#tfatws reader insert

[tom-whore-dleston]

Warning: 18+ Joaquin Torres thots; mdni

Just imagine how sex with Joaquin would be like before he goes on a mission. You both are already so in love with each other that neither of you could keep your hands off each other. His kisses would be heated and passionate, leaving your lips swollen from him biting and sucking them. On top of that, he'd mark your skin with his teeth and tongue.

"Something to remind you of me while I'm gone. Once I'm back, I'll give you some more, 'kay, cariño?" Joaquin would murmur into your ear, making you melt against him before he could touch you with his hands. And, boy, were his hands talented.

Joaquin loved propping you in front of a mirror so you could watch him tease and pleasure you from behind. You sat on his lap at the foot of the bed with your legs spread open in front of the mirror. Whether naked or fully clothed, he'd rub your clit in small, slow circles, while his other hand played with your nipples or grabbed your neck, lightly squeezing. His dick would harden underneath you as you squirmed from his touch, causing him to chuckle darkly. You both would keep your eyes focused on each other through the mirror until you were twitching and crying out.

Yet, Joaquin didn't stop there. He would lay you down on the bed, keeping your legs open and kneel down before you. He'd suck the skin of your thighs before dragging his tongue over your wet pussy. As he ate you like the last time he'd ever taste you, he'd grab your hips, pulling you closer to his face, intoxicated by your scent. If you'd try to fuck his face or pull his hair, he'd pin your hips down hard on the bed.

"Be a good girl and take what I give you."

And you did. Every single time. Until his mouth and chin were coated in your slick. Joaquin always looked so sexy after he had eaten you out, the image being ingrained in your brain while he was away from home.

As for the way he fucks you, he is ruthless, but still making sure you are safe and comfortable. Joaquin loved trying out different postion that would drive you both crazy. Seeing your body arched and curved in different shapes as you moaned his name always egged him on to fuck you harder and faster. He loved spanking your ass, pulling your hair, and kissing you in any position you were in.

Watching you come always got him to come right after you. The moment you would cream around his cock, shaking and screaming in bliss, Joaquin would let out a hearty growl and his strokes inside you would become rough and out of rhythm.

He loved shooting his cum all over your face, letting it drip into your mouth and onto your chest. He has a whole photo album on his phone of you covered in his cum that he likes to look at while he is away from you. After a few minutes of laying in the afterglow of sex, Joaquin would pull you into the shower with him, cleaning off the sweat, saliva and cum off each other. Sometimes, you'd go for round two in the shower, depending on how badly you wanted to savor each other.

No matter how long Joaquin was out on a mission, you missed him dearly from the moment he left until he would arrive on your doorstep with his sweet smile and open arms. But the marks on your body and the lingering feel of his touch would remind you he was never too far and he'd always come back to give you more of what you craved.

we're back baby! I missed writing so much and honestly this isn't my best, but thank you Joaquin for being the most amazing muse <3 :')

[urdepressedslut]

Just Like That

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: While you two were supposed to be repairing Sam’s boat, you end up giving Bucky head instead.

♡ Warnings: SMUT, blowjobs, deepthroating/face fucking, slight praise kink, literally no plot just filth

main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+

He couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting into your lips, the way your tongue ran on the underside of his dick— tracing the bulging vein.

“Doll… oh my… fuckkk.” He moaned out, his flesh hand tangling their fingers into your hair.

You hummed, sending vibrations into his dick. The action had him gripping your hair tight, the slight pain from your scalp shooting straight to your core. The throb had you whining around his length.

“Making me feel s’ good baby.” He praised breathlessly, easing his grip on your hair— petting it down soothingly.

You flattened your palms on his thighs, pushing forward until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.

His hips bucked instinctively, almost crying out at the way your throat was squeezing him. He grabbed the doorway of the boat, the wood splintering in his metal grip.

You pulled all the way off of him, before swallowing his entire length again— gagging as his head hit deeper in the back of your throat.

“S’ fucking good baby…” He whimpered, his head tilted back in ecstasy.

You snuck a hand down, playing with his balls, letting your other hand pump his length. You glanced up at him— spit leaking from your lips. You watched with lust filled eyes as he panted and whined.

“James… you’re so hard,” You purred, his head snapping down at you, “Bet you’re close, huh?”

He let out a pathetic whine as you squeezed his balls—his face contorted in pain.

“Words baby.” You demanded, leaning forward to swirl your tongue around his head.

His hips twitched slightly, the sensation of your tongue massaging around his tip heavenly. He let out a deep moan, feeling your tongue lick over his slit.

“S’ close doll— just like that.” He praised, letting his fingers comb through your hair.

There was something about you kneeling before him, eyes glossed over with lust, as the tears trailed down your cheeks— that made him absolutely feral. The position was so submissive, yet you held all the power. He was melting at your touch— his body putty at your hands.

You pumped his achingly hard length, giving his tip kitten licks. With your free hand caressing his thigh, you could feel the muscle twitch under your palm.

“Gonna cum James?” You asked hoarsely, his hazed over eyes meeting with yours.

You captured his length again, deepthroating him until your nose was buried into the hairs at the base of his cock. You gagged again, the convulsion from your throat making him growl in pleasure.

“Oh… that— keep doing that baby fuck…” He begged, his hips having a mind of their own, rocking into your face.

You whined around him, trying to breathe through your nose as he began to fuck your throat.

You reached around, grabbing handfuls of his ass— kneading the flesh. The action only made his thrusts deeper, his moans needier.

His thrusts were harsher, his needs a priority and if he had to use your face to chase his high— so be it. You on the other hand, we’re dripping. Your pussy was throbbing, him manhandling you making your entire body tingle— ache with desire.

He was nearly crying, his pants mixed with whines, getting impossibly close to the edge. You whimpered around him, his sounds only edging you on.

“Fuck baby… yes— you’re fucking mine,” He growled, his length growing impossibly harder at the image of you crying around him, “All mine.”

Your nails dug into the skin on his ass, your face drenched in tears, salvia leaking out of your mouth and down your chin. You gagged again, spurring him on further, his thrusts quicker. He grabbed your head, fucking your face with such force and suddenly he was pushing impossibly deeper in your throat, your jaw aching.

With an animalistic groan, he was spilling his seed down your throat. His breathing slowing, the waves of euphoria flowing throughout him. He stayed like that for a moment, relishing the feel of your throat around him.

At last, he released his death grip on your head. Slipping his cock from your throat with a hiss, his head sensitive. You gasped, panting in attempts to fill your lungs with the needed air.

With hooded eyes, Bucky gazed down at you with pleasure hazed eyes. His cock twitched at your flushed face, the tears tracks mixing with your spit— and his cum that had snuck out. Your eyes were slightly bloodshot, but as you gazed up at him— you were looking at him with such desire. You looked as if you were just getting started, and you wanted to devour him again.

“Such a good girl.” He whispered, voice hoarse.

He cradled your face, caressing your clammy cheek. He gently pulled you up, helping support your swaying state. You leaned into his palm, holding his gaze with adoration.

“I love you James.” You spoke into his palm, placing a kiss on his rough skin.

“I love you more baby.” He told you, wrapping his metal arm around your lower back, pulling you flush to him. “Now, let me return the favor.”

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 6

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: For the first time, you see The Winter Soldier in his full glory, but behind that black tactical suit, all you see is torment. When sent to check on the man after his first outing post-treatment, you see the humanity at his very core.

Warnings: Captivity, angst, needles, mention of torture, and fear. Fake and very uneducated medicine :) MDNI

Authors Note: Song recommendation for this chapter is "Did you know there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd" by Lana Del Ray

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

The next time you were dragged from your cage, you were finally allowed to see the real Winter Soldier. 

Everything was different this time. There were people, a lot of people, moving about, getting ready for something. A man dragged you into the room with a strong grip on your arm. You grunted as you were shoved forward.

The Soldier, standing this time, was dressed in a complicated black suit, leather and buckles tightly wound around his chest. His metal arm was displayed, a low blue light flickering between the mechanics. What drew your eye though, was a black mask, buckled tight around his head. It looked like a muzzle. His eyes were dark- but in the most literal sense, something black was smudged across his eyelids.

He was watching you, from the moment you entered. You had your hands pressed to your own chest, anxiety and adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

Pierce stepped between you, adorning a nice beige suit. “Test him, do whatever you need to do, check if he’s ready for physical activity.”

“Physical activity?” What were they going to make him do?

A hand curled in your hair, yanking it back. You yelped, your shoulders bunching up to your ears. “You do not ask questions. Do as you’re told.”

“Okay, okay-”

They released you. 

You shuffled between carts of metal and bodies of men to get to your charge. Standing before him, you felt so deeply helpless. Having to look up at him now, suited up and dangerous, made your blood run cold. 

He was taller than you thought he’d be. 

“How-How’s your mobility?” You tried to speak above a meek whisper, but god it was hard to project yourself. 

In response he rotated his shoulder and bent his arm. You watched his fingers curl into a fist then release. It wasn’t like he spoke much before, but knowing that he was actually muzzled right now just made you sick. 

“Your legs too? Can you move easily?” He nodded. “Roll your neck please.”

He rotated his head obediently. You swallowed. He looked back down at you, unblinking. “Okay, can I see your arm?” He held it out for you. You firmly pressed your fingers against nerves and soft spots, waiting to see if you could see the jump and kick of his muscles and tendons. 

“You’re-”

“You’re briefing me, not him.” Pierce interrupted. 

You dropped his arm quickly, your hands shaking. “He’s having all the right responses. Some even better than when I first tested him. I think he’s doing well.” you believed he was getting better, but in no world would you recommend him to start excessive physical activity.

“Really?” A grin spread across Pierce’s face. “Wonderful,” he was laughing- he was actually laughing. “You’ve done well, doctor, very well.”

“Thank you-”

“Will the effects last?”

“I don’t know for sure- usually we would elongate the testing period. I’ll have to run some more tests in a few days. But I think I might just have to continue giving him the serum I made until I create an indefinite cure.”

Pierce looked a little less thrilled at that, but surprisingly, he accepted it.

Something in you settled, the worry that your use had run dry satiated for the time being. You glanced back to the Soldier, who listened silently. You felt that looming shadow of guilt again, creeping up and strangling you. You brushed your fingers over the faded bruise on your neck, like an afterthought. 

His gaze flickered to the movement, his brows furrowed. 

You wished you could speak with him freely, hear what was running through his head. You desperately wanted to tell him about your realization from your last session. You wanted to tell him, in hopes that maybe you could figure out a way to fix it. Because in all reality, he was your only chance at escape. Sadly you didn’t think you would ever get the chance.

“Run your tests, see how he held up.” It had been sixteen hours since you last saw him. You didn’t know for sure, but you had started counting the seconds in your spare time. You had no concept of time in your little closet. You spent that time counting and picking your own brain for a solution to the mountain of problems you were faced with.

The two of you were alone this time. A single light over his usual chair kept the room lit. You approached slowly. He looked different again. He was shirtless this time, still wearing his uniform pants and thick boots. The mask was still buckled tight around his face. “Are you-” you paused. Are you okay is such a stupid question.

You let your gaze trail over the unknown skin of his body. His shoulder is what really caught your eye. “You were right, it’s not a stump.” You whispered. The metal shoulder was conjoined with reddened, burnt looking skin. “It looks painful. Does it hurt?” 

He slowly shook his head. You could hear his soft breaths against his mask. 

You felt sick. Your stomach turned and turned, your head felt fuzzy. He was a human being, he wasn’t an animal. It was so dehumanising to see him silenced in such a way. You wondered if it was a tactic to humiliate him. You wondered if he was too used to it by now.

“Can- Can I?” You gestured to his face. He just stared at you, breathing slowly. You stepped in between his legs and reached around the back of his neck. The mechanism was a bit more complicated than the average buckle, but you were able to click it free. The muzzle fell into his lap and slid to the floor. He looked up at you, taking a deep breath of fresh air. 

There were light imprints of where the mask pressed into his skin, marking its territory. “Better?”

He nodded. 

“How do you feel? Any ah- muscle spasms?”

He flexed his arm again for good measure, his bicep popping. “No,” he replied. 

You stared down at him, curiosity burning inside of you. You wondered what he had spent his day doing. What he was tasked with taking care of. “Can I touch it?” you asked quietly, glancing back at his arm. “You can say no.”

He lowered his head, looking up at you through his lashes. He nodded. 

You swallowed, letting your fingers brush over cold metal. You shivered at the feeling. The last time you touched it, he was strangling you. You dragged the pad of your finger over the grooves of the metal, then traced the red star. “What does it mean?”

He looked down at your hand. “It’s-” He paused, his voice gravelly. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“It’s familiar, but I don’t know.”

“Oh,” you whispered, scraping yournail against the paint. It didn’t budge. You swept your hand down the bicep. It was built to mimic a toned muscular arm, down to a groove that would have been where a vein lived. “You can’t feel it, can you? I mean, that's stupid. Of course you can’t.” You shook your head.

He continued to watch you. “I can’t feel it.”

“Did you used to have an arm? Or were you born without one?”

“I had one.” He replied after a long moment. 

You were briefed on small pieces of the Soldiers history, enough for you to understand what you were working with. You knew he came from Captain America’s time. You knew he had been put to sleep, then woken up, again and again. 

At some point you had realized what was familiar about his face. You’d seen him in the Captain America museum. You’d seen his black and white picture plastered along engraved walls. He was more clean cut, boyish even. You knew his face, but you couldn’t recall his name. You wished you could.

You knew as well that his mind is a tangled mess of lies. You wondered if he remembered his past at all.

“I’ve always been scared of losing a limb. Can you move it at will as easily as your other?”

He waggled the fingers of the prosthetic, then lifted and bent it. You watched, your touch trailing back up to his shoulder. You brushed over the fused skin. His metal grip slipped around your wrist, stilling you. You gasped, the cold shocking you.

You were scared again, just for a moment, remembering the feeling of him gripping your throat tightly. His grip loosened.

Your eyes met his. You hadn’t realized just how close you were. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch there if you didn’t want me to.”

Without a word, he guided your hand back to his shoulder, then released you. You laid your palm over the scarred skin. “It must have hurt.” You whispered. You could feel his gaze burning into your face. You tried to ignore it. You traced the scarred flesh along the edge of the metal, down his chest. “I’m sorry for the pain you’ve suffered.” you  sagged, ashamed. 

“I don’t know you, I know that. I don’t even know your name-” you huffed out a dry laugh. “But I know that whatever it is I haven’t seen- everything you’ve seen, it’s bad. Much worse than the stupid shit I used to be scared of.” You rubbed your thumb over the larger expanse of scar on his peck. 

“I’m sorry I’m a part of it now.” You whispered.

You looked at him now, pausing at his expression. His eyes were blown wide, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. He was looking at you like you’d just slapped him- or said something concerningly outlandish. 

“I mean it.” You said, your touch falling away.

“You-” He stopped. “Why?”

“Why am I sorry?” You tilted your head. “Because I’m human. And so are you.” You poked his chest. “And I don’t take pleasure in watching a person get treated like nothing.”

He tilted his head at you, his gaze tracing over your face. “You don’t know me,” he repeated. “You should want to get out. You should focus on that.”

You could almost laugh. “That’s never going to happen. And you know it.”

There was a bitter moment of silence. 

“I’ll cope with it, somehow. Or-” you paused, fear toiling in your chest. You shouldn’t say it. You can’t. It’s too dangerous. They could be listening. They could probably command him to tell them what you said. 

“Or,” He repeated.

“Or I’ll find a way out.”

He squinted at you, like you were stupid. “I-I think I know something.” You felt the urge to look behind you. You succumbed to it. You checked your surroundings, then leaned down. You could tell he almost leaned back, but stopped himself.

“I know what they’re doing to you,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it couldn’t be heard by anyone not in their bubble. “And how they’re doing it.”

He sucked in a quick breath, his fingers curling at his sides. He was suddenly so incredibly still. 

You slowly pulled back. “I need more time to work on my theory, but I’m serious.” You urged. “I told you before that I want to help you. And now I know that helping you, is helping me.”

He stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed his words. 

Over the next few days (Or just the next few extended periods of time- they didn’t give you a watch.) you spent every moment trying to piece together a way to reroute the wiring in the Soldier’s brain. You needed to know how they were controlling the electromagnetic pulses in the Soldier’s brain.

It was a testy thing to even think about though. The brain was so sensitive. Press the right spot and a person could be speaking a language they didn’t even know they knew. Press the wrong spot and a person could lose the ability to see.

You lived with a near constant headache, never accepting a break from the cycle of thoughts. When you were dragged back to the Soldier’s room, you would go straight for your data and equipment. You made excuses to hide the work you were really trying to study.

You would excuse that the injection site for the serum was in the back of the neck, when you were really retracing the nerves in his neck. You took your time, working through every theory on how one trained a brain- and ultimately untrained it. 

You had read studies before, when you were in school, about psychological studies where subjects were tortured while forced to listen to a specific song again and again; ultimately training the brain to associate that song with pain. 

You knew it was possible to break the brain, but it was also possible to heal it.

But a voice in the back of your head kept screaming at you, begging you to listen to the blaring fact that you’re not a neurologist. You don’t know anything about the brain, not really. Not what you need to know. You can’t operate on him. You can’t change anything.

Your only hope was to work through how they’re controlling whatever they’d worked into his brain, and stop it. 

A/N: Enjoy and please Comment! Be kind, please.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Twin Flame - Lost Outtake #1

A.N. - Alright, I know I finished this story months ago... but I've been cleaning up my drafts and I found a few lost scenes. I don't even know if I should go back and add them to the timeline or post them, but I just needed you guys to see the angst.

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes The Twin Flame Chapter List | The Grumpy x Sunshine Universe

"I had a vision, I don't know if you're gonna believe it-" Tony's voice abruptly stops as he watches your face appear on the screen before him. Just one more person gone, another name on the long list of people gone - but that loss cuts him deeper than he could've ever imagined.

"Tony, I'm gonna need you to focus."

Anger floods Tony's eyes as they dart away from you and back to Steve.

"And I needed you. As in past tense. I think that trumps what you need. It's too late, buddy. Sorry." Tony stands up from his wheelchair, swiping his glass off the conference room table. "You know what I need, I need to shave."

"Tony," Rhodey tries to stop him as Tony rips out his IV. "Tony."

"And I believe I remember telling you that what we needed was a suit of armor around the world. Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not. That's what we needed."

"Well that didn't work out, did it?" Steve reminds him.

"I said we'd lose. You said we'd do that together too. And guess what, Cap? We lost. And you weren't there. But that's what we do, right? Our best work after the fact. We're the Avengers, not the Pre-vengers, right?"

"Okay, alright, you made your point now sit down," Rhodey cajoles him, gripping his shoulder to keep him steady.

"I got nothing for you, Cap. No coordinates. No clues. No strategies. No options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust. Liar," he spits at Steve.

"Tony..." Steve tries.

Tony shakily exhales, "No, no, you weren't there...and we lost. I lost the kid."

"Tony."

"And Sunshine? Gone." He looks at the screen again. Your picture haunting him. Tony tears off the arc reactor, shoving it in Steve's hand. "The last time I saw her, she was behind bars. She disappeared thinking I hated her."

Steve's eyes squeeze shut, the memory of the fear shining in your eyes never not replaying in his mind. "Sunshine fought so-"

"You don't get to call her that! Don't you dare call her that! She trusted you! She trusted you and now she's gone!" Tony's voice breaks as his eyes burn with unshed tears. He tears his shoulder out of Rhodey's grip, pointing an accusing finger right into Steve's chest. "I will never get to make that right. And that is your fault."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist The Twin Flame Chapter List

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[caplanbuckybarnes]

So i don't write for the MCU fandom any longer but i've updated an older fic of mine featuring Knight!Bucky with Knight!Reader

if anyone's actually interested.....

[donottouchredbutton]

In a Heartbeat

joaquin torres x sunshine!reader/ofc

4k words

she saves someone, and joaquin saves her.

moodboard

note: i wrote this with my oc in mind that i plan to write more about, but i wanted it to be read as a reader insert as well! let me know what you think :)

She had been living in Washington DC for a little over a year now. She moved there for grad school, and some of the excitement had yet to wear off still. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, with all of the good schools nearby and all of the things to do and learn in the capital. It seemed like a busy enough place to never be bored, which was exactly what she wanted. It really had seemed like a smart idea, especially since she hadn’t had any problems since moving there.

Until she did.

She was out with her roommate after classes had ended for the day, enjoying the warm spring day and simply happy to be people watching as they hung out. It had quickly become one of her favorite things since moving there, something she shared with her roommate, Jasmine. She was always glad she and Jazzy got along so well and liked spending time together, often spending time just being out and about like today. 

Jazzy was showing her a small outdoor shopping district just outside of a park. It must’ve been really popular because it was packed with people. People were out walking their dogs, parents were out shopping with their kids, couples and friends were on dates and lounging on the grassy areas. Music was coming from the open doors of one of the stores, loud enough to carry even as you walked away from it. Something smelled good, like fresh bread and cinnamon sugar, and she wanted to follow her nose to figure out where it was coming from. There was a warm breeze that made her shiver whenever they walked in the shade, so she pulled Jazzy away to make sure they stayed in the sun. A few kids ran past them playing tag. It made her smile, she hoped they were having fun. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she noticed a bit of commotion going on. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but it was progressively getting louder. From the looks of it, she wasn’t the only one who had noticed as many of the people nearby were looking around as well. It continued to grow louder and louder until she spotted a large group of people running in their direction, all shouting and screaming to get away. A ways behind them, she spotted a group of big looking men in scary looking masks carrying scary looking weapons, all running after them with their weapons pointed forward. Before she could think about how cliche that sounded, she knew they had to get away first. Many people around them were coming to the same conclusion as they all began turning tail and running. She and Jazzy shared a look of understanding before following suit.

As everyone kept running away and the noise was getting louder, another noise caught her attention above all the commotion. She could just barely hear a small voice calling for help, but it was loud enough to get her to stop running. Her head whipped around trying to find whoever it was, wherever it was coming from. Her eyes landed on a little girl sitting on the ground holding a little boy, and even from her distance she could see they were crying.

“MOMMY!” the little girl kept shouting, tears running down her face as she tried to pull the little boy up with her. They had to be brother and sister. She sounded terrified.

She took off before she could think about what she was doing. She could vaguely hear Jazzy calling after her, trying to get her to turn around and come back, but she couldn’t. The only thing on her mind was getting to those kids before they could get hurt. She wouldn’t let that happen.

She slid to a stop and knelt down next to the kids when she got to them, unconcerned about the fact that she tore a hole in her jeans by doing so, nor the bruises and scrapes she no doubt would have on her knees either. The little girl, maybe seven or eight, kept pulling on her brother’s arm trying to get him to move, but he was sat on the ground firmly, bawling his eyes out and refusing to move. She knew he couldn’t have been older than three years old. 

She looked around for anyone who could have been their mother, anyone willing to help, but everyone was running in the opposite direction. She turned her head to see the group of men getting closer and closer, and they were gaining fast. She was the only one around.

“I need to get you out of here,” she said, turning back to the two kids, voice urgent. “I’ll get you back to your mom, I promise.”

She tried to pick up the little boy, who immediately started shouting and fighting when she did so. He was on the verge of a full-blown breakdown, determined to stay exactly where he was no matter what she did. 

“He won’t let anyone but mom pick him up,” the little girl cried, “but I don’t know where mommy is!”

Seeing how frightened they were broke her heart. There was no getting them to move if she couldn’t pick the little boy up, but she couldn’t just leave them. She wouldn’t. She didn’t know what to do, and she was struggling to come up with something fast enough. With another glance over her shoulder, she realized she was out of time. They were too close now, seconds away and coming right towards them. 

“Hold onto him, and don’t let go!” she ordered the girl. Once the girl did as she said, she grabbed both of the kids and held them to her chest, making sure neither of them would get hit as she awaited the inevitable first—and what she expected to be the final—blow to hit. 

She felt a strong gust of air rush over her head, and at the sound of a fight right behind her, she held on tighter to the kids in her arms. She knew this was it. In a heartbeat, it’d be finished. She’d be finished. 

“Are you okay?”

The voice was closer than she expected, making her jump, but it sounded genuinely concerned. Chancing a glance behind her, she was met with a pair of soft brown eyes. 

She looked past the man to see what was going on, only just noticing that the commotion had stopped, and she could see that the group of men were all lying on the ground unconscious with a man holding a shield standing above them. Everyone knew who Captain America was, but she never expected to come across him herself. Knowing that the kids would be safe now, she looked back to the man in front of her and was shocked to see he had a pair of wings on his back. The Falcon. They were positioned in a way that was meant to shield them from any danger. 

She finally looked back at the Falcon. His eyes hadn’t left her the entire time, and he stayed put in front of them, as if he wanted to make sure nothing could happen to them even with the threat gone. 

Instead of answering the man, she turned back to the kids in her arms. They were still crying and scared, she knew they would be, but at least she knew they would be safe now. She scanned over them for any injuries, and once she knew they were unharmed, she cupped the little girl’s face to get her attention. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay now. You’re safe,” she assured her, speaking softly to help her calm down a bit. She stroked her cheek to gently wipe away her tears. She felt her own heart beating out of her chest, but she couldn’t focus on that right now. “I’m gonna get you back to your mom now, okay? Let’s go find your mom.” 

She glanced back at the man behind her again, who still hadn’t moved, before she eased the kids up into standing. The weight of the situation was finally catching up to her, her head swimming as she tried her hardest to focus on getting the kids back to their mom before anything else. She kept looking between them and the man who saved them. Stuttering, she said, “I… I need-”

“MOMMY!” the little girl called, grabbing her brother’s hand and running to meet the woman who was running towards them. 

She watched as the older woman dropped to her knees to meet her children in an embrace, her own tears streaming down her face as she held her children to her chest. The woman began kissing all over their faces and on the tops of their heads, and the woman’s voice was just loud enough for her to hear her repeating my babies to the children in her arms.

She was walking towards the family before she knew what she was doing. Her knees were screaming at her causing her to limp slightly, but she didn’t care. She needed to make sure they would be okay. Once she was close enough, the woman looked up at her and a look of gratitude crossed her face. 

“Thank you,” the woman managed to say through her tears. “Thank you for protecting my babies.” For a moment, she thought the woman was talking to the Falcon, the one who actually had saved her kids, but the woman was looking at her. 

“You don’t…” she started, beginning to shake her head, but she knew it would be pointless. Instead, she said, “I’m just glad you and your kids are safe.” 

She watched them a few more moments before the woman gathered her kids up and hurried away from the scene. She couldn’t blame them, she wanted to do the same. 

She suddenly remembered the man who had saved them. The Falcon (she couldn’t get over it). She turned back towards him, and this time she really took him in. His wings had retracted back into his suit, thankfully, as they had been very distracting. He was tall without being towering. His skin looked warm and sun-kissed with sharp cheekbones that made her wonder what he looked like when he smiled. He had a head of short, curly black hair, and those soft brown eyes. Those eyes that were still watching, a strange gleam present that hadn’t been there before. 

She didn’t really know what to say, feeling awkward, but she didn’t need to. Before she could even thank him, he spoke instead.

“Are you okay?” he asked again. Something told her that he wouldn’t leave until he knew she was.

“I’m fine,” she finally answered. She didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not, but she still wasn’t able to focus on how she really felt. The kids were safe, their mother was safe, and as far as she was concerned, that’s all that mattered. And this man made sure of that. “Thank you.”

The man seemed to relax a bit at that, his shoulders losing some of their tension. He opened his mouth to say something else, but another voice cut in. 

“Torres! We gotta go, man!” 

It was Captain America who interrupted (which was something she never thought she’d experience), having just been talking with the police who she hadn’t noticed had arrived. They were hauling the men—masks gone and in handcuffs now—into the backs of the police cars. The hero was inspecting their weapons, clearly waiting for the other man—Torres, apparently—to join back up with him. Torres looked between the two of them, seeming conflicted. Before either of them could say anything, they were once again interrupted. 

The sound of Jazzy calling her name snapped her out of whatever was going on, and she turned to see her roommate running straight towards her. Before she could comprehend what was going on, Jazzy was grabbing her arm and pulling her away, determined to get them away from anything else that might happen. She looked back at the man, Torres, and called out another thank you! before she let her roommate lead her away from the scene. 

—

In truth, she didn’t think she would ever see him again. Why would she? He was The Falcon, Captain America’s partner and a superhero in his own right. He had to have saved countless people all the time. He probably wasn’t even in DC anymore. There was no way she would see him again. 

But then she did. 

She volunteered at a local elementary school, and today they were taking the fifth graders down to the veterans rehabilitation center. They liked to decorate the walls with pictures and bring flowers for the veterans, wanting to try to brighten their days a bit and thank them for their service while doing so, and she liked being part of it as well. She couldn’t imagine what some of them have gone through, but she would sometimes sit in on the group sessions to try to understand more. It was why she made sure to take the kids there at least once every couple weeks.

“It was so nice seeing you and the kids again, sunshine!” the kind lady at the front desk said as she was getting them ready to leave. It was a nickname she had quickly picked up since they started going there, and it always made her laugh.

“Of course, Laura!” she replied. “I’m just glad they like coming down here as much as I do.”

Laura chuckled lowly. “Your visits always make everyones day. They may not say it often, but they appreciate it. More than you know.”

She smiled softly at that. “We try our best. We just want to show our respect and try to brighten things up for everyone, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, hun. What you do with the kids and for everyone here, not many people would do it. We all appreciate everything you do around here. We appreciate you.”

She looked down bashfully at the older woman’s kind words. She never really knew what to say to that. Her eyes flicked back up to Laura. “Oh, I almost forgot!” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small bin. “I know you’ve been wanting to try Jazzy’s brownies.”

The wide grin that appeared on Laura’s face was enough for one to form on her’s as well. She nearly snatched the bin out of her hand, causing her to laugh. “You spoil me, sunshine!”

The two shared a few more words before she checked the time, knowing she needed to leave soon if she didn’t want the bus to leave without her. She said goodbye to Laura with a promise to be back the next week, and the other woman jokingly promised to be ready for more treats. With a wave and another smile to her friend, she began making her way to the front doors. She was in high spirits as she was preparing to leave, paying no mind to the man she passed on her way out until he called out to her. 

“Hey, it’s you!”

She almost didn’t stop, but when she looked around the area and saw it was mostly void of people, she figured it was her he was trying to get the attention of. When she stopped and turned around, her eyes widened when they met the same soft brown ones she first saw just the other day. 

“It’s you,” she repeated, not knowing what to say.

For a moment, she wondered how she could even miss him. Sure, he wasn’t wearing his suit or his wings and seemed, therefore, much less intimidating–not that he seemed intimidating in the first place, but he did save her life, and there’s just something about meeting a superhero face to face that makes a person feel overly self-aware. Without the suit on, you wouldn’t even assume he was a superhero, though in her head she was kicking herself because of course that was the point. He just seemed so normal, and she felt like she could pay more attention now that her life wasn’t on the line. He wore a dark green jacket over a black shirt and jeans, a pair of sunglasses hanging from one of the pockets. His shoulders filled out his jacket well, subtly showing off his built but lean muscles. Part of her wished she could remember what they looked like in his suit when they were more noticeable, and she mentally kicked herself again for thinking that about a complete stranger. His dark curls were styled simply and looked soft to the touch, and she was sure they were. 

Those eyes, though. Unlike before, his soft eyes were looking at her in pleasant surprise rather than concern, his lips quirking up in what was almost a smile. But that weird gleam she saw before was still there, and if anything, it was much more apparent than before.

It took her a few more seconds to realize neither one of them had said anything, her eyes glancing off to the side as her mind raced for something to say. He must’ve realized the same thing because his eyes widened suddenly, taking a step toward her once he knew he had her attention. 

“Sorry, um,” he began, searching for his words, “I just didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but I’m glad I did. How are you doing, after what happened?”

Her eyes widened slightly again, surprised by his words. “I-I’m doing fine,” she answered, but she wasn’t sure how much she believed herself. She added, “‘ve just been trying to get back to normal, is all.”

He seemed satisfied enough with her answer and started to nod, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

His words surprised her again. In a burst of confidence, she replied with, “Well, I did have someone to save me.”

His smile grew as he looked down sheepishly, and she thought she heard him say just doing my job under his breath. When he looked back up at her, she thought she liked seeing that gleam in his eyes, especially when he smiled. She thought happiness looked good on him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked gently, suddenly remembering where she still was. 

“Oh, I’m here to meet my partner,” he answered. “He helps out with the counseling sessions when he can. But I’ve got some information I need to discuss with Cap.”

Somehow, it didn’t surprise her to hear that about Captain America. In fact, it made her respect him even more for trying to help people on a more personal level, not just fighting as a superhero. Saving lives on all fronts, she was sure. But the way he talked about why he was there was just vague enough to pique her interest, and just telling enough for her to understand she shouldn’t pry. She was going to find a way to politely remove herself from the conversation, but he spoke again before she could.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, repeating her own question. He cringed at the way it came out, so he quickly added, “I just mean, this is the last place I expected to see you. Are you in the military?”

She shook her head, nearly chuckling. “No, I’m not. The school I volunteer at brings some of the older students down here every few weeks. We like to bring flowers and write cards, you know, to try to show our respect and appreciation. Try to brighten up people’s days where we can.”

“You do all this?” He asked, gesturing toward the decorations on the walls and the flowers here and there. His eyes had widened in surprise again, and it was her turn to look down bashfully this time. 

“Not just me. It’s the kids, mostly, but I like to help out.”

He looked impressed, and something about the look on his face and those damn eyes caused her face to heat up. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. 

“Well, I can confidently say that I’m not the only one around here who loves seeing all of the notes and decorations,” he said softly, the smile on his face filling her with a sense of warmth she hadn’t felt before. “It’s amazing what you’ve been doing. We all appreciate what you do. And the kids, of course.”

Something told her that he was speaking more for himself than he was for everyone else, and somehow she knew that he meant it toward her directly. The thought made her smile.

His face suddenly got more serious, though, instantly making her feel nervous. “What you did the other day, with those two kids, too. That was amazing.”

That was not something she was expecting, and she definitely didn’t know how to respond to it. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down, suddenly feeling shy. “I did what anyone would do.”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, really. You saved those kids. I may be the one with wings, but you’re the real hero. It was incredible.”

When she glanced back up at him, she saw that a small smile had reappeared on his lips, and somehow, it was enough to ease some of the tension in her shoulders. It was enough to comfort her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, and it made her feel seen in a way she never had. All with one look, which is what really surprised her. She knew deflecting would be useless, so she settled with telling him, barely loud enough for him to hear, “Thank you.” And she meant it more than he knew.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked one final time.

She wanted to laugh that he wouldn’t let it go so easily. “I am, or I will be. I promise,” she answered, and she knew she was telling the truth this time. “Besides, this wouldn’t be my first time in a situation like that, and I’m sure it won’t be my last.” Now that got a good reaction out of him, even though it was the truth.

“Speaking of the kids, though,” she said before he could think about it too much, checking the time again and realizing she’d officially run out of time, “I have to get going so I don’t get left behind.” She looked him over one more time, trying to memorize as much as she could, before she began to turn away. “It was nice to see you again, and to talk. And thank you, again, for saving me.”

His smile warmed her from the inside out. “If it meant getting to see you again, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

She forced herself not to shudder before turning around. She had only made it a few more steps before he suddenly stopped her again. 

“Wait!” he called, almost too loudly for the quiet hallway. “I didn’t ever get your name!”

She wanted to kick herself again. How had they gone this entire conversation without learning each other’s names? She glanced back over her shoulder, seeing that he had barely moved from his spot. With a warm smile directed at him, she told him her name.

Another smile began to form on his face in return, and it looked like he repeated her name under his breath. Their eyes met a final time before he responded with his own. “I’m Joaquin. It was really nice to meet you, too.”

She turned around before he could catch the wide grin that was beginning to form on her face against her will and tried to rush out of there as subtly as she could. As she went, she could just hear him, Joaquin, repeat her name a second time, and even from where she was she could hear a smile in his tone. She left the building with a bounce in her step and a warm feeling in her chest. 

All because of the Falcon who saved her.

[littleredwolf]

Worth the Wait

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 2,204

Summary:  Bucky has been avoiding you since the two of you nearly kissed a few weeks ago. When you both attend a Stark-hosted BBQ, he has no choice but to explain himself and make amends.

Warnings: None, I don’t think? Maybe some reader insecurities and self-doubt, but otherwise we’re all good. 

A/N: This one got away from me a little bit but I just love the idea of the Avengers family having a get together and enjoying themselves. In my head this is set post Endgame (with major canon changes, obviously!), but I guess it could take place whenever you want depending on which Bucky is your favourite (though, let’s be honest, that’s all of them!). 

--

"Damn girl, look at you!" Sam marvelled as you opened the door to greet him. "What a masterpiece!" 

You'd opted for a more casual look for the BBQ the Starks were hosting, nothing special, but Sam was never short of a compliment and they were always appreciated.  

You smiled sheepishly and bowed your head in modest thanks, locking the door and following him down the path to his truck. 

"You should take a look at yourself," you countered with a playful wink, getting into the passenger seat and buckling up. 

– – – – – – 

You arrived at the Stark cabin a short while later, stopping on the way to pick up Peter. As much as you loved the kid, you were grateful that the journey, and his relentless chatter, had come to an end. 

You spotted Clint and Scott’s cars as you stepped out of Sam’s truck and were pleased that some of your friends were already here. However, as your eyes fell upon Steve’s Audi and the bike sitting beside it your excitement was quickly replaced with anxiety; in your hurry to get ready on time you’d forgotten that Bucky would also be coming.  

Sam noticed the falter in your steps and followed your gaze, smiling knowingly once he'd done the maths.

“Relax, cher, you’re among friends, what’s the worst that can happen?” he mused, playfully nudging your arm as the two of you followed Peter and the sound of chitchat around the side of the house.

Your eyes instinctively sought out the super soldier as you rounded the corner, your heart dropping into your stomach as you spotted him on the deck, beer in hand as he chatted to Steve and Clint. 

“Ooh, new arrivals!” Tony’s voice tore you from your momentary stupor as your host stepped outside, drawing everyone's attention. You ignored the warmth in your cheeks as you felt Bucky’s everyone’s eyes on you and instead threw yourself at a surprised Tony. 

“I'm glad to see you too, Y/N,” he chuckled, giving you a squeeze. “I'm guessing by how violently you're gripping me there have been no developments on the situation?" He murmured subtly, and you shook your head. 

"There isn't even a situation to speak of," you replied in a hushed tone, hoping the super soldier's advanced hearing couldn't pick up your conversation. "We almost kissed, he's been ghosting me since. That's all there is to it." 

Tony gave you a sympathetic smile as he pulled away and put his hands on your shoulders, holding you at arm's length. 

"Give him time honey," he reassured, and you shrugged in response. 

Just then, Morgan came bounding outside, stopping momentarily to look around before her eyes fell on you, squealing excitedly as she hurried down the steps and bolted over, wrapping her small arms around your waist. 

"Hey Morgie!" You cooed, scooping her up and resting her on your hip. "How's my favourite Stark?" 

"I resent that!" Tony griped, and you swatted him away with a laugh before turning your attention to his daughter. 

You listened intently, hanging onto every word as she excitedly filled you in on everything you’d missed since your last visit - what she’d been up to at school, gossip she’d picked up from the playground, her science project she was working on with her Dad (which earned Tony a raised eyebrow since you knew how his 'projects' often ended up). You loved watching her talk - the spark in her eyes as she gestured animatedly reminded you so much of her Dad. You’d never admit it to him for fear of stroking his already bulging ego, but it was actually pretty cute how alike they were. 

Once she was done with her stories Morgan went running off after Nate, who’d made his way over to you both during your conversation and ‘tagged’ her in the game he was playing with the other Barton children. You laughed as you watched the older kids skitter across the grass trying to get away from the tiny 5 year old, and turned your attention to the adults occupying the deck. 

"You got this sweetheart," Tony comforted from beside you, sensing your unease. "You've dealt with murderous space aliens, I'm sure you can handle a brooding super soldier."

You laughed humorlessly. "I'm not so sure about that - at least the aliens let me know where I stand." 

Tony chuckled with a shake of his head, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

"Get on over there and show him what he's missing," he ordered, giving you a gentle nudge. "He'll soon regret leaving you on 'read'." 

"Look at you using the kids' lingo," you remarked with a grin. "Apparently you can teach an old dog new tricks!"

"Less of the old or I'll find a way to embarrass you," Tony warned as he waggled his finger at you, but you only laughed in response. 

"Quit stalling and get over there, I gotta go help Pepper in the kitchen but make yourself at home!" 

And with that he was gone, leaving you standing alone. The palms of your hands turned clammy, your stomach churned, and your heart began racing a thousand miles a minute as you approached the deck. 

It was ridiculous really, you were acting like a teenager with a crush. This was Bucky, for crying out loud. The same Bucky who'd accompanied you on countless missions, who'd fought alongside you during the battle with Thanos, who'd seen you at your absolute worst. The same Bucky you'd swapped stories with, shared your hopes and dreams with, and confessed your deepest worries and darkest fears to in the middle of the night when neither of you could sleep.

The same Bucky who, since the two of you had almost kissed a month ago, had been avoiding you like the plague. 

You’d been hanging out in the lounge, laughing and poking fun at his dreadful video game skills, then suddenly you were staring at each other's lips, slowly drawing closer. You were sure you were going to kiss, you'd wanted to kiss him, but then he'd pulled away as though he'd been struck by lightning, excused himself and had been avoiding you at every available opportunity since. 

You hadn't stopped replaying the scene in your head over the last few weeks, analysing every detail and wondering if perhaps you'd misread the situation and imagined the chemistry. It was easy to dismiss before, but now you were in Bucky's presence again, that feeling of rejection returned. 

"There she is!" Clint cheered as you reached them, shifting along the bench and making room for you to sit beside him. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me," he pouted and you couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous look on his face. 

"As if you'd let me," you snickered, grateful for the distraction as you grabbed a beer from the cooler nearby. You opened it and took a giant swig, relishing the cold liquid soothing your increasingly dry throat. You greeted Steve and, once you'd had a moment to gather your courage, you finally chanced a look in Bucky's direction. 

You regretted it instantly. 

His icy blue eyes were already fixed on you, watching you intently as he nursed his own drink. Your heartbeat quickened and you hoped - rather fruitlessly - that he couldn’t hear it. 

"Hi James," you mumbled, averting your gaze. Somehow using his nickname didn’t seem appropriate since it was reserved for use by his friends, and right now you weren’t sure what the two of you were. He furrowed his brow at the sound of his formal name coming from your mouth, but quickly schooled his features before anybody noticed. 

–

The party was soon in full swing, as more guests arrived and Tony fired up the BBQ. The food was delicious, the drinks were flowing, and you were enjoying spending time with your friends outside of missions and a strict regime. You were like one big family, and you smiled in contentment as you glanced around at everyone laughing and enjoying themselves. 

Everyone except Bucky, of course, who hadn't cracked a smile once since you'd been here (not that you were keeping track or anything). 

°°°

"What's going on in that cyborg brain of yours?" Sam asked as he joined Bucky on the deck and handed him another beer. 

Bucky didn't answer, but it wasn't hard for Sam to guess his thoughts when he followed his friend's line of sight and saw you. 

"She really cares about you, you know," he remarked. 

"She really shouldn't," Bucky scoffed, taking a swig of his beer. 

"And why's that?" 

Bucky threw him an incredulous look. 

"Look at me, Sam. I'm a mess! Who in their right mind would want someone like me?" 

"Y/N, apparently," 

"I'm serious. What if I fuck this up and she ends up hating me? What if she finally sees me for the monster I really am!?" 

"You really believe she's gonna think that? She knows you, man, and she knows your past. Unless you do something really bad like cheat, she won't be going anywhere,"

Bucky tensed his jaw as he considered Sam's words and fought the internal battle he'd been waging since he and Y/N had nearly kissed. 

He'd wanted to kiss her so badly, but something inside of him snapped and he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was so much at risk, their friendship, her feelings - hurting people was a speciality of his and he knew that if he let her in it would only be a matter of time before he hurt her, too. 

"How long are you gonna keep punishing yourself for your past, dude?" Sam asked, and he put a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder. "If anyone deserves happiness, it's you. Don't let it pass you by just because you believe that's what you deserve." 

He gave Bucky's shoulder a squeeze before getting up and rejoining the others.  

Bucky sat in quiet contemplation, thinking carefully about what Sam had said. He was loath to admit it, but the guy had a point, and in the end it helped Bucky make his decision. Downing the last of his beer for courage, he got to his feet and marched towards you before he had the chance to chicken out. 

°°°

You'd been talking to Wanda when her attention shifted onto something, or rather someone, behind you, and she smiled knowingly before walking away. You hadn't expected to see Bucky when you turned around. 

"I know I've been an idiot," he blurted, before you could even speak. "And I'm sorry for ignoring you all this time - it's no excuse, but I got in my own head and assumed it was better for you if I stayed away." 

"Isn't it my choice to determine what's best for me?" You quipped as you folded your arms across your chest. 

"Of course it is, and I'm sorry I made that decision for you…it's just…I like you, a lot, but it's been so long since I've felt this way and I got scared that I'd mess everything up."

Of all the outcomes you'd conjured up as to why he'd stayed away, you'd never once considered that it might have been because he was scared. Your heart broke for Bucky as you realised just how difficult opening up to someone must be after everything he'd been through - there was no way you could stay mad at him after that confession. Besides, even if you'd wanted to, his puppy dog eyes made it impossible. 

"You went about this the completely wrong way," you reprimanded, raising a disapproving eyebrow. You'd already forgiven him, but you were going to make him sweat a little before you told him that. 

"I know, doll, and I can't apologise enough."

"But I hope you've learned from this," you continued, uncrossing your arms to close the space between you and hold his hands. Hope ignited in his eyes as your expression softened and you couldn't resist a coy smile. 

"Oh, I definitely have," he breathed, not daring to look away or let go of your hands in fear he'd lose you forever. 

"Because it just so happens that I like you a lot, too," you finished, biting your lip as your nerves got the better of you. 

At the sound of your confession, Bucky Barnes - former Winter Soldier and well-renowned hard ass - blushed. 

"You'll finish me off saying things like that, doll," he mused.

There was no longer any doubt that he could hear your heartbeat - it was pounding so fast at this point that you were sure it was going to burst out of your chest.  

"Do you think maybe we could try this again?" He tentatively asked, removing his hands from yours so that he could cup your face.

"As long as you don't run away this time," you teased, grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket and pulling him ever closer. 

"I wouldn't dream of it, sugar," he murmured, closing the remaining distance between you and pressing his lips to yours. 

It was a month late, but it was well worth the wait.

[gaysindistress]

I love u like I’ll get on my knees 😍😍😍😍 CAN U PLEASEEEE PLEASEEEE do TFAWS!Bucky x Latina reader?? maybe more specifically Brazilian?? we need some rep 🥺🥺 HAHA actually though like reader is good friends with Sam and Sam introduces them? Please, and thank u the dead love of my life

AHAHHAAHWH MY FIRST REQUEST!!!! thank you so much love!!

Okay okay so here’s a little Drabble for ya! I feel like this could be a full one shot?? Maybe after my follower celebration that starts on Friday! Also I wrote this on my phone so I apologize if there are any spelling/grammar errors.

Anjo -Portuguese for “angel”

mãe - Portuguese for “mom”

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 1.2k (this was only meant to be 500ish words…)

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

“Please tell me that you didn’t text him,” My coworker asks with an edge of dread and disgust in her voice. For the last two hours of our shift, Lilly has been on me about the guy who left me his number yesterday.

It had been a slow day with only regulars really coming in so a decent looking young guy walking in felt like Christmas. Lils was on it and immediately put on her best flirt, fluttering her big eyes and matching lashes at him when he ordered. I wanted to laugh at the scene but that died when he flashed a smile my way and handed me his number. It was quickly followed by some passing comment about how he hates it when girls throw themselves at him. I had half a mind to throw his coffee on him but I knew my boss would have my head. I settled for plastering a fake smile on my face and saying “Vai pro caralho.” Of course the ignorant asshole thought I was being nice and winked at me. It took all of my strength to not shutter in disgust.

“You should know me better than that,” I throw back at her, “from that 2 minute interaction alone, I can already tell that he would talk about himself the entire date before saying something borderline foul like how Latinas girls are his favorite and he can’t stand white girls .”

Lils snorts as she takes a sip of her coffee, nearly choking and sending the hot liquid flying over the freshly cleaned counter. I arch a dark brow at her which makes her laugh even harder.

“What? Am I wrong? You can’t tell me that he wouldn’t have pulled out that high school Spanish to impress me.”

“No, no,” she stutters, wiping the coffee up, “it just caught me off guard is all. Wait, didn’t you say something to him in Spanish before he left? What did you say?”

I narrow my eyes at her, “Vai pro caralho? Babes you should know better.”

She looks at me in horror, “oh my god it was Portuguese, wasn’t it?”

I nod as she profusely apologizes, “I am so sorry, Y/N. Oh my god I’m not better than that asshat. Ugh, what does that mean though?”

The front door opens before I have the chance to speak and the little bells above alerts us to the one regular that never fails to put a smile on my face. Sam had been coming in since before I started working at Brewed Awakenings but after that first interaction, he came pretty much daily. He even got Sarah his sister to start coming in and within a matter of a few weeks, I was invited over for Sunday dinner.

“It means Go fuck yourself,” I tell Lils as I round the counter with a bright smile and wide arms. Sam matches me and wraps me into a tight hug.

“Good morn, Anjo. How are you?” He asks as he squeezes me into this chest.

I pull back and give him my best angry mãe look we I demand to know where he’s been for the last few weeks.

He holds his hands up in defense as he says, “put those eyes away, Anjo. Im sorry okay? I was on official business and I didn’t have time to swing by to let you know but I’m back.”

I don’t let up my expression at first and lecture him some more, “You better be. You were gone for like…”

I pause for dramatic effect to pretend to count the time while walking back around the counter, “6 weeks. I was about to send out a search and rescue team to find you. Ridiculous.”

Sam chuckles while shaking his head at me. He steps to the side to reveal a man that’s been standing behind him and one that I hadn’t noticed before.

A damn attractive man.

Albeit a bit judgmental given the looks he’s throwing at the both of us.

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Sam tries but stops when I shot him another mãe look. He quickly changes the subject, clapping his hand on his companion’s shoulder and introducing him, “well this is Bucky. He’s the reason I was gone so if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at him.”

Bucky.

He looks familiar but I can’t quite figure out why. The massive resting bitch face forced me I stop the search before offering him a bright smile as I repeat his name.

This seems to…irritate him? I honestly can’t tell with the stone wall of moodiness and brooding that lives on his drop dead gorgeous face.

“Well welcome in Bucky, I’m Lilly but everyone calls me Lils and this is y/n,” Lils jumps in with an equally wide smile. His dark eyes flicker between us but hover half a second longer on me. He utters a low “thank you” and looks up to the menu.

Sam rolls his eyes at his short answer but his ever present smile never fades as he orders his usual, a large hot mocha with soy milk. I’ve tried to get him to switch to coconut or even hemp milk but he refuses. He always gives me the whole speech about how “soy is the closest to real milk and if I’m going to drink alternative milk, it has to be close to the real thing.”

“And for you?” I turn my attention to Bucky while Lils starts on Sam’s order. He looks me with slightly wide eyes, a little startled it seems that I’m still talking to and looking at him.

He freezes for a moment, “uh…um a large house coffee.”

“Of course,” Lils jumps in once again and slides a cup across the counter to him. The loud volume of her voice causes him to flinch and Sam instinctively steps in front of him. He takes the cup without another word and fills it while Sam pays and throws a shamelessly flirty smile to Lils. She mocks faintly in a fit of giggles and winks at him.

Sam turns his attention to him and subtlety jerks his chin towards the door, wordlessly asking me if I’ll walk them out. Lils caught it too and rolls her eyes before shooing us out the door.

“She means no harm. She’s just…cheery,” I tell Bucky when the door closes behind us and we step onto the side walk, “I can tell her to tone it back for when you come in next.”

Sam chuckles under his breath and tries to hide a smile behind his cup but fails miserably. Bucky shots him another one of those bored looks and rolls his beautiful eyes at him.

“You don’t have to do that,” he finally says to me and actually makes eye contact with me, “Y/N.”

I offer him another wide smile and stick my hand for him to shake. He glances down at my watch and rings before taking my hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. Don’t let Sam fill your head with too many tales and I hope to see you soon.”

The man in question basically squawks in protests as I hug him goodbye and disappear back into the coffee shop.

About an hour after I get home, I get a text from Sam saying something along the lines of “Robo cop liked you and asked for your number.”

Moments later a D.C. number sends me a text and I quickly save it under “Bucky (aka Robo Cop according to Sam)”

That’s when it clicks who he is; Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Solider and the most attractive man I’ve ever met.

[rqgnarok]

catalogue - sam wilson

fandom: marvel, the falcon & the winter soldier

wc: 4,368

warnings: implied smut, mentions of injuries and scars, blood and bruises. neutral pronouns, no use of (y/n).

summary: you and sam don’t get to see each other often, but when you do, there’s a ritual you insist on going through to deal with your time apart. 

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

You’re a sight for Sam’s sore eyes. 

He hasn’t seen you in over six months. It’s an occupational hazard, he knows, but it’s the worst. Being the Falcon made his personal life take a step back in his list of priorities, and becoming Captain America meant setting the list on fire and declaring Sam Wilson’s downtime practically nonexistent. As far as he’s aware, Sarah and the boys are the only exceptions to the rule.

It’s not all on him. You’re an Avenger, too, even if you’re semi-retired. Semi, because the new kids still look for guidance as much as they can and you still keep a room at the Avengers compound because of it, even if scarcely decorated. 

You make your entrance by scaring the shit out of him because of course, you have to. 

“Is this what you call watching your six?”

Sam puffs out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. It’s always an interesting mix of emotions with you, Sam has never felt so safe and yet unbalanced than when he’s in your presence. It creates a sort of vacuum in his belly that has him feeling like a kid with a crush, but he’ll die before he ever admits that to anyone. Especially you.

“You know you don’t have to sneak up on me every time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you quip, raising your brows and extending a hand that Sam takes to haul himself back on his feet. You click your tongue. “Gotta say, though, it’s a little less charming now that you’re Captain America. Where does that leave national security?”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he’s about to give himself a headache, dusting off his ass and giving you a quick once-over, taking advantage of your sudden closeness to do so freely. “Thank Jesus the world still has you, then.”

“Only half time,” you shrug, unaware that Sam knows you’ve spent more time at the Avengers compound than your own apartment lately. If he has a few eyes that check up on you when you’re there, well. It’s only cause he worries. “You and Barnes playing in the Big Leagues leaves a lot of unfinished business for little guys like us.”

“Says the little guy who’s been to space,” Sam uses the same argument he always does when you try to downplay your importance in the job you do. It’s like a script, these meetings of yours, always under the excuse of responsibility until it’s not– until the conversation flows into what Sam has been aching for since the last time he saw you. 

You roll your eyes like he knew you would. You’ve been an Avenger since before they had the name for it, so if anyone deserves the semi-retirement, Sam concedes, it’s gotta be you. He won’t pretend it won’t be a big hit when you choose to walk away completely, though. Whether that’s to the business or Sam’s life, well. That’s another conversation.

He misses you. It’s hardly a crime. 

“And they’ve still got us doing intel like we’re rookies,” you shrug, lessening your significance anyway. As if you weren’t up there in the cosmos chasing after freaking Thanos, but Sam won’t argue with you about this. You already spend so little time together to waste it building conflicts between you.

“Please,” Sam’s a professional, so he doesn’t make a bitchface and say girl with disbelief coating his tone, but judging from the amusement that glints in your eyes, you read through the lines with ease. “Like we’d let the children anywhere near this.”

“Okay, Dad,” you snort. “How are Torres and Barnes anyway?”

“The kid and his grandpa are fine,” he goes for annoyed but his grin is boyish and unrestrained. “Jealous they weren’t authorized to drop by. This is practically a vacation, you know.”

You shake your head, but all in good fun. “If your bosses have you thinking that then you desperately need some real downtime.”

“This is as close as it gets, these days.” 

Torres had flown him all the way to Switzerland just so Sam could go and spend a few weeks in a rustic, semi-abandoned town on the outskirts of the city where an old SHIELD safehouse still stood against all odds. 

Why he had to go to the other side of the world for some intel, he asked and got no answer. Now it comes to mind how he has no idea where you– his contact– have been stationed lately nor what kind of work you’ve been pulling for whoever it is you answer to these days.

You don’t tell him about it, and he’s quit on trying to ask. Whether it’s because you don’t think he’ll approve of what you’re doing or because it’s strictly classified, Sam doesn’t know. 

“Blink twice if they’re holding you hostage,” you say in all seriousness, and he peels his eyes at you without blinking, getting close to your face. You laugh, pushing him away. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re one with the nation. Let me show you these files and see what Mr. America makes of ‘em.”

The physical files you actually bring with you are minimal, and most of the data you’ve been ordered to skim through is kept in a USB you hand to Sam as soon as the coffee has kicked in. Neither of you are exactly sure what it is you’re looking for so you’re stuck in the studio of the tiny, look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-crumble safe house for over three whole days before you finally start gathering some worthy intel.

“I was told we’d known when we found it,” you shrug, not visibly bothered by the fact that you’ve most likely been sent on a wild goose chase. “Or if we didn’t. We might go back empty-handed after all.”

It’s not encouraging but it’s what you’ve got, even if Sam isn’t sure he’s able to be out of commission for that long. He’s realized people get antsy when Captain America isn’t seen somewhere in the world after a few days, but despite how hard he tries he’s not able to be in two places at once.

“Yet,” he tells you when you take a food break and you allow him to rant about these troubles. “Haven’t figured it out yet, but Steve kind of managed it after a few years, right?”

“Steve was superhuman,” you remind him helpfully behind your coffee cup. You’d found some old whiskey at the back of a cabinet and doused your drink with it, so you make a face when it goes down. 

“You don’t think I’m super?”

“I think you’re something, alright.”

“Aw. That was almost a compliment.”

“Can’t let it get to your head, hotshot. Ego’s already too big for your body.”

It’s so fucking domestic Sam feels the ache of it in his teeth. You, sitting at the table in your tiny kitchen while he sits on the counter, each drinking your coffee how you like it as the sun sets through the window above the sink. Talking for hours until you realize you’re practically sitting in the dark as the afternoon flew by while you were taken with each other’s company. 

But then you go back to looking at intel until your eyes are burning and you excuse yourself to pass out on the couch. You do it almost half an hour to the dot before Sam gives up himself, and he’s pretty sure you know enough of his tells to know when he’s getting tired and make an early escape so he doesn’t take the couch himself. 

“You take the bed,” he’d offered the first night, having a little trouble not making it sound like an order. By how you’d raised your eyebrow, he’d failed by a mile. “God knows where you’re sleeping these days. It’s the least I can do after dragging you all the way out here.”

“You’re the one who keeps saying he’s on vacation,” you take your bags from his hands and drop them unceremoniously on the coffee table, marking the living room territory as yours. “And I’m sure the US government will kill me if I bring you back with a fucked up back.”

He almost suggested you could share. You have before, both out of necessity and leisure, but Sam’s sure that topic’s on the list of Things Not To Talk To You About. It might be the first one up there, in all caps and underlined with bright red. 

Sam has both held you down to fuck your brains out and held your bleeding body in his hands, pressing against a gunshot wound to keep blood flow to a minimum. It’s a fucked up type of intimacy he doesn’t share with anyone else, but he’s still hesitant to bring it up. Somehow both events keep happening whether he intends for them or not. 

It’s like he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, and it finally does on the fifth day of your assignment. 

You ultimately get a lead from the USB. It guides you to search for a random code you insist it’s on a file you’d read through already. You make a noise of victory under your breath when you spot it across the table and when you shift to reach for it, your breath hitches.

It’s a quiet thing Sam wouldn’t be able to acknowledge if he weren’t good at his job, but he is. 

“What is it?” he asks, suddenly alert, fingers twitching with the urge to hover over you worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. Whatever shadow of hesitance had fallen over you is pulled back into place, tucked away for Sam to blissfully ignore. 

You both know that shit won’t fly, but Sam thinks it’s cute you try anyway.

He stares at you and you avoid his eye long enough, face buried in the file, to know you know he’s noticed. It’s a silent request to let it pass. 

Tough fucking luck. Sam calls your name, admonishing.

“Sam,” you say right back at him in the same tone, still not looking at him. Sam grinds his teeth in annoyance, jaw tight. 

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. You know how it is.”

It’s not a no. 

“I do know,” Sam agrees, but his mood’s a short fuse. “Are you grounded? Is that why you’re here? Because you’re hurt?”

Fucking jackpot. You exhale through your nose and tighten your jaw at the question but refuse to answer. You’re a couple of feet apart, divided by the desk filled with files and information, but somehow this is the closest he’s felt to you since you got here. 

You’d been hiding something since the beginning; taking the couch when you could’ve been sharing the bed from the start, touching him less than usual so things wouldn’t go further, and moving around the house with rigid, calculated movements.

“Manning the desk,” he says with a little too much bite, and he can physically watch your hackles rise; the annoyance in your eyes when they finally meet his, the biting of your cheek to stop yourself from rising to his sudden passive-aggressive hostility. “Handing me files, giving me intel. You’re flying halfway across the world to keep yourself out of the field.”

“Sam,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“You’re hurt,” he replies, not a question, nodding at your torso. It’s all suddenly painstakingly clear, the past week flashing through his mind like a movie from a different point of view. “And you’re hiding it from me, for some reason.”

“Is that all, Captain?” you ask, creating distance with the use of his new title in a way he despises and you know he does. You’re good at that, finding where it hurts and pressing methodically until the skin gives. Sam’s just not used to the trick being used on him. “Or is there something else about my person that you’ve figured out and have yet to enlighten me about?”

“Let me see,” he ignores you. It's easier than trying to match your level of cruel cleverness.  He stands to cross over to your side of the desk, staring down at you expectantly with arms crossed. “Come on, show me.”

“No,” you deadpan, but the way you wrap your arms carefully around yourself shows the defensiveness underneath your nonchalance. “Sam, come on, what the hell are you doing?”

“If you’re not hurt, then show me,” he insists but doesn’t reach to touch you without your permission. It’s a line he won’t cross. 

“Is that an order, sir?” you snap.

“I’m not your superior,” he replies, even though he is, technically, but not when you’re alone. Not when you’re hurt. “I’m your friend. And right now my friend is in pain, I’d like to be able to do something about it.”

“Like what?” you ask, and it’s as exhausted as it is conflictive. Thunder rumbles outside the house and inside Sam’s chest, two storms coming in. “Huh, Sam? What are you gonna do? It’s part of the damned job. Don’t tell me you’re injury-free right now.”

Sam isn’t. Both old and newer scars put a heaviness on his body he’s not supposed to carry, but he’s not the one hiding right now. 

“I can hold you,” he offers and watches the way you look away, imagining the sting in your eyes as they glisten with sudden tears. You very visibly refuse to shed them, tightening your jaw and passing saliva like it’s gravel. “If you’d let me. Let’s not pretend we haven’t done it before.”

“It’s different now.”

“Why?” he wonders, brow furrowing. He does his best to relax his stance and reaches to touch your tight fists where they lay on your lap. With his fingertips barely there on your skin, the tension bleeds out of them like magic almost against your will. “Because I’m Captain America? Because you won’t tell me where you’re stationed half the time?”

“It’s–”

“Classified,” he finishes for you, unmoved. “But you’re still you, and I’m still me. As far as I’m aware, that doesn’t change a damned thing.”

You close your eyes like the words pain you, resolve crumbling right before Sam’s eyes. “I don’t wanna fight with you.”

“Then don’t,” from Sam’s perspective, it’s as simple as that. “Let me see. Let me be with you, please. The last week has been torture.”

You let out a breath of a laugh that’s a little too miserable. “You’re telling me,” you say, and the slope of your shoulders falls from its tense, defensive curve. Sam takes it as the green light it is.   

You stand straighter as he kneels in front of you, his hands hovering over the hem of your shirt. He looks to you for permission and you give him a tight nod, staring at the wall instead of him, gulping down your anxieties.

Sam’s breath catches when he lifts your shirt and sees your torso, skin showered in black, blue, purple, and green bruises. “Jesus.”

“It’s worse than it looks,” you say automatically. Sam can’t see how that’s true. It looks like it hurts to even breathe, it’s unbelievable how you were able to hide it from him for so long. “Nothing’s broken, I swear.”

“What the hell happened?” he asks even if he knows you can’t– or won’t– answer. You sigh, and he watches blemished skin shake with the effort it takes. 

“I’m alright,” you say instead of the answer he wants, but your voice has softened and lost all fight response. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve been with him since you arrived and it has nothing to do with showing your skin. “Hey, I’m okay. That assignment’s over for good. I’m not going back there, I promise.”

The sigh of relief Sam lets out is shaky and doesn’t relinquish all the tension he’s been carrying. The possibilities of what must’ve happened are gonna haunt him long after this mission’s over. 

“I hate it,” he says, and he knows you know what he means. Not knowing where you are, spending more than half the year apart with zero contact, this unease between you that doesn’t let you be honest. 

You say, tired. “I know. Sam–”

Sam isn’t touching you– not yet. He’s careful so there’s no skin-to-skin contact, and you look at him with guarded eyes when he lowers your shirt back into place, standing up and towering over you. 

“What?”

You breathe air out of your nose, frustrated. “You know.”

A beat. “You sure?” he says, as plainly as he can with the tension that’s grown between you pulling him forward.

“Yes.”

He hums.

“Oh. You gonna let me touch you now, then?” he asks, still under the excuse of medical purposes only. But Sam can’t help the way his voice deepens, molten like honey. His eyes trail over skin that isn’t blemished: the curve of your neck, the lines of your arms, the slope of your fingers. 

You shiver under the attention, helpless to hide such a reaction to his voice. “Mmm? Honey?”

“Fuck you,” you say automatically, already opening your legs slightly for Sam to slip in between them, reaching for your jaw. You close your eyes at the touch, sighing away whatever tension remained in you. 

You’re too fucking easy, despite the fight you insisted on going through before letting yourself be touched, and something in Sam’s belly tightens at the idea of it being just for him.

Sam’s hands remain on your jaw and throat as he tilts your head up for a kiss, slow and deep, lingering. It’s not long before you open up for him, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it was always meant to be there, coaxing a whine from you while you search for steadiness and settle your hands on his belt. Not pulling, not searching for more– not yet– but keeping him close. 

The storm comes and goes and the files in the studio remain forgotten. Sam finally gets you on the bed and, better yet, with him in it. 

He’s a little too careful, hands cupping your ribs with extreme caution after finally getting rid of your shirt for good and laying you down against the sheets. You roll your eyes fondly and grab onto his wrists to direct him where you want him. 

He doesn’t complain as he takes your directions. The man will greedily take anything you give him in calloused, expert hands as he does his best to pull sounds out of you that are music to his ears. 

After it’s over, you both lay in bed, naked and breathless. You find a new scar on him and trace the ragged line of skin gently with your fingertip, touch featherlight, almost nonexistent. It’s been over half a year since you last did this, but only a couple of months since he got himself injured and stitched up by Bucky in the Brazilian jungle. “This one’s new.”

It had been a quick job, good enough considering the circumstances, which is to say Sam now has an ugly, uneven scar a couple of inches above his hipbone that saved him from bleeding out on his partner.

The memory holds no gentleness, but your fingers do. The haze of his previous orgasm leaves Sam pliant under your touch, melted against the sheets and uncaring of your scrutiny. “Barnes?”

Sam makes an affirmative noise, a valid enough question since sometimes he’s admitted to doing patchwork on himself for the sake of the mission, uncaring of how bad it hurts as long as it’s quick and efficient.

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell,” he admits, feeling safe enough to do so in the cocoon you’ve built for yourselves. Sam runs a hand up and down your naked back as if trying to soothe the brunt of the memory. “Did the job, though. Got us out alive.”

At that, you lean to kiss the skin, only slipping a bit of tongue into it. Sam sighs, ignoring the prick of discomfort that’s trying to crawl up his spine and leaning towards the softer, more tender sentiment that takes over him whenever you get like this. It’s not easy for him to accept such gentleness, to let himself be cared for and lay there, unable to give something back.

He will, in a minute. But he knows you like him like this, and that alone pins him down in his place to let you work. It’d be hypocritical of him, he thinks as his hips twitch with renowned interest, to not let you fret after him when his own worry is what got you here in the first place.

After you’re satisfied, you trail the path Sam’s grown accustomed to, the very same you follow every time you sleep together after a terribly long amount of time: 

The knife scar under his pec from when they were chasing after Bucky, still the Winter Solider, superficial enough not to have caused concern at the time. The mark from when he got his appendix out, thinking nothing of the stabbing aches to his belly until he was doubling over in his bed and waking up half his platoon as he retched in the bathroom.

The dot on his finger where Riley accidentally stabbed him with a pencil once, sleep deprived and with two shots of whiskey on him. The wound had healed with ease but the mark made a permanent home on his skin, barely visible unless you leaned in close enough to look for it.

The scab on his knee from falling off his bike when he was six. Sarah had screeched bloody murder until their parents came out of the house to see what all the fuss was about. The scar left behind by a bullet on his right shoulder during his second tour in Afghanistan. 

The cut on his lip he got shaving for the first time is always last on your list. Sam has long stopped calling you out on it, how convenient it was that the cataloging of his scars always ended with a thorough, slow kiss to his mouth that usually bloomed into a second round. 

He found that you got skittish when he did so, pulling back into yourself and laying tensely in bed for a couple more minutes before you started looking around for your clothes, called out.

Now Sam only cups your jaw, tugs a little so it opens your mouth and he can slip in his tongue and steal a taste of your sigh. He wants you like this for as long as possible; vulnerable, unguarded, desperate to touch him and be touched back. Safe enough to know that you never have to ask for something he wants to give you so willingly. 

You always forget. The second you meet again, you have to start the whole dance over. Fish for excuses to meet each other in the middle, hoping for new scars to lengthen your time together. 

Sam isn’t a masochist by any means, and he’s not an adrenaline junkie asshat who chases the danger just to have proof on his skin that he can take all the grievances life throws at him.

But. But–

“We’re alright,” you say against his mouth, body warm and seeking on top of his. He’s mindful of your injuries but can’t help himself, the urge to touch you overrules any other instinct he owns. It makes him weak, on the field, but happy off of it. “Aren’t we? We’re gonna be alright.”

“‘Course we are, honey,” his southern charm pops out and you’re both parts equally pleased and unamused, a funny expression on your face that has him laughing as he cups the back of your neck to bring you in for another kiss. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Nothin’, pumpkin,” you imitate his accent and Sam focuses his ministrations on your jaw and neck, trying to get you to break character. “We’re gonna be just fine, sugar plum. You’re sure lookin’ very pretty tonight, peach fuzz.”

Sam splutters out a laugh. “Peach fuzz?”

“That’s what you sound like!”

“See if I ever call you something nice ever again.”

“You can’t resist me,” you say seriously, though a smile keeps trying to break your facade. “You literally lasted five days before taking me to bed. That’s on being weak, Wilson.”

“Some might say it’s a world record for me, baby,” he says, poking at your face until you show teeth, happy and at ease in his arms. “The six months before that were a little bit of a stretch, too.”

Your mood dampens a little but Sam won’t let it, nudging his nose against yours to catch your attention again. “Hey. What did I just say? We’re gonna be alright. Five days, six months, five years, it’s nothing. They mean shit when I get to see you again.”

The mention of the Snap unguards you further. He’d been gone while you tried to keep your life together, ignoring the Sam-shaped void in your surroundings. The first time you got together after he came back had been tainted by the grief of losing three of the best people you’d ever known, and he’d done his own reconnaissance of your skin as he took in new scars, new hurts that had happened and healed while he was gone.

You smile again, but it’s softer, fonder, a tender tilt of the lips for the man you managed to find in this chaotic line of work that became your whole life.

In another five days, you’ll once more be on opposite ends of the world without any idea of when you’ll see each other again or what new marks you’ll have on your skin that describe your time apart. You haven’t even put a name to this– this relationship that both of you are still too hesitant to define as such, but that’s okay. 

It’s okay. It’s more than enough. The path of scars will be there to take when you meet again, permanent proof that you’ve survived to find the way to each other over and over and over again. The map that leads to you, every goddamn time.

___

hi!!!

hope you like this one! i’ve been putting this fic on the back burner for almost a month now, but i’m so glad to finally have finished it! i hope to put out the tommy miller sequel for dial drunk next week before school starts :)

thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, etc.!

<3

[akire-echo]

The Lodger-Chapter 1

(My first Bucky fic! Un-beta’d, my mistakes are my own. It shall be a multi-chapter fic, warnings will appear before every chapter but it’s mostly just fluff. Please Enjoy!)

Fic Synopsis: After the events of TFATWS, Bucky is just looking for something normal, something familiar. Will he find that by renting a room in a Brooklyn townhouse?

Reader was just looking for someone reliable and trustworthy to rent out the room that’d been vacant for far too long. The last thing that she ever expected was an Avenger, especially one who was so good with her son.

Sunlight filtered in through the gap in the curtains cascading over the long unused furniture. Dust particles danced along the soft sunbeams, a reminder of just how long it had been. For six months the spare room in your house had gone vacant. It was closer to seven by the time you’d realized it. In your opinion, the room was a steal. The price point was fairly reasonable, given what you were offering versus other properties in the area. But for some reason you weren’t able to keep it rented for more than a few week or so, each lodger only using it for a transition space and some of them stiffed you on the rent. It wasn’t the price, it certainly wasn’t the look of the place.

For a moment you thought it was the other house occupant who was causing the problems but for the life of you, you couldn’t dare blame him. After all, he was your son. Max was a precocious and inquisitive 8 year old, with a love of space and all things cosmic. He might’ve been a little chatty with the lodgers but never annoyingly so. He knew when someone wasn’t interested in conversation and respected their boundaries. You’d taught him well and were proud of him. He definitely wasn’t the problem.

Yet, the room remained unoccupied.

You weren’t sure how long you could keep the house if the room wasn’t brining in revenue, eventually you’d have to sell and move somewhere else. You really didn’t want to do that. You didn’t want to leave the beautiful townhouse your late husband had chosen with you, it held too many wonderful memories that you couldn’t imagine parting with. You could only wait and pray for the right person to fill the vacancy in your home.

With a sigh you closed the door and prayed to the universe for someone good to see the sign in the window.

——————————————————————

He let out a sigh as he closed the door to his apartment. He’d chosen it for the location more than anything, somewhere near where he used to live. He could afford it but it just wasn’t the same as he remembered. The city itself wasn’t the same anymore, but he knew it wouldn’t be. Too much time had passed and he no longer recognized Brooklyn anymore. He thought the problem was the busier parts of the city, there were just too many people now and threats felt like they were everywhere. He couldn’t relax enough to not be on guard at all times.

Instead of staying close to the main hub he ventured further out to more suburban areas, hoping to find something different. A place to really call home in this century.

He walked for quite some time rather aimlessly, wondering if there would ever be a place that would feel like he wanted it to. It would be nearly impossibly in this day and age to find somewhere with actual postings. Most things like this happened on the internet, according to Sam. Finding one in real life was highly unlikely.

He considered turning back, heading to his empty apartment until he came upon a small townhouse. It was a beautiful building in a quieter part of Brooklyn. His Ma would’ve never been able to afford a place like that back in the day, that’s for sure. Especially not with the wonderful way the lush ivy draped over it. The brickwork was even in pristine condition, honestly it was a gorgeous house.

As he observed and appraised the building, the most amazing thing happened. In the bottom window was a neat sign in cursive writing.

“Room for Rent. Serious inquiries only.”

There was a number underneath and for some reason Bucky wanted nothing more than to call it immediately. He could envision himself in a quaint home like that, somewhere not too close to the city but close enough. What were the chances they would accept him as a tenant? Most people were scared of him, or rather the person they thought he was. Still, he wrote the number down. It wouldn’t hurt to try…right?

——————————————————————

Your phone rang as you stirred dinner.

“Max, can you keep an eye on the soup while I get this?” You asked your son, who was sitting at the table finishing his homework. He nodded and got up, taking the spoon from you. He smiled at the contents of the pot, his favourite soup that he’d been smelling since he got home.

The number on your phone was local but unknown, most likely an inquiry for the room. You sent a silent prayer to whatever deity could help you with this before picking up the call.

“Hello?” You asked, hopeful.

“H-hi hello,” A distinct and deep male voice said back. “I am calling about the room for rent? Is-is it still available?”

“It is.” You said calmly, even though you were too excited that you had an actual inquiry. “Are you interested in seeing the place before you commit?”

“I-yes.” He said back, sounding nervous. “Is that okay?”

“Of course! I work from home so whenever works for you. Any day between 9-2 would work for me, except weekends.”

“Oh I uh…yeah, does tomorrow work?”

So soon? He must really need a place. Hopefully he wasn’t a bad person, you couldn’t have that around Max.

“Yeah, you know the address so just give me a time.”

“Noon?”

“Sounds good. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You said.

“I’m Bu-James, I’m James.”

You nodded at the name. “Well, I will see you tomorrow, James.

“See you then.”

He hung up and you looked to your son, who was now nearly drooling over the soup.

You shook your head and chuckled.

“Give me that, weirdo.”

He laughed. “Can’t help it Ma, your French onion is the best!”

The comment warmed your heart as you wrapped your arms around him. It was his Dad’s favourite too.

“Well then, we should finish it and get it in your belly. Whatcha think?”

“Yes please!”

You kissed the top of his head before checking the thickness of the soup.

“You’re in luck! It’s done.”

Max clapped happily and got out the bowls, waiting to be served. He took his hot bowl to the table carefully, eager to eat. You watched him fondly as he tasted that first spoonful. Letting out a noise of happiness, he began eating with gusto.

You couldn’t help think about the lodger, would he fit in with what you had here or would he just be another person who kept to themselves? Would he even want to be in the place?

You’d just have to wait and see.

——————————————————————

Bucky was nervous. He hadn’t been nervous just to look at a place since the first time out of cryo. He really needed this place, he just hoped he would be accepted, he didn’t even care what the interior looked like. As long as it had a locking door and they didn’t mind his nightmares, it would be ideal. Maybe even perfect. He adjusted his stupid tie, the one that Sam insisted he wear. But he felt so stupid, his hair was even slicked down a bit, like the old days. It made him look professional but again, didn’t help him feel less like a fool. He rung the doorbell, hearing it not fully ring the whole way.

“Coming!” A voice said from behind the wood.

He tried not to let his heart beat too fast, but the female voice from over the phone sounded so warm that previous day. He was wondering what kind of person she would be.The door opened and he was floored, the most beautiful dame he’d seen in a long time was standing in front of him. He’d seen many beautiful women before but the one now standing on the other side of the door put them all to shame, effortlessly so.

“James?” She asked after a moment, breaking him from his thoughts. He was there to see a room, not ogle a stranger.

He coughed. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Come on in.” She stepped aside, making enough room for him.

He gulped and made himself as small as possible, entering her home.

——————————————————————

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when you thought of the potential lodger, but it was certainly not him. James was an extremely handsome man with the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. His chocolate brown hair looked to have been styled haphazardly but it suited him quite well. He seemed to be made of solid muscle but was purposefully hunched over to seem small. He was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you appreciated it.As he walked past you into the hallway, you could smell the scent of him and damn if it wasn’t completely intoxicating. It’d been a while since you’d interacted with any man, let alone one as attractive as James.

You cleared your throat to stop thinking about it, to maintain some sort of professionalism. “So, uh, the room is this way. It does have a separate entrance which is very secure.” You explained.

He nodded and followed you to the extra room.You opened the door with a key and showed him.

The room itself was already furnished, as you’d hoped it would attract renters. It used to be your husband’s home office, but you’d converted it after he had died. You needed the extra income. It had its own ensuite bathroom for convenience and had good access to the kitchen without traipsing through the entire house.

“You can go in if you’d like.” You prompted.

He nodded and walked in, eyes searching around the space.

“How…how soundproof is the room?”

You were a little nervous at the question, unsure of what to answer. Was he a big partier?

“It’s just that I uh-” he looked uncomfortable. “I have nightmares sometimes.”

“Oh.” You replied, that wasn’t so bad. Better than you were expecting really. Many people had nightmares and by the looks of him, James probably had some nasty ones. “Well, it’s decently quiet down here. I’m sure we could look into a long-term solution if it becomes a problem. That is if you’re a good fit.”

He nodded again, understanding what you meant. It would suit him well if it worked.

“There is…a small matter before you make any decision, and me too I suppose.” You told him, hoping it wasn’t a deterrent and praying he was a trustworthy person.

He looked at you questioningly.

“Any one who lives here needs to be safe around kids.” You stated.

He thought for a moment. “Y-you uh-”

“I have a son. He’s 8.” You said. “If you can’t legally be around kids or they make you uncomfortable, you can tell me now and this tour can be done. I won’t put my son in danger just for the extra cash.”

“I-I understand.” He said. He had noticed some small items in the hallway that looked to belong to a child and his mind went back to the photos on the wall. Could he really do it? Stay in a home with a mother and child? He wouldn’t be a danger to them, he would never hurt a civilian. Plus, with the locking door and extra entrance he could avoid them as much as possible if need be.He would be an idiot to turn the place down. With all utilities included in the rental price, it was a steal in Brooklyn even with his residual army payments he’d been getting since the pardon. But before he agreed, you’d have to know who he was. Maybe you’d say no to him. It was a possibility and he didn’t want to be out of the running just for who he was.

“I’m not dangerous.” He said to you. “But you should…you should know who I am.”

You raided a brow, a little apprehensive.

“Do you know who Steve Rogers is?” He gulped, nervously.

You just nodded a little.

“Well I’m…My full name is James Buchanen Barnes…”

“Oh.” You replied simply. You knew that he meant, you knew who he was. The former Winter Soldier used to be all over the news before the Blip.

“I understand if that takes me out of the-”

“I have no problem with it.” You cut him off. “As long as you don’t bring any aliens around and put my son in danger, I’d really like having an avenger around.”

“Oh-I’m not…not really.” He blushed, hun hunching over more.

You held out your hand to him. “All of this is dependant upon Max’s opinion and a checking of your references but I’d like to offer you the room.”

He looked at your hand and then back up to your eyes. He took your hand softly and shook it.

“I’d like that.”

“Great, I will call you later with the final opinions and we can go from there.”

[urdepressedslut]

The Collection

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky arrives home and panics when he notices you calling for him from your room, but upon entering— he realizes what you have been getting yourself into.

♡ Warnings: superrrrr fluffyyyy 🥹, slight panic, hints to paranoia, hints to PTSD, hints to bucky’s trauma, overall a comfort drabble

main masterlist

A/N: i have been adding to my own squish mallow collection and thought of this 🥰 i’m unhealthily obsessed with squish mallows

Arriving back at your shared apartment, Bucky couldn’t help but notice the amount of time xtra large bags on the kitchen counter. He furrowed his brows in confusion and wandered to the fridge. Opening it in inspection, he didn’t see anything new or added.

You hadn’t gone grocery shopping…

He could hear faint shuffling from your shared room, and he couldn’t help but panic. His mind was brilliant at creating a problem from nothing. He was a professional over thinker— and sometimes it threatened to make his heart give out.

“Baby? I’m home!” He announced, shimmying off his jacket and making his way to the bedroom.

“James! Come quick— you gotta see something!” You said urgently.

He automatically thought the worst and all his suspicions were suddenly coming through. Visions of you hurt came to mind and he practically sprinted and busted through the door. The knob slamming into the wall with a loud thud.

“(Y/n)? You okay?!” He asked panicked.

His body relaxed at your calm state, only the look of confusion on your face. With a quick scan— he noticed there was nothing wrong with the room or you. In fact, if anything was different— it were the many new plushies on the bed.

Releasing a breath that he didn’t know he was holding in, and ran a hand through his hair.

“James honey— you alright? Just wanted to show you my new squishmallows.” You asked him worried, walking over to stand next to him.

Truthfully, if anything he was embarrassed that he’d let himself get in his head again. But after finding you perfectly fine, and organizing your plushies— which he found adorable— he felt fine. He was only happy that you were okay.

“M’fine baby, just thought you were in trouble is all.” He told you honestly.

You softened your gaze to him, grabbing his hand and hiding him to the bed. You gently pushed him down to sit, and he did so willingly.

“I didn’t mean to sound all panicky— was just excited to show you the new ones I got today!” You told him, smiling like the cheshire cat.

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands as he looked down at the medium sized squishmallows.

“You know— this is considered an addiction.” He pointed out.

You scoffed, waving him off like it was no big deal.

“Some consider it a hobby actually.” You defended.

He raised his brows in amusement, chuckling again when he saw you being so defensive. He thought you were adorable.

“You’re so cute.” He said out loud, causing your face to grow hot.

After all this time— he was still easily able to make you blush, flustered from his compliments.

You shook off the flush in your face, choosing to pick up a new squishmallow to show him. You held up a medium sized seal squishmallow, to which Bucky smiled at.

“This is a seal one, his name is Remmy.” You told him.

Bucky grabbed it from your hands, giving it a test hug and holding it while you grabbed another one. Next was a longhorn squishmallow, with a ring dangling from its nose.

“This is a bull one, his name is Shep.” You told him, giving it a hug and then passing it to Bucky.

You held back a giggle, Bucky holding the plushies to his chest an adorable sight. Such a tough man with these cute stuffed animals.

“I like his horns.” He noted, fiddling with the plushie.

You picked up the last one, being a bird squishmallow. You smiled wide as you looked at it, this one being your favorite.

“This is my favorite of the three. I think he’s a hawk or something, and his name is Sam.” You explained.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and he started laughing, dropping the other plushies on the bed, he reached out and grabbed the hawk and inspected it.

“Sam, really?” He asked chuckling.

You nodded your head with a sly smile.

“Does our Sam know about this?” He asked again.

“Definitely not— but I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” You told him.

You two laughed at the goofiness and you ended up being pulled by Bucky into the bed. He wrapped you up in his arms and the two of you started cuddling— just melting into each others embrace. The squishmallows surrounded you two while you both drifted off to sleep.

Nothing felt more perfect, nothing felt more right than being in his arms.

“Love you baby.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Love you more James.” You mumbled into his chest.

TAGLIST: @billy-reads @potatothots @buckyb-stan @kmc1989 @silverfire13 @ghostofwinter @hanihoney88 @stilesofhannah @skittle479 @marvelogic @meetmeatyourworst @engie115 @wilsons-striped-ties @x209x @kandis-mom @l0kilaufeys0n7

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Twin Flame - Epilogue: "The Great War"

"My hand was the one you reached for all throughout the Great War. Always remember, we're burned for better. I vowed I would always be yours, because we survived the Great War..."

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes The Twin Flame Chapter List | The Grumpy x Sunshine Universe

"You can do this. It's fine. You're being silly."

He forces himself to take another deep breath. Anticipation thrums in his veins. It rolls off of him, he almost feels sorry for the poor person he sat next to on the plane.

He's practically shaking with excitement - and has been since he left his apartment back in New York. He can't really remember the last time he felt this excited. 

The freshness of the Louisiana air fills his lungs as he drives with the windows down. Back to you. Back to you for the first time in months.

That's what the feeling is, he realizes.

It's the feeling of coming home. 

You're right about the sky. It is really blue. 

By the time he pulls up to Sarah's home, Bucky can hardly sit still. He hardly has the state of mind to remember to grab his store bought cake from the passenger seat of his rental car. 

"Hey!" A familiar voice greets him. Bucky turns away from the car to see Sam's familiar grin beckoning over to him. "You made it!"

"Of course," Bucky breezily replies, the grocery store cake in his hand making it slightly easier to hide his fidgety hands. He tries not to crane his neck around Sam. He tries not to be rude and focus on what Sam's telling him.

In this moment, it's impossible for him. He can feel that inexplicable pull all over again. The ache in his chest slowly subsiding with every step closer to you. 

It's almost funny to him. The disciplined solider, the highly trained assassin, the notoriously stoic Bucky Barnes, can hardly keep the giddiness of his face. He can hardly pay attention to his friend.

As Sam talks with his beaming grin and animated gestures, Bucky is sure he's at least faking it well, that Sam has no idea there's only one person Bucky is looking for at this moment. 

It's clear that Bucky failed when Sam starts waving his hand in his face. "Um, Bucky?"

Bucky's head snaps back toward Sam. "Huh?"

Sam quirks a brow at Bucky, an unimpressed purse tugging at his lips, "I asked how's it going in New York."

"Oh," Bucky sheepishly exhales with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It's fine. Same old, same old."

"You are literally not paying attention to a word I'm saying."

"Of course, I am," Bucky promises, once again, craning his neck to look around Sam. "I always listen to what you're saying."

"I think you should shave your head."

Bucky nods, still looking around the party. Still no sign of you. "Good idea."

"And can I have your arm?"

"Mhm..." Bucky hums, his eyes flickering to the house to see if there's any sign of you. "Sure, no problem."

"Stop it," Sarah scoffs, swatting Sam's shoulder. 

Bucky takes a momentary break of searching for you, offering a gentle smile to Sarah. "Oh, hey, Sarah, how are you?"

"Good. Keeping busy."

"This is a great turnout. You should be proud of yourselves." He extends the store bought cake he brought to the party, "I almost forgot, I brought this for you guys."

Sam narrows his eyes, "Who are you and what have you done with Bucky?"

"Thanks, Bucky." Sarah nudges her head towards her house. "Hey, would you mind putting this in the kitchen? I wouldn't want it to melt."

"I got -" Sam begins to offer. 

"Bucky," Sarah pointedly repeats, nudging her head toward the house again. 

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Bucky blurts, still only half catching on to Sarah's innuendo. "I'll just - I'll be right back."

Sarah smiles widely. "Great. Thank you." 

He stumbles towards the house before Sam can object again.

And the moment he starts towards that house, he can feel it. He swears he can. He can feel himself being pulled towards the house. Each step makes the ache lessen and lessen. Each step feels like his rib cage is expanding and allowing him his first real breath in months. 

He looks at the roof, the night spent holding you in his arms. The flowers that create a gentle waft through the warm summer breeze. Everything feels brighter. Like for the first time, he sees all the hope the world has to offer.

There is no thought to it. His feet carry him up the steps, past the living room, past the dining room, straight to you.

You sigh as you hear the screen door slam shut and footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"Sam, for the last time, the cake will be ready when -" Your words stop dead in their tracks when you turn away from the counter to see who waits in the doorway. Those blue eyes that kept you staring at the sky day in and out. "James..."

A breath lodges in his throat as he takes in the sight of you for the first time in months. The cuts and scrapes, the knuckles bruised like violets, were all but gone. Still, he knew better than most that some scars would never heal.

And yet, you're here. Standing before him. Standing tall. With a smile that could light up this whole town. "Hi."

"Hi." 

"Hi."

You chuckle, "You said that already."

"Right," he giggles. He couldn't believe he'd just giggled. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed, let alone giggled like an unburdened spirit. His hand anxiously rubs the back of his neck, "Hi - I mean - it's good to see you. Sorry, I just - I thought about this moment so damn much and I thought I knew what I was gonna say but - It's just - God, I missed you."

Your grin grows even wider. "I missed you too, so, so much."

"How have you - "

You don't wait for him to finish his question. You rush forward, pulling him down towards you. Your lips meet his in pure desperation, you need this like you need to breathe. Your fingers twist around the hair at the nape of his neck as his find your waist. He pulls you flush against him, his fingertips digging into your hips.

Despite how desperate and frenzied the kiss is, there's a sense of relief, of calm, of peace that accompanies it. It feels like you can breathe, a full deep breath after months of treading water.

After months of rebuilding, you've finally found your way back home.

"What a great way of telling me to shut up," Bucky chuckles against your lips. "You should do it again."

"Hold that thought," you sigh against Bucky's mouth.

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at you. "What?"

"AJ, Cass, Get out here..." You look over Bucky's shoulder to just beyond the doorway. "What are you guys doing?"

Sure enough, the two boys appear, meekly shuffling into the kitchen. "Nothing..."

"You're doing nothing? Really?"

"Uh..." Cass stutters out. 

You lower yourself to each of the boys, your eyes playfully flickering between the two of them, "So who's gonna tell me what you two are up to?"

"Uncle Sam said he'd give us twenty bucks if we came to bother you," Cass blurts.

"He told us not to tell them!" AJ scolds his brother. 

"Oh," you smirk, crossing your arms over your chest. "Did he?"

The boys both look down at their shoes with an apologetic, pouting expression. "We're sorry."

"Oh no, don't be sorry," you assure them. "Did he give you guys 20 dollars each?"

The boys shake their heads. "No."

"How about this? I'll give you guys 20 dollars each if you tell Sam that you saw Bucky going upstairs."

"Each?" they marvel.

"Each."

"Why'd you do that?" Bucky asks as the two boys scurry off to find Sam.

"You'll see."

Sam runs in only moments later, skidding to a halt when he sees you and Bucky standing in the kitchen. "Oh... hey, guys. What's up?"

You cross your arms over you chest, your lips pursing in distaste. "Nothing, just had an interesting conversation with AJ and Cass."

"Oh, okay," Sam excessively nods, feigning innocence.

"Sending children to spy on us," you admonish, tsking once. "That's low."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam lies, defiantly lifting his chin.

"They sold you out, Sam."

Sam's mouth gapes slightly. "For how much?"

"20 bucks each."

"Damn it," Sam hisses. "You know, I used to be able to bribe the both of them with a 5."

You point to the front door. "Get out."

Sam narrows his eyes, flicking two fingers between his gaze and Bucky's. "Fine... but I'm watching you."

"You know, I'm starting to get why you don't like Sam," you joke.

Bucky groans in relief, resting a hand on your waist. "It's about time."

You pat his chest once, your hand sliding down his arm to his hand. You lace your fingers with his and jut your chin in toward the back door. "Come on, let's go out back. I wanna show you something."

 "What do you wanna show me?"

"You'll see," you coyly reply.

You lead him out the back door, following a path of carefully paved stone lined with wildflowers of all kinds. The smell of the flowers waft through the summer breeze once more. And just like before, the day seems brighter with you by his side.

As the path comes to an end, it splays out into an open circular garden brimming with vibrant colors, brimming with life.

In the very center, a willow tree with full, cascading leaves, standing tall surrounded by the most striking flowers he's ever seen.

You'd spent months working on it. A way to forgive. A way to say goodbye. A way to honor those fallen. And then finally, a way to move forward carrying the love and grief of your found family. "They're-"

"Poppies," Bucky finishes for you. The most strikingly red poppies he'd ever seen. The flower of remembrance, if Bucky remembers correctly. 

He wasn't sure if it was the sun or simply the high of being so close to you after so long, but they almost looked like they were glowing in the afternoon light.

His breath catches in his throat. The stones beneath his feet merge into a singular path. Still holding his hand, you guide him around the garden.

While he wasn't by any stretch of the imagination a flower person, he was struck by the vivid blues of the small path of flowers at the very end of the path.

The same color of that bright blue afternoon sky. The sky that reminded you of your twin flame. No matter how far apart, no matter how much time passed, he'd always be there. As unwavering, as bright eyed as the vast blue sky. "Those are forget me nots."

"It's beautiful," he whispers.

"It's a memory garden."

"You did all this?"

"Well, Sam helped with the stones and that little table over there, but I - I wanted to do it alone. I wanted to mourn them. I even picked different flowers for all them."

"You took the bad and turned it into something good."

It felt like a lifetime ago that you said those words to him. Your silent vow to your caretaker - that you would leave the world better than you entered it, that you would take the bad and turn it into something good.

It was the same vow you made to each and every member of your family, whether they were gone or simply lost, that you would turn the ache of grief into something good.

"You remember that?"

"Of course I did. I remember everything about you."

The words leave his lips so casually, like there is no other choice, all roads lead back to you. 

You find yourself momentarily at a loss for words, struck by Bucky's words. He really did remember. Those little, fleeting, stolen moments really meant as much to him as it did to you.

"We can sit here," you manage to rasp out, gesturing to the wooden picnic table at the end of the cobblestone path. "It'll be at least a few minutes before Sam finds us out here."

His hand rests on the center of the picnic table as he takes a seat across from you. "So?"

Your hand slides towards his, but you don't hold his hand. You stroke his fingers, circling and toying with his middle finger until you move onto the next finger. It's your habit, Bucky knows from seeing you twiddle and twist your fingers for years, but instead of reaching for your hand, you reach for his. You use him to ground yourself.

You smile up at him with a small shrug of your shoulders, "So?"

"I guess I'm a little curious," Bucky wonders. Sure, you hadn't completely lost touch with Bucky in these months, but you both gave each other the space to work things out. "Things seem like they're really working out."

"I'm hopeful."

"Me too." He can't remember the last time he said that word: hopeful. He doesn't remember the last time he truly, genuinely felt that either. Sitting here, with you, basking in the sun, that's exactly the feeling that swells in his ribcage. Hope. Hope with more on the horizon.

"Yeah... that lawyer, Matt, is great. He really helped us out. I know it's not over yet, but I think we're finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. They called me to testify in front of the Senate next week."

His shoulders tense as he hears the words leave your mouth in such a casual tone. "Wait, what?"

"Matt thinks it'll work in our favor," you explain. "He says it's no good hiding anymore. That - that people think I'm a hero, that they'll take my side."

Bucky's eyebrows furrow, his jaw squaring as he takes it all in. "You're putting a lot of trust into this guy, aren't you?"

"Sounds like someone is a little jealous," Sam sarcastically mutters from behind Bucky.

"Guess he found us again," Bucky grumbles. 

You reach across the table to grab Bucky's hand. "Don't be jealous. Matt's a good guy, but I won't lie, there was something a little off about him."

Bucky's eyebrows pull in. "Like what?"

You shrug. "I don't know."

"Maybe it's the fact that he's a blind vigilante that wanders around Hell's Kitchen on his off time," Sam deadpans, taking a seat beside you.

"No..." You shake your head, your mouth twisting as you try to place what exactly you found so strange about Matt Murdock. "I don't think that was it. I think it was his friend. He was nice, but what kind of name is Foggy?"

"What kind of name is Bucky?" Sam counters.

"I like his name, thank you very much," you retort.

Bucky can barely appreciate your defense of name as he tries to process everything that you and Sam have just thrown at him. "So you're telling me that you two have spent all this time with some vigilante-slash-lawyer and a guy named Foggy?"

"Exactly," you and Sam simultaneously reply. 

Bucky takes a deep breath in, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I forgot how exhausting it is keeping up with you guys."

Sam snorts, "And that's not even the half of it."

"What more could there possibly be?"

"You're forgetting about Karli," Sam points out.

"Right," Bucky nods. "So where is she these days?"

"That's what Joaquin was doing after everything that happened in New York," Sam replies. "Apparently, it's not easy to find a safe place for one of the world's most wanted fugitive."

Bucky scoffs, "No kidding."

"She's somewhere safe. Somewhere we they can help her, teach her."

"I've visited her a few times. It's pretty cool. They call it a school for gifted kids, and it's actually like a real school," you explain, a look of wonder and awe shining in your eye. "They've got teachers to help with the powers. There's other kids that are like her. It's - it's the kind of place I would've really liked to grow up in."

That only leads him to yet another one of your many loose ends left to tie up. "Speaking of, no word from Fury?"

You take a large gulp of air. "Sorta."

"Really?" Bucky gapes.

"Well, we still have no idea where he is or how to get in touch with him. Plus, he's as cryptic as ever."

--

You sit on the dock, palms turned over in your lap, timing your breathing with the lapping waves below your feet. Sam clears his throat, "I have something for you."

Your shut eyes furrow at him, "Sam, I swear if it's another self help book-"

"Will you just look?"

You creak an eye open to see a thick, white envelope in Sam's hands, "What is that?"

"I don't know. It just showed up here, but look." You take the envelope from Sam, looking closely at the crisp white paper. On the corner, emblazoned on the envelope were the initials N.J.F.

"Do you think..?"

"I wouldn't put it past him. He was always a cryptic asshole," Sam shrugs. "I'll just give you a minute."

"No," you stop him. Though you were both at fault for Sam's absence on the day you returned to the place from before, you wanted him here for this. You wanted him here with you. You were ready to rebuild your found family once more. "Stay with me, please."

He smiles down at you, "I'll stay."

Both you and Sam wait with bated breath as you carefully tear the envelope open. On the inside resides a manila envelope with hundreds of pages neatly tucked inside.

"What is that?"

"I think it's your file," Sam replies. "I recognize it from when Fury first asked me to be your handler. It was a hell of a lot thinner back then."

"Do you know what's in it?"

"No idea. He showed me the first few pages and that's it. The rest was top secret."

You flip through pages and pages. You immediately recognize the handwriting occupying most of the pages, the handwriting of Nick Fury himself.

Pages and pages of his writings. All of them marked with his own thoughts, things he never told you, things you never knew.

'Intelligent... lacks even the most basic social skills.'

'Eager to learn. Even more eager to help.' 

'Pierce has dubbed her SHIELD's greatest asset. The antithesis to the fist of HYDRA...'

"The fist of HYDRA?" you ask.

"The Winter Solider - they called him the fist of HYDRA. Funny how that worked out."

The next line that catches your eye, you read aloud, "I fear for her. I fear she's too soft for it all. Every day, I come to the realization that she is not built for this line of work. Every day, I fear she has less and less of a choice."

There's something about that line in particular that hurts more than anything else. Nick was the one person that believed in you from the moment he met you. And even he doubted you could handle it all. "He didn't think I could handle it."

"No, he just thought you were meant for more," Sam objects.

You offer a small smile at Sam as you continue flipping to through the file. "Why do you think he sent this? Why now?"

"Look at that, on the last page," Sam points out.

"It's a note," you whisper.

"I'm still rooting for you. Even from afar." - Nicholas J. Fury.

--

"So you haven't talked to him."

"Not exactly," you admit. "He sent some old files over."

"He made contact by sending you his old junk," Bucky surmises. 

"I think it was his way of reminding me that I'm not alone, that he's still here, somewhere."

At least, that's what you believed. You believed that in his own Nick Fury way, he cared about you. In his own way, he might've seen you as a daughter as much as you saw him as a father.

And someday, you hoped you could tell him that. 

That only reminded you of yet another thing you had yet to fill Bucky in. You weren't even sure how to tell him, or if he'd look at you and think you were crazy.

In the days after coming home, you spent hours ruminating over those flashes of memories. Memories of Tony, Natasha, and Steve. A moment in the Compound that you were sure never actually happened, but felt so intimately real.

It was Steve's words reminding you that Nick Fury cared about you that made receiving that package from Nick easier.

You decided that it was real. Every part of it. Somehow. Some way. The universe had gifted you one final goodbye, one last moment with those you held so dear.

It was as real as the friendship you and Tony had despite those dark moments. It was as real as Steve's familiar scent filling your nose as he apologized for hurting you. As real as the way Natasha held you while telling you that you changed Karli's story.

You didn't know how or why, but you were gifted one last moment with each of them. And there was nothing more real than the love you would always have for your found family. 

You decide that's a story for another time. 

You smile at Sam, then at Bucky, "Things really worked out for us, didn't they?"

"It's about damn time," Bucky grunts.  

The Louisiana air fills your lungs as you look up to the sun, basking in the feeling of the warmth and sunshine bathing you. "I'll never get tired of the Sunshine."

Bucky watches you for a long moment. It was a sight to behold. Watching you stare up at the sky once more. He couldn't count how many times he'd prayed to anyone who would listen that he would get to witness that one last time.

All the times he saw you stare at the floor, bogged down by everything that tried to dim your brightness. He always wished you would stare up at the sky just one more time.

In his experience, people always looked worse in the light. People shied away from the light for fear of seeing all the cracks in the foundation, all the darkness that lurked beneath. You didn't have that problem.

And for someone like him, someone deprived of light for so long, he was glad that he could finally bask in the warmth. He was glad he finally stepped into the daylight.

As you sat before him, head thrown back, a smile planted on your face, he swears he's never seen you look more free, more at peace. He would never get tired of Sunshine either. "Me neither."

Sam gently pats your shoulder, rising from his seat, "Well, now that we're all caught up, we should head back before Sarah starts a search party."

"Why don't you go and we'll be right behind you?" Bucky sarcastically offers.

"Ha, ha," Sam stiltedly laughs, shooting Bucky a glare. "Not a chance."

"Come on, James." You extend a hand to Bucky, nudging your chin towards the house. "That way we can tell Sarah that Sam was using AJ and Cass to spy on us."

Bucky takes your hand, smirking at Sam, "That's a great idea."

"So this is how it's gonna be now? You and Bucky... and Sam?" Sam calls as you and Bucky start walking back to the house. "You guys are terrible friends!"

"Did you hear something?" you sarcastically ask Bucky.

He smirks over his shoulder. "No, not a thing."

"You guys could at least wait for me!" Sam calls as you three walk back through the house. "You know, I thought it would take longer for you two to forget about me."

"There you guys are," Sarah playfully exclaims as walk down the porch steps. "I was about to send a search party for you."

"Told you so," Sam smugly remarks.

"Would it be morally wrong to push him off the dock?" Bucky audibly wonders.

"Hmm..." You rest your hand on his arm, guiding him away from Sam and the dock, "I want to say no, but I'm leaning towards yes."

The day passes with a lightness that none of you have felt in quite some time. And while you all know that all of your problems hadn't been solved quite yet, there is no foreboding sense of doom building along the horizon. It feels right.

For the first time in a long time, you feel whole.

Sitting across from Sam, beside Bucky, gorging on food, the smell of the fresh water and the sounds of kids running around, it feels like you're finally in the right place at the right time. And perhaps most importantly, with people you could call yours.

You rest your head on Bucky's shoulder. "So what about you?"

Though he'd deny it for the rest of his life, Sam smiles at the sight of peace that flashes on Bucky's face as you curl against him.

Bucky hums thoughtfully, "Honestly, it's been quiet. Mostly therapy. I told Yuri about his son."

"How did he take it?"

"About as well as you'd expect," Bucky solemnly responds, his mouth twisting as he recalls the heartbroken look on Yuri's face when he told him about his son's death. "But he knows, he doesn't have to wonder anymore."

You lace your fingers with his, gently squeezing his hand, "I knew you would do the right thing. You always do."

You end the day sitting beside Bucky on the dock you'd spent so many days sitting and staring up at the sky wishing for this very moment. The moment that brought you back to him, finally back to him.

While flashes of the battle may always come back to you in a blur, you could also see all the light the future held for you. At last, all of you, all of him intertwined.

And in this moment in time, your little found family, you had all finally found your peace.

As the sun sets over the horizon, you rest your head on Bucky's shoulder, melted into his embrace. "Sometimes, I can't believe it."

Bucky looks down at you. "What?"

"That we survived. That we're here. Together. For a long time, I thought I'd lost you. I really thought I'd lost you."

"You couldn't lose me," he promises. He stares at you in awe as you watch the sun sink beneath the horizon. And in that moment, he knows, he's finally found his way back to you. His soul, his heart had found its rightful place in this world. And whatever the future might hold, at least he'd have you by his side. "Not then. Not now. Not ever. It's you and me."

"Ahem..." Sam clears his throat from behind where you and Bucky sit.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "And Sam too."

"If you insist," Bucky grunts.

"It's me and you." It's more than a promise, it's an unspoken vow. A vow to always find your way back to him. A vow to reach for his hand even in times of darkness. A vow to always be his. 

You intertwine your fingers with his, squeezing his hand three times, "It's me and you."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist Inspired by Taylor Swift Series

And that's (officially) a wrap on The Twin Flame. Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey. I love you all. 💛 (Stay tuned, dear readers, I've got some extras coming your way…)

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[witch-of-letters]

I'm not crying, YOU'RE CRYING!

Are There Still Beautiful Things? | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This is a part two! I finally got around to writing a sequel to The Ultimatum! So do me a favor and read that one first. Thanks!

Word count: 16.7k

Trigger warnings: emotional abuse, manipulative boyfriend, anxiety / depression

The following morning, Bucky floated through the apartment with silent steps. He moved with the utmost caution, sidestepping the creaky floorboard in the hall. Closing the kitchen cabinets as gently as possible. Anything to avoid waking you. After the night you’d had- the fight, the long walk in freezing rain, the tears, the panic attacks- you needed all the sleep you could get. Knowing you, he figured you’d rise around ten. You always said that anything later was a waste of the day. 

But morning came and went without an appearance from you. He listened at his bedroom door for any sign of life and found only silence. He leaned against the kitchen counter, eating the omelet he’d intended for you. It wasn’t going to be good cold, anyway. 

He wondered what your year under Alex’s thumb had been like. Suffocating, he decided. Claustrophobic. Were you ever happy? In the last year, did you experience even one instance of genuine joy? Or were you miserable around the clock? Were you constantly aching, without anyone to turn to?

Bucky folded the blankets he’d used to turn the couch into a makeshift bed. When he offered you- implored you- to take his bed, he knew you’d refuse. He knew that you’d feel guilty, that you’d say it was too kind a gesture. But it wasn’t a gesture at all. He really wanted you to take it. You’d sleep better in his bed than on the couch. And he wanted you to feel comfortable. To feel safe. 

He even changed the sheets, so you’d have a fresh set to curl up in. 

But you still refused. How could you accept an offer like that? Bucky had already done enough for you for one night; and you didn’t deserve any of it. You told him, time and time again, that the couch was just fine. That you’d survive sleeping in the living room. That he didn’t have to give up his bed for you- but he did it, anyway. 

Around 3am, you couldn’t refuse anymore. You waved a white flag; there was no fight left. On your shoulders rested the weight of Alex’s emotional abuse. And for the last year, you did your best to pretend it didn’t exist. To carry on. You put on a brave face and muscle through it, because complaining would only mean more pain. More punishment. More weight. But as you leaned against the door of Bucky’s bedroom, you couldn’t fight the heft anymore. It split your spine and crushed your lungs. Finally, it broke you.

You were too tired to argue with Bucky about who should sleep where. Too tired to put yourself back together. But Bucky was there to pick up the pieces. 

He carried you to his bed and secured the blankets around you. And for a while, no one spoke. He simply sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand. His thumb stroked your knuckles every once and a while. His free hands adjusted your blankets where he deemed necessary. It was the most peace- the most care- you’d experienced since the last time you saw him. 

After a while, he figured he should leave you alone; he didn’t want to keep you awake any longer. And so, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, gave your hand a squeeze, and headed for the door. He told you to get some rest. To wake him if you needed anything- and he meant anything. And then he was gone.

You didn’t have it in you to call after him and beg him to stay with you. He’d done enough. So, you toughed it out. Alone. 

Everything in you just wanted to slip into unconsciousness, to sleep for eight or twenty hours. And you should’ve. You should’ve fallen asleep no problem. After everything that happened that evening- everything that happened over the last year- you were empty. Drained. And your body and mind needed rest. 

But sleep didn’t come. 

With each closing of your eyes, you were haunted by fears of Alex’s wrath. Of his consequences and punishments. Of the venom in his voice when he spoke to Bucky about you. Of returning home to him. 

The waking nightmare rooted itself in your mind- or maybe it was always there. Surely, you’d had these uneasy feelings about him before. But this was the first time you really let them sink in. The first time you’d given them any attention. 

Over the past year, you’d simply swatted these kinds of thoughts away, treating them like a bothersome gnat. But deep down, you knew they weren’t there to bother you- they were there as a warning. 

With sleep out of the question, you opted to stare at the ceiling. In the scant light that weaved through the blinds, you took stock of its appearance. It was old. Textured. Yellowed in places from water damage. Cracks veined their way across the expanse of the room, starting in one corner and ending in another. Part of you wondered how stable it was. Wondered if it the whole thing might fall in the middle of the night and crush you. You’d be okay with it if it did.

When staring at the ceiling grew boring, you turned on your side and observed the wall instead. It had scuff marks and indents. Chipping paint. But it was Bucky’s wall. And you were just lucky to be here- in his bed, staring at his bedroom wall. A long scrape across the paint rescued a long-banished memory from your most secretive vault. A vault Alex could never know about. 

It was the day that Bucky tried to put in new blinds. He’d fallen from his rickety step ladder and braced himself against the nearest wall, marring the already chipping paint with his vibranium elbow. The two of you laughed at his clumsy attempt, at his claims to be a “handyman”. 

The scene played out inside your mind and managed to bring a weak smile to the surface. But it wasn’t strong enough to keep the dread at bay.

After a while, the wall no longer held your attention. And the ceiling called your name once again.

On and on the staring-cycle went: ceiling, wall, ceiling wall. Of course, you could’ve gone to see Bucky in the living room. Or even called his name; surely, he would’ve come running. But who were you to wake him? Who were you to bother him in the middle of the night? He struggled enough with sleep as it was, and you’d kept him up late. Very late. He didn’t need you further hurting his chances for a restful night. 

Eventually, the sun peeked through the blinds, and you rolled onto your back for your ceiling-staring shift. Throughout the night, you lamented your insomnia. Cursed the buzzing anxiety that kept you awake. But as you laid there, tracing the border of the room with your eyes, a change in perspective struck you. And suddenly, the crushing weight of exhaustion didn’t bother you anymore. Because you were in Bucky’s apartment, in Bucky’s bed. This was the one place you never thought you’d see again. The one place that Alex strictly forbade. The one place that felt like home.

And though you were so tired that you swore your organs would soon fail, you didn’t care. You’d choose a lifetime of sleepless nights in this bed over a restful eight hours in Alex’s any day.

Around noon, the sharp squeak of an old hinge woke you- and you realized that you must’ve actually fallen asleep. That your body must’ve finally given out. After blinking a few times and giving your eyes a moment to adjust, you discovered the source of the sound.

There stood Bucky, still as stone, watching you. 

“Hey… sorry about the-” he pointed to the door. “The hinges are kinda old.”

“No, it’s…” you let loose a long yawn. “It’s okay.”

Bucky took a few tentative steps in your direction, as though testing the waters. Over the past year, you’d been emotionally gutted. The wounds Alex inflicted were still flayed open, bleeding. Throbbing. Bucky could practically see them spilling crimson all over the bed. Maybe you wanted him close by. Or maybe you wanted your space. 

Either way, he still wanted to check on you. He took another slow step toward you. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing, see if you need anything,” he said.

Of course, he did. Because that’s who Bucky was- that’s who he always was. Kind and caring and thoughtful. Even when you overstepped your bounds. Even when you overstayed your welcome. Even after you pulled the plug on your friendship. He was there for you. 

You couldn’t fight the smile that stretched across your lips. “Oh, thanks- thank you. Yeah, I’m alright, I don’t need anything,” you shrugged. “You’ve done enough. What time is it?”

Bucky checked his phone, “noon.”

“Jesus Christ,” you ran a hand down the side of your face. Two hours. You’d gotten only two hours of sleep. And as you took a quick inventory of your body, you realized your estimate was probably a little generous. A dull ache pounded inside your skull. A heaviness sat on your shoulders. And a dense fog coated your mind. Every fiber of your being needed more rest. But now was not the time.

You’d already ruined Bucky’s Saturday night and stolen his bed, now you’d eaten up half of his Sunday. A jolt of alarm force you into an upright position. The room spun a little as a result.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” you pushed Bucky’s bedspread from your body. “I didn’t actually fall asleep till about ten this morning, so I guess I was just-”

Bucky couldn’t stop the ache that pierced his chest. He knew all too well what it was like to spend the night tossing and turning. The need for sleep and the simultaneous fear of the nightmares that followed. The soul crushing exhaustion. He wished he would’ve known that you were struggling to sleep. And he kicked himself for not checking on you periodically throughout the night. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I wish you would’ve come and got me,” he sighed. “I could’ve kept you company. We could’ve watched movies or talked or-”

It was sweet. It really was. But even the thought of waking him made you feel guilty. 

“Nah, I didn’t wanna bother you. And I…” Your eyes took on a far away, hollow quality. “I had a lot to think about.”

A long silence followed. 

A hurricane of emotions tore through you, drowning you in their downpour. The pain, the loneliness, the devastation, the anger, the self-hatred, the feeling of worthlessness. The last year showed you just how toxic, how isolating a relationship could be. And you grieved the life you could’ve had. The time you’d never get back. The people-the person- you lost.

But a sharp pain sunk its fangs into your soul, filling you with venomous questions. How dare you mourn? How dare you pity yourself? How could you let Alex manipulate you? How could you go along with his ultimatum? And how could you abandon Bucky? Did you ever care about Bucky at all? What kind of person puts their boyfriend before their best friend? Why did you show up at Bucky’s door? And why did you let him take care of you? Are you really that selfish?

 Who do you think you are?

You gave your head a small shake, freeing yourself from the sharp, deadly thoughts. “Anyway, I’m gonna grab my clothes and get out of your hair.” A quiet groan escaped your lips and you pulled yourself from Bucky’s bed. “I don’t wanna take up your entire Sunday.”

Bucky held a hand up, stopping you. “Woah, what? But you only slept two hours.”

“I’m okay! Really,” you lied. “And I don’t want to impose any more than I already have.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. Oh, how you’d missed this look. It was the same look he used to give you every time you called yourself ‘an imposition.’ Every time you swore you’d worn out your welcome. Because he never, ever saw you that way. How anyone could see you as an imposition, as a bother, made no sense to him. But he knew of one person who thought of you like that. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Barnes,” you gave a breathy, tired laugh.

“I want you to stay for as long as you like. Honestly. I’m just happy to have you around,” he said. “So, if you wanna go back to sleep for a while, go for it. You’re more than welcome here.”

The words were too kind, the sentiment too genuine. And somewhere, deep down, something inside you broke. To know that there was, indeed, still kindness in the world shattered your remaining resolve. The entire time Alex had you locked away in his tower, you wondered if anyone else’s life had drained of all warmth and color, too. If there were still beautiful things. Or if it was only you who existed in a monochromatic hellscape.

And as Bucky wrapped an arm around you and helped you sit down on the bed, you got your answer. There were still beautiful things- and he was the most beautiful of all. 

The tears flowed freely over your newly destroyed emotional dam. And silent sobs robbed the oxygen from your chest. Hot tears dampened your cheeks, your neck, the collar of Bucky’s sweatshirt. Over the course of the year, you forbade yourself from crying like this. Every once and a while, you allowed a tear or two- but that was it. You knew that if you ever let these emotions free, forcing them back inside their cage would be impossible. But this was a true catharsis. True release. And Bucky helped you through the whole thing.

He rubbed your back, wiped your face, stroked your hair. He spoke soft, reassuring words. And he never tried to stop you. Not once did he tell you to calm down or to get yourself together. He simply let you feel what you needed to feel, what you prohibited yourself from feeling for the last twelve months. 

And when you finally cried yourself out, he wrapped your limp body in a blanket and helped you lay down. 

“Uh, I feel like you’re probably pretty dehydrated now,” he said as he got you situated. “So, I’m gonna go get you some water.” 

It pulled the smallest, most fragile laugh from you. He was right. You’d depleted your body completely, and you could already feel the dehydration headache blossoming between your eyes. But you didn’t care. Bucky took a step toward the door, only to feel your limp hand hook into his. He knew you well enough to know what it meant: you didn’t want him to leave. And he returned the feeling. Now that you finally found your way back into his life, he didn’t want to spend a second away from you. But the top priority was your well-being. 

“I’m gonna be right back, I promise,” Bucky knelt by the bed, meeting your eyeline. “It’ll only take a second.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, to your cheek, to your forehead, and then slipped out of the room. 

He was gone only a few minutes- five at the most. But for you, it was too long. After spending a year without so much as speaking to Bucky, you were desperate to make up for lost time. Hungry to spend every moment with him. And even a five-minute absence was enough to make your heart ache.

“Okay, okay. I’m back. Sorry,” Bucky swept through the bedroom door, an apologetic look on his face. “I figured you should probably eat something.” He offered you a plate of toast and placed two bottles of water on the nightstand. “Toast was the quickest option, but if you want something else, I can just-”

But the way you dove into the food was all the answer he needed. He sat on the edge of the bed, 

watching you wolf down the substitute breakfast, and wished he could’ve remade the omelet he prepared for you hours earlier. But you needed him. And he didn’t want you to wait. 

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you were hungry. You’d swallowed so much grief, so much pain- you didn’t notice your empty stomach. But Alex made you miss dinner. Your exhaustion made you skip breakfast. And your meager lunch from the previous day disintegrated long ago. 

But the smell of the toast brought your hunger into crisp focus. It gnawed on the inside of your abdomen and clawed up your throat. It echoed through the void. Sharp pains needled at your insides between waves of nausea. But the peanut butter toast quelled your discomfort. 

“Thank you,” you took a long swig of water. “I needed that.” 

“Anytime.”

“So, you… you don’t mind if I try to go back to sleep for a while?” Trepidation rendered your voice almost imperceptible. Had bucky not received the serum all those years ago, he wouldn’t have heard you at all. 

He encircled your hand with one of his, “I don’t mind at all.”

“Are you sure?” you said, louder this time. “Cause if you have plans or things you need to do, I totally get it. I can just-”

Bucky pulled your body into his, quieting your rambling. “This is all I’m doing today.” He held you there for a long moment. His hand smoothed up and down your back. His breath fanned the skin on your neck. And when your anxious heartrate returned to its normal pace, he released you.

“What plans do you think I had for today, sweetheart? Do you know who you’re talking to here?” Bucky laughed. “I’m not exactly Mr. Social Life.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe you were gonna to go a movie today. Or the farmer’s market, or something.”

“Nope. I don’t have any plans to speak of,” he said as he helped you get comfortable in his bed once again. “And I went to the farmer’s market last Sunday. So, I don’t need to go again.” He shot you a wink and brushed a kiss against your cheek. “You go back to sleep. I’ll be right outside if you need me. Okay?”

You nodded against the pillow that smelled like him and gave his hand one last squeeze. Everything in you screamed, begged, howled for him to stay. But you couldn’t ask. You couldn’t ask for another favor after all he’d done for you. Could you? No. It wasn’t right. He didn’t owe you shit. Everything he did to help you came simply from the endless well of goodness within him. And you were not about to ask for more. You couldn’t. 

But you did. 

“Buck?” 

He stopped in his tracks just as he reached the door. “Yeah?”

“Would you…” you rolled your eyes at yourself. Your neediness. Your greed. “Would you stay with me for a while?”

And just like that, he crawled into bed. No hesitation. No question. 

He sat next to you, his back resting against the headboard. “This alright?”

You nodded up at him. “Is it okay if I…” You lifted your head from his pillow and opted to rest it in his lap instead. And of course, he nodded in return.

Before things fell apart, before Alex’s ultimatum- this was a standard position for the two of you. When Bucky had a nightmare, or a panic attack, or a particularly bad flashback, he’d rest his head in your lap. When things got bad for him, it was the only way to remind him that he was real. That he was here. And that he wasn’t alone. Your fingers tangled gently in his hair. Your voice quietly called him away from the edge. And after a while, he’d return to himself. 

It felt almost blasphemous to co-opt his practice. To rest your head in his lap this way- especially after the way you abandoned him. There were, without a doubt, many instances over the last year when he’d needed this, when he’d needed you. And you weren’t there. Just thinking about it sent a lightning strike through your chest. What did he do in those moments? How had his soul broken through the haze and rejoined his body? Did he sit in this very apartment, all alone, waiting for the pain and terror to ebb on their own?

These thoughts tried to pull your head from Bucky’s lap. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair; not to you, not to him. You couldn’t commit sacrilege in this way. Couldn’t desecrate something that was once so sacred. But just as you attempted to move away, Bucky’s gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

“You okay? Comfortable?” He smiled down at you, awaiting your response. And you couldn’t find it in you to pull away from someone so beautiful and warm and kind. 

The rest of Sunday melted by without your participation. A dreamless sleep got its hooks in you and pulled you deeper, deeper, deeper. Bucky noticed you wake only a handful of times. And though he was sure you had to be hungry again when you woke in the evening, he didn’t push the issue. He let you sleep peacefully in his lap, with his hand smoothing gently over your hair. And when it was time for him to finally get some shut eye, he repositioned your head on his chest. 

That night, he slept better than he had in a year. 

In the morning, you woke to a cold, empty bed. And just as you wondered where Bucky could’ve gone, the smell of bacon answered your question. The aggressive hunger pangs poking at your stomach grew sharper as you took a deep inhale. Bacon, eggs, toast, coffee. Coffee.  You scrambled out of bed and found Bucky in the kitchen, leaning over the stove. 

“Morning!” He dragged his gaze away from the food to steal a look at you. Messy morning hair. Tired smile. Beautiful. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

But his words didn’t register right away. Your mind was too fixated on the stove full of food. And it dawned on you: this was the first time you’d ever seen him cook. Sure enough, a cutting board with the remnants of chopped tomatoes, green onions, and bell pepper sat next to the stove. And he was expertly presiding over bacon and two perfectly constructed omelets. 

“Um, what? Oh, no, you didn’t wake me,” you said. “Buck, you’re… cooking? You have groceries?”

He nodded. “I cook now,” he said with pride. “And yeah, I have groceries. I go shopping now, too.”

It was something so small, so normal to everyone else. But to Bucky- to you- it was a big deal. A huge deal. You crossed to the fridge and gave the door a pull, only to find it fully stocked. The back of your throat tightened a bit, a warm rush of tears blurred your vision. 

He’d always needed help with that kind of thing, with taking care of himself. When he was still trying to get acclimated to this world, to this time- he found himself in a hole. He’d fallen deep, deep down into a pit of depression and anxiety and existential dread. And menial tasks like grocery shopping were too daunting. Too overwhelming. So, you picked up the slack. You brought him groceries at least once a week, sometimes twice. You cooked for him a few days out of the week. And you did it with a smile. It wasn’t a hassle or a bother. It was something you did because you cared. Because you loved him. And if he needed help, you’d be the first to volunteer for the cause. 

He always swore he could handle it, swore that you didn’t need to stock his pantry. But without you, he would’ve gone hungry. Would’ve withered away to nothing. 

Over the course of the last year, you wondered how Bucky was getting his groceries. How he was getting his meals. If he was eating enough. Was he surviving on takeout? Or was he hungry? Picturing him alone in the apartment, his stomach and fridge empty, brought you to tears on more than one occasion. 

“This is…” You cleared your throat and forbade your voice from shaking. “This is great, Buck. I was worried that you’d been living off take out this whole time.”

“Well, I would’ve been,” he laughed. “But I didn’t have to. Remember that list you made me?” 

You wiped your eyes on the sleeve of Bucky’s sweatshirt and shut the fridge door. “What list?”

“A few weeks before Alex gave you his ultimatum, he got on you for being over here so much.” Bucky rolled his eyes at the memory. “Do you remember that?”

You grimaced and eventually nodded. 

“And you told me what he said. You told me you might not get to spend as much time here. And you wanted me to be prepared. So you made me a list- a grocery list- just in case.” He turned to face you and pointed at a drawer next to the fridge, “look in there.”

Sure enough, inside the drawer, you found a list. It was pristine, save for one slightly folded corner and a small water stain. Scrawled in your handwriting on a piece of notebook paper was everything Bucky would need from the store. It detailed everything- produce, dry goods, frozen ingredients. Everything you always used to buy for him. Everything he liked. 

“I still use it every time I go to shopping,” he said. “Even though I have it memorized by now.”

The list trembled like a leaf in your shaking hands. Maybe you hadn’t left Bucky completely destitute. Just knowing he’d had this life preserver to hold onto, knowing he’d been able to get himself groceries- to feed himself- because of you made your chest tighten. 

“In all honesty, I had kind of a hard time over the last year,” Bucky admitted. He spoke with his back to you, keeping his focus on the food. He didn’t want to look you in the eye. “I missed you. I hated not having you around. But that list was… I don’t know. It made me feel like even though we weren’t friends anymore, you still cared. You know?”

Words didn’t come. And even if they did, you wouldn’t have been able to speak. The sobs you tried so hard to corral sat trapped in your throat, struggling to break free. You tucked the list carefully back in the drawer and leaned against the counter. Bucky deserved better. He’d already been through so much in his life. And yet, you’d given him yet another hard year. A year of heartache and loneliness. A year of emptiness. Of silent dinners. A year of self-soothing.

Bucky peeked over his shoulder and found you with your head in your hands. Your shoulders shook ever so slightly. A riptide of guilt instantly pulled him under.

“Oh, sweetheart, no-” he made his way to your side and wrapped you in a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Your arms snaked up his chest and wrapped around his neck, pulling you closer to him. He had nothing to apologize for, nothing to feel guilty about. He’d simply told the truth: he had a hard year. And that was nothing to apologize for. Especially after what you’d done to him.

But there he was, apologizing. Consoling you when you didn’t deserve it. 

“You deserved better, Buck,” you whispered against his neck. “You deserved better from me.”

Urgently, you recoiled from his embrace and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never ever wanted to hurt you. It wasn’t fair to you. I-”

“Hey,” he took your face in his hands. “It’s all water under the bridge. Okay?”

He slipped his hand into yours before you could protest and pulled you toward the stove. “Come on, breakfast is ready.”

The two of you got comfortable on the couch with your plates; Bucky watched as you devoured your breakfast of bacon, toast, and the beautiful omelet he crafted. And he couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his lips. This was a total role reversal for the two of you. For once, he got to take care of you. He got to be your rock, your support system. He got to cook for you, feed you. And he meant what he said earlier. Everything that happened prior really was water under the bridge. He just wanted to be there for you. To make you feel comfortable and safe and cared for. To show you the love you deserved. 

“Oh, hey, I don’t know if you need this,” Bucky grabbed your phone off the arm of the couch and placed it next to you. “It’s been sitting out here since Saturday night.”

After a few taps to the black screen, you got the confirmation you needed. “It’s dead,” you said. 

“Okay, I have a charger in the kitchen. I can-”

“No, that’s okay. It’s probably for the best,” you shrugged. “I just know I’m gonna have like, four hundred texts and ninety mean voicemails from Alex.

Bucky grimaced. “Oh. Well, if you change your mind-”

“It’s probably a sign, right? Like, if I’m dreading turning on my phone because I don’t even want to see his messages…” You took a swig of your coffee, wishing it was something stronger. “It probably means that I shouldn’t be with him anymore. Right?”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. You were absolutely right; it was a sign. A sign that you needed to evacuate your relationship. But he didn’t want to weigh in and push you to make a decision. This needed to be something you decided on your own. And so, he simply listened and let you work it out yourself. 

“I mean, just thinking about going back to the apartment makes me-” you gave strong shudder. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to live there.” The words came lightning fast, falling from your mouth before you could process or edit them. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to live with him- I don’t want to be around him. I don’t want to be with him. I don’t- I don’t want any of it.”

Bucky clocked the slight shaking in your hands, the tremor in your voice. He moved closer and enveloped you in his arms. “Okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. Alright?” He pulled away only slightly, searching for your eyeline. “You don’t have to be with him. If you’re done, then you’re done. And that’s that. Alright?”

The weight of the world suddenly vanished from its longtime perch on your shoulders. The pressure sitting on your chest evaporated. And you breathed a deep sigh of relief. The logical side of you knew that you didn’t have to be with Alex anymore. That you could pull the rip cord and free yourself at any moment. But somehow, doing so felt impossible. This whole time, the relationship felt like a jail cell. Like you’d been trapped inside puzzle box from which you couldn’t escape. But the second Bucky said it out loud, the walls of your cell disintegrated. He solved the puzzle box and let you out.

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Um…” The smile brought on by your newfound freedom lasted only a few seconds. “But I- I do have to go back. I have to go get my stuff. I mean, my clothes, my work stuff – it’s all there.”

“So I’ll go,” Bucky said. “I don’t mind. I’ll go over there right now and get everything.”

Of course, he would. Of course, he’d drop everything and go get your stuff. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed- he’d do it. No questions asked.

“Buck, that’s really- that’s so sweet. You’re really sweet,” You leaned into him once again, basking in his warmth. “But I- I need to be there, you know? You don’t know where everything is. And I need to make sure nothing gets left behind.” Dread filled your chest and crept up the back of your throat. If you never saw the inside of that apartment again, it would be too soon. 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t go with you,” Bucky shrugged. “Let me help. It’s gonna be way too much stuff for you to carry alone, anyway.” His expression darkened a few shades, his tone grew gravely serious. “And I don’t want you there by yourself, just in case Alex is home. I don’t think you should be alone with him.”

It was a morbid thought, but you knew Bucky was right. And no part of you wanted to be alone in the apartment. Not when the ghosts of your heartache freely roamed the halls. And if Alex was there, or if he came home early, you thought it best to have a friend. A witness. 

After changing into your now dry clothes, you plugged your phone into Bucky’s charger and abandoned it on the couch. Surely, it was about to blow up with a barrage of texts and missed calls from Alex. And you weren’t going to be there when it did.

Together, you and Bucky boarded the subway and headed in the direction of the apartment you shared with Alex. Anxiety sparked in your chest and set you alight from the inside. A pit opened in your stomach. There was no getting around this; it was a necessary evil. But with Bucky by your side, it wasn’t so bad. The looming darkness parted each time you looked at him, each time he gave your hand a squeeze. He was going to get you through this if it was the last thing he ever did. 

But heartrate jumped once you disembarked the train. And it skyrocketed as you and Bucky turned onto your street. Only a few blocks away sat your nightmare, your personal hell.

As the apartment building came into focus, your feet turned to cinderblocks. 

“It’ Monday, so he’s definitely at work by now,” Bucky reassured you. “You don’t have to worry about seeing him. Okay?”

You nodded. But your feet didn’t move.

“It won’t take long. We’re gonna grab your stuff and get out as quickly as we can. And then you never have to come back.” 

He was right. This was the last time you’d ever have to return to this godforsaken place- and Alex wasn’t even home. The unpleasant memories hanging in the air couldn’t hurt you. And you were more than entitled to retrieve your things. Alex took a lot from you, and you weren’t going to let him take any more.

The doorman greeted you with a friendly smile and a familiar “welcome home” as he opened the door for you and Bucky and waved you inside. The gilded lobby never brought you much comfort. It didn’t have a homey feel, it wasn’t warm or inviting. To you, it always seemed a little obnoxious. A little full of itself. It was fancier than you ever cared to be. Alex thought it gave him status. Stature. An air of importance. The whole thing made you gag.

“Jesus, I forgot how swanky this place is,” Bucky laughed as the two of you got into the elevator. “You sure you don’t wanna live here anymore?” He let out a dramatic huff as your shoulder gently nudged against his chest. 

 “I’m more than sure.”

Sweat beaded on your palms as you approached the front door of the apartment. All you had to do was go inside, grab your stuff, and get out. It wasn’t a large task. It wasn’t even going to be that difficult. But your stomach turned at the thought of passing through that door. And just as you teetered on the edge of a spiral, Bucky piped up, saving you.

He stood in front of your door and leaned against the frame. “So, how are we getting in, exactly? You don’t have your keys, and-” But he stopped when he saw you crouching near an air vent. “What are you doing?”

“I’m retrieving my back up plan.” 

He watched as you loosened the screws holding the vent shut and reached your arm inside. 

“A couple months ago, Alex and I got into a big fight. I know, shocking,” you rolled your eyes. “I came out here to cool off and have a moment to myself, and he locked me out for… hours. So, after that, ” You removed your arm from the vent and brandished a key in Bucky’s direction. “I taped this on the inside of the vent, just in case. I never had to use it until now.”

Bucky gave you quiet round of applause, “Brilliant.” 

But it wasn’t brilliant. Because when you tried to slide the key into the lock, it refused to budge. You tried once, twice, three times. Nothing. 

“He had the locks changed…” you muttered.

“What? Already? There’s no way…” Bucky tried the key- just to be sure- and met the same end. 

The plan came crashing down around you. And your dream of never seeing Alex again shattered into tiny pieces. 

“I’m gonna have to…” You ran a hand down the side of your face. Your breaths grew sharp and shallow. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “I’m gonna have to text him. I’m gonna have to ask him to let me in. And he’s gonna have to be here. And he’s gonna-”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky took your face in his hands, calming the panic rising in your chest. “Did you forget that I’m a supersoldier?’

“No. Buck, You can’t-”

“And why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to get in trouble,” You pulled him away from the door, worried he could break it down at any moment. “Because of your pardon. I don’t want you to risk it.”

Bucky scoffed. “It’s my pardon, doll, so, I’ll decide who I risk it for.” 

He resumed his position in front of the door and wrapped his metal hand around the knob. With one last glance over his shoulder, he ensured the hallway was empty. And when he found the coast clear, he gave the handle a sharp twist and forced his weight against the door with his metal shoulder. The wood gave a loud groan, and the new lock gave out a sharp metallic whine. But it worked. 

“Alright, let’s get inside, someone will have heard that.” Bucky ushered you inside and gave a cursory look down the hall- but found no one.

A sharp shiver crept up your spine. Goosebumps rose over your skin. The air inside seemed colder, more sinister than you remembered. But the clock was ticking, and you wanted to spend the shortest possible amount of time here. With a deep breath, you righted your mind and forced yourself to focus. When all was said and done and you successfully escaped with your things, you could fall apart. But not yet. Not now. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go grab my work stuff first. Can you…” You took Bucky by the hand and lead him into the kitchen. Under the sink, you found a box of trash bags. You freed them from the cabinet and thrust them into Bucky’s hands. “Can you go into the bedroom and just start putting my clothes in these bags? My closet and dresser are on the far side of the room.”

Bucky nodded and headed off for his mission- only to stop in his tracks. He’d only been here once, and it was far too long ago for him to remember his way around. “Um, sweetheart?” he called. 

“Down the hall, fourth door on your left!”

“God, this place is huge…” he said. His voice echoed down the hall and found you in the kitchen.

And he was right. As far as apartments go, Alex’s was massive. High ceilings, several spare rooms, a gigantic kitchen- it wasn’t anything like the shoebox apartments you’d lived in over the years. Alex insisted that you move into his cavernous home, and you obliged. But this space never felt like home to you. It was more like a museum- cold, quiet. And you always got in trouble for touching things.

In the living room, you searched for your work laptop. It always sat on the end table next to your side of the couch, but you didn’t find it there. It was unlike you to leave it anywhere else, but still, you weren’t perfect. Maybe you left it in the study, or the bedroom. Maybe it was-

Just then, something caught your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the shiny silver surface of your laptop. It lay haphazardly next the armchair, still half open. A pit formed in your stomach. And though you knew in that moment that this was Alex’s doing, what you found still knocked the wind from your chest.

Several keys were missing. The screen was cracked beyond repair. And pressing the power button brought no life. The charger sat next to your computer, having been severed right in the middle. Alex was never the destructive type- or so you thought. He never punched walls or broke things out of anger. No, he expressed his wrath through biting words that pierced your skin and made you bleed. This was a new low for him. 

Just as you’d begun to wrap your mind around the destruction, Bucky’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Hey, doll. I think… um, you should come here.” The trepidation in his voice activated alarms inside your mind.

And though you did your best to steel yourself against what you might find in the bedroom, the reality was worse than you imagined. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky draped an arm across your shoulders and pulled you into his side. “You don’t deserve this.”

Before you lay a sea of your belongings, scattered and strewn across the floor. Pages were torn from books and crumpled into balls. Large rips and tears frayed the fabric of your clothes. Feathers leaked from a hole in your pillow. Every single page of your journal had been shredded into the tiniest possible pieces. An overwhelming sense of grief punched you in the stomach. The small stuffed cat you’re your childhood had its head severed. The jewelry box your grandmother gave you in high school lay in pieces. It was all so disturbing, so demented. So purposefully and pointedly cruel.

You didn’t think it could possibly get any worse- until you decided to pop your head into the bathroom. All of your make up sat piled in the garbage. Broken bottles. Shattered compacts. Destroyed brushes. The rest of your beauty products- your skincare, your haircare, your perfume- rested on top of your make up. Every bottle had been opened and dumped out, creating a sticky, disgusting mess. There was no salvaging any of it, no saving even one item. And sprinkled on top of the entire muddied disaster was your anxiety medication- the medication you sought because of Alex’s reign of terror. He always mocked you for needing medicine, for struggling with your anxiety. Ironically, his torments made you up your dosage.

A sense of weakness crept up the back of your legs, and your knees began to buckle. If Bucky hadn’t reached you in time, you would’ve collapsed against the cold tile floor. But he saved you- again. He held you against his body as endless waves of pain washed over you. He told you time and time again that everything was replaceable, that these things were just things- and your safety was more important than any earthly possession. But his heart broke for you. These were still your belongings. They still mattered to you. And even though your life was more important, he recognized just how violating this was. How dehumanizing. 

A special kind of rage smoldered in his chest. Alex didn’t deserve you- he never did. And you didn’t deserve to be treated with such callousness. 

“We’re gonna get this taken care of. I promise,” Bucky whispered against your hair. “It’s all replaceable. And we can-”

A sudden bolt of concern hit you like a ton of bricks. You yanked your head from Bucky’s chest and met his eyes with your panic-blown pupils. And then you were gone. 

Bucky watched as you sprinted toward your nightstand, tripping over your destroyed belongings in the process. You knelt in front of your nightstand and pulled it from the wall, searching desperately for something- but Bucky wasn’t sure what. 

Relief flooded your face as you pulled a small manila envelope from behind your nightstand and held it to your chest. The two pieces of duct tape that had held it in place got stuck to your skin for just a moment, but you didn’t seem to care. Just to be sure, you opened the envelope and looked inside, breathing a deep sigh of relief upon learning that Alex didn’t touch whatever it was that you held so precious.

After that, the destruction didn’t seem to bother you as much.

The two of you stuffed all your belongings into trash bags, opting to go through them later at Bucky’s place. Surely, there was something to be saved. Something worth keeping. But determining that could take time, and you didn’t want to spend an extra second in this hellhole. 

Ripped clothes, broken shoes, and cracked picture frames- among other things- filled three large bags. And when you cleared the room, a sense of peace wrapped you in a hug. 

“Okay, what else?” Bucky asked expectantly. “Is there anything of yours in the kitchen, or the living room, or anything?”

You shook your head. “Nope, this is…” You eyed the trash bags. “This is it. This is all my stuff.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side and thought about the prized possessions from your old apartment. “Really? What about your stand mixer? Or your grandma’s quilt?”

Again, you shook your head. “All that kind of stuff is at my parents’ house. When I moved in here, Alex didn’t want me to bring any of my décor or my kitchen supplies- my stuff wasn’t fancy enough for him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Alex seemed to be the personification of a red flag. How someone could treat another human being so poorly baffled him. And how anyone could treat you this way was beyond his comprehension.

“Okay, well, at least we know that stuff is okay,” Bucky offered. 

And he was right. When Alex first told you he didn’t want your “tacky” décor and “outdated” kitchen appliances in his home, it hurt. It made you feel small, less than. And from that day on you always felt that you needed to prove yourself to him, to show him that you were, in fact, good enough. But being good enough for him meant never curling up with the quilt your grandmother made you. Never making cookies using your mom’s hand-me-down mixer. Never feeling a sense of home.

Bucky double-checked the ties of the last trash bag, ensuring they were nice and tight. “Hey, what was all that about?” Bucky pointed to the manila envelope tucked under your arm. “Or is it a secret?’

“Technically, it’s not a secret, I guess- well, it’s not a secret from you. But it was a secret from Alex.” You freed the envelope from under your arm, “It’s not juicy or scandalous or anything, but it’s important to me. And-”

The sound of footsteps in the kitchen halted your words. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. A cold sweat appeared across the surface of your skin. And you feared the beautiful breakfast Bucky worked so hard to make you would make a reappearance.

“Hello? Hey, sweetheart…” Bucky waved a hand in front of your face. He’d been trying to get your attention for a few moments now to no avail. You were still as stone, completely frozen with fear. He placed his hands on your shoulders and gave you a soft shake. “Doll.”

“Buck…” Only your eyes moved. Finally, you met his gaze with your massive, terror-dilated pupils. “He’s here. I can’t- I can’t do this. I’m not-”

“Hey, hey- it’s okay.” His palms rested on your cheeks, “You’re fine. You’re okay. You don’t have to talk to him – you don’t even have to make eye contact with the guy, okay?” He waited, allowing your panic-struck brain to process his words. And finally, you granted him a small nod.

He swept his thumbs over your cheeks one final time before pulling his hands from your face. He lifted a garbage bag from the floor and handed it to you. 

“Here, you take this. And I’ll-” He picked up the other bags and tucked one under each arm, “I’ll take these. And we’re out of here. Okay? We’re just gonna walk right out.”

With another nod, you agreed to his plan.

But walking past Alex without speaking, without making eye contact seemed easier said than done. After being with him for so long, you knew he wasn’t going to just let you breeze past him. He wasn’t going to let you go without a fight- not because he loved you, but because his pride wouldn’t allow it. 

The anxiety made your head swim and left you weak in the knees. Your vision blurred; your chest tightened. You knew Alex was waiting for you, smug and impatient. You knew he was going to tear into you the second he laid eyes on you. But there was only one way out of the apartment. And if you could just make it out the door, you’d be free. And so, with Bucky gently encouraging you, the two of you headed for the exit. 

Bucky went first, hoping to take the brunt of the verbal assault. Putting himself between you and Alex and providing you with a shield seemed like the best possible plan to Bucky. He wasn’t going to allow you to go first, not when Alex could so easily lunge at you or throw something in your direction. And after witnessing Alex’s destruction of your personal belongings, Bucky knew there was a chance that Alex would try something. That he might be violent. 

Finally, the two of you made it to the kitchen. Bucky locked eyes with Alex first, eliciting a loud guffaw from your soon-to-be-ex’s lips. 

“Wow. How’d I know you’d be with him?” Alex let out a sharp laugh as you entered the kitchen. “How’d I know?” 

But you didn’t answer. You kept your eyes down, just as Bucky instructed, and allowed the sound of your best friend’s quiet reassurances guide you forward. Shuffling through the kitchen with a garbage bag full of your broken belongings, avoiding your tormentor’s eye contact- it all felt so pathetic. You’d never felt so low, so small.

“You look so surprised to see me, baby!” Alex teased. Your skin crawled. “Guess you didn’t realize that the neighbors like me better than you. And that they’d call me when the saw you break the lock.”

You refused to take the bait. Refused to let him get a reaction out of you. All he wanted was the satisfaction of upsetting you. The gratification of hurting you and twisting he knife. And you weren’t going to give it to him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Alex took only one step in your direction, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. “You’re not gonna- Hey! You look at me when I’m talking to you!” He dropped his teasing, taunting tone and adopted the sharp, volatile way of speaking he often used around you. 

Instantly, your gaze snapped in Alex’s direction. Muscle memory did its best to protect you, to remind you that obeying was always yielded better results than the alternative. He locked eyes with you, fury burning behind his stare. He took another step toward you, prompting Bucky to block your body with his.

“You’re not gonna break into my house, steal a bunch of shit, and get off scot-free,” Alex scolded. 

Bucky stepped closer to Alex, allowing you to make a path toward the front door. Seeing Bucky stand up to the man who’d made your life a living hell brought the smallest of smiles to your face. He really cared about you. Wanted to defend you. It was a new experience for you. On one occasion, a handsy, shitfaced man at a bar downtown felt you up as you waited for a drink. You looked to Alex for help, for defense, for something- but he didn’t care. He bought the offender a drink and apologized for your antics.

But anyone who hurt you hurt Bucky, too.

A debate sparked inside of you at the site of Bucky taking such a confrontational stance toward Alex. Half of you wanted Bucky to back off, to stay away from Alex, to protect his pardon. But the other half wanted nothing more than to watch Bucky tear Alex to shreds. To see Alex’s blood stain the brilliant marble floors. 

Once you’d gotten out of Alex’s reach, Bucky turned his back on the man and headed in your direction. Freedom was so close- you could almost taste it. But just as you reached for the door, Alex said something that stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Okay, sure! Have fun with the psychotic murderer!” 

Something inside you snapped.

Slowly, deliberately, you turned in his direction. The trash bag tucked under your arm fell to the floor, and all fear Alex previously elicited within you vanished. That anxiety, that panic vacated its spot, making room for a white-hot rage. 

Bucky’s hand encircled your wrist, “Sweetheart, don’t. He’s not worth it.”

But it was too late. No one- especially not Alex- was allowed to speak about Bucky that way. No one was allowed to disparage the kindest person you’d ever met. Over the course of your painful relationship with Alex, you stood up for yourself once. Maybe twice. It never seemed like it was worth the effort or the fight, but Alex speaking about Bucky with such blind hatred ignited a fire within you. Bucky was worth the fight. 

“First of all,” you said, “You don’t get to talk about him. You don’t know him- you’re not good enough to know him. He’s a better person that you could ever dream of being. Because Bucky actually has a soul. He actually knows how to care for people.”

Adrenaline rushed to your head. Speaking to Alex this way felt good- amazing, even. And without fear of consequences or retaliation, you let loose.

“And second, I didn’t break into your house if this is my house too- and you changed the locks!” You spat at him. His eyes widened a bit as your unexpected ferocity boiled over. “And this stuff-” you pointed to the garbage bags, “is mine! It’s my stuff that you broke because you had a fucking tantrum! I’m not stealing anything from you… you stole from me! You stole over a year of my life that I will never get back.”

You took a few more steps in Alex’s direction, much to Bucky’s dismay.

“You did everything you could to tear me down and fucking destroy my self-worth. You pulled me away from my family and my friends- and for what? Just so you could feel special? So, you could feel superior? Are you that insecure? Is your manhood that fragile?”

Alex’s bravado faltered every so slightly. His smug grin faded. His jaw tensed. But he did his best to recover. To seem aloof, bored. He rolled his eyes, “Well, I-”

“I’m speaking,” you hissed. 

Alex quieted. Fear flickered in his eyes.

“You controlled every fucking aspect of my life!” you yelled. “You made me believe I wasn’t good enough- that you were the only one who would ever love me. And you gave me a goddamn ultimatum that almost ruined my friendship the person who loves me most- with the person I love most.”

Bucky couldn’t help the blush that warmed his cheeks.

“Most of the things you did to me can be fixed. I’ll rebuild my self-worth. I can fix my relationships with my friends. But the one thing I will never get back is the time that I could’ve spent with Bucky,” your voice wavered ever so slightly, but the wrath burning inside you immediately fortified it again. “And for that, I wish you nothing but pain and suffering.” 

Satisfied, you turned on your heel and headed for the door. But Alex wasn’t done.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy cause I didn’t want you spending all your time with another man?” Alex scoffed. ”You were always sleeping over at his house- in his fucking bed. When you weren’t talking to him, you were talking about him. You always put him first- you’re IN LOVE with the guy!”

Neither you nor Bucky spoke. And you didn’t dare look at him. An intense warmth rushed into your cheeks. Your heart raced. And though you wanted to throw a rebuttal in Alex’s face, no words came. You hated to admit it, but he was right. 

You were, of course, in love with Bucky. You always had been- it wasn’t even a question. How anyone met him and didn’t fall in love with him was a mystery to you. He was so sweet, so thoughtful, so endlessly and overwhelmingly kind. He made you laugh harder than anyone you’d ever known. Loving him came instantly. Naturally. 

Bucky’s mouth ran dry at Alex’s accusation. And his heart stopped when you didn’t refute it. Never before had he ever rooted for Alex, of all people, to be right. But there’s a first time for everything.

“But, yeah,” Alex continued, “I’m the bad guy cause I didn’t want my girlfriend whoring herself out to some other guy…”

A past version of you would’ve teared up at a comment like that. Alex’s words would’ve broken your heart and left you bleeding all over the place. But this new you- the version that Bucky helped coax into the world- didn’t care. Alex didn’t have power of you, not anymore.

With a chuckle, you turned your back on Alex and strutted toward the door. He hollered insults at you- calling you a slut, a whore, a good-for-nothing bitch. But the words rolled off of you like water off a duck’s back.

“Good luck with her, man!” Alex called after Bucky, “You can have her! Please, take her off my hands! She’s all yours.” 

Bucky followed you into the hallway, beaming with pride. He’d wanted to speak up, to tell Alex off, to tear him apart for speaking badly of you. But this was your fight, not his. And he knew you didn’t need anyone defending your honor. Didn’t need him stealing your moment. After everything Alex did to you, you deserved to scream at him. To get everything off your chest. To give Alex a small taste of his own medicine. Bucky was only there for moral support. For protection. 

He placed your things gently on the floor and wrapped you in a bear hug. This was the version of you he’d known so well all those months ago. Before Alex stripped you of your confidence and whittled you down to nothing. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered against your neck. “That’s my girl.”

“Thank you…” You breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. Finally, it was over. But it still felt too early to celebrate, to revel in the victory. You were still in the hallway outside the apartment. Still in the building. Still, technically, in Alex’s clutches. “Let’s get out of here.”

“One sec. I forgot something.” Bucky turned for the door, but you caught his arm.

“Don’t,” you pled. “Just don’t. I know what you’re thinking, and he’s not worth it.” You just knew Alex would take such unbridled joy in Bucky physically attacking him. Knew he’d love nothing more than to have Bucky arrested and charged with assault. The thought made you nauseous. “He’s not worth your pardon.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt nim,” he promised. “I just wanna talk to the guy.”

For a long moment, you searched his face for any sign that he was lying. The twitch of a brow. The hint of a smile. But you came up empty. And so, you released him. 

“Wait for me downstairs, okay?” He brushed a kiss against your cheek and disappeared inside the apartment once again.

Bucky found Alex leaning against the counter, whiskey in hand. He barely looked up at the sound of Bucky’s boots, but Bucky clocked the eye roll Alex threw his way. 

“Let me guess, you’re back to teach me a lesson?” Alex mocked. “Oh, I’m so scared of the depressed, PTSD- riddled, lame-ass version of the Winter Soldier.” He feigned a fearful expression and made himself laugh before taking a swig of his drink. “What are you gonna do, therapize me to death?”

But Bucky maintained a calm aura- almost too calm. His hands didn’t shake with fury. His heartrate didn’t spike. He kept his breathing even. He approached Alex with a thin, tense smile, and even maintained the expression as his metal hand wound around the man’s throat. Before Alex knew what hit him, his body was pressed against the nearest wall. His feet dangled a few inches above the floor as he fought for his freedom, but it was useless. 

Bucky’s tone was composed, measured, even. It sent a chill down Alex’s spine.

“You know how much pain you inflicted on her,” Bucky said. “But you didn’t actually experience it yourself. You didn’t feelit. And as much as I would love to give you a first-hand recreation…” His grip tightened ever so slightly. “I promised her I wouldn’t hurt you. So, I’m just gonna tell you what will happen if you ever bother her again. You listening?”

Alex struggled to nod. A breathy “yes” was all he could manage.

“Good.”

Bucky’s voice grew lower, sharper, vicious. “I’ll break every single one of your ribs. One at a time. I’ll crush your chest so painfully slowly that you will feel the shards of your bones pierce your heart and lungs. And I’ll watch with a smile as you drown in your own blood,” Bucky said. “You will never speak to her or about her ever again- you won’t even think about her. And if you so much as mention her name- if you say anything less than gracious about her in your little douchey finance bro group text, I will make your life a living hell.” He paused a moment, relishing in Alex’s terrified expression. “You keeping up so far?”

Again, Alex struggled to speak. The lack of air and sudden influx of fear left him almost unable to think. But he managed a quiet “yes.”

“Excellent,” Bucky smiled. “You won’t call her. You won’t text her. You won’t harass her. You won’t stalk her social media or drunkenly call her at two in the morning. You’re going to leave her alone- forever. And if you ever- ever- contact her again, I’ll know. And I’ll be here. I’ve broken that door down once, I’ll be happy to do it again.”

With that, he released his grip on Alex’s neck and sent him crashing to the floor. Watching the man who hurt you sputter and struggle for breath filled Bucky with a sick, twisted kind of joy. Finally, it was Alex who was scared. Alex who was uncomfortable. Alex who felt pain. 

“The only contact you’re going to have with her,” Bucky continued, “is the Venmo payment you’re gonna send her for all of the things of hers you destroyed. Her clothes, her make up, her jewelry- all of it. And it’s going to be a very generousamount to make up for all of the sentimental stuff you destroyed, since you know damn well that she won’t be able to replace any of it.” He knelt next to Alex, getting extra close to the terrified man shaking on the floor. “And I know you’ve got the money. So, if it’s not enough, I’ll be back.”

He flashed a winning smile Alex’s way, “Have a nice day.”

Finally, he stood and stalked for the door, a satisfied smile stretching across his face.

The minutes dragged by without Bucky. You sat perched on one of the sofas in the apartment lobby, waiting for him to meet you. Every time the elevator doors opened, you hoped to see his tall frame and your other two bags of stuff. And every time, you were disappointed. It was nice of him to put his pardon on the line for you, to risk his freedom in order to get you the justice you deserved. But it was the last thing you wanted. After spending so much time away from him, your greatest desire was to simply be with him. To spend every minute with him. And you couldn’t do that if he landed himself in prison on assault charges. 

When he finally made his way to the lobby, you scanned him for any signs of a struggle. But his clothes weren’t out of place. And you didn’t find blood crusted over his knuckles. Nothing was amiss. He had the two remaining bags of your belongings tucked under his arms, and a calm, cool demeanor. But even though he didn’t seem riled up, you eyed him with suspicion. Surely, he hadn’t spent all that time upstairs just talking to Alex. 

“Hey, I’m gonna call us an Uber,” Bucky said as he met you at the couch. “That way we don’t have to bring all of your stuff of the train. Are you-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “What did you do?”

Bucky shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to talk to him-”

“Buck…”

“What?” He shot you a mischievous grin. “I just wanted to give him a piece of my mind. He’s still alive, still breathing, and all of his blood is inside of his body where it belongs.” A sudden seriousness eclipsed his expression. He dropped the playful attitude, placed your things on the couch, and pulled out his phone. “Anyway,” he tapped away at his phone, calling the two of you a ride. “Let’s get you the hell out of here. Sound good?”

He got his answer in the form of a long, nearly asphyxiating hug. The sheer force of your body launching into his knocked the wind from his lungs and sent him reeling backward. A deep laugh bellowed from his chest as he righted his footing and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Thank you so much…” you whispered against his neck. “For everything.”

Bucky’s lighthearted laughter vanished. “Of course, sweetheart.” He doubled down on the hug, pulling you tighter. “You know I always have your back.”

He refused to break the hug. Instead, he allowed you to rest there in his arms, with your face buried in the crook of his neck. Passersby threw strange looks your way, but Bucky paid them no mind. Only when his phone chimed, signaling the arrival of your car, did you finally force yourself to withdraw from his embrace. 

The ride back to Bucky’s was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of your garbage bags. And though you didn’t say a word over the course of the drive, you didn’t dare let go of Bucky’s hand. Your fingers remained so tightly intertwined with his that your knuckles ached- but you held firm. You knew better than to release your grip on a life preserver. 

“Alright, um, is there someplace you want me to set all this stuff?” you asked once you’d returned to Bucky’s. You eyed your overstuffed trash bags sitting in the middle of the living room floor. “I don’t want them to be in the way.”

Bucky just shrugged; he really didn’t seem to mind that your belongings completely encroached on his space. “I’m not worried about it, doll,” he shot you a reassuring smile, “You put ‘em wherever you like.”

But you couldn’t let your things take up the entirety of Bucky’s living room. After everything he’d done for you, you refused to be a less than perfect houseguest. With the toe of your shoe, you pushed the bags into a corner to keep them out of Bucky’s way. You sunk your weight into the large, overstuffed bags, hoping to make them as small as you possibly could. It was the very least you could do. 

“Alright, I’m-” You grabbed your phone off the charger and cleared Alex’s old notifications from the screen with a roll of your eyes. “I’m gonna go call my boss and let her know that a petulant man-child destroyed my work laptop.”

Bucky loved hearing you talk this way. Only a few hours ago, speaking about Alex made you shudder. It turned into a shaking, fragile shell of yourself that Bucky almost didn’t recognize. But you’d stood up to him. You finally fought back. And now, you were casually shit-talking him in Bucky’s living room. 

“And then I’m gonna start looking for a new place to live so I can get out of your hair as soon as possible,” you said as you scrolled through your contacts in search of your boss’s number. “I’m gonna borrow your room for a minute so I can talk with my boss. I’ll be right back.”

The stress of your current situation poked at the back of your mind. You did your best to shut it out and keep moving forward, but pangs of anxiety shocked you every few moments. Yes, you’d freed yourself from Alex’s shackles. And yes, you finally had Bucky back. But your work computer was a goner. You’d missed two meetings today already. And you were now without a place to live. 

Bucky listened to your footsteps growing further and further down the hall as your words buzzed inside his brain. You were going to look for a new place to live. You were going to leave. He didn’t mean to blurt it out, didn’t mean to make his offer in such a strange fashion- but he couldn’t help it.

“You could always live here,” he called after you. And it was too late to force the words back into his mouth. 

Once again, you joined him in the kitchen, a look of bewilderment on your face. “What?”

A nervous smile stretched across Bucky’s face. “I just mean, you’re more than welcome to live here. With me,” he shrugged. “I know this place isn’t nearly as nice as Alex’s, and it’s only a one bedroom- but if you wanted to live here, we could make it work. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

The absurdity of Bucky’s words made you shake your head. “Buck, I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own home-”

“It’s really okay,” he insisted. “We both know I don’t sleep much, anyway. And if you moved in here, I’d want you to take the bedroom.”

His kindness gave you whiplash. After being with someone so callous, so cruel for so long, Bucky’s warmth was shocking. Unexpected. And though you wanted nothing more than to make a home with him, you couldn’t accept his offer. 

“I can’t do that to you…”

“Yes, you can. I want you to.” Bucky was resolute in his words. His voice didn’t waver, he didn’t break eye contact. He meant what he said.

A long silence filled the room. Of course, you wanted to say yes. You wanted to move in with him and start the next chapter of your life with your best friend by your side. But just as your ‘yes’ tried to slip out of your mouth, you stopped it. You couldn’t accept his offer. At least, not with the proposed conditions. 

“Counteroffer,” you said. “I move in here, and we share the bedroom.”

Your proposal threw Bucky for a loop- but he’d do anything you wanted. All you had to do was ask. 

“Okay, yeah,” he conceded. “The room’s kinda small but we could fit two small beds in there. It might be a little cramped, but-”

“That’s not what I meant,” you laughed. “We would share the bed. I mean, we’ve slept in that bed together more times than I could count. This wouldn’t be any different.”

Bucky’s heart soared. Not only did he have his best friend back- but you wanted to share a bed like the old days. The good days. It was all he could’ve hoped for. 

“And, that way, I’ll be right there in case you have a nightmare or a panic attack,” you said, satisfied. “I can wake you up and make sure you’re alright.” The smile on your face was warm, genuine. You looked forward to helping Bucky, to comforting him. “It’s a win-win in my book.”

It made Bucky melt. He extended a hand in your direction, “Works for me, doll. Deal?”

You extended your hand and almost met his- but an anxious thought made you recoil.

“And you’re sure that you’re okay with me being here all the time? You’re not gonna get tired of me?”

Alex always made you feel like a bother. He’d asked- practically begged- you to move into his apartment. But once you finally fulfilled his request, he looked at your presence with contempt. He made it known that he was frustrated, that he felt like you were always around. And regardless of your newfound freedom, that wound hadn’t healed.

“Cause I work from home, you know. So, I’m gonna be here a lot,” you told him. “I mean, pretty much all day, every day. And if that’s too much, I-”

“I want you to be here- all the time,” Bucky promised. 

And he meant it. 

Finally, your hand found his and delivered a firm shake. “Deal.”

With your housing arrangements taken care of, you once again headed down the hall to call your boss. Everything felt lighter, easier, less overwhelming. Only moments ago, you didn’t know where you’d be sleeping a few days from now. But Bucky swept in- again- and saved the day. He offered you the homelife you’d dreamt of every night since meeting him. He made your dream a reality. 

Bucky remained in the kitchen, silently processing what just happened. Did he really ask you to move in? And did you actually say yes? His heart pounded in his chest. This was the best possible outcome. The fantasy he’d envisioned for years. To have you so close by, to see you every day, to live under the same roof as you- it was all he’d ever wanted. His eyes drifted to the garbage bags that you shoved into a corner of his living room. When he said that he didn’t mind you putting them there, he meant it. He was just happy- elated, really- to have your things in his home. To know that this was their permanent residence. To know that this was your permanent residence. 

And though everything in those bags was mostly destroyed, you were okay. You were safe and comfortable. You were home now. 

When you finally finished your call, you found Bucky in the kitchen. He stood over a swath of sandwich ingredients, assembling a much-needed meal for the two of you.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said. “You in the mood for lunch?”

“I’m starving,” you told him. Truthfully, you hadn’t even realized you were hungry. The stress of the day muted your body’s hunger signals completely. But somehow, Bucky knew. He always knew what you needed.

The two of you sat on the living room floor, going through your possessions and eating your sandwiches. Bucky helped you comb through each bag of stuff as you determined what, if anything, could be salvaged. His heart broke as the ‘trash’ pile grew, and grew, and grew. It severely outweighed the ‘save’ pile- and you’d only been through one bag. Alex reduced your belongings by at least seventy percent. But you didn’t seem to mind much.

As you were made well aware, there were worse things in life than torn clothes and destroyed make-up. A volatile, loveless relationship, a partner who hated you, a year without the person you loved most; your broken laptop paled in comparison. 

Only one possession really mattered to you- and it survived the rampage. But as you glanced over at the kitchen counter in search of your manila envelope, your heart stopped. Every function within your body came to a screeching halt. It was nowhere to be seen.

Did you drop it in the apartment lobby? Forget it in the Uber? Was your most beloved personal item sitting on the sidewalk outside Alex’s building?

Bucky clocked the anxiety in your expression, the way your eyes searched every inch of the kitchen. He could always sense even the smallest of changes in your demeanor- sometimes before you sensed them yourself. 

“Hey, is everything alright?”

“I’m just looking for my-” A sigh of relief left your chest as your gaze landed on your envelope. It was tucked under a worn cookbook, with only one of its manila corners poking out. “Never mind, I found it.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and scanned the kitchen until he realized what had you so panicked. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t want to get anything on it while I was making us lunch,” Bucky said. “So, I just put it under my cookbook to be safe. Is that okay?”

With a breathless nod, you assured him it was just fine. But your heart still boomed inside your chest, and the sweat on your palms still left your skin slick. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal with that envelope?” Bucky asked, testing the waters. “If it’s none of my business, I completely understand. But I could’ve sworn you were about to tell me back at the apartment.”

“And someone just had to interrupt us,” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “It’s not too personal, I just had to hide it from Alex. I want you to see, though.”

Bucky was right about one thing. You’d tried to show him the contents of the envelope back at Alex’s. But he had the rest wrong; it was his business just as much as it was yours. He just had no idea how personal the contents of that envelope were to him.

You ditched the pile of damaged clothes sitting in your lap and stood, offering your hand to Bucky. “Come on, let me show you.”

Bucky gladly accepted your hand and laced his fingers with yours on the walk to the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what to expect from your special, secret envelope. But he didn’t care. Whether it was a child’s messy crayon drawing or the nuclear codes- it didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was that the contents of this envelope were important to you. And if they were important to you, they were important to him.

“Okay, so, a little backstory…” You slid the envelope out from underneath the book and held it to your chest. “After Alex told me to stop spending so much time with you but before he issued the ultimatum, we got into this big fight,” you rolled your eyes, “I know that comes as a surprise to no one.”

Bucky chuckled at your joke, but the words made his chest ache. To him, your time with Alex sounded more like active combat than love. More like a battlefield than a relationship. 

“And during that fight,” you continued, “he told me I had way too many pictures of me and you on my phone. He thought that at least three-quarters of my phone’s storage was just pictures of us, and he said it was disrespectful to my relationship with him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “of course, he did.”

“So, he told me I needed to go through my camera roll and delete every picture of you and me. He said it needed to be done by the time he got home from work the next day, and they actually had to be gone for real. Not saved to the cloud. Not hidden in a private album. Deleted forever.”

Bucky grimaced, “That’s fucking vile.” 

It made Bucky sick to his stomach. He cherished his photos of the two of you. Over the course of the last year, he found himself scrolling through those pictures every day. Several times a day. It was a coping mechanism, a respite from the void you left behind. When his chest ached with the pain of missing you, he’d dive headfirst into the hundreds of photos of the two of you. The selfies from the zoo. The pictures from Sam’s wedding. The blurry snapshot of you braiding his long hair. And for a while, he felt like himself again. The pain would ebb, the soul-crushing grief would let up. It was his saving grace.

If he suddenly had to rid his phone of those images, he’d never know peace again.  

“I know. I thought so, too,” a disgusted look pulled at your features. “But I didn’t wanna cause any more problems between he and I, you know? I didn’t want to give him more reasons to be pissed at me…”

Bucky nodded.

“But there was no way I was ever going to delete our pictures,” you swore. “So, when he was at work the next day, I transferred every photo and video of you and me onto an external hard drive and took it to my sister’s place for safekeeping.”

Bucky’s heart swelled. You didn’t delete the pictures- you couldn’t. They were just as important to you as they were to him. He, of course, never doubted that you valued his friendship. But knowing that you couldn’t bear to part with the pictures of the two of you made him blush. He almost wished you hadn’t risked Alex’s wrath just to save those pictures. Hadn’t put yourself in such a dangerous position. But you did. And it filled him with an all-encompassing warmth. 

“There was one picture- my favorite picture in the world- that didn’t have a digital copy, though. It only exists as an actual, physical print. So, I couldn’t just put it on the hard drive and call it a day. And I didn’t have it in me to hand it over to my sister. I just- I love it too much.” It was a little embarrassing to admit just how much you needed this polaroid picture. But Bucky didn’t make a judgmental comment or laugh at you. He simply listened, happily awaiting the next part of your story.

“So, I put it in this envelope and taped it to the back of my nightstand so Alex would never find it. And when things with him were really awful- which was all the time- and I just needed an escape… I’d go into our room, lock the door, and just stare at this picture for a while.” You blinked away the tears forming along your lash line and swallowed the lump in your throat. 

Carefully, you opened the envelope and freed the polaroid from its hiding place. Revealing it to another person almost felt like stripping naked. This picture was your everything, your most prized possession. Sharing it felt like exposing the deepest, most secretive part of your soul. 

“It might sound kinda stupid, but this thing saved my life during the last year.”

And finally, you presented Bucky with the photo. He took in a small gasp at the sight of this relic of your friendship. Cautiously, he accepted the polaroid and held it with the utmost care. He hadn’t seen this photo in ages; part of him assumed it was long-lost by now. But you’d had it this whole time, cherishing it every single day. 

“Oh, I love this one…” He carefully drank in each detail of the photo, examining it one piece at a time.

It was a snapshot of a perfect moment, frozen in time. Confetti littered the floor, empty solo cups laid abandoned on the coffee table. And there you stood next to Bucky, with one of his arms wrapped lovingly around your shoulders. You were laughing at something; Bucky couldn’t remember what. But he remembered the feeling it gave him- the feeling of warmth. The feeling of home. His lips were pulled into a wide smile as he beamed down at you, drowning in adoration. Sure, it was slightly out of focus and tad bit blurry. But it perfectly illustrated the way you and Bucky felt about each other. The way you cared for each other. Cherished each other. 

Bucky traced the corners of the photo with his fingers, “I never knew where this thing ended up. I’m so glad you kept it.”

“Yeah…” A hurricane of memories hit you all at once, reminding you of all the times you sought solace in that photo. It gave you the comfort Alex withheld. The strength to carry on. The hope that, one day, you’d see Bucky again. “Me too. I just hate that I had to hide it, you know?”

“Hey, how about we do this…” Bucky took your hand in his and walked you over to the fridge. He freed his hand for a moment, only long enough secure the photo to his fridge with a magnet. His hand found yours once again, and the two of you admired your polaroid’s new home.

“I can go get you a frame for it tomorrow, that way you can display it properly. And you can see it every day. But I thought this would be good for now,” he said. “You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

And for a long while, the two of you just stood there in front of the fridge. No one spoke- no one needed to. Bucky freed his hand from yours and opted instead to wrap his arm around your shoulders, just as he’d done in the photo. 

The weight of this moment would’ve shocked a stranger. To anyone else, a blurry photo on a fridge wouldn’t require this much admiration. This much reverence. But to you, this was everything. Six months ago- even a week ago- you never would’ve thought this was possible. You never would’ve thought you’d be here, in Bucky’s apartment, with your favorite photo proudly displayed for all to see. A familiar stinging sensation warned you of the oncoming tears, but you didn’t make an effort to stop them. 

If a genie offered you one wish, you’d wish to go back in time. You’d want to warn your past-self of the slippery slope of Alex’s manipulation. Of the pain and suffering and heartache he caused. Of the way you lost out on a year with your most cherished friend. But with no genie in sight, you opted to simply live better. Love better. And be honest with people- with Bucky.

“Hey, by the way,” you broke the silence. “I wanted to talk to you about something Alex said to me earlier…” It was a miracle the words even came; you were too nervous to even breath. “I just think I should set the record straight and-”

Bucky held up a hand, silencing you. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky assured you. “I know he’s just an insecure guy who was feeling threatened, or whatever. I’m not gonna hold you to anything he said.”

You took a step back, freeing yourself from Bucky’s embrace. You needed the space, the distance. If you were going to be honest with him, you needed a clear head. And being so close to him was enough to make you drunk.

“That’s not what I was gonna say.” You paced back and forth a little before almost shouting, “I was gonna say that he was right- I am in love with you. And I have been for a long time.”

A loaded silence sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. No one spoke, no one even moved.

Bucky felt his skin burst into flames. He feared his heart might explode. For so long, the only feeling he’d known was sorrow. Grief. Missing you became his constant state of being. But now, here you were. And you were saying things- things he’d always wanted to hear. Part of him wondered if this was some kind of very long, very detailed dream. But no, this was real. You were right there in from of him, baring your soul and confessing your love. 

“That’s…” he took a deep breath, “that’s not at all what I expected you to say.”

The seconds crept by until they became a minute. Two minutes. Three. But Bucky didn’t say anything else. He let his simple response hang in the air without elaboration. And just like that, your hope imploded. Four minutes of quiet past. And just when the fifth grew close, Bucky finally spoke.

“I bet you don’t know the backstory of that picture.”

A quizzical look pulled at your features. Frustrated hardened your voice. “Buck, I just told you that I’m in love with you, this is not the time to talk about backstory.”

Bucky just shook his head, “come on, humor me, doll.” He shrugged, waiting for you to tell him the story.

“Okay, I mean, I was literally there, so I do know the back story,” you huffed. “It was after Sam’s birthday party. Everyone else had left except for us, Sam, and Nat. We were all goofing around at like, three in the morning or something. And Nat took the picture.” You gave him an expectant look, “there you go. Backstory.”

Bucky made a dissatisfied sound but couldn’t fight the shit-eating grin creeping through his serious exterior. “Hmm, not Quite.”

“What? That is the story, what are you-”

“Technically, yes, that is the story,” the conceded. “But it’s not the full story.”

An irritated sigh left your chest, “okay, fine. What’s the ‘full story’?” You’d never been this frustrated with Bucky before. Never felt this much annoyance toward him; you didn’t like it. He was being difficult on purpose, and clearly enjoying it.

“Well, it was after Sam’s birthday party. And it was only the four of us there, like you said. But…” he began, “After Nat took the picture, she dragged you into the kitchen so you two could take shots. And once you were out of earshot, Sam kinda shoved my shoulder.”

“Okay…”

“And he said I just needed to marry you already.”

Your heart stopped.  “I told him- I swore we were just friends,” Bucky laughed at the preposterous lie. “I told him things with us were strictly platonic. And Sam laughed in my face. He said- and this is a direct quote- ‘platonic my ass. You’re in love with her. If you two aren’t together one year from now, I’ll give you five hundred bucks.’”

He paused, trapping you in suspense. 

“And he was right,” Bucky said. “I was in love you- I am in love with you. I always have been.”

Thousands of thoughts crowded your already overwhelmed mind. Words refuse to string themselves together properly. Thoughts collided with each other and turned into messy, jumbled piles. Somewhere within you, a sense of urgency erupted. Something told you to act- act right now. Don’t give Bucky the time to take it back. Don’t give him the opportunity to say, “never mind”. 

But what were you supposed to say to that? It wasn’t what you’d expected- you hadn’t even let yourself hope for something like this. And now that your ideal scenario was playing out of front of you, you were completely and utterly unprepared.

A few clunky sounds fell out of your mouth; they didn’t even resemble an actual word. You thought it was maybe a combination of “wow” and “cool”- mixed with a healthy dose of unintelligible mumbling. It wasn’t like the smooth, well-crafted delivery that Bucky displayed. Your cheeks burned with humiliation as Bucky stared at you, awaiting your response. 

Everything in you wished you were cooler. Smoother. Less embarrassing. On rare occasions, you let yourself imagine what this moment might be like. And in your head, you always handled it with poise. With grace. In your daydreams, there wasn’t any awkward mumbling or charged silence. Instead, you and Bucky would fall together seamlessly after confessing your love in perfect, poetic sonnets.

This was not that. 

But this was better. Because it was real. Because the Bucky Barnes was standing in front of you, telling you that he loved you. 

Finally, you found your words. 

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.” 

Bucky’s chest deflated with a deep sigh of relief. Because even though you’d professed your love for him only moments ago, your long silence forced his anxiety into overdrive. What if you were just making a weird joke? What if he’d taken it too seriously? 

But the way you wrapped your body around his confirmed that, yes, you did mean it. You did love him. 

“And hey,” Bucky wriggled free of your arms and took your face in his hands. He needed to make direct eye contact, needed you to know he was serious. “I know what you- I know some of what you went through over the last year. I know you have a lot to process. So, there’s no rush.”

And while it was sweet and thoughtful and kind of Bucky to say such a thing, you weren’t sure if it was true. Because there was a rush, wasn’t there? There was a time limit. A ticking clock. You couldn’t make him table his feelings for you even longer. Couldn’t make him wait. And if you did tell him to press pause, weren’t his feelings going to expire? Weren’t they going to run out? You needed to capitalize on his affections for you now before it was too late. 

But before you could lie through your teeth and tell Bucky you didn’t need to wait, he spoke.

“If you ever want to pursue things with me, I’ll be here,” he promised. “My feelings for you aren’t going anywhere. I’ve waited years for this, I can wait as long as you need.”

But that was just it. He’d waited years- making him wait any longer would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it be unfair, especially now that he’d rescued you from your volatile relationship? 

It wasn’t that you wanted to delay a romantic relationship with Bucky. No, you wanted it now. The only issue was the heavy toll your ex took on you. You were littered with emotional wounds that were barely beginning to heal. Your anxiety was at an all-time high. And your trust issues reared their ugly heads. This wasn’t the version of you that Bucky deserved. He didn’t deserve the broken-down, mentally unwell shell of a woman that stood before him. And you owed it to yourself to rebuild.

The long silence brought on by your introspection set Bucky on edge. Maybe he really did misread the situation. Maybe you loved him but didn’t want to actually be with him. Maybe he overstepped. 

“And if you never want to pursue anything romantic with me, I’ll understand,” he said. “There won’t be any hard feelings. I’ll always be here for you, whether it’s as a friend or-”

“Shut up.”

Your lips melted against his. Your fingers weaved into his hair and pulled him close. His hands gripped you at the waist and pulled you flush against his body. Everything quieted. the noise from the city, your residual anxiety- it all faded. All that remained was Bucky. His hands, his lips, his stubble scratching against your skin. 

It was odd, getting everything you’d ever wanted. Never did you think this was possible- you didn’t even consider it. You resigned yourself to a life of unhappiness and heartache and longing. You assumed you’d die without ever truly knowing what true love felt like. But you felt it now; it felt like Bucky. 

No part of you wanted to pull away, but you had to. You had to set the record straight. Suddenly, your lips vanished from Bucky’s. He instantly frowned. 

“You didn’t seriously think that I was gonna tell you I’m in love with you and then not pursue a relationship with you, did you?” You threw a dramatic scoff his way, “Are you crazy?” 

“Hey, I don’t know!” Bucky laughed. “I guess what I meant is… I understand. And I just wanted you to know that there’s no pressure. I don’t ever want you to be uncomfortable.”

Once again, your lips found Bucky’s. This was his preferred way of existing now. Any moment spent without your lips on his seemed like a waste.

“I just need some time,” you said, breaking the kiss again. “I promise it won’t be long- I swear. I want to be with you more than anything. I just have some stuff to work through first.”

Bucky ran a hand over your hair. Your shoulder. Your forearm. Finally, he laced his fingers with yours like he had a million times before. But it felt different now. More permanent.

“Of course, sweetheart. You take as long as you need. I’m not worried about the time.”

An exaggerated grimace pulled at your features, and a joking air spilled into your speech. “Oh, good. Cause if I’m remembering correctly, Sam’s birthday party was September twenty-fourth of last year. And today is September twenty-ninth. So, I made you miss the one-year mark by five days, which means he’s not gonna pay up.”

Bucky’s laugh boomed through the small apartment. It bounced off every all, surrounding you with your favorite sound. 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Bucky finally said when he caught his breath. “But I’m not worried about it.” His bright smile and joking tone fell away, stripping his words bare. He grew gravely serious. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he said. The authenticity almost scared you. “I’m so happy to have you back where you belong.”

He enveloped you in a long, deep kiss that stole your breath. Only two days ago, you were a rain-soaked, broken-hearted mess. The world was bleak. Cold. Empty. You swore you didn’t see the sun the entire time you were with Alex. But now, the warmth of Bucky’s kindness and warmth perfused everything with bright, vibrant colors. The storm clouds finally parted, revealing the most beautiful, golden daylight. 

And after everything, Bucky was finally yours. 

But he always was. 

Everything you’d been through, all the pain and suffering and misery, brought you to this moment. And you couldn’t think of anything that could ever pull your attention from the way Bucky’s lips felt against hers. 

But something stole your focus.

A strange sound came from your phone- you swore it sound like a ‘cha-ching’. The two of you parted for a moment, allowing you to investigate. 

“Was that- I think that was a Venmo notification…” you said. “But I didn’t-” You pulled your phone from your back pocket and glanced at your screen, only to find the one name you never wanted to see again. Alongside that name, though, was a number- a large number.

“Alex just sent me three thousand dollars.” You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, “Did you do this?”

Bucky’s head fell back in a devious, almost maniacal laugh. “Baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

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

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @onewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @purpleshallot @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

(I don't know what the fuck is going on with my tags, they dont work apparently)

[aetherawasneverhere]

mᥲstᥱrᥣιst!

HI LURKERS

here is my entire masterlist and stuff ill be writing in the future.

Supernatural

sam winchester

romance on the side (oneshot)

space between (oneshot)

dean winchester

...

Scream

ethan landry

study breaks (drabble/oneshot? idk)

The 100

...

Marvel

this includes: Avengers, X-Men, Spider-Verse, Guardians of the Galaxy, Young Avengers (Kate Bishop, Wiccan, etc), Thunderbolts.

...

[donottouchredbutton]

Endlessly Falling

joaquin torres x sunshine!reader/ofc

3k words

she was falling, and there was only one person she trusted to catch her.

set in the same universe as this fic

warnings: angst, fear, canon-typical violence but i think it's pretty vague, reader/ofc has a fear of heights, idk let me know if i'm missing anything

note: idk if this is any good, i wrote it in like four hours unedited while i was trying to distract myself from burnout from work. feedback is always welcome :) also let me know if you notice anything familiar about sunshine's backstory... idk maybe there's something there, maybe there's not. let me know what you think!

She was running for her life. Again. She was really getting tired of this shit. 

She remembered a few weeks ago when the worst thing she had to worry about was getting her essays turned in on time, emailing her professors, and working on her thesis, back when she was just a grad student. Since meeting Joaquin, she found herself in trouble a lot more than she ever expected to be. 

That wasn’t to say this was the first time she’s ever had to run for her life, or that meeting Joaquin was the start of her getting into trouble. Or that meeting Joaquin was her first time helping a superhero. No, she had plenty of experience with this sort of thing. She remembered when she was a teenager the few (multiple) times when her dad’s work followed him home (literally) and having to hide or having to flee her own home just so he could take care of it. Terrifying as it was, she had learned to be good at finding the best hiding spots on the fly. And she still remembered when she was nineteen being trapped in a cage with a monster (who, to be fair, was her dad, but we won’t go into the specifics this time), with the intention of being mauled to death alongside a woman she barely knew. And just a year later, having to travel halfway across the world to help a superhero with identity issues to stop a cult and rescue her dad from said cult (her dad had a bad habit of getting himself into trouble, but he would always tell her that her uncle was even worse). 

Yeah. This wasn’t her first rodeo. And she was positive it wouldn’t be her last, either. 

But she sure as hell didn’t miss having to do this. 

Sam and Joaquin had both understood and agreed initially that they needed her help if they were going to stop this underground terrorist group. Bucky had been on the fence about it at first, thinking her too nice and innocent to get involved, but once she had proved herself in a fight the first time he had realized he had jumped the gun on judging her. She was a formidable opponent while still being able to maintain her happy nature and her positive, love-for-life attitude. 

Which was why she found herself in this position for the first time in years. She hadn’t meant to cause a distraction, she had just been sent by the men on a reconnaissance mission to one of their underground meetings while the three of them tried to take out their base of operations nearby. Even to her, the meeting was much bigger than she had been expecting, and the sound of the men updating her on their progress through her earpiece was only confirmation: they were a much bigger threat than they had initially believed. She had been listening to one of the leaders of the group as he slowly but surely began riling everyone up, his voice raising as he spoke to them about forcing order to the world and subjecting the people who had no care for them. He was nearly shouting at that point, and it was honestly beginning to frighten her. She was so ensnared by his words that the sound of Sam yelling through the earpiece completely threw her off her guard. 

“GET DOWN! IT’S A TRAP!”

The sound of gunshots on the other end of her earpiece caused her to gasp in fear, which caused her to slap her hand over her mouth in dread. She was scared for her friends, but she was also terrified at the sudden silence that happened in the room next to her after she did so. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as what was surely only a few seconds felt like years as she awaited what would happen. She didn’t dare breathe as she waited, her back pressed against the wall to make herself as small as possible. 

“Someone’s here with us. Take care of it.”

The leader’s words were just loud enough for her to hear, but it was more than enough to set her off at a sprint to get out of there. 

She had been running for what had felt like forever when she finally thought to check in with the others to make sure they were okay, and to find out what the hell happened. 

“What the hell happened?” she shouted through the earpiece. 

“They knew we were coming! It was a setup!” Sam shouted back. He and Bucky were fighting off terrorists left and right as they themselves tried to get out of the base. Their initial plan had been to find the leaders at the base and to either a) reason with them and get them to come willingly (Sam’s idea) or b) stop them by any means necessary (Bucky’s idea), but the three men had been met with nearly an entire army once they got there like they knew they were coming. The place had been booby trapped of all things, tipping the group off so that they opened fire seconds later. They all knew that if they were in trouble, she would be too. “Get outta there, now!”

“I’m trying!”

And she was. Unfortunately for her, the place was a maze, and with about ten angry men chasing after her, it was hard for her to focus on where all of the hallways led to rather than just trying to get away from them. Her fear was making it hard to think, and luckily it was making it hard to think about the fear itself. She just needed to get away. 

The sound of Joaquin’s voice in her ear immediately began to uncloud her mind. “Find a way to go up! Stairs, ladder, window, anything! I’ll come find you!”

She wasn’t able to think about how he would be able to do so, but she listened to him anyway. She trusted him enough to believe he was telling the truth. 

Truthfully, Joaquin didn’t know if he was. He had split from Sam and Bucky once they had opened fire, Sam telling him to fly out of there to find their superior and tell them all they had learned about the group. He often thought about what it would be like to jump out as Falcon, but he wasn’t exactly able to reflect on those expectations when he was in the middle of a life or death situation. He thought once he did so that he was in the clear, but there had been a couple of helicopters right outside waiting for him. So, they had air support. Of fucking course they did. 

Joaquin was sure that their superior would get an earful from Sam once they were finally on the clear (if they ever got to that point). He was doing his best to take out the people shooting at him from the helicopters, making sure they stayed focused on him so they wouldn’t start shooting elsewhere, but the entire time his focus was elsewhere. He couldn’t keep his mind off of her, and he was riddled with guilt. 

Joaquin was the one who had fought so hard to convince Sam and Bucky that she could help them on this mission. While they had both known she could handle herself, they were hesitant to let her go into the field with them, especially on a mission like this. She would have to get about as close as she physically could to this terrorist group without them finding out she was there, and they weren’t willing to risk her getting hurt or worse if something went wrong. It was the last thing Joaquin ever wanted, but he saw how hard she fought to convince them. He saw her conviction and determination, and more than anything, he saw that she truly cared. She just wanted to help, and Joaquin knew that. She was running for her life right now because he was the one to convince them to let her help. 

She was in danger because of him. 

He was right about her needing to find a way up. She had found a door that led her to a staircase all the way up to the roof. She took a quick glance over her shoulder to see how close the men were, finding them far away enough for her to be able to lock the door behind her. If she wasn’t running for her life, she would’ve thought about how it definitely seemed like a safety issue for the door to even have a lock, but she was more concerned about buying herself at least a minute or two to get to the top. She didn’t look back again after she locked the door and began to race up the stairs, not until she heard the sound of a gunshot blowing the door open. The information that they did have guns with them scared her more than she thought it would. They liked the chase, and they didn’t want the end to be quick if they did catch her. The thought made her blood run cold, and a new wave of adrenaline filled her as she continued to run. 

Once she reached the roof, once again locking the door behind her to buy herself some time, she looked out to try to find Joaquin anywhere nearby, but he was nowhere to be found. She braced herself as she looked over the edge of the building she was on, and the realization of just how far up she was was quick to set in. She hadn’t realized how long the staircase was nor how far up she had run, but the sight of the city what looked like miles beneath her caused her heart to beat faster for a completely different reason. She could handle most things—monsters, cults, running for her life. Heights weren’t one of those things. 

“Joaquin,” she said. She tried to steady the tremble in her voice, trying to control her breathing. 

“I’m on my way!” he shouted back, trying to dodge the helicopter that was currently shooting at him. He was not on his way, but he needed to be soon if he wanted any chance of getting to her in time. 

The sound of the men chasing her banging on the door to the roof made her jolt, dread filling her veins like venom. They were throwing themselves against the door to get it open. Unsuccessfully, sure, but the knowledge that they had the means to get the door open with their weapons made her believe that this was just a sadistic scare tactic. The thought made her sick. 

“Joaquin,” she warned. She was unable to hide the fear she felt from her voice. Even she could hear her voice shake. 

So could Joaquin, and he knew they were both running out of time. Taking out the pilot in the final helicopter, he set the thrusters of his wings to full power before jetting off to where she was. 

“I’m on my way!” he shouted once again, but he knew that he wouldn’t be there in enough time. Thinking fast, he added, “You’re gonna have to jump!”

Her stomach dropped at the thought. “I can’t,” she whispered. But she knew she was running out of options. The men chasing her would get tired of playing with her, and in seconds they would be out there with her. She’d have nowhere else to go. Her hands were already shaking as the reality of what she had to do was setting in. 

And she was right. The sound of the door to the roof being blown open made her jump, and the sight of the men closing in on her filled her with a fear she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“JOAQUIN!”

“JUMP!”

She didn’t think. She ran to the edge of the building and jumped, right before they could grab her. 

She’s fallen before. She’s fallen out of tall trees when she was little, her dad constantly scolding her for climbing trees when she knew she might fall, but that’s why she always did it—to get better at climbing without falling. She’s jumped off of high platforms, trying to get down from where she was to try to help someone who needed it. She’s been thrown off of the side of a building before, but even then that was done when she was unconscious. This was something different. Being in free fall for so long, that sinking feeling in her gut never leaving but slowly getting worse as she seemed to fall closer to the ground in slow motion. The air whipped at her as if punishing her for jumping, her fear only growing as it felt like she would be endlessly falling. 

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think to breathe. She couldn’t think, her mind somewhere up in the clouds that she seemed to remember falling through when she jumped. Her eyes were dripping with tears she couldn’t stop as the cool air burned them as she went. Another punishment, she thought. The air was thin, too, choking her up even more. She couldn’t find her voice, though if she did, she wouldn’t have been able to think about calling for Joaquin again. She couldn’t think about whether he would catch her in time. She just had to continue falling. 

Joaquin’s heart raced as he did, his sights set on her as he flew to catch her. He could hear the fear in her voice when she said she couldn’t jump, it had been clear as day to him that she was afraid to. He hadn’t wanted to make her do it, but he knew she had to. And he knew he would rather die than let her hit the ground. He wouldn’t let her get hurt again. He would make sure of it. 

When he was finally close enough, his arms reaching for her, Joaquin felt time stop. He couldn’t think. The only thing he could focus on as he reached for her was her eyes. Those eyes he had seen could hold such light and happiness as he had come to know her, those same eyes that were squeezed shut from fear and wet with tears he knew she couldn’t stop. Once he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, never daring to let go. 

Once she felt him surrounding her, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, aware enough to not choke him but clutching onto him like her life depended on it, because it did. There was nothing that would get her to let go. And now that he was holding her, she could finally feel herself breathe again. 

They were both silent as he flew them away from the building, away from all of the bad men who wished them harm, away from where she felt for a moment she was falling to her death. The pit in her stomach from falling was gone, replaced with something else she couldn’t place. She still felt sick feeling her insides shaken so much, but it wasn’t just that. She felt a pull inside her, not in her stomach but maybe in her chest. She couldn’t know for sure, still barely able to think or process what was going on. The only thing she knew for sure at that moment was that she felt well and truly safe wrapped up in Joaquin’s arms. 

Joaquin finally landed them on the roof of another building, much much shorter than the one she had jumped from and miles away. With the way she was clutching onto his back, he knew she could use a moment to stand on her own two legs and catch her breath. Once his feet touched the ground, he slowly eased her down as well, taking care to handle her gently for fear of causing her any more grief. His arms didn’t leave her even as she got her footing, nor did they when she leaned heavily against him once she was standing. She was still gripping him for dear life, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. He was sure he was holding her in a similar way. 

“Are you okay?” he asked after a few minutes. He always made sure that she was, and if she wasn’t, he always did what he could to help. 

“…Yeah,” she answered slowly, barely audible if it weren’t for her mouth being so close to his ear. “Just… need a minute.” 

Joaquin knew that they didn’t have a minute. He should’ve already been with his superior by now, finishing up with the debrief as they waited for Sam and Bucky to return as well. But he wasn’t concerned with any of that right now. The only thing he cared about was the woman in his arms, shaking like a leaf as she tried to calm down. For her, he would make the time. 

He readjusted his arms around her so that he was hugging her instead, one arm around her waist while the other came up to her shoulders, his hand holding her head against him and stroking her hair. He tried to steady his breathing in a way that she could follow, willing his own heart rate to slow down as he tried to help her calm down. 

She wasn’t the only one who had felt like they were endlessly falling. The only difference was, his had been slow and steady, hardly noticing it was happening until it hit him all at once. And he knew he would fall again and again if it meant getting to hold her like this. 

[tricksh0t]

★ exes on good terms

☾ sam wilson & james barnes x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ finishing the brunt of something and then leaving it for a long time just to come back and finish the last little bit is my curse

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.40k

cw: pre-TFATWS, face-sitting, riding, bj (reader receiving), insert is kind of secondary character, little corruption kink, jealousy, voyeurism, threesome

You don't know why James still comes to your apartment without warning. You don't know why you still let him, or why you invite him inside, or why you let him eat your food or shower with your water or sleep on your couch.

You don't know why he looks the way he does, hair greasy and wet, almost drowned, eyes down, lips frowning, you don't know anything except that he looks like a kicked puppy.

That just may be why you let him in.

It must also be why you let him wrap his arms around your midriff as you cook for him, for the both of you, as if you're still his.

"You smell good." You hum, stirring a pot of something.

Frankly, he smells like you. He smells like your shampoo and like your conditioner and like your soap. It almost tricks your brain into thinking he's still yours.

"Don't say things like that." Buck grumbles, like he usually does. "That's weird."

You didn't say that when we dated, is what you would say, but you don't want to turn things sour.

You know that in his little head he's pretending that everything's fine and that you're still together; and that saying something, reminding him you're not or even anything about the past, will urge him to run away, like he usually does.

So you remain here, laughing and smiling, "Sure."

Mac and cheese. Not Kraft Dinner, for once, however good the processed and preserved cheese and thin noodles might taste.

No, James deserved something better.

"What did you do today?"

"That's classified."

Between the metal arm and occasional blood smell Bucky gives off (nevermind the fact he was America's number 1 threat a couple years ago), "Yeah, I know. Was worth a try, anyway."

Bucky picks at his dinner. "You've got better small talk."

You roll your eyes, "If not what you did, how did you feel?"

"Hmm." Bucky hums, his eyebrows raised. He's a little surprised at the question, despite it being 'how are you' but like in the past tense. "Lonely, but you knew that."

"Did I?" He stares up at you when you say that, expression full deadpan. "Alright. Yeah, I did."

He huffs a small laugh through his nose and you relish in the fact you at least brought that out from him.

You insist on him sleeping in your bed tonight (with you) but even after all that begging, you're surprised to find him there, body half under the blanket, when you slip out of the shower.

He looks yours.

He's wearing your pajamas he borrowed, he's on your bed, under your covers, cleaned in your shower, filled with your food. He's reading a book, even, which isn't yours, but it is domestic.

"Hey." You whisper almost breathlessly, before you're crawling into bed and into his arms. He always liked being big spoon.

"Hey, you." Bucky puts the book down without a fight. He scoots down to laying, bringing you down with him.

You're leaning your body over his, half on the bed, half on him. Your head lays on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. He's superhuman you think, from all the hints he's given, and yet his heart beats just like yours, soothingly. His hand is in your hair, calloused as it is, it feels great when he runs his fingers through your strands and touches your scalp. You won't get to feel the other hand. It's too cold, he used to say, but at least he's considerate.

He switches off the light.

What is it that makes superheroes attracted to you?

In the morning, someone rings your doorbell while you were making breakfast.

It's Sam—you know, the Falcon? He's got his usual bright smile that never fails to incite a matching one on yours, that morning run sheen over his forehead, and...groceries?

"Hey, sweetheart." He greets, as if he's not knocking on your door unwarned, with groceries you're sure aren't his because he lives far from here.

You don't know why you let Sam show up at your door like this, or why you invite him inside, or why you let him eat your food or shower with your water or sleep on your couch; except today it seems he's paying you back for the food bit.

"Hey yourself–" You greet quickly, before turning to the matter at hand, "what are you doing here?"

"I was in town." Sam puts a foot into your apartment, and you let him. You let him step inside and leave the groceries on the counter and prop his feet up on the table—not that he does that last thing. "Thought I'd pay you a visit. You still like Kit Kats?"

When you check the groceries, lo and behold, there's the Kit Kats that you like. It seems he remembers a lot more than that, like your favorite cheese, favorite chips, favorite brand of instant coffee, and more.

"Yep, I do." You let out a small laugh. "Thank you. Hey, let me repay you."

"Oh, nuh-uh." Sam raises his arms, rounds the breakfast bar and leans against it so he can put some distance between you and your wallet. "I'm not taking any of your money, y'understand? You can pay me back with those pancakes you've got piled up."

When he actually really looks at them, he realizes that's not a serving for one. His eyebrows furrow before his face lights up again, "Shit, you got a boo around or something? I didn't mean to intrude."

"No!" You're quick to interject, "No, just a friend. No worries, I'll make you some pancakes."

"Thanks." Sam seems to deflate–physically and emotionally–with relief. "Where is he–or she, sorry, they?"

"Sleeping in."

"Alright." He accepts easily. He must've lost the knowledge that you don't have a guest bed.

"How've you been?" You ask, turning your back to him to prepare more breakfast.

You don't have to see him anyway to imagine all of the emotions and expressions on his face. "Peachy. You know, saving the world. Getting called out or stopped on the street for an autograph or a picture. The usual."

"Make sure the world knows you don't live here." You chuckle, "Lord knows the amount of fan mail I got when you were around frequently."

Sam laughs too. "Imagine me now."

Mm, there goes your streak of luck. Just as Bucky struts in, in all his bed hair, sleepy head, pretty face glory, Sam's face turns sour. Bucky, too, sobers up.

"Is that who you're calling your friend?" Sam raises a brow, leaning back in his chair.

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Bucky crosses his arms.

You immediately turn off the heat on the stove, knowing that this is going to be a long ride.

See...you never really told them you dated the other? It never really came up, or rather, you shouldn't take to your partner about your exes.

James came first, so of course there was no telling that you'd date Sam later on. He broke up with you because of his whole Winter Soldier you're-in-danger-if-you-stay-with-me thing, which, though heartbreaking, was understandable coming from a superhero dating a civie.

Sam came after, but he had whisked you so entirely into his world and his charm that you'd forgotten the soft relationship you had with Bucky. He broke up with you because he had to be around the world doing this and that; he was always busy, and he didn't want you to deal with that.

Also, the beef between the Winter Soldier and the Falcon isn't exactly well-known.

Jealous, that's what they are. It's clear in their eyes, in the way they bore holes into the others' faces.

"I should...say something," before the two of you blow lasers through my ceiling, with how hard you stare at each other, "you guys are my exes."

"Exes." Sam mirrors. "Plural."

"You dated this guy?" Bucky asks, like the mere thought of it is repulsive.

"Who you calling "this guy"? We have history, Buck. You talk about history with names, Sergeant Barnes." Sam stands tall and proud in front of Bucky, very nearly chest to chest, demanding respect.

"Sergeant? So should I call you what you will be, in history?" Bucky doesn't back down. "The man who gave up his shield?"

"Don't bring that up, man. This is not about that. This is about you dating my–" Sam cuts himself off. What are you, now?

"Your what?" Bucky hisses back. "Because he sure as hell isn't your boyfriend."

Sam regains his courage, "Well he sure as hell ain't yours, either."

Bucky turns his head towards you, slowly. In a snap, Sam does the same. You can't possibly discern the thoughts of the two men before you, except that they're angry. You're just not sure if they're angry at you too.

"This is where we're supposed to call you a lying, cheating bastard." Sam says.

Despite being angry at each other right now, and generally inamicable at all times, Sam and Bucky have synergy. Right now, they're realizing that you're the common factor in this equation.

You're not a liar, not a cheater, and not a bastard. Just an omitter, a bad communicator.

A man worthy of insulting, by all means.

Or a man worthy of worship, someway, somehow.

Sam's tongue licks hot into your mouth, against your tongue, on your lips. He kisses with a fervor, like today is the last day of his life. He's a man of passion, and he makes sure to show that he is passionate for you.

Bucky's tongue, by contrast, is licking up the side of your length, shoved deep into his throat. He takes it slow, despite the filth of it; the filth of how easy it is to slide right down his throat. His lack of gag reflex means he can take you any time, any day, and his love for you makes it hard not to.

Sam's holding your jaw, forcing your head to turn for him. Standing behind you and the couch, he almost seems to be taking your sight away from the other man on his knees at your feet.

Because if there's something Sam is, it isn't the other man.

James knows, unlike Sam, that you don't need the sight of him to feel the pleasure he brings. How does he know this?

Well, the only way Sam can have his way with you is with your mouth open, and Bucky can hear what keeps it open.

On your part, well, there's only so much yearning a man can take. Cuddling with your ex is one thing, receiving gifts from your ex is another. Both give you the hots for them—a cozy, warm feeling, initially, but it feels like your blood is boiling now, in a good way.

Sam's kisses give you an outlet for your passion and lust. It allows you to kiss back, show some fervor of your own, do something with the adrenaline that burns through your veins from Bucky's...

"Shit, Buck."

He feels so good around you. His throat is tight and wet and hot and so goddamn like the first time that it reminds you that you taught him, trained him; and God, that means his throat is practically made for you.

He doesn't bob his head. It doesn't feel like that. It feels like a glide, something elegant, even. You can't appreciate that at the front of your mind, but your subconscious is glad that, though you're being stimulated top and bottom, Buck's going easy.

He's going easy on you. God...

If this is easy—no, you know how it is when he goes down hard. It's good too, but you can't complain about the pleasure and how you can thrust (lightly) right into his mouth and he won't complain.

And Sam's having none of it.

That's why he takes charge, this time. He takes your cock. Nevermind the fact Bucky's saliva is all over it, it's his now, and he's not going to let Bucky have any of it.

...nevermind the fact Bucky's saliva is in him now. No, nevermind that.

Sam doesn't make up for a lack of anything. He's a plus, a surplus, rolling his hips nice and rough and down into you. He doesn't let it be consistent. He shocks you, bouncing sometimes, lifting up and lets his weight do the work for him.

He's good at it, and it's a fact he knows.

And it's all about focus, isn't it?

James knows it. He knows it so well. So what better way to steal the show than to sit on your face?

It's killing two birds with one stone—steal his man's attention, get pleasure out of it.

Bucky rocks his hips too. Except it's gentle, his way, and Sam's pace gets more and more angry. He's rougher with it, faster with it, less controlled. You feel it thoroughly, his efforts around your dick, and you moan out your approval of it; but it gets swallowed straight into Bucky's hole.

He tastes so sweet, damn near sweeter than he used to be. It's missing him, you think. Something about build up. He probably hasn't had anyone since you.

At least, not in this way. No, you're probably the only man he's ever had. You can only moan about that little fact in your head.

Sam grits his teeth, doubles his efforts till his body positively shakes, but no name will come from your lips. Not with Bucky keeping your tongue preoccupied.

That damn bastard.

He can't even see your face right now. He can only see Bucky's backside, his broad shoulders, the evidence of his strong, heaving chest.

...he can only see his thick thighs, covered in hairs, and his hole's probably hairy too. He can't take a peak of it, but he doesn't even need to peak to see his cheeks. Round, full...

There's more to this, isn't there?

It's kind of...it's arousing to look at. Sam won't admit it in voice, but he'll admit it in his head.

James is a good looking man, and he sounds just as good. He's sat on that face before, used that tongue before, he knows how good you give. The soft moans James lets out are tame in comparison.

Fuck James Bucky Barnes, but fuck him good. Sam could get used to this sight.