#fatws oneshot

[hughiecampbelle]

Dread (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,824

A/N: Ahhhh okay I don't really talk about it here, or to anyone lol, but last year I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. I still feel like "it" wasn't bad enough and idk, I'm afraid if I did tell someone, they'd say what I'm thinking. My extended family can't handle this kind of info and my mum is dealing with the same thing, so I end up taking care of her even when things are bad. I've been having a lot of trouble the past few months days with sleeping and I thought I'd write about it. I'm using my emotional support Bucky lol. Anyways, just a therapy fic. Things will go back to normal asap! 💜💜💜

You shatter. Like glass, like snow, like silence. Bursting into thousands, millions,of  infinitely beautiful pieces. You glitter under the light, between his fingers. Oh y/n, the pity dripping from his voice like honey, thick and sweet across his teeth, oh no. You splinter, cracking right down the middle. Cheekbone and shoulder blade and fractured, punctured vertebrae compress together into one anonymous pile of bone. Pile of you. Collected into dust pans, into willing palms. All serrated edges and knife like anger, hurt and screaming and ashamed. He nicks himself on you, on a tooth or empty eye socket, slicing himself open. Sorrysorrysorrysorry. The words tumble from your mouth as it falls apart, crashing into the floor, scattered everywhere. He waves you away. He deserves it, he thinks, he says, he insists. You deserved it, too. It was your fault. You didn’t fight back. You didn’t scream. You didn’t tell them. No, he argues, the thoughts breaking through your open wounds. Drawn by ice pick, your skin chipped, two words the play on loop. My. Fault. No, his is angry now, speaking to the fragments. Don’t say that. Don’t- don’t say that. Okayokayokayokay. In secret though, when he has his back turned, attention carried away, you think it very quietly. Over and over until there is no more space left, until you fear you will splinter all over again. Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault. 

He used to try to fill the silence. Frantic in the dark, blinded, left to wander, searching for the switch. The bedside lamp spills her light across the room. You can name everything in it. An unmade bed. Two tables. Two lamps. Two people, sleep deprived, scared to death for the same reason. He used to try to fill the empty space with every question that came to mind. Beneath his voice you sniffled, your heart beating in your ears, pounding too loud. Beneath the sound you tried to catch your breath, gasping for air, trying to fill your lungs, your blood, your body. You can still feel it, you can still hear it, the dream indistinguishable from reality. He used to talk until he was out of breath, until there was nothing left to ask, hoping he would be able to better understand. Why you were doing what you did, why this happened sometimes, who did this. He doesn’t do that anymore. Now he knows. It was a guessing game, a series of assumptions. Fragmented ideas sewn together, the gaps numerous and wide, a series of events and half-truths constructed poorly to make a story. Holey. Holy. And then, once, only once, you told him. You told him everything, unable to look at him for a long time, unable to stop yourself. You put what you’ve never been able to into words. And then he stopped. 

He finds you under the bed. You’re not sure when it became the place, the space to occupy. A habit. Maybe when it started, all those years ago, crying beneath the exoskeleton, needing to feel hugged without the threat of human touch. Maybe it wasn’t suffocating like the closet or exposed out in the open like behind the bedroom door. Maybe it was the last place they would ever find you, the last place to look. Seven years old. Eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen all over again. It makes you feel so small, so little, as if no time has passed. As if those versions of you have been stuck under there all this time. He finds your part of the mattress empty, blankets dragged down as if they’d gotten caught on something. He follows the sound of crying. Soft sobs escape you, the cool of the floorboards cold beneath your cheek. On his hands and knees, his t-shirt loose around his arms, his hair disheveled. Eye-level now. There is sorrow in those blue eyes, pity, but something more. Something that makes you want to curl around him, hold him, let him cry as you are now. Understanding. Recognition. 

What a dangerous thing. 

It’s happened again. The dream with the boy, the dream with the man. His knee between your legs. Spreading them. Pushing into you. On your stomach. You can’t move or speak, you can’t fight. It happened again and now you can’t stop feeling it, experiencing it. Like looking into the mouth of a wolf, counting his teeth, believing naively that you are safe with your hand halfway down his throat. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. It doesn’t matter where you go or who you pretend to be. They follow you. They haunt you. That fucking laugh. Hysterical, cynical, a warning before his hands crawled all over you. You hear it now, under the bed, far from him. You hear it all the time. Strangers look like him. A flash of panic spreads in your chest before you realize it’s someone else. Before you name yourself paranoid, crazy. Again? It’s barely above a whisper. His voice is so thin, so shaky, as if afraid any louder would scare you away. He shouldn’t have to ask. He shouldn’t have to deal with this, with you. You nod, your hands balled into you, your knees to your chest. Yesyesyesyesyes. Againagainagainagain. 

He doesn’t put his hands on you. Not now, not ever. He doesn’t say the things that have been said about you, your body, the space you are forced to occupy. He doesn’t have the thoughts that they had or the urges or the good sense to target someone who would never say anything. Staring at one another. He knows. Not the details, or the guys, or the boys, but he knows. Parts of the past play on loop. Moments he wishes he could forget, destroy, set aflame. Moments that haunt him even on a bright, sunny day where he feels as if nothing bad has ever happened. Even then, there is a ringing in his ears. There is something small and deep that tells him he is running away from something inescapable. That he is a fool for believing he could ever move on. 

It’s too late to say anything. It’s too late to do anything. You can’t remember their names, their faces. You don’t remember when it started, only that it did. It’s never really stopped since then. What a waste, you think, what a terrible waste you’ve become. Two children who would be laughed at, who would be made into jokes, who would grow up and live life with the knowledge that they are not immune to terrible things. He doesn’t join you under there. Instead, he rolls on his back, arm stretched outward, his hand, his wrist, his fingertips rest at the edges of the shadow. His eyes cast upward in awe as if he were looking at a sky full of stars and not a vast blankness of white ceiling. Eventually, your hand will find his. Millimeters away, not yet touching, close enough to feel though. That’s all you have to offer in this moment. He will take it. He will take nothing. But he will never take everything like they have done. You’re on your stomach, your back, always crying. Always trying to get away, but they are too strong, too powerful. They are bigger than you. 

They will say and do things that make you feel dirty. Soiled. Broken. You will scrub your skin raw, but it’s a feeling that never dissipates. It never goes away. You used to hide in the shower. Midnight, one, two, three. He’d hear the water going, see the steam. You’d appear, scrubbed anew and smelling like coconut. Sweet. Summery. Familiar. Your eyes would be rimmed red. Bloodshot. You’d make up an excuse. Anything to get away with it. Along the way you stopped. Along the way you realized the water could never be hot enough, you could never wash away the pieces of you they took. Under the bed it was. You prayed he wouldn’t wake up, that you wouldn’t disturb him, but it never worked. You prayed like that, before, before they did what they did. You gave up on God like He’d given up on you. It only seemed right. Fair. He used to search the entire apartment, calling out your name, his heart suddenly in your throat. Petrified you left him, petrified something terrible happened.  Now he knows what to expect. He knows the place. You lay like that, barely touching, trying to catch your breath, until one of you falls asleep. Eventually, the other follows.

The morning comes. Her warm light welcomes you. You watch him for a while, quietly, running your eyes over the hard line of his jaw, the softness of his cheek, the bridge of his nose. Your finger will draw stars, and circles, and hearts into the floorboards. The day is welcome. It’s the night when things turn sour. When he wakes, you will crawl out from under the frame. You will shower and dress and move on from what’s been tormenting you. You will play pretend. He won’t push the subject, knowing better now, but he will remain acutely aware of your every move. You’ll grab his hand, his arm, the least frightening act of affection, and walk together. You’ll have your coffee. You’ll talk with Sam. You’ll smile, and laugh, and act as if nothing has happened. It’s always these moments that strike him the hardest: after the nightmares, the feeling, the crying, you have no choice but to pick yourself up and carry on. You’re not overly affectionate, though you show him it’s okay, things are better now. Tentatively, his hand finds its way on the small of your back. You let him. 

Tonight it will happen all over again. That dream will come. You will hide. He won’t wake up, though. Tonight he will sleep through it. You will join him in the bed before he realizes, before his eyes open, before he comes to. He thinks things are getting better. And they will, but for now this is how it will be. Two things can be true at once. Two people can exist in a single body. Today, you are you, but the sun will set and that child will take over and you can do nothing but let them. Two realities can exist. Here, you will thrive. There, you are allowed to crumble. He will place his hand on your back. He will refill your mug. He won’t take this light mood for granted. He knows what comes next. He knows the emotions you place in the closet just to exist here, in this room, with these people. He knows because he does the same.

You will thank him quietly, for putting up with you, for dealing with you, but he will always shake his head, unsure of how to put his exact thoughts into words. He’s never minded taking care of you. You’re worth it. You always have been.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Champagne Problems | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Oh, hi! Truly, sometimes you just don't know the answer till someone's on their knees and asks you, you know? Also I hope my taglist works this time but who the fuck knows.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: engagement / wedding talk, mentions of alcohol

Nat flipped through your list of invitees, crossing off a few names as she scanned the page. She took it upon herself to help you stuff, address, and mail the invitations for your engagement party, because in her words, you were “dragging your feet”. There were only five or so weeks left until the event, and you just hadn’t found the time to sit down and sort out the invitations. At least, that’s the excuse you told Nat- and yourself. 

“Okay, we’re finally making some progress, we’re about halfway done,” Nat called from the dining table. “Shit. Without me, no one would even show up to this fucking party.” She didn’t mean for you to hear that second part- but her voice echoed through your nearly empty apartment. 

Almost everything you owned was gone; either sold, or stored, or moved into the house you were to share with your fiancé, Cole. All that remained was your clothes, your bed, and a few odds and ends. It would’ve been far easier, far more convenient, to stay in your new house instead of living out of cardboard boxes. And far more aesthetically pleasing. The house was a nice- nicer than you’d ever be able to afford yourself. And it was beautiful. There was a lush garden in the backyard. A swing on the front porch. Even a white picket fence. You described it to everyone as “picturesque.”

But the lease on your apartment wasn’t up quite yet. You still had a few weeks until your move-out date, and you wanted to soak in as much time at the old place as you could. You loved it here. Loved the worn wooden floors and the doors that didn’t hang straight. The dent in the wall where Bucky bonked his metal elbow when you popped out of the hall closet and scared him. The corner in your bedroom where you and Bucky made a blanket fort during last winter’s blizzard. Memories papered the walls and covered the floors of this place- and most of them involved Bucky.

This was home. And while the new house was great- and fully paid for by your fiancé’s wealthy parents- it didn’t feel like you belonged there. It didn’t welcome you in or fill you with warmth. Cole’s mom said it just needed the right décor. Your friends told you it needed time. But deep down, you knew that no amount of beautiful area rugs, no amount of time, could turn your house with Cole into a home. There would always be one thing missing, one glaring and flagrant void. 

Bucky.

“You’re inviting Bucky?” Nat looked up from the list and found you coming around the corner with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Her incredulous expression nearly stopped you in your tracks.

You gave her a strange look, “Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t he be invited?”

“Okay, first of all,” Nat scoffed, “He’s your best friend- present company excluded. And second, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

You threw a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth as you settled into your chair. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nat rolled her eyes, “Because I don’t think it’s smart to invite the guy you’re actually in love with to a party celebrating your engagement to another man.” She threw you a shrug, “but hey, that’s just me.”

“Woah-” you almost choked on your popcorn. “I’m not in love with Bucky.”

It was the most absurd thing Nat had ever heard. “I’m not in love with Bucky!” she jeered, imitating your voice. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, okay, jesus,” you raised your hands, miming a surrender. “I did- at one point- have romantic feelings for him,” you conceded, “but that was a while ago.”

“Oh, at one point?” Nat crossed her arms over her chest. “You say that like you had a small crush on him for a week, when we both know your ‘romantic feelings’ have been a constant ever since you became friends with the guy.”

Her accusations weren’t necessarily wrong. But they were loud. And pointed. And rubbed salt in your many wounds. “It was …” you gave a small shake of your head. “We never got the timing right, you know? It just didn’t work in our favor.” The heartache with which you’d grown familiar reared its ugly head. “But it’s fine,” you told her. “I’m engaged, now. So.”

Ever since you boyfriend, Cole, became your fiancé, you’d done your best to kill and bury your longing for Bucky. But your feelings for him weren’t so easily vanquished. They were strong and boisterous and loud. At least a few times a day, they launched themselves at you out of nowhere. At work. At the grocery store. At dinner with Cole and his parents. Nowhere was safe. Everywhere you went, things reminded you of Bucky. Of your favorite person. Of the person to whom you were not engaged. 

The desperate pining for him tore your still-healing wounds wide open. Every time your gaze landed on your engagement ring, every time a friend mentioned your impending wedding, a sharp pain sliced through your chest. And each time, you were forced to acknowledge the fact that you were not, in fact, getting married to Bucky.

 “Um, anyway…” you cleared your throat, “Of course, I’m inviting Bucky. And the subject isn’t open for debate, by the way. It’s my party and I’ll invite who I want to.” 

You grabbed an invitation and a blank envelope from the stacks in front of Nat and positioned them in front of you. If Nat didn’t want you inviting Bucky, there was a more than significant chance that she’d conveniently “forget” to address an invite for him. And so, you scrawled his name and address onto an envelope and affixed a stamp in the corner. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his invitation. Even if he didn’t want to come. 

The night of the party arrived sooner than you expected. Sooner than you’d hoped. 

The house was abuzz with people running in and out, carrying food and linens and liquor; you knew you’d be requiring the latter in order to survive the night. Florists arrived to cover the house in perfect, beautiful blooms. A team of caterers brought with them enough fine food to feed an army. And a flawless, two-tiered cake with delicate lacy piping sat on the dining room table, complete with yours and Cole’s initials. All of it was perfect. Picturesque, really. It was exactly what you wanted- but Cole wasn’t who you wanted it with.

Every few minutes, you checked your phone in search of a text from Bucky. The deadline to RSVP had come and gone almost two weeks ago, and he never gave you an answer one way or another. He ignored your “hey, are you coming to my party?” texts, and your “just wanted to know if you plan on coming to the party” voicemails. He ignored almost all of your correspondence, actually. 

Lately, he’d only been answering about a third of your texts and a quarter of your calls. It was unlike him. It was unheard of, really. On multiple occasions in the past, he answered your calls while taking heavy fire; you could actually hear the bullets whizzing by on his end of the line. But now, things were quiet. And you forced yourself to accept that fact that he was not coming to your party.

The festivities kicked off around seven-thirty, and you found your house full to the brim with party goers. All of Cole’s friends showed up. His childhood friends, his college buddies, his old soccer team- they all arrived with bells on. And your friends were well represented, too. High school pals, your book club, a close coworker or two. They were all so excited to see you, so happy that you found someone. 

Even Bucky’s teammates made an appearance. They were his friends first, of course, but growing close with him meant growing close to them. And you’d build unbreakable bonds with Sam, Nat, Wanda, and Maria. They were thrilled for you and more than happy to attend your party- even if Bucky wouldn’t be there. 

With your house so full, so jam-packed with friends, you thought you wouldn’t notice the pain of Bucky’s absence. But you did. Of course, you did. And you found yourself feeling painfully alone in a sea of people. 

Without Bucky there, the night seemed to fall flat. The flowers lost their vibrance. The food was bland. And the music sounded disjointed and off-tempo. Things just weren’t the same. 

People swarmed you every few seconds, hollering their congratulations and asking to see the ring again. They asked you about venues and dresses, bridesmaids and center pieces. Everyone meant well- you knew they did. But as the throngs of people refused to relent with their questions about table linens, your chest began to tighten. A hard, concrete cast wrapped itself around your lungs, preventing them from expanding. A suffocating lack of oxygen rendered your dizzy. It was all too much. The people and the music and the impending nuptials. Even the sensation Cole’s hand on your waist was too much, too tight, too smothering. 

With a whispered “be right back”, you moved swiftly through the crowd and escaped out the front door. If you could just get some space, some quiet, some oxygen, you’d be fine.

The door provided you with much needed support as you tilted and teetered on unsteady feet. The panic, the alcohol, the high heels- it all combined to form a dizzying, possibly lethal combination. But at least you were outside. As least you were free. The cool night air prickled at your skin, and finally, your lungs filled to capacity. A few deep inhales cleared the fog from your mind. With closed eyes, you tipped your head back against the door and let yourself enjoy the quiet. Sure, the music from your playlist leaked into the night air, but this was the closest thing to silence you’d experienced all night. And you were not going to complain. 

As your heartbeat slowed, you told yourself it would be okay. That everything was going to be fine. That you’d figure out how to handle the situation. And, if only for a moment, you actually believed your fabrications. A sense of peace wrapped around you like a blanket, and a welcome calm settled into your bones.

But the creak of a porch step yanked your eyes open. 

And there you found Bucky, frozen on the second to last stair, with giftbox in hand. He eyed you as though he were a prey animal, wondering if you’d seen him, waiting for his chance to escape. But it was too late; he’d been caught.

“Buck?”

He forced a smile, “Hey.”

“Hi!” you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with an intensity that would’ve injured a mere mortal. He reeled back a few paces as your momentum knocked into him. “I’m so glad you’re here! didn’t think you were coming!”

His arms draped loosely- weakly- behind your back. It wasn’t much- but it was better than no Bucky at all. And after he failed to respond to your messages, didn’t answer your calls, and made himself scarce over the last few months, you’d take whatever you could get. 

“Right. Yeah. Well, technically, I’m not-” He untangled himself from your arms and pointed at the perfectly wrapped giftbox. “I just wanted to drop off your present.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s-” Dismay dripped from your words, “Wait, you’re not staying?” 

Bucky gave a shake of his head. He avoided your eyeline and chose, instead, to look at anything other than you.  The grass. The porch light. His own shoes. “I can’t, sorry.”

It crushed you. Having him stop by for only a moment was far worse than him not showing up at all. Because now, you had to deal with the loss. The pain of his departure. For him to grant you the warmth of his presence, only to snatch it away moments later was almost cruel. How could he leave when you were finally seeing the world in color? How could he go when the music finally made sense with him by your side?

You didn’t want to beg. Didn’t want to make him feel bad. Didn’t want to seem pathetic. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You can’t stay for even a little while?”

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart. And he had half a mind to forget his plan and allow you to escort him inside. But he stood firm. “I would,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “But I have to go pick up a friend from the airport.”

The words hit you in a strange place. A pin-prick pain nipped at your chest- you’d caught him in a lie. “Buck, no offense, but all your friends are inside.” You gestured toward the house with a nod of your head. It was true- all of Bucky’s closest friends were dancing the night away in your living room. And he was caught red handed.

 “Right…” His teeth dug into the smooth flesh of his cheek; his eyes roamed the yard. He should’ve known better than to use such a lame excuse- he did know better. He couldn’t casually lie around you; you knew him too well. But the pressure got to him, and forced cracks into his cool, marble surface. He hadn’t even expected to see you tonight, let alone talk to you. The painful awkwardness of the moment ate through him like acid.

“So… you can stay?” Your words came out too desperate, too expectant. But you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to get him to hang around- even if he didn’t seem excited about it. Hell, you’d beg him on your knees if that’s what it took. Anything to get him to stay. 

“Uh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess I can.”

Finally, he let his eyes land on you. After choosing to avert his gaze for so long, he wasn’t strong enough to do so any longer. He had to look at you, to take in every detail of your face. But as he drank you in slowly, inch by inch, in the light of the full moon, a strange solemnity sunk its teeth into him. Perfectly imperfect curls framed your face. A flawless diamond sat at the hollow of your throat. You were even wearing his favorite lipstick of yours- the one he said made you look like a vintage Hollywood star. He eyed your delicate, lacy white dress. Your white strappy heels with bows on the ties. Your white nails. And the perfect, glistening diamond adorning the ring finger of your left hand. 

Everything about you was so beautiful. So bridal. It made his chest tight.

“You look really nice,” he said, almost bashful. “Beautiful.”

“I, um- thanks. Thank you.” 

This stupid white dress. With its stupid lace and its stupid pearls and its stupid bridal flare. You hated it. Resented it. Wanted to take scissors to its seams. But if you were to play the role of Cole’s blushing bride, you had to dress the part, didn’t you? You had to don your fiancée costume and take part in the production. 

But, regardless of your feelings about the outfit, your heart still flared at Bucky’s compliment. One simple word of praise from him had such a startling, intense effect on you. And suddenly, you were in high school again. He filled you with a sense of giddy adoration that you hadn’t experienced since the tenth grade. This was the stuff of love notes stuffed into lockers. Of first kisses under the bleachers. But your feelings for him could never be as fleeting or as shallow as those of your youth. No, this was the stuff of forever. 

“Hello?” Bucky gave you a wave. “You okay?”

An awkward laugh escaped your chest, “Yeah. Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a second. Did you say something?”

“I said, what are you doing outside?” He eyed the packed house. Twinkling lights shone through the windows. Crowds of people danced and drank champagne. Music wafted through the air. “Shouldn’t you be in there? At the party? Cause, you know, it’s for you.”

Just the thought of going back to the party made your stomach turn. Part of you wondered if you might be able to hide outside all night; just stay in the yard until the festivities came to a close. Hell, maybe you could even run away. You could get pretty far if you started walking and didn’t look back. By the time the party ended, you could be deep in the heart of Brooklyn- you could be at Bucky’s.

“Yeah, no, I probably-  I should be inside. But, I’m just…” you took in a sharp breath. It hitched in your windpipe and got stuck for a moment. “I got a little overwhelmed, you know? With the noise, and the people and the… everything. So, I came out here to-” To hide. To escape. To flee. “To get some air.”

Bucky could’ve sworn he sensed something lurking beneath your calm surface. It was the slightest change in your voice, the smallest twitch of your brow. He clocked the way your hands never stilled. The way your teeth dug into the inside of your cheek. Something was off. 

He sat in the long silence, waiting for you to open the vault and show him your secrets. But the lock remained secure. You didn’t say anything else, didn’t hint at the source of your discontent. He eyed your manufactured smile, but couldn’t seem to crack it. 

Things never used to be this way. He didn’t keep secrets from you, and you wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from him- there was no reason to. Neither of you had to fear judgement or ridicule from the other. Your most embarrassing stories, Bucky’s darkest thoughts- they were all safe with the other. 

But an unfamiliar disconnect had pulled the two of you apart. And Bucky could no longer read your soul like a book.

“Everything’s okay, though. Right?” He eyed you with suspicion. With concern. 

You nodded- maybe too fervently. “Yeah. For sure,” a fake smile stretched across your face, “Just stressed, I guess.”

“And he treats you right?” It was one of the things Bucky worried about most. Sure, the house was nice. And the ring was huge. But did Cole speak to you with kindness? Did he show you empathy and understanding? Did he make you feel safe?

“Yes.” 

Bucky breathed a small sigh of relief. Knowing that Cole handled you with care brought a sliver of ease to his worried mind. “So, you’re happy then?” 

It was all Bucky ever wanted for you. A safe life, a happy life. But the answer wasn’t yes or no. This  was the farthest thing from a black and white situation. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to just be happy. You thought that if you willed it, if you said it with conviction- then it would be true. And the happiness you were supposed to feel around your fiancé would magically spring up around you. But it didn’t. Every day, you waited. Every day, you told yourself to just be fucking happy. Cole gave you everything. He was nice and agreeable and provided you with the resources to do anything you’d ever wanted. But the happiness never came. At one point, you decided you’d settle for contentment. But that too evaded you.

“Um, do you wanna sit?” It was the best subject change you could come up with on such short notice. “The porch is free. Come on.”

Before Bucky could respond, he found your fingers linked with his. Chills traveled up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his scalp. Even the most innocent of your touches sent his dopamine levels through the roof. He’d never experienced ecstasy like this ever before- and knew he never would again. Especially not after your wedding.

He knew it was selfish to feel anything less than happy for you. You were engaged, you were getting married- this was what you wanted. You wanted marriage. A lifelong partner. A “till death do us part” kind of relationship. And now, you finally had it. So, who was Bucky to ruin it for you? Who was he to hope that you’d leave Cole at the altar? He forbade himself from ever being that selfish. If he was truly your closest friend, he had to be happy for you- even if it meant that he could never be anything more than your friend. 

With his hand in yours, you led Bucky to the porch. And regardless of the brand-new patio furniture Cole’s parents gifted you, you and Bucky opted to sit on the steps. Crickets chirped every now and again. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, rattling the leaves. Voices and music and the clatter of dishes seeped through the windows. You didn’t notice any of it.

Because, finally, you had what you wanted- if only for a moment.

It was the simplest, most innocent desire you’d ever had. To sit on the front steps with Bucky. To share a home with him. To drink coffee next to him on the porch each morning. To watch the rain from safety of your porch swing with Bucky’s head in your lap. 

If you ignored the white dress and the engagement ring and the pop of champagne bottles, you could almost believe that this was Bucky’s house, too. That the two of you could go inside and retire to bed. That you could wake up in the morning, wrapped in his arms. You could almost believe it. Almost.

The two of you sat in silence, planning your words carefully. Conversation felt like a mine field, and one misstep could send either of you to your death. But the warmth radiating off Bucky’s his body wrapped you in a familiar comfort. The narrow steps didn’t provide much in the way of sitting room, forcing Bucky to sit almost shoulder to shoulder with you- not that he’d ever complain. 

With every gust of wind, he caught a whiff of your perfume- the perfume he loved so much. The scent that often clung to his hair and weaved itself into the fabric of his clothes. It mixed with the smell of early spring- crisp air and new blooms. And he felt himself losing his resolve. He did his best to put distance between the two of you, to protect his heart and yours. But as you leaned your body against his and rested your head on his shoulder. He wondered why the fuck he’d ever leave your side.

You, too, lost all strength. And suddenly, you didn’t care about misspeaking. 

“I miss you, Buck…” Present tense. Because, even with him next to you, you missed him. Missed the way things used to be. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with work, and trying to prove myself…” He let out a heavy sigh. Of course, regardless of his intentional distance from you, work really was killing him. “Everyone at SWORD is paranoid- they’re convinced that there’s a secret faction of Hydra growing within their organization.”

“Hmm, that’s so weird. I wonder why they’d be worried about that.” You gave bucky a nudge, and pulled a laugh- your favorite laugh- from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot you an eye roll. “But you’re probably really busy, too. With all the wedding planning.”

His mention of the wedding shattered your perfect, maladaptive daydreams. All the noise from the party once again filled your consciousness. And the weight of Cole’s engagement ring felt like an anchor, dragging you down to the deepest, loneliest sea. Bucky wished he hadn’t brought it up as you removed your head from his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s been-” you felt yourself closing off a bit, and did your best to fight it. “I haven’t actually planned a single thing. At all. So.”

Bucky gave you a strange look. It wasn’t like you to put things off, to procrastinate. He knew you to be an organized, ahead of the curve type of person. You were always the one who had a plan, always the one who over-prepared. He figured that in the few months since your engagement, you’d have planned at least a few things- if not the entire wedding and honeymoon.

“Do you have a date at least?” He pulled out his phone, “I want to put it in my calendar.”

Bucky would be there to support you no matter what, even if watching you marry another man killed him.

“Um, no, there’s no date yet,” you said. “Cole’s parents belong to a really fancy country club and said we could get married there- it’s beautiful. All I have to do is contact the club’s event coordinator and figure out which days are available. I just-” you dropped your eyes to the ground, “I haven’t yet.”

Bucky didn’t like your downcast gaze or your uncertain voice. There was something eating at you- he’d bet his life on it. Maybe you were just overwhelmed. Maybe you felt like you were behind on all the decisions that needed to be made. Either way, he wanted to help.

He threw you a shrug. “Well, there’s no rush, is there?” 

He took your left hand in both of his and gave it squeeze, but regretted the gesture when your engagement ring dug into his palm. You were getting married to someone else; he had to stop touching you like this. Had to stop treating you like you were still on the market. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or disrespect your relationship. And so, he dug his hands into his pockets. 

“I mean some people don’t start planning right away, right?” He said, “They wanna take their time and enjoy the engagement for a while, and-

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Enjoying my engagement.” You had half a mind to take off the ring and launch it into the street. You’d dreamed about doing so every day, actually. Dreamed of throwing it on the subway tracks. Or dropping it through a grate on the street. 

Alarm ran through Bucky’s system like wildfire. “Is everything okay? Is it-”

Finally, you lifted your eyes and met Bucky’s stare.  

“I don’t want to marry him.”

Bucky felt his brain short circuit. He forgot how to breathe, how to speak. His thoughts tangled themselves together in tight, writhing knots. Words bounced off the walls of his skull without meaning. This wasn’t what he’d expected you to say. 

“Um, why-” he cleared his throat, “why not?”

He cringed at his own question. Maybe it wasn’t his business. Maybe you didn’t want to get into the details. But you were upset. And if there was any chance at all that you’d want to vent or use Bucky as a sounding board, he was going to listen. 

But there was nothing for him to listen to. For a long time, you didn’t answer. Because to you, the answer was stupid. To you, it sounded like bullshit. Like you’d wasted Cole’s time and love and money. Like you were some noncommittal, unsure child. You rolled your eyes at yourself- as you had every day since Cole’s proposal.

“I just don’t- I don’t love him,” you finally said. “I’m not in love with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great. He’s a really nice person…” And he was. He was kind. He was understanding. He was thoughtful. But he wasn’t the one- he wasn’t Bucky. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. And he’s given me- he’s given me everything. But, I just don’t love him like I-”

You stopped yourself. The words that danced on the tip of your tongue were too risky, too dangerous. You wrangled them before they had the chance to escape- before they had the chance to push Bucky away- and locked them behind bars. 

But they screamed inside your mind. ‘I don’t love him like I love you’ echoed again and again, reverberating every few seconds. Part of you feared Bucky might hear it.

“Um, I don’t love him like-” you rerouted, “Like I always imagined. You know? I don’t feel the way I thought I would.”

Bucky considered your words for a long time. Unlike you, he didn’t think it was bullshit. Or stupid. Or childish. He set his feelings for you aside, not allowing them to cloud his judgement, and thought about your predicament. 

“Well, you don’t have to, you know,” he finally said. “Marry him, I mean.”

You gave him a subtle nod. Maybe he was right. But a larger problem- a more important problem- loomed. And while you’d spent the past few months hemming and hawing about marrying Cole, there was another issue at hand that ate you alive every single day. 

“Why have you been avoiding me, Buck?” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusatory. You just needed to know.

For the third time that night, Bucky found himself caught red-handed. “What?”

“Ever since I got engaged, you’ve been avoiding me.” 

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. And though Bucky knew it was truth, his first instinct was to refute. To deny. To deflect.

“No, I haven’t. I’m not avoiding you,” he said, putting on an air of offense. “I’ve been busy with work and-”

“Don’t give me that.” Your heartbreak dissolved into cold, hard facts. Facts that Bucky couldn’t refute. “I used to see you almost every day. No matter how busy either of us got, we still saw each other all the time. We made time for each other. But ever since Cole proposed, you don’t answer my texts anymore. You don’t respond to my voicemails. I mean, I’ve only seen you-” The realization was startling. You knew Bucky had been distant, but as you quickly flipped through your memories of the past few months, you confirmed just how detached he’d been. “I’ve seen you twice. Including tonight.”

Bucky’s silence bit through your flesh. 

Part of you didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. But the question left your lips before you could stop it. “Buck, are you mad at me?” 

He shook his head. “No, why would I be?”

“Because Cole proposed, and I said yes.”

A look of bewilderment yanked Bucky’s features upward. Emotions flashed across his face at lightning speed. A scoff barked out of his throat.

“No. No, I’m not-” He was caught off guard. Struggling to cover his tracks. “I’m not mad. It’s not like that. I’m just-”

“What’s it like, then?” You stared at him, expectant. 

“Oh, come on…” It was all too much. He couldn’t be in such close proximity to you anymore. Couldn’t have you almost pressed against his side. 

He fled from his seat on the stairs and opted to stand in the grass. He paced for a beat or two, wearing down the fresh blades of greenery. And when he finally came to a stopping point, he couldn’t face you. Couldn’t look you in the eye. He just needed a moment. Needed some space. Needed to breathe air that didn’t wear your perfume. And when he cleared his mind- and his lungs- he turned to you.

“You know…” he let out a huff. “You know that things haven’t always been exactly platonic between us. You know that I’ve had- that I’m-” His metal fingers ran through his hair, “Anyway, I’m just… I’m trying to deal with this whole thing. I guess I’m not doing a good job.”

It wasn’t news to you. But it still struck you like lightning. 

Things between you and Bucky always teetered on the edge of romance. Always walked a tightrope between friendship and love. And while you adored a good “will they, won’t they” type of relationship on tv, it didn’t have the same charm in real life. The Nick and Jess, Sam and Diane, Janine and Gregory dynamic brought you only pain. Confusion. Heartache. Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a room full of talented writers scripting your every interaction with Bucky. The two of you didn’t have a well thought out, perfectly planned arc that placed you in a relationship by the end of your third season as friends. No, the two of you were left to your own devices, navigating the difficult terrain without help. 

Part of you always believed that you and Bucky would end up together. Maybe it was the Ben and Leslie of it all. Or maybe it was your hopeless romantic side. But you truly thought things would work out for the two of you. The ring on your finger, however, said otherwise.

A wave of remorse washed over you. You rested your elbows on your knees and dropped your chin into your hands. “We just never got the timing right…”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“Our feelings for each other were always out of sync,” you lamented. “They ebbed and flowed over the years- just with opposite timing. When you had feelings for me, I was dating someone. When I had feelings for you, you were in love with another woman. It was just…” you cursed fate and destiny and everything in between. “It was bad fucking timing. 

A sharp edge rose in Bucky’s voice, “You think that’s what happened?”

You nodded, “Um… yeah. Yes.”

“You’re wrong.” He was steadfast. Resolute. He wanted to argue with you, wanted to prove you wrong. 

“What do you mean?”

“My feelings never ebbed- whether I was dating someone or not, those feelings never went away,” he said. There was a desperation in his voice. A longing you hadn’t heard before. “And they still haven’t. They’ve never gone away or even faded a little bit. I know you had fleeting feelings for me at one time or another, but mine weren’t temporary.”

It was bullshit- it had to be. Right? His “feelings” for you never seemed so concrete, so permanent. They weren’t even feelings; if anything they were more like passing flirtations. Momentary affections that dissolved every time a beautiful woman walked by.  

You let out a scoff, “Tell that to all of your girlfriends-”

“I only dated other people because I was losing my fucking mind.” His voice rose an octave or so  and he cut his eyes toward the house, watching for a sign that someone had heard him. “Every time you started seeing someone new, it was like I couldn’t breathe. So, I needed something- someone- to be a distraction. And I know that’s a dick move. But-”

You weren’t proud of it, but you were familiar with Bucky’s coping mechanism. With his tactics for surviving every new boyfriend of yours. “I did the same thing.”

“What?” He didn’t believe you- not even for a second. Your engagement ring wouldn’t allow him to. 

“Buck, I’ve had feelings for you since we became friends. It was pretty much immediate after meeting you. And they weren’t ‘fleeting’- or whatever you said.” The word actually offended you. “They’ve never ebbed.” 

You caught a glimpse of your engagement ring in your periphery and instantly dropped your hand into your lap, hiding the ring from your view- and Bucky’s. “I only dated other people because I didn’t think anything could actually happenbetween us.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. He instantly mourned the lost time, the years he could’ve spent with your lips on his. Of course, the friendship you shared was never a waste. And he’d never trade the years you spent as confidantes. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how different things could’ve been. How much mutual pain could’ve been avoided.

He took a step away from you, too confused and upset to be in your orbit.  “And you never told me any of this?”

Your brow furrowed; your lips stretched into a thin, frustrated line. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

With fury smoldering in your chest, you rose from your seat on the porch steps. Anger glistened behind your eyes and hurt coated your words. “I told you! I bared my fucking soul to you!”

The puzzle pieces came together for Bucky. He let his head tip back a bit and covered his face with his hands. He let out a deep groan that only added to your rage. He didn’t have to ask- he already knew what you were referencing. But the part of him that wanted a fight egged you on. “Oh my god, are you talking about that night at the bar?”

“Of course I am!” you spat. “I told you everything- I confessed everything! I told you I loved you and that I wanted to be with you. I told you I was in love with you. And you just brushed it off!”

Bucky grimaced, “I know...” 

He wandered a bit farther, putting a few more paces between your body and his. He knew he was wrong. Knew he fucked up. Every time he thought about what you said at the bar, and the way he reacted, he grew nauseous.

“But I didn’t think it was real.” Another wave of desperation sent his voice booming through the yard, “I didn’t know you actually meant it! And I didn’t think I should hold you to something you said after six margaritas.”

He had a point. He had good reason not to believe a drunken confession. But you gave a fervent shake of your head; it wasn’t his actions that night that hurt you, it was everything that followed.

“But you didn’t even acknowledge it!” The words echoed down your street. You wondered if your neighbors had gathered around their windows, watching yours and Bucky’s drama unfold like a soap opera. “You could’ve asked me about it the next day or-”

The pain in your voice cut Bucky deep. His tone was softer now, his voice a little quieter. He knew he should’ve handled things differently. Knew you deserved better. “Well, you never brought it up either…”

“I tried to!” A rogue tear dripped down your cheek. You wiped it away in a hurry, hoping Bucky hadn’t seen it- though you knew he had. “But you told me ‘not to worry about it’ and then you walked away. And that was it.”

Bucky watched as a few more tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. He wanted to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. To offer you a hug. But he couldn’t- he was certain you’d swat him away. Regret sat in his stomach, weighing him down like lead.

“Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? I told you how I felt, and you pretended like it never even happened,” your voice wavered ever so slightly. “And when I tried to talk to you about it, you waved me off. I was so humiliated- I didn’t want to say anything else.”

The weeks that followed your drunken- but true- confession were some of the most miserable times of your life. Bucky simply carried on like normal, inviting you over for movies and pizza and wine. And you didn’t have it in you to pull away. To put some distance between the two of you. To take the time you needed to lick your wounds. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t want to stray from his side. Didn’t want to retreat. Because being around him was better than being without him, even if the rejection left you broken and bruised.

 “After that,” you shrugged, “I thought you didn’t want anything more than friendship with me.”

“But I-” Bucky shook his head; you were wrong- you were so wrong. He’d always wanted more, always wanted you. “I’ve always loved you…” 

“How was I supposed to know that? I mean, your string of girlfriends says otherwise.” You thought back on the litany- on the catalogue- of beautiful women Bucky paraded around. “And I know I dated other people, too. But you had so many. And you were so- you gushed about those women. You flaunted them. You talked about them nonstop.”

Bucky knew it was true. He brought his girlfriends to every event, every team dinner, every casual hang. The one time, the one place he deemed too sacred for the presence of his rotating cast of lovers, however,  was the one-on-one time you shared. He never dreamed of allowing them to tag along when it was just supposed to be the two of you- that was one line he’d never cross. He did spend a significant amount of time talking about them, though. He went on and on about his many, many forays into the dating world. And truth be told, you had trouble keeping track of all the names. 

Because, while you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, Bucky dated enough women to field a soccer team. Or two.

But you weren’t mad at him for it. You didn’t hate him for seeking companionship. You just couldn’t believe that he had real, legitimate feelings for you while simultaneously telling you that he planned to propose to Isabella. Or Nadia. Or Violet. 

“Honestly, you made it seem like you wanted to marry every one of them,” you told him. “The way you talked about them- it was like you were so in love. So, I didn’t think…” The whole situation was too messy. Too confusing. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to have real feelings for me. I thought you were a flirt. And a ladies’ man. And I thought you only showed me affection when you were bored between lovers.”

Bucky thought back on all the girlfriends. All the hook ups. All the times he left a one-night stand and ended up at your apartment after. He hated it- but you were right. He may have flirted with you; he may have showed you fleeting affection. And maybe he made a joke or two about growing old with you- but he never made a declarative statement. He never confessed his true and undying love for you. Never made the effort to take your friendship to the next level.

Only you’d been brave enough to do that. And he’d paid you dust.

“And I mean, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk about my feelings for you,” you said. A flood of familiar embarrassment rose around your ankles. You found yourself struggling to wade through it, just as you had after Bucky brushed you off. “So, I just… I found Cole. And I stayed with him- I stayed long enough that he asked me to marry him. And I knew you didn’t want me, so… I said yes.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine a reality in which he didn’t want you. “I’m so-” he slid a hand over his mouth. He let his head drop a bit. 

The weight of your words- of the truth- almost forced him to his knees. He’d only ever known longing, wanting, yearning- for you. And he always told himself you didn’t see him that way. But knowing now that you’d felt the same, that your confession was real and true, didn’t assuage the hurt. He couldn’t believe that he brushed you off. That he didn’t take the time and summon the courage to ask you about what you said at the bar. 

But he’d been too scared. Too scared he’d ruin your friendship. Too scared he’d make you uncomfortable. Too scared that your drunk words were just that- drunk words with no meaning.

As your point of view stood next to his, the puzzle pieces aligned. And the two of you finally got a look at the full picture. It was a picture of mutual love, mutual longing, mutual heartache. A picture of two best friends who couldn’t find it in them to have a serious- sober- conversation about their feelings for fear of ruining a good thing.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said. “I didn’t know you were serious at the bar. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I never want to hurt you.” He swiped his sleeve across his face, mopping up a stray tear that threatened to run down his cheek. “And I really didn’t mean to push you into the arms of another man. I just... I didn’t know you meant it.”

A tired sigh deflated your chest, “I meant it.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to handle the situation. He hated that things got so muddled. Hated that you felt so hurt. Hated that he hadn’t just been honest. The two of you were so close, so comfortable together, he never thought things could get this messed up. This disastrous. But he supposed it was par for the course. After the way his life had played out, why would he think that something as important as falling in love would be easy?

“So, it seems like we’re…” Bucky frowned, “terrible at this.”

“Yeah,” a dark laugh escaped your chest. “I guess we’re both stupid.”

Bucky nodded. If there’d been one- just one- honest conversation between the two of you, none of this would’ve happened. There’d be no Cole. No hurt feelings. No argument in the yard. All this time, you could’ve been sleeping next to Bucky each night. You could’ve shared a home with him. Kissed him good morning each time the sun rose. And the engagement ring- albeit a smaller one- resting on your finger would’ve been from Bucky. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? There was too much pain, too much hurt. And you were very much so engaged. Hell, you and Bucky were standing in the front yard of the house you shared with your soon-to-be husband. But Bucky had to ask, didn’t he? He had to dig deeper, to find the truth. 

And after he’d failed to acknowledge your truth last time, he wasn’t going to do it again. 

Knots twisted around in his stomach. His lungs failed to expand all the way. But he needed to know. “Do you still-

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t leave even a sliver of room for doubt. “I still love you.”

Bucky said nothing. He simply drank in the words. Replayed them in his mind. Relished in the sound of your voice- sober and steady- saying that you loved him. It was all he’d ever wanted.

But his silence pushed you to the precipice.

“So, um,” your hands shook. “What about you? Are you-”

Bucky almost laughed. “Oh, come on. Of course, I do- of course, I love you. What kind of question is that?” He shot you a wink.

There it was- his truth laid out before you. And to think, you’d dreaded this night for weeks. Dreaded celebrating your engagement to Cole. Dreaded answering questions about your impending wedding. And now, the love you’d hoped for, the love you’d always wanted, laid perfectly spelled out for you in the grass. Somehow, the party celebrating your engagement to another man provided the perfect venue for Bucky to bare his soul.

And while the two of you relished in the others’ words of love, uncertainty still filled the air. Bucky stood firm on his side of the lawn, and you yours. This wasn’t a perfectly scripted episode of sitcom, there weren’t people telling you what to say. What to do next. Your shared predicament was messy and awkward. And though you didn’t have a director telling you how to act, you knew your neighbors were entertained.

“So, what do we…” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do we do now? You’re supposed to marry someone else. Your house is full of people celebrating your engagement. And-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. 

You pursued him across the lawn, stalking toward him until your lips crushed his. Instantly, his hands found your waist and pulled you tighter. Your hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and buried themselves in his hair. The chill in the air fell away. The noise of the party evaporated. Nothing existed outside of this moment, this kiss. Bucky snaked his arms around your back, encircling you completely. He wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not again.

But an errant sound from inside the house made a grab for his attention. And suddenly, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a train. 

He pulled away ever so slightly, only allowing a few millimeters between his lips and yours. His gaze landed on the packed house, “Someone might see us-”

“I don’t care.” You gave his hair a gentle tug and closed the gap between you. Now that you’d finally tasted his lips, you didn’t want to spend a moment without them. Ever.

And while Bucky wanted only this- only you- for the rest of his life, his anxiety needled at him as it always did. He did his best to swat his worries away and devote his focus to you and only you, but he couldn’t fight it. He had to tell you, had to clarify.

Again, he pulled away. 

“But you know I can’t- I can’t give you the things he can give you. You know that right?” He searched your face for any hint of realization. Any flicker of regret. “I mean, the big diamond ring, and the fancy wedding, and the house. I don’t want you to be disappointed, I don’t want you to-”

And again, you cut him off. Your mouth melted against his, hell bent on consuming him right then and there.

“Buck, I don’t want any of that,” you finally said when you came up for air. “I want you. That’s it.”

And there it was- Bucky’s confirmation that you wanted him for him. That you didn’t care about his small, shabby apartment. Or his lack of funds. That you loved him for who he was, not what he could gift you. 

“And honestly, all the fancy stuff isn’t really my vibe,” you shrugged. “I mean, I’m not really the type to play tennis at the country club. And I don’t use ‘summer’ as a verb.”

Bucky’s laughed boomed through the yard. It cut through the noise and chatter of the party and made you feel more at home than you ever did in this godforsaken house.

“So, do you want to make a run for it?” Bucky asked between long, deep kisses. “If we go now, I don’t think they’ll catch us.”

It was enticing. The thought of absconding with Bucky set you alight from the inside out. All you could think about was spending the night in his bed, wearing his clothes as pajamas, and then ditching them entirely for a night of passionate debauchery.

But there would be plenty of time for the two of you to make your escape- after you carried out the plan forming on the outskirts of your mind.

“I say, we run- but not quite yet,” you told him. “I think you give me a few minutes inside so I can snag a couple bottles of champagne and some of that fancy whiskey Cole’s dad brought by. And then we jump in the getaway car and run like hell. How does that sound?”

How could Bucky possibly say no to that? He watched with bated breath as you snuck back into the house and hoped to god that no one noticed your return.

And his prayers were answered. Everyone was so drunk, so distracted by the music and the lights, that they didn’t even glance in your direction. 

A quick trip to your room allowed you the opportunity to rid yourself of Cole’s ring. Sure, it was beautiful. And sure, Cole was a nice guy. But you didn’t want it, didn’t want to be shackled to him for the rest of your life. You slid the ring from your finger and instantly felt the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. It was the most instantaneous relief you’d ever felt- aside from kissing Bucky for the first time. You tucked the ring safely into the drawer of your nightstand and told yourself you’d return it to Cole tomorrow. 

Tonight, you had more pressing matters to attend to. You snaked down the hall to the kitchen, undetected by the raucous partygoers. And without drawing any attention to yourself, you snaked two bottles of champagne out of their ice bath and tucked a nice vintage whiskey under your arm. If you and Bucky were going to celebrate, you were going to do it in style.

With the alcohol safely cradled in your arms, you made a mad dash for the front door. But just as you turned the handle, the sensation of someone watching you gave you pause. Slowly, you turned around, fearing that you’d find Cole’s confused, heartbroken gaze staring back at you. Instead, it was Nat who’d caught you in the act. 

She gave you a wicked smile and mouthed “I told you so” from across the room. And with a sweeping gesture, she urged you to “go, go, go!” She didn’t have to tell you twice. Quick as a flash, you escaped out the door and sprinted down the porch steps. 

Bucky paced up and down the front walk, waiting for your return. Part of him feared that you might not return from your trip inside. Maybe you’d change your mind about the whole thing. Maybe you’d decide to stay with Cole. But the way you tore down the front steps and launched yourself into his arms quieted his anxieties. 

He took your face in his hands and captured your lips with his. “You got the goods?”

Your laugh vibrated against Bucky’s lips, “I don’t know about you, but I think stolen champagne tastes better.”

"That's my girl."

Bucky snaked an arm around your back and ushered you across the yard, out the front gate, and across the street to his car. He stole the booze from your grasp and placed the bottles gently in the back seat. And once he ensured that the alcohol you worked so hard to pilfer would make it home safe, he turned his attention to you. 

His hands slid over your hips and traced up your spine, sending goosebumps over your skin. His mouth met yours in a kiss full of love and desperation. Longing and need. This was what you’d always wanted. What you’d begged the universe for. What you’d cried and agonized over. And now it was yours- Bucky was yours.

He pulled away only a fraction of an inch, “You ready to go, baby?”

“Get me outta here, Buck.”

------------------------------------

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliameryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[aikaterini-drag]

Smiles and Smooches

Summary: You get drunk and demand kisses and hugs from your boyfriend. He is more than happy to please you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader (no mention of y/n)

Warnings: no smut, takes place during tfatws, boyfriend Bucky, emotional security, fluff, kisses.

The night carried a pleasant breeze, the stars twinkling. You and Bucky sat close together under the dimmed light of a cozy booth at your favorite bar. The hum of laughter and clinking glasses surrounded you. And tonight, you were a little tipsier than usual. You had consumed two of your favorite cocktails— despite your boyfriend’s advice to take it slow. Bucky, unlike you, couldn't get drunk no matter how hard he tried, thanks to his super soldier genes. He had finished the last sips of your drink, attempting to prevent you from feeling sick later on.

Thankfully, you were feeling fine. Only slightly drunk and blissfully happy inside.

With flushed cheeks and a captivating smile, you shifted on your chair and leaned toward him.

"You know, babe," you slurred slightly, "you're like... seriously the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Bucky couldn't help but half-laugh. “I told you, you shouldn’t have ordered that second drink, sweets. You’re drunk.”

“I’m fine.” You hiccuped and hugged his arm. “It’s not my fault you’re superman.”

“Super-soldier,” he corrected with another half laugh.

“Tsk… is the same. You’re my strong, virile man. And I love you!”

He grinned and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "And you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

You beamed at him, your fingers tracing patterns on his bionic hand. "No, I love you more! Seriously, you're, like, super super cute. I mean, like, cuter than, like, a basket of puppies."

He chuckled at your comparison. “What an adorable declaration of love.”

“You’re adorable.” Your breath ghosted over his lips. “My adorable James. My Bucky.”

He smiled and kissed across your forehead. “Well, that’s debatable. I have the most adorable girl in the world right here with me."

Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink. "Can I have a hug? Please? You give the best hugs."

Who was he to deny you? He eagerly wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close. You melted into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, your fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt. You popped a button and he chuckled and gripped your hands gently.

“No funny business, sweets.”

You pouted. “Want to kiss you. Everywhere.”

He kneaded your hair. “We’re in a bar full of people.”

“Then let’s go home,” you said as your mouth trailed a path of warmth along his unshaven jawline.

“I’m not letting you drink ever again. You get turned into a little kiss monster.”

You giggled. “Your kiss monster.”

“Mine. Always.” He hummed, his voice a warm murmur.

“Take me home, sarge.”

“Home it is, my sweet.”

After taking care of the bill, he held you up, his arms wounding around you to steady you. You still felt a little tipsy but you were also so happy and warm, holding him close, inhaling his fresh masculine scent. Holding you protectively against him, he led the way to the apartment you shared.

As they walked, he glanced at you. “Why did you drink so much, sweets? You dislike it.”

You sighed and clutched his arm. “I’m just sad you’re going on another mission. I don’t want you to be hurt. I meant to have one drink but… I lost control a bit, I guess.”

Bucky stopped and cupped your flushed face. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You know I’ve got this.”

“So what if you’re good at it? Does that mean you have to risk your life without concerns?” Tears welled up in your eyes. “What if something happens to you?”

Exhaling, he drew you into a tight embrace. “I’ll be careful, I promise. You know I’ll always come back to you.”

You nestled into his arms, suppressing a sob. “I just hate seeing you go into danger again.”

“I know, sweetheart. But it’s what I do. And I do it to protect people like you, people I care about,” he said, pressing gentle kisses on your moist cheeks. “Don’t cry. I’ll be counting the minutes until I can come back to you.”

“Promise?” You gazed up at him, searching his ocean eyes for reassurance.

“I promise.”

“My Bucky,” you said, caressing his face. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

He held you tighter, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Love you too, more than words can express, sweets.”

With his arms wrapped around you, you stayed there for a while, holding each other, kissing lazily. His lips brushed against yours repeatedly, his tongue coaxing your mouth apart and slipping inside. He consumed you, with his touches and his warmth, until there was nothing left but his warm gentle touches and the assurance that everything would be alright.

Follow for more content 🩵 Reblogs or any other kind of support are greatly appreciated. Hugs and kisses 🩷

[stardustdreams-andcaffeine]

The Thin Line | Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Of one thing you were certain—Bucky Barnes hated you, and you hated him. How could you not, considering the super soldier had made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell after you had been assigned to protect him? But there was someone after Bucky from his past, and now he was forced to work alongside you to stop them. And in the process, you would find out just how thin that line was between love and hate.

A/N: This one comes from this request that I received a while back! I have been criminally slow in responding and I sincerely apologize. Hopefully this makes up for it a little bit 🤍

Warnings: blood and violence (all canon for the MCU), someone takes a severe beating (may or may not be reader), ANGST, fluff scattered here and there, fatws!Bucky, banter, mature themes and allusions, grumpy!Bucky

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Hate. There was perhaps no other word as final and lasting as hate. 

People had always said that there was a thin line between love and hate, that the two emotions were so similar it was often hard to tell them apart. But not to you. You knew the line between them distinctly. 

You had seen people fall out of love as easily as the winking out of a candle, and in the same manner you’d watched a person’s hate burn on even past the grave. You couldn’t understand how someone could mix up the two emotions, not when love had always seemed so fleeting and hate so persistent. 

What you didn’t know just yet was that the passion involved in both love and hate often danced upon that line you were so sure was distinct to you. You didn’t know that love, real love was barely an emotion at all. And you certainly didn’t know that when one person truly loved another, it was anything but fleeting. 

It was the one thing that lasted longer than hate. 

But it wasn’t your fault that you didn’t know. After all, how could you? You’d never known real love.

At least, not yet.

|||

The sky seemed to sparkle as the rare sunshine blasted through the clouds and beamed down upon the city of Brooklyn. 

But in this moment, you couldn’t fully appreciate its glory. No, not when this happened to be the day you were moving box after box of your belongings into your new apartment. The dazzling sun dared to make you collapse under its rays as you hauled out the last box of your stuff from your car. Sweat slipped down your spine as you managed to slam the trunk shut while balancing the box precariously on one hand. With a huff, you gripped the last box tightly and swiveled towards your apartment complex for the last time. 

By the time you’d managed to get into the lobby and over to the elevator, you were practically dreaming of being able to drop down this last box into your new apartment and drop dead on your new couch. You could almost taste the beer you’d picked up on your way into the city and-

“You have got to be kidding me!” You exclaimed, dread coursing through your frame as you read the sign taped onto the elevator doors. 

Out of Service.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” The concierge called, leaning on his desk and offering you an uncaring smile, “Stupid thing’s been breaking down all month.”

And you haven’t fixed it yet?

The angry words stayed in your head as you decided with a long sigh that the argument wasn’t worth it. 

“That’s fine,” You gritted out, adjusting your hold on the box, “I’ll just take the stairs.”

“Good luck,” The concierge wished, his tone bored. 

Not even an offer to help you? The urge to yell at the worker was growing by the second, but you were determined to start this mission out right. Gritting your teeth, you walked over to the stairs and started climbing them without giving yourself time to hesitate. This was going to be a long journey up, and you’d rather get it over with as fast as possible. 

By the time you reached your floor, your arms were trembling with effort and your legs were moments from giving out. You took the last step up the stairs onto your floor, letting out a sigh of relief as you paused only for a moment. Just a few more steps and you’d be at your door. 

You took half of a step when someone slammed right into you. With the box obstructing your view, you couldn’t see the person coming and they clearly hadn’t seen you. You let out a yelp as you stumbled back towards the stairs behind you. In sudden panic to not tumble down them, you released the box you were holding to free your hands. Just as you were grappling for a railing or something to keep you from falling, a gloved hand gripped your arm and yanked you forward, away from the stairs. 

You stumbled right back into the person who had just collided with you seconds prior. As you fell into their hard chest, you were bewildered since you were sure you had dropped the box right…

As you glanced up, you saw the box you had released resting easily on one of the stranger’s hands. His other was still holding your arm, and it was then that you realized that his hand was ice cold. Even with the glove on. With furrowed brows, you glanced up towards the stranger.

“Thank-” Your words died abruptly as your eyes met steel blue ones burning down at you. His hair was shorter and his face was drawn into a look of slight annoyance, but it was him. Your mission had run into you before you could even move into your apartment, “You.”

James Buchanan Barnes released your arm, his stubbled jaw clenched in the way you figured it often was. You would be lying if you said it was only your mission that made your thinking halt so swiftly, because none of his pictures did Bucky’s roguish beauty justice. He was ruggedly, painfully, hopelessly handsome, and you scrambled to collect your mind.

“Don’t mention it,” Came Bucky’s low reply. His voice shot straight through you, setting your hairs on end and stirring something in your chest. With easy strength that now made sense, Bucky held onto your box with one hand, “Moving in today?”

It took every ounce of your strength not to giggle. His words were strained and almost…awkward. You knew he didn’t talk much anymore, but it was hopelessly adorable how he was trying to make small talk. With a smile you kept restrained, you nodded.

“In that unit right there, actually,” You replied, walking over to your door and turning back towards the super soldier, “Thanks for saving my box.”

“I think I saved more than that,” Bucky quipped, his tone smooth and rough all at once. You raised an eyebrow at the man.

His arrogant charm was still intact, that’s for sure.

“Well thanks for that too,” You responded, pulling your keys from your pocket and unlocking your door. As you shouldered it open, you held out your hands to take the box back.

You could tell he wanted to carry the box in for you, a remnant of the 40’s manners that were ingrained deep within him. You kept your hands out for the box, to which Bucky gave in swiftly. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he did. Had he brought it in for you, he would have seen the surveillance equipment and weapons scattered about the unpacked apartment. 

“Well, I’m next door if you need anything.” Bucky stepped back once you had the box in your hands, half of your body inside your open door. You smiled at him, internally cheering that this mission had already begun on such a great foot. 

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” You announced, your trained eyes taking in the bags underneath his eyes and the tense hold of his frame, “I’m Y/N.”

He hesitated only for a moment, “Bucky.”

And just like that, he had turned on his heel and walked away towards the stairs. You watched him go for a second, intrigue filtering into your gaze. He was distant and detached like you had expected, and the air of grumpiness he bore was unmistakable. But there was a softness to him that you couldn’t deny. Only a touch, but it was there.

Before he could see you watching him, you fully entered your apartment and made sure the door shut behind you. Setting the box down with a huff, you settled your hands onto your hips and surveyed the controlled chaos before you. A few handguns lay strewn around, and your secured technology was piled atop the couch you so desperately wanted to drop onto. 

But you couldn’t sleep, not just yet. There was work to be done.

Out of your entire CIA division, you were the operative that Sam Wilson had tasked with keeping an eye on his lone wolf of a friend. Even though Sam knew he could take care of himself, he had asked you to keep tabs on Bucky to ensure he was safe, especially since the Winter Soldier had racked up a list of enemies just dying to exact revenge now that the world was back to semi-normal. 

But this wasn’t the Winter Soldier. This was Bucky Barnes, and even though you knew he could handle his own, you were not going to take this mission lightly. You would look out for him, make sure he didn’t drop off the grid like he loved to do, make sure no rogue enemies took him down.

You would protect him, even though you knew Bucky would kill you and Sam if he found out. 

So, you would just have to keep him from finding out.

|||

It had been almost two months since you moved in, and the most you had talked with Bucky since your first encounter was in passing on the stairs and the occasional elevator ride. 

Of course, you had formatted your daily routine to oppose his perfectly, ensuring you would run into him as many times as passable for coincidence in a day. Even with that, though, all you managed to get out of Barnes was a nod or the occasional hello. He truly was a lone wolf—quiet, grumpy as hell, and, well, alone.

Even with his avoidance of you and all other humans in general, you managed to survey him nearly every day. It had been quiet. No intruders, no threats, no disappearances. Physically, he was perfectly safe. Mentally? 

You shook your head at the thought. Bucky needed a life. And social interaction. Sam called you often, wondering if he was still alive considering how much Bucky dodged his texts. It was almost like he wanted to be separated. Like he was punishing himself for something. 

That last thought rang through your mind as you started cleaning the dishes you had acquired from your dinner. As the warm, sudsy water ran across your fingers and over the pot you were washing, your brows were furrowed in concentration. If Bucky really was keeping his distance on purpose, maybe protecting him physically wouldn’t be the object of this mission. 

But you weren’t trained for that. You were trained for gun fights and strategy and high-level, covert operations. You were trained to infiltrate criminal holdings and take down dangerous individuals. You were trained to attack, protect, defend, strategize. 

That’s why you noticed that Bucky Barnes’ door didn’t open precisely at the same time that it had every night for two months. 

You paused in your dish-washing, setting down the pot into the sink and turning off the faucet. Letting silence cloak your apartment, you listened closely for the sound of his footsteps or the shutting of his door. 

Nothing. 

He could be running late, but Bucky never ran late. He never-

There was the smallest shuffle of a foot against your wooden floor.

You shot your hand out and grabbed the knife you had just washed, but you were a moment too slow. Just as your hand closed around the handle and you began to turn around, your back was shoved into your fridge and the knife ripped out of your hand. 

Before you could even blink, Bucky Barnes had you pinned against the fridge with his metal hand around your throat. 

Your pulse ratcheted up painfully, your eyes wide as you gripped onto his metal wrist. His grip wasn’t constricting your airway, but was applying enough pressure to remind you that your life was currently in his grasp. Bucky was close to you, so close that you could see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes as well as the fury that crossed through them.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice sent a shiver down your spine. It was dark and rough and even, and it should not have had the effect on you that it did. 

His body heat poured into you with how close he was to you, and the cold metal of his hand was a sharp contrast. Breathing was difficult, and not entirely because of his hand on your throat. There was something in the air between you, something thick and palpable. You swallowed, keeping your breathing as even as you could.

“Your neighbor,” You responded, not entirely having to fake the tremble in your tone.

“Bullshit,” Bucky growled, his grip on your throat tightening the slightest bit, “You’ve been tailing me for weeks. Who do you work for?”

“Just because our schedules clash doesn’t mean-”

“If one more lie comes out of your pretty little mouth, I’ll make sure whoever hired you is the only one who knows your death wasn’t an accident.” Bucky was unflinching, cold hard rage burning across his features. Beneath it, though, you could see fear. So much fear. It made your heart nearly crumble. 

He was scared you were here to hurt him.

“I’m with the CIA,” you finally whispered, your tone no longer shaking despite his outright threat. For some reason, you knew he would not hurt you, “I’m here to watch out for you, make sure you’re safe.”

Bucky’s grip on your throat lessened the slightest bit, and his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of why the CIA would surveil him. Not giving him a chance to speak, you continued, “And I’m pretty sure the person who hired me would come here and beat your ass himself if you killed me.”

You paused, nodded your head to the side slightly and said more to yourself than him, “Well, he’d try.”

“Who hired you?” Bucky repeated, his tone less harsh than before, but just as dark.

You took a beat to consider your options, but conceded defeat with a sigh, “Sam Wilson.”

Being so close to him, you could see every emotion that flashed through his face. As you watched him work through anger to frustration to annoyance, his grip on your throat loosened until his hand was just resting against your neck. 

“Unbelievable,” Bucky grumbled, pulling his hand off of your neck and stepping back in one swift motion. 

You let out a full breath, bringing a hand up to touch your throat where his metal hand had just been. You felt suddenly cold without his body heat by you, but it was a cold that you welcomed. If this was how he was going to thank you for trying to help him then you couldn’t wait to be away from him.

You looked over to see Bucky a few strides away, his phone pressed to his ear and his hand on his hip.  Before you could speak to him, whoever he was calling must have picked up, but you didn’t have to guess at who it was.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bucky suddenly exploded, his jaw tight. Whatever Sam said didn’t appease him because his exasperation only intensified.

“You Sharon Carter’ed me!” Bucky gritted out, “Steve was clueless so he didn’t notice until she was on his doorstep with a gun, but did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“Sharon Carter’ed?” You mumbled, confused. Shaking your head, you took a step closer to Bucky, “Listen, if you’ll just give me a minute to explain,”

Bucky stopped you, pointing in your direction, “No, you don’t get to talk here.”

Shock crashed over you as he continued to argue with Sam over the phone. Indignation flared within your chest and you sputtered for a moment, trying to comprehend the fact that he had just shushed you in your own apartment. 

“Nuh uh,” You interrupted, anger flaring hot in your veins as you stormed over to Bucky, “This is my apartment and you do not get to waltz in here, choke me out, then tell me I can’t speak.”

“You choked her out?” Sam shouted on the other side of the phone, so loud even you could hear it. Bucky’s eyes were hard as he dropped the phone to his side and took a step closer to you. He was menacing when he wanted to be, and right now, towering over you with a quiet sort of anger, he was. If only you scared easily.

“Oh really?” He nearly whispered, his anger flooding down at you. You could see him getting more frustrated the longer you stared him down right back, your chin tilted up and your gaze as leveled with his as it could be considering his height and stature, “You’ve been spying on me for weeks and now I’m the one invading your space?”

“I wasn’t spying on you, I was looking out for you. If you haven’t noticed, your friend is a little more than worried about you!” You fired back. You heard Sam saying something on the phone, but it was still down by Bucky’s side. 

The two of you were staring each other down, that same thick tension in the air. Not thinking about the consequences, you reached down and snatched the phone from Bucky’s grasp and turned it on speaker. 

Bucky looked at you in pure shock, as if he couldn’t believe you’d actually just taken the phone from him.

“You’re on speaker now, Sam,” You informed. 

“Finally,” Sam sighed over the phone, his tone surprisingly even and patient, “Buck, you gotta understand where I’m coming from. You don’t answer anyone’s texts, you don’t check in, and I know for a fact you’ve had one or two unwelcome visitors at your door.”

“I can handle myself, Sam,” Bucky gritted out. 

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to! I know that it’s hard with Steve gone, so-”

“No, you don’t know.” Bucky’s voice was final, and Sam paused, not seeming to fight with his statement. Bucky stared down at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him. There was a sadness in those words, one that nearly shattered your heart. Your anger towards the super soldier softened the slightest bit.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Sam conceded, “But I’m trying to reach out here. We don’t have many people left, man. I don’t want to lose another friend.”

That seemed to soften the edge of Bucky’s frustration so deeply that even the frown set into his face disappeared. In its place was resignation. 

“I’m not here to intrude on your life,” You chimed in, making Bucky glance up to you, “I’m just here to make sure you’re safe.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky grumbled. 

“I’m not your babysitter,” You assured, “And trust me, after tonight I want to spend as little time around you as you do around me. So, let’s make a deal. I keep to myself and you don’t break into my place and try to kill me in my sleep.”

Bucky hesitated, his eyes surveying you closely. On the phone between you, Sam piped up, “And you have to answer my texts.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his short, dark hair before shaking his head. After what seemed like an eternity, he sighed in defeat, and you couldn’t stop the small smile of victory that tugged on your lips.

“Fine,” He gave in, his eyes turning up to lock with yours, “But if I see you tailing me one more time, deal’s off.”

“No promises,” You responded boldly, your heart pounding strangely as Bucky took a menacing step closer to you.

“Then no promises about breaking in,” He shot back. The two of you glared intensely at each other until a voice called out from the phone.

“Alright you two, knock it off,” Sam ordered, sounding so incredibly tired, “Now can I please go? You caught me right in the middle of my beauty sleep.”

You chuckled softly, a smile ghosting your lips again, “Bye Sam,”

You ended the call and handed the phone back to Bucky, who you found already staring at you. You couldn’t place the look in his gaze, but it seemed akin to disdain, so your smile dropped. 

“How did you even get into my apartment?” You asked. Bucky kept his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps bulge against his long-sleeve Henley.

“You tell me, you’re CIA,” He shrugged, looking too smug, “Or should I call Sam back and tell him he sent a novice to babysit me?”

“Stay out of trouble, Barnes,” Was all you said back, your jaw held tight.

“Have fun with your dishes,” Bucky dryly responded, brushing past you without another word towards your door. Frustration bubbled up within your gut, and it took every ounce of your patience to not turn and yell right back at him. So, taking a deep breath, you turned and watched him open your apartment door.

He paused and glanced back over at you before he was fully out, “And stay out of my way. I’m doing this for Sam, not because I need your help.”

Then he slammed your door and left. 

Taking all of your energy not to scream, you let out another sigh and put a hand to your forehead. Gone was the distant, polite neighbor. You had failed epically, but you couldn't from here on out. 

Bucky Barnes was going to make your life hell, and you already dreaded every second to come.

|||

Over the next month, your nods and hello’s in passing turned into grunts and, if you were lucky enough, the occasional insult you could fire back at.

In short, you loathed Barnes. 

Looking back, you couldn’t fathom how his handsome features had drawn you in when you first met. Sure, he was still stupidly attractive, but now it was more frustrating than it was something to fawn over. 

You still did your job as best you could, but you counted the days until Sam could come up to New York and take over the mission for you.

Currently, you were mulling over ways to subtly infuriate Barnes more than you already did as you walked back to your apartment complex from your run. You tried to get out and run at a park nearby a few times a week, but considering how much you hated running, you’d missed a few weeks in the process. 

Today, though, you just had to go. You needed to clear your head after you bumped into Barnes this morning and he informed you that somehow, the potted plant hanging on your balcony “accidentally” ended up on the ground five stories down. 

As you walked back into the cool lobby of your apartment building, you glanced up at the stairs that sat right beside the elevator. You paused for just a moment, considering if you should be healthy and take the stairs. That moment was swifter than you’d like to admit as you turned towards the elevator only to find the doors closing. 

Against the protest of your legs sore from your run, you jogged over to the elevator, “Hey, hold the doors!”

As you approached, you saw a hand shoot through and stop the doors from closing just in time. As they opened back up, you sighed in relief, an easy smile on your features, “Thanks. I-”

As you stepped into the elevator, your words died. As you and the person who had held the elevator for you locked eyes, the both of you groaned. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” You grumbled at the same time as Bucky Barnes.

The elevator doors shut, closing you into one of your worst nightmares—the two of you stuck together in a confined space. The air was heavy and the tension high, an uneasy silence settling in the air. Your chest tightened slightly and your body tensed up, almost as if you were waiting for something to happen. Deciding to be civil, you looked over at Bucky and offered him a cordial smile.

“Had a good day so far?” You asked, your voice strained. 

Bucky just shook his head, “If you try to make small talk right now, I will throw you into the elevator shaft.”

Your smile dropped instantly, replaced by a grimace, “You are so violent, you should really talk to your therapist about all that pent up anger.”

“I hate you,” Bucky grumbled. 

“Well that makes two of us.”

Almost as if on cue, the elevator comes to a grinding halt. The stop is so sudden that it jolts the box, making you gasp and grab onto the railing along the wall opposite Bucky. 

“What the hell?” Bucky grits out, walking up and pushing the button to your floor repeatedly. When that doesn’t work, he pushes the emergency button only to have no response. That button must have been broken too.

Realizing suddenly your predicament, you brought a hand to the bridge of your nose, “This is not happening.”

Of all the times for the stupid elevator to break down, it chose now? When you were stuck inside with the one person in the world who hated you the most?

“Hello?” Bucky called out, banging on the side of the elevator. 

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s gonna fix it,” You criticized, shaking your head at Bucky. 

“Well what else are we supposed to do? The damn help button won’t work,” He fired back.

“I know you were born almost a century ago, but we have these things called cell phones and they do this magical thing where we can call for help.” You pulled out your phone and showed him the emergency call screen for show. Shaking his head, Bucky grumbled something about “insufferable” under his breath as you called for help.

While you were on the phone with emergency services, you explained your situation only to be told the fire department was caught up and wouldn’t be able to help for another hour. 

“An hour?!” You exclaimed, already planning how you were going to beat the hell out of the management team for not fixing the stupid elevator. 

“I’m sorry, that’s the best we can do,” The emergency operator apologized. Suddenly feeling guilty for you outburst on the poor worker just doing their job, you sighed. 

“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. Thanks for the help,” You amended, your tone softer this time. After hanging up, you slipped the phone into your pocket. 

“Well, looks like we’re stuck here for a while so get-,” Your words halted abruptly when you looked up and saw Bucky opening the doors of the elevator by force, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting out of here,” He gritted back, shoving open the doors easily. You almost laughed when he was met with a solid brick wall. With a smug smile, you tilted your head at the soldier.

“You were saying?” You sweetly taunted. He shot you a death glare as he let go of the elevator doors, allowing them to shut back. 

“It’s gotta be an easy fix,” Bucky mumbled to himself, walking back to the wall opposite you and beginning to bang on the side of the elevator. 

You gasped as the elevator box began to tremble under his hits and you lurched forward, grabbing his bicep to stop his assault, “Stop! You’re gonna send us plummeting straight to the basement.”

“Well then maybe I’ll get lucky,” He grunted, shaking off your hold and going to hit it again. This time, real fear hit you. 

“If we drop, you’d make it unscathed,” You began, and Bucky didn’t even look at you. 

“Exactly, so what’s the-”

“I wouldn’t.” Your words are softer than even you’d expected, but it managed to halt Bucky’s assault on the side of the elevator. He glanced back at you, and in that moment you understood exactly what hung in the air unspoken. He was a super soldier, you were a normal human. 

He couldn’t respond before the elevator gave a sick jolt.

You gasped, your knees nearly buckling from the fall. Before either of you could react, the elevator was careening down in a free-fall. You barely had time to scream when Bucky’s strong arm was around your waist and tugging you close, pressing you between the elevator wall and his body. He held you in a death grip, locking you against him and effectively saving your life.

Luckily, just as quickly as the fall had started, it stopped with a brain-shaking halt. 

The silence that followed was thick, and you didn’t realize you were gripping Bucky’s shoulders until your mind finally was convinced you weren’t going to fall to your death. Coming to your senses, you felt your body pressed tightly up against Bucky’s and looked up to see him staring down at you, his brows drawn together and the hate in his eyes missing. 

It was then that you realized you could no longer ignore the tension that was present whenever he was near you, because in this position it was overwhelming. 

The moment was over as soon as it had begun. You were shoving him off almost as soon as he was letting you go. Breathless, you shoved Bucky’s shoulder, “What the hell, Barnes? You could have gotten us killed!”

“Then you would have failed your stupid mission,” Bucky pointed out, only making you angrier. 

“You are infuriating,” You seethed, holding your hands out in exasperation, “Are you trying to get me to quit? Are you that insistent on shoving everyone else away?”

Bucky shook his head, his jaw held tight and his blue eyes on fire. He was staying silent, shutting down again like he often did. That only made you angrier, but a part of you yearned to get closer, to prove to him that you weren’t going to leave him.

Once again, as if on cue, the elevator began to move again with a jolt. You let out a breath of relief, your anger turning into exhaustion. Just as the elevator stopped, this time at your floor, you got off first, Bucky close behind.

“Fine, give me the cold shoulder,” You called out to him as you approached your door beside his. You fished out your keys and stopped, looking over at him as he ignored you and worked to open his door, “Do what you have to, but I’m not leaving you.”

Bucky froze, turning to look at you. Something in his gaze stirred your heart, but you kept your gaze strong and unflinching, “I’m seeing this mission through, whether you like it or not.”

Then you opened your door and went inside, leaving Barnes out in the hallway, still frozen with his keys in his door. 

|||

That night, you couldn’t get to sleep. 

You tried everything—sleeping supplements, reading, counting sheep. Nothing worked. Your mind refused to settle down, running over your elevator encounter with Bucky over and over again. The way he seemed to stall when you said you weren’t leaving him, the way he had grabbed you the instant the elevator dropped, the way you could still feel the burn of his arm around your waist. 

The way being held by him had felt so infuriatingly right. 

You covered your face with your pillow, willing yourself to forget what you just couldn’t seem to. You didn’t have to try long when the sound of something scraping on glass caught your attention. Slowly, you pulled the pillow off of your face and listened closely, the silence of your apartment settling over you like a blanket. 

Maybe you had dreamt the noise. Maybe Bucky really was getting to you head and it was making you cr-

There it was again.

You sat up this time, your brows furrowed as you swiftly got out of bed. With silent feet, you crept to your window and pulled down one blind just enough for you to peer out into the dark night illuminated only by the haze of streetlights below. 

Nothing. Nothing, nothing…there. 

In the murky night, your strained eyes caught a glimpse of a rope hanging down off to the left of your window. Towards Bucky’s apartment. Looking a bit harder, you saw another, and then another. Then, now that you were listening, you began to hear the soft thuds of shoes against brick and iron and glass.

Someone was going to break through his window.

Suddenly vaulted into action, you jogged out of your room, grabbing the gun you kept on your nightstand as you did. You didn’t stop to consider the fact that you were only in a large t-shirt with no pants on. The only thing you could think about was Bucky sleeping next door while those intruders busted into his windows. In a matter of seconds, you were out into the hallway and pounding on Bucky’s door. 

“Barnes, let me in,” You hissed, your voice low so as not to wake the neighbors. When there was no response, you pounded your fist against the door again. The sound mocked the repetitive thumping of your heart within your chest, its beats not only for the fight to come or the sudden burst of energy. 

“Come on!” You pressed, in the middle of another round of knocking when the door flew open. On the other side, a very pissed and very shirtless Bucky stood, his muscular arm barring the doorway.

“This better be good,” Bucky grumbled, his voice closer to a low growl. 

If this were any other time, you would have taken a moment to appreciate the sculpted plane of his body or even to notice the blanket strewn on the hardfloor indicating he didn’t sleep in a bed. You didn’t worry about any of that, though. Instead, you shoved past Bucky as soon as that door was opened, your gun raised.

“What the hell are you-”

Bucky was cut off by the shattering of his window.

You had four rounds fired off before the first two intruders could set their feet in the apartment. The blasts were muffled by the sound suppressor on your gun, but they found their targets with no less force or deadly precision. 

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, the sound of his dog tags clinking as he sprinted over to the window just as the third and fourth intruders touched down. This time, these two made it down, the bullets lodging in the wall or their vests. 

Then Bucky was on them, his metal arm catching one by the throat while he kicked the absolute shit out of the other, sending the intruder flying into the wall. The plaster cracked behind him and you shoved your gun into your waistband, no longer able to fire without risking hitting Bucky. 

As Bucky incapacitated the intruder he had by the throat, you made sure the one he kicked stayed down. As the attacker staggered to his feet and rushed you, you dodged his clumsy hits easily and landed a crushing uppercut to the underside of his jaw. The sound of his teeth snapping together was sickening, but you were unfazed. 

As the large attacker stumbled back, you rushed him and slid to the ground. You wrapped your legs around one of his and tugged, bringing the large invader crashing to the ground with a force that made the floor shudder. Moving quickly, you maneuvered yourself on top of the downed intruder and whipped out your gun, holding it directly at his head.

Suddenly, the apartment was silent except for the panting of both you and Bucky. You glanced up to see Bucky standing over the invader he was fighting, his bare chest heaving with breath. Probably more out of shock than exertion, you figured.

Turning your gaze down to the one pinned beneath you, you held the gun steady, “Who do you work for?”

The man smiled up at you, his teeth full of blood, “You’ll have to kill me,”

“Okay,” You said simply, moving the barrel of your gun to his shoulder and pulling the trigger. 

The invader let out a strangled cry of pain at the nonfatal injury, his body writhing beneath you. 

“Let’s try this again,” You gritted out, pushing the gun closer to his chin, “You tell me who you work for, or the next shot goes into your brain.”

“He’ll kill me for telling you,” The man nearly sobbed.

“Who’s he?” Bucky growled, staring down at the attacker mercilessly. When he didn’t respond, you clenched your jaw.

“Either die now for not telling us, or die later with a chance of making it away. Your choice.” Your words rang through the room as both you and Bucky stared down this terrified intruder. A pang of sympathy ran through you that was quickly smothered because in the end, he had come after Bucky.

And for some reason, that made your vision bleed red.

“Kingpin,” He finally cried, his eyes shut as his blood seeped into Bucky’s floor, “Kingpin sent us to silence the Winter Soldier.”

You had to fight to keep the shock from your features long enough to whip the butt of your gun across the blubbering man’s face and knock him out. Once he was silent beneath you, you stood slowly and looked over to Bucky. His jaw was clenched and his eyes holding that same haunted look they often did.

“I had a run-in with Kingpin as the Winter Soldier,” Bucky muttered, his eyes trained down on the floor where the four intruders were, “I managed to get past his defenses, tore through them like paper. What I found nearly sent him to prison for good if Hydra hadn't cut him a deal.” 

The words broke over you, making your mind whir, “So if he’s coming after you now, after all this time,” 

Bucky looks up at you, his blue eyes nearly knocking your bravado out, “Then that means he’s got something going on he wants to make sure no one finds out about.”

You took a moment to process the implications. Kingpin had something big going down, not that he didn’t always, but now it was more personal. Now, it involved Bucky, which meant it involved you. 

“I’ll get this mess cleaned up,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his short, dark hair, “Go back to your apartment.”

That was it? Not so much as a thank you?

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “That’s one way to thank someone who just saved your ass.”

“You didn’t save anything,” Bucky gritted out, taking a step closer to you in that intimidating way you found he often liked to, “If you hadn’t come by, I still would have woken up and taken those guys easily.”

“Are you kidding me?” You exclaimed, gesturing around to the mess, “I had two of those guys out before you were even fully awake, Barnes! Just admit I helped you,”

He was so close to you that you could barely reach out and you would be touching his bare skin. The temptation was strong, stronger than you’d like to admit. It was like he was a magnet and you a compass, and for the life of you, even when you wanted nothing more than to run away from him, you couldn’t stop yourself from being led right back into him. 

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and making your stomach take a sudden swirl. “I don’t need your help.”

His eyes darted down to your lips, and then lower before returning to your gaze. It was then that you became fully aware of your lack of pants. Your cheeks heated slightly and you felt your stomach go taut from his attention, but you clenched your jaw and held your place.

“Clearly, you do,” You echoed back to him, refusing to back down. After staring off at him for a few more moments, you let out a frustrated groan and stepped back, snapping the tension in the room as you shoved your way to the door. 

“Why do I even bother with you?” You gritted, stepping over a body, “I got up in the middle of the night and risked my life to help you and I don’t get so much as a-”

“Thanks,”

Bucky’s voice was so quiet that you almost missed it, but you had heard it. You froze in your tracks, your body going still except for your speeding heart as you slowly turned back around.

“What?” You whispered, unbelieving what he had just said. Bucky shot you a pointed glare, but let out a long sigh, some of the anger draining from his face. He looked tired, so incredibly tired.

“Thank you,” He repeated, the words cutting straight through your anger, “I know I can be difficult, it’s just…I’m not…”

He struggled with the words, his voice no longer flooded with frustration or annoyance. You spent a moment peering at the soldier, taking in the fact that he indeed had slept on the floor and noting the dog tags that hung around his throat. 

Bucky Barnes was haunted by his past. So haunted, you guessed, that he was shoving away everyone in his life to make sure nothing bad could happen again. You still were infuriated by him, but you couldn’t say that you hated him. 

In fact, you couldn’t begin to think if you ever really did. Or if maybe that hate was just a cover for the growing attraction you felt towards him, for the…

Ridiculous, you scolded yourself. 

“It’s okay,” You finally announced, your words softer than you intended them to be, “I get it.”

Somehow, you found yourself offering him a sad, soft smile that made the hard edges of his face soften. 

“You’re a lone wolf, I get that.” Your words made his jaw twitch, “And I’m not gonna tell you how to heal. You already know that answer. So, when the time comes that you’re ready to not do all this alone anymore, I’ll be right next door.”

Something changed deep within Bucky’s gaze, something that would have made you stay if you didn’t turn and walk towards the door. As you did, you felt the thumping of your heart. Your words had not just been an offer of help for this Kingpin situation. No, they had been more. An offer of help for anything, and you hadn’t realized you had meant them until they had come out.

Now you were left wondering for the rest of the night when exactly you had stopped hating Bucky Barnes.

And why you had the suspicion that you never hated him at all.

|||

As the dawn broke the next morning, so did your common sense. 

No matter how magnetizing Barnes was, you had to keep your distance unless your mission directly required you to get close. You didn’t know how deep your…not hatred…ran, but you weren’t willing to find out. It could compromise this mission, and most dangerous of all, it could compromise Bucky.

You had to keep your head in the game. So, the next week or so was packed with you spending the day actively avoiding Barnes in the same way you had purposely collided with him at first. During the nights, you poured over documents and case files concerning Kingpin. You tracked his movements, hunted down where his men crawled back to after their missions, watched his cover businesses with a close, keen eye.

Kingpin was an intimidating mobster and could rule his forces with an iron fist of fear, but he wasn’t necessarily the brightest businessman. He was good at covering his illegal tracks, but not great. That was why you were able to catch the whispers around the upcoming charity gala a local socialite was hosting. 

Word was, Kingpin and his men would be at the gala to finish working out a business deal with an associate. The same business deal, you suspected, that had him lashing out at not just Bucky, but several other known adversaries to his empire across the whole of New York. 

So if Kingpin would be there, so would you.

As you finished getting ready for the gala and stood in front of your mirror to make sure everything was perfect, your mind strayed to the super soldier next door. You hadn’t seen him in over a week, not since that night where you saved his life. Even now, his apartment was silent.

You let out a long sigh and adjusted the contours of your dress and felt for the weapons beneath it. The floor-length number was deceiving to anyone with a keen eye, exposing parts of you that would normally hide weapons. Your thigh on your dominant side was almost fully exposed with a slit, and your bodice provided no way to get to a weapon if it was stored there. 

You were a professional, though. Where you hid your weapons, no one would see until it was too late.

As you made your way out of your apartment, being sure to take the stairs this time, and then climbed into the ride you had waiting for you outside, your mind played through a million different ways this night could go. 

Best case would be you catching wind of whatever business had Kingpin so wound up with no altercations in the meantime. Worst case…well, let’s hope you didn’t have to use those weapons you so painstakingly hid.

After a drive that wasn’t long enough, you clambered out into the star-lit, diamond-encrusted evening. The event hall was elegant as you walked in, decked in lavender and silver and crawling with New York’s most elite. In a crowd like this, you knew it would not be hard to find a man as large as Kingpin. 

The longer you spent canvasing the gala, the more your worst case scenario started to play out in your head. As you had feared, Kingpin wasn’t here, not that you could see. Odds were, he sent someone in his place to do the negotiating. Now you had to find some way of finding that-

You gasped as your shoulder bumped right into a firm chest. You had been so busy scanning the room that you hadn’t been looking where you were walking. A warm, calloused hand gripped onto your elbow to keep you stable, and the way the touch made your brain fog should have been an indicator of who this man was. 

But you did not think of it until you glanced up, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t…what are you doing here?”

As your gaze connected with Bucky Barnes, you saw the same flash of disbelief and then annoyance run through his crystal blue eyes.

“Are you serious, doll? You can’t even give me one night out without following me?” Bucky muttered lowly, his hand still around your elbow, holding you close. 

Your chest skipped at that word, that nickname he had called you, but you ignored it and glared right back up at the man, “You know, and this may come as a shock to you, but not everything in my life revolves around following you,”

Bucky scoffed, tilting his head at you. Suddenly, you were fighting to overcome how stunning he was in the all black suit that he wore. His alluring gaze seemed to draw you in again, and you knew you had to get away from him. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday, sweetheart.” Bucky assured, his tone like pure narcotics to your soul.

You let out a short laugh, “Trust me, I know.”

He shook his head, licking his bottom lip as he held your arm and started pulling you towards the exit, “It’s time for you to go.”

“Hey, you cannot just tell me what to do!” You muttered, pulling your arm from his grasp and coming to an abrupt halt. He gritted his jaw as he turned and looked down to you, but you beat him to the punch.

“If you’re here for the same reason as me, then Kingpin’s men are out here somewhere carrying out a business deal that could be huge. This could be our only chance to stop it.”

“Our?” Bucky repeated, and you stared at him indignantly.

“That’s what you caught from all of that?” You exclaimed, huffing out a breath, “Look, whatever is happening is big. If we don’t stop him, who will?”

“I said before, stay out of this. Go back to Langley and report your mission as a success, and leave me alone. These men are dangerous, don’t make this your fight.” Bucky’s words weren’t as angry as before, there was something in them, something almost desperate. 

You held his gaze, taking a step closer, “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve dealt with plenty of dangerous men.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked, almost taunting you as he cocked his head at you. 

Your heart was racing, your skin was on fire and he wasn’t even touching you. Maybe leaving was the best idea.

You caught something out of the side of your vision, and looked over towards the dance floor. There you saw one of Kingpin’s associates you’d been tracking all week step out onto the dance floor with a woman you’d never seen before. As he pulled her into a waltz, you knew immediately that this was a business dance, not pleasure. 

“There, 11 o’clock,” You whispered, turning your gaze back to Bucky as his gaze flitted towards the direction you gaze. He nodded once.

“That’s them,” He agreed.

“Come on,” You urged, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the dance floor.

“Woah, woah, I don’t dance,” Bucky protested, but let you pull him nonetheless. You cracked a half-smile as you looked back at Bucky, and you noticed the way something in his gaze shifted at the sight of your smile.

“Well tonight you do.” 

As you pulled Bucky out into the slow dance alongside a few dozen other couples, you noticed the way his lips tipped up ever so slightly. The sight of that smile…it made your heart miss more than a few beats. 

As the two of you joined the fray, Bucky tugged you into him so swiftly that you let out a gasp. Expertly, he guided one hand to the small of your back and grabbed your hand with the other. In a matter of moments, the two of you were dancing, and you looked back up at the soldier in wonder.

“I thought you said you don’t dance,” You mused. Bucky smiled, then turned his gaze to you.

“I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t,” He informed. 

In that moment, with your hand in his gloved metal one and him smiling down at you like that…it was enough to make you forget anything before this, before now, before him. The two of you danced, and for a moment both of you forgot why you’d joined the dance floor in the first place. Forgotten was business and missions and danger, the only thing left in the world was his hands on you as you danced. 

You could hardly breathe as he led you around the dance floor, and you certainly couldn’t take your eyes off of his. You weren’t smiling anymore, but neither was he. You didn’t smile because you knew. In that moment, held in his arms and dancing like the two of you had been practicing this step your entire life, like you had been made to dance together, you knew.

You knew that no matter what unfolded in the days and weeks to come, whatever became of this mission, Bucky Barnes had ruined you. For no longer could you dance with anyone else. Not when you knew this, knew him. 

He had ruined you in this moment, and for the first time in your life you understood why the Moon never left its orbit. The Moon was so enthralled with catching even a glimpse of the Sun that it was willing to bear the black of night if that’s what it took to bear the Sun’s rays.

Bucky Barnes had ruined you, and now you could never leave your orbit either. 

“Doll, I-”

Whatever Bucky was going to say died as the two of you suddenly found yourselves dancing right beside Kingpin’s associate. That was the snap to reality that you needed, and you forced out1 the outrageous thoughts that had been plaguing you. 

Thinking quickly, you pulled out of Bucky’s hold and stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder. This position let you inconspicuously listen in to what it was that the associate was saying to his business partner, and Bucky quickly caught on as he brought his hands to your waist and held you close. 

You’d like to say that eavesdropping was the only reason you did this, but you’d be lying. Being held by him set your skin on fire, as if you’d been touched by lightning and survived. You needed this, you craved this, with his hands on your waist and his breath on your neck. But you had to focus right now, you had to hear what the associate was saying. 

You forced your brain to switch into operative mode, forcing yourself to focus only on the conversation beside you.

“-depending on how much your boss is willing to pay. Timeliness like that is going to be extra,” The woman spoke. 

“Money is not an issue, trust me,” The associate assured.

“Well then,” The woman responded, sounding pleased, “1.5 for the weapons and an extra 1 for the time bump. Do we have a deal?”

There was a pause, a consideration. Your heart sped up more than it was already racing. Weapons. An arms deal that Kingpin would no doubt use to spread onto the streets, to put a tighter noose around the neighborhoods he already kept under his thumb. And over two million dollars just for weapons? This was the biggest deal you’d seen up close. This could plunge New York into a deeper chaos than it already was.

“An even 2 and we have a deal,” The associate managed out, his tone taut.

“Then I will see you next week. And your boss had better be there, or the deal’s off,” The woman spoke with finality. And then there was silence, nothing but the waltz and the normal clamor of the gala.

Pulling back, you turned your gaze up to Bucky, whose gaze burned down on you with a certain clarity to his blue eyes. 

“Got it?” He mumbled. You nodded, your eyes wide with excitement. 

Smoothly, Bucky led you right off of the dance floor, offering his arm to you. You took it, making sure the two of you were walking in the direction opposite the associate. When you were mixed enough in the crowd, you spoke quietly, your tone flooded with vigor.

“Sometime next week, two million for an arms deal,” You informed. Bucky let out a sharp breath, his gaze forward just like yours as the two of you walked.

“A trade that big…”

“I know,” You whispered in response, your heart thundering. You stopped walking, pulling Bucky to look at you, “I could figure out a day, time, and place. Then, together we could crash their party with an army of SWAT and CIA hiding out nearby. We could keep two mill worth of weapons off the streets and put away Kingpin for a while.”

Bucky turned his gaze from you, his jaw clenched. You furrowed your brows up at the man, you were so sure he would be all over this mission. So why did he have that look in his eye? 

Without looking down at you, Bucky finally spoke, “Like I said, there’s no we. I’m taking you back to the apartment and that’s where you’re gonna stay until this is over.”

You flinched back, so struck by his sudden change in demeanor that a shot of pain went through your chest. How could he be so cold after what happened on that dance floor? You couldn’t have been the only one to feel that…

“I don’t understand,” You breathed, indignation rising in your chest, “Don’t you want to take out Kingpin?”

“I do,” Bucky responded, finally looking down to you with that cold, shut-off look in his gaze that you knew all too well, “But not with you. You’re going home.”

He let go of you and turned, walking towards the exit of the gala. Sputtering, you followed after him, storming behind him into the brisk night. 

“Are you kidding me?” You exclaimed as he gave the valet his ticket and they ran off to grab his car, “What happened to working together? This is my mission, Bucky and I’m not just going to give up on it.”

Bucky turned on you, his gaze boiling with something that wasn’t quiet anger, but felt a lot like it, “I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. Stay out of this one.”

You could see the valet bringing up the car and you knew that once we were inside, he would shut down. This was your last chance. 

“Whether you want my help or not, you are getting it! It is my mission to keep you safe, Bucky and I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Bucky shook his head at you, muttering something about you being impossible as he caught his keys as the valet threw them to him. He sauntered up to the car, opening the door and gesturing for you to get in. Cheeks hot with anger, you stormed up and got in the car, adjusting your dress as he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s seat.

Just as you predicted, the ride back to the apartments was silent. 

You knew what he was doing. He thought this was too dangerous, and he didn’t want you involved. That night in his apartment, you had seen how guarded he was to keep people from getting close. That dance, that had pushed the line and now he was not going to let you get into this mission. Frustration boiled up within you, and halfway through the drive, you finally exploded.

“This is bullshit!” You suddenly exclaimed, and you caught the way Bucky’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“We’re not doing this,” He muttered.

“Like hell we aren’t,” You fired back, turning to look at him even if he kept his eyes on the road, “I know why you’re banning me from this mission and I get it, I do. But-”

“You don’t know anything,” Bucky cut in, his voice low and almost menacing. 

You laughed without humor, slowly losing your control, “You are impossible, impossible!”

Turning forward again, you raked your hands through your hair, “You are so difficult. One day you’re gonna need someone, and if you keep shoving people that care for you away, you’re gonna have no one!”

The car screeched to a sudden halt.

Your stomach dropped as you looked around the surprisingly quiet street, your heart thudding.

“What are you-”

“Get out.” Bucky gritted.

Your heart sank instantly. You looked over at him in astonishment, your eyes wide, “What?”

“Get. Out.” Bucky repeated, not even looking at you, “Walk home.”

“That’s like four miles from here, and I’m in heels!” You exclaimed. Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“You’re CIA, you’ll figure it out.”

Your heart slammed in your chest, and the words you had spit at him moments prior burned in your chest. You had crossed a line, and you knew it. You felt it, “Bucky, I’m sorry. I–”

“Get out of this car before I pull you out myself.” There was hurt in his eyes, and it made you want to die.

You had both said things to hurt the other, had both wounded each other. 

As you stepped out of the car and into the night air, you realized that people could only be hurt by someone who held at least a part of them. And as you shut your door and Bucky peeled away into the night, you felt a piece of you go with him. 

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head and pulled out your phone. You were already searching up a ride to take you to your apartment, but you walked as you did it. The cool night air was refreshing in a way, and you let out a long sigh, putting your phone down and looking around at the near-empty streets. 

What had gone so wrong?

And so, you decided against calling a ride. Instead, you turned into a nearby, warm-looking bar and sat, drinking away your sorrows and working up the courage to make the long, lonely walk home.

|||

You were within a half-mile of your apartment, and you still hadn’t sorted through the storm in your mind.

 All you knew was that this was more than a mission, and it had been for a long while. 

“I gave you one job, and you couldn’t even accomplish it. One simple job.”

Your feet stalled, your head suddenly going quiet. You knew that voice. And, as you took one step closer to the alley that it poured out of and peered inside, what you saw confirmed it.

Kingpin. 

In your muddled haze of a walk, you’d forgotten that one of Kingpin’s cover businesses was on the way back to your apartment. Now here you were, just around the corner of the mobster himself. Your eyes took in his massive frame hovering over a quivering man. A man that looked awfully familiar…

You managed to stifle your gasp as you recognized it as the man that gave Kingpin up to you and Bucky when he’d broken into Bucky’s apartment.

“I’m s-sorry boss, there was two of ‘em. I was lucky to make it out alive,” The man stammered. Kingpin hummed.

“You’re right, that is lucky,” He grabbed the man by his collar and hoisted him off of his feet, easily holding him in mid-air, “So tell me, what exactly did you give up to them to save yourself?”

“N-nothing boss! I would never give you or the operation up, never! I’m loyal,” The man pleaded.

You should go. You should hurry past and keep walking. But you just couldn’t, not when the man himself was standing right there and he might give up information on the arms deal you’d caught wind of. 

Kingpin set the man back onto his feet and smoothed out the man’s collar, “I believe you.”

The man nearly sobbed, “Thank you boss, thank you.”

“But just an insurance policy,” Kingpin said, then motioned with one hand into the darkness of the alley. Two burly guards stepped forward, armed to the teeth. 

“Kill him,” Kingpin spoke smoothly, then stepped back and held his hands together as the man begged and pleaded. Your heart thundered in your chest as the gunshot from one of the guards into the man rang through you, making you flinch slightly. 

When the job was done, Kingpin walked up to his guards, “Filch reported back from the gala. Said he got the deal moved up to next Saturday. Make sure the streets stay quiet. We can’t let it get out.”

“Sure thing, boss,” The guard nodded.

Next Saturday, that gave you eight days. A smile tugged onto your lips and you were just about to move past the alley when a set of burly, vile hands closed around your shoulders. 

“Well look what we’ve got here, a little birdie listening in.” The man purred, and your stomach sank to the floor. 

You had to get away, and you had to do it now. You thrashed against the man’s hold, slipping your hand towards where you’d hidden a small but lethal knife. Kingpin couldn’t know that you’d heard. He couldn’t know. Your hand was inches from the knife when another one of Kingpin’s men came around the corner and grabbed your wrists in a bruising grip, yanking them in front of you. 

“Hello there, pretty bird,” He greeted, and together the two men began to drag you into the alley. Sudden, blinding panic slammed into you and you knew instantly what you had to do. 

If you pulled a weapon and beat the shit out of these guys like you knew you could, Kingpin would know you’d heard him and were someone to be worried about. Your best chance at making it out of this not only alive, but with the deal still set for next Saturday, you had to play dumb. You had to be a regular citizen, an innocent bystander scared of getting mugged. 

And so you did.

You turned your anger into fear that wasn’t totally falsified, and you thrashed in the men’s grips.

“Please, let me go!” You begged, “You can take my money, my wallet, anything you want! Please!”

They’d gotten you into the alley by now, and darkness wrapped around you as Kingpin himself heard your cries. He paused, looking back at you and tilting his head curiously. Your pulse thundered so fast that you thought you’d faint. 

“What’s going on here?” Kingpin asked, slowly walking up to you, towering over you even when he was a few feet away.

“Caught this pretty lady walking by, looking like she wanted to come say hello,” One of the men presented.

The smell of the alley nearly made you gag, the fabric of your dress already soiled at the bottom from the puddles of unknown liquid. Real fear was pulsing through you, and you let it. You shoved down the instincts drilled into you from your time in the CIA and let yourself be a citizen, a bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Please, you can have my jewelry, my money, anything you want,” You insisted, your eyes filling with tears that weren’t entirely fake. 

“We’re not muggers,” Kingpin responded, his tone curious as he took you in, “What are you doing out here all alone, little bird?”

“My Uber canceled on me and I had to walk home from my party, please I don’t know what’s going on!” You trembled out. 

Kingpin studied you closely, then tilted his head and said to the men holding you, “Search her,”

Panic was constricting your chest, and you shivered as the men began patting you down. You had to clench your firsts to keep from breaking one of their noses when one stayed a little longer than necessary on your breasts. There was a small breath of relief when they both stood back, having found none of your hidden weapons.

“She’s clean.”

Kingpin cracked a half smile and reached forward. You flinched back as much as the men holding you would allow, but that wasn’t enough. He grabbed ahold of one of your fists, raising it up to inspect. He looked back up at you, his gaze amused.

“You’re angry,” Kingpin mused, a smile ticking onto his lips, “You’ve got more fight in you then you’re letting on.” “Well ladies with fight who are dragged into alleyways don’t usually last long, do they?” You managed out, your eyes daring to meet his. To your surprise, he laughed.

“Let her go, boys. We’ve terrified her enough.” 

You almost sobbed in relief when the men holding you let go. It worked. He was letting you go, he didn’t know. He didn’t-

That’s when you made your first and only mistake. You let your eyes travel the alley for a moment. But that moment, no matter how short, was enough. You saw the dead body of the man who had just been shot. 

And Kingpin knew it.

He glanced back towards the body, then slowly back to you. 

“Oh little bird, why’d you have to go and do that? I was really starting to like you,” He sighed.

Terror like you’d never known gripped you suddenly. Dread, real and cold pierced into your belly. You began to shake your head.

“No, no please I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t-”

His massive hand gripped your jaw, cutting you off. You trembled terribly as he held your jaw and just peered at you, seeming to test you.

Finally, finally, he said, “I believe you.”

You sighed, but barely had a moment to breathe when he repeated those damned words from before, “But just as an insurance policy,”

He stepped back, letting you go and then gesturing to his men.

“Rough her up. Don’t kill her, just show her what’s gonna happen if she does decide to tell,” Kingpin stepped back into the dark alley, a smile starting on his lips, “Which I don’t think she will. Good night, little bird.”

“Wait,” You shook, glanced around at his goons who now surrounded you, “Wait, please,”

You had taken beatings before, you could do this. You could do this.

“Boss’s orders,” One shrugged, then crashed his fist into your jaw.

Then the onslaught began, and you let it happen. You let them beat you, let them kick you so hard you thought ribs cracked, let them bust your lip and bruise your cheek. You could have them all dead in moments, but you let it happen. You’d made it this far without blowing the mission to hell, you couldn’t give yourself away now. 

So you stayed there on the alley floor, and you took it.

|||

By the time you finally made it to your apartment and stumbled up the stairs, you could barely stand.

Your head was spinning as you struggled to get your keys into the door. By the time you finally did, you shouldered your way in and didn’t even bother closing the door. You could barely think, barely see, barely feel anything besides the pain.

You’d taken worse beatings, sure, but it didn’t make this one hurt any less. Your breathing was labored as each breath made shooting pain pierce through your rib cage. Your dress was ripped and bloody and covered in filth from the alley floor. All you could taste was blood from the lip one of the men had split, and you were sure that if anyone were to see you, you’d look more like a walking corpse than anything else.

You stumbled over to your kitchen bar, gripping onto the surface for stability as you dropped your phone and clutch onto it. Your legs trembled from the effort of standing, and you didn’t even bother to switch the light on considering that would require more walking. All you wanted was to gather your strength, make it to your bathroom, and get all of this blood off of you. 

Then you’d sleep for as long as your body would let you.

At least, that was the plan until there was a knock on your slightly open door. 

You didn’t even have the strength to speak as the person pushed open the door and walked a few steps into your dark, silent apartment.

“Y/N, I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to right now, but…” Bucky paused, and the sound of his voice nearly made you sob. More than anything, more than even a bath or sleep, you wanted him to hold you. You were too tired to question the impulse.

Bucky sighed, and you could practically hear the indecision in his tone, “I turned around as soon as I forced you out, but I couldn’t find you. I’ve been pacing the entire night waiting for you to come back. I overreacted and…and I’m sorry.”

He’d gone back for you. He’d looked for you. 

Your heart burned, and tears you didn’t fight worsened your already blurry vision.

You wanted to turn and run to him, you wanted to hold him and tell him that it was alright, that you were sorry too. But you couldn’t. If you let go of this counter, you’d collapse, and you knew that if you hit this floor, you weren’t getting back up tonight. 

“You were just trying to help me, and I have such a hard time taking help and an even harder time letting people in and,” Bucky stopped with a sigh, cutting off his rant, “I’m stumbling through this, could you please just turn around and say something?”

If you weren’t on the brink of passing out, you’d laugh. 

Bucky let out a frustrated huff, “I’m apologizing here, are you even listening?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but blood came out instead and you let out a short cough. 

“Fine,” Bucky gritted, clearly trying to hold back his emotion, “I’ll just…leave you be.”

Panic disrupted your pain and you managed to brace your weight with one hand on the counter and turn towards where Bucky was already walking towards your door. He couldn’t leave. You needed him.

“Bucky,” You strangled out, your voice exhausted, “W-wait,”

Bucky froze, his gaze turning back to you with his brows furrowed. That’s when the light of the hallway broke upon you, and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood and dirt and bruises. 

You heard him say your name like a vow, but then the world began to spin and you were collapsing. 

You barely felt the thud of the floor as you slammed against it, your body bloody and broken and giving up for the night. You heard the pounding of footsteps, felt the floor tremble as Bucky slid to his knees beside you. His hands were so gentle, so heart-breakingly gentle, as he lightly touched your bruised cheek. You watched through a blurred gaze as he kneeled over you, his jaw tight and his eyes wild. 

“You’re okay, doll, I got you. I got you,” Bucky promised, ever so tenderly pulling your broken body into his lap. He cradled your head with his hand, his eyes sweeping over you to take in the extent of your injuries.

“Shit,” He swore, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

“Not your fault,” You managed, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Bucky shook his head, his jaw clenched so tight that you saw his muscles ticking. His breaths were shallow as he caressed a finger down your cheek before gathering you in his arms as gently as he could. You groaned in pain as he stood, holding you close to himself with ease. But even despite the pain, he was holding you, and that was something you never thought you’d feel again.

“I know baby, I know,” He whispered, his words soothing you through the pain. He carried you out of your apartment, careful to close the door before carrying you into his place. You felt your consciousness slipping now that you were safe. You actually had never felt safer than when you were here, in his arms. 

Bucky set you down on his counter, the cool material taking the edge off of the aching of your body. Before he could clean you up or bandage anything, Bucky stood close to you, his hand staying on your cheek. You leaned into it, knowing you wouldn’t have if you weren’t half-asleep right now.

“Doll, I need you to look at me,” Bucky urged, a cold, ferocious tone to his voice that you didn’t think was for you. You managed to pry your eyes open and clash your gaze with his. In it was a cold fury, “Who did this to you?”

“Kingpin’s men,” You mumbled, and Bucky stiffened, “I caught…word of the deal, but he…he saw me. Only way to…to not blow it was to…to-”

“Play the bystander,” Bucky finished for you, and you nodded. Bucky shook his head, “You stupid, brave girl.”

You managed a smile, but the movement pulled at the split in your lip and made you wince. 

“You can sleep now, doll. I’ve got you,” Bucky whispered. You nodded, letting your eyes flutter closed. You felt his hand caress your cheek, his fingers lingering on your skin.

Then, in the near dark of sleep, Bucky let out a defeated sigh.

“Oh darling,” He sighed, then there was a press of a kiss to your brow and whispered words against your skin, “How the hell am I supposed to let you go when this is all over?”

|||

“Bucky?”

Your voice rang through Bucky’s apartment, amusement heavy in your tone. He hummed in response, his back to you as he slaved away at his small stove.

Before you already sat a fresh coffee, eggs, toast, and fruit. You couldn’t help but smile. The movement pulled at your healing lip, but it didn’t hurt anymore.

“It’s been two days. You don’t have to keep apologizing,” You called out. Bucky turned around to you, holding a pan in one hand.

“I’m just making breakfast,” He tried, but you just raised an eyebrow at him. With a sigh, Bucky set down the pan, and walked over to the counter, settling his hands down on the other side of where you sat.

“Y/N, you didn’t see what I did that night,” Bucky mumbled, not meeting your gaze, “If you could have seen how you looked, all that blood…”

Your heart strung in your chest. You slept nearly an entire day after the incident, and then spent the next day being fussed over by Bucky. You had a few bruised ribs and some nasty shiners, but nothing serious luckily. In all that time, the two of you had avoided the subject of that night besides the both of you apologizing to the other profusely.

“Buck, listen to me,” You whispered, his pained gaze finally rising to yours, “That was a heated night, we both did and said things we didn’t mean. We apologized for that, it’s behind us. But what happened to me in that alley,”

You paused hesitating only a moment before you threw caution to the wind and reached across the counter, grabbing his hand. His metal hand. His eyes widened a fraction and something changed in his gaze, something that made your heart miss a step.

“What happened to me in that alley was not your fault. That one was all me,” You insisted. Bucky squeezed your hand, the cool metal soothing your skin.

“But if I had just kept you in the car, if I hadn’t overreacted like that-”

“Then we wouldn’t know when the deal was going down,” You reasoned, “And if I were you, I would have kicked me out of the car too.”

Bucky let out a low laugh, shaking his head. His thumb ran across your skin absentmindedly, making your mind muddle, “Fine.”

You raised your eyebrows, a smile dancing on your lips “So does that mean we can move on? Not that I mind you making me breakfast.”

“Don’t push your luck, doll,” Bucky warned, a smile tugging at his lips. Letting go of your hand, he walked around the counter and into his living room, walking over to his coffee table where two files sat. You swiveled around on the barstool, watching him curiously.

As if he felt your gaze, Bucky spoke again, “While you were getting your beauty sleep in, I found where the arms deal is going down. So, if we’re gonna crash that party, we better start planning.”

A thrill went through you, and you sat up straighter. You watched as he turned and walked back to you with the files in his hand. Sure enough, he handed you one of them. You opened the front, seeing the page filled with information on Kingpin, his empire, and the arms deal. You looked up at Bucky with wide, bright eyes.

“We?” You taunted. Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the front of your file.

“I can still take this back,” He warned. You smiled, pulling it back towards you and out of his grasp. His grumpy demeanor didn’t scare you, nor did it frustrate you like it did before. 

“Too late,” You said sweetly, looking up at him as he stood before your seated frame. He shook his head at you, a half smile he tried to hide on his lips as he stepped back. 

“Alright CIA,” Bucky announced, flipping open his file, “Show me what you got.”

|||

It was Saturday night, and the air was thick with anticipation. 

You and Bucky sat in his car, staking out the trainyard where the arms deal was set to be going down. The walkie set before you crackled to life.

“How’s it looking?” Sam Wilson asked. You smiled at the sound of his voice, happy to have him here. Once you briefed him on what was happening, he just had to have a piece of it.

“Nothing so far,” You replied, your eyes sweeping across the darkened yard packed with parked trains, “We’ve still got some time, though.”

“I have RedWing watching from the skies, so I’ll keep you posted,” Sam informed.

“I hate that damn thing,” Bucky grumbled. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.

“What was that?” Sam asked. 

“Nothing,” You answered, putting your hand over Bucky’s mouth just as he’s about to repeat his statement, “Tell RedWing we said thank you!”

As soon as the radio went quiet, Bucky pulled off your hand, staring at you in indignation. 

“You are getting too comfortable with me,” He gritted. You shrugged, trying not to look too smug.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” You quipped. Bucky was grumbling under his breath about something, and you were just about to ask him about it when something caught your eye in the distance. You sat up, pointing towards the left side of the yard.

“There,” You announced, your tone serious, “You see it?”

Bucky leaned forward, following the direction you were pointing. He nodded, reaching forward and grabbing the walkie.

“Sam, two SUVs rolling in. You got ‘em?” 

“I see them,” Sam responded, his voice all business, “Looks like it's the dealers. The weapons are probably stashed in one of the train cars somewhere. I’ll run a scan, you guys get out there.”

“Will do, comms going in,” Bucky replied.

The two of you slipped the comm links into your ears, checking your respective guns before exiting the car. You both jogged towards the first train car parked in the massive yard, getting cover as fast as possible.

“Be advised, the dealers have associates fanning out through the trainyard.” Sam’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Copy,” You spoke softly, your back pressed against the train, “We’ll take care of it.”

Looking over to Bucky, you nodded once at him before he led the way, gun raised as he cleared the corner. The two of you worked systematically through the yard. Sweeping out slowly in search of the associates. This place was a maze, making it ideal for deals like this. If you wanted a chance at taking the op down, you had to get these guards out.

You and Bucky paused at a break in the train, and this time you led as you inched forward and checked the corner. Seeing a guard standing watch at the corner, you pulled back and looked at Bucky. Without even having to say a word, you and Bucky worked together as if you’d been doing it for years. 

You crouched down, holstering your gun and slipping out a knife. You took a beat to breathe before you slid forward, around the corner. The noise made the guard swivel her head, but she made the mistake of not looking down. With the deadly sharp knife, you made it to her feet before she noticed you.

Then, you whistled. A quiet, simple tone. With furrowed brows, she looked down to see you, crouched by her feet with a knife. Her brows rose and she opened her mouth to alert someone, but Bucky was on her, his hand around her mouth. That’s when you struck, slicing the tendon at the back of her heel. 

Bucky’s hand muffled her scream as she dropped, and you stood in response, landing a killer blow across her temple and knocking her out. When the scuffle was over, the trainyard was silent. With a breathless smile, you looked up to Bucky.

“We make a pretty good team,” You whispered. He shot you a pointed look.

“I don’t do teams.”

You followed him as walked past the downed guard, a smirk tugging at your lips, “That’s right. You’re a lone wolf.”

Bucky stopped in his gait, nearly making you run into him. He turned and shot a glare at you, one that let you know you were getting under his skin. You held your hands up, showing him you were backing off the subject. He shook his head at you and kept walking. 

“You do make a good team,” Sam intervened, making you smile triumphantly.

“Sam, I swear-” Bucky began, but you darted up, covering his mouth with your hand to silence him. He saw the guard rounding the corner a second after you did. Luckily, the guard hadn’t seen you.

Not yet, at least.

Thinking quickly, Bucky grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up into the opening of a nearby, darkened train car. You landed inside silently and turned, waiting for Bucky who jumped in a second later. Swiveling his gaze around, he noticed the same problem you did. 

The car was full of weapons. The weapons.

Not only did this endanger the both of you should the deal start soon, it also left little room for you to hide. Bucky solved that issue swiftly as he turned and urged you against a stack of explosives, his body pressed against yours instantly, caging you into the darkness and making sure the two of you were invisible.

Or, you realized with a start, making sure you were invisible. 

You could see just far enough to look up and see Bucky peering down at you. His body was against yours, and his face was so near to yours that you could move half an inch and your lips would be touching. His pine and whiskey scent washed over you, intoxicating you, making you forget for a moment where you were. 

Bucky seemed to do the same as his hand moved from beside your hand and he swept a thumb against your cheek. Lightning scattered across your skin where he touched, and you nearly forgot how to breathe. 

You wanted to kiss him. You needed to kiss him. 

Bucky’s eyes were darting between your lips and gaze, and your heart thundered in your chest. You were sure he could feel it with your bodies pressed so tightly together, and the uptick of the edge of his lips told you he did. Your lips itched in anticipation, burning even as they were kept apart from his. 

Bucky’s hand moved from your cheek down to rest against your throat, just as it did that day in your kitchen all those months ago. You knew that he did it to get a better feel of your pulse, and your cheeks heated in response. His lips were nearly touching yours and his hand was on your neck and you thought you might faint.

He was totally in control of you, and he knew it.

With a half-smirk that made your knees nearly buckle he whispered, “Do I always make you this nervous?”

You wanted to banter back, to shoot a petty insult at him, but you couldn’t think of anything but his lips on yours. You wanted it so badly, and you could tell Bucky did too because the hand that wasn’t on your throat was clenched tightly, as if he was restraining himself. You nudged your chin up a fraction, stopping just short of his lips, leaving the decision up to him. Bucky moved, and when his lips were almost touching yours-

“I found the weapons,” Sam’s voice poured out of RedWing, who sat hovering right in front of you and Bucky. 

You and Bucky jolted apart, the coast clear from the guard and the both of you coughing or clearing your throat.

“What?” Sam asked, his tone taunting, “Did I interrupt something?”

“Sam, if RedWing doesn’t fly away I’m gonna break it,” Bucky threatened lowly. 

“What, are you mad that he’s c-”

Bucky lunged for RedWing, who turned and flew away just in time. You couldn’t help but smile, struggling to hold in your laughter as Bucky turned and shook his head, clearly wound up. When he saw the look on his face he pointed a finger in your direction.

“Not a word,” He commanded. 

“Yes sir,” You teased, shoving his shoulder lightly as you passed him to inspect the weapons. What you missed as you peered into the weapons crates was the way Bucky smiled at you as you passed, a real smile unlike any of the one’s he’d given since the 40’s.

“Look at all this,” You breathed, inspecting box after box of weapons of all sorts. 

“And there’s at least six more cars just like it,” Sam informed over the comm. You shook your head, picking up a rather nasty looking bomb. 

“We better get a move on, Kingpin’s bound to be here at any moment.” Your words caught Bucky’s attention and he nodded, walking towards the opening of the train car and hopping out. Wordlessly, you followed. As you jumped out of the car, Bucky grabbed you by the hips and slowed down your descent, setting you safely on the ground. His hands burned on your waist, and that tension from before returned in full force.

“I had that, you know,” You informed, raising a brow at him. He just smirked.

“I know.”

Then let you go and walk away, finally letting you take in a breath. As you followed him, you shook your head. 

This was going to be a long night.

|||

It took twenty more minutes for you and Bucky to clear out the guards without any of them reporting back a disturbance.

And, right on time, Kingpin and his men showed up

You watched as the massive, hulking man sauntered up to the center of the trainyard where the dealers, led by the woman from the gala, stood waiting. You stood pressed against a train nearby with Bucky against the one across from you. Overhead, Sam was waiting for your signal to move in. 

It would be your job to make sure the SWAT team rolling up outside had enough time to infiltrate and secure the weapons that they could. In the meantime, you, Bucky, and Sam would ambush the deal, taking out as many operatives as you could and securing Kingpin and the Dealer. 

But right now, your mind wasn’t on the plan. No, you were stuck staring at the goons who waltzed up with Kingpin. You recognized three of them as the men who pummeled you that night after the gala. Noticing your clenched jaw, Bucky followed your gaze to the men. Understanding broke over him and you glanced over to see a certain fury flood his gaze. He looked back to you, his gaze clashing with yours.

“Which ones?” Was all he whispered, low enough so he couldn’t be heard by anyone except for the comm link. You heard the edge in his voice, and maybe it was wrong, but you loved it.

“The two on his right and second to the left.”

Bucky nodded, staring down the three men. He looked back to you, “You want them?”

A smile ghosted your lips. You could see the restraint in the way his shoulders were held tensely and the whitening of his knuckles on his gun. He wanted them, but he wanted you to have the choice first.

And you fell in love, right there. It began with the dance, but it was done now. There was no going back.

“Share?” You offered, and Bucky’s lips tipped up in a smile.

The two of you turned your attention back to the deal, straining enough to hear the conversation flowing from Kingpin and the Dealer who met in the middle.

“I’m not seeing my weapons,” Kingpin noted, his hands clasped before him. The woman smiled.

“The money first. Then you’ll get your weapons.”

Your hands tightened around your gun, waiting for Kingpin’s next move. He surveyed the Dealer before nodding, turning back to his man and motioning. That was it, this was your chance. 

“Now,” You whispered, and instantly the sound of bullets from somewhere to the right blasted through the air.

Sam’s distraction.

The Dealer and Kingpin snapped their gazes towards the sound. 

“What the hell-”

That’s when you and Bucky swept in, guns raised and bullets flying before the group knew what was happening. Chaos broke out, but every time someone strayed from the center to flee into the trains, Sam was there to guide them back. 

The scene was a flurry of bullets and knives, of yelling and screams, but in the end it was you and Bucky who were left standing amongst the group of downed guards. Of course, there were a few left standing besides Kingpin and the Dealer, one of which happened to be one of the men who beat the shit out of you after the gala.

You did not miss how one of the other men who’d beat you wasn’t just unconscious nearby, but his neck was twisted at a wrong angle with Bucky standing nearby. The last of three was lying somewhere in the mess, shot and bleeding out. 

Silence settled over the scene as Sam slammed down on the top of one of the train cars, gun raised. Bucky stood by the Dealer, and you by Kingpin. The two criminals stood silently, their hands raised in submission. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” You announced, keeping your gun pointed at Kingpin. He snapped his gaze to you, and surprise flickered through it followed by a sort of…admiration that made your skin crawl, “A SWAT team is closing in on the weapons now, so the two of you are going to call off anyone else you have stationed and come with us, without a fight preferably.”

“Little bird,” Kingpin greeted, making your pulse spike. You didn’t want to look at him, but you did anyway, and you hated the way you shook as you did, “It’s not often I’m surprised, but I gotta say, you’ve got me speechless here.”

You gritted your teeth, but it was Bucky who called out “Clearly not speechless enough,”

Kingpin laughed, seeming almost at ease. He started to lower his hands and you took a step closer, your gun held strong before you.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” You ordered. 

“Okay, okay,” Kingpin complied, raising his hands up, “But I just want to say, you really shoulda thought this out more.”

You furrowed your brows, “Wh-”

You couldn’t even get the words out when three of the nearby train car doors slid open, and guards poured out. Your heart shot into your throat, and you didn’t even have the chance to shoot when twenty guns were pointed at you and twenty more at Bucky. You shot a nervous glance towards Bucky, who shared the same look. 

“Sam, go,” You whispered, and he flew off without another word. He needed to get the SWAT team in here now, or you and Bucky wouldn’t make it long. On the bidding of Kingpin’s army, you and Bucky set your guns down slowly. 

“Alright,” Kingpin announced, sighing as if this were just another Saturday night, “Now here’s what’s really gonna happen.”

He walked up to you, and off to the side you saw Bucky immediately lunge forward towards him. He couldn’t make it far before Kingpin pulled out a gun of his own and pointed it at your head.

Bucky froze.

“Leave her alone,” Bucky ordered, his voice dark and menacing. 

“Now it’s getting fun,” Kingpin mused, ignoring Bucky completely and stepping closer to you. You clenched your fists to hide the way they shook. 

“You’re gonna hop up to this train car here and get my weapons out, make sure they’re what I wanted. Then, you’re gonna call off the SWAT team, and we’re gonna walk out of here,” Kingpin said simply. 

“Not happening,” You gritted out.

“Funny, I don’t remember giving you a choice,” Kingpin sighed before grabbing your arm and looking to the dealer, “Which one has the weapons?”

She smirked, pointed at the train car nearby Bucky. It was torture to be dragged past him and not be able to touch him. Not for lack of trying, either. As you went by, he made a break for you, shouting your name. It took eight men to restrain him.

Eight men, that’s how many it took to hold him steady. 

And, you figured he was holding back since there was a gun to your head. 

“Oh, and package the soldier up. I want to have a few…words with him later.” Kingpin ordered, and panic blinded you. You reared back helplessly, struggling against his iron grip as you had to watch the men try to subdue Bucky and get him into handcuffs. 

Your panicked gaze met his, and all you could do was pray Sam was close with the SWAT team. You couldn’t rely on that, though. Kingpin was going to kill you and then Bucky.

You could die, so long as Bucky didn’t.

A plan began to spin in your head as Kingpin shoved you up into the train car. 

“Now, grab a gun from in there and show it to me,” Kingpin ordered, but then gave you a knowing smile, “And don’t try anything, or I’ll have a bullet in your boyfriend’s head.”

“On our way!” Sam called through the comm, but you were running out of time. The men were already hauling away Bucky, and you had to act fast. 

Turning into the dark train car full of weapons, you tried to lift a box and pretended to fail. Turning to look down at Kingpin, who still stood on the ground, you gritted, “I can’t get it. It’s too heavy.”

Maybe it was his built-in trust of you from your encounter that night after the gala, or maybe it was because he thought you were under too much emotional duress, but he believed you.

He bought it, and he hauled himself into the train car for everyone to see.

“You better not be-”

Before he could speak again or anyone could react, you’d pulled the bomb you picked earlier off of your belt and pulled the pick. Gasps and shouts rang out through the yard as you held the live explosive in your hand and made sure you stood between Kingpin and the exit of the train car.

“Y/N NO!” Bucky shouted, his voice cracking. With a bare pull of his arms, the cuffs on his wrists snapped and he made a move for you. 

A handful of guns were pressed into Bucky’s head, stopping him cold. In response, you held the motion-induced explosive tighter and pushed it further towards Kingpin, who had backed as far as he could against a stack of crates. Terror was clear across his face, which brought a sick sort of delight.

“You shoot him, and I drop it,” You announced, and once again the yard plunged into silence. 

Anyone who could see the situation knew you had the upper hand. If anyone killed you, the bomb would hit the ground and kill Kingpin. If Kingpin tried anything on you, you’d drop the bomb and kill the both of you. You were locked in a stalemate, and now you were going to win.

“Now, put your guns down.” Your voice rang through the trainyard, but no one acted. You lifted your brows and nodded, turning your head towards Kingpin. Panic flared in his eyes and he shouted, “GUNS DOWN! Put your damn guns down!”

You turned your head and watched as everyone did as they were told. Your eyes snagged on Bucky, who had a desperate look on his face. He shook his head, but you ignored his silent pleas. 

“You, the Dealer and all your forces are going to stand down. You’re going to wait patiently for SWAT to get here,” You lifted your chin, “Or I’ll drop this and we both go.”

“You wouldn’t,” Kingpin stuttered. 

“You really want to call my bluff? Go ahead, end your criminal empire in one moment of stupidity,” You dared. 

Kingpin took a moment to survey your gaze before he shook his head, “You’re crazy.”

You didn’t miss a beat.

“The things you do for love.”

That’s when you heard the rustling of gear and looked over to see the SWAT team storming in, guns raised and shouting at the Dealer and all of the assorted criminals throughout the yard. Taking in a trembling breath, you looked back at Kingpin.

“Game over, little bird,” You lifted your chin, and Kingpin’s eyes flared.

“This isn’t over,” He assured.

“Sure it isn’t,” You replied easily. Well, as easily as you could with a live bomb in your grasp.

You heard the clanging of the train car and looked over to see Bucky inside, his eyes deadly and his jaw clenched tightly as he grabbed Kingpin.

“Out,” Bucky growled, throwing him to the ground outside. Officers were on him instantly, but Bucky wasn’t paying attention, instead, he was on you. 

“Bucky, stay-” You warned with a trembling voice, stepping back to keep the bomb from him. Bucky wasn’t listening to you, though, He cut you off and cupped your cheeks.

“What the hell were you thinking? You could have died!” Bucky nearly shouted, but you didn’t miss the way his voice shook. 

“He was going to take you, and I couldn’t let him do that,” You whispered, tears gathering in your eyes. 

“So you pulled a bomb on him?” Bucky pushed. A tear slipped down your cheek and Bucky wiped it away, shaking his head at you, “Don’t ever do that again, don’t ever risk your life like that for me again.”

“No promises.” Your voice was trembling badly, and your hand was clenched so tightly around the bomb that your fingers hurt, “Bucky, I’m scared.”

You heard Sam call for a bomb squad in the distance, but you didn’t tear your gaze from Bucky. He pressed his forehead to yours, “I know, baby. But you’re gonna be alright.”

“What if I drop it?” You whispered, only allowing your fear to be heard and seen from Bucky. 

“You’re not gonna drop it,” Bucky assured, reaching forward and holding the explosive over your hand.

Buck, don’t-”

He held fast, closing both of his hands around yours and the bomb, “You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

“Sam, how long on that bomb squad?” You called out, another rogue tear burning down your cheek.

“They should be here any minute.” Sam’s reply made the tension in your chest ease slightly, and as if on command, the bomb squad came running up to the train car.

Bucky’s hands were solid around yours, and his gaze was unflinching and unafraid. He had you. That thought made your heart rate slow. He had you, he had you.

“So what do you have here?” A lady asked, jogging up and hopping into the train car, looking down at the explosive. She hummed, nodding before reaching into her kit. You looked down to watch her work, new fear ripping through you.

“No, just look at me,” Bucky ordered, making your gaze snap up to his. You nodded, doing your best to hold his gaze as the woman worked on the bomb. 

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” You murmured, the fear making your inhibitions lowered, “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

Bucky’s lips edged up into a smile, “Well, I figured you thought so considering how fast your heart was beating in that train car a few minutes ago. Or were you thinking about something other than my eyes?”

His charm worked perfectly, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Look at us,” You mused, glancing down at the bomb for a moment before looking back up to Bucky, “A few months ago you wanted to kill me, and now we’re holding a bomb I pulled to save your ass, again.”

“No, I still want to kill you sometimes,” Bucky amended, but the words held no merit. 

“Alright,” The bomb squad lady said, grabbing onto the underside of the bomb, “You can let it go now. I’ve got it.”

Your smile faded and you locked your gaze with Bucky’s again. He pulled one of his hands off and your grip on the explosive tightened. You shook your head slightly.

“It’s okay,” He murmured, nodding to you, “Let it go.”

Bucky slid his hand that was left on the bomb to yours, intertwining your fingers and slowly pulling your hand off. Before you knew it, Bucky had managed to pull your hand off the grenade. In its stead, Bucky held your hand tightly, pulling you instantly into his chest. 

You let out a shuddering sigh of relief, leaning your head on Bucky’s shoulder. Slowly he pulled back, keeping your hand in his, “Come on, let’s go.”

You nodded, your fear ebbing as the two of you jumped down from the train car. In an instant, Sam was at the two of you, nearly knocking you over with a hug. You laughed, letting go of Bucky’s hand and hugging Sam back. 

“You are insane!” Sam exclaimed, letting go of you and shaking his head, “Absolutely insane.”

You smiled, “Thanks,”

Sam laughed, shaking his head as he walked over to Bucky, “So not a compliment.”

After he checked in with Bucky he turned and faced the two of you. 

“Good work, guys. Glad to see you’re not killing each other here.” 

“Yet,” You and Bucky happened to say at the same time. 

Sam smiled, “I better be off, I’ve got a mission I left to help out here.” Pausing, he looked over to you and gestured to Bucky, “Take care of him?”

You smiled, nodding, “Always.”

The two of you said your goodbyes as Sam turned and flew off. With a long sigh, you turned and began to make your way back to Bucky’s car.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I could go for some food right now.” You announced. 

“Wait,” Bucky stopped you, grabbing your arm and pulling you around to face him, “What you said back there to Kingpin…did you mean it?”

For a moment, you considered playing dumb and asking what he meant. But you knew what he meant, and he knew you did. You had inadvertently said that you loved him, and because of the bomb situation you almost thought you’d make it out without having to confront it.

You held Bucky’s gaze that was searing into you, and suddenly you were overcome with that same sensation to kiss him as before. With him standing this close to you and after what you’d just been through together, it took all of your strength to hold back. The tension in the air between the two of you as he waited for your response was maddening.

“Well, I did nearly blow myself up for you so take that as you-”

“You are infuriating,” Bucky huffed, tugging you closer so that your body was flush against his. Your joking ended immediately, your pulse flickering wildly as his lips danced just out of reach of yours. His blue eyes were dark as he stared down at you, each of you daring the other to make the first move.

Your lips brushed against his as you spoke into the silence, “I meant it.”

And then his lips were on yours. His arm was around your waist, pulling you tight as his other tangled into your hair. This kiss had been brewing for months, and you could feel it. Lightning danced across your skin as he kissed you desperately, in a way that made your arms tighten around his neck to keep yourself from falling. He nipped at your bottom lip softly, then pulled away and moved to hold your face in his hands. 

For a long while, Bucky just stared at you with a soft smile playing on his lips. You smiled, still dazed from the kiss. 

“What?” You asked. 

He ran a thumb across your cheek tenderly, “I was just trying to think back to when things changed between us. But…but I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.”

Your smile widened and you surged forward, kissing him again. Pulling back, you gazed up at him with an amused glint in your eyes.

“And when you were choking me in my kitchen, threatening to kill me, that was you showing your love for me?” You asked.

Bucky’s grin turned suave and playful as he threw his arm across your shoulders and walked with you towards his car, “Well, you seemed to like it enough in that train car.”

Your cheeks heated and you scoffed, slapping his muscled chest as the two of you walked. 

“Jerk,” You laughed out, and he held you closer to him with a smile.

“I love you too.”

[eat-limes-bitches]

I Will Always Come When You Call

PAIRING: Female Reader x FATWS Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY:  When reader accidentally calls Bucky, he comes running to find out what’s wrong.

WARNINGS: ANGST, mentions of depression, fluff

Word Count: 1168

A/N: I disappeared from posting because, well, I had no will to write, I was in a rut. This is purely self soothing at this point because this is what I need right now. I promise that I have updates for the series soon, I just needed this first. 

Enjoy!! <3

Dividers by Rookthorne

It was the same feeling, day in, day out, the constant numbing sadness for a loss that never happened. The monsters that emerged from the deepest parts of her mind and wrapped her consciousness in toxic thoughts. People always said the same things, “Get some air, it won’t do you any good being cooped up.” “Take a break, you’re just burnt out from working too hard.” That was her problem, she wasn’t working. She couldn’t. It's hard to do anything when you barely have the will to get out of bed, let alone work. She stared at the glowing numbers from the clock on her nightstand, indicating she was, once again, still awake at an unreasonable hour. She glanced at the dark screen of her phone that was resting on the bed next to her. Why was it there again? Oh, right. She was gonna call him. The corner of her lips twitched upwards at the thought. Bucky had always been there, they had been there for each other. After everything that they went through together, with Thanos, the Flag Smashers, his amends, they were together through it all and now that everything had calmed down, she was struggling to stay afloat. Unlocking her phone, her thumb hovered over the call button. What was she gonna say? “Hey Buck, I know it's 2:30 in the morning and nothing is wrong but I need you.” She shook her head. It was stupid, if either of them were to call the other at this time it should be him. She had no reason and no explanation as to why she was feeling this way. 

Letting out a groan she leaned back and thumped her head against the headboard closing her eyes as she sunk a little deeper into her mind. “Doll? Are you ok?” Her eyes snapped open and down to her phone. Shit, she accidentally hit the dial. “Y/N are you ok? You’re worrying me sweets.” She shook her head slightly, “Yeah, sorry Buck.” She quickly hung up, cutting off whatever it was that Bucky was about to say, and throwing her phone to the other side of the bed. She hated feeling like this, this hopelessness that seemed to seep in through every pore on her skin and settle deep within her bones, like how a chill sets in after getting caught in the pouring rain. She was so deep within her mind that she didn’t notice the man that entered her flat. She didn’t hear him calling out to her and asking her where she was. Eventually the door to her bedroom opened, causing her to snap out of her trance in alarm, only to relax again when she saw Bucky standing there with a worried look on his face. 

“God, there you are. You scared me to death, sweets.” He murmured as he crossed the room to sit next to her on the bed. She stared at him with a puzzled expression on her face, tracing her eyes across his features. His hair was messy, shoes missing, probably at the front door, dressed in a pair of sweats and a dark blue t-shirt that highlighted to worried look in his eyes. She continued to stare for a moment before she finally spoke, “You came..” Bucky blinked, confusion coloring his features as he replied, “Of course I did, you called.” She froze at his words, surprise seeping into her eyes as she looked at him, trying to decide if he was serious when he broke the silence, “What’s going on, darling?” She shook her head, looking away from him, “I- I honestly don’t know, and that’s the problem.” She melted as he placed an arm around her, pulled her into his side, a gentle sign for her to continue. “It’s just- god I’m not okay.” She leaned to rest her head against his shoulder as she struggled to find the words, “I.. I’m just not myself. My jaw hurts from grinding my teeth, I can’t sleep at night, not because I’m not tired, no, I’m exhausted. It’s like I’m too tired to sleep. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time. I’m spiraling, and I couldn’t even begin to tell you why.” Once she finished, Bucky let out a sigh and pulled her further into his embrace, as if holding her would shield her mind from the toxic thoughts that tried to take her from him. “Doll, you should have told me sooner.” He scolded softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She shrugged, “I didn’t want to worry or bother you. You’ve come so far in your own healing that I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

 Bucky shook his head, “Y/N, look at me.” He placed hid flesh hand under her chin to raise her gaze so that she was looking at him, “You mean the whole fucking world to me, do you know that?” She tried to look away as color flooded her cheeks but he wasn’t having it, “I think of you every day. You’re my first thought when I wake up and the last one before I try to go to sleep. I want to help you, and before you even start with the whole, ‘you don’t have to help me’ bullshit, I want to help you.” He paused, moving the hand under her chin to thread his fingers through her hair as he looked over her weary face. “You don’t have to do this all on your own, my love, let me help.” 

His words were a soft gentle caress against the opened wounds on her soul, something she didn’t realize she needed until she had a taste of it, and with the sugary sweet words filling the holes, the negative began to suffocate, trying desperately to escape but when entrapped in his honey coated words, they just died out. She nodded her head before she spoke, “Ok…ok.” “What do you need darling, not tomorrow, not in an hour, right now, what do you need?” Bucky asked. She traced the intricate lines on his vibranium hand that was situated around her middle before she spoke, “Can you just, hold me? Just for a little bit? I haven’t been able to sleep well for three day a-” Bucky cut her off by pulling her to lie down with him, tucking her head into his chest before reaching over and turning off the lamp on the nightstand. He wrapped his arms back around her and pressed kisses along her hairline until he reached her ear where he whispered, “Get some sleep sweets. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Wrapped up in Bucky’s warmth it wasn’t long before her eyes began to grow heavy, still she managed to move her head back to look over Bucky’s face as she whispered, “I still can’t believe you came.” Bucky leaned forward pressing his forehead against hers replying quietly, “I will always come when you call.”

[make-me-imagine]

Flowers and Courage

Plot: After Bucky fears he might lose his chance with you, he finally finds the courage to tell you how he feels.

Prompts: 'Secret admirer' + "I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you."

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gn!Reader

Requested By: Anonymous (a left over request from Valentines Day)

A/n: Sorry its so short and kind of sucks lol I had some trouble getting it down.

Words: 1.1k

-

Bucky was deep in thought as he sat at the bar, his hands slowly turning the glass in his hands as he thought about what to do. He wasn't sure how long he had been here already, but it felt like time had slowed down since he sat down to think.

He felt like he was in grade school all over again. Uncertain of how to tell his crush how he feels, so instead he just leaves them secret notes and candy.

But he wasn't a child anymore, and you weren't just a crush. He had never felt anything so deep and real for anyone before. And he had never found something so hard as he did confessing to you.

It was supposed to be easy, show up at your doorstep with flowers. Allow them to lead into a natural confession. But the second you opened your door, and your eyes cast over the flowers, causing a look of surprise over your face, he panicked.

"These were in front of your door." He said suddenly, feeling all courage he thought he had dissipate.

"Oh really?" You asked with growing curiosity as you took them. "I wonder if they were left at the wrong door."

Bucky felt disappointment and anger at himself wash over him as he held back on saying they were definitely for you.

That had happened months ago. And ever since then, it had become habit for him to hide how he felt. The coffees and flowers left to you randomly at work were thought of as kind gestures of a stranger.

When in reality it was Bucky. Showing his feelings for you the only way it seemed he could. Secretly.

He admired you from afar, adored you really. But was your friend up close, showing no real evidence of how he felt, or so he thought, and hoped.

Bucky thought it was fine, it could become the normal, it had become the normal. Until yesterday, when he overhead another agent talking to you, flirting shamelessly.

And then the man had the audacity to take credit for the flowers and the coffees, everything Bucky had done for you. This ass-hat had swooped in taken all the credit, trying to sweep you off your feet.

It infuriated Bucky, but he held back, not wanting to make a scene, or throw the man through a window.

So here he was, trying to find what courage he could through the anger to tell you once and for all how he felt about you.

Downing the last of his drink, Bucky slapped some money down and left, determination anchored in his heart as he made his way towards your apartment.

--- --- ---

As you pulled open your door, your heart leapt in you chest as you saw Bucky standing at your doorstep. You always felt that same wave of nervousness and butterflies when you saw him, even though you had known him, and been friends for years.

Your eyes cast down to his hands and you felt your chest clench. Flowers. Were they for you? Were they from him? Were they left at your doorstep again? Were they from the agent from work?

Out of all of those options, you hoped they would be from Bucky. Just like you had hoped they were the first time.

"Bucky, hi!" You greeted with a bright smile. "Come in!"

He smiled, but you could tell something was off, he seemed nervous, and that only added to your own anxieties.

As he stepped into your apartment he cleared his throat, handing you the flowers that had been in his hands, you noticed his knuckles were white as he gripped them before letting go.

"These are for you."

"Oh-" You hesitated for a moment "Were they left at the door step again?"

The first time this happened, when Bucky told you the flowers were left at your doorstep you were disappointed. But something told you they had really been from him. Maybe it was just you being hopeful.

Bucky shook his head and spoke, his voice softer than you had been expecting. "No, they're from me."

He saw your eyes widen as your face brightened up and he felt a wave of relief and triumph wash over him.

"Thank you, but- what are they for?" You asked cautiously, yet curious.

A thousand thoughts seemed to cross Bucky's mind in the span of a second as he froze, before he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

"They- uh, there-" he sighed before laughing dryly "I used to be better at this."

You smiled "Better at what Buck?"

He met your eyes and saw nothing but your familiar kindness, and a hint of encouragement, even eagerness.

"Confessing."

You felt as thought your heart stopped as your breath hitched in your throat.

Bucky continued before you could respond. "Those flowers from a few months ago, they weren't left on your doorstep, I got those for you too, I just...panicked"

You repressed a giggle "You...panicked?"

"I know." He laughed softly. "I don't know I just- I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same, and that it would ruin what friendship we had. So I kept it to myself. I left you coffees and flowers at your desk after that" he saw your face turn to realization "And yesterday I heard that douc- that guy tell you he did it, and it pissed me off. But I realized it was my fault, for not having told you earlier. So I decided to tell you. Because- because I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you. I care about you much more than I have anyone in my life. And I don't want to lose you or any chance I might have of being with you. "

He watched you closely as you looked down at the flowers, watching as a smile slowly spread across your face. "I knew he didn't leave them for me. He made it so obvious he was lying." You looked up and met Bucky's eyes "And honestly, I had a feeling it might have been you, but I was too afraid to get my hopes up. Because I feel the same about you Bucky, everything you said, I feel it too."

You saw a wave of relief and happiness cross his face as you spoke. Suddenly he stepped closer, reaching up and gently touching your cheek as he smiled. "I wasted quite a bit of time, didn't I?"

You shrugged as your grin widened "Nothing you can't make up for."

xx

Sorry it ended so abruptly, I literally could not get anything else out of my brain lol

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @alexxavicry, @witchygagirl

Marvel+Bucky Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @trashywritestrash, @groovy-lady, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @mochamoff, @simsiddy, @gay-and-ready-to-cry, @flourishandblotts-inc, @spuffyfan394, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @locke-writes, @cs-please, @soultrysworld, @a-lumos-in-the-nox, @creativitybeware, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @skylions-den, @dominos-palast, @maellem, @readingwithatorch, @cauliflowertree, @writerfulltime, @cosplayingwitch, @sweetpeapod, @hoodedbirdie, @oliviah-25,

[sjsmith56]

Amends

Summary: Bucky prepares to make a visit to a woman make amends for the actions of the Winter Soldier. Reliving the night of the event in his memories brings up the guilt of not just what he did, but what he didn’t do.

Length: 3.2K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, HYDRA handler, two victims, victim’s daughter

Warnings: Memories of violence by Winter Soldier and by HYDRA handler, guilt, remorse, angst.

Author’s notes: The memories are indicated by the italicized font. There’s no doubt that each session where Bucky made amends to the survivors of his victims would become increasingly hard for him. Each time would bring back the memories of his actions, furthering his feelings of guilt. In this instance I thought of how perhaps it was something that Bucky wanted to do for himself, as part of a cleansing his soul process. Agree or disagree with that theory it was still something that affected him deeply each time.

🌟

The list in his notebook had been getting noticeably shorter. Bucky looked at the spread-out sheets of paper on his table, with the printouts of the next person to make amends to. This one had tugged on him emotionally, almost as much as Yori’s son’s death had. With a sigh he began to read over the details again.

The subject’s name was Susan Whitaker, daughter of Richard and Marianne Whitaker. Amends were to be made to her for the death of her parents on June 23, 1994.

“Soldat, you will eliminate the target Richard Whitaker. He has become a problem at SHIELD, and suspects that Alexander Pierce is part of HYDRA.”

“I will comply.”

Bucky shook his head, trying to get the memory of the order out of his head. It was no use; now that the memory had begun he would have to let it run its course.

“You will find him at his home, after 8 pm. The address is on the briefing sheet.”

“Witnesses to be eliminated?”

“If they do not see you there is no need. The wife is an invalid and in a wheelchair. The daughter is young enough not to retain any memory of you. However, you have the latitude to act independently if you decide otherwise.”

“Insertion details?”

“You will be transported to a position near the residence with your handler but you will advance alone into the residence once the sun sets. Confirmation of his death has been requested by Pierce. You will check for life signs and call this number.”

He was breathing heavy as he remembered the phone number that was given to him. It was an untraceable number that allowed him to report directly to Alexander Pierce. It was supposed to be a straightforward hit but sometimes even the Winter Soldier experienced complete and total fuckups. He put the pages into the folder and walked away from the table. Pouring himself a cup of coffee he stood at his counter drinking it while staring at the folder. Gulping down the rest of his drink he sat back down at the table and pulled the papers out again. Even though he remembered everything as if it were yesterday he still wanted to go over it and make sure he had the series of events correct.

It was raining when they arrived at the position where he would leave the vehicle, a stolen cable company van. He was dressed as an installation technician, there on a service call. In the back of the van he pulled on the coveralls as his handler watched.

“Remember to call the number once you have confirmed Whitaker’s death,” said Gary Simons, his newest handler.

A tall thin man, he had a pockmarked face, from untreated acne. The Soldier didn’t have much in the way of opinion of any of his handlers but Simons was not his first choice of handlers to work with. He was quick to anger, eager to punish the Soldier for perceived slights, and had a sadistic streak that the efficient Soldier found unnecessary. Dead was dead, and a single bullet between the eyes was quick, efficient, and wasted little time in cleaning up the evidence. More than once when Simons visual confirmation was needed he would add his own flourish to the Soldier’s work; a shot to the mouth, or an initial carved into the cheek. Several times he had been cautioned against leaving such signatures but a man such as him always seemed to want to leave his mark on a scene.

Once again Bucky had to stop and leave the papers. The memory of Simons always bothered him. HYDRA attracted their share of sadists and Simons was right up there with Rumlow on the list of the worst of the worst. What Simons did that night wasn’t necessary and it could have led to the Soldier being caught because of what he did after.

The door on the verandah was unlocked and the Soldier easily got inside, walking quietly through the kitchen before listening for the sounds that would indicate where his target was. The sound of a television drew him to a small den. The football game was on and Whitaker was watching it, a bowl of potato chips on his lap and a beer in his hand. He looked tired, and didn’t seem to be engaged in the game. In fact, it was almost as if he was waiting. When the soldier entered the den Whitaker turned to him and nodded.

“You’re here for me, I suppose,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You are my mission,” replied the Soldier.

“My wife and daughter are upstairs,” said Whitaker. “They’re innocent. Please, don’t hurt them.”

“If they do not see me they will live,” was the reply and the doomed man nodded.

He stood up and faced his killer, looking him in the eye. Removing his gun from his holster the Winter Soldier aimed it at Whitaker and fired. The silencer stifled the sound of the gunshot and the man dropped immediately. Removing the glove from his right hand the Soldier felt for the pulse, finding nothing. Mission accomplished. He used the eraser end of a pencil to dial the number on the phone in the den. When it was answered a man’s voice asked for the mission report.

“Target eliminated,” said the Soldier.

“Good work,” was the response and the line went dead.

The soldier wiped his fingerprints off the receiver and prepared to leave, coming back out to the kitchen, noticing the door to the verandah was open. He knew he had closed it and wondered if there was anyone else in the house. Listening carefully he left the kitchen and waited in the entry hall beside the stairs that went upstairs. The sound of a muffled scream hit his ears and he ran up the stairs towards the sound.

A feeling of dizziness hit Bucky and he realized he was hyperventilating. For several long moments he sat there and forced himself to breathe slower and deeper. Fighting down the feeling of panic he counted down his breaths in his mind; ten seconds to breathe in, ten seconds to breathe out. The panic subsided as did the dizziness and he decided to take a break. Taking his phone he texted Sam to ask if he could talk. Receiving a text back he dialled his friend’s number.

“What’s up?” asked Sam. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah … no,” replied Bucky. “I’m going over a file on a person I have to make amends to.”

Sam didn’t answer at first. “What’s bothering you?”

“Just remembering the hit. It didn’t go down the way it was supposed to.”

Bucky walked to the window and looked outside. It was raining, just like it was that night.

“Buck?”

“I killed a SHIELD agent,” he said. “The man began to suspect Pierce was HYDRA, well before anyone else ever had an inkling. The hit request came from Pierce himself and I had to phone him immediately after with my mission report. His wife and daughter were there but as long as they didn’t witness me I was allowed to let them live.”

“What happened?”

“My handler entered the house while I was on the phone with Pierce,” said Bucky. “I didn’t hear him but he left the door open so I went looking for whoever had entered the house. He went upstairs, found the wife, an invalid and began raping her. I got there too late to stop him and he strangled her.”

“Fuck,” said Sam. “Did it register with you?”

“Yeah, it did,” said Bucky. “I killed him, crushed his throat with my metal hand, and left his body there. He was a sadistic bastard, as bad as Rumlow and I had no second thoughts about killing him.”

“What about the daughter?”

Bucky didn’t answer at first then he coughed. “I took her out of the house, Sam. I wrote a note about what happened and put it inside her clothes, then dropped her in front of a police station and told her to go to the door. Then I left. She was barely three years old. When I got to the rendezvous I told the team he left the van and sent me on my way. I was conditioned to obey his orders. They accepted that.”

“What happened after?”

“When the hit made the news and the discovery of his body on the scene was released they knew I lied about him telling me to go but he was a loose cannon and likely would have been sanctioned anyways,” said Bucky. “I got away with it. The police attributed her murder to him and the husband’s murder to an unknown assailant who also killed the other intruder. It’s officially still unsolved, until I file the amends statement.”

He could hear Sam give out a noticeable breath. “So what’s bothering you? You killed a rapist and you saved the life of a little girl. You’ve already been given a pardon for the father’s death.”

“I should have locked the door behind me to keep him from entering the house. He did shit like that, although not to the extreme he did that night. How do I tell this woman that I feel responsible for her mother’s death, even though it wasn’t me who killed her?”

“I guess exactly the same way that you just told me,” said Sam after a considerable pause. “The truth will always set you free. Isn’t that the saying?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” sighed Bucky. “I guess I just needed to hear it from someone else. Thanks for listening.”

“Buck, anytime,” replied Sam. “You good?”

“No, but I will be. Goodnight.”

Returning to the table Bucky put the file back together and left it on the surface. Putting his leather jacket on he left the apartment, making sure to lock the door and he headed down the stairs to the street. Even with the rain it was busy outside, as people were headed out for dinner or an evening at a bar. He got on the subway, taking it to Manhattan and transferring to a train to the Bronx. When he got off there he consulted a map on his phone for the address. She ran a bookshop, one of those used ones, that people could bring their extra books to and exchange for money or for more books. He stopped at the window, noticing there was a cat asleep in a bed on a shelf. He grinned slightly, wishing he had visited here before, just so he could have spent time with the cat. When he opened the door there was a little bell sound and a woman of about 30 years of age looked up from where she sat behind the counter.

“Hi,” she said cheerily. “Still raining?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “mostly but it isn’t heavy. Nice place.”

“Thanks,” she replied. “I do alright and it gives me time to work on my master’s degree. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “No, do you mind if I just browse?”

“Be my guest,” she said warmly. “I’m here if you have any questions.”

“Thanks.”

He stopped to scratch the cat’s head and began to look at the assortment of books. There was a good selection of titles, which he noted, even taking a couple to buy but he was really checking to make sure she was alone. Bringing his choices to the front he put them down in front of her and she smiled, picking them up and ringing the reduced price into the cash register.

“That will be $8.50 with the tax,” she said. “Interesting choices.”

“You have a nice little store,” said Bucky, taking a ten dollar bill out. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks! Every little bit helps.”

He stood there and picked up his books, looking her in the eye. “Are you Susan Whitaker, daughter of Richard and Marianne Whitaker?”

She looked at him strangely. “Yes, they died when I was little,” she said. “Why are you asking?”

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said. “For a time I was known as the Winter Soldier, and I was forced to work as an assassin for HYDRA through brainwashing. I am no longer that person, having regained my freedom but it requires that I make amends to the families of those who were my victims.”

She whimpered, looking at him with emotion. “It was you,” she whispered. “You carried me out of the house and took me to the police station. Why?”

“I was only programmed to kill your father but my handler was a sick man,” said Bucky. “Your father had anticipated his death and accepted it. I made it quick and was on my way out when I saw the door was open. Listening for the sounds of another intruder I went upstairs where my handler had just killed your mother. I’ll spare you the details. What he did was wrong, even to me, and I killed him. I knew you were there and didn’t want to leave you alone in that house so I wrote out what happened, put it into your clothes and took you to the police station. You were innocent and I blamed myself for your mother’s death. I’m here to make amends for the deaths of your parents and to give you closure so you know the truth of who was responsible.”

“But you didn’t kill her,” said Susan. “The police figured that out. He raped her but someone caught him and crushed his throat causing him to suffocate. They said it was a painful death. That was you.”

Bucky nodded, ashamed. “I don’t kill anymore, not since 2014 when I finally escaped from their control. It doesn’t excuse what I did. Even though I had no choice in any of them I still did them.”

He turned to leave, having said what he wanted to say.

“Wait,” she said, getting off her stool and standing in front of him. “I’ve read about you, about what HYDRA did to you to make you their killer. I know from the HYDRA files that were released that Alexander Pierce ordered my father’s death because Daddy was going to report him. You weren’t responsible for my mother’s death and you made sure I was safe. I have barely any memory of them but I do remember you, your arm mainly, the silver one. The star was so pretty and I always called you the Star Man. You were so kind to me. Were you still the Winter Soldier when you took me out of the house?”

Bucky looked down at the ground remembering that evening once more.

“Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” she asked.

“They’re not here,” said the Soldier, holding her face close to his chest so she wouldn’t see her father’s body in the den. “They told me to take you somewhere safe.”

“What’s your name?”

Her voice was so sweet and he had a flashback of another little girl, with braids in her hair, cuddling in his arms.

“Bucky, I had a bad dream.”

“I know, Becca,” he whispered, as he sat on her bed. “I’ll stay with you until you’re sleepy again.”

The Soldier looked at the little girl. “It was Bucky once.”

They got to the van and he opened the back door placing her on the floor. He took his coveralls off, placing them beside her, and little Susan Whitaker looked at his arm.

“Star,” she said, reaching out with her tiny hand and touching the red star on his left arm. “You’re Star Man.”

He smiled at her and gestured for her to climb into the seat in the front, closing the door and opening the driver’s side door. With a grimace he realized that Simons had the keys but he wasn’t going back to the house, not willing to leave Susan alone. Pulling out the wires from below he hot wired the van, starting it up. Before he got here he was given a briefing on the layout of the neighbourhood, including the location of the nearest police station. Carefully, he drove, making sure that Susan stayed seated in the front seat, which wasn’t easy as she wanted to look out the window.

About a block away from the police station Bucky pulled over to the curb and looked for a pad of paper, something to write on. He wrote down Susan’s name and address, saying what had happened there. Then he folded it up and told her to hide it inside her pyjamas. Gesturing for her to come to his arms he held her for several moments, stroking her hair..

“I can’t come inside with you but I want you to go the door of the building I’m going to take you to, okay?” he said. “They’ll take care of you and make sure you’re safe.”

“Okay,” she said. “What about Mommy and Daddy? Will they come for me?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m sorry but you won’t see them again.”

She smiled, not understanding and he hugged her, kissing her forehead. Then he opened the door and took her as close as he could to the station entrance out of the view of the security cameras. Setting her down on the ground he pointed out the door to her and told her to go there and knock.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “The police are your friends. Off you go.”

She turned around once and waved to him. He waved back but started walking backwards to the van, getting inside at the same time she arrived at the door. Watching as she knocked he started up the van and as soon as an officer came out to investigate her presence he backed up, turned around and drove away.

“No, I was in between him and my blank state,” he said to the adult Susan. “I had a memory of my own sister while I held you. You were never in danger with me and I didn’t leave until I saw an officer come to the door for you.”

She gave out an audible breath while she looked up at him.

“You remember them all, don’t you?” she asked. He nodded. “Are you legally required to do this, making amends?”

It was so easy to say yes as it was partially the truth, recommended as part of his therapy but she seemed to want to know the truth.

“No, I do this for myself,” he said. “I fought them for so long but they broke me and turned me into their weapon. Whenever I resisted they tortured me but I still ended up doing their dirty work for them and I remember every one of the killings.”

“That’s brave of you. Thank you for making amends for my father. You weren’t responsible for my mother’s death and I thank you for giving her justice. James Buchanan Barnes, I forgive you for what you were forced to do. I hope you find peace someday. You seem like a good man to go to this trouble.”

He smiled weakly and nodded. As he opened the door to the shop she said one more thing before he headed back out into the rainy night.

“Goodbye Star Man.”

By the time he got home his face was wet with more than just the rain.

One Shots Masterlist

Tumblr Masterlist

[scarfacemarston]

Character Spotlight 2: Bucky Barnes

Hey all, so I'm basically highlighting a few characters I want or have been writing about! I've written a few things for him, but I don't receive requests about him too often. I'm happy to write 1940s Bucky, Winter Soldier, Civil War and FATWS Bucky. I can write meta, hc and oneshots! I can also potentially roleplay as him. I've never written Bucky in that way before, but I'm willing to try. I mostly write Reader x Bucky because that's easier for me than ships, but I am also willing to try Stucky. Here is my tag of Bucky work - might need a little scrolling to get to the writing bit! This includes NSFW Bucky hc's, Reader giving Bucky a bath, Ace reader coming out to Bucky, and more.

[kangaracha]

MCU

TURN YOUR BACK ON MOTHER NATURE eternals; extra drukkari scenes, canon compliant; 10k AO3

AMONG THE DEATHLESS GODS eternals; zombie apocalypse au; 1k AO3

EXIT WOUNDS bucky barnes; pre-fatws. the days slide by more or less the same; 6k AO3

COME HOME bucky barnes; post-fatws. eventually, the war ends, and the soldier must come home; 5k AO3

FLIGHT OF THE ARROW, PULL OF THE EARTH hawkeye; clint and kate discuss their options, and the avengers; 1k A03

(DARLING, DON'T WAKE UP) wandavision; the right pietro comes to westbrook; 1k AO3

SPARROW imogen haylock has been lied to her entire life, including the moment that hydra wrap their fist around the world. clint barton is determined to set her straight; 63k AO3

FLICKER sequel to sparrow; imogen tries to be a normal person after a life of being not very normal at all. it doesn't work out; 21k AO3

---

MULTICHAPS

TO GO BEYOND YOUR BORDERS pokemon; amidst rumour and scandal, league champion angie sommars disappears from her home region of Sinnoh and runs away to Galar in search of a reprieve; 15k AO3

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE LAMBS assassin's creed 1; the only female assassin in the Levant, marwa grows up grappling with ideals of belief and morale, right and wrong and war and death - a tale told in four parts; 52k AO3

LINGER julie and the phantoms; julie discovers the consequences of actions she didn't realise she had taken, and a ghost war begins; 14k AO3

---

ONESHOTS

(STAY LOW, STAY LOW, STAY LOW) snowpiercer; the first weeks in the tail; 8k AO3

THE GOD OF NIGHT AND STARS descendants; it's supposed to be a party, but audrey can still feel the magic running through her veins. hades just wants some space; 2k AO3

ERRANDS descendants; celia runs into trouble, hades owes her a debt; 2k AO3

[peterpparkrr]

(Bucky Barnes x reader): Sessions

Summary: The reader goes to therapy, sees a new face. 

A/N: I’m gonna try and work through my writer’s block by posting little blurbs each week for FatWS - they’ll probably end up being Very short because y’know, it’s my final semester of college but I want to do something that’ll actually make me happy.

Dr. Gardiner said that it was normal. Well, not normal, exactly, but common. Apparently, it’s a common experience among those with complex PTSD to feel on edge, startled, even seemingly without reason. 

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean shit when you were standing in the waiting room, staring at the guy sitting in the blue chair in front of you. Sitting in your spot, the chair you’d decided was the best spot in the waiting room a long time ago, you could see everything from that chair, everyone who came in and out of the area. 

Talking to people has never been your strong suit, and initiating a conversation with a stranger? A man? A strange, scary-looking man? After everything you’d been through? 

But Dr. Gardiner wanted you to practice imitating small talk with strangers. It was part of the exposure therapy that she wanted you to try working through. 

“Hi,” You said quietly as you sat down on the other side of the waiting room, a few chairs over from the man. You didn’t look him in the eyes, but you let your eyes hover on the large painting behind him. 

He smiled at you but didn’t reply verbally. 

You breathed out a sigh of relief. That wasn’t so bad, now was it?

---

“I said hi to a man in the waiting room,” You tell your therapist as you try to get comfortable on the couch across from her.

“And?” Dr. Gardiner prompts you.

“A lot of Dr. Raynor’s patients are working through trauma too, right?” 

You knew they were, Dr. Raynor and Dr. Gardiner are both VA therapists. Dr. Gardiner had been appointed by the state as your therapist after-

Well, that’s not important right now.

“I assume so, but you know we don’t talk to each other or anyone else about your clients, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, doctor-patient confidentially or whatever.” You tell her dismissively as you wave your hand around. 

But she just stares at you, silently encouraging you to continue with your story.

“He seemed different from the other vets that I usually see in the waiting room. He was less jittery. But it made me… I felt nervous. But I guess knowing he was probably just as fucked as I am made it so I didn’t feel so afraid.”

“I’m not sure what I would have done if he’d actually started a conversation with me.” You admit after a few moments. While you’d been doing Dr. Gardiner’s homework for a few weeks, you knew that in New York City of all places, the chances of anyone actually saying anything back to you were pretty low. Even if they looked friendly you couldn’t guarantee you’d even get a “hello” in return. 

“That’s alright, we can work up to that,” Dr. Gardiner tells you, “Other than your interaction in the waiting room, how was your week? Have the breathing exercises been working?”

“Kinda,” You lie. Of course, they’re not. Most of the stuff Dr. Gardiner tells you to do doesn’t work. The drugs cause just as many problems as they solve, and the breathing exercises, the homework, it makes you feel worse most of the time. But you can’t tell her that - it’s supposed to be helping. She’s supposed to be helping. 

“(Y/N), you need to be honest with me if this is supposed to work.”

“I just feel bad. I know it’s supposed to help, that it’s supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t.” You tell her, “I just can’t seem to calm myself down. No matter how hard I try.” 

“Maybe we can come up with some new exercises to try instead.”

“Yeah,” You nod as you look down at your hands, which you notice you’ve been wringing in your lap, seemingly without your awareness.

“We need to work together to come up with solutions, (Y/N), but I need you to be honest with me when things aren’t working, okay?”

“I… I just don’t want you to feel like you’re not doing a good job,” You shrug, “I know you’re trying to help, and I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“Some things just don’t work, and we can try different ones, it’s no one fault. It’s not a failure when one of the solutions we come up with doesn’t work, it’s just part of the process to find a solution that does help.”

You don’t say anything, but nod. 

“This seems like another stuck point for you, (Y/N), now why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” You mutter

“Do you think there’s a reason that this brings up some really negative emotions for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think that maybe this perceived failure ties back to something that happened when you were-”

“Maybe I was fucked up before the kidnapping! I don’t know anymore! I just felt bad, why is that wrong?!” You shout.

“(Y/N), please calm down,” Dr. Gardiner says slowly as she looks up after your unexpected outburst with alarm.

“No! Maybe I’m tired of trying to make this situation feel okay because guess what? It’s not okay! Every day I have to live with what those guys did to me! I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything, and you keep telling me that it’ll get better, but it’s not, if anything it’s getting worse. And I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay!”

As your screaming in Dr. Gardiner’s face, you don’t even realize you’re standing up now, but the room is too hot, and it’s starting to get way too small and you feel like you’re suffocating.

You can’t breathe all of a sudden and it’s all too much. You push your way out of her office.

As you stormed out of the office you nearly plowed directly into someone. The guy from earlier. Dr. Raynor’s patient.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay?” He asks as he reaches out to you.

“I’m fine!” You all but shout, “Don’t. Touch. Me.” You spit in his face as you rip your arm out of his grasp.

“Hey, hey,” Dr. Gardiner says as she comes rushing out behind you and leads you back towards her office, “Thank you, I’ve got her,” She says to the guy as she tries to herd you away from him.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)? Can you hear me? We’re gonna try one of those new exercises now, okay? I’m going to need you to sit down for me.”

You all but collapse to the floor of the hallway as Dr. Gardiner starts to walk you through the breathing exercise and ground you again.

[hughiecampbelle]

Divine (Helmut Zemo Oneshot)

Character/s: Zemo, Bucky

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: rupture + slamming doors + "If I wanted to, I would have already."

A/N: Not requested, just an idea I wanted to try out :) Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

REQUESTS ARE OPEN 🔮

Святой. Иголка. Собака. Покайтесь. Музыка. Шрам. Более легкий. Девятнадцать. Бог. Ангел. He rattles off those words like they are nothing, like they mean nothing, placing them between sentences, attempting coherency, while he waits for the aneurysm to burst. It’s cerebral: meaning “of relating to the brain or intellect”. The words, the diagnosis. You are smart, he knows this, he has seen this, therefore you are destined to be doomed. You always have been. The vessel wall is weak (frail, feeble, fragile) and the blood begins to pool, applying pressure to the nerves. The brain. Eventually, the vessel will fracture and begin to hemorrhage. You have yet to detonate, though you’re close: your seams are loose, the wires crossed, your skull filled to the brim. Seeing red. The rupture will be catastrophic. No survivors. Under your breath you repeat the words: over and over, trying to regain control, trying not to let him win. Your fists are balled. Your voice is shaky. Your heartbeat rapid. Cerebral aneurysms can lead to brain damage, hemorrhagic stroke, coma, and death. You wonder if you will die like this, listing off those words, everything in you fighting for control. You wonder if his voice will still be in your head, all of their voices, while you become undone. 

Святой. Saint. You weren’t devout. Your mother, though, feared the wrath of God. She went to the saints, the individuals, to solve her problems. Her knees bled, and her back broke, and the holy pages became frayed. She wore Mary around her neck, clutching her, cradling her. She pleaded and you’d wait for something to happen. A miracle. A light. Anything. She’s find her glasses and thank St. Anthony. It was St. Raphael who cured you when you were sick. St. Agnes would keep you pure. You didn’t not believe. You had no proof in either direction. It didn’t seem fair to write them all off completely. Still, it didn’t sit right with you. It still doesn’t. You can’t remember her face. In your memories, her features are blank. Her voice, her mannerisms, all of gone along with her name. But her devotion, her begging, has been carved into you, deep enough where Hydra could not touch. All across the world, you’d wander off to churches between jobs, blood scrubbed off your skin, circling the drain as the doors open. The pews lined. The priest would welcome you in, speak to you in his native tongue, and you would shyly reciprocate. If not fluent, then stumbling your way through a prayer to your mothers saints long gone. They don’t hear you: you know this. They heard her, the worked in her favor. You called to them, to help you, to save you, as they tore you apart. Nothing changed. No one stopped. Still, there is a moral obligation, an innately human desire, to ask for forgiveness. Even someone as irredeemable and sullied as you bows your head and clasps your hands together. You prayed to your mother, a stranger now, that she might be looking down on you, that she is not upset with what you have become. A killer. An assassin. Where was St. Agnes now?

Иголка. Needle. There is nothing to compare it to, no history of childhood fits, no surge of panic in your adolescence, nothing, though you’ve been told you become difficult in the presence of needles. You used to put up more of a fight, hysterical at the idea of something sharp and pointed plunging into you. After the accident, most of your body was in ruins. You needed IV’s, and shots, and spinal taps. You screamed and cried and bargained everything you had, everything you were worth. Zola didn’t believe in pain killers. It would be wasted on something that didn’t deserve relief. Strapped to the table, a syringe digging into your spine, he’d shush you, your wimpers, brushing the sweat off your face. His breath was hot, his words pungent. That piece of you never got lost. They tried, they really did. Their own version of exposure therapy. Sam thought you were ridiculous. Your bones, your skin, your muscle put back together, most of you metal and scar tissue (Frankensteineque) and yet your eyes tear up at the thought of a vaccine. You have killed and been killed, but a needle, something so small it’s insignificant, throws off your day. Sends you into a panic. Not because of what they did. Not because, when you were especially difficult to deal with, they’d puncture you like a human pincushion. But something deeper, older, in you that you cannot recite. Something childlike and stubborn remains and they come out even now, petrified and clawing, trying to get away. This piece of you is not embarrassing, as others would expect. Rather it is proof that a part of you is still human. Still mortal. Still you. 

Собака. Dog. He’d look at you the way one does at a rotten dog.  He’d watch you like your canines have fallen out of your gums, like your mouth is a series of sockets and spit, like your legs are chewed and chunkless, and your eyes are glazed over with cataracts. He never meant to. Zola. Loved you as one loves an old dog, too. With admiration and nostalgia. You were his child, his creation, his life. The Winter Soldier was his best, but you would always be his favorite. They broke you before they put you together again. You’d yelp, and bark, and whine. There was so much pain, it was all-encompassing. Blinding. Not just your skin, but in the marrow of your bones. It’s indescribable. He would stand by your side, he would hold your hand. When you regained feeling, eventually, you could feel him squeezing it. One. Two. Three. Your mouth tasted of metal. Even your gums were bleeding. You’d try to speak, but the gag in your mouth prevented it. He loved you. He loved you so much he locked you in a cage. Like a dog, he expected you to obey. To sit, and stand, and protect him, protect them. You were allowed to play, to bite at one another, but they preferred to keep you and Bucky separate. There was a great fear that, if placed beside one another, you would learn to communicate, to work together, and find a way out. The more secluded you were, the safer they would be. 

Шрам. Scar. You didn’t return to the living unscathed. Your body was all scar tissue. Hard, restricting, and thick. Some have faded, others tear open with one wrong move. You were the first of your kind, a test subject they could have a little fun with. It isn’t pretty. Some of it resembles your natural features: they eye they replaced is identical to the real one. Other parts they chose to keep more archaic. You are metal, and flesh, the two working together to keep you in one piece. You used to rust. They’d upgrade the mechanics every few years when something better was invented. It was excruciating. You don’t look like a person. What’s worse, you don’t feel like one. Where there should be softness is sterility. Zemo has seen more than anyone’s been allowed. He’s watched your muscles contort, heard the faint whirring of your limbs as they reconfigure themselves. He understands why Zola loved you so. You were beautiful. When the time came to use you, to blame you, a small part of him was remorseful. Sorry. You still catch him staring. Not out of anger or confusion, but infatuation. They all liked you for your body. That never stops. Not in life, not after death. 

Ангел. Angel. That was your name, the one they gave you when you forgot your own. There was The Winter Soldier and there was The Angel. Instinctual, you answered to it. A reflex. A habit. You chose a new one. Your therapist thought it was a good idea, to put distance between you and the thing they created. There were no files, no identification, no ties to anyone or anything, though. As far as they could find, you had always been Angel. Your identity not only stripped, it has been decimated. It’s as if you already belonged to them even before you got there. My angel, Zola would say, his tone affectionate, his mannerisms disturbing. The Angel, Zemo would bask in awe. You were real after all. You were still getting used to the one you gave yourself. Two, maybe three seconds before you recognized someone was trying to get your attention. All those years, it was hard to break. You’d like to think your mother would have laughed: her child? This child? An angel? You were cynical. Masochistic. Ruthless. You killed some of the most important people on the planet and you did it well. If nothing else, there was a sense of pride, a sense of duty, completion. You did so quietly, silently, and when you were done, eye-witnesses swore they truly saw an angel. How fitting. 

Святой. Иголка. Собака. Покайтесь. Музыка. Шрам. Более легкий. Девятнадцать. Бог. Ангел. Your hand is wrapped around his throat. Sam and Bucky are at your sides, trying to deescalate the situation. He watches you knowingly, expectantly. He wanted this to happen. It would be so easy. Can’t they see? Can’t they understand? Slip back into place. Disappear, go into hiding, and live as you did. You weren’t just good, you were excellent. You could crush his windpipe without a second thought. But Bucky, cautiously, places his hand on your arm. If you meet his eyes, you will have to let go. You will back away. You will become a dog again, beaten and abused, forced to obey. He can see it in your features. He knows what this would mean. But he is a changed person, a desperate person who needs Zemo. So you do. I see you are still following orders. Too scared to kill me? His voice comes out strained, choking, but he is remains arrogant. If I wanted to, I would have already. You spit, slamming the door behind you.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Mercy Kill | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This was the fic that got the most votes in the poll I ran recently, so here it is. I'm glad yall picked this one, cause I was really excited to write it!

Also, there is something wrong and I cannot tag people properly right now for some reason. So, if you are on my tallest and happen upon this fic, I'm sorry! I don't know what the fuck is going on 😭

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: PTSD, Hydra, blood, violence, minor reader injury, Bucky injury, angsty shit

“But if I could talk to him, if I could just see him-” you pled, “just for a minute! Please, he needs me and-”

But Bucky’s doctor remained steadfast. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to move out of your way. Behind him sat the door to Bucky’s room, the door you hadn’t been allowed to enter for hours now. Bucky was only feet away, but you couldn’t get to him. Couldn’t check on him. Couldn’t hold his hand. 

Anxiety rendered your hands completely numb. The urgent need to see him, to take care of him, to reassure him vibrated inside your chest. Every second that passed, every second that Bucky sat alone in his room in the medbay filled you with dread. Bucky needed you. You always swore you’d be there for him no matter what. But no amount of begging could get you through that door. 

The mental image of him lying in his hospital bed all by himself threatened to make your throat close. Bucky didn’t like the medbay; his PTSD reared its ugly head each time he stepped foot in the white, sterile environment. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom, of pain and suffering and agony. And he didn’t like doctors, didn’t trust them. Not after he suffered so severely at the hands of Hydra’s “medical” team. 

Every time he required treatment after a mission, he refused. He fought and clawed against the gloved hands that tried to guide him onto a gurney. And only when you calmly and kindly begged him to allow the doctors to take a look at him did he relent. But he held you tight as a vice grip the entire time. The sensation of your hand in his was the only thing that kept him grounded, kept him from spiraling. With you there by his side, he found a sliver of safety amongst the white coats that poked and prodded him. 

Today, however, was different. 

Things didn’t go as smoothly as you or Bucky had hoped. And your many calls for backup went unanswered. It looked like this would be the last mission for you and Bucky. Like you’d return home in matching body bags.

But just as he was overwhelmed by Hydra operatives, completely swarmed and swallowed by their agents- the backup team arrived. Hope bloomed anew as you heard their leader’s voice in your comm, announcing that they’d breach the door in the next few seconds. And they did. They helped you take down every last Hydra agent, freeing Bucky from their clutches. 

But before you could rush to his bloodied side, a few members of the backup team whisked him away. They loaded Bucky onto their jet and set off toward the compound, leaving you and the rest of their team behind. No one listened to your pleas, your desperate insistence. They assured you that Bucky would be fine, that they’d get him the medical care he needed. But he needed you, too. He needed you to sit with him, to hold his hand. 

No such luck. 

As you boarded the jet that brought you and Bucky to the mission site, you kicked yourself for not demanding that you accompany him. It felt like you failed him, like you couldn’t keep your word. He deserved better from you. He deserved to have his anchor there by his side when the flashbacks gripped him by the throat. But you swore to yourself that you’d visit him in the medbay as soon as you landed. That you’d sit by his bedside and hold his hand.

But you didn’t- you couldn’t.

“Our new policy says no visitors,” Bucky’s doctor said. 

“I’ll do whatever I have to do,” you insisted. “I’ll sign forms, I’ll wear a visitor’s badge, I’ll-”

“No exceptions.”

Even if Bucky’s hearing hadn’t gotten a boost from the serum, you were certain he ‘d be able to hear you fighting with his doctor.  

“This is ridiculous- since when?”  Passersby gave you judgmental sideways looks, but you paid them no mind. “Every doctor and nurse here knows that he needs me. That he isn’t comfortable around doctors- he has PTSD. Please, I always sit with him-”

“Not anymore.” The doctor nodded at a security guard who took you gruffly by the arm and escorted you out. 

It didn’t make any sense. Every hospital allowed visitors. And even though the medbay wasn’t exactly your standard general hospital, they operated by most of the same rules. The always allowed visitors- sometimes two at a time. Their patients needed to see family and friends- needed a support system. And you were Bucky’s. But they stole you from his side for something as insignificant as a policy change.

With your hopes of being there for Bucky dashed, you pulled out your phone; the screen blurred as tears welled in your eyes. Bucky’s number sat the very top of your ‘favorites’ list, just as it had since you became friends. With a shaking hand, you pressed ‘call’ and held the phone to your ear. It rang. And rang and rang and rang. Until finally, Bucky’s voicemail answered. 

“You’ve reached James Barnes. Leave a message.”

“Hey, Buck,” you sniffled. “I guess you might be sleeping. Um, I had it out with your doctor in the hall, but he wouldn’t let me see you. Something about a-” you rolled your eyes, “a policy change or something. So, just… just let them take care of you, okay? I know how you feel about doctors, I know you’re probably scared- but you need to let them treat you. You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe here. And you can call or text me any time- we can facetime. Whatever you need. I’ll see you when you get out, okay? Call me.”

But he didn’t. 

Without Bucky around, your world didn’t fall into place the way it was supposed to. Everything around you felt off kilter. Disjointed. Like you’d been dropped into a universe in which you didn’t belong. Part of you was used to this feeling by now. Every time Bucky went off on a mission that didn’t include you, you found yourself in this same, fragmented reality.

But this version was far worse. Because Bucky wasn’t away, he was here; he was only a few floors away from you. But you couldn’t see him. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, just how uncomfortable he was. How scared and alone and miserable. He was hurt- he needed rest. But you were certain he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep in the medbay. Not with his near-pathological fear of medical treatment. 

Two days passed without you taking notice. Meetings came and went without your attendance. You missed training sessions and team dinners. None of it mattered, not without Bucky. He was all you thought about. All you cared about. Every absent thought, every passing notion revolved around him. He was in good hands in the medbay, you knew he was. But you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying about him. From spiraling.

Was he getting enough sleep? Was he allowing the doctors and nurses to care for him? Was he eating? Was he having panic attacks? You found yourself afflicted by the not knowing. By the unanswered questions. On any normal day, you knew about everything going on in Bucky’s life, every thought populating his mind. But now, you were adrift in a dark see of uncertainty. 

It didn’t help that your every attempt at contact with Bucky came up empty. Hundreds of texts went unanswered. A myriad of voicemails garnered no response. He was radio silent; it made you nauseous. He should’ve been able to text back, right? To, at the very least, give your messages a thumbs up or a heart? It was out of character- completelyunheard of- for him to not answer you. 

What if he was worse off than you thought? Was he physically incapable of even using his phone? Was he comatose? Was he dying? The possibilities were endless. Nauseating. Horrifying. Each scenario you imagined was far worse than the last. Far scarier. Far deadlier. And calls to the medbay offered no insight. You urged them to give you an update on his condition, to provide you with proof of life. But they refused.

You supposed that went against their new policy, too.

The anxiety, the worry, kept you wide awake. But even if you could sleep, you wouldn’t dare. Closing your eyes brought with it the possibility that you could miss correspondence from Bucky. Or his doctor. And you weren’t going to risk it. Hell, you even brought your phone with you into the shower. Just in case. It had been two days since you last saw Bucky. Since you last heard his voice. You wouldn’t dream of missing a call from him. 

Twice a day, you cleaned and redressed the stitches holding your side closed and appraised the butterfly stitches above your brow. Everything inside of you ached to trade places with Bucky. To swap your minor injuries for his.

He’d gotten the large brunt of the onslaught when the ambush descended on the two of you. He’d drowned in a sea of Hydra operatives as they stole his weapons and beat him within an inch of his life. He was strong, yes, but he was still only one man. And taking on throngs of Hydra’s mercenaries without a single weapon was difficult- even for him. You did your best to provide support from the sidelines, to take out as many of his attackers as you could. But it wasn’t enough. Not until the backup team arrived did the horde of Hydra agents fall.

 And now, Bucky was lying in a hospital bed. Without you. 

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to hurt anymore. To bleed. He didn’t deserve to be in this line of work. Every other week, his assignments involved Hydra. And every other week, he was forced to retraumatize himself. Forced to see things he never wanted to see again. Forced to come face to face with people who hurt him, tortured him, treated him like an object.

For him, you wished nothing but ease. Warmth. A soft, slow life filled with love and gentle hands and safety. He never should’ve been forced to continue this kind of work. To put himself in harm’s way. To sacrifice his mental health over and over again. Hadn’t he given enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough? He did everything he could to build back his body and mind. To recover from the horrors he endured. And yet, here he was, being forced to risk his progress and peace of mind, all for a world that hated him.

On the third day of Bucky’s absence, your body begged for sleep. For a respite from the worry. For a meal that didn’t consist of Doritos and Gatorade. But you didn’t have the energy or the attention required to assemble a decent lunch. When Bucky got out of the medbay, you told yourself, the two of you would have a nice dinner together. You’d share his bed with him as you often did. And you’d both find solace in the arms of the other.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to spin class?” 

Nat’s voice yanked you out of your spiral, scaring you half to death. She leaned against the wall nearest your bed, her arms crossed over her chest. How long had she been standing there?

Nat took in the scene before her. You laid sprawled out on your bed, resembling roadkill. Your head rested where your feet should’ve been, and your feet leaned against the headboard. Your arms were stretched wide against the bedspread like a dead starfish. And your gaze rested firmly on your phone, as though you were waiting for a call.

“What?” You eyed her for a moment before dropping your head back to your mattress. “I forgot about that. Sorry.”

“You need to get out of this room,” Nat gave your shoulder a gentle shake. “And you need to stop moping. Your life can’t come to a screeching halt because Bucky’s hurt.”

“I know…” But Bucky was your life- or at least, a very, very big part of it. 

She was right, though. You knew she was right. 

But it wasn’t just that he was hurt. It wasn’t just that he was alone. Of course, those were both massive, contributing factors. But it was the missing him. It was the not seeing him, the not talking to him. The not knowing if he was scared and panicked and lonely. The two of you were inseparable; being without him felt like losing a part of yourself. Like half of your heart was missing. 

An unsettling cold seemed to worm its way under your skin without Bucky around. The world was a darker, utterly freezing place. No number of sweatshirts or blankets could keep the chill from biting at your skin. No heating pad could stop the frequent shivers. Somehow, your insides fell to subzero, Siberian temperatures. But after a while, you didn’t care anymore. You stopped trying to rid your body of the piercing, bitter cold. Only Bucky could do that. And he wasn’t coming back to you any time soon.

“It just sucks,” you groaned. A small shiver rocketed up your spine.

“I know. But it’s not like he’s dead.”

“I’m talking about the whole policy change thing in the medbay. It’s bullshit. Bucky needs me,” you let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, when did they put that in place? And why? It doesn’t even make sense.”

Nat furrowed her brow, “policy change?”

“Yeah, the new rule that doesn’t allow any visitors,” 

“Oh. Right. That.” Nat threw her gaze to the window. Cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know why they’d do that. But yeah, it sucks. Anyway,” she took a seat on your bed, “if you get changed, we can still make it to cycle. Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

You shook your head against the mattress. “You should go without me. I haven’t slept at all the last few nights- I barely have the energy to breathe. I can’t even fathom taking a spin class right now.” 

It was the truth. You didn’t have it in you to spend an hour burning calories you desperately needed. To waste your limited energy on something so trivial. But if you were completely honest with Nat, you’d tell her that the class would force you to focus on something other than your phone. And if you missed a call or text from Bucky because of something as stupid as a workout class, you’d lose your mind.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Nat sighed. “We can-”

“Hey!” Hill leaned against your doorframe, dressed in her workout clothes. “Are you guys ready for class?”

Nat stood and took a few steps in maria’s direction. “Well, I am. But she’s not coming with us.”

A frown pulled Maria’s features downward, “What? Why not?”

“She wants to stay here and wallow about Barnes,” Nat told her. 

“They’re not letting me visit him in the medbay,” you groaned in Maria’s direction. “And I haven’t heard from him at all. So, I’m just-”

Confusion pulled Maria’s brows together. “But he got out of the medbay,” she said. “Yesterday.”

The energy you claimed not to have sprung forth all at once. In a matter of seconds, you were standing upright and crossing the room toward Maria; the quick nature of it all made you a little dizzy. 

“What do you mean he got out?”

She was shocked by your intensity, “Um, I mean, he was released-”

“Released to where?” you demanded. “Like, they transferred him to another hospital? Or-”

“No, released as in discharged,” she said. “They let him leave around six-thirty last night.”

Last night? If Bucky was released last night, why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he sent you a text or dropped by your room? Was he that depleted? That worse for wear? The suffocating worry rushed back in full force. But you didn’t care about the crushing weight on your chest or the restriction of your windpipe. Bucky was back. He was healed enough to be released. And he was right down the hall.

Before Nat and Maria could stop you, you took off like a bat out of hell. Clumsy steps carried you down the hall and sent you careening into passersby every few feet. They mumbled curses under their breath and told you watch where you were going, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Stopping wasn’t an option, not when Bucky was finally within reach once again.

As you screeched to a halt outside his door, you raised your fist to knock frantically against the wood. But before your knuckles could strike the door’s surface, you recoiled. There was a very substantial possibility that he was sleeping. He was hurt, after all. And he needed his rest. Instead of a boisterous, borderline-obnoxious knock, you opted to lightly tap the wood with your knuckles. If Bucky was awake, he’d hear it. 

But no answer came. After a few moments, you gave the door another gentle knock. Again, nothing. If he was asleep, there was no telling when you’d see him. He could be asleep for half the day, and you’d have to wait as long to reunite with him. Would it be too pushy to just let yourself in? Bucky was used to it by now- you both were. If one of you was already asleep, the other would often let themselves in and crawl into bed. It was just what you did; it was commonplace within your friendship. 

And though you didn’t want to disturb him, your selfish side won out. Your hand found the doorknob and gave it a slow turn- but it didn’t fully give way. It stopped after twisting only a few millimeters. Locked. 

“He needs to rest,” Nat called from down the hall. “I don’t think you should bother him- just let him sleep it off.”

Again, she was right.  

And so, with slumped shoulders and shattered hopes, you dragged yourself back to your room. Once you’d collapsed onto your bed, you snagged your phone from its resting place and fired off a few quick messages to Bucky.

“Hey, Hill said they released you from the medbay!”

“I just dropped by your room but got no answer. Call me when you wake up :)”

“I don’t wanna disturb you or anything, but I miss you, Buck.”

The hours inched by with no response from Bucky. You did your best to avoid staring at your phone, reminding yourself that a watched pot never boils. But you couldn’t help yourself. Every few seconds, you had to sneak a peek at the screen in search of Bucky’s name. And every time, you found yourself disappointed. Broken-hearted, really. 

Of course, this wasn’t the longest you’d ever gone without seeing Bucky. Many past missions stole him from your side for weeks at a time- sometimes even months. But the complete and utter lack of communication was new. No matter how dangerous a mission got, not matter how risky it was- you both still found a way to contact the other. Whether it was a short “I’m okay” text or a seconds-long phone call, a quick correspondence from the battlefield provided a reassurance that was desperately, desperately needed.

Sitting at home while your best friend faced life-threatening danger was never easy. When Bucky was away, you tore off every fingernail, biting them down until they bled. And anytime it was you on the frontlines while Bucky rode the bench, he started climbing the walls; he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, until you got home. 

The two of you simply weren’t meant to be apart.

Without those reassuring texts, you felt yourself losing your mind. You did your best to hook your nails in, to fight and claw to retain your grip on your sanity. But you didn’t have it in you. And so, your nails fell by the wayside. In only a matter of minutes, your fingers were reduced to a bloody horror scene. Every cuticle was in tatters, every quick exposed. Your hands throbbed and stung, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. 

Four more days passed without word from Bucky. You texted. You knocked on his door. You called. You even slipped a note or two under his door. And still, nothing.

The worry slowly devoured you, one piece at a time. With your sanity long gone and your optimism dashed, nothing remained but pure, undiluted panic. And though you already decimated your nails, you gnawed at them anyway, digging your teeth into any free piece of flesh you could find. You wondered if this was how things were going to be forever. Would Bucky ever return to you? Or would you always feel this empty, aching void? 

On the seventh night without Bucky, you didn’t have it in you to even lay on your bed. You knew it would take what little life you had left to heave yourself up onto the mattress. And the effort simply wasn’t worth it. Had there ever before been anyone this pathetic? This broken and utterly hopeless? 

“What are you doing?” Nat loomed over you, taking in the scene. She found you lying face down on your bedroom floor, utterly despondent. “You didn’t want to lay in your bed? It’s almost midnight, you should-”

“I still haven’t heard from him,” you muttered into the carpet. “Why haven’t I heard from him?’

Nat knelt down next to you and gave your shoulder a tug, rolling you onto your back. 

“Hi,” she gave you a wave.

“Hi.” You didn’t wave back- you didn’t have the energy.

Nat gave you a long look. She noted your messy hair, your limp body, the dark circles under your eyes. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but you don’t look so good.” 

“I don’t feel so good, either,” you shrugged. “I think I might be dying.”

Nat eyed you with pity. She knew how deeply you cared about Bucky. How much he meant to you. And she knew just how hard you were taking his injury and subsequent absence. For the past week, she hadn’t seen you eat anything other than a few chips here and there. She knew for certain you hadn’t gotten even a wink of sleep. And the bloody splotches where your nails used to be sent up a litany of red flags. 

“I’m so… I’m so worried about him, Nat,” tears trailed down your face. “This is so unlike him- we never go this long without speaking.”

Nat stoked your arm a bit, “I know.”

“What if he’s not okay? He could be dying, and we wouldn’t have any idea.”

She gave your hand a squeeze, “Come on, don’t think like that. I’m sure he’s alright-”

You shook your head, “I keep calling down to the medbay. I keep telling them that there’s something wrong- that they need to check on Bucky. But his doctor is…” you gave a frustrated huff. “He’s being weird. It’s like he’s being evasive, or something. I don’t know why he isn’t more worried- I don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

Nat let out a long, heavy sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. This was the moment she’d hoped to avoid, the moment she dreaded all week. 

“Alright, um, I wasn’t supposed to say anything- I wasn’t supposed to tell you this. But…” She gave you another long, sympathetic look. “You’re very obviously not okay. And I think that, if I don’t tell you the truth, you might actually die-”

Suddenly, you bolted upright. “Tell me what?”

“Bucky’s fine.”

Your shoulder’s slumped forward and you ran a hand down your face. Nat had no proof to back up her claim. No evidence. “But how do you know-”

“Because I’ve gone to see him,” Nat said, just above a whisper. “Multiple times.”

The world came to a screeching halt. Nat was allowed to see him? But you weren’t? Of course, Nat and Bucky were friends. But they weren’t nearly as close and you and Bucky- hell, you didn’t think anyone had ever been as close as you and Bucky.  

Nat continued. “He’s a little banged up, but he’s alright. He’s just been hanging out in his room. Reading. Watching tv. That kind of stuff.”

The confirmation that Bucky was, in fact, okay helped you breathe a little easier. The pounding headache pulsating behind your eyes relented a bit, the knots in your stomach loosened ever so slightly. But you didn’t find ease. Not yet. 

“But why didn’t he-”

Nat didn’t want to say it. She didn’t wanna tear you apart and burn your world. She didn’t want to be your personal messenger of destruction. But one look at you and your pitiful, heartbroken form gave her the resolve to be honest. You deserved honesty. 

“Because he’s mad at you.”

It was the most preposterous thing Nat could’ve said. Not once over the course of your entire friendship had Bucky ever been mad at you. Sure, he pretended to be mad when you snuck a bite of his dessert or beat him at cards. But he never got mad at you for real. 

But, you told yourself, there’s a first time for everything. 

You knew you were capable of fucking up. Of committing transgressions against others. But for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single thing that would make Bucky angry enough to completely ignore you like this. You racked your brain, shaking loose its contents in search of anything that might warrant the coldest shoulder you’d ever experienced. But you found nothing. 

It didn’t matter, though. If Bucky felt slighted, if he felt like you hurt him in some way- who were you to say that you hadn’t? Who were you to claim innocence?

“What? Why?” You looked to Nat for help. “What did I do?”

“Something about a broken promise,” Nat shrugged. “But that’s all I’ll say. This isn’t any of my business. And I-”

A long silence filled the room as you thought about this new revelation. Nat’s words allowed you to look back on the past week with a new perspective. You saw things in a new light, a new context.

“So, there wasn’t a policy change-”

Nat gave a somber shake of her head. “He just… he didn’t want to see you.”

And just like that, Nat gutted you. You could’ve sworn she ripped out your still-beating heart with her bare hands and splattered the carpet with your blood. 

He didn’t want to see you.

He didn’t want to see you.

The words reverberated inside your inside your skull. Their razor-sharp edges sliced into you time and time again, leaving you breathless and aching. Over the course of the last week, you thought you’d reached the deepest pit of despair, the darkest possible recesses of agony. But you were wrong. There were deeper and darker, more excruciating places- and you found yourself in the depths of the most miserable, agonizing one of all.

“I was able to visit him in the medbay. So was Sam,” she told you. “He wasn’t all alone like you thought. He had us there with him to make sure he was doing okay. I mean he still struggled- you’re definitely better at giving him peace of mind than I am- but…” 

Nat gave a shake of her head, clearing from her mind the image of Bucky having a massive panic attack in the medbay. His raspy inhales, his shaking hands, his wide, vacant eyes. Flashbacks plagued him each and every day down in the medbay. Medication didn’t touch his violent, soul-crushing episodes of PTSD. And Sam and Nat found themselves at a loss. 

They did their best to be there for him, to help him find ease and comfort. But there was something missing. And that something was you. Nat even suggested to Sam that they sneak you into Bucky’s room. She proposed that, just maybe, Bucky’s need for your reassurances would outweigh his anger. And maybe upon seeing you, he’d drop his grievances and allow you to help him wade through the dark, choppy waters. 

But super soldier senses be damned, Bucky overheard her idea; he vetoed it immediately.

“And his doctor seemed so unconcerned on the phone because he knows that Bucky’s fine- he checks on Bucky every day.” Nat let out a sigh of relief, as though she’d been holding her breath for days. “So, at the very least, you know Bucky’s okay. And now, you kind of know what’s going on. Do you want me to-”

Nat didn’t get to finish her sentence. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure. Because before she could get the rest of the words out, you were gone. The panic coursing through your veins reinvigorated your depleted body, carrying you frantically in the direction of Bucky’s room. 

Your knuckles struck his door before your feet came to a stop. 

“Buck. Buck, it’s me-” you pounded on his door. “Can we please talk? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Silence. 

Your knuckles stung against the wood, but you paid them no mind. “Please! I just want to- please, let me apologize.” 

No answer. 

“Buck, I’m…” Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Your lungs burned from lack of oxygen. A crushing ache settled into every fiber of your being. And your strong knocks deflated into weak, pitiful pats. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so…”

He wasn’t going to answer. You knew he wasn’t. But some part of you didn’t want to accept it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that you’d lost Bucky- possibly forever. A tidal wave of weakness launched itself at you, robbing your body of the faux strength granted by the adrenaline. 

Your hands found purchase against the opposite wall and guided you clumsily to the floor. With your back propped against the wall and your knees tucked into your chest, you stared at Bucky’s door. Waiting. He couldn’t stay in his room forever. Eventually, he’d have to return to work or visit the kitchen. And when he did, you’d be ready.

Because no matter how grim it all seemed-no matter how soul-crushingly hopeless your situation- you had to try. Bucky was worth it. Your friendship was worth it. Of course, if he told you to fuck off and never speak to him again, it would hurt. It would destroy you. But at least you’d never have to wonder. If you didn’t try, the not-knowing, the what-ifs wouldn’t haunt you in the middle of the night. 

You didn’t care if the odds were egregiously stacked against you. If there was any chance at reconciliation, you were going to do everything in your power to make it happen. 

It didn’t matter if you had to wait hours, days, weeks- you’d be there. You’d sleep in the hall, eat in the hall. Whatever it took. You’d wait a lifetime. 

Lucky for you, a lifetime wasn’t required. Because after only four and a half hours, Bucky’s door opened. And for the first time in a week, you caught a glimpse of your best friend.

He was unshaven, his facial hair a little longer than normal. The gash on his forehead was almost completely healed. And the bruises that used to stain his cheek and jaw were nowhere to be seen. The knuckles of his right hand, though, retained their dark purples and inky blues. And the skin under his eyes matched; you knew instantly he hadn’t been sleeping. 

But he looked so good, so beautiful. They way his hair fell in his eyes. The worn sweatshirt- the sweatshirt you gave him. Had he always been this perfect? This breathtaking? Of course, he had. It was stupid of you to even ask.

Seeing him again was like being saved from drowning. Like the first gulp of air after being swept away by a rogue riptide. Your lungs filled to capacity for the first time in a week. Your muscles released their hardened knots. And the ever-encroaching sense of biting cold vanished. In its place grew the warmest, most comforting summer. 

Somehow, he didn’t even notice you sitting across hall. You knew he must’ve thought he’d waited you out. That you were long gone by now. But he clearly underestimated your stubbornness. Your determination. Your love for him. 

The door was only open wide enough to allow him to place a tray of used dishes on the floor. And in the few seconds it took for him to do so, you launched into action.

“Hey!”

Bucky’s head snapped up. He locked eyes with you for a moment. And in that moment, you could’ve sworn he looked happy to see you. Relieved to see you. 

His momentary pause gave you just enough time to rush to his door. You placed your hand along the frame, curling your fingers inside the jamb. If Bucky wanted to slam the door and shut you out, he’d have to crush your hand in the process. And no matter how angry he was with you, he’d never hurt you. 

He let out an exasperated huff at the site of your strategically place hand. This was exactly the kind of thing he used to applaud you for. The quick wit and sharp thinking that he so admired about you. 

“Buck, can we please talk?” you pled. “Whatever I did, whatever promise I broke-”

A sigh deflated his chest, “You talked to Nat.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry,” the words fell frantically, wildly out of your mouth. “I’ve never been sorrier in my life. I’d never, ever want to hurt you-”

“That’s the problem.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it made perfect sense. As though it made any sense at all.

You wiped a few stray tears from your cheek, “What does that mean?”

With a huff, Bucky encircled your wrist with his fingers and pulled you inside. He didn’t like the looks the passersby shot your direction. The way they ogled and whispered as though witnessing a car wreck on the highway. 

Finally, after the longest week of your life, Bucky granted you entry to your favorite place. He did so begrudgingly, but you didn’t care. This room felt more like home than anywhere else in the world. It wasn’t the furnishings or the design that you loved so much; both were rather sparse. It was the memories. The countless nights spent watching movies in Bucky’s bed. The laughter, the tears, the deep heart to heart talks. 

When Bucky first moved in, he didn’t leave this room for quite some time- not even for meals. And that was how you first got him to trust you. Every day, you gently knocked on his door and delivered breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and snacks. It was your way of welcoming him to the building, of making him feel comfortable in a new place with new people. And of course, you couldn’t let the soft-spoken man with the kind blue eyes starve to death.

It took him weeks- maybe months- to finally invite you in. And once he finally did, all bets were off. The two of you became inseparable from that moment on, spending nearly every night in this room, seeking the comforts of one another.

But this moment was nothing like those of the past. This was awkward. Cold. Quiet. The tension hanging in the air grew so thick, so heavy that you wondered if your lungs might actually collapse.  You waited for Bucky to speak first. And waited. And waited. And waited. But he didn’t say a word. He simply leaned against the wall, avoiding your eyeline. 

Finally, the uncomfortable, permeating silence pushed you to speak.

“I’m- I don’t understand what’s going on. I just know that I fucked up somehow. And I know-” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “I know I said this a million times already, but I’m sorry. Whatever I can do to fix this and make it up to you, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Bucky considered your words for a while, letting the silence drag on as he mulled over your sentiment. He knew you were serious, knew you meant what you said. But it was too late.

“You made me a promise,” he said. “And you broke it.” 

Truth be told, you’d made him a lot of promises over the course of your friendship. Promises to give him the pickle spear that came with your sandwich at the deli. To watch all of Game of Thrones with him without spoiling anything. To listen, to be open-minded, to never judge him for his past. You promised to always be there when the nightmares tore him to shreds and to be honest with him when he needed to hear the truth. You promised to be kind to him, to protect him. To remind him of his goodness when his demons called him a monster.

And above all else, you promised to never, ever hurt him. You took these promises upon yourself without Bucky even asking. And as far as you knew, you’d kept them all. 

“Which promise? I don’t-”

“What’s my worst fear?” Bucky asked. His tone calm, like he was asking you trivia questions about himself.  “The thing that scares me more than anything else? The thing that keeps me up at night and makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it?”

And without skipping a beat, you answered, “Being taken by Hydra again.”

Your eyes opened wide. It was then that the puzzle pieces fell into place. 

A guttural sound burst from your lips. It was haunted and broken, like a wounded animal’s final cry of pain before surrender. It ripped through the room and echoed off the walls; Bucky flinched as the sound barreled into him. Your nose burned, warning you of oncoming tears. Both of your hands clapped firmly over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds of sorrow and shame. The attempt was unsuccessful.

And the deepest, darkest pit of guilt opened inside your stomach. 

The promise. That promise.

“When I told you about that fear- my greatest fear,” Bucky continued. “I asked you to make me a promise. Do you-” his voice wavered ever so slightly. He did his damnedest to fight it, to build a blockade against the oncoming emotion. But his eyes grew glassy with tears, anyway. “Do you remember what that promise was?” 

Even with his enhanced senses, Bucky struggled to hear your thin, hollow whisper.

“That I’d kill you…” you rasped. “If you were ever at risk of being taken by Hydra again, I’d kill you.”

The memory of your latest mission with Bucky barreled into you like a train. 

He was overwhelmed- buried- by the deluge of Hydra operatives. They came at him from every possible angle, swarming him before he even had a chance to react. Even with his super-human strength, he was no match for the volume, the sheer barrage of assailants. Seconds after they descended upon him, his weapons were lost, ripped from his hands and thrown far out of reach. He didn’t have enough room to breathe, let alone fight. Knives plunged into his flesh, setting loose a river of crimson. And heavy batons pummeled his face and head, leaving him dizzy. No matter how hard he tried to resist, he felt them pulling him, dragging him toward a doorway. Toward an unknown, and certainly horrific, fate. But through it all, he managed to call to you- to scream to you- one phrase. 

“Do it!” he begged. “Do it! DO IT!” 

The pain, the sheer terror in his voice, sent a flurry of goosebumps rushing over your skin. The head trauma you received only moments before left you dazed, and the knife wound in your side made breathing almost impossible. Blood oozed down the side of your face and painted your vision red. But you found the wherewithal to aim and shoot- at everyone except Bucky.

“Oh, Buck, I’m…” you stumbled back a few paces, the sheer weight of your guilt knocking you off balance. Your back crashed against the nearest wall with a thud. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Hot bile rose in the back of your throat, saliva coated the inside of your mouth. You forced greedy inhales through your nose, hoping to stave off the nausea. “I don’t know what to say…”

Bucky didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. You wondered if he was even breathing. He just stood there with a broken, tormented look on his face. He didn’t allow himself to blink, didn’t allow the tears gathering along his lash line to fall. He simply curled his metal fingers into a tight fist before spreading them wide again. Over and over and over again. It was a subconscious act, an anxious tendency he often displayed when his mind grew dark and uninhabitable. And, more often than not, it was your cue to step in. To rush to his side and save him from the torment. 

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were the last person he wanted to see- he’d made that abundantly clear. And even if he wanted to you hold his hand as you always did, you couldn’t move. The guilt weighed you down, turning your feet into blocks of cement.

“I know- I know I said that I’d do it, but I…” A fresh wave of tears crested over your lash line and flooded your cheeks. “I couldn’t.”

“You promised,” Bucky’s voice was so anguished, so despondent. “You swore to me that you could- that you would.”

“The backup team was in my ear,” your words dripped with deperation. “I heard them in my comm- I knew they were there, I knew they were only a few feet away-”

“But I didn’t!” he erupted. “My comm fell out- I had no idea they were there! I thought-” His voice splintered; his rage shattered, setting free a tsunami of despair. “I thought I was going back!” 

And finally, his tears broke through. They saturated his skin in seconds as they rolled down his cheeks and dripped into his beard. Shivers rippled up and down his body. Goosebumps covered his skin. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Just the thought of being dragged back to Hydra doused him in a cold sweat.

His shaking hand swiped at the tear tracks dripping down his cheeks. He would’ve given anything for a hug from you. For your reassuring, comforting words. But he couldn’t find it in him to ask. Couldn’t find it in him to allow you so close. And so, he forced the tightness in his chest to relent, to accept the voracious inhales he pulled into his lungs. He couldn’t surrender to the panic attack looming on the horizon- not yet.

It was confusing, his need to touch you. His craving for your comforts. You’d betrayed him, hadn’t you? You’d broken your promise to him and almost fed him to Hydra’s meat grinder. But it wasn’t that black and white- he wasn’t sure it ever was. No, this situation lived deep in a gray area, never giving Bucky a cut and dry solution. And deep down, he knew it. He knew you never would have allowed him to be taken. He knew you had your reasons for leaving him alive. But anger was easier. Betrayal was easier. 

“I’m sorry, Buck. I know- I know for sure it’s not enough”, the shame dragged your eyes down to the floor. “But I’m so sorry.” 

What could you do, what could you possibly say to fix this? Nothing could ever make it okay. Nothing could ever heal what you did- or didn’t do.

“It was… it was selfish of me,” you admitted. “I just hoped you could hang on for a few more seconds until backup came in. Cause I- I wanted you to come home with me. That’s all I could think about. Just getting you home safe. I didn’t even consider k-” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word. “Doing that to you. But it’s- I was wrong. I made you a promise. And I broke it. And if you ended up back at Hydra,” you took a deep breath. The truth was ugly, hard to swallow. It poked at your throat like a mouthful of push pins. “If you ended up back at Hydra, it would be my fault.”

Only silence followed. 

Bucky hated the heartbreak in your voice, the tears streaming down your face. He hated seeing you in pain. The urge to wrap you in a bearhug yanked at his muscles, desperately trying to drag him in your direction. But he couldn’t, could he? He was mad at you- he was supposed to be mad at you. Once again, the strange, conflicting emotions needled at him. All week long, he forced the gray area behind a wall and chose, instead, to live in the black and white. To lean into anger. To side with the demons calling you a traitor and a liar. 

But now that you were finally here, standing in front of him, the voices quieted. It was just the two of you, together. You weren’t the villain he’d painted you to be. You weren’t heartless. You weren’t evil. Hell, this whole thing would’ve been a lot easier if you were. And jus like that, Bucky found himself smack dab in the middle of the gray area he tried so desperately to fight.

“I understand why you’re mad, Buck. It’s-”

“I’m not. I- I was mad. Now, I’m just,,,” he gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know. There’s a lot going on inside my head.”

“I get it. And if you don’t,” you cleared your throat, fighting against the words that tasted so vile. “If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I get that, too. This was a- a really major breach of your trust. We always say that we have each other’s backs, but I didn’t…” You used the collar of your sweatshirt to wipe the tears running down your neck. “I didn’t have yours. So, if you want to be done with me after this, I-”

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. “No, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to cut you out of my life. I’m-” He gave a frustrated huff. “I’m just- I’m confused. Cause I genuinely wanted you to shoot me in the head back there. I wanted you to mercy kill me.” 

The words tore through you.

“But now,” Bucky raked a hand through his hair, “I’m glad you didn’t. Because everything turned out okay. And I’m here. With you. But I…” He dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. “I almost wasn’t. I was almost there. With them. Again.”

All you could do was nod. What were you supposed to say to that? Nothing you had to offer could assuage his deep-seated, stomach-turning terror. You could never understand what he went through. Could never imagine the horrors. And it never even crossed your mind to put a contingency plan in place for yourself. To ask your closest friend to kill you in order to save you. You’d never understand that level of desperation. 

“I don’t care about dying,” he shrugged. “I’m not scared of death anymore. I wished for- I prayed for death when I was-” he cleared his throat. “When I was there. I would’ve welcomed it.”

The mental image nearly brought you to your knees.

“I’m just scared of being their prisoner again. I’m scared of the torture, and the blood, and the-the…” His breathing grew shallow and erratic. His voice faltered. “The way they fucked with my mind.” Anxious tremors rendered his hands unsteady. And his attempts to wipe away the tears fell short. “And the killing, and the pain, and the-”

He was losing his battle against the fear. Against the spiral. It grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him downward, plunging him the darkest, most hopeless recesses of his mind. He found himself lost, adrift in the deepest, most sinister sea. The ice-cold waves crested over him endlessly, nearly drowning him with each thin breath he took.

But the sensation of your hand in his dragged him to shore. With the warmth of your touch, he found his way back. He returned to his body. He always knew you were his saving grace, his life preserver. 

But holding Bucky’s hand didn’t feel quite right. Not after what you did. Especially because, deep down, you knew this was partly selfish. Knew that you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers braided with yours. But who were you to relish in it? Who were you to make this about you, and your needs? 

And so, when he finally found his way back to the present, when he finally breathed evenly, you freed his hand from yours and gave him his space. 

“Thanks for that…” he ran a hand down his face, still recovering from his trip to hell. Still needing you. 

“Yeah. Of course- anytime.” You already missed his touch. But you refused to reach for him again- not unless he needed it. You pulled your sleeves over your hands and balled them into fists.

“I just- I’m never going back there. I can’t,” he said after a while. “And I get it- you didn’t want to kill me. I wouldn’t want to kill you, either. But I’d choose a bullet between the eyes over being their chew toy. Every single time. Cause it’s…” he absentmindedly let his hand drift to his face, to the scar the sat atop his cheek bone. The scar left behind by the device they used to wipe his mind over and over and over. “It’s worse than death.”

The vitriol burning in your chest smoldered and scalded your soul. You’d never hated anyone- never detested anyone- as much as you hated yourself. You were supposed to protect Bucky. You were supposed to be there for him. You were supposed to be the person he could trust no matter what. But you failed him. He was completely terrified. Retraumatized. All because of you.

Bucky rubbed at a hard, tense knot in his shoulder, “But you’re my best friend, and-”

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You should be able to trust me. But you can’t. Cause I’m selfish.”

“I do trust you,” he said, almost immediately. There was something in his voice- offense, maybe? Like he took your self-flagellation personally. “You’re smart. You- you knew back up was down the hall. You knew I’d be okay. And now that I’m home, I know you made the right call. I was-” He pulled his vibranium hand into a right fist. “I was just really scared, you know?”

He flashed back to the moment the Hydra agents descended. To the moment the encapsulated him completely. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Bodies swarmed his vision. Voices deafened him. And the coppery smell of blood- his blood- filled his nostrils. He felt his boots sliding across the concrete floor. And deep down, he knew they planned to drag him out. To make him theirs once again. 

He shook his head, clearing the image from his mind.

“Um, what I was going to say,” he continued, “is that you’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t have iced you out. I shouldn’t have lied to you- I shouldn’t have made Nat lie to you.” He gave a heavy, remorseful sigh, “I should’ve talked to you. You deserved better from me.”

“No- no, you deserved better from me.” You couldn’t believe his ridiculous sentiment. “You shouldn’t be apologizing- you honestly should’ve kicked my ass for this.” 

If he’d wanted to hurt you, to make you bleed, to show you even a fraction of the pain Hydra put him through, you’d let him. He deserved some revenge, some retribution, against you. And if he wanted to act on it, you wouldn’t fight back. You’d sit perfectly still and quiet, allowing him to beat you black and blue. To drag a knife through your flesh. To break your bones and steal your will to live. 

But you knew he’d never do anything like that- and he’d never want to. He wouldn’t even slam your fingers in the door.

“I never want you to be scared like that ever again, Buck. I never want you to go through something like that- I should’ve…” Saying it didn’t seem right. The words had razor sharp edges that carved into your throat as you spoke. “I should’ve done what you asked. And if this ever happens again,” You paused, banishing the oncoming flood of emotion. “I’ll do- I’ll do what you asked me to do. What I promised you I’d do.”

The words kicked the floodgates wide open. Another wounded, rasping sound escaped from your throat. And the sheer volume of tears threatened to drown you. Promising to end Bucky’s life was hard, but something about this second round was worse. More painful, somehow. A weak, wobbling sensation made your knees unsteady. And your face fell into your hands. 

But Bucky was at your side in the blink of an eye. He rested his hands on your shoulder, unsure of how much physical contact to make after a week of silence and hurt. He let his thumbs sweep over your clavicles every few seconds, waiting for the storm to pass. And when the clouds finally parted, he gently pulled your palms from your face. 

He cradled one of your hands in both of his, ensuring that you couldn’t slip away this time. “I’m not asking that of you anymore- I can’t ask that of you.” He freed one of his hands for only a moment, and only to angle your chin upward. He needed your eyes to meet his, needed you to know that he was serious. “It’s not fair for me to put you in that position.”

“No, Buck, it’s- it’s fine,” your voice wavered. “I can-”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last week,” he shrugged, “cause I- I haven’t been sleeping…”

Of course, he hadn’t been sleeping. Of course, the nightmares returned in full force. He’d worked so hard to correct his sleep schedule, to find a way to get the rest he needed. It just so happened that the cure-all to his sleep-related woes was you. He trusted you. Knew he was safe with you. He felt at home with you. Sleep came easy with you by his side. 

But his recent assault by Hydra’s forces left him almost irreparably shaken. And his misguided anger pushed you from his side. Together, it was a recipe for sleepless, tormented nights full of flashbacks and panic attacks.

“I realized that I never should’ve put that on you- I never should’ve asked you to make me that stupid promise.” Bucky wanted to go back in time and throttle his past self. “And I shouldn’t have been mad at you. But I- I had a lot going on, you know?” He squeezed your hand tighter, as though searching for an anchor. “All of my old wounds were ripped open again and I was so fucking miserable and scared and…” He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Wasn’t proud of the way he handled things. And though he was working hard in his therapy sessions, his coping mechanisms were still scant. “I needed to feel something other than fear. So, I chose anger. And I directed it at you.”  

“And that’s perfectly fine.” You tried to take a step in the opposite direction, to put some space between the two of you. You didn’t deserve to have him so close, to hold his hand. But he held firm. He wasn’t going to release your hand- not now, maybe not ever. “You asked me to make a promise- a big, important promise- and I broke it. You’re allowed to be upset with me-”

“But it wasn’t fair to you- none of this was fair to you.” He kicked himself for ever asking you for something so heavy. So burdensome. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you to make that promise. The way it must’ve hung over your head. If you asked that of me, I’d…” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, “It would eat me alive.”

And he was right- it had. 

Promising to kill him, in turn, killed you. It devoured you from the inside out, feasting on every moment of joy, every restful Sunday, every waking moment. Your promise to him came with sharp, jagged teeth that dug into your soul day in and day out. And while Bucky found peace in knowing that you may end his life one day, it brought you nothing but pain. Torture. Endless heartache. The darkest, heaviest storm clouds sat just above your head, shielding you from all sunlight, all warmth. 

While Bucky slept soundly next to you each night, you laid awake, wondering when it would happen. If it would happen. How it would happen. Your appetite vanished. Your stomach tied itself into knots. And on more than one occasion, your doctor had to increase the dosage of your anxiety medication. Because no matter how many pills you popped, the weight of your promise sat on your chest like lead.

Each time you and Bucky boarded the jet for a mission, you wondered if it would be the last time you ever saw him alive. If you’d be forced to kill him in only a few hours. 

And you knew, deep down, that if it was your bullet that sent Bucky to his grave, you’d never be able to live with yourself. That your very next bullet would find a home in your chest. 

This dark, heartbreaking promise directly contradicted the first- and most important promise- you’d ever made him. Late one night, back when the two of you first started spending time together, Bucky found himself at the bottom of a pit. His PTSD snatched the reigns and nearly drove him off a cliff.

Flashback after violent flashback rocked his mind and stripped his body of all strength. He was weak, hollow, completely spent. And just as you tried to smooth the hair out of his red-rimmed eyes, he flinched. He yanked himself backward, hoping to avoid whatever blow he thought you might strike against him. He forced his shoulders into a corner and tucked his face to the side, hiding from the pain he so often anticipated. And it broke you. It was then that you promised- that you swore to him- you’d never hurt him under any circumstance. 

And killing him seemed to you like a violation of that promise.

“It makes sense, though,” you said, pushing back against his all too generous rationalizations. “It makes sense that you’d ask me to- to do that. And I don’t want you going back there, either. So, I guess if I…” A sharp pain twisted through your stomach. “If I knew that we were alone. And there was no back up. And you only had two options: Hydra’s prisoner or death- I guess I’d…” Hot tears streaked down your cheeks, “If it meant saving you from them, I’d choose death for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, okay?” He wiped a stray tear from your chin. “I’m not holding you to that anymore. And I’m talking to Rhodes tomorrow. I’m gonna see if we can do away doing these two-person missions,” he said. “Cause they’re pretty impractical and risky, if you ask me. It’s safer when there’s a group of us, you know?”

You gave him a small nod, still too overcome by the anguish coursing through your veins.

Finally- mercifully- Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body. In an instant, your arms snaked their way around his back and pulled him ever closer. You’d missed him so intensely- so severely- it was like experiencing withdrawal. You could practically feel your body breaking down without him by your side. And he felt that same emptiness, that same aching void. He was convinced that he was never supposed to exist without you next to him. That he didn’t really live until he met you. The two of you were a package deal, two halves of a whole. 

After witnessing Bucky’s attempted abduction by Hydra, spending a week without him was a living hell. You needed to see him, speak to him, touch him. You needed to know that he was there. That he was okay. That he was home. You needed the confirmation that he made it out alive. But he’d disappeared from your life. And part of you wondered if he really was safe and sound in his room down the hall. Or if your mind made it all up just to save you the pain of losing him.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of you held each other. This was what Bucky needed all week. You were what he needed. The residual fear and torment brought on by his latest Hydra encounter seemed to fizzle out as you buried your face in his chest. It didn’t vanish completely- he feared it never would- but you put it on mute. You helped him breathe easy again. 

After was felt like half an hour, you unwillingly unwound yourself from Bucky’s battered body. 

“It’s late. I should get out of your hair,” you couldn’t mask your disappointment. “I know you said you haven’t been sleeping. But you’re still healing. So, you should probably try and get some rest-”

He nodded, but didn’t even attempt to hide just how much he hated the idea of your absence. 

And though you knew you should leave, you couldn’t find the will to move toward the door. Nor did Bucky try to show you out. The two of you just stood there, staring at each other. Leaving soft touches against the other’s skin. Relishing in the reunion.

“Um, you could stay,” Bucky finally said. “If you want.”

You hadn’t even considered it. He was going to need time to deal with everything. To sit with what happened to him. And you felt that your presence would only make it more difficult. Sure, he wasn’t mad at you. But did he really want you sleeping in his bed like you used to?

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Would it-” you pulled at the hem of your sweatshirt as uncertainty got the better of you. “Would that be okay?”

Bucky gave a fervent nod. “I want you to. So, if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.” He cupped your cheek in his massive hand, examining the dark circles under your tired eyes. “Plus, Nat said you haven’t slept all week. So, I thought we could both get some rest. Together.”

He took your hand and led you to his bed, the bed you’d shared with him so many times before. The bed you’d curled up in almost every night. The bed in which you’d watched countless black and white movies. The bed you’d tossed and turned in every night after promising to end Bucky’s life. But with the offending promise lifted from your tired shoulders, you crawled under the familiar covers and breathed a sigh of relief. Bucky took you in his arms, molding his body around yours as he so often did. And with him lying safely next to you, you thanked your lucky stars that you didn’t keep your promise.

[b6cky]

sleepy

bucky always struggled to get to sleep, but y/n always tried to stay awake as long as he did.

SYNOPSIS: y/n is extremely sleepy and tries to stay awake, but has a habit of being affectionate and sentimental when they are tired. bucky loves every bit of it.

PAIRING: bucky barnes x gn!reader ( they / them )

TAGLIST: @inu1gf @sp1deys ( send an ask if you want to be added!! )

WARNINGS: short oneshot, mentions of cheetah incest (?)

author’s note: THIS IS SO SHORT IM RLLY SORRY

“doll, i already told you not to wait up for me…” bucky whispered softly, as he climbed into the bed next to his partner, who was clearly hanging onto consciousness for dear life by reading something on their phone. bucky assumed it was a dumb article about the ‘top ten cutest, but deadly animals’, but bucky didn’t care enough to read the article title before he took the phone from their hands and turned it off.

“heyy.. i was readin’ that…” y/n whined, not bothered to even mask how tired they were.

“darlin’, you can’t keep waiting for me every night,” he said softly, plugging y/n’s phone into the charger.

“‘m not ev’n… tired, bucky,” y/n lazily smiled at him, as he turned back to look at them. he shuffled under the covers and pulled y/n close to him.

“c’mon doll, get some rest,” he muttered, relaxing as their soft fingers traced patterns into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“y’know… i love you.. love you so much,” y/n mumbled against his shoulder, letting the sleep reveal their every thought.

“yeah?” bucky smiled, “that’s good, doll, i love you too.”

“no.. no, nono, you don’t get it…” y/n shook their head sleepily, “i am soo… in love with you… sometimes, sometimes it’s scary.. like ‘m j’st lookin’… at ya… and my chest hurts.. ‘m like fuck, this is it! this… this is … how i die man… but then ‘m just like… oops! that’s j’st how muchh… i love you.”

bucky’s heart swelled at y/n’s rambling and just listened to them go on about their love for him, occasionally chiming in with a ‘yeah?’, or a ‘love you too’.

“bucky…” y/n whispered.

“yes, doll?”

“um.. you.. did you know.. that cheetahs are like.. all almost genetically.. identical?” y/n yawned in between their words, barely awake enough to have a conversation, but bucky was intrigued now.

“cheetahs are what?” he furrowed his brows, a small smile spreading across his face, as y/n sleepily looked up at him.

“yeah.. sad stuff..” y/n mumbled, “they are all inbred.. they’re like… the alabama of the … what’s it called? animal dome..”

“animal kingdom, honey,” bucky chuckled.

“yeah, yeah… animal kingdom… they’re inbred, so .. they aren’t .. genetically diverse, so y’know… they’re all clones.. fucked up genes,” y/n paused, their eyebrows furrowing together slightly, “that is so fucked… up.. that’s j’st so.. fucked up, so sad..”

“it is sad, now let’s get some rest,” bucky head y/n closer to him, as much as he would love to listen to their sleep deprived rambles, he knew they’d regret staying up to talk about how cheetahs were slowly becoming inbred because of incest.

“if i was.. a fucked up lil’ cheetah.. would you still love me?” y/n questioned, their eyes starting to get too heavy to open.

“that depends.. am i a cheetah in this scenario?” bucky asked.

“mm… yeah.. don’ want m’ boy wanting … to fuck a cheetah…”

bucky held back a laugh and shook his head, “well, if we were both cheetahs, we’d be related, so no. i don’t want you being a cheetah, i want you, doll, not cheetah you.”

“shit… i forgot they were inbred..” y/n whispered.

“yeah, now get to sleep, doll.” bucky whispered.

“okay, night night..” y/n mumbled.

after a few minutes of silence between the two, bucky had thought y/n was sound asleep, but they piped up with another question.

“i hope neither of us were cheetahs in our past lives, that’d be awkward.”

“i love you, doll, but it’s three in the morning.”

“my bad.”

[earlgreydream]

𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝. || 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

You stared at the wall, refusing to speak.

Bucky kissed your cheek, resting his forehead against yours. He watched your failed attempt to squirm away, wrapping a vibranium arm around your waist and holding you to his chest.

“Please, doll,” Bucky breathed, sending you into another round of broken sobs.

You were rigid for a moment before your chest heaved, tears pouring down your cheeks. You let yourself collapse into his body, tired of fighting him off.

He let you cry on his lap, your cheek resting against his strong thigh. It felt like your ribs were squeezing your lungs, and every so often you shuddered under Bucky’s gentle hands.

“I want to hear your pretty voice, doll. Want you to tell me what’s got you so upset,” Bucky gently tried to soothe you, rubbing your back. 

You shook your head, your fingers touching your trembling lips as you squeezed your eyes shut. Bucky had been trying to get you to talk since he got home from work, but you’d been curled up on the couch with Alpine, your now shared cat, lips sealed shut. 

He had a guess, but he hoped he was wrong. Whenever you got stressed, your stutter that you tried so hard to conceal would slip back into your speech. He’d began to notice it more recently, your voice getting caught on certain words, but in the last few days it had been worse. 

“Did someone mock you, my love?” Bucky asked softly, and you froze, knowing you’d been caught. 

That was exactly what had happened. You’d called into his office earlier in the day, trying to see if he was around to bring him lunch. You had reached his secretary, and she didn’t know who it was, laughing and mocking your stuttered speech. 

“S-she l-laughed at m-me,” you sobbed finally, making Bucky’s heart break.

“She’s not going to have a job tomorrow.”

He rocked you silently, letting you sob into his chest. You hid your face in the boy, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and sage, burying yourself in his safety. His metal hand rubbed circles on the small of your back, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“I love your voice, doll,” Bucky promised, and somehow you didn’t doubt him at all.

“S’different w-with you,” you stuttered, blushing as you stumbled over the words.

His thumbs wiped the tears off your cheeks, and you found yourself leaning into the vibranium touch. Bucky leaned in, pressing a warm kiss to your lips, soothing the ache in your heart.

You let him hug you, relaxing in his arms. He gave you little kisses, dotting them over your face as you rested.

“What will cheer you up?” Bucky asked, gently stroking your cheek.

You shrugged, trying to avoid giving him an answer. He stood up with you in his arms, carrying you into the kitchen and setting you down on the counter.

“How about…?” Bucky lifted a box of brownie mix from the cupboard, finally pulling a smile out of you.

“Okay,” you whispered, taking the box and tearing it open.

He helped you, grabbing bowls and the other ingredients that went into the treat, even tossing in extra chocolate chips from the time you’d made cookies.

Bucky stirred the batter when your arms got tired, and you helped him scoop it into a pan. The house began to smell sweet as they baked, and your sobs had fully subsided as you sat on the counter, eating stray chocolate chips.

“You’re perfect,” Bucky stated, breaking the silence and catching your attention.

You looked at him quietly, your eyes slightly widened at the profession. His hand gently squeezed your thigh, giving you soft reassurance. Your arms gently rested on his back as he hugged your waist, burying himself in your slighter form. Your fingers gently dragged through his hair, and you felt his lips press firmly against your skin.

“I love you, so much. It hurts to see you cry. I never want anybody to hurt you. I never want you to feel like you’re less than.”

“I love y-you too,” you rushed out, dragging him into a kiss, melting into his loving embrace.

[becca-e-barnes]

Dad’s Best Friend Bucky series

This is my mini masterlist for my series of Dad’s Best Friend Bucky oneshots! At the moment I’m planning to upload one each week so I can keep up with my other requests 🤎 My first two are based on requests by @littlecanadianlani so she really deserves all the credit for those! The third is now based on a request by @harrysthiccthighss!! Thank you both so much 🥰

Each oneshot is a standalone piece!

#1 - The Graduation Party

#2 - The Vacation

#3 - The New Client

#4 - The Outburst

#5 - The Divorce

#6 - The Video and The Bad Day at Work

[make-me-imagine]

Home For Christmas

12 Days of Christmas: Day 4

Plot: You think this Christmas will be the second one in a row without Joaquin home. But, unbeknownst to you, he has a surprise up his sleeve.

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Gn!reader

A/N: I did not specify which 'Falcon' the ornament was referencing, so you can choose lol.

Warnings: None!

Words: 1k

-

You had a grin on your face as you walked around the house showing Joaquin the decorations you had put up.

"And, here are our stockings!" You said cheerfully as you panned the camera to the stockings hanging above the fireplace.

You and Joaquin had made them together a few years before. It had been your first Christmas together. And now, this would be your second Christmas in a row apart.

You heard him chuckle. "And what about the ornaments on the tree?"

Turning the camera to the tree in the corner, you walked closer. "I've only put on the lights and tinsel so far. The ornaments were always your favorite part, it feels weird putting them on alone."

"Well maybe when I get some time to call tomorrow, you can prop me up and I can watch."

You smiled as you turned the camera towards your face. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He grinned at you "Did you get the one I sent you?"

Walking over to the table, you flipped the camera. "Yes, I did." You spoke with amusement as you lifted the Falcon themed ornament he had sent you.

"Nice! I want that one right up front!"

"Yes Sir." You chuckled.

Hearing a muffled noise in the background, you saw Joaquin's face change before he looked back into the camera.

"I gotta go love."

You were certain the disappointment showed in your face, but you tried to smile.

"Alright."

"I will see you later okay? I love you."

"I love you too." You smiled more brightly this time. "Be careful, and text me when you can, okay?"

"You got it." He winked as he waved goodbye.

Waving in return, you saw the screen go black before the call ended. You sighed as you looked over at the tree, feeling your chest tighten a bit. It never felt right when he wasn't here, especially around the holidays. It had been nearly two months since you saw him last, you had both been so busy with work, which unfortunately kept you separate recently.

Setting your phone down, you walked around the house, the only sound you could hear was the padding of your feet on the tile. Recalling two years before, when you and Joaquin decorated the house, you felt a hint of melancholy wash over you.

The whole house had smelled like cookies, as Christmas music played over the speakers. You and Joaquin danced around together, as you decorated. Fighting playfully over which decorations went on the tree that year, before you decided to put all of them. Remembering how crowded and ridiculous the tree looked, you smiled.

After setting out a few more decorations, and cleaning up the kitchen, you headed up the stairs to take a shower. You tried to distract your thoughts with the final few Christmas present you still had to buy.

One decently long shower later, you got dressed, and walked out of the bathroom. You only made it a few steps before you stopped, your heart picking up pace as you felt your senses go into overdrive.

The soft sound of Christmas music could be heard from downstairs. Looking at your phone, you checked to see if you had connected to the speakers. Seeing this was not the case, you slowly and quietly walked towards the stairs.

Peering down the stairway, you could hear the music better, and you heard the sound of soft footsteps near the kitchen. Your heart began pounding in your chest as you quietly made our way down the steps, trying not to make a sound.

Did a family member stop by? A friend? Or was this worse? Your hands were clenched as you tried to remain calm, but prepared.

As you made your way onto the floor, you reached over and pulled an umbrella from the stand by the front door. Stepping around the corner, your whole body jolted as you saw someone standing in the kitchen.

The person stood upright out of surprise as you rounded the corner.

Your heart seemed to jump through your chest at the sight, as emotion welled through you quickly.

"Joaquin?" Your voice was a shrill whisper.

Joaquin's eyes darted from the umbrella in your hand to your face as he grinned "Did I scare you?"

"Did yo- Joaquin!" You threw the umbrella to the ground as you ran over to him.

He rounded the counter quickly as he scooped you into his arms, lifting you off the ground momentarily.

"What are you doing here!?" You voice was heavy with emotion as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck.

His familiar scent washed over you and you felt tears well in your eyes. You shut them tightly as you heard him chuckle.

"I wanted to surprise you. There was no way I was gonna let you spend two Christmas's in a row without me."

As you let go of each other, you looked into his face and smiled before you softly smacked his shoulder.

"You know I hate being caught by surprise."

He grinned "Even by me?"

You smiled and shook your head as you tugged his collar, pulling him into another hug "You're the exception"

He hugged you tightly before pulling away to press a kiss to your cheek. You gently cupped his face, before you kissed, your chest heavy with emotion and excitement.

When you pulled way he spoke softly in a sing song voice "I got you."

You rolled your eyes lightly "Yes, you did. Where were you when we were talking earlier?"

"Airport." He said with a cheeky smile.

"So you're home for Christmas?" You asked, your voice hopeful.

He nodded "And a bit longer, I got a pretty decent leave. By the time I have to go, you'll be ready to get rid of me."

You shook your head "That would never happen."

He smiled as he pulled you into another quick kiss.

"Now, how about we turn up the Christmas music, make some hot cocoa, and decorate the tree huh?"

A grin spread across your face as you nodded. You let out a startled laugh as Joaquin suddenly scooped you up into his arms and began carrying you into the next room. You held tightly onto him, as joy washed over you.

This was a Christmas you'd never forget.

xx End xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Marvel Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @trashywritestrash, @groovy-lady, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @mochamoff, @simsiddy, @gay-and-ready-to-cry, @flourishandblotts-inc, @spuffyfan394, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @locke-writes, @cs-please, @soultrysworld, @a-lumos-in-the-nox, @creativitybeware, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @dominos-palast, @maellem, @readingwithatorch,

I hope to write more for Joaquin in the future (this is the first thing I've written for him) so if you want to be tagged in future fics for him, let me know!