like this! He’s still him in the head too, he slapped me!”

“Ha!” Sam bursts out laughing. “Finally! I can breathe easy without metal fingers aiming for my throat.”

“I heard that!” you hiss, patting Bucky’s head. “He’s still mentally an assassin, just tiny.”

Steve, poor sweet Steve, walks closer with a soft gasp. “Buck?”

And before anyone can stop him, WHACK!

Baby Bucky slaps Steve. Hard.

Steve goes down like a plank.

The room falls silent.

Sam wheezes.

Natasha snorts.

Tony covers his face. “Okay, I’m not going near him.”

Bruce clears his throat. “There are only two people who might be able to undo this. Strange and Loki.”

“And?”

“They’re both off-world. Should be back in a few days.”

You groan, adjusting the baby in your arms as he snuggles smugly into your chest.

“Great. Fine. Everyone breathe! Clint!” you bark, turning sharply.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I need baby food. List is on the fridge, bring baby version of it. Stick to organic. He’s picky.”

Clint salutes and vanishes.

“Tony, Nat, you’re on baby clothes and gear. Diapers, pacifiers, a crib, stroller…everything.”

Tony mutters something about never being paid enough for this, while Natasha just nods and heads out with a hint of a smirk.

“And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Revive Steve. You’re in charge of his fainting ass.”

You pivot on your heel and storm back toward your room, cradling Bucky close, muttering under your breath.

“I swear to god, Bubba, if you poop on me, I will drop you in the sink.”

The only answer you get?

A tiny giggle.

You were sitting on the couch with Bucky nestled in your lap when he gives you the most pitiful look in history. His little brows furrow, and he pats his chubby tummy with both hands. Then again. And again. He even throws in a dramatic sigh for emphasis.

“Alright, alright, I get it…” you say, standing up. “You’re hungry. You could’ve asked, you know. Oh wait…you can’t.”

You carry him into the kitchen and settle him into a hastily rigged booster seat with towels, because Tony hasn’t delivered the high chair yet. He grunts, crossing his arms like a disrespected king, watching you suspiciously as you mash up bananas and pour warm milk into a cup.

“Fancy dinner for the Winter Small-dier,” you tease, scooping a little banana onto a spoon. “Say ‘ahh,’ Bubba.”

He glares, but opens his mouth.

You feed him, and for a moment, it’s peaceful. He chews thoughtfully. His little vibranium fingers drum against the tray like he’s plotting someone’s death.

But then, you lean forward to wipe banana off his cheek.

And that’s when it happens.

His hand pats your boob, just a soft little press.

You freeze.

He looks up at you with the cheekiest, most unrepentant smile you’ve ever seen on a baby’s face. It's not a curious baby-touch. It’s deliberate.

“James Buchanan Barnes!”

His smile gets wider.

“You behave.”

He giggles.

“Oh, don’t even try to pretend you're innocent. I know that smirk. I married that smirk.”

He has the audacity to wink, more like blink his eyes.

“I am not above putting you in the glittery tutu!” you warn.

That wipes the grin off, he resumes chewing like nothing happened.

Thankfully, the door opens just in time to break the tension. Tony and Natasha wheel in enough baby gear to start a daycare. Crib, car seat, wipes, diapers, a high chair, pacifiers, clothes, and a mountain of toys.

“God, I forgot how much babies need,” Natasha mutters.

Tony raises a brow. “You forgot? I invented tech that needs less assembly than this crap.”

“Thanks, guys…” you say sincerely, placing a now banana-streaked Bucky on your hip.

“You sure you’re okay with all this?” Nat asks, gesturing to the pink sippy cup now rolling across the floor.

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting Bucky. “We’re fine. Just about to give him a bath.”

Tony snorts. “Good luck with that. I’d rather wrestle a raccoon in heat.”

You smirk, oh naive you, “Please. How hard can it be?”

Ten minutes later, you deeply regret asking that question.

“BUCKY, STOP SPLASHING!”

Water soaks your hair, you’re kneeling beside the tub in shorts and a tank top, soaked to the bone. Bucky’s in the tiny inflatable baby tub, naked and wild-eyed, flailing his arms like he’s doing synchronized swimming.

The bathwater is now 70% water, 30% bubbles, and 100% chaos.

He kicks. Squeals. Giggles. Tosses the rubber duck like a grenade. Then, when you lean in with the loofah…Splash!

A tidal wave hits your face.

“BUCKY BARNES!”

He beams at you. Toothless. Proud. His little vibranium arm clinks against the side of the tub as he raises both arms in victory.

You stare at him, drenched, foam dripping from your chin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blows a raspberry.

You dry him off eventually, after nearly drowning and wrap him up in a hooded towel with tiny bear ears. He glares at the ears. You kiss his nose anyway.

“There…” you murmur, walking him back to your room. “Clean, fed, mildly demon-possessed, but you’re still mine.”

He snuggles into your neck, surprisingly calm after the bath, clutching a pacifier in one hand and your boob in the other.

“Tomorrow…” you whisper, laying him gently on the soft new mattress, “we find Strange. And we get you back to normal.”

He pats your boob again.

You stare at him.

He smiles.

You sigh.

“Okay how about something else?”

You’re finally towel-drying your hair when there’s a knock at your door, followed by a cautious, deep voice.

“Doll? Can I come in?”

You crack the door open and see Steve, now fully conscious, if not a little wide-eyed, standing there with a sheepish expression.

“Hey, Cap…” you smirk. “Feeling better after getting wrecked by a one-year-old?”

He flushes. “I wasn’t expecting him to slap me that hard.”

You open the door wider and gesture inside. Bucky is now on the floor in a green onesie that says “Born to Kill Naptime!” in bold red letters, gnawing on a rubber toy like it personally insulted him.

Steve walks in slowly, crouching near the tiny menace. “Hey, Buck…”

Bucky stares at him with that signature Barnes scowl, vibrating with toddler judgment.

“Okay…” you interrupt, grabbing your robe. “I haven’t showered since before the banana incident, so you’re on babysitting duty. Fifteen minutes. Just keep him alive and don’t let him assassinate anyone.”

Steve blinks. “You trust me with him?”

“You’re the only one who can dodge his tantrum punches. Maybe.” You toss him a diaper bag. “Good luck.”

You vanish into the bathroom, humming as the warm water hits your skin. Ten minutes of uninterrupted peace. Pure heaven.

Meanwhile, Steve squats down again. “Hey, buddy. Want to…read a book?”

Bucky picks up ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’.

Steve smiles. “Yeah! That one’s great!”

Then Bucky throws it like a shuriken. it slices past Steve’s ear.

Steve jumps. “Okay… no reading!”

Next, Bucky crawls toward the shelf. Steve chases after him, slow and careful, like he’s approaching a wild animal. But the moment Steve reaches out, Bucky disappears.

He turns. “What the…Bucky?”

From the top of the dresser, baby Bucky stares down triumphantly, somehow having scaled it like a tiny metal-armed mountain goat.

“What the hell!!!”

Bucky launches into a pillow pile. Laughs like a gremlin. Then crawls at Steve with breakneck speed.

Over the next ten minutes,

He dismantles a pacifier like it was a bomb, launches a baby bottle into Steve’s eye and hides behind the curtain and farts loudly, then giggles.

He even manages to activate FRIDAY by babbling, “fuh-die…” which causes half the lights in the room to dim.

By the time you step out, now clean, comfy in soft shorts and one of Bucky’s oversized T-shirts, you find Steve on the floor, holding the vibrating baby monitor like it’s a ticking grenade, while Bucky dances in the background to the Mission Impossible theme Tony accidentally synced to the smart speakers.

You blink, “So far so good?”

Steve just stares at you, barely surviving and shocked.

You smile sweetly, “Thanks for the help, Cap. You’ve earned a medal in toddler warfare.”

You scoop Bucky up again. He instantly nuzzles into your chest, acting sweet and innocent.

For half a second, then his hand moves.

Pat.

Right on the boob.

You stare down at him.

“James. Buchanan. Barnes.”

He grins shamelessly.

Steve chokes on air. “Did he just…?!”

“Yes. Again.” you sigh, bouncing him a little. “He has no shame and apparently, no survival instinct.”

Bucky giggles. Loudly. Proudly.

You shake your head. “I swear, when you’re back to normal, you’re gonna pay for every single one of these boob slaps.”

He just coos happily.

Later on, you’re in the kitchen blending together carrots, peas, and just enough applesauce to trick your tiny assassin into liking it when you hear Sam’s voice drift through the hall.

“I got this, he’s a baby. How hard can it be?”

You snort, poor Sam and his confidence.

Steve, standing off to the side with his arms folded and a bandage on his cheek from his previous babysitting session, just mutters, “Godspeed.”

You peek from behind the counter as Sam swoops in, all confidence and swagger, picking Bucky up under the arms.

“There he is! Who’s a little tough guy, huh?” Sam grins.

Bucky just stares at him.

That unreadable, blank assassin stare. Unblinking.

“Man, you can’t scare me with that look. I fought beside you, remember?” Sam boops Bucky on the nose. “You’re all bark, no bite now.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

Steve sighs and slowly walks backward out of the room.

And exactly five minutes later…

“NO, BUCKY…NOT THE WINGS!”

Sam runs by in a blur, Bucky somehow strapped to his back with a curtain sash, gleefully yanking on Redwing’s wing casing. The tiny drone sputters wildly in the air.

Tony walks into the room, mid-sip of his scotch. “What's all the screaming ab—HOLY CRAP!”

Bucky chucks a toy wrench with stunning accuracy. It hits one of Tony’s bot-assistants in the arm, and the mechanical limb clatters to the ground.

“He broke the arm!” Tony shouts, staring in horror. “That’s vibranium! That robot’s stronger than Rhodey!”

“AND HE’S BITING MY SHOULDER!” Sam shrieks, spinning like a top. “WHY IS HE PURRING?!”

Tony drops his drink. “Oh my god. He’s a gremlin.”

“No. He’s a tiny Winter Soldier with no filter and nothing to lose!” Sam stumbles past you, panic in his eyes. “TAKE HIM BACK. I’M TOO PRETTY TO DIE.”

You calmly turn off the blender.

And then, like magic, Bucky flings himself from Sam’s back and angelically lands in your arms. More like you took him.

He coos.

He nuzzles.

He blinks up at you like an innocent cherub that couldn’t possibly throw a screwdriver at high velocity or short-circuit Tony’s latest AI.

“Aw,” you croon. “Look at you, acting all sweet.”

Sam stumbles into the wall behind you, wild-eyed and panting. “He’s a demon. He’s an adorable, pink-cheeked hell spawn. Don’t be fooled.”

Bucky gazes up at you, soft, perfect, angelic.

Then he pats.

Right on the boob.

You freeze, “Seriously?!”

Steve groans from the doorway. “Again?”

Tony covers his mouth. “He’s got a pattern.”

You hold Bucky up in front of your face. He’s grinning so wide his dimples might split his cheeks.

“James Buchanan Barnes…” you say slowly. “You will regret this when you’re normal.”

He blows you a kiss, which is a raspberry.

You narrow your eyes. “I’m buying nipple armor. This is war!”

Sam lies on the floor, moaning, “He called me ‘bird bitch’ with his eyes. I felt it.”

You pat Bucky’s back and sigh. “Alright, time for baby lunch and then nap time. And no more boob slapping.”

Pat.

You scream into a burp cloth.

It’s late, the compound is quiet, too quiet after a day filled with baby tantrums, flying diapers, and Sam screaming “CODE RED!” over the comms. But now, it’s just you and your baby assassin curled up in your bed under a mountain of soft blankets.

Bucky lets out a little sigh as you pull him closer, his warm little body wriggling against yours. His vibranium arm rests cool against your stomach while his human one finds its favorite place.

Your boob.

You don’t even fight it anymore. It’s not perverted. It’s comfort. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

He snuggles deeper into your chest like it’s home and in a way, it is.

“I swear,” you whisper into his fluff of dark hair, “you’re boob-holic!”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just gives your boob a soft pat. As if confirming, “Yes, still there. Safe.”

You sigh.

“He used to hold my waist like this,” you murmur to no one. “Used to bury his face in my neck after missions. Now he buries it in my boobs.”

Days pass, everyone took turns watching him.

Clint tried and got shot with a pacifier launched by Bucky.

Sam refused to re-enter the room after Bucky climbed onto the kitchen counter and threw pudding at him like a war general.

Bruce babysat once. Once.

But Natasha?

Oh, he behaved for Natasha. Sat quietly on her lap like a perfect little soldier while she played his tiny fingers and called him “Boss Baby.”

“I think he’s scare of her…” you muttered once.

Tony nodded solemnly. “Same.”

Still, every night Bucky curled into you. Grabbed his boob. Slept like a dream. And you? You missed him.

Not this chubby, feral, clingy little man-child who throws applesauce like a grenade and tries to fight the mirror.

No, you missed your husband.

The smirking, dominant, deliciously frustrating man who could make your knees weak just by saying “Doll” in that voice.

You missed his hands. His lips. His…

Pat.

You blink down.

“Seriously?” you whisper as Bucky gives your left boob a thoughtful pat.

Then, pat pat, goes the right one, like he’s evaluating them.

“Okay, you’re getting too comfortable with this.”

Another pat pat pat.

“Alright, that’s it.” You swing out of bed, Bucky still in your arms, cradled like a smug little king.

You storm into the hall, where Steve is nursing a juice box (the stress has aged him twenty years in three days).

“Steve!”

He looks up, wary. “Uh-oh.”

“Where the hell are Strange and Loki?”

He blinks. “I…I don’t know. Still on a mission. Last I heard they were in another realm?”

“Tell them to hurry the hell up.” You hold up Bucky like a furry weapon of mass boob destruction. “I miss my man. I miss my sex life. And if this mini perv touches my boob one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

Bucky giggles. Pats your boob again.

Steve turns pale. “Okay. Yeah. Got it. I’ll page them. Right now. I mean call them!”

You spin on your heel and head back to your room.

Bucky’s still snickering.

“You think you’re clever…” you mutter, plopping onto the bed again.

He snuggles in and grabs a boob.

You sigh, “You win…”

You were gone for two minutes.

TWO.

You’d just gone to grab his bottle from the warmer. You’d hidden all the sharp utensils ahead of time, no forks, no knives, not even a butter spreader in sight.

But you forgot the spoons.

And Bucky found them.

You walked back in and froze.

There he was, baby Bucky Barnes, standing triumphantly on the kitchen counter, dual-wielding tiny silver spoons like they were combat daggers. His eyes narrowed in pure assassin focus. The glint in his baby blues screamed Winter Soldier mode activated.

“BUCKY!” you gasped, dropping the bottle.

He screamed, a fierce little battle cry, and launched one of the spoons at Sam, who’d just walked in with his coffee.

Direct hit, coffee everywhere. And Sam flailed, “WHAT THE HELL…”

You lunged, snatching Bucky off the counter just as he reared back with spoon number two.

He wiggled in your arms, trying to line up a shot, until your hand wrapped around his chubby middle and you brought him face to face with you.

“Absolutely not!” you said sternly.

He pouted.

You glared.

Pat.

On the boob.

You sighed. “That’s not going to save you every time.”

But he grinned, resting his head on your chest like he hadn’t just committed a war crime.

Later that day, the team was lounging in the common room, watching you feed Bucky with practiced ease, spoonful of mashed apples here, soft little coos there. Bucky was perched on your hip like a prince being hand-fed grapes.

“How come he behaves only with her?” Sam grumbled, arms crossed and still damp from his coffee disaster.

Tony didn’t even look up from his tablet. “It’s the boob pats.”

You glared.

“I’m just saying,” Tony added, raising a hand defensively, “if I had a boob-shaped pillow strapped to me 24/7, I’d behave too.”

“I’ll break your jaw and call Pepper!” you replied sweetly.

Natasha, watching from the armchair, just smiled faintly and said, “He behaves because she’s the only person in the world he trusts more than himself.”

There was a rare hush, even Bucky paused mid-spoonful. You blinked, heart fluttering. “Aw, Nat…”

Then Bucky launched applesauce at Sam again.

Balance restored.

A few days later, you were in the hallway, helping Bucky sip water from a small cup, when you felt it, the distinct tingle of portal magic humming through the compound.

You looked up.

Right there, across the corridor, the air shimmered and swirled into a swirling golden disk. Your breath caught.

“Bucky…” you whispered, eyes wide, “they’re here.”

Two figures stepped through, robes, arrogance, and magic crackling off them in waves.

Doctor Stephen Strange.

And Loki Laufeyson.

“We came as soon as we…”

SMACK.

A tiny cup of water flew with surgical precision, nailing Strange square in the face.

Loki didn’t even have time to blink before a baby spoon followed, catching him in the chest like a blunt projectile of war.

“What the…”

You held Bucky tighter.

He smirked.

“Sorry!!!” you called over their stunned silence, “he’s been waiting.”

Strange wiped water off his nose and stared at the tiny assassin in your arms.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “You mean to tell me this creature is the feared Winter Soldier?”

Bucky gave him the deadliest baby glare ever recorded.

And then patted your boob.

Strange blinked. “Well. Let’s get to work.”

You had one arm around Bucky and the other cradling his little baby foot as Strange and Loki stood in the center of the living room, rolling their eyes and muttering Latin or was it Norse? incantations over glowing relics and swirling energies.

The rest of the team had gathered like it was movie night.

Natasha leaned against the wall, arms crossed, cool and unreadable.

Sam had popcorn.

Tony was recording.

Steve, bless him, looked like he was holding a prayer circle in his head.

Bruce sat on the floor scribbling notes like this was science. It wasn't.

And you?

You were in the center of the chaos, cross-legged on the rug with one very smug, very tiny Bucky Barnes perched in your lap like royalty.

“Don’t move!” Strange warned, his fingers crackling with golden threads of spell energy.

“Can he behave for five minutes?” Loki grumbled, adjusting his leather sleeves with flair.

You felt a small pat on your chest.

You didn’t even have to look down.

“James Buchanan Barnes…” you said, voice low.

Pat pat.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re about to be an adult again. Do not test me.”

He looked up at you, full of cheeky baby glee, and patted your boob with both hands.

The team groaned in unison.

“Okay, just change him now!” Sam said, “I can’t watch this horndog-infant thing anymore.”

The spell begins, Strange’s voice deepened, echoing with arcane weight, while Loki joined in with fluid, melodic power.

A wind swept the room from nowhere, curling around you and Bucky in spirals of energy. His baby hairs lifted. His tiny body started to glow faintly, surrounded by flickers of golden magic laced with green.

You felt it before you saw it, Bucky going still, his chubby hands holding tighter onto you. His breath hitched, a flicker of uncertainty behind his clear blue eyes.

You brought him close, pressed your lips to his temple.

“I’m right here, bubba…” you whispered.

Flash.

The magic surged and suddenly,

Flashback after flashback,

Bucky on a rooftop in Madripoor, bleeding but laughing after saving your ass.

Bucky carrying you bridal style after your last mission, whispering how proud he was.

Bucky under soft sheets, nuzzled between your thighs, telling you how much he loves you.

The wedding. That kiss. The tears. The forever.

And then a brilliant burst of light exploded from the circle, throwing your head back.

You blinked through the afterglow and gasped.

He was there.

Full-sized Bucky.

Fully adult.

Fully naked.

And still very much in your lap.

You made a choking noise and immediately yanked the throw blanket from the couch, throwing it over his lap and wrapping it around his hips, shielding him from everyone’s view.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Bucky blinked, then looked up at you, his smirk slow, familiar, and deeply satisfied.

He raised one arm, his flesh one, just to mess with them and gave your boob one last pat.

“Worth it.” he rasped.

The entire team groaned.

Steve straight up walked into a wall.

Natasha smirked. “Welcome back, pervert.”

Sam was howling with laughter.

Tony ended the recording, “We are never deleting this.”

You buried your face into Bucky’s shoulder, torn between hysterics and the sudden urge to ravish him.

He tilted his head, whispering, “Hey, Doll... you think we can get everyone to leave in the next five minutes?”

You grinned. “If I tell them you’re going for round two of the boob pats, they’ll vanish in three.”

You couldn’t stop smiling.

Even as you helped Bucky tuck the blanket tighter around his waist, even as Sam whooped and Tony made very inappropriate jokes about “rebooting” Bucky, your entire body was humming with pure relief.

He was back.

Your Bucky. Your husband. Your partner. Your best friend.

You turned to Loki and Strange, eyes glassy, “Thank you. Thank you, thank you…thank you.”

Loki smirked, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Your assassin-child hybrid was...unsettling.”

Strange grunted. “Tell him if he slaps me again, I’ll turn him into a potted plant next time.”

You grinned and tugged Bucky by the hand.

“Come on, Doll,” he teased with that familiar, devastating smirk. “Don’t want to thank them again?”

“I want to climb you like a damn tree!” you hissed through your smile.

He choked on a laugh and followed you eagerly.

Once inside your shared bedroom, the door slammed behind you.

The second it clicked shut, you turned and pounced.

You jumped on Bucky, as he caught you mid-air like instinct, blanket falling off as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He stumbled back against the door, breath catching.

“Easy, Tiger…” he murmured, voice low and smoky. “Didn’t think you missed me that much.”

“I had to wipe your baby ass, Barnes,” you growled, dragging your lips over his jaw. “You owe me so much sex.”

He laughed, full and deep and so utterly him. His hands gripped your thighs, his metal fingers spreading wide. “Doll, I’ve had nothing but time to think about this.”

You stared into his eyes, the blue darker now, simmering.

“I missed you…” you whispered. “Like crazy.”

His expression softened. “I know. I saw you... I remember all of it. You taking care of me. Sleeping with me. Defending me. Feeding me…”

His voice dropped lower.

“Letting me touch your tits like a king.”

You smacked his chest, “You were a menace...”

He grinned, then caught your face in his hands, pulling you in for a kiss that nearly unmade you.

Slow at first, reverent, grateful, then desperate and hungry.

You clung to him, kissing like you could drink each other, like you’d been starved. He carried you to the bed, laying you down, crawling over you like the predator you’d missed so damn much.

His mouth found your neck, his hands greedy, possessive.

“You wore my shirts. You bathed me. You held me against your boobs every night.”

“You liked that…” you panted as he kissed down your throat.

“I lived for that!” he growled, pushing the hem of your top higher. “But this…this is what I’ve been dying for.”

You reached for him, pulling him down, gasping as your bodies finally aligned, no barriers, no blankets, no baby giggles.

Just you and Bucky.

You whispered his name again and again as clothes disappeared, breaths shortened, and the only sound in the room was love rediscovered in every touch, every moan, every grind.

It was slow.

It was hot.

It was everything you’d been aching for.

And in the afterglow, when you were tangled together in the sheets, legs knotted, lips swollen, he buried his face in your neck and murmured, “Next time I get hit by magic, just kill me.”

You laughed, breathless. “Not a chance, bubba. You’re mine.”

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@peaches1958 @sebbymybaby21

[sosa2imagines]

Bucky Baby!

Warning- Fluff, boobs appreciation, little smut and Bucky Barnes!

You wake up to silence.

Which, in itself, should have been the first red flag.

No weight crushing your chest. No warm stubble against your neck. No muscled arm lazily thrown over your waist like a weighted blanket. No soft morning grumbles from your grumpy husband, who hated waking up before ten unless someone was bleeding or you were naked.

Your brows furrow as you blink away sleep, reaching out with a hand to the side of the bed where Bucky usually was.

Cold sheets.

Empty space.

You sit up quickly, heart skipping a beat as your assassin instincts fire to life. “Bucky?” you call out, voice still hoarse from sleep.

There was no reply.

Then you notice it.

His clothes, on the floor.

Not just his pants and shirt, but everything. Socks. Boxers. Even his dog tags tangled. All of it thrown in a haphazard pile near the foot of the bed.

And in the center of that chaos, your jaw drops.

A baby. A literal baby.

Chubby, soft, and probably not more than a year old, sitting perfectly upright in the middle of the mess. Very much naked. With a shock of dark brown hair curling slightly at the ends. Ice-blue eyes glaring up at you with a level of intensity no baby should be capable of.

And then you see it.

The tiniest vibranium arm you’ve ever seen, sleek, black with delicate gold plating, fitted just perfectly on his tiny little shoulder.

“No…” you whisper, hand flying to your mouth. “No no no…it can’t be!”

The baby narrows his eyes at you.

Scowl.

You blink.

Death glare.

Your eyes widen.

Pout.

“Oh my god, it can be!!!”

You scramble out of bed and kneel in front of him slowly, like approaching a dangerous predator. He doesn’t move. Just gives you a look that practically screams it’s about time.

Then, he sticks his tongue out at you.

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, Bucky. Is that really you?”

The baby raises both tiny arms, one flesh, one metal and gives you the most dramatic sigh a baby could possibly produce.

You pick him up gently, cradling his warm little body to your chest. His pout deepens as he tries to look unimpressed, but the way he nuzzles into your neck kind of gives him away.

“You got hit by magic yesterday, didn’t you?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his ridiculously soft hair.

He nods once. Very seriously. Like he’s confirming a mission report.

“Well…” you sigh, chuckling into his baby ear, “at least you’re still you, Bubba.”

You feel the tiniest of giggling, giggles vibrate against your collarbone.

Your ruthless, hundred-year-old assassin husband just giggled.

Still snuggling him close, you whisper, “God help whoever’s responsible for this.”

Because James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier turned cuddle monster, might be tiny right now, but he’s still the deadliest baby alive.

You rifle through your drawers with a snort and zero guilt.

He’s glaring at you from the bed, arms folded, baby chest puffed out, lips pursed in silent judgment, as he sits on the oversized pillow you fluffed up for him. His metal arm keeps twitching like he’s seriously considering launching a tiny knife at you. Which, frankly, wouldn’t even be surprising.

You dangle the crop top in front of him.

It’s pink. With glittery letters that say “Spicy Like Sriracha!” across the front.

Bucky scowls deeper.

“Yes, I could dress you in something neutral, but where’s the fun in that?” you grin, leaning down to grab him. “Besides, your death glares look extra adorable in pink.”

You’re sure he growled. You’re also sure it came out like a sneeze.

You wrestle him into it with difficulty. The tiny vibranium arm proves problematic, but eventually, after a few near bites (he really tried to chomp you), you manage to get the shirt on.

It barely covers his chubby thighs.

He looks furious.

And like the cutest damn thing you’ve ever seen.

“Aww, you look spicy…” you tease, booping his nose. “Bet you still think you’re scary.”

He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a frustrated “Baaa!”

You scoop him into your arms again, holding him up like Simba, studying his face.

“How are you still so expressive?” you ask, mock squinting at him. “Like…is your brain actually intact in there? Do you…”

SLAP!

Tiny hand, right across your cheek.

You freeze.

He stares at you, unbothered, smug even. The slap wasn’t hard, but the audacity.

“Well damn…” you mutter, blinking. “Guess that answers everything.”

Cradling him in your arms, now cradled like royalty, because you’re not risking another slap, you bolt out of the room, yelling,

“FRIDAY! Call everyone to the common room. Emergency!”

“Understood, Mrs. Barnes. Alerting the team now.”

By the time you get there, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve, Clint, and Bruce are either half-dressed or bleary-eyed. Some in pajamas.

All staring at you as you barge in, breathless, holding a pink crop-top-wearing baby with a vibranium arm who looks ready to declare war.

“Oh my god!” Tony says, blinking. “You cloned Barnes but made him way cuter.”

“This is Barnes!” you cry, holding him up again.

Natasha’s eyes narrow. “No way.”

“Magic!” you snap. “He got hit yesterday! He woke up like this! He’s still him in the head too, he slapped me!”

“Ha!” Sam bursts out laughing. “Finally! I can breathe easy without metal fingers aiming for my throat.”

“I heard that!” you hiss, patting Bucky’s head. “He’s still mentally an assassin, just tiny.”

Steve, poor sweet Steve, walks closer with a soft gasp. “Buck?”

And before anyone can stop him, WHACK!

Baby Bucky slaps Steve. Hard.

Steve goes down like a plank.

The room falls silent.

Sam wheezes.

Natasha snorts.

Tony covers his face. “Okay, I’m not going near him.”

Bruce clears his throat. “There are only two people who might be able to undo this. Strange and Loki.”

“And?”

“They’re both off-world. Should be back in a few days.”

You groan, adjusting the baby in your arms as he snuggles smugly into your chest.

“Great. Fine. Everyone breathe! Clint!” you bark, turning sharply.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I need baby food. List is on the fridge, bring baby version of it. Stick to organic. He’s picky.”

Clint salutes and vanishes.

“Tony, Nat, you’re on baby clothes and gear. Diapers, pacifiers, a crib, stroller…everything.”

Tony mutters something about never being paid enough for this, while Natasha just nods and heads out with a hint of a smirk.

“And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Revive Steve. You’re in charge of his fainting ass.”

You pivot on your heel and storm back toward your room, cradling Bucky close, muttering under your breath.

“I swear to god, Bubba, if you poop on me, I will drop you in the sink.”

The only answer you get?

A tiny giggle.

You were sitting on the couch with Bucky nestled in your lap when he gives you the most pitiful look in history. His little brows furrow, and he pats his chubby tummy with both hands. Then again. And again. He even throws in a dramatic sigh for emphasis.

“Alright, alright, I get it…” you say, standing up. “You’re hungry. You could’ve asked, you know. Oh wait…you can’t.��

You carry him into the kitchen and settle him into a hastily rigged booster seat with towels, because Tony hasn’t delivered the high chair yet. He grunts, crossing his arms like a disrespected king, watching you suspiciously as you mash up bananas and pour warm milk into a cup.

“Fancy dinner for the Winter Small-dier,” you tease, scooping a little banana onto a spoon. “Say ‘ahh,’ Bubba.”

He glares, but opens his mouth.

You feed him, and for a moment, it’s peaceful. He chews thoughtfully. His little vibranium fingers drum against the tray like he’s plotting someone’s death.

But then, you lean forward to wipe banana off his cheek.

And that’s when it happens.

His hand pats your boob, just a soft little press.

You freeze.

He looks up at you with the cheekiest, most unrepentant smile you’ve ever seen on a baby’s face. It's not a curious baby-touch. It’s deliberate.

“James Buchanan Barnes!”

His smile gets wider.

“You behave.”

He giggles.

“Oh, don’t even try to pretend you're innocent. I know that smirk. I married that smirk.”

He has the audacity to wink, more like blink his eyes.

“I am not above putting you in the glittery tutu!” you warn.

That wipes the grin off, he resumes chewing like nothing happened.

Thankfully, the door opens just in time to break the tension. Tony and Natasha wheel in enough baby gear to start a daycare. Crib, car seat, wipes, diapers, a high chair, pacifiers, clothes, and a mountain of toys.

“God, I forgot how much babies need,” Natasha mutters.

Tony raises a brow. “You forgot? I invented tech that needs less assembly than this crap.”

“Thanks, guys…” you say sincerely, placing a now banana-streaked Bucky on your hip.

“You sure you’re okay with all this?” Nat asks, gesturing to the pink sippy cup now rolling across the floor.

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting Bucky. “We’re fine. Just about to give him a bath.”

Tony snorts. “Good luck with that. I’d rather wrestle a raccoon in heat.”

You smirk, oh naive you, “Please. How hard can it be?”

Ten minutes later, you deeply regret asking that question.

“BUCKY, STOP SPLASHING!”

Water soaks your hair, you’re kneeling beside the tub in shorts and a tank top, soaked to the bone. Bucky’s in the tiny inflatable baby tub, naked and wild-eyed, flailing his arms like he’s doing synchronized swimming.

The bathwater is now 70% water, 30% bubbles, and 100% chaos.

He kicks. Squeals. Giggles. Tosses the rubber duck like a grenade. Then, when you lean in with the loofah…Splash!

A tidal wave hits your face.

“BUCKY BARNES!”

He beams at you. Toothless. Proud. His little vibranium arm clinks against the side of the tub as he raises both arms in victory.

You stare at him, drenched, foam dripping from your chin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blows a raspberry.

You dry him off eventually, after nearly drowning and wrap him up in a hooded towel with tiny bear ears. He glares at the ears. You kiss his nose anyway.

“There…” you murmur, walking him back to your room. “Clean, fed, mildly demon-possessed, but you’re still mine.”

He snuggles into your neck, surprisingly calm after the bath, clutching a pacifier in one hand and your boob in the other.

“Tomorrow…” you whisper, laying him gently on the soft new mattress, “we find Strange. And we get you back to normal.”

He pats your boob again.

You stare at him.

He smiles.

You sigh.

“Okay how about something else?”

You’re finally towel-drying your hair when there’s a knock at your door, followed by a cautious, deep voice.

“Doll? Can I come in?”

You crack the door open and see Steve, now fully conscious, if not a little wide-eyed, standing there with a sheepish expression.

“Hey, Cap…” you smirk. “Feeling better after getting wrecked by a one-year-old?”

He flushes. “I wasn’t expecting him to slap me that hard.”

You open the door wider and gesture inside. Bucky is now on the floor in a green onesie that says “Born to Kill Naptime!” in bold red letters, gnawing on a rubber toy like it personally insulted him.

Steve walks in slowly, crouching near the tiny menace. “Hey, Buck…”

Bucky stares at him with that signature Barnes scowl, vibrating with toddler judgment.

“Okay…” you interrupt, grabbing your robe. “I haven’t showered since before the banana incident, so you’re on babysitting duty. Fifteen minutes. Just keep him alive and don’t let him assassinate anyone.”

Steve blinks. “You trust me with him?”

“You’re the only one who can dodge his tantrum punches. Maybe.” You toss him a diaper bag. “Good luck.”

You vanish into the bathroom, humming as the warm water hits your skin. Ten minutes of uninterrupted peace. Pure heaven.

Meanwhile, Steve squats down again. “Hey, buddy. Want to…read a book?”

Bucky picks up ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’.

Steve smiles. “Yeah! That one’s great!”

Then Bucky throws it like a shuriken. it slices past Steve’s ear.

Steve jumps. “Okay… no reading!”

Next, Bucky crawls toward the shelf. Steve chases after him, slow and careful, like he’s approaching a wild animal. But the moment Steve reaches out, Bucky disappears.

He turns. “What the…Bucky?”

From the top of the dresser, baby Bucky stares down triumphantly, somehow having scaled it like a tiny metal-armed mountain goat.

“What the hell!!!”

Bucky launches into a pillow pile. Laughs like a gremlin. Then crawls at Steve with breakneck speed.

Over the next ten minutes,

He dismantles a pacifier like it was a bomb, launches a baby bottle into Steve’s eye and hides behind the curtain and farts loudly, then giggles.

He even manages to activate FRIDAY by babbling, “fuh-die…” which causes half the lights in the room to dim.

By the time you step out, now clean, comfy in soft shorts and one of Bucky’s oversized T-shirts, you find Steve on the floor, holding the vibrating baby monitor like it’s a ticking grenade, while Bucky dances in the background to the Mission Impossible theme Tony accidentally synced to the smart speakers.

You blink, “So far so good?”

Steve just stares at you, barely surviving and shocked.

You smile sweetly, “Thanks for the help, Cap. You’ve earned a medal in toddler warfare.”

You scoop Bucky up again. He instantly nuzzles into your chest, acting sweet and innocent.

For half a second, then his hand moves.

Pat.

Right on the boob.

You stare down at him.

“James. Buchanan. Barnes.”

He grins shamelessly.

Steve chokes on air. “Did he just…?!”

“Yes. Again.” you sigh, bouncing him a little. “He has no shame and apparently, no survival instinct.”

Bucky giggles. Loudly. Proudly.

You shake your head. “I swear, when you’re back to normal, you’re gonna pay for every single one of these boob slaps.”

He just coos happily.

Later on, you’re in the kitchen blending together carrots, peas, and just enough applesauce to trick your tiny assassin into liking it when you hear Sam’s voice drift through the hall.

“I got this, he’s a baby. How hard can it be?”

You snort, poor Sam and his confidence.

Steve, standing off to the side with his arms folded and a bandage on his cheek from his previous babysitting session, just mutters, “Godspeed.”

You peek from behind the counter as Sam swoops in, all confidence and swagger, picking Bucky up under the arms.

“There he is! Who’s a little tough guy, huh?” Sam grins.

Bucky just stares at him.

That unreadable, blank assassin stare. Unblinking.

“Man, you can’t scare me with that look. I fought beside you, remember?” Sam boops Bucky on the nose. “You’re all bark, no bite now.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

Steve sighs and slowly walks backward out of the room.

And exactly five minutes later…

“NO, BUCKY…NOT THE WINGS!”

Sam runs by in a blur, Bucky somehow strapped to his back with a curtain sash, gleefully yanking on Redwing’s wing casing. The tiny drone sputters wildly in the air.

Tony walks into the room, mid-sip of his scotch. “What's all the screaming ab—HOLY CRAP!”

Bucky chucks a toy wrench with stunning accuracy. It hits one of Tony’s bot-assistants in the arm, and the mechanical limb clatters to the ground.

“He broke the arm!” Tony shouts, staring in horror. “That’s vibranium! That robot’s stronger than Rhodey!”

“AND HE’S BITING MY SHOULDER!” Sam shrieks, spinning like a top. “WHY IS HE PURRING?!”

Tony drops his drink. “Oh my god. He’s a gremlin.”

“No. He’s a tiny Winter Soldier with no filter and nothing to lose!” Sam stumbles past you, panic in his eyes. “TAKE HIM BACK. I’M TOO PRETTY TO DIE.”

You calmly turn off the blender.

And then, like magic, Bucky flings himself from Sam’s back and angelically lands in your arms. More like you took him.

He coos.

He nuzzles.

He blinks up at you like an innocent cherub that couldn’t possibly throw a screwdriver at high velocity or short-circuit Tony’s latest AI.

“Aw,” you croon. “Look at you, acting all sweet.”

Sam stumbles into the wall behind you, wild-eyed and panting. “He’s a demon. He’s an adorable, pink-cheeked hell spawn. Don’t be fooled.”

Bucky gazes up at you, soft, perfect, angelic.

Then he pats.

Right on the boob.

You freeze, “Seriously?!”

Steve groans from the doorway. “Again?”

Tony covers his mouth. “He’s got a pattern.”

You hold Bucky up in front of your face. He’s grinning so wide his dimples might split his cheeks.

“James Buchanan Barnes…” you say slowly. “You will regret this when you’re normal.”

He blows you a kiss, which is a raspberry.

You narrow your eyes. “I’m buying nipple armor. This is war!”

Sam lies on the floor, moaning, “He called me ‘bird bitch’ with his eyes. I felt it.”

You pat Bucky’s back and sigh. “Alright, time for baby lunch and then nap time. And no more boob slapping.”

Pat.

You scream into a burp cloth.

It’s late, the compound is quiet, too quiet after a day filled with baby tantrums, flying diapers, and Sam screaming “CODE RED!” over the comms. But now, it’s just you and your baby assassin curled up in your bed under a mountain of soft blankets.

Bucky lets out a little sigh as you pull him closer, his warm little body wriggling against yours. His vibranium arm rests cool against your stomach while his human one finds its favorite place.

Your boob.

You don’t even fight it anymore. It’s not perverted. It’s comfort. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

He snuggles deeper into your chest like it’s home and in a way, it is.

“I swear,” you whisper into his fluff of dark hair, “you’re boob-holic!”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just gives your boob a soft pat. As if confirming, “Yes, still there. Safe.”

You sigh.

“He used to hold my waist like this,” you murmur to no one. “Used to bury his face in my neck after missions. Now he buries it in my boobs.”

Days pass, everyone took turns watching him.

Clint tried and got shot with a pacifier launched by Bucky.

Sam refused to re-enter the room after Bucky climbed onto the kitchen counter and threw pudding at him like a war general.

Bruce babysat once. Once.

But Natasha?

Oh, he behaved for Natasha. Sat quietly on her lap like a perfect little soldier while she played his tiny fingers and called him “Boss Baby.”

“I think he’s scare of her…” you muttered once.

Tony nodded solemnly. “Same.”

Still, every night Bucky curled into you. Grabbed his boob. Slept like a dream. And you? You missed him.

Not this chubby, feral, clingy little man-child who throws applesauce like a grenade and tries to fight the mirror.

No, you missed your husband.

The smirking, dominant, deliciously frustrating man who could make your knees weak just by saying “Doll” in that voice.

You missed his hands. His lips. His…

Pat.

You blink down.

“Seriously?” you whisper as Bucky gives your left boob a thoughtful pat.

Then, pat pat, goes the right one, like he’s evaluating them.

“Okay, you’re getting too comfortable with this.”

Another pat pat pat.

“Alright, that’s it.” You swing out of bed, Bucky still in your arms, cradled like a smug little king.

You storm into the hall, where Steve is nursing a juice box (the stress has aged him twenty years in three days).

“Steve!”

He looks up, wary. “Uh-oh.”

“Where the hell are Strange and Loki?”

He blinks. “I…I don’t know. Still on a mission. Last I heard they were in another realm?”

“Tell them to hurry the hell up.” You hold up Bucky like a furry weapon of mass boob destruction. “I miss my man. I miss my sex life. And if this mini perv touches my boob one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

Bucky giggles. Pats your boob again.

Steve turns pale. “Okay. Yeah. Got it. I’ll page them. Right now. I mean call them!”

You spin on your heel and head back to your room.

Bucky’s still snickering.

“You think you’re clever…” you mutter, plopping onto the bed again.

He snuggles in and grabs a boob.

You sigh, “You win…”

You were gone for two minutes.

TWO.

You’d just gone to grab his bottle from the warmer. You’d hidden all the sharp utensils ahead of time, no forks, no knives, not even a butter spreader in sight.

But you forgot the spoons.

And Bucky found them.

You walked back in and froze.

There he was, baby Bucky Barnes, standing triumphantly on the kitchen counter, dual-wielding tiny silver spoons like they were combat daggers. His eyes narrowed in pure assassin focus. The glint in his baby blues screamed Winter Soldier mode activated.

“BUCKY!” you gasped, dropping the bottle.

He screamed, a fierce little battle cry, and launched one of the spoons at Sam, who’d just walked in with his coffee.

Direct hit, coffee everywhere. And Sam flailed, “WHAT THE HELL…”

You lunged, snatching Bucky off the counter just as he reared back with spoon number two.

He wiggled in your arms, trying to line up a shot, until your hand wrapped around his chubby middle and you brought him face to face with you.

“Absolutely not!” you said sternly.

He pouted.

You glared.

Pat.

On the boob.

You sighed. “That’s not going to save you every time.”

But he grinned, resting his head on your chest like he hadn’t just committed a war crime.

Later that day, the team was lounging in the common room, watching you feed Bucky with practiced ease, spoonful of mashed apples here, soft little coos there. Bucky was perched on your hip like a prince being hand-fed grapes.

“How come he behaves only with her?” Sam grumbled, arms crossed and still damp from his coffee disaster.

Tony didn’t even look up from his tablet. “It’s the boob pats.”

You glared.

“I’m just saying,” Tony added, raising a hand defensively, “if I had a boob-shaped pillow strapped to me 24/7, I’d behave too.”

“I’ll break your jaw and call Pepper!” you replied sweetly.

Natasha, watching from the armchair, just smiled faintly and said, “He behaves because she’s the only person in the world he trusts more than himself.”

There was a rare hush, even Bucky paused mid-spoonful. You blinked, heart fluttering. “Aw, Nat…”

Then Bucky launched applesauce at Sam again.

Balance restored.

A few days later, you were in the hallway, helping Bucky sip water from a small cup, when you felt it, the distinct tingle of portal magic humming through the compound.

You looked up.

Right there, across the corridor, the air shimmered and swirled into a swirling golden disk. Your breath caught.

“Bucky…” you whispered, eyes wide, “they’re here.”

Two figures stepped through, robes, arrogance, and magic crackling off them in waves.

Doctor Stephen Strange.

And Loki Laufeyson.

“We came as soon as we…”

SMACK.

A tiny cup of water flew with surgical precision, nailing Strange square in the face.

Loki didn’t even have time to blink before a baby spoon followed, catching him in the chest like a blunt projectile of war.

“What the…”

You held Bucky tighter.

He smirked.

“Sorry!!!” you called over their stunned silence, “he’s been waiting.”

Strange wiped water off his nose and stared at the tiny assassin in your arms.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “You mean to tell me this creature is the feared Winter Soldier?”

Bucky gave him the deadliest baby glare ever recorded.

And then patted your boob.

Strange blinked. “Well. Let’s get to work.”

You had one arm around Bucky and the other cradling his little baby foot as Strange and Loki stood in the center of the living room, rolling their eyes and muttering Latin or was it Norse? incantations over glowing relics and swirling energies.

The rest of the team had gathered like it was movie night.

Natasha leaned against the wall, arms crossed, cool and unreadable.

Sam had popcorn.

Tony was recording.

Steve, bless him, looked like he was holding a prayer circle in his head.

Bruce sat on the floor scribbling notes like this was science. It wasn't.

And you?

You were in the center of the chaos, cross-legged on the rug with one very smug, very tiny Bucky Barnes perched in your lap like royalty.

“Don’t move!” Strange warned, his fingers crackling with golden threads of spell energy.

“Can he behave for five minutes?” Loki grumbled, adjusting his leather sleeves with flair.

You felt a small pat on your chest.

You didn’t even have to look down.

“James Buchanan Barnes…” you said, voice low.

Pat pat.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re about to be an adult again. Do not test me.”

He looked up at you, full of cheeky baby glee, and patted your boob with both hands.

The team groaned in unison.

“Okay, just change him now!” Sam said, “I can’t watch this horndog-infant thing anymore.”

The spell begins, Strange’s voice deepened, echoing with arcane weight, while Loki joined in with fluid, melodic power.

A wind swept the room from nowhere, curling around you and Bucky in spirals of energy. His baby hairs lifted. His tiny body started to glow faintly, surrounded by flickers of golden magic laced with green.

You felt it before you saw it, Bucky going still, his chubby hands holding tighter onto you. His breath hitched, a flicker of uncertainty behind his clear blue eyes.

You brought him close, pressed your lips to his temple.

“I’m right here, bubba…” you whispered.

Flash.

The magic surged and suddenly,

Flashback after flashback,

Bucky on a rooftop in Madripoor, bleeding but laughing after saving your ass.

Bucky carrying you bridal style after your last mission, whispering how proud he was.

Bucky under soft sheets, nuzzled between your thighs, telling you how much he loves you.

The wedding. That kiss. The tears. The forever.

And then a brilliant burst of light exploded from the circle, throwing your head back.

You blinked through the afterglow and gasped.

He was there.

Full-sized Bucky.

Fully adult.

Fully naked.

And still very much in your lap.

You made a choking noise and immediately yanked the throw blanket from the couch, throwing it over his lap and wrapping it around his hips, shielding him from everyone’s view.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Bucky blinked, then looked up at you, his smirk slow, familiar, and deeply satisfied.

He raised one arm, his flesh one, just to mess with them and gave your boob one last pat.

“Worth it.” he rasped.

The entire team groaned.

Steve straight up walked into a wall.

Natasha smirked. “Welcome back, pervert.”

Sam was howling with laughter.

Tony ended the recording, “We are never deleting this.”

You buried your face into Bucky’s shoulder, torn between hysterics and the sudden urge to ravish him.

He tilted his head, whispering, “Hey, Doll... you think we can get everyone to leave in the next five minutes?”

You grinned. “If I tell them you’re going for round two of the boob pats, they’ll vanish in three.”

You couldn’t stop smiling.

Even as you helped Bucky tuck the blanket tighter around his waist, even as Sam whooped and Tony made very inappropriate jokes about “rebooting” Bucky, your entire body was humming with pure relief.

He was back.

Your Bucky. Your husband. Your partner. Your best friend.

You turned to Loki and Strange, eyes glassy, “Thank you. Thank you, thank you…thank you.”

Loki smirked, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Your assassin-child hybrid was...unsettling.”

Strange grunted. “Tell him if he slaps me again, I’ll turn him into a potted plant next time.”

You grinned and tugged Bucky by the hand.

“Come on, Doll,” he teased with that familiar, devastating smirk. “Don’t want to thank them again?”

“I want to climb you like a damn tree!” you hissed through your smile.

He choked on a laugh and followed you eagerly.

Once inside your shared bedroom, the door slammed behind you.

The second it clicked shut, you turned and pounced.

You jumped on Bucky, as he caught you mid-air like instinct, blanket falling off as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He stumbled back against the door, breath catching.

“Easy, Tiger…” he murmured, voice low and smoky. “Didn’t think you missed me that much.”

“I had to wipe your baby ass, Barnes,” you growled, dragging your lips over his jaw. “You owe me so much sex.”

He laughed, full and deep and so utterly him. His hands gripped your thighs, his metal fingers spreading wide. “Doll, I’ve had nothing but time to think about this.”

You stared into his eyes, the blue darker now, simmering.

“I missed you…” you whispered. “Like crazy.”

His expression softened. “I know. I saw you... I remember all of it. You taking care of me. Sleeping with me. Defending me. Feeding me…”

His voice dropped lower.

“Letting me touch your tits like a king.”

You smacked his chest, “You were a menace...”

He grinned, then caught your face in his hands, pulling you in for a kiss that nearly unmade you.

Slow at first, reverent, grateful, then desperate and hungry.

You clung to him, kissing like you could drink each other, like you’d been starved. He carried you to the bed, laying you down, crawling over you like the predator you’d missed so damn much.

His mouth found your neck, his hands greedy, possessive.

“You wore my shirts. You bathed me. You held me against your boobs every night.”

“You liked that…” you panted as he kissed down your throat.

“I lived for that!” he growled, pushing the hem of your top higher. “But this…this is what I’ve been dying for.”

You reached for him, pulling him down, gasping as your bodies finally aligned, no barriers, no blankets, no baby giggles.

Just you and Bucky.

You whispered his name again and again as clothes disappeared, breaths shortened, and the only sound in the room was love rediscovered in every touch, every moan, every grind.

It was slow.

It was hot.

It was everything you’d been aching for.

And in the afterglow, when you were tangled together in the sheets, legs knotted, lips swollen, he buried his face in your neck and murmured, “Next time I get hit by magic, just kill me.”

You laughed, breathless. “Not a chance, bubba. You’re mine.”

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@peaches1958 @sebbymybaby21

[sosa2imagines]

My queen!

Warnings- Fluff. Disclaimer- Here's the winner of my birthday treat poll.

The grand mahogany doors of Bucky’s office were closed, muffling the faint voices of his ongoing meeting. You leaned back in his chair, running your fingers over the polished wood of his desk.

Bucky's empire was always bustling with activity and the grand office was the heart of it all, a place that exuded power but was comforting at the same time. It had become your favourite spot in his empire, a place where you had found solace amongst the chaos.

You had come a long way since the day Bucky slipped a ring onto your finger. The man who could command armies and strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, made you feel like a queen. You had witnessed the world tremble at his feet, but when he looked at you, it was as if nothing else mattered.

Your confidence had grown in leaps and bounds since you had become his wife. You were no longer just Bucky's wife, you were the queen of his empire, standing by his side amidst the chaos.

The first time you bumped into him on the streets. It was as if fate had brought you two together, even though you had no idea who he truly was. You weren't even fazed by the imposing presence of his bodyguards, which was unusual. The second time you had come into contact with him was in a club, where you had boldly strolled into the middle of the meeting, not knowing that you had just interrupted something incredibly important.

Back then, something about you caught Bucky’s attention.

Despite discovering who Bucky truly was, you didn't show any signs of fear. In fact, you had even complimented his precious gun, demonstrating not only a lack of terror but also an air of confidence that was uncommon for women in his world.

From there, an unlikely friendship blossomed, eventually leading to a romantic relationship, and finally, to marriage. It wasn't an easy journey. Along the way, life had thrown countless challenges at you both. People assumed you were only with Bucky for his money and power, but in reality, you had no interest in any of it.

You were quietly flipping through a book on Bucky's desk when the office door suddenly swung open, breaking the peaceful silence. A man in a sharp suit, his face portraying a mix of arrogance and impatience, strode in without even bothering to knock.

His eyes landed on you, sitting in Bucky's chair, and his brows furrowed with disapproval. Without hesitation, he addressed you in a sharp tone, clearly annoyed. “What the hell are you doing here?” he barked, his voice laced with authority. “Get out of the boss's chair! Don't you know who I am?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a calm expression. Even if you didn't know who he was, his demeanour was clear enough. He was either a significant figure within Bucky's organization, or possibly a right-hand man or a high-ranking member. But one thing is for sure, he was clearly angry at you being in Bucky's chair, something he probably perceived as a mark of disrespect.

You spoke with a steady voice, holding your ground. “I don't know who you are,” you replied, “but talk nicely.”

Your calm demeanour contrasted with his impatience, and it was clear you wouldn't let him be disrespectful to you.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “A bold mouth for someone who’s clearly just here to warm his bed. Do you even understand what kind of business this is?” His words were dripping with disdain, and the condescending smirk on his face made your blood boil. Before you could respond, his tone turned vulgar. “Women like you should learn their place. What did he pay for you to…”

The atmosphere in the room grew ten times heavier when the office doors swung open once again. The man's words faded into silence, as Bucky stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. “Finish that sentence!” His voice, a low growl, sent shivers down your spine, though not out of fear.

His icy blue eyes locked onto the man, who now appeared as if he wanted to vanish into the floor, completely intimidated by Bucky's presence.

“Mr. Barnes…I” the man stammered, stepping back, his confidence completely shattered.

Bucky's voice dripped with a venomous tone. “She's my wife!” Bucky said, his words holding a deadly edge. “The queen of this empire. And you dare to insult her in my kingdom?”

The man's face turned pale, fear evident in his eyes. But Bucky didn't give him time to respond or apologize. In a split second, he crossed the room, slamming the man against the wall with such force that the paintings on the wall shook.

“Nobody,” Bucky hissed, his tone dangerously low, his voice dripping with anger. “Disrespects my wife and walks away unscathed.”

You leaned back in the chair, watching the scene unfold, a mix of satisfaction and concern welling up inside you. However, beneath it all, you still felt a sense of pride and admiration for Bucky.

In that moment, you saw a side of him that you both loved and respected, his fierce protectiveness over you.

The man fumbled over his words, trying to apologize, but it was far too late. Bucky's wrath was as swift as it was brutal. He delivered punch after punch until he had finally had enough. Turning to you, his expression softened immediately.

“Are you okay, doll?” he asked, his voice a complete contrast to the icy fury you'd heard moments before.

You smiled, standing up and walking over to him. “I was…” you replied. “But it's nice knowing I have my own personal avenger.”

Bucky chuckled, pulling you close and embracing you. “Always, doll. No one messes with my queen.”

You kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Remind me to sit in your chair more often.”

He gave you a wicked grin, replying, “Oh, you're not leaving it anytime soon. It suits you.”

Later that day, Bucky came home with a proud grin, surprising you by telling you that you were the new owner of a posh restaurant. You looked at him in confusion, unaware that there was a restaurant owned under your name. Bucky smiled, explaining that the man who had insulted you earlier owned that restaurant and now it belonged to you.

Before you could protest or ask questions, Bucky quickly kissed you, effectively silencing you. You knew better than to challenge him now, so instead you just relaxed into the kiss, enjoying the moment.

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@unaxv @pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss

[sosa2imagines]

My girl.

Warning- Soft dark Bucky and Steve, manipulate, spiking drink, planning and kidnapping maybe?, possesiveness, jealousy, 6.6k words.

You tug at the hem of the black dress Natasha had lent you, feeling a little out of your comfort zone but enjoying the way it hugs your curves. Even Thor, your ever-blunt best friend, had taken a moment to whistle in appreciation when he saw you. “Damn, Sweets, if I wasn't already taken...” he'd teased with a wink, earning a playful slap from Wanda.  

You laughed, shaking your head, “Thank you, but come on lets go, Natasha is waiting for us!!!”

Now, inside the nightclub, you were mesmerized. The music was pulsing through the air, vibrating under your skin, and the flashing lights created an electric energy that makes it impossible not to get caught up in the atmosphere. Wanda and Thor were already pulling you towards the bar, but your gaze lingers, scanning the crowd.  

That’s when you see them.  

Two men, both wearing baseball caps, an odd choice in a place like this. One has short blond hair, his face sharp yet friendly even under the dim lighting. But it’s the other one who catches your attention. Dark brown hair falls slightly into his eyes, piercing blue beneath the brim of his cap. He’s leaning against the bar, his expression unreadable, yet there’s something about him... something dark, something intriguing.   

You quickly look away when Thor hands you a shot, grinning widely. “To a great night!” he declares. You, Wanda, and Thor clink glasses and down the shots, the burn spreading warmth through your veins. Laughter bubbles out of you, as Natasha joins and drags you to the dance floor, and soon you're lost in the music, swaying and spinning with the beat.  

Little do you know, the two guys in the caps were watching you.  

The blond one, Steve, nudges his friend with a knowing smirk. “See something you like?”  

Bucky’s lips curl at the corner, his eyes never leaving you as you move effortlessly to the music. The lights catch on your skin, your smile lighting up your face in a way that sends a spark through him.  

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and dark. “I do.”  

The music pulses through your body, and you let yourself get lost in it, swaying and twirling under the flashing lights. Laughter spills from Wanda and Natasha as they dance beside you, their energy infectious.

But despite the music and the crowd, your thoughts drift back to those two guys.  

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you glance back toward where you first saw them, only to find the spot empty.  

Your brows furrow slightly. You could’ve sworn they were there... 

Before you can finish the thought, some movement catches your eye. They're closer now. Much closer.

The dark-haired one with those piercing blue eyes stands near the edge of the dance floor, his gaze locked onto you like he’s been watching your every move. The blond one leans in to say something to him, but Bucky doesn’t react, his focus entirely on you.  

You swallow hard, a strange mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your chest.  

And then it happens, gradually at first. The more you move, the closer they seem to get. Each beat of the music shortens the distance until, before you realize it, there’s a presence behind you.  

A warmth at your back.  

Your heart stumbles in your chest as you turn, and suddenly, he’s there. The dark-haired stranger stands close, almost too close. The sharp angles of his jawline, the way his eyes pierce right through you, leave you momentarily speechless. Up close, he’s even more devastatingly handsome, and your brain screams at you to keep it together.  

He offers you a small, almost sly smile and reaches out, taking your hand in his. His grip is firm but gentle, sending an unexpected thrill down your spine.  

“I'm Bucky.” he says, his voice deep and smooth, laced with something that makes your breath hitch.  

You blink, trying to ground yourself, “Y/n…” you manage, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks as you force yourself to meet his intense gaze.  

The moment lingers, and with a shy smile, you turn back to Wanda and Natasha, hoping to gather your scattered thoughts. They’re both watching with matching grins, their expressions practically screaming “we saw that.” Your cheeks heat further, and you shake your head, laughing nervously.  

It isn’t until you try to raise both hands to gesture at them that you realize something.  

Bucky was still holding your hand.  

Your eyes flick down in surprise, and when you look back up, there’s an unmistakable glint of amusement in his gaze. He gives your hand a light squeeze, as if testing whether you'll pull away.  

You don’t.

Bucky tugs lightly at your hand, a silent invitation to follow him. Just as your feet begin to move, a familiar voice cuts through the music.  

“Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?”  

You turn to find Thor standing there, arms crossed and an amused yet protective look on his face. His gaze flickers to Bucky, sizing him up with that big-brother energy you’ve grown used to.  

“Just to the bar.” Bucky says smoothly, but there's an edge to it, like he's not used to being questioned.  

You introduce Bucky and Thor to each other.

Thor’s eyes narrow slightly, looking at Bucky, before turning to you. “Stay where I can see you, yeah?” His voice is light, but you know he’s serious.  

You roll your eyes with a playful smile. “Yes, Dad!”  

Satisfied, Thor gives Bucky one last look before heading back to Wanda and Natasha, who are too busy dancing and whispering to each other to notice much.  

You finally let Bucky lead you through the crowd, feeling the warmth of his grip as he weaves effortlessly through the pulsing bodies. The bar is busy, but he navigates it like he’s been here a hundred times before.  

“This is Steve…” Bucky says, nodding toward the blond guy in the cap you noticed earlier.  

Steve offers a friendly smile, his blue eyes warm. “Nice to meet you.” he says, tipping his drink slightly in greeting.  

“You too…” you reply, offering a small smile.  

Bucky leans in a little closer, his voice low against your ear. “What’ll you have?”  

You wave him off, feeling a little awkward under his gaze. “Oh, I’m good.”  

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “C’mon, something.”  

You glance around nervously, then mumble, “Uh… orange juice?”  

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Your brain practically screams at you, “Who on earth orders orange juice in a nightclub?”  

Steve stifles a laugh behind his drink, and Bucky just smirks, his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “Orange juice, huh?” he muses, signaling the bartender. “Classy.”  

You groan, covering your face for a second, “I panicked, okay?”  

Bucky chuckles, leaning a little closer, “Don’t worry, doll. I like classy.”  

Your heart does an embarrassing little flip at the nickname, and before you can come up with a response, he hands you the drink. The way his fingers brush yours sends a spark of warmth up your arm.  

Before you can sip, Bucky’s hand returns to yours, leading you further away from the crowded bar area. You find yourself in a quieter corner of the club, where some people are lounging, some are smoking, and the music feels a little more distant.  

Your nerves kick in again, but Bucky’s presence is oddly steadying. His gaze never leaves you, like he’s figuring you out piece by piece.  

“So,” he says, leaning against the wall, “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”  

You take a tiny sip of your orange juice, trying not to cringe. “Apparently... making excellent drink choices.”  

Bucky laughs, and you realize then how soft his smile can be despite the dark edge lingering beneath it.  

You glance around the dimly lit corner of the club, your fingers tracing the cold glass of your orange juice. The air here feels heavier, laced with smoke and whispers of conversations that don’t quite reach you. Bucky stands close, his eyes never leaving your face as if he’s studying every flicker of emotion.  

“Do you smoke?” he asks suddenly, his voice low and rough, cutting through the haze around you.  

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. “No, not really my thing.”  

He nods, then tilts his head. “Mind if I do?”  

You glance at him, the way he stands with such quiet confidence, and shrug. “I don’t mind.”  

With a smirk, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it with practiced ease, taking a slow drag before exhaling the smoke in a way that somehow makes your heart stumble. The glow of the cigarette highlights the sharpness of his features, casting shadows across his jaw.  

You find yourself mesmerized…again.  

And then, in that same soft, dangerous voice, he says it.  

“You’re my girl now,” he murmurs, his eyes cutting through the smoke to meet yours. “If anyone comes near you... I’ll fucking kill them!”  

Your breath catches, and for a split second, your mind flashes to your ex. He never said anything like that to you. Not once. Your brain screams at you to stop thinking about him, to stay in the present, but it’s too late. The comparison lingers.  

You shake it off, letting out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Is that so?” you tease, tilting your head. “Then prove it.”  

Bucky’s lips curve in a way that makes something tighten in your chest. Without another word, he takes your hand, still warm from before and leads you back toward the bar. The music grows louder again, pulsing around you like a heartbeat, and just as you start to feel the weight of his words settle in, Thor intercepts you.  

“Alright, sweets” Thor grins, grabbing your hand before Bucky can react. “Time to dance.”  

You throw a quick glance over your shoulder at Bucky, but Thor’s already twirling you into the crowd. Wanda and Natasha cheer, and soon you're moving with them, laughing and letting the music wash over you.  

But it doesn’t last long.  

Before you know it, a familiar grip wraps around your wrist, not gentle this time. Firm, almost painfully tight. Bucky. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls you away, but the intensity in his hold is enough to make your heart race for a different reason. He’s not asking. He’s taking.  

You barely manage to throw Wanda a glance before you’re dragged through the crowd again, your feet struggling to keep up with his pace. The air between you thickens, and it finally hits you. You’re not just his girl now.  

Bucky Barnes is possessive about his girl.  

Your skin tingles under his touch, and for the first time tonight, a little voice in the back of your mind wonders just how deep that possessiveness runs.  

You don’t notice the way Steve watches from the sidelines, a slow smirk tugging at his lips, as if he knows exactly what’s going on inside Bucky’s head. As if he’s seen it all before.  

Bucky’s grip on your hand loosens as he finally stops, and when you look up at him, expecting to see the same intense expression from moments ago, you’re met with something entirely different.  

A soft smile.  

It’s disarming, almost as if the possessiveness he showed just seconds ago never happened. His blue eyes are calm now, gentle even, and it throws you off balance. You’re not sure how to react. Should you call him out? Ask what that was about? Or just... let it go?  

Your heart is still racing from how easily he dragged you away, but before you can decide what to say, Steve steps closer, and Bucky turns his attention to him. Their conversation is low, their words blending into the pulsing music, and for a moment, you’re left standing there, trying to process everything.  

Meanwhile, back at the dancefloor, Thor is anything but calm.  

“I don’t like it,” he says, eyes narrowing as he watches you with Bucky from across the room. “I don’t trust his intentions.”  

Natasha, ever the observant one, nods in agreement. “Did you see how he pulled her away? That wasn’t... normal.”  

Wanda, though quieter, presses her lips together in concern. “Y/n didn’t seem to mind too much, though.”  

Thor lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s the problem. Guys like him? They have a way of making it feel like it’s okay... until it’s not.”  

Natasha’s eyes darken slightly, and she exchanges a knowing glance with Wanda. “We need to step in before this goes any further.”  

Wanda nods. “I have an idea.”  

Before long, Natasha and Wanda are weaving through the crowd toward you. You’re still standing with Bucky and Steve when they reach you, their smiles bright but calculated.  

“We’re just gonna steal her for a sec!” Natasha says smoothly, looping an arm around yours before Bucky can protest.  

Bucky’s jaw twitches slightly, but he nods, letting them take you. “Don’t take too long.”  

You let them pull you away toward the restrooms, barely registering the way Bucky’s gaze lingers on you as you disappear into the crowd.  

Inside, Natasha closes the door behind you, and Wanda immediately turns to you, her eyes full of concern. “Alright, spill. Are you okay?”  

You blink, caught off guard. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”  

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, he dragged you off the dancefloor!”  

You let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Okay, yeah, that was... intense. But he’s…I don’t know, it’s weird. He’s intense but then... soft?” You groan, pacing a little. “And I’m not even drunk, so I can’t blame it on that, but part of me just... wants to be around him.”  

Wanda’s eyes soften. “You sure it’s not just the mystery?”  

You sigh, leaning against the counter. “Maybe? I don’t know. But I’m fine. Really.”  

Natasha exchanges a look with Wanda, not entirely convinced. “Just... be careful, alright?”  

Meanwhile, outside the restroom, Steve watches as Bucky takes another slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the door you disappeared through.  

Steve sighs. “Buck, you gotta calm down.”  

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. He exhales smoke slowly, his eyes still on the door. “She’s mine.”  

Steve shakes his head, crossing his arms. “You barely know her.”  

Bucky finally looks at him, and for a brief moment, there’s something dark in his expression. “I know enough.”  

Steve watches Bucky carefully, noting the way his jaw tenses as he stares at the restroom door. The silence between them stretches until Steve finally breaks it.  

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Buck?” he asks, his voice low but firm. “What’s the plan here?”  

Bucky flicks the ashes from his cigarette, his lips pressing into a thin line. “She’s mine.” he says simply, as if that alone explains everything.  

Steve raises an eyebrow. “And?”  

Bucky’s eyes remain fixed on the restroom door, his expression unreadable. “I’m not gonna rush it. She’ll come to me.”  

Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “And if she doesn’t?”  

A smirk tugs at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “She will.” His voice is full of quiet certainty. “We wait. We watch.”  

Before Steve can respond, the restroom door swings open, and you step out with Wanda and Natasha. You look more composed now, but your eyes instinctively search for Bucky. When you find him leaning against the wall, his gaze unreadable, something inside you twists unexpectedly.  

Before you can take a step in his direction, Thor is suddenly at your side. “C’mon, sweets…” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulder and leading you straight back to the dance floor. His grip is firm but not overbearing, a silent reminder that he’s keeping you close. Wanda and Natasha follow, shooting Bucky a subtle glance.  

Bucky watches, his expression darkening as Thor keeps you firmly within the group, away from him. His fingers tighten around his cigarette before he flicks it to the ground and grinds it under his boot. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, but he makes no move to come closer. Instead, he leans back against the wall, arms crossed, his attention shifting to Steve.  

“What’s the plan now?” Steve asks, watching Bucky carefully.  

Bucky’s lips curl into a slow, almost dangerous smirk. “Wait and watch.”  

Steve nods knowingly. “You’re playing the long game, huh?”  

Bucky’s eyes follow you as you laugh at something Thor says, but there’s a flicker of something in your expression, something almost hesitant. “She’ll come to me,” Bucky murmurs, as if it’s inevitable. “She’ll start missing me soon enough.”  

And maybe he’s right. Because as you dance with your friends, trying to enjoy yourself, you can’t help but steal glances in his direction. Every time you do, he’s already looking away, ignoring you as if you don’t exist.  

And for some reason, that stings.  

You know you shouldn’t feel this way. Thor and the others are just looking out for you, making sure you’re safe. But there’s something about Bucky’s sudden coldness that unsettles you. You can’t explain it, but a small part of you feels... bad.  

Kindness.  

It’s one of your biggest weaknesses. Your friends adore that about you, but they also know it makes you vulnerable. People can take advantage of it.  

And as much as you try to shake it off, that little voice in your head wonders if Bucky is counting on that very thing.  

You sway half-heartedly to the music, but your mind isn't on the beat or the flashing lights. Your eyes keep drifting to where Bucky and Steve are standing, and every time you see Bucky deliberately looking away, something inside you twists.  

Natasha nudges you gently. “Sweets, stop.”  

You blink, pulling your gaze away. “Stop what?”  

“Being you!” Wanda chimes in with a teasing yet serious look. “You’re too kind. You always feel bad when you shouldn’t.”  

Natasha nods in agreement, crossing her arms. “Kindness is great, but not when it keeps you up at night worrying about people who don’t deserve it.”  

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t just switch it off, Nat.”  

Natasha rolls her eyes but smiles knowingly. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Doesn’t mean we won’t try.”  

They both mean well, and you know they’re right. But it’s easier said than done. Your kindness is part of who you are, for better or worse. And right now, it’s gnawing at you, making it impossible to focus on anything else.  

Meanwhile, across the club, Steve watches you carefully before turning to Bucky. “She’s getting restless,” he says, sipping his drink. “You counting on that?”  

Bucky smirks, tapping his fingers against the table. “Of course, I am.”  

Steve exhales slowly, leaning in slightly. “Why her, Buck? There’s plenty of girls here tonight. Hell, there have been plenty of girls before her. What makes this one different?”  

Bucky's smirk deepens, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “She’s not like them,” he says simply. “She’s got... a softness. But not weak. She’s got fight in her too.” He pauses, his gaze locking onto you from across the room for the briefest moment before he looks away again. “And she doesn’t even realize it.”  

Steve shakes his head with a knowing chuckle. “You’re obsessed.”  

Bucky’s smirk fades slightly, replaced by something more dangerous. “I don’t do half-measures, Steve.”  

Steve leans back, watching Bucky with careful eyes. “Yeah... I know.”  

Back on the dancefloor, Thor notices the way you keep sneaking glances in Bucky’s direction, the way your shoulders sag with indecision. With a heavy sigh, he leans down, his voice gentle but firm.  

“Alright, doll,” he says, using the nickname Bucky had claimed as his own. “Go.”  

You blink up at him in surprise. “What?”  

Thor gives you a knowing look. “Go back to him. But stay where I can see you.”  

A wave of relief washes over you, and you can’t help but smile. “Thanks, Thor.”  

He ruffles your hair playfully. “Just don’t make me regret it, yeah?”  

With a nod, you turn and make your way back toward Bucky and Steve, your heart pounding with anticipation. You don’t notice the way Bucky’s lips twitch as he watches you approach, like he knew this moment was inevitable.  

Steve watches you approach with a knowing smile, nudging Bucky slightly with his elbow. “Told you…” he mutters, amusement dancing in his voice.  

Bucky doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans against the bar, his expression unreadable as you finally reach him.  

You stand there for a moment, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he doesn’t. He doesn't even look at you.  

“Hey…” you say softly, but he doesn’t react.  

You clear your throat and try again, a little louder this time. “Bucky?”  

Still nothing.  

Frustration bubbles up inside you, but you push it down, giving it one last shot. “Are you seriously going to ignore me all night?”  

Silence.  

Something sharp twists in your chest, and with a sigh, you take a step back. “Fine,” you say, your voice steady despite the sting of disappointment. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone, just like you want.”  

Before you can turn away, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. The grip is firm but not rough but possessive, in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.  

“I don’t like being ignored.” he says, his voice low and dark, his blue eyes locking onto yours.  

Your breath catches in your throat. “I wasn’t ignoring you…” you murmur, suddenly feeling the heat of his touch.  

His lips twitch into something that’s almost a smirk. “Apologize.”  

You blink up at him, your heart racing. “I…what?”  

“Apologize,” he repeats, his thumb brushing lightly against your wrist.  

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Fine. Sorry, Bucky.”  

Satisfied, he tugs you closer and starts leading you toward the dancefloor. You don’t resist, letting him pull you into the crowd. The music pulses around you, and before you can fully register what’s happening, his hands find your waist, drawing you flush against him.  

There’s no space. None. His body is pressed firmly against yours, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest. The heat between you both is undeniable, and your mind is racing, screaming at you to think straight, but it’s impossible with him this close.  

“Relax…” Bucky murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your skin.  

You try, but it’s impossible. His hands grip your hips, guiding you in sync with his movements, slow and deliberate. Your skin tingles under his touch, and every time your body brushes against his, your pulse spikes.  

After a few moments, he leans down, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I wanna do something for you.”  

You swallow hard, shaking your head slightly. “Bucky, there’s no need for that.”  

He grins, and the playful banter begins. “I didn’t ask if there was a need.”  

“Seriously, it’s fine.”  

“Let me.”  

“No.”  

“Yes.”  

And then, without warning, he silences you the only way he knows how.  

His lips crash against yours, stealing your breath and every coherent thought in your head. The kiss is firm, confident, and leaves no room for argument. Your hands instinctively find his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.  

When he finally pulls away, his blue eyes flicker with mischief, and he winks at you. “Told you I’d do something for you.”  

You’re left standing there, breathless and stunned, as the music pulses around you, but all you can focus on is him…just him.  

Bucky leads you through the crowd, weaving past dancing bodies and flashing lights until you reach a secluded corner of the club. The music is quieter here, the atmosphere darker, more intimate. You stand close, the space between you charged with something you can't quite name.  

For a while, neither of you say anything. You shift awkwardly under his intense gaze, biting your lip as you wait for him to speak first. Eventually, he does.  

“I like you.”  

The words are so simple, so unexpected, that they make you laugh. “Really?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Just like that?”  

Instead of answering, Bucky takes a step back and, to your horror, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “I like her!”  

Heads turn, eyes land on you both, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks as you frantically reach for him. “Bucky! Shut up!” You hiss, tugging at his arm.  

He grins, utterly unapologetic, and takes it a step further. “I REALLY LIKE HER!!!!”  

You slap a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in mortification. “Okay! Okay, I believe you! Just be quiet, you goof.”  

Bucky chuckles against your palm, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Slowly, you lower your hand, and before you can say another word, he kisses you again.  

This time, it's slower, deeper, less about teasing and more about something real. Your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, your palm resting over his heart. You can feel the steady, strong rhythm beneath your touch, and it does something to you. A soft sigh escapes you, and Bucky’s lips curve into a smile against yours.  

When he finally pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours. “Come with me…” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against your waist.  

Your heart skips a beat, but reality crashes in just as quickly. “I can’t…” you whisper, shaking your head. “I came here with my friends. Thor won’t let me just disappear.”  

Bucky’s jaw tightens, and for a split second, there’s something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “I don’t take no for an answer, doll.”  

Before you can protest, his lips are on yours again, stealing your breath, your words, your logic. You feel his arm tighten around your waist, holding you close, keeping you in his orbit.  

What you don’t see is the way he locks eyes with Steve over your shoulder. There’s a silent exchange, a plan forming without words. Steve nods subtly, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he knows exactly what Bucky is thinking.  

You’re too lost in the kiss to notice.  

You try to pull away, your hands pressing lightly against Bucky’s chest, but he doesn’t let you go. Instead, he tilts his head, a playful yet dangerous glint in his blue eyes. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” he says, his voice low and laced with something that makes your stomach twist.  

Your eyes widen in surprise. “What? No, of course not!”  

Bucky hums, unconvinced, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your waist. “Then why won’t you come with me? You think I can’t take care of you?”  

The guilt hits you like a truck, and you immediately shake your head, your voice softer now. “Bucky, that’s not it at all. It’s just… my friends. Thor won’t let me go that easily, and I don’t want to worry them.”  

Bucky stares at you for a beat, then his lips curl into a smile, his hands sliding up to cup your face. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, and makes a face, his eyes wide, mouth open like he’s about to devour you whole.  

You burst into laughter, swatting at his chest. “Stop that, you’re ridiculous!”  

He grins, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “But you love it,” he teases.  

Your laughter fades into a soft smile, and for a moment, you forget everything else. But what you don’t see is the way Bucky’s eyes flick over your shoulder, locking onto Steve.  

Behind your back, Steve nods, the plan silently set into motion.  

And just like that, you’re already one step closer to exactly where Bucky wants you.  

Just as you’re starting to relax in Bucky’s hold, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.  

“There you are!” Wanda’s voice is laced with amusement and just a hint of suspicion. She strides over, her eyes flickering between you and Bucky with a knowing smirk. “Come on, we’re not letting you disappear just yet.”  

You sigh, reluctantly stepping back, but Bucky doesn’t let you go so easily. His hand stays wrapped around your wrist, and he tilts his head at you with a playful pout. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?”  

You blink in confusion. “What?”  

He leans in, voice dripping with faux hurt. “That’s why you’re not coming with me. You think I’m some idiot who can’t handle Thor.”  

Wanda laughs, crossing her arms. “It’s not about you, Barnes. Thor’s just… let’s say, protective about his friends.” She glances at you. “Right, dear?”  

You nod quickly, grateful for Wanda’s backup. “Exactly. I don’t want to cause drama.”  

Bucky smirks, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something calculating. “Drama? Doll, I’m all about drama.”  

You roll your eyes, about to respond when Wanda grabs your hand. “Come on, let’s go.”  

Just as you turn to leave, something shifts in the air. Steve, who had been lingering nearby, subtly moves into position, blocking Thor and Natasha’s view of you both. The timing is perfect.  

Bucky doesn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, he pulls you back suddenly, spinning you right into him. “Not so fast…” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.  

Your heart stutters in your chest, but before you can process what’s happening, Steve casually bumps into Wanda with a distracted, “Sorry, miss.” causing her to stumble and momentarily break her grip on your hand.  

In that split second of distraction, Bucky tugs you further into the crowd, his grip firm but playful, as if daring you to resist.  

“Bucky…” you start, but his grin is all you get in response.  

Steve watches from a distance, arms crossed and an amused look on his face. The plan was working.  

And deep down, despite the warnings ringing in your head, you don’t really want to stop him.  

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you whisper, breathless as he pulls you deeper into the crowd. The flashing lights dance across his face, highlighting the mischief in his blue eyes.  

Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you. Soft at first, teasing, before deepening it with a possessive edge that makes your knees weak. Your hands instinctively grip his shoulders to steady yourself, but your mind is screaming at you to get back to Wanda and Thor.  

When he finally pulls away, his lips brush against yours as he murmurs, “Still wanna leave?”  

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to regain control. “I have to go…” you insist, your voice lacking the conviction you wish it had. “Wanda and Thor are looking for me.”  

Bucky’s grip tightens just slightly, his fingers tracing over your wrist. “Stay.” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.  

You shake your head, trying to find your footing in this whirlwind. “Bucky, I can’t just…”  

He tilts his head, watching you closely, and then with that signature smirk, he says, “Just for a little while. We’ll stay in the club, I promise.”  

Your resolve wavers, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible to think straight. After a moment, you sigh in defeat. “Fine. Only in the club.”  

Bucky’s lips twitch in victory. “Good girl.”  

But what you don’t realize is that Bucky’s promise means nothing, not when he’s already made up his mind. While you’re distracted, his eyes flick over your shoulder to where Steve stands near the bar. A single nod passes between them, silent and calculated.  

You may think you’re staying, but Bucky has other plans.  

Just as you begin to relax in Bucky’s presence, the music pounding in your chest like a second heartbeat, a familiar voice cuts through the haze.  

“There you are,” Thor’s deep voice rumbles from behind you. His expression is firm but not unkind as he reaches for your arm. “It’s time to go home, Sweets.”  

You glance up at Bucky, feeling the tension in the air shift. For a second, you consider arguing, just a little, but something about the way Thor is looking at you makes you nod instead. “Alright, you say softly.  

Bucky’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t stop you. Not yet.  

Just as you turn to follow Thor, Bucky appears at your side, holding out two glasses. “One for the road?” he offers, his voice smooth, his smile disarming. He hands one glass to Thor and one to you.  

Thor eyes Bucky suspiciously before taking a sip. You hesitate for a moment, but under Bucky’s expectant gaze, you take a small sip too.  

Before you know it, Bucky has his hand on your lower back, steering you gently away from the dancefloor. “C’mon, just for a second,” he says, his voice low and persuasive. “One last moment before you run off.”  

You follow him, oblivious to the subtle exchange of glances between him and Steve.  

The club lights flash around you, and you’re too caught up in the conversation to notice Thor’s steps faltering behind you. Steve quietly steps in, keeping Thor distracted just long enough for Bucky to guide you further away.  

It isn’t until you reach the quieter edge of the club, near the exit, that you realize something is off.  

“Bucky,” you say, blinking as you look around. “Where are we going?”  

Bucky smirks, his hand firm around yours. “Told you, doll. I don’t take no for an answer.”  

Panic rises in your chest, and you yank your hand away, taking a step back. “I have to go back to my friends.”  

Bucky doesn’t let you get far. He grabs your wrist again, his grip just tight enough to make your heart race for an entirely different reason. “Apologize,” he says, his voice lower now, laced with something darker. “For trying to leave me.”  

Your pulse hammers in your ears, and suddenly, the warmth in his eyes seems a little more dangerous. “Bucky…” you whisper, trying to pull free, but he refuses to let go.  

Behind you, Steve stands with his arms crossed, his smirk never fading. He knows exactly how this will play out.  

Your heart pounds as you take a step back from Bucky, trying to create some distance, but you don't get far. Your back collides with something solid, someone solid.  

Steve.  

His arms snake around your waist, holding you firmly against him. You freeze as he rests his chin lightly on top of your head, his breath fanning over your hair. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes your stomach twist, and you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.  

Bucky watches the scene unfold with a lazy smile, his eyes dark with amusement. “Relax, doll,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I already told you, you’re my girl now.”  

You shake your head, your voice shaky but firm. “Bucky, you promised. You said we’d stay in the club.”  

Bucky’s grin widens, his fingers reaching out to brush against your cheek. “Yeah, well... there’s been a slight change in the promise.”  

You stiffen, your mind racing. Steve's arms tighten subtly, his hold secure but not forceful. Yet.

It’s clear he’s enjoying this, the way his body presses against yours, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You’re way too tense,” he says with a chuckle. “Loosen up, doll.”  

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Thor will come looking for me...”  

Bucky’s expression softens into something almost pitying. “Thor?” He tilts his head. “Sweetheart, he won’t be coming for you.”  

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”  

Steve chuckles from behind you, his grip tightening just slightly as if to keep you in place. “Let’s just say... he’s taking a nap.”  

Your stomach drops. “What did you do?”  

Bucky waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing too bad, doll. He’s fine. Just a little... distracted.” His smirk deepens. “That means it’s just us now.”  

Your pulse races as realization sinks in. They had planned this from the beginning.  

Steve finally releases you, only to grab your hand with a firm grip, and Bucky takes your other hand, his thumb stroking over your skin in a way that feels both soothing and possessive. Together, they lead you toward the exit.  

You glance back over your shoulder, searching for a way out, for Wanda, Natasha, anyone, but the crowd of strangers swallows the dancefloor whole, and just like that, you’re outside.  

Under the cool night air, Bucky leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “Told you, doll. No one’s taking you from me. You are my girl now!”  

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[sosa2imagines]

Bucky Baby!

Warning- Fluff, boobs appreciation, little smut and Bucky Barnes!

You wake up to silence.

Which, in itself, should have been the first red flag.

No weight crushing your chest. No warm stubble against your neck. No muscled arm lazily thrown over your waist like a weighted blanket. No soft morning grumbles from your grumpy husband, who hated waking up before ten unless someone was bleeding or you were naked.

Your brows furrow as you blink away sleep, reaching out with a hand to the side of the bed where Bucky usually was.

Cold sheets.

Empty space.

You sit up quickly, heart skipping a beat as your assassin instincts fire to life. “Bucky?” you call out, voice still hoarse from sleep.

There was no reply.

Then you notice it.

His clothes, on the floor.

Not just his pants and shirt, but everything. Socks. Boxers. Even his dog tags tangled. All of it thrown in a haphazard pile near the foot of the bed.

And in the center of that chaos, your jaw drops.

A baby. A literal baby.

Chubby, soft, and probably not more than a year old, sitting perfectly upright in the middle of the mess. Very much naked. With a shock of dark brown hair curling slightly at the ends. Ice-blue eyes glaring up at you with a level of intensity no baby should be capable of.

And then you see it.

The tiniest vibranium arm you’ve ever seen, sleek, black with delicate gold plating, fitted just perfectly on his tiny little shoulder.

“No…” you whisper, hand flying to your mouth. “No no no…it can’t be!”

The baby narrows his eyes at you.

Scowl.

You blink.

Death glare.

Your eyes widen.

Pout.

“Oh my god, it can be!!!”

You scramble out of bed and kneel in front of him slowly, like approaching a dangerous predator. He doesn’t move. Just gives you a look that practically screams it’s about time.

Then, he sticks his tongue out at you.

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, Bucky. Is that really you?”

The baby raises both tiny arms, one flesh, one metal and gives you the most dramatic sigh a baby could possibly produce.

You pick him up gently, cradling his warm little body to your chest. His pout deepens as he tries to look unimpressed, but the way he nuzzles into your neck kind of gives him away.

“You got hit by magic yesterday, didn’t you?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his ridiculously soft hair.

He nods once. Very seriously. Like he’s confirming a mission report.

“Well…” you sigh, chuckling into his baby ear, “at least you’re still you, Bubba.”

You feel the tiniest of giggling, giggles vibrate against your collarbone.

Your ruthless, hundred-year-old assassin husband just giggled.

Still snuggling him close, you whisper, “God help whoever’s responsible for this.”

Because James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier turned cuddle monster, might be tiny right now, but he’s still the deadliest baby alive.

You rifle through your drawers with a snort and zero guilt.

He’s glaring at you from the bed, arms folded, baby chest puffed out, lips pursed in silent judgment, as he sits on the oversized pillow you fluffed up for him. His metal arm keeps twitching like he’s seriously considering launching a tiny knife at you. Which, frankly, wouldn’t even be surprising.

You dangle the crop top in front of him.

It’s pink. With glittery letters that say “Spicy Like Sriracha!” across the front.

Bucky scowls deeper.

“Yes, I could dress you in something neutral, but where’s the fun in that?” you grin, leaning down to grab him. “Besides, your death glares look extra adorable in pink.”

You’re sure he growled. You’re also sure it came out like a sneeze.

You wrestle him into it with difficulty. The tiny vibranium arm proves problematic, but eventually, after a few near bites (he really tried to chomp you), you manage to get the shirt on.

It barely covers his chubby thighs.

He looks furious.

And like the cutest damn thing you’ve ever seen.

“Aww, you look spicy…” you tease, booping his nose. “Bet you still think you’re scary.”

He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a frustrated “Baaa!”

You scoop him into your arms again, holding him up like Simba, studying his face.

“How are you still so expressive?” you ask, mock squinting at him. “Like…is your brain actually intact in there? Do you…”

SLAP!

Tiny hand, right across your cheek.

You freeze.

He stares at you, unbothered, smug even. The slap wasn’t hard, but the audacity.

“Well damn…” you mutter, blinking. “Guess that answers everything.”

Cradling him in your arms, now cradled like royalty, because you’re not risking another slap, you bolt out of the room, yelling,

“FRIDAY! Call everyone to the common room. Emergency!”

“Understood, Mrs. Barnes. Alerting the team now.”

By the time you get there, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve, Clint, and Bruce are either half-dressed or bleary-eyed. Some in pajamas.

All staring at you as you barge in, breathless, holding a pink crop-top-wearing baby with a vibranium arm who looks ready to declare war.

“Oh my god!” Tony says, blinking. “You cloned Barnes but made him way cuter.”

“This is Barnes!” you cry, holding him up again.

Natasha’s eyes narrow. “No way.”

“Magic!” you snap. “He got hit yesterday! He woke up like this! He’s still him in the head too, he slapped me!”

“Ha!” Sam bursts out laughing. “Finally! I can breathe easy without metal fingers aiming for my throat.”

“I heard that!” you hiss, patting Bucky’s head. “He’s still mentally an assassin, just tiny.”

Steve, poor sweet Steve, walks closer with a soft gasp. “Buck?”

And before anyone can stop him, WHACK!

Baby Bucky slaps Steve. Hard.

Steve goes down like a plank.

The room falls silent.

Sam wheezes.

Natasha snorts.

Tony covers his face. “Okay, I’m not going near him.”

Bruce clears his throat. “There are only two people who might be able to undo this. Strange and Loki.”

“And?”

“They’re both off-world. Should be back in a few days.”

You groan, adjusting the baby in your arms as he snuggles smugly into your chest.

“Great. Fine. Everyone breathe! Clint!” you bark, turning sharply.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I need baby food. List is on the fridge, bring baby version of it. Stick to organic. He’s picky.”

Clint salutes and vanishes.

“Tony, Nat, you’re on baby clothes and gear. Diapers, pacifiers, a crib, stroller…everything.”

Tony mutters something about never being paid enough for this, while Natasha just nods and heads out with a hint of a smirk.

“And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Revive Steve. You’re in charge of his fainting ass.”

You pivot on your heel and storm back toward your room, cradling Bucky close, muttering under your breath.

“I swear to god, Bubba, if you poop on me, I will drop you in the sink.”

The only answer you get?

A tiny giggle.

You were sitting on the couch with Bucky nestled in your lap when he gives you the most pitiful look in history. His little brows furrow, and he pats his chubby tummy with both hands. Then again. And again. He even throws in a dramatic sigh for emphasis.

“Alright, alright, I get it…” you say, standing up. “You’re hungry. You could’ve asked, you know. Oh wait…you can’t.”

You carry him into the kitchen and settle him into a hastily rigged booster seat with towels, because Tony hasn’t delivered the high chair yet. He grunts, crossing his arms like a disrespected king, watching you suspiciously as you mash up bananas and pour warm milk into a cup.

“Fancy dinner for the Winter Small-dier,” you tease, scooping a little banana onto a spoon. “Say ‘ahh,’ Bubba.”

He glares, but opens his mouth.

You feed him, and for a moment, it’s peaceful. He chews thoughtfully. His little vibranium fingers drum against the tray like he’s plotting someone’s death.

But then, you lean forward to wipe banana off his cheek.

And that’s when it happens.

His hand pats your boob, just a soft little press.

You freeze.

He looks up at you with the cheekiest, most unrepentant smile you’ve ever seen on a baby’s face. It's not a curious baby-touch. It’s deliberate.

“James Buchanan Barnes!”

His smile gets wider.

“You behave.”

He giggles.

“Oh, don’t even try to pretend you're innocent. I know that smirk. I married that smirk.”

He has the audacity to wink, more like blink his eyes.

“I am not above putting you in the glittery tutu!” you warn.

That wipes the grin off, he resumes chewing like nothing happened.

Thankfully, the door opens just in time to break the tension. Tony and Natasha wheel in enough baby gear to start a daycare. Crib, car seat, wipes, diapers, a high chair, pacifiers, clothes, and a mountain of toys.

“God, I forgot how much babies need,” Natasha mutters.

Tony raises a brow. “You forgot? I invented tech that needs less assembly than this crap.”

“Thanks, guys…” you say sincerely, placing a now banana-streaked Bucky on your hip.

“You sure you’re okay with all this?” Nat asks, gesturing to the pink sippy cup now rolling across the floor.

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting Bucky. “We’re fine. Just about to give him a bath.”

Tony snorts. “Good luck with that. I’d rather wrestle a raccoon in heat.”

You smirk, oh naive you, “Please. How hard can it be?”

Ten minutes later, you deeply regret asking that question.

“BUCKY, STOP SPLASHING!”

Water soaks your hair, you’re kneeling beside the tub in shorts and a tank top, soaked to the bone. Bucky’s in the tiny inflatable baby tub, naked and wild-eyed, flailing his arms like he’s doing synchronized swimming.

The bathwater is now 70% water, 30% bubbles, and 100% chaos.

He kicks. Squeals. Giggles. Tosses the rubber duck like a grenade. Then, when you lean in with the loofah…Splash!

A tidal wave hits your face.

“BUCKY BARNES!”

He beams at you. Toothless. Proud. His little vibranium arm clinks against the side of the tub as he raises both arms in victory.

You stare at him, drenched, foam dripping from your chin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blows a raspberry.

You dry him off eventually, after nearly drowning and wrap him up in a hooded towel with tiny bear ears. He glares at the ears. You kiss his nose anyway.

“There…” you murmur, walking him back to your room. “Clean, fed, mildly demon-possessed, but you’re still mine.”

He snuggles into your neck, surprisingly calm after the bath, clutching a pacifier in one hand and your boob in the other.

“Tomorrow…” you whisper, laying him gently on the soft new mattress, “we find Strange. And we get you back to normal.”

He pats your boob again.

You stare at him.

He smiles.

You sigh.

“Okay how about something else?”

You’re finally towel-drying your hair when there’s a knock at your door, followed by a cautious, deep voice.

“Doll? Can I come in?”

You crack the door open and see Steve, now fully conscious, if not a little wide-eyed, standing there with a sheepish expression.

“Hey, Cap…” you smirk. “Feeling better after getting wrecked by a one-year-old?”

He flushes. “I wasn’t expecting him to slap me that hard.”

You open the door wider and gesture inside. Bucky is now on the floor in a green onesie that says “Born to Kill Naptime!” in bold red letters, gnawing on a rubber toy like it personally insulted him.

Steve walks in slowly, crouching near the tiny menace. “Hey, Buck…”

Bucky stares at him with that signature Barnes scowl, vibrating with toddler judgment.

“Okay…” you interrupt, grabbing your robe. “I haven’t showered since before the banana incident, so you’re on babysitting duty. Fifteen minutes. Just keep him alive and don’t let him assassinate anyone.”

Steve blinks. “You trust me with him?”

“You’re the only one who can dodge his tantrum punches. Maybe.” You toss him a diaper bag. “Good luck.”

You vanish into the bathroom, humming as the warm water hits your skin. Ten minutes of uninterrupted peace. Pure heaven.

Meanwhile, Steve squats down again. “Hey, buddy. Want to…read a book?”

Bucky picks up ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’.

Steve smiles. “Yeah! That one’s great!”

Then Bucky throws it like a shuriken. it slices past Steve’s ear.

Steve jumps. “Okay… no reading!”

Next, Bucky crawls toward the shelf. Steve chases after him, slow and careful, like he’s approaching a wild animal. But the moment Steve reaches out, Bucky disappears.

He turns. “What the…Bucky?”

From the top of the dresser, baby Bucky stares down triumphantly, somehow having scaled it like a tiny metal-armed mountain goat.

“What the hell!!!”

Bucky launches into a pillow pile. Laughs like a gremlin. Then crawls at Steve with breakneck speed.

Over the next ten minutes,

He dismantles a pacifier like it was a bomb, launches a baby bottle into Steve’s eye and hides behind the curtain and farts loudly, then giggles.

He even manages to activate FRIDAY by babbling, “fuh-die…” which causes half the lights in the room to dim.

By the time you step out, now clean, comfy in soft shorts and one of Bucky’s oversized T-shirts, you find Steve on the floor, holding the vibrating baby monitor like it’s a ticking grenade, while Bucky dances in the background to the Mission Impossible theme Tony accidentally synced to the smart speakers.

You blink, “So far so good?”

Steve just stares at you, barely surviving and shocked.

You smile sweetly, “Thanks for the help, Cap. You’ve earned a medal in toddler warfare.”

You scoop Bucky up again. He instantly nuzzles into your chest, acting sweet and innocent.

For half a second, then his hand moves.

Pat.

Right on the boob.

You stare down at him.

“James. Buchanan. Barnes.”

He grins shamelessly.

Steve chokes on air. “Did he just…?!”

“Yes. Again.” you sigh, bouncing him a little. “He has no shame and apparently, no survival instinct.”

Bucky giggles. Loudly. Proudly.

You shake your head. “I swear, when you’re back to normal, you’re gonna pay for every single one of these boob slaps.”

He just coos happily.

Later on, you’re in the kitchen blending together carrots, peas, and just enough applesauce to trick your tiny assassin into liking it when you hear Sam’s voice drift through the hall.

“I got this, he’s a baby. How hard can it be?”

You snort, poor Sam and his confidence.

Steve, standing off to the side with his arms folded and a bandage on his cheek from his previous babysitting session, just mutters, “Godspeed.”

You peek from behind the counter as Sam swoops in, all confidence and swagger, picking Bucky up under the arms.

“There he is! Who’s a little tough guy, huh?” Sam grins.

Bucky just stares at him.

That unreadable, blank assassin stare. Unblinking.

“Man, you can’t scare me with that look. I fought beside you, remember?” Sam boops Bucky on the nose. “You’re all bark, no bite now.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

Steve sighs and slowly walks backward out of the room.

And exactly five minutes later…

“NO, BUCKY…NOT THE WINGS!”

Sam runs by in a blur, Bucky somehow strapped to his back with a curtain sash, gleefully yanking on Redwing’s wing casing. The tiny drone sputters wildly in the air.

Tony walks into the room, mid-sip of his scotch. “What's all the screaming ab—HOLY CRAP!”

Bucky chucks a toy wrench with stunning accuracy. It hits one of Tony’s bot-assistants in the arm, and the mechanical limb clatters to the ground.

“He broke the arm!” Tony shouts, staring in horror. “That’s vibranium! That robot’s stronger than Rhodey!”

“AND HE’S BITING MY SHOULDER!” Sam shrieks, spinning like a top. “WHY IS HE PURRING?!”

Tony drops his drink. “Oh my god. He’s a gremlin.”

“No. He’s a tiny Winter Soldier with no filter and nothing to lose!” Sam stumbles past you, panic in his eyes. “TAKE HIM BACK. I’M TOO PRETTY TO DIE.”

You calmly turn off the blender.

And then, like magic, Bucky flings himself from Sam’s back and angelically lands in your arms. More like you took him.

He coos.

He nuzzles.

He blinks up at you like an innocent cherub that couldn’t possibly throw a screwdriver at high velocity or short-circuit Tony’s latest AI.

“Aw,” you croon. “Look at you, acting all sweet.”

Sam stumbles into the wall behind you, wild-eyed and panting. “He’s a demon. He’s an adorable, pink-cheeked hell spawn. Don’t be fooled.”

Bucky gazes up at you, soft, perfect, angelic.

Then he pats.

Right on the boob.

You freeze, “Seriously?!”

Steve groans from the doorway. “Again?”

Tony covers his mouth. “He’s got a pattern.”

You hold Bucky up in front of your face. He’s grinning so wide his dimples might split his cheeks.

“James Buchanan Barnes…” you say slowly. “You will regret this when you’re normal.”

He blows you a kiss, which is a raspberry.

You narrow your eyes. “I’m buying nipple armor. This is war!”

Sam lies on the floor, moaning, “He called me ‘bird bitch’ with his eyes. I felt it.”

You pat Bucky’s back and sigh. “Alright, time for baby lunch and then nap time. And no more boob slapping.”

Pat.

You scream into a burp cloth.

It’s late, the compound is quiet, too quiet after a day filled with baby tantrums, flying diapers, and Sam screaming “CODE RED!” over the comms. But now, it’s just you and your baby assassin curled up in your bed under a mountain of soft blankets.

Bucky lets out a little sigh as you pull him closer, his warm little body wriggling against yours. His vibranium arm rests cool against your stomach while his human one finds its favorite place.

Your boob.

You don’t even fight it anymore. It’s not perverted. It’s comfort. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

He snuggles deeper into your chest like it’s home and in a way, it is.

“I swear,” you whisper into his fluff of dark hair, “you’re boob-holic!”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just gives your boob a soft pat. As if confirming, “Yes, still there. Safe.”

You sigh.

“He used to hold my waist like this,” you murmur to no one. “Used to bury his face in my neck after missions. Now he buries it in my boobs.”

Days pass, everyone took turns watching him.

Clint tried and got shot with a pacifier launched by Bucky.

Sam refused to re-enter the room after Bucky climbed onto the kitchen counter and threw pudding at him like a war general.

Bruce babysat once. Once.

But Natasha?

Oh, he behaved for Natasha. Sat quietly on her lap like a perfect little soldier while she played his tiny fingers and called him “Boss Baby.”

“I think he’s scare of her…” you muttered once.

Tony nodded solemnly. “Same.”

Still, every night Bucky curled into you. Grabbed his boob. Slept like a dream. And you? You missed him.

Not this chubby, feral, clingy little man-child who throws applesauce like a grenade and tries to fight the mirror.

No, you missed your husband.

The smirking, dominant, deliciously frustrating man who could make your knees weak just by saying “Doll” in that voice.

You missed his hands. His lips. His…

Pat.

You blink down.

“Seriously?” you whisper as Bucky gives your left boob a thoughtful pat.

Then, pat pat, goes the right one, like he’s evaluating them.

“Okay, you’re getting too comfortable with this.”

Another pat pat pat.

“Alright, that’s it.” You swing out of bed, Bucky still in your arms, cradled like a smug little king.

You storm into the hall, where Steve is nursing a juice box (the stress has aged him twenty years in three days).

“Steve!”

He looks up, wary. “Uh-oh.”

“Where the hell are Strange and Loki?”

He blinks. “I…I don’t know. Still on a mission. Last I heard they were in another realm?”

“Tell them to hurry the hell up.” You hold up Bucky like a furry weapon of mass boob destruction. “I miss my man. I miss my sex life. And if this mini perv touches my boob one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

Bucky giggles. Pats your boob again.

Steve turns pale. “Okay. Yeah. Got it. I’ll page them. Right now. I mean call them!”

You spin on your heel and head back to your room.

Bucky’s still snickering.

“You think you’re clever…” you mutter, plopping onto the bed again.

He snuggles in and grabs a boob.

You sigh, “You win…”

You were gone for two minutes.

TWO.

You’d just gone to grab his bottle from the warmer. You’d hidden all the sharp utensils ahead of time, no forks, no knives, not even a butter spreader in sight.

But you forgot the spoons.

And Bucky found them.

You walked back in and froze.

There he was, baby Bucky Barnes, standing triumphantly on the kitchen counter, dual-wielding tiny silver spoons like they were combat daggers. His eyes narrowed in pure assassin focus. The glint in his baby blues screamed Winter Soldier mode activated.

“BUCKY!” you gasped, dropping the bottle.

He screamed, a fierce little battle cry, and launched one of the spoons at Sam, who’d just walked in with his coffee.

Direct hit, coffee everywhere. And Sam flailed, “WHAT THE HELL…”

You lunged, snatching Bucky off the counter just as he reared back with spoon number two.

He wiggled in your arms, trying to line up a shot, until your hand wrapped around his chubby middle and you brought him face to face with you.

“Absolutely not!” you said sternly.

He pouted.

You glared.

Pat.

On the boob.

You sighed. “That’s not going to save you every time.”

But he grinned, resting his head on your chest like he hadn’t just committed a war crime.

Later that day, the team was lounging in the common room, watching you feed Bucky with practiced ease, spoonful of mashed apples here, soft little coos there. Bucky was perched on your hip like a prince being hand-fed grapes.

“How come he behaves only with her?” Sam grumbled, arms crossed and still damp from his coffee disaster.

Tony didn’t even look up from his tablet. “It’s the boob pats.”

You glared.

“I’m just saying,” Tony added, raising a hand defensively, “if I had a boob-shaped pillow strapped to me 24/7, I’d behave too.”

“I’ll break your jaw and call Pepper!” you replied sweetly.

Natasha, watching from the armchair, just smiled faintly and said, “He behaves because she’s the only person in the world he trusts more than himself.”

There was a rare hush, even Bucky paused mid-spoonful. You blinked, heart fluttering. “Aw, Nat…”

Then Bucky launched applesauce at Sam again.

Balance restored.

A few days later, you were in the hallway, helping Bucky sip water from a small cup, when you felt it, the distinct tingle of portal magic humming through the compound.

You looked up.

Right there, across the corridor, the air shimmered and swirled into a swirling golden disk. Your breath caught.

“Bucky…” you whispered, eyes wide, “they’re here.”

Two figures stepped through, robes, arrogance, and magic crackling off them in waves.

Doctor Stephen Strange.

And Loki Laufeyson.

“We came as soon as we…”

SMACK.

A tiny cup of water flew with surgical precision, nailing Strange square in the face.

Loki didn’t even have time to blink before a baby spoon followed, catching him in the chest like a blunt projectile of war.

“What the…”

You held Bucky tighter.

He smirked.

“Sorry!!!” you called over their stunned silence, “he’s been waiting.”

Strange wiped water off his nose and stared at the tiny assassin in your arms.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “You mean to tell me this creature is the feared Winter Soldier?”

Bucky gave him the deadliest baby glare ever recorded.

And then patted your boob.

Strange blinked. “Well. Let’s get to work.”

You had one arm around Bucky and the other cradling his little baby foot as Strange and Loki stood in the center of the living room, rolling their eyes and muttering Latin or was it Norse? incantations over glowing relics and swirling energies.

The rest of the team had gathered like it was movie night.

Natasha leaned against the wall, arms crossed, cool and unreadable.

Sam had popcorn.

Tony was recording.

Steve, bless him, looked like he was holding a prayer circle in his head.

Bruce sat on the floor scribbling notes like this was science. It wasn't.

And you?

You were in the center of the chaos, cross-legged on the rug with one very smug, very tiny Bucky Barnes perched in your lap like royalty.

“Don’t move!” Strange warned, his fingers crackling with golden threads of spell energy.

“Can he behave for five minutes?” Loki grumbled, adjusting his leather sleeves with flair.

You felt a small pat on your chest.

You didn’t even have to look down.

“James Buchanan Barnes…” you said, voice low.

Pat pat.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re about to be an adult again. Do not test me.”

He looked up at you, full of cheeky baby glee, and patted your boob with both hands.

The team groaned in unison.

“Okay, just change him now!” Sam said, “I can’t watch this horndog-infant thing anymore.”

The spell begins, Strange’s voice deepened, echoing with arcane weight, while Loki joined in with fluid, melodic power.

A wind swept the room from nowhere, curling around you and Bucky in spirals of energy. His baby hairs lifted. His tiny body started to glow faintly, surrounded by flickers of golden magic laced with green.

You felt it before you saw it, Bucky going still, his chubby hands holding tighter onto you. His breath hitched, a flicker of uncertainty behind his clear blue eyes.

You brought him close, pressed your lips to his temple.

“I’m right here, bubba…” you whispered.

Flash.

The magic surged and suddenly,

Flashback after flashback,

Bucky on a rooftop in Madripoor, bleeding but laughing after saving your ass.

Bucky carrying you bridal style after your last mission, whispering how proud he was.

Bucky under soft sheets, nuzzled between your thighs, telling you how much he loves you.

The wedding. That kiss. The tears. The forever.

And then a brilliant burst of light exploded from the circle, throwing your head back.

You blinked through the afterglow and gasped.

He was there.

Full-sized Bucky.

Fully adult.

Fully naked.

And still very much in your lap.

You made a choking noise and immediately yanked the throw blanket from the couch, throwing it over his lap and wrapping it around his hips, shielding him from everyone’s view.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Bucky blinked, then looked up at you, his smirk slow, familiar, and deeply satisfied.

He raised one arm, his flesh one, just to mess with them and gave your boob one last pat.

“Worth it.” he rasped.

The entire team groaned.

Steve straight up walked into a wall.

Natasha smirked. “Welcome back, pervert.”

Sam was howling with laughter.

Tony ended the recording, “We are never deleting this.”

You buried your face into Bucky’s shoulder, torn between hysterics and the sudden urge to ravish him.

He tilted his head, whispering, “Hey, Doll... you think we can get everyone to leave in the next five minutes?”

You grinned. “If I tell them you’re going for round two of the boob pats, they’ll vanish in three.”

You couldn’t stop smiling.

Even as you helped Bucky tuck the blanket tighter around his waist, even as Sam whooped and Tony made very inappropriate jokes about “rebooting” Bucky, your entire body was humming with pure relief.

He was back.

Your Bucky. Your husband. Your partner. Your best friend.

You turned to Loki and Strange, eyes glassy, “Thank you. Thank you, thank you…thank you.”

Loki smirked, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Your assassin-child hybrid was...unsettling.”

Strange grunted. “Tell him if he slaps me again, I’ll turn him into a potted plant next time.”

You grinned and tugged Bucky by the hand.

“Come on, Doll,” he teased with that familiar, devastating smirk. “Don’t want to thank them again?”

“I want to climb you like a damn tree!” you hissed through your smile.

He choked on a laugh and followed you eagerly.

Once inside your shared bedroom, the door slammed behind you.

The second it clicked shut, you turned and pounced.

You jumped on Bucky, as he caught you mid-air like instinct, blanket falling off as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He stumbled back against the door, breath catching.

“Easy, Tiger…” he murmured, voice low and smoky. “Didn’t think you missed me that much.”

“I had to wipe your baby ass, Barnes,” you growled, dragging your lips over his jaw. “You owe me so much sex.”

He laughed, full and deep and so utterly him. His hands gripped your thighs, his metal fingers spreading wide. “Doll, I’ve had nothing but time to think about this.”

You stared into his eyes, the blue darker now, simmering.

“I missed you…” you whispered. “Like crazy.”

His expression softened. “I know. I saw you... I remember all of it. You taking care of me. Sleeping with me. Defending me. Feeding me…”

His voice dropped lower.

“Letting me touch your tits like a king.”

You smacked his chest, “You were a menace...”

He grinned, then caught your face in his hands, pulling you in for a kiss that nearly unmade you.

Slow at first, reverent, grateful, then desperate and hungry.

You clung to him, kissing like you could drink each other, like you’d been starved. He carried you to the bed, laying you down, crawling over you like the predator you’d missed so damn much.

His mouth found your neck, his hands greedy, possessive.

“You wore my shirts. You bathed me. You held me against your boobs every night.”

“You liked that…” you panted as he kissed down your throat.

“I lived for that!” he growled, pushing the hem of your top higher. “But this…this is what I’ve been dying for.”

You reached for him, pulling him down, gasping as your bodies finally aligned, no barriers, no blankets, no baby giggles.

Just you and Bucky.

You whispered his name again and again as clothes disappeared, breaths shortened, and the only sound in the room was love rediscovered in every touch, every moan, every grind.

It was slow.

It was hot.

It was everything you’d been aching for.

And in the afterglow, when you were tangled together in the sheets, legs knotted, lips swollen, he buried his face in your neck and murmured, “Next time I get hit by magic, just kill me.”

You laughed, breathless. “Not a chance, bubba. You’re mine.”

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@peaches1958 @sebbymybaby21

[sosa2imagines]

You, me and Vegas!

Story came out on Sebastian Stan's birthday. 13th August.

The story follows Bucky and Peach, two people who accidentally got married in Las Vegas after a night of too much alcohol. Despite the drunken mistake, they decide to annul the marriage. Bucky and Peach navigate their lives, pursuing their dreams and growing closer each day. The drunken marriage turns out to be a strange but fortunate beginning to their love story.

New Chapter every second or third day.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Part 16 (Epilogue)

✅ Complete.

[sosa2imagines]

hii! so i love your bucky baby ff and i was just wondering what if y/n turned into a baby and bucky had to put up her? honestly, i think she’d probably be the opposite of bucky

THANK YOUU

Thank you so much!!!! Bucky would become super protective and miss y/n alot. Y/n will make everyone's life difficult, especially Bucky's. In fact I'm writing Y/n turning into a baby, version! It'll be out soon thanks for the idea 😍

[sosa2imagines]

ONE SHOTS

Bucky Texting

Thief

Promises broken, Promises kept.

Promises broken, Promises kept. Part 2

My Darlin' (Dark Bucky)

Town of trouble

Favor!

Revenge for doll!

Bucky's nickname Bubba (Blurb)

After care (multiple characters)

Car job... (Imagine)

Undercovers (Request)

You, me and her. (Request)

Bucky, Winter Solider and White Wolf. (Blurb)

Who am I?

My doll. (Soft dark Bucky)

My queen! (Mafia Bucky)

My girl. (Soft dark Bucky)

Bucky Baby!

We are in this together...

We are in this together... Part 2 ✅

SERIES

I know where I belong- Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 ✅

You, me and Vegas! - Happy Birthday Seb ❤️✅

Finding you again... ✅

Dad Bucky!

Little Wanderer.

His Angel.

Boyfriend.

Pa sounds cooler.

An adventurous day!

Mini-me.

Mother's day.

Justice!

Happy Birthday Bucky!!! ❤️

Justice by Jamie!

His personal hairstylist...

[sosa2imagines]

We are in this together... Part 2

Warning- Angst, therapy, communication, hurt/comfort.

We are in this together, so what happened to us? How did I miss on so much?

Bucky drove home, half hoping you’d be there, waiting for him with an explanation. But the house was eerily silent when he stepped inside.

As he wandered through the living room, his eyes landed on a small card on the coffee table. He picked it up, frowning as he read the name of the therapist printed on it.

His heart sank.

Why did you need a therapist? What had happened while he was away?

The name on the card was familiar, and realization dawned. Natasha. She must’ve recommended the therapist to you.

Confusion turned to anger as Bucky drove back to the compound, his mind racing. Why hadn’t you come to him? Why had you turned to Natasha instead?

What the hell was happening?

He found Natasha in the training room, throwing punches at a sandbag. She didn’t stop when he approached, her sharp gaze flicking to him briefly before returning to her target.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky demanded, holding up the card, “Why are you meddling in my marriage?”

Natasha paused, her lips pressing into a thin line as she wiped her hands on a towel, “I’m not meddling, Barnes. I’m helping.”

“Helping?” Bucky scoffed, his anger bubbling over, “By sending my wife to therapy behind my back? By letting her complain about me to you?”

Natasha’s eyes flashed, and she took a step closer, her voice low and cutting, “She didn’t complain, Bucky. She broke. She was alone, dealing with things you should’ve been there for.”

Bucky froze, her words hitting him like a punch to the gut, “What…what are you talking about?”

Natasha’s jaw tightened as she folded her arms, “You really don’t know, do you? You’ve been so wrapped up in playing the team’s golden bachelor boy that you didn’t even notice what she’s been going through!”

Bucky stared at her, his heart pounding, “Just tell me... Nat...please…”

Natasha’s voice softened, but the anger and disappointment in her eyes didn’t waver, “Her boss tried to assault her at work, Bucky. She fought him off, but it left her shaken. She quit her job because of it.”

Bucky’s breath caught, his chest tightening as her words sank in, “Why didn’t she tell me?” he whispered.

Natasha took a deep breath, her gaze piercing, “Because you weren’t there. Because every time she needed you, you were here, laughing with the team, letting some trainee flirt with you while she was at home, dealing with her worst nightmare alone.”

He staggered back a step, guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. “I… I didn’t know. I didn’t think…”

“Exactly,” Natasha cut him off, her tone sharp, “You didn’t think. You insisted on having a home, but you left her in it by herself. You promised her forever, Bucky, and then you broke that promise.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and damning.

Bucky’s hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, his mind racing with everything he’d missed, everything he’d ignored. He thought of the dark circles under your eyes, the tremor in your hands, the way you smiled less and less.

At first, he thought it was just his imagination, maybe you are tired.

But now he realized, he had failed you.

And now, he didn’t know if he could make it right.

The rage simmered in Bucky’s chest, barely contained. Tony and Steve had to physically stop him from storming out of the compound the moment Natasha told him what happened to you. They knew where his anger would take him, and they weren’t about to let him cross the line, even when Tony told him, he had dealt with your former boss.

“We’ll find out where this guy is.” Tony assured him, his voice steady but cold, “But you’re not going alone.”

Steve added quietly, “This isn’t just about revenge, Bucky. It’s about making sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Let us help.”

Bucky didn’t argue. Deep down, he knew they were right, even if his fists ached for vengeance.

It didn’t take long for Tony to track down your former boss. He wasn’t exactly hiding, which made it easier for Bucky to confront him.

The man barely had time to process what was happening before Bucky grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the nearest wall.

“You think you can lay a hand on her?” Bucky snarled, his voice low and lethal, “You think you can hurt her and walk away?”

The man stammered, trying to wriggle free, but Bucky’s metal arm held him in place effortlessly. Steve stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, his presence a silent reminder to Bucky not to go too far.

But Bucky didn’t care about restraint.

Each punch he threw was fueled by the image of your tear-streaked face, the way Natasha’s words had described your fear and pain. Every bruise he left on the man’s body was a reminder of the consequences of hurting you.

When the man finally collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain, Bucky leaned down, his voice deadly calm, “If you ever go near her or anyone else again, I won’t stop next time. Do you understand me?”

The man nodded frantically, too afraid to speak.

“Good!” Bucky spat, standing and turning to Steve.

Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, steering him away, “That’s enough, Buck. Let’s go.”

As they left, Steve looked back at the man, his gaze cold, “Consider this your only warning.”

Unbeknownst to Bucky, you were starting to find your footing again.

Pepper’s firm but compassionate leadership had given you a safe space to work and grow. Her confidence in your abilities bolstered your own, and with each passing day, you felt a little stronger. Therapy, too, was helping you unravel the knots of fear and self-doubt that had taken root after the assault.

Pepper, however, was growing increasingly frustrated with Bucky. She knew he had no idea you were working for her, and every time he showed up at the compound instead of checking on you, her patience wore thinner.

One afternoon, she’d had enough.

Bucky was in the middle of training with Sam when Pepper marched into the room, heels clicking sharply against the floor.

“Barnes,” she said, her tone brooking no argument, “A word.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, muttering under his breath, “You’re in trouble, man.”

Bucky followed her out of the room, confused. Once they were alone, Pepper crossed her arms, fixing him with a glare.

“You have no idea what’s been going on with your wife, do you?”

Bucky frowned, “I know she’s been through a lot, Pepper. I’m trying to make it right.”

“Are you?” she shot back, “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve been too busy sulking and playing the victim to even notice she’s working for me now.”

His eyes widened in shock, “She’s working here? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because you weren’t there to listen,” Pepper said bluntly, “But you want to make amends? Start by showing her you care. And I mean really care, not just some half-hearted apology.”

Her words stung, but they also lit a fire under him. He couldn’t change the past, but he could start making things right.

That evening, Bucky sat in the quiet of your shared home, waiting for you to return. He thought about everything he’d done wrong. How he’d ignored your needs, dismissed your feelings, and taken your love for granted.

When you walked through the door, tired but more at ease than he’d seen you in months, his heart ached. He stood, unsure of how to begin.

“Hey…” he said softly.

You looked at him, surprised to see him there, “Hey…I… I didn’t think you’d be home...”

He took a deep breath, stepping closer, “I need to talk to you, doll. About everything.”

You stood frozen in the doorway, his voice catching you off guard. Bucky was rarely home, and certainly not waiting for you like this. His expression was a mix of guilt and something deeper, something you weren’t sure you could trust anymore.

“What is it, Bucky?” you asked, setting your bag down by the door and folding your arms defensively.

His heart clenched at the wariness in your voice, the way your posture screamed caution. He’d done that to you, created this distance that now felt insurmountable.

“I… I know I’ve messed up,” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I know I haven’t been here for you. And I know it’s not enough to just say I’m sorry, but I need you to know that I am. More than I can put into words.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, “Why now, Bucky? After everything, why are you suddenly ready to talk? I’ve been dealing with so much alone, and you were too busy at the compound to even notice.”

Your words hit him like a slap, but he didn’t flinch. He nodded, accepting the truth of your anger, “You’re right. I was selfish. I thought… I thought I needed the team to feel normal, to feel like I belonged. But in doing that, I forgot that my place is here…with you.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, “I waited for you, Bucky. I waited after every mission, hoping you’d walk through that door. And when you didn’t, I told myself it was fine because you needed time with them. But it wasn’t fine. It hurt.”

Bucky stepped closer, his voice trembling, “I know, doll. And I hate myself for it. I let you down in the worst way. And now, I know what happened at work…what that bastard tried to do to you...”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as panic flared, “Who told you?”

“Natasha,” he admitted, “And Tony. They were trying to help, but I should’ve been the one there for you. I should’ve known something was wrong. I should’ve noticed.”

The floodgates opened, tears spilling down your cheeks as weeks of pent-up pain poured out, “You weren’t there, Bucky. I was so scared, so broken, and you weren’t there. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

He reached out tentatively, his hand brushing your arm, “I’m here now, doll. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Please, let me try.”

You looked at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. For once, you saw no trace of defensiveness or excuses, only raw regret and determination.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you said, your voice trembling, “You can’t just say you’ll fix things and expect it to happen overnight.”

“I know,” he said, his voice firm, “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll be here every step of the way, no matter how long it takes.”

“I don't think... it'll work...”

“Don't... don't say that doll...please I beg you...”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and broken trust. Finally, you nodded, though your heart still felt fragile, “Okay. But this is your last chance, Bucky. I can’t keep going through this.”

His shoulders sagged with relief, but he didn’t smile. He knew the weight of what you were asking, and he knew he couldn’t fail again.

“I won’t let you down…” he promised, his voice steady.

As you stepped past him into the house, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of healing, or just another wound waiting to open.

The days after Bucky’s apology were tense but hopeful. He didn’t try to rush you into forgiving him or pretend that everything was suddenly okay.

Instead, he focused on showing you, through his actions, that he was serious about making amends.

The first change came the next time he was called for a mission. Normally, he would have left without much of a word, but this time, he sat with you the night before he left, holding your hands tightly in his.

“I want you to stay at the compound while I’m gone,” he said, his tone gentle but firm.

You frowned, pulling your hands away, “Bucky, I don’t need to be babysat.”

“It’s not that,” he insisted, “I just… I don’t want you to be alone, doll. I know how quiet the house gets when I’m not here, and I don’t want you to feel like that again. You’ll have everyone there. Nat, Steve, Tony… They care about you, just like I do.”

You hesitated, searching his eyes. For once, you didn’t see pity or guilt, just concern. Reluctantly, you nodded, “Okay. But don’t make this a habit. I’m not some fragile glass that’s going to shatter.”

He smiled faintly, the first real smile you’d seen from him in a long time, “I know. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Staying at the compound was awkward at first. You weren’t used to the constant buzz of activity, the noise, and the lingering stares from those who knew bits and pieces of what had happened.

But Natasha made it easier, staying close and keeping your mind occupied.

“How’s Barnes doing with all this?” she asked one night while the two of you were in the common room.

You shrugged, your gaze distant, “He’s trying. I’ll give him that. But it’s hard, Nat. I want to trust him again, but… it’s not easy to forget how alone and scared I felt...”

Natasha gave you a small smile, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Trust takes time. Let him earn it. And if he messes up again, I’ll deal with him myself.”

That earned a small laugh from you, the first in a while.

Bucky, meanwhile, was a man on a mission, both on and off the battlefield.

During his downtime on missions, he found himself writing letters to you. They were simple, heartfelt notes about what he was doing, what he was thinking, and how much he missed you.

“I know letters are old-fashioned, but it feels right, doll. Like I’m leaving a part of me with you even when I can’t be there.”

When he returned from that mission, he found you in the common room, one of his letters in your hands. You didn’t say anything as he sat down beside you, but the way your hand brushed his told him everything he needed to know.

At home, Bucky made an effort to be present in ways he hadn’t before. He asked about your day, genuinely listening to your answers. He surprised you with small gestures. A cup of tea waiting for you after therapy, your favorite movie queued up for a quiet night together, or a new book he’d noticed you eyeing.

He also insisted on coming with you to therapy one day, sitting quietly by your side as you spoke about your fears and pain. It wasn’t easy for either of you, but it was a step forward.

“I don’t want to be a reason you’re in pain anymore,” he told you afterward, “I want to be the one who helps you heal.”

Still, the process wasn’t without its setbacks. There were days when your anger resurfaced, when old wounds felt raw again, and you couldn’t help but lash out.

“You can’t just fix this with letters and tea, Bucky,” you said one night, your voice shaking, “It’s not that simple…we should…”

He nodded, his gaze steady, but his heart was in his throat, he didn’t let you finish the sentence, he couldn't, “I know.... and...and I’m not going anywhere, no matter how long it takes. I’ll be here, doll. Always...Cross my heart.”

Slowly but surely, you started to believe him.

The turning point came one quiet evening at the compound. You were sitting on the balcony, watching the sunset, when Bucky joined you. He didn’t say anything, just sat beside you, his presence a comforting weight.

Finally, you broke the silence, “I’m scared, Bucky. Scared that I’ll never feel the same, that we’ll never feel the same.”

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and grounding, “I’m scared too…” he admitted, “But I know one thing for sure… I love you, Doll… and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if I have to... even if you want to leave...”

You leaned into him then, letting his arms wrap around you as the sun dipped below the horizon. For the first time in months, you felt a flicker of hope.

The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, you both were walking it together.

The nightmares had lessened over time, but they never truly left you. Some nights were easier than others, and therapy had helped you learn how to cope.

But sometimes, when the night was too quiet, the memories crept in like shadows, suffocating and relentless.

That night was one of those nights.

You were trapped in the same horrifying moment, the feeling of hands that weren’t yours, the panic, the helplessness. Your old boss’s sneer haunted you as you struggled to break free. You could hear yourself screaming, but no sound escaped.

Then suddenly, the scene shifted. The office walls melted away, and instead of darkness, there was warmth. Strong arms pulled you close, grounding you in reality.

“Shh, doll. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Bucky’s voice cut through the terror, pulling you back. You gasped as your eyes flew open, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. The room was dimly lit, the familiar comfort of your home wrapping around you. But the only thing keeping you from falling apart was the man holding you tightly against his chest.

“Bucky…?” your voice was small, fragile.

He cupped your face gently, brushing away the tears that streaked your cheeks, “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

You clung to him, the shaking in your body refusing to subside. He didn’t rush you, didn’t let go. Instead, he simply held you, running his fingers through your hair, whispering soothing words.

“It was the same one, wasn’t it?” he murmured after a while.

You nodded against his chest, “It felt so real.”

His arms tightened around you, protective and unyielding, “It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. And I swear, I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again.”

A part of you wanted to believe that so badly. And maybe, just maybe, you did.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to let go completely. You sobbed into his shoulder, letting him bear the weight of your pain. And for the first time, he didn’t run. He didn’t disappear into the compound, didn’t choose to be somewhere else. He stayed.

“I don't want to leave...” you confessed, the tears finally slowed, exhaustion tugging at your limbs, Bucky kissed your forehead softly, “Sleep, doll. I’ll be right here.”

And you did.

That was the last night you ever had that nightmare.

From that night on, something shifted between you and Bucky. It wasn’t a perfect, magical fix, but it was a foundation. He made a promise that night, and for once, you let yourself believe he’d keep it.

Every mission, he made sure you stayed at the compound, not because he doubted your strength, but because he wanted you surrounded by people who cared. And when he returned, you were the first person he went to. No more excuses, no more delays.

Bucky also made an effort to join you in the small things, like cooking together, reading side by side, even joining you on quiet walks. He wasn’t just present physically, he was truly there, fully invested in you, in your life, in your love.

The letters continued, even when he wasn’t away. Small notes left for you, to find on your bedside table, in your bag, sometimes tucked into your favorite book. Simple words, but they meant everything.

“I love you, doll. Every single day.” “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” “I’m never letting you feel alone again.”

And he didn’t.

One evening, months later, as the two of you sat curled up on the couch, Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You know…” he murmured, his voice thoughtful, “I used to think I missed being on my own. Having the team, the freedom… I thought that’s what I needed. But I was wrong.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow, “Oh?”

He smiled softly, tracing his fingers along your hand, “This is what I need. You. Us. I don’t ever want to take that for granted again.”

You studied him for a long moment before intertwining your fingers with his, “Then don’t.” you said simply.

And he never did.

Because Bucky Barnes had learnt, we are in this together, forever.

Part 1- ✅

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[sosa2imagines]

We are in this together...

Warning- Angst, martial problems, assault at workplace, mean boss, miscommunication.

You never imagined that love could feel like this.

Raw, tender, and yet so fleetingly out of reach. The first six months of your relationship with Bucky had been nothing short of magical. He was sweet, attentive, and utterly devoted. When he proposed, it felt like your heart had found its forever home. Marriage only strengthened that bond, and for the first year, life together was a dream.

After every mission, Bucky would come straight home, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting for him. He’d sweep you into his arms, murmuring how much he missed you. The nights would be filled with whispered stories of his day, and the mornings with lazy kisses.

But then, something changed.

At first, it was subtle. One night, instead of coming home after a mission, Bucky texted, “Gonna hang with the team for a bit. See you tomorrow, doll.”

You smiled at the message, reminding yourself that he’d had a rough few weeks. Surely, he deserved some time with the team. When he came home the next day, you greeted him with open arms, brushing aside the faint sting of his absence.

But it didn’t stop there.

Every mission began to follow the same pattern, a quick text, a brief explanation, and days spent waiting for his return. He’d still come back eventually, wrapping you in his familiar warmth, but the rhythm of your lives had shifted.

The bed felt colder without him. Dinners grew quieter. You found yourself pacing the living room, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for an update.

When you finally gathered the courage to ask him about it gently and carefully, he dismissed your concern with a frustrated sigh.

“I just need some time to unwind with the team, alright? You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is!”

The sharpness in his tone cut deeper than you expected.

So, you stopped asking.

You told yourself it was okay, that this was just a phase. He needed space, and you wanted to respect that. But the loneliness crept in like a cold draft, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice. At the compound, the team talked about how happy and in love you both were. Natasha teased Bucky about how eager he always seemed to get home to you.

You wanted to laugh at the irony.

You didn’t tell them the truth. Not because you didn’t trust them, but because you didn’t know how to put it into words. How could you explain that the man who once couldn’t wait to be by your side now seemed so distant?

One night, after waiting for hours, you curled up on the couch, his favorite blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The television buzzed faintly in the background, but you weren’t really watching.

You stared at your phone, willing it to light up with a message. Anything. But the silence stretched on.

When Bucky finally walked through the door the next day, you greeted him with a soft smile, hiding the hurt deep within your chest. You didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to push him further away.

“Hey doll…” he said, dropping his bag by the door.

“Hey…” you replied, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart.

And so the cycle continued.

The cracks in your marriage weren’t gaping fissures, they were small, subtle fractures that had begun to quietly chip away at everything you’d built together.

Bucky had been so adamant about having a home, just the two of you. You’d offered to live in the compound, even reassured him that you didn’t mind being surrounded by the team. You loved them like family, and the energy of the compound had always made you feel safe.

But he’d been resolute, “I want a place that’s ours, doll. Somewhere quiet, away from the chaos.”

You’d smiled at his determination, thinking it was sweet. You didn’t need the white picket fence or the quaint suburban dream, but if it made him happy, it made you happy.

For a while, it did.

But now, it felt like you were living in a shell of a dream.

Bucky didn’t realize how hollow the house felt when he wasn’t there. How the silence pressed down on you like a weight. You spent your days going through the motions, trying to fill the void he left behind after every mission.

And it wasn’t just his absence, it was the loneliness that followed you everywhere, even when he was home. He didn’t ask about your day anymore, didn’t notice the way your shoulders slumped or how you fidgeted with your hands when you were nervous.

The one person you’d always relied on was slowly slipping away from you.

You thought about bringing it up again, about telling him how you felt. But the memory of his irritation the last time held you back. You didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to seem needy or clingy. So, you buried your feelings, telling yourself that this was just a rough patch.

Meanwhile, work was becoming a nightmare.

Your boss had started making comments. Offhand, seemingly harmless, but enough to make your skin crawl. A hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. Compliments that felt less like appreciation and more like something sinister.

You wanted to tell Bucky. You wanted to see the fire in his eyes, the way his protective instinct would flare up whenever he thought someone was mistreating you.

But he wasn’t there.

When he did come home, his mind was elsewhere. You’d try to start a conversation, but his replies were curt, distracted. He’d drop into bed with a heavy sigh, barely sparing you a glance before falling asleep.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, you knew he did. But somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten how to show it.

And you couldn’t blame him entirely.

You saw the way his face lit up when he talked about the team, about the camaraderie they shared after a successful mission. It was the kind of joy that used to fill your home, too.

You wondered if he missed his bachelorhood, those carefree days of laughter and bonding with his friends. Maybe he didn’t realize how much he’d given up when he chose this life with you. Maybe he regretted it.

The thought clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him.

So, you stayed quiet.

You carried the weight of your days alone, retreating further into yourself. You told yourself you didn’t want to burden him, that he had enough on his plate. But deep down, you were terrified of what his answer might be if you asked him outright.

“Are you happy with me? With us?”

The house was no longer a home. It was a waiting room, a place where you counted the hours and days until he came back, only to feel lonelier when he did.

You stood in the kitchen one evening, staring at the untouched plate of food on the table. Your appetite had long since disappeared, replaced by a gnawing ache that no amount of distraction could soothe.

The sound of the front door opening startled you. Bucky walked in, his hair damp from the rain, his expression tired.

“Hey.” he said, barely glancing your way. He dropped his bag by the door and headed to the bedroom without another word.

You didn’t follow him.

Instead, you sank into the nearest chair, your head in your hands. The weight of everything you’d been holding inside finally broke through, tears spilling silently down your cheeks.

The worst part wasn’t that he didn’t see you crying.

The worst part was that he didn’t even notice.

The compound buzzed with life, laughter echoing through the halls as the team celebrated yet another successful mission. For Bucky, this had become his sanctuary, a place where he could unwind, shed the weight of his past, and lose himself in the camaraderie of his friends.

Natasha sat across from him, swirling a glass of wine, her sharp eyes trained on him. She noticed the way he laughed at Sam’s jokes, how relaxed he seemed, but something felt off.

“Where’s Y/n?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the chatter.

Bucky blinked, momentarily caught off guard, “She’s fine. At home.” He shrugged.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, “Alone?”

He waved her off, “She’s okay. She likes her space.”

Natasha didn’t buy it, “You’ve been here more than usual, Barnes. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze, “It’s fine, Nat. Don’t make it a thing.”

She narrowed her eyes but let it drop for now.

Meanwhile, at your workplace, everything fell apart.

Your boss’s behavior had been escalating, his comments growing bolder, his touches more invasive. You’d tried to ignore it, to handle it on your own, but today he crossed the line.

He cornered you in the break room, his hands gripping your arms as he leaned in too close, his breath hot and disgusting against your skin.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

Panic surged through you, but you fought back. Your hand found the edge of your laptop, and without thinking, you swung it at him, the sharp crack of plastic and metal connecting with his head echoing in the room.

He stumbled back, cursing, calling you slut and many other things but you ran.

Your feet carried you to the one place you thought you’d be safe.

The compound.

The drive was a blur, your heart pounding in your chest as tears blurred your vision. All you wanted was your husband, his arms around you, his voice telling you it was going to be okay.

But when you arrived, your world shattered all over again.

Through the large windows of the common room, you saw them. Bucky, relaxed and laughing, a drink in his hand. He was surrounded by the team, but your eyes locked on the young trainee leaning too close to him, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed at something he said.

Your breath hitched.

You’d never doubted Bucky’s loyalty, but seeing him like this, so carefree, so oblivious to the storm inside you, broke something in you.

You froze, rooted to the spot as the trainee leaned in, clearly flirting, her hand lingering on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t push her away, though he didn’t encourage her either. He just let it happen, a small smile tugging at his lips as he sipped his drink.

Your chest tightened, the air around you feeling suffocating. This wasn’t the man who used to race home to you after every mission, who couldn’t wait to tell you how much he missed you.

You turned and ran.

Back home, the silence welcomed you like an old friend. You stumbled into the bathroom, your clothes still clinging to you as you sank to the shower floor. The cold tiles bit into your skin, but you didn’t care. You turned the water on, letting it cascade over you, freezing and unrelenting.

The tears came in waves, the events of the day crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Your boss’s vile hands, the fear that gripped you, the look on Bucky’s face as he laughed with his team, it was too much.

You wrapped your arms around your knees, your sobs lost in the rush of water.

Back at the compound, Natasha had had enough. She watched the trainee closely, her sharp instincts picking up on every calculated move she made toward Bucky.

When the girl leaned in again, Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “That’s enough!”

The trainee blinked, startled, “What? I wasn’t…”

“Out!” Natasha ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The trainee stammered something, but Natasha’s glare silenced her.

“You’re done here. Pack your things and leave the compound by tomorrow.”

Steve watched the exchange, his brows furrowed. Once the trainee scurried off, he turned to Bucky, “What the hell, Buck? You didn’t think that was inappropriate?”

Bucky shrugged, clearly annoyed, “It’s not a big deal. I wasn’t flirting back.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, “It is a big deal. You’re married. What the hell is going on with you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “I’d never cheat on her, Steve. You know that. She knows that.”

But Steve wasn’t convinced, “Does she? Because from where I’m standing, you’re barely around to remind her.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t respond.

Neither Steve nor Natasha knew just how deep the damage had already gone.

The days blurred into a haze of hollow routines and sleepless nights. You’d managed to get through the aftermath of your boss’s attack in one piece, but the scars it left on your mind and heart were harder to ignore.

It was Tony who first noticed something was wrong. You hadn’t intended to tell him, but when he called to check in on you, his usual playful tone laced with genuine concern and you broke.

Between sobs, you told him everything.

The line went silent for a moment, and then his voice came through, steady but seething with anger, “Pack your things. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Tony, no. I can’t…”

“Sweetheart…” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “You’re family. Do you hear me? Family. And no one gets to treat my family like that.”

The next day, Tony and Pepper arrived at your doorstep. You were still raw, trembling as you recounted the incident in more detail. Pepper wrapped you in a warm hug, her soft words of comfort threatening to break down the walls you’d built around yourself.

“We’ll get you out of there.” she promised, her hand stroking your hair, “You don’t have to go back.”

Tony, true to his word, handled everything. He contacted your company’s HR department, made sure your resignation was swift and final, and ensured your former boss faced the consequences of his actions.

Pepper offered you a job at Stark Industries, something she said would align perfectly with your skills. But you hesitated.

“I can’t… I don’t want to burden you…” you said, wringing your hands.

Tony rolled his eyes, though his expression softened, “Burden? You’re like my sister, Y/n. You don’t ‘burden’ me. Now, take the damn job, or I’ll be forced to invent one just to keep you around.”

His words tugged at your heart, but you made them promise one thing, “Don’t tell Bucky. Please.”

Tony’s jaw tightened at your request, but he nodded reluctantly, “Fine. But only because you asked. He doesn’t deserve you keeping this from him, though.”

Unbeknownst to you, Tony confided in Natasha, unable to shake the worry gnawing at him. The moment she heard what had happened, her eyes flashed with fury.

“She doesn’t want him to know?” Natasha asked, pacing Tony’s workshop.

“Apparently not.” Tony replied, leaning against his desk, “And judging by the way Barnes has been acting lately, I can’t blame her.”

Natasha’s lips thinned. She vowed to keep your secret but decided to keep an even closer eye on Bucky.

Meanwhile, you tried to piece your life back together. You took the job with Pepper, though it felt like every step forward was weighed down by the nightmares that now plagued your nights.

The dreams were vivid, cruel reenactments of the attack. In them, you weren’t fast enough, weren’t strong enough. You’d wake up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, your hands trembling as you clutched the sheets.

You wanted to reach for Bucky, to feel his arms around you, to hear him tell you it was just a dream. But the bed beside you was empty.

Most nights, you stayed awake, unable to face the terror that waited for you in sleep. You buried yourself in work, trying to keep your mind occupied, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on you.

Bucky’s absence only made it worse.

He came home occasionally, offering you a distracted kiss on the cheek or a tired smile before retreating to the bedroom. He didn’t notice the dark circles under your eyes or the way your hands shook when you handed him a cup of coffee.

You tried to hide it, plastering on a brave face whenever he was around. But the weight of carrying it all alone was crushing.

One night, after yet another nightmare, you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. The silence of the house was deafening, pressing down on you like a suffocating fog.

You thought about calling Natasha or even Tony, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to remind them of how weak you felt.

So, you swallowed the pain and carried on, day after day, night after night. But inside, you were unraveling.

The knock on your door was unexpected. You hesitated for a moment before opening it to find Natasha standing there, her sharp green eyes scanning you with concern.

“Hey, love.” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, “You didn’t answer my texts.”

You’d forgotten. Your phone had been buried under a pile of papers for days, silenced to avoid the world.

“Sorry, I’ve been… busy…” you mumbled, brushing a hand through your disheveled hair.

Natasha’s gaze swept over you, taking in the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, and the slight tremor in your hands. Her expression softened, and she gently placed a hand on your arm, “Tony told me...”

Your stomach dropped. You turned away, the shame curling in your chest like a vice, “Nat, I…”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, her voice steady but kind, “Your secret’s safe. I’m not here to push you, but I am here to help.”

The dam broke. You sank onto the couch, tears spilling down your cheeks as you finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. Natasha sat beside you, her presence steady and grounding, letting you cry without judgment.

When the tears subsided, she spoke, “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. You don’t have to, Y/n. Let me help you.”

With her encouragement, you agreed to see a therapist she trusted, someone discreet, someone who understood the unique struggles of those close to the Avengers.

The sessions were hard, each one peeling back layers of pain you’d buried deep. But for the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Natasha stayed in close contact, checking in on you regularly. She didn’t push, didn’t pry, but her quiet support was a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

Meanwhile, Bucky returned from his latest mission, tired but in high spirits. He dropped his bag in the common room, greeted by the usual banter from the team.

But Steve wasn’t smiling.

“Hey, Buck. Got a minute?” Steve’s tone was calm, but his eyes were serious.

Bucky shrugged, “Sure, what’s up?”

Steve led him to one of the quieter corners of the compound, his arms crossed as he faced his best friend, “Why don’t you go home anymore?”

Bucky blinked, surprised by the question, “What are you talking about? I go home.”

“Not after missions. You stay here, hanging out with us, but you never invite Y/n. And when you do go home, it’s for a day or two at most.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his defenses rising, “She doesn’t mind. She likes her space.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, “Does she? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you don’t feel guilty?”

Bucky frowned, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face before he brushed it aside. “Steve, it’s not a big deal. She knows I’m not going anywhere. She’s fine.”

“Is she?” Steve pressed, his voice rising slightly, “Because I don’t think you’ve even noticed what’s going on with her. You’re so caught up in the team, in reliving your ‘bachelor days,’ that you’ve completely forgotten what it means to be a husband.”

The words hit Bucky like a punch to the gut, but he masked it with irritation, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve stepped closer, his blue eyes sharp, “Don’t I? Y/n was willing to live here in the compound, to be part of this chaos with you. But you wanted the house, the space, the life you said you both deserved. And now, you’re the one ignoring it.”

Bucky looked away, his jaw clenched, “I’m not ignoring her. I just… I need this, Steve. The missions, the team, it’s the only thing that makes me feel normal.”

Steve sighed, his voice softening, “I get that, Buck. I really do. But you’re not the only one in this marriage. You made a commitment to her. And right now, you’re breaking it.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding.

Bucky didn’t respond, his thoughts swirling. Deep down, he knew Steve was right. But admitting it was another thing entirely.

At home, you sat by the window, staring out at the darkened street. Natasha’s words echoed in your mind, urging you to take things one step at a time. But as the days stretched on and the nights grew colder, the loneliness crept in again.

You wondered if Bucky even noticed you were gone, not just physically, but emotionally.

And for the first time, you wondered if he ever would.

The thought struck Bucky out of nowhere during breakfast at the compound. He realized he hadn’t been to your workplace in months, hadn’t seen where you spent your days or even asked how things were going. Guilt prodded at him. He decided to surprise you, to make amends for all the time he’d been away.

Pulling up to your old workplace, he entered with a small smile, half-expecting to see your familiar face light up at the sight of him. But as he approached the reception desk and asked for you, the receptionist gave him a puzzled look.

“Y/n? She doesn’t work here anymore.”

Bucky blinked, stunned, “What do you mean? When did she quit?”

The receptionist shrugged, “A couple of weeks ago, I think. You’d have to check with HR.”

Bucky left in a daze, the receptionist’s words looping in his mind. You’d quit? Why hadn’t you told him? Where were you working now?

What happened to you, that he missed so much? Was he really that absent?

Part 2

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