vicmc624

[vicmc624]

In Case of Fire, Blame Her

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Language, mild injury, accidental explosion (oops), chaotic energy, fluff so thick you’ll get a cavity.

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The first time you stapled your own hand to a mission file, Tony Stark banned you from touching office supplies for two weeks. The second time, which involved a malfunctioning toaster, a flamethrower prototype, and a perfectly innocent bagel, you were almost escorted off the compound by the fire department.

“Is she okay?” Sam whispered to Natasha, watching from the hallway as you tried—and failed—to walk through automatic doors that hadn’t opened yet.

“She tricked the doctor so bad, I don’t know how she even passed a psych eval,” Natasha muttered back, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“I heard she once asked a Hydra agent if they wanted a Capri Sun mid-fight,” Sam said.

“That one’s true,” Steve added, voice low and deeply confused. “She handed it to him. He took it. They both just… drank in silence for a minute.”

“…Why hasn’t Bucky killed her yet?” Bruce asked, utterly baffled.

“He’s so calm with her,” Clint added. “It’s unsettling.”

And Bucky? Bucky just stood in the doorway with his arms folded and a small, contented smile on his face.

Because that was you. His little whirlwind. Chaotic. Clumsy. Utterly unhinged.

And he loved every second of it.

“Bucky, baby, you might want to come look at this,” you called sweetly from the garage.

The last time you’d used that exact tone, he’d walked in to find a robot vacuum trying to eat your sock while you were wearing it, a spilled jar of peanut butter on the floor, and you sobbing because you’d “betrayed your foot.”

He stepped into the garage with reasonable caution.

“What did you do?” he asked calmly.

You were standing in front of a very dead-looking motorcycle, grease on your nose, hair tied up with… was that a zip tie?

“I was trying to ‘soup it up,’” you said with finger quotes. “You know. Like Vin Diesel.”

“…You don’t know how engines work.”

“Exactly! I was learning! But then I touched this thingy and the wires sparked and now it smells like a marshmallow.”

The bike gave a sad clunk sound before billowing smoke.

You grinned up at him, sheepish and glowing. “Surprise?”

Bucky sighed, walked over, kissed your greasy forehead, and said, “You’re not allowed near anything with an engine again without supervision.”

“Okay, but what if I was the supervision?”

“No.”

At breakfast the next day, you walked into the kitchen with unmatched socks, sleep hair that defied physics, and a toaster under your arm.

You slammed it down proudly in front of the team.

“I fixed it!” you announced.

“No,” Bucky said immediately, standing to intercept whatever chaos was about to happen.

“Babe, trust me,” you said, hand to heart. “I rewired it using science and a little bit of hope.”

“That’s what you said about the Roomba that learned how to scream.”

“That was artificial intelligence gone too far, not my fault.”

Bucky very gently removed the toaster from your grip, handed you a plate of waffles, and said, “Sit down and eat before you set the fire alarm off again.”

Sam watched with wide eyes. “He’s so patient. It’s unnatural.”

The compound was full of chaos daily—missions, training, interrogations. But your kind of chaos? It was its own breed.

Like the time you brought home a baby goat because “he looked like he needed a mentor.” You named him Gary. Bucky helped you build him a tiny barn in your shared room.

Or the time you tried to dye your hair and somehow turned it—and Bucky’s beard—purple.

He’d just blinked at the mirror and said, “Well, guess we’re a matching set now.”

The rest of the team had started placing bets on how long it would take before Bucky cracked.

But he never did.

Not even when you burned a hole through your tactical gear by “testing the flamethrower glove backwards.”

Not when you broke three fingers trying to open a stubborn pickle jar by smashing it against the wall.

Not when you tried to learn archery and accidentally shot a flaming arrow into Tony’s wine cellar.

One day, you wandered into the living room holding a pair of scissors, a juice box, and a kitten.

No one knew where you got any of those things.

“Bucky,” you said, tugging at his sleeve, “can we get a trampoline?”

Natasha leaned toward Steve. “Do not let her have a trampoline. She will attempt flight.”

You blinked at Nat. “I literally already did. Last week. Off the couch. I wore the Captain America helmet and everything.”

“Why do you own that?” Steve asked, already regretting the question.

“To feel safe.”

Bucky was already pulling you gently away from the scissors and kitten, murmuring, “We’ll talk about the trampoline, doll.”

The second you left the room, Steve muttered, “She’s gonna kill him one day.”

But Bucky just wrapped an arm around you and kissed your temple. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s build a pillow fort instead.”

You gasped. “With fairy lights?!”

“Of course.”

Later that night, the two of you were tangled in that fort—blankets everywhere, your head on his chest, popcorn bowl half-empty between you.

“Why do you put up with me?” you asked suddenly, chin resting on his chest.

Bucky blinked, turning to face you, metal fingers playing lazily with your hair.

“Put up with you?” he echoed.

“I mean… I almost burned down the armory. Twice. I broke Steve’s shield holder thingy. I got banned from three vending machines this month. Everyone probably thinks I’m a walking hazard.”

Bucky smiled, soft and warm, like you’d just said the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“Sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You bring life into every room you walk into. You’re unpredictable and bright and fearless in a way most people only wish they could be. You make me laugh. You make me feel alive.”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He continued, “I spent so long with silence in my head. Violence. Routine. You crash through all of that. Like a wrecking ball.”

“Like Miley Cyrus?”

“Exactly like Miley Cyrus.”

You snorted, and he kissed the bridge of your nose.

“I don’t love you despite the chaos,” he whispered. “I love you because of it.”

The next morning, the fire alarm went off.

Again.

“I JUST WANTED TO TRY FRENCH TOAST,” you screamed over the wailing siren.

Bucky calmly walked in, lifted the smoking pan from the burner, and handed you a glass of juice.

“Drink this. I’ll make the toast.”

You pouted. “Was it that bad?”

“You buttered the pan with caramel sauce.”

“Oh. That explains the flame part.”

Tony stormed into the kitchen, hair singed. “How the HELL is she still alive?”

“She has nine lives,” Bucky said with a grin, kissing your cheek. “And she’s all mine.”

Later That Week

You fell down the stairs (again). The whole flight this time.

The team rushed in—Steve looking ready to call a medic, Nat pulling out a field kit, Sam shaking his head like of course she did.

But you popped up at the bottom of the stairs, hair a mess, socks on the wrong feet, holding up a thumbs-up.

“I’m okay! My butt broke the fall!”

Steve groaned into his hands. “I give up.”

And Bucky?

Bucky walked over, helped you up gently, brushed your hair back, and said, “Did you finally learn to wear grippy socks?”

“...no.”

He just kissed your nose.

One night, during movie night, you curled up on Bucky’s lap, a blanket burrito around you. The rest of the team was in varying states of exhaustion, watching you through tired eyes.

You turned to Bucky mid-film and whispered, “I love you more than cheese.”

Clint coughed. “That’s a serious declaration.”

Bucky smiled, looked down at you, and whispered, “I love you more than silence.”

Everyone went quiet.

Even Tony didn’t have a comeback.

You blinked, then whispered, “We’re getting married. Immediately.”

He chuckled, arms wrapping tighter around you. “I already bought the ring, baby.”

They still don’t understand how you’re alive.

They still whisper about your psych eval.

They still stare every time you run head-first into trouble and come back grinning like a maniac with soot in your hair and bruises on your knees.

But Bucky?

Bucky’s never loved anything more.

Because some people bring peace.

But you?

You bring joy—feral, messy, beautiful joy.

And in a world that tried to break him a thousand ways, that’s the only kind of healing that ever really stuck.

[vicmc624]

Paws, Claws and Hands

Bucky x Shapeshifter!Reader Feat. Alpine

Summary: You find Alpine in the dead of night, and the only person who might be able to save her is a weirdo wearing gloves and a black leather jacket in the hot-humid spring...Why is he trying to take you home too?

A growl caught her attention first, then, a heart-breaking whine.

The smell of New York City is assaulting and revolting, especially with her delicate nose so close to the ground. The motel employee that had been feeding her was finally found out by his employer, so she was forced to evict from her previous ‘home’. Still, life as an adorable cat was far easier than being a human in the city so disconnected from nature. She was prancing along the avenues and streets in the Brooklyn when she was stopped by the distressing sound. 

The shapeshifter moved, half out of instinct, at the distressing plea that she heard coming from the alleyway. 

There, in the corner behind the bins, a small white fur-ball curled in on itself. The smell of tang in the air suggested that the cat (the real one) was injured and hurting. (Y/N) snuck closer, letting out soft whines so as to not alert the other cat. 

The white cat looked up, beady black eyes glistening as she whined again. 

The sound curled into (Y/N)’s heart and she felt her mind shaking from it. The rational part of her understood that her cat brain was reacting to the distress call from a fellow cat, but the irrational, instinctual part of her wanted to help utilising all means necessary. 

(Y/N) darted to the head of the alleyway, but night had fallen many hours ago and there were almost no humans on the street. Nobody that looked trustworthy anyway. 

The shapeshifter was hanging onto her last threads of sanity, wondering if she should transform back into a human so that she could lift the poor cat to the vet when a shadow appeared from the end of the street. 

It was a man— he wore a black leather jacket over a black t-shirt and black jeans. The shapeshifter had to focus her cat eyes in order to distinguish the man from the rest of the shadows. He walked with purpose, his hands tucked into his jeans pocket as he strolled down the street. 

He had to do.

With some determination, (Y/N) let out a much louder yowl as the man approached. He shot her a quick glance, but blinked it away and kept going on his way. (Y/N) panicked, pitter-pattering a small circle on the ground. Then, with some more determination, she let out a distressing whine and levelled her eyes at the man, hoping that he would understand. 

The man finally stopped, looking down with some curiosity. He carefully knelt, and reached his right hand out slowly.

(Y/N) stared at the glove hand with some confusion. It was a nice autumn day, a little chilly, sure, but not enough to warrant gloves by any means. 

Nevertheless, she’s achieved her objective.

She meowed at the man, and bit at his fingers gently. She tugged him towards the back of the alleyway.

“Woah woah.” He muttered, “Slow down.”

He rose to his full height, and followed her panicked steps down the alleyway. The smell assaulted her nose again, but she stuck steadfast to her goal. The shivering white mass was still whining, and upon hearing footsteps, weakly lifted her head. 

Noticing the injured cat at last, the man knelt down. Steel-blue eyes darted around the alleyway as he assessed the situation. He spared an amused glance to (Y/N). The shapeshifter whined again, moving closer to the injured cat and licking a stripe from her cheek up to her ear. 

“Hello.” The man said softly, reaching out his hand to the injured cat, “I’m Bucky.”

The white cat whined, but gave his gloved hand a quick sniff. 

“I think your friend wants me to take care of you, is it okay if I pick you up?”

The injured cat shivered, and curled further into herself. (Y/N) could feel her pulse quickening at the sight, and gently nipped down at the back of the neck of the other cat. With some straining, she dragged the cat over to Bucky’s outreached hand. Her eyes darted from his eyes to his hands to the ground, hoping he would understand. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, but left his hands stretched out. (Y/N) gently dragged the white cat onto his hands. 

The white young thing was barely conscious at this point, letting out only weak whines at her movement. Bucky rose slowly, lifting the white cat to his chest. Her fur was matted down by oils and grease and god knows what there is in a New York City back-alley. But he was gentle as he petted the the white cat’s head with a gloved finger, holding her close to his chest. 

“I think I best take you to the vet now.” He muttered, half to himself. He flipped out a phone, typing something into it— probably looking up the nearest vet that was still open.

Cat in arms, he began to walk out of the alleyway. 

(Y/N) watched as he left, eyes trailing the dark figure as he disappeared down the mouth of the alleyway. For a moment, she felt content.

Then a small whine sounded through the evening air. The sound echoed into her bones, and she felt the hair on the end of her neck stand.

She grumbled to herself, then dashed out to track down the white cat and the man that was carrying her away.

——

(Y/N) leapt up the fire-exit stairs, strong feline legs allowing her to jump from one ledge to the next with ease. It didn’t take long before she hovered at the window of her location. There was a small ledge just outside the window. It was a cool evening, which was probably why Bucky had the window half open to let the air in.

The man was not always home, disappearing sometimes for days at a time, leaving behind only a cat-sitter that would come to take care of Alpine. Those days would be easy, (Y/N) would slip in, spend some time with Alpine to check that she was recovering well, and slip out again. Things were not so simple when Bucky was home. (Y/N) feline eyes dashed from corner to corner, drinking in the domestic scene inside. Alpine was napping on a sofa cushion. Bucky sat next to the slumbering cat, one hand mindlessly stroking her head. There was something playing on the T.V., some movie with a small brown-haired man with big feet and an even bigger backpack.

Squeezing between the window frame and the window, (Y/N) slipped into the apartment. She shook her head, trying to get any dust that might she might have rubbed off of her. The movement seemed to be enough to draw the attention of Bucky, whose steel-blue eyes trained on her with precision. 

(Y/N) stretched, arching her back before she jumped off the window ledge onto the hardwood floor of the apartment. Bucky’s apartment was, if anything, a little sparse. Despite perfectly good furniture, he often slept on the floor, as evidenced by the blankets and pillows he left just next to the couch. The shapeshifter gracefully stepped over all the linens on the floor, no doubt leaving dark paw prints all over. She could hear Bucky sigh as he leant back into the couch. 

The shapeshifter leapt again, stepping onto the man’s thighs before settling next to Alpine on the cushion. The young white cat meowed, happily accepting the shapeshifter’s company. She began to lick all over, and purred as the shapeshifter returned the favour. 

“You came to check on Alpine, huh?” Bucky remarked, his hand curling over the end of the sofa.

(Y/N) looked over and let out a small meow in response. 

“Are you her mother or something? Your coats don’t match though.”

(Y/N) let out a growl, showing her canine teeth.

“Okay— so not her mother.” Bucky nodded, then he paused, “… And I’m talking to a cat. Great. Doc is going to have a field day with her notebook when she finds out.”

The shapeshifter puffed, leaving the man to his own devices. She checked over Alpine. Her coat was shinier than she last saw, and the wound on her leg was healing nicely. There was a small scar over her ear that looks like it might last, but there was nothing but a pink line remaining. The last few times she came to check, Alpine’s wounds were shaved and bandaged. Already, a thin layer of white fur was growing out to cover it. 

The snap of a window alerted her, and she jumped up from where she was sitting. 

Bucky had shut the window she came in from, he looked down at her and ran a hand over his face. 

“…I’m going to talk to a cat.” He muttered to himself, “That’s a new low for you, Buck.”

“Look—“ He started, raising his hands in the air in mock surrender, “Just stay the night with Alpine. You keep popping in and out and disappearing into the night. I’ll open a window for you to leave in the morning. It’s getting really cold out.”

(Y/N) lowered herself into stance, a growl vibrating from her chest. She slipped her long canines for the man to see that she was not afraid to use them. Alpine’s head shot up, a cute whine emanating from her mouth as her eyes shot from one to the other.

“Fine.” Bucky sighed, and unlatched the window, sliding it open. 

(Y/N) pounced, jumping from the sofa and clawing her way up Bucky’s jeans and shirt as she leapt out of the window. She could hear Bucky’s grunts of pain behind her as she dashed down the fire-exit. The metal sung as she pranced down each level, disappearing into the night. 

She ran until she felt like she was out of view. 

The shapeshifter could feel the oxygen burn as she inhaled it into her exerted lungs, her paws and feet stinging from the exercise. Still, she felt good to be free. Even if the man was good to Alpine, and said that he was just trying to ‘protect her from the cold’. She’s been through enough to know that humans were very adept at lying. 

As the adrenaline left her body, and she curled around herself in a park bench, she wonders if she might’ve been a little harsh. It was clear from the state of her gleaming white fur that Bucky’s care for Alpine was sincere and thorough. The flat, which had been near barren when (Y/N) first trailed the pair home, was now filled with bits and bobs of cat toys and furniture. Alpine’s willingness to tame her fear to cuddle closer to her owner was a good sign that Bucky was in fact a good owner. 

Alpine’s injuries were, of course, the actions of a bunch of teenage brats with too much time of their hands. She had said so as much. 

Still— (Y/N) wondered if her reaction was a little harsh for the man she had literally dragged into this mess (teeth on his fingers and all). 

Slowly, unfurling herself, she pounced into the night air once more. Bucky was right, the nights occasionally had the bite of winter in it. Tonight, the cool breeze drifted over her coat. Tomorrow, the air could curl right into her bones. Winters were always hard, even for a shapeshifter in the city. 

Looking up at the fire-exit for the second time of the night, she slowly ascended to Bucky’s apartment, one paw at a time. 

She was surprised to find that her usual window was half-open.

The shapeshifter charged her hind legs, and pounced onto the same window-ledge. Bucky had returned to his place on the sofa, Alpine curled around his hand like she was previously. 

(Y/N) dawdled, but eventually decided to enter into the threshold once more. Bucky’s eyes darted over, but quickly returned to the television programme that was on. The shapeshifter internally grimaced, but there was no effective way for a cat to apologise. 

Or maybe there was?

(Y/N) clawed at the window, softly shutting it and knocking at the clasp until it clicked. Then, she bounced from object to object until she reached Bucky’s arm that rested at the top of the sofa, dangling slightly off the edge. 

She rubbed her face at it.

The shapeshifter could feel the man melting before he sighed, lifting her up to plop him down on his lap. She curled up, placing her head over his thigh where she could keep an eye on Alpine.

And if Bucky managed to make her purr by running rough fingers through the fur on her head, that’s none of anyone’s business.

—

Bucky, (Y/N) decides, is actually a fantastic pet-owner. 

The house was always warm, even if he was out. He kept the heating running all day long since he knew that Alpine and her would be in. The water was always fresh, and he served them fresh food as much as he can. Something about how his Ma would never let him feed them tinned food that smelt like the inside of a beached whale. 

Her hair was always combed through, and he didn’t mind that she wasn’t cuddly. 

When he was in, he’d let her out through the window, always leaving a gap so that she could sneak back in. He’d complain about the dirty paw prints that she was leaving all over, and tackled her down to clean her feet. Eventually, she settled on cleaning her paws on a towel near the window before she tracked it all over the apartment. They fought over little things like that a lot, but Bucky always indulged her and she always yielded when he gave her that kicked-puppy look. That’s probably how things would’ve stayed, if the attacks didn’t start.

The attacks started small. A single gunshot through the window whilst Bucky was watching the TV.

His training kicks in immediately, dropping Alpine and (Y/N) onto the floor and rolling down with them. Once the scene was clear, he picks both of them up and locks them into his bedroom with him, all the lights off. In the darkness, Alpine whines as he mutters small apologies and cuddles her closer to his chest. (Y/N) sits on his thigh, tail swishing back and forth as she watched the sweat trickle down his face.

Bucky doesn’t tell anyone about the attacks, not even when this man called “Sam” calls him every other day to check on him. 

It was like there was something in the air since that first attack. Bucky becomes more vigilant, the lights are rarely ever on. He starts going out in a suit more often, with his hair gelled back. 

He gets an automatic feeder and litter box, he disappears for weeks at a time. 

When he is in, the attacks continue. Mysterious packages appearing at his door, men who clearly circle the block in the middle of the night. Shots litter the windowpane until Bucky gives up on replacing it, and boards up the whole thing instead. 

He doesn’t sleep well, not even with Alpine sitting on his chest. 

Alpine frets over him, refusing to watch her new owner waste away. She claws at him until he eats, and nibbles on his fingers when he has the thousand-mile away stare. Bucky clearly appreciates it, because his moody disposition always breaks into a thousand-watt smile when she does. He tucks her into his arms, and lets her purring ground him. 

The final night in the apartment begins as it usually does. 

It was Bucky’s second night back from a two-week trip. He spent most of the evening talking into his phone, muttering something about campaigns and ox's. Alpine claws at him until he gets up to reheat some soup. Once he had dinner, he took a long shower and settled into bed. Alpine crawled in with him, curling up next to his chest.

(Y/N) puttered about, tail dancing in the air as she pounced around the bedroom. She watched as the former-assassin’s shoulder relaxed, drifting off. 

The serenity of the moment was cut through by the soft thump of boots outside the apartment. 

The shapeshifter stood in alert, a growl unconsciously leaking out of her jaws. The hair on the back of her neck straightened at the threat. 

The boots stopped right at the door of the apartment. There was a muttering of commands.

(Y/N) leapt from her place on the nightstand, landing onto Bucky’s arm and swatting his face with her paw. His brows furrowed, but his steel-blue eyes opened. His confusion vanished as the sounds of the intruders echoed down the quiet house again.

The shapeshifter bit at the skin at the back of Alpine’s neck, and tore the young kitten away from her owner. She mewled in protest, but it was quickly silenced by (Y/N) shoving her into a corner of the closet. The shapeshifter bit the cat gently on the mouth, signalling to her to be quiet. 

Bucky was already on the move, his vibranium arm whizzing quietly as he pulled on a shirt and readied his handgun.

The breach happened quick. A team of twelve men launched into the apartment with guns trained at their singular target. Dressed in black tactical gear, they flooded into the house with torches flashing circles wherever they pointed.

Bucky moved faster— He fired six shots in rapid succession, taking one down with each bullet. Then, he dismantled the firearm and the pieces of metal were transformed into projectile weapons as he battled the remaining assailants. Two men flustered at the pieces of metal lodged into the helmets, and Bucky took the opportunity to slam them into the wall. They slid down quietly, head lolling to the side. 

The team had come prepared, they circled the former assassin, careful not to enter into hand combat range. Bucky had his hands up as he studied each person, looking for any moments of weakness. He leapt first, disarming the remaining members and stealing a knife from one.

A chill ran down (Y/N)’s spine as she heard the shuffling of another pair of boots.

The shapeshifter looked from the corner of the room in horror as another team member entered the room, holding an assault rifle in their hand aimed at Bucky. 

Bucky seem to notice too, and he cursed as he wrangled with the other four.

The shooter steadied his aim, and released the safety. 

Before his finger pulled the trigger, (Y/N) leapt and shifted in the air. She could feel her bones and flesh shifting, tearing, melting and knitting itself back together. The pain sent hot flashes through her body and her vision white-out as it wrecked through her body. 

Strong, clawed paws slashed into the shooter as she roared. With a groan, he dropped the weapon.

The shapeshifter didn’t let this moment of weakness go to waste, with another raise of her paw, the man flew into a nearby wall, denting the structure and flopping onto the floor. 

(Y/N) growled, the phantom pain from her transformation barely there below the adrenaline that ran through her veins. The black bear shook out the tension in her neck, and prowled towards her remaining prey. 

Humans, especially disarmed humans, were hardly a match for a fully grown black bear. 

Bucky stood in the centre of the chaos, dead and unconscious men scattered around him. He studied the black bear in his house, tracing over each dip and curve of the animal.

“What the hell?” He muttered under his breath. 

The shapeshifter willed the magic to re-knit her bones and flesh again. Her paws retracted into human skin, her ears retrieving to make room for her human ones— Fully aware that Bucky watched in abject horror, until his former house cat and current black bear— transformed into a human. 

“Hello.” (Y/N) waved, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Huh?” Bucky objected.

“For saving your life.” (Y/N) puffed, crossing her hands on her waist, “You really should just move at this point. I’m not even sure why you’re still staying at this dingy little apartment. This is like the fourteenth time we’ve been attacked.”

“Wait— Hold on a second,” Bucky lifted the palm of his metal hand up signalling for the woman to stop, his other hand pinching his brows, “I thought you were a cat.”

“Well, I’m not. I just shape-shift into one.”

“Is Alpine…?”

“No, she’s an actual kitten. Thank you for saving her, by the way, I was really sweating that night that she might die from exposure.”

“And you just decided to pretend to be a cat for a year?!”

“Well…” (Y/N) tilted her head, “I was just going to dip in and out to keep an eye on Alpine. But you kind of locked me in afterwards.”

Bucky eyebrows furrowed further, his eyes blinking open and close as he tried to process the information. He looked up and down at his (now) human companion.

“Let’s get out of here for now.” He finally decided, “But you better give me a longer explanation than ‘I just can turn into a cat.’” 

They moved into a new apartment in DC soon afterwards— just Bucky and his two cats (?)

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

I just really wanted to write scenes with Alpine and Bucky, and then I thought-- why not just give Bucky a second cat?

It's not relevant to the story but the Reader's ability is heavily inspired by the Druid class in BG3 (because I do not know enough about DnD to claim anything otherwise). She stays in cat form most of the time because a) people treat you very nicely and b) she got tired of trying to convince New Yorker not to destroy nature like a few decades ago so she just chills as a cat.

[vicmc624]

jealous

in which you don't realize what bucky had thought was obvious

PAIRING: bucky barnes x avenger!reader, platonic!avengers x avenger!reader

WARNINGS: flirting, jealousy, miscommunication, avengers teasing reader, kissing, slight angst ig if you squint, arguing, FLUFF

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

🎶 : jealous - nick jonas

AN: 🩵💗 - another one of my favs... honestly any Bucky fic is my fav bc i love (writing) him so so much!! ENJOY!!

“Is the bacon almost done?” You asked, skirting around the super soldier to pull the tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven. 

“Careful, Doll.” Bucky watched nervously. “They’re hot.” 

You glared, setting them on the counter behind you. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

“Just saying.” He shrugged, turning back to the task at hand. “Almost done. Two more minutes.” 

You couldn’t help but watch him work, admiring the domesticity of it all. 

This was your job, making breakfast. It had been since you’d joined the Avengers. And one hectic morning, while you’d been making breakfast by yourself for the millionth time, Bucky stepped into the kitchen, asking if you needed any help. 

Now it was both of your jobs.

“What’s the ETA on breakfast?” Clint poked his head through the kitchen door. “The masses are starving.”  

Bucky quickly glared over his shoulder, grumbling. “The masses can wait two more minutes.” 

You looked over at Clint, whispering so Bucky wouldn’t hear. “We’ll be done soon, just entertain them or something.” 

Clint scoffed, the door slowly closing as he walked back to the dining room. “What am I, a circus clown?”

You stood beside Bucky, looking over his shoulder at the now extremely crispy bacon. “You’re going to burn them.” 

“They’re good this way.” He muttered. “Besides, Steve and I like them this way. No one’s complained so far.” 

“Well said.” You admired the way his sleep shirt complemented his frame, smiling to yourself before you remembered where you were. “I like them that way, too.” 

“I know.” Bucky smiled. 

Without thinking, you reached up, pushing a strand of hair out of Bucky’s line of sight. “Rather unsanitary, Sergeant Barnes.” 

“Thanks.” He whispered, cheeks pink. “We should invest in hair nets.” 

“Just teasing you, don’t worry.” You laughed, hand still lingering on the side of his face. “Don’t want to hide your beautiful hair.”  

“ETA-” 

You whipped around so quickly you swore you had whiplash, both yelling at the unfortunate soul who had interrupted your moment. “Two minutes!”

“Okay, jeez.” Rhodey raised his hands in surrender, backing out of the kitchen as if he were being held at gunpoint. In his defense, if two of the world's deadliest assassins yelled at you with that look in their eyes, you’d be wary too. 

Nabbing a piece of bacon with the stealth of a super spy, you relished in the perfect texture (at least, in your opinion) that Bucky had achieved. “So good.” 

Bucky shook his head, a humble smile gracing his lips. “It wasn’t done.” 

“Tastes perfect to me. I think it’s crisp enough, honestly.” 

“Alright then.” He turned the stove off, placing a paper towel on the bacon’s plate to soak up the grease. “I trust your opinion.” 

“That’s a good man.” You grinned, balancing a pitcher of orange juice and a tray of cinnamon rolls on one arm. “Shall we?” 

He held the door open, taking the cinnamon rolls out of your grasp. “After you.” 

Your cheeks felt hot, attributing his kindness to nothing more than his wanting to be helpful. “Such a gentleman.” 

“Finally.” Peter groaned, practically frothing at the mouth as he stared at the food in your hands. “I’m starving.” 

“We’re all starving,” Sam grumbled, cradling his coffee with the care you would typically reserve for a newborn baby. “You’re not special.” 

“Sam.” You sighed. “He’s a kid.” 

Peter smiled, glad of the support. “Yeah, Sam-” 

“Peter.” You gave the teenager a pointed look, effectively silencing him. “Don’t push it. You know how grumpy he gets in the morning.” 

The spiderling winced, nodding in understanding. “Sorry.” 

“I’m impressed.” Tony leaned forward in his chair, eyeing the array of food you’d made. “Normally, it takes an arm and a leg for this one to stop talking.” 

“What?” Peter frowned. “Mr.Stark, I thought that was just-” 

“Guys.” Bucky groaned. “Can we eat in peace, please?” 

Steve laughed, grabbing the last red, white, and blue sprinkle donut from the box. “Don’t think we’ll ever achieve that, Buck.” 

“We have our own kind of peace.” You smiled, grabbing a couple of pieces of the bacon, much to Bucky’s delight. “Let’s be honest with ourselves, if we were completely quiet at any meal, would we feel peaceful?” The table grumbled, all shaking their heads, none of them having enough energy to argue this early in the morning. “Exactly.” 

“Well said, Doll.” 

Your cheeks felt hot as you smiled quickly at the super soldier sitting beside you. “Thank you, Bucky.” You ignored the pointed looks aimed in your direction, wishing your legs were long enough to kick Natasha and Bruce in the shins. 

Natasha leaned forward in her chair, a smirk on her face. “You two are behaving like we’re your children.” 

Before you could even respond, Bucky muttered under his breath. “Maybe if you stopped acting like children, Natasha, we’d stop treating you like it.” 

We. He kept saying we. You couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere but your lap, heart skipping at the thought. There was no way, you told yourself, that there ever would be a we, yet you allowed your mind to drift to that dangerous place.

We.

Steve and Bucky always sparred as if it were real life, as if they were actually on the battlefield, with the stakes being life or death. It was mesmerizing, the way they moved. You and Sam had been watching their sparring session since Bucky had moved in, even placing bets on who would win from time to time. It was only when Natasha, Clint, and Wanda had overheard you talking about your routine did they join you.

Bucky would never tell anyone this, but he enjoyed having you there; your voice motivated him more than any enemy’s assault ever could. That, and the fact that he felt this constant need to impress you. Sam was Steve’s cheerleader, and you were his. It was nice to have you in his corner, even if it was for something as trivial as training. 

“C’mon, Buck!” You cheered, clapping your hands. “Wipe the floor with him!” 

“Jesus.” Sam’s eyes widened. “Relax.” 

“I am relaxed.” You responded, eyes never leaving the two super soldiers in front of you. “We all know that Bucky could take out Steve in a minute.” 

“Oh yeah?” Clint scoffed. “Because it looks like he’s struggling just a bit.” 

“As if.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s Bucky.” 

“It’s Steve.” Wanda laughed. “Captain America. Steve Rogers.” 

“Okay?” You huffed. “If we’re just naming things off - The White Wolf. James Barnes-” 

“Alright.” Natasha sighed, laughing at how defensive you became. “You have that intense look in your eye. The one you get when you’re about to fight someone.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. What time is it?”

“Why?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You have some hot date you need to get to?” 

“Actually.” Your cheeks grew hot at the question. “I do.”

Bucky’s focus faltered, eyes darting toward you before Steve’s fist barely missed his cheek. A date? “Pay attention, Buck.” 

“I am.” He glared, flipping his knife intricately before throwing it toward his best friend. “Totally fine.” 

“If you’re sure.” Steve laughed, deciding not to point out that he’d never asked Bucky if he was alright.

“You have a date?” Sam yelled, and you jumped, placing a hand over your heart to calm yourself down. “Who’s the lucky guy?” 

“Why do you want to know?” You squinted, wary of Sam’s interest. “He’s a nice guy. That’s all you-”  

A large thud rang through the room, your head whipping back toward the fight to find Bucky’s back flat on the floor, Steve’s eyes wide. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I thought-” 

You ran over, kneeling beside Bucky. “Are you alright?” 

Bucky just nodded, staring at the ceiling as he tried to regain his breath. You raised a brow, finding his lack of talking concerning. “Let’s get you to the med wing.” 

“I’m really fine.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You stood, pulling him up with you. “You’re not indestructible, you know.” You practically marched him toward the med wing, with Steve and Sam in tow. Pushing the door open, you greeted Bruce warmly as Bucky sat on the examination table, visibly annoyed that he had to do this.

“What’s the issue?” 

Bruce looked highly amused at the way you were standing nervously beside the super soldier. 

“Steve body-slammed-” 

“Accidentally,” Steve interjected.

You nodded. “Steve accidentally body-slammed Bucky.” 

Bruce nodded. “Alright. You look fine-” You gave him a pointed look, which he immediately cowered under. “But it doesn’t hurt to check.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled.

Bruce walked back over to his desk, asking the typical preliminary questions. “How exactly did Steve body slam you?” 

“I was distracted.” 

Bruce laughed. “Not exactly what I meant. But fine. Why were you distracted?” 

He’d walked himself into that one. He couldn't stop thinking about it. How could you have a date tonight? It never came up in conversation; hell, he’d never even heard of this so-called analyst until today, before his untimely defeat. You told Bucky everything, or at least, he thought you did. He decided to ignore Bruce’s question, looking toward you curiously. “You have a date tonight?”

“I do.”

He laughed, leaning back, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole ordeal. “That’s funny.” 

“Why?” You took the bait, a reserved smile gracing your lips.

“Don’t remember asking you, Doll.” Bruce slipped a blood pressure cuff on Bucky’s arm. 

You laughed. “That’s because it’s not with you, hotshot.” 

Steve gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth as Sam fought to keep it together. “Sorry. It’s just-” Sam took a deep breath, holding Steve’s arm for support. “Are you two not- We thought you-” 

“We’re not.” You looked back at Bucky for backup, confused when he refused to meet your eye, his body language telling you he was positively miserable. “Right?” 

Bucky shrugged, the blood pressure cuff signalling that this conversation was making him nervous. “You tell me.” 

Your heart stopped, the severity of this conversation hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You hated how he made you feel in that moment, how his face made your stomach turn, guilty beyond belief. He was acting like it was the most obvious thing in the world, you two dating. Were you truly so oblivious, so unwilling to realize he liked you? “I thought you were just flirting with me.” Your voice was smaller than you’d meant it to be. 

“I was flirting with you.” He nodded. “I was flirting with you because I thought we were in agreement.” 

The confusion, anger, and agitation coursed through your veins like a ticking time bomb. “In agreement with what, James?” Your hands settled on your hips, trying to reason with him as to why you hadn’t realized. “You have a charming personality. You were hitting on the old lady at the grocery store last week!” 

“First of all, thank you.” Bucky stood up, ripping the cuff off. “Second of all…” He had this horrible smirk on his face, and you wished he were taking this more seriously. “Were you jealous?” 

“That-” You scoffed. “That is not what this is about!” 

“Fine, fine.” He searched your face desperately, like he was waiting for you to understand, for all of it to finally click. “Sometimes you just know.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“I disagree.” 

“Disagree all you want.” You glared. “I have to go get ready for my date.” 

“Fine.” Bucky nodded, hand itching to reach out and stop you. Instead, he stupidly let you go, watching as you stormed out of the room. 

“Fine!” You yelled over your shoulder.

“Shit." Sam winced. "My bad, I guess.” Bucky closed his eyes, stopping himself from punching Sam in the face. 

“I have some good news.” Bruce laughed, trying to break the tension, instantly stopping when Bucky glared at him. “You don’t have a concussion.” 

You’d yet to see Bucky since that disastrous interaction, going out of your way to avoid him. It felt wrong; you and Bucky were attached at the hip, and you spent every waking moment together. 

You hadn’t even helped him with breakfast. 

Now you were being forced to attend your weekly team bonding night. Steve and Tony had implemented this after the whole Leipzig-Halle Airport incident. They felt that the infighting would be solved by forced hangouts. 

You felt that if they had been more open and listened to each other’s side of the argument, the whole Leipzig-Halle Airport incident wouldn’t have happened, and you wouldn’t be in this mess. 

Peter sat beside you on the couch, braiding your hair (or at least trying to, he was failing miserably). You forced yourself not to look over at Bucky, as you so often did. The avoidance, both from his side and yours, made you realize just how central he was to your daily routine, to your life.

“Alright.” Steve clapped his hands, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to this dreaded reality. “What game do you guys want to play?” 

You grumbled. “The game where we don’t have to do this.” 

“Cards against Humanity?” Nat grinned as Steve’s cheeks grew bright pink, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the embarrassment. 

“Do you want Steve to have a heart attack?” You raised an eyebrow. “Again?” 

“What about truth or dare?” Peter proposed. “It’s fun, Ned and I play all the time.” 

You turned around, laughing. “Just you and Ned?” 

He shrugged, growing timid under your gaze. “It’s more fun with two people.”

“Sure.” Steve nodded. “Is everyone fine with that?” To your surprise (and horror), everyone seemed to agree. Steve went first, scanning the room for the game’s first victim. “Nat. Truth or dare?” 

“Dare.”

“I dare you to let Rhodey do your hair.” 

You scoffed, wincing as Peter accidentally pulled your hair. “That’s a lame one, Steven.” 

Nat sat in front of Rhodey, gesturing to the spiderling. “As long as you don’t pull my hair, we won’t have a problem.”

“Sorry,” Peter frowned, petting your hair gently as if that would magically take away the pain. “I didn’t mean to.” 

You smiled warmly, finding it endearing how guilty he felt about all of this. “It honestly didn’t even hurt, Peter. Just a quick pinch. I’m fine.” You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you, attuned to your every move. His gaze had been fixed on you since you'd let out that hiss. It was sweet, you told yourself, that he was worried about you. 

Even if it was over something as little as pulled hair. 

“Sam.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He lazily looked over from his very comfy spot on the couch. “At your service.” 

The super spy wiggled her eyebrows. “Truth or dare, Falcon?” 

“Truth.” 

“Who is your least favorite person to be partnered with?” 

“Quick with it.” Natasha nodded, and Sam sat up, seriously pondering his answer. “I guess, it would have to be either Peter-” 

“Hey!” 

“Or Thor.” 

“What's the meaning of this?” Thor looked absolutely betrayed. “Am I not a helpful member of this team?” 

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “You’re very helpful. So helpful that I don’t even need to do anything.” 

“Ah, I see.” Thor nodded in understanding. “The issue is that I am too good at taking down my enemies.” 

“Exactly.”

Sam’s quick to find his victim, wiggling his brows at you menacingly. You want to crawl into your skin, jump back in time, and convince the team to play anything else. There’s only one way this can go with Sam asking you the fateful question. Horribly.

“Truth or dare, Vortex?” 

You look around the room, heart beating faster than it should. “I don’t want to play anymore.” 

Sam looks a little too proud of himself. “That’s too bad. Truth or dare?” 

“Fine. Truth.” 

Sam’s smirk never leaves his face, and you’re scared that your ‘safe choice’ wasn’t all that safe. “How was the date?” 

The room erupts into chaos, each of your teammates (who had no idea) talking over each other animatedly. You stare, because that’s all you can do. They’re way too invested in your love life, and you tell yourself that after this game, you’re going to have to set some boundaries. They finally simmer down, and just as you're about to tell them what happened, Bucky scoffs, muttering something incoherently. 

The anxiety at telling them all the truth quickly turns to anger when you see Bucky so casually commenting on your date, which he has no business involving himself in. Your head tilts, and you sit forward, pulling your hair out of Peter’s hands. “Have something you want to say, James?” 

Bucky looks more than happy to repeat what he whispered. “I said I’m sure it went perfectly, Doll.” 

It wasn’t necessarily a rude comment, but the way he said it, the way he sounded, pained to even speak it, pissed you off beyond belief. Your blood is boiling, voice eerily quiet. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

"Don't I?" The room is now dead silent, all of them staring at the two of you, ready for this to blow up in front of their very eyes. Bucky shrugs, taking a sip of his Coke. “You probably didn’t even realize you were on the date until the poor guy tried to kiss you.” 

Alright. You stand up, fists clenched. “That’s it!” Steve’s eyes widen, and Sam, once again, is trying to control his laughter. “It is not my fault that you assumed we were dating! You never asked me!” Your voice radiated off the walls, loud and piercing. 

Bucky scoffs, standing up, trying to escape the very argument he started. “Next time you announce to the world that you have a date, I’ll make sure to tell you that I’m in love with you!”

If you thought the room was quiet before, it’s even quieter now. No one dares to move, all of their eyes glued on Bucky, shocked that the man, the super soldier who is normally so stoic and reserved, just yelled out his love confession. He turns around, barely taking one step, when you scream at his back. 

“I didn’t even go!” 

He stops, back still facing you, like he’s scared to turn around, scared to face the music, to even allow himself to feel hope. “What?” 

You huff, suddenly becoming very self-conscious of everyone’s eyes on you. “I got to the restaurant, I saw him through the window, and I couldn’t do it. I left.” You hug yourself, laughing bitterly. "Happy?"

Bucky turns around, and suddenly, all that yearning, all the hours spent longing over you when he thought he had no chance, has finally paid off. Your anguished face, conflicted beyond belief, tells him that maybe, just maybe, you realize what he’s always known. “Why? Why did you leave?” 

You can’t do this in front of everyone else, you can’t confess that you’ve loved him since he got here, that you feel empty when he’s not by your side, that you would crumble into nothing if he ever got hurt. So you take the coward’s way out, tears threatening to fall as you whisper. “I’m done with this.” 

Bucky shakes his head, and that simple action alone compels you to stay. “Why?” 

You realize now that you are fully crying, a tear drop falling onto your shirt. “Bucky-” 

“C’mon, Doll.” He’s urging you, begging you to say it. 

You almost sob as you speak the words you know you can’t take back. “He wasn’t you.” 

He practically jumps across the room, hands on both sides of your face as he pulls your lips to his. It’s not gentle, it’s needy, it’s like he’s not sure if this is real, and if it isn’t, if this is all a dream, he wants to make the most out of it. Your eyes flutter shut, hands grasping his shirt to pull him closer. You sigh into his touch, his hold. 

It’s like one of those cheesy scenes in the movies Steve forces you to watch. 

Wolf whistles erupt around you, all of them cheering you on. Again, you tell yourself to set boundaries with them when this is all over. Soon, the wolf whistles die down to a dull roar, and Tony clears his throat, bringing you both back to reality. “Should we give you the room?” 

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire as you pull away, avoiding eye contact with everyone, staring into Bucky's chest. “Sorry.” 

Bucky just smiles, kissing you quickly before returning to his seat. You kind of stand there in shock before sitting back down yourself, beaming like you can’t believe that just happened. Clint claps his hand, once again pulling you from your thoughts. “Let’s get this show on the road. Your turn to ask someone.”

You nod, but you can hardly focus when you feel Bucky’s eyes following your every move. “Peter, truth or dare?” 

taglist: @milesdrift @eddiemunsons-lover

[vicmc624]

Big Guy

Pairing: Hockey Player!Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Short!Sunshine!Reader

Summary: You and your friends move into a house for the new semester of college to find out a group of team members from The Avengers, your schools hockey team, are also moving in right next door. You become fond of the big guy on the team and he becomes fond of you. Also Bucky is 6'4 and beefy in this because I say so.

Word Count: 20K

A/n: I feel like the ending is a little rushed so if it feels that way to you guys please know it was because I couldn't wait to share this with you.

Masterlist

“I still can’t believe your mom bought you a fucking house.” Wanda says to Kate after the two of you get out of her car and greet your other friends who both beat you there after breakfast.

“I know! Rich parents who knew?!” Kate’s mom had bought her a house after finding out how many dorm parties went on on your floor alone, deciding she’d be able to focus more if she was away from all of that. “Y/n, I can’t wait for you to see the kitchen you’re going to just fall in love.”

“Is it big?” Your eyes light up at the idea of baking and cooking in a big kitchen instead of the small barely there kitchen in the old dorm. Kate just zips her lips before popping open the trunk of her car with a press of a button. You all ignore the sound of the motorcycle and other cars pulling into the driveway next door as you fall into easy conversation and start unpacking boxes from trunks. 

“I’m gonna warn you, the inside is a bit of a fixer upper.”

“How?”

“It’s just so boring and plain. Yels is honestly going to have so much fun decora-” Her word turns into a shriek as she backs up from the door instead of opening it. Unknowingly drawing attention from the men next door.

“What’s wrong?” You don’t stop till you see it and then you freeze where you are. There next to the door under the porch lamp is a spider, its long legs working on spinning its web. In reality it’s probably smaller than what you and Kate are seeing it as because your arachnophobia is almost paralyzing and hers is only just a little better. After being frozen in place for a minute you drop the box you’re holding before rushing off the porch.

“Guys, it’s just a spider just squish it.” Wanda says while stopping next to you and not making a move to do it herself.

“Why are we all stopped?” Yelena joins the two of you then after stacking bags on her shoulders and stacking two boxes in her arms. When you look at her like she’s crazy she shrugs. “I don’t want to make a lot of trips.”

“What’s going on over here ladies?” One of your new neighbors makes his way over and you recognize him as Sam Wilson from your school's hockey team and the man dead set on winning Wanda’s heart.

“There’s a spider blocking the damn door.” Kate answers, turning around then to face the four of you. Sam’s mouth forms an O and Wanda turns as she hears a familiar car pull up and park next door.

“Pietro?!” She yells out as a greeting as he starts moving toward his twin. “Get your ass over here and do your brotherly twin duties and kill this spider!” You know for a fact that he was always the designated spider killer in their home growing up because he was even in the old dorm. Even though Yelena and Wanda aren’t afraid of the arachnid like you and Kate they still freaked them out a bit so anytime there was a spider Pietro would have to come over and get it. You all have him on speed dial still from it. 

Before he can speed over there’s a slam from the porch drawing all of your attention to Bucky “The Winter Soldier” Barnes who jumped onto the porch unnoticed and slammed his motorcycle helmet against the porch wall effectively getting rid of the pest there. Your mouth gapes a little at his towering form, you’ve seen him on the ice when you’ve gone to Pietro’s games but being this close to him was something else because he was just so big. Tall and broad and just made of muscles.

“Can we get moving again?” He huffs out stomping back over to the cars parked in their driveway. 

“If you ladies need anything don’t hesitate to come a-knocking.” Sam sends a wink Wanda’s way before rushing over to help unpack cars.

“Can we get moving again?” You deepen your voice to mock Bucky’s grumpy tone, laughing after you speak and moving to the porch to pick your box back up. Pietro doesn’t go straight to helping his roommates and instead makes his way over to his twin to wrap her in a hug.

Kate unlocks the door and leads the way inside and you and Yelena look at each other before going to rush to pick rooms. 

“Guys wait, slow down. I sorta picked everyone's rooms out already.” Kate calls for you guys as you fight to get to the stairs first. How Yelena’s still so fast with carrying so much you’ll never know.

“That’s half the fun in a new house.” Yelena huffs out acting more annoyed than she is. 

“Yeah but as long as you’re living under my roof you’ll follow my rules. Oh I’ve always wanted to say that!” Kate claps with excitement. 

“Well unfortunate news the hockey numbskulls live next door so we have to deal with Pietro and his friends invading our space now.” She makes it sound like she’s unhappy with it but you know she’s thrilled to have Pietro so close by even if it means putting up with Sam’s flirting. 

“Let me show you guys your rooms and give you a tour before we finish getting stuff out of the car.” You follow in line behind Kate up the stairs like ducklings would their mother. “First up, Yelena’s room!” She spreads her hands to show the name tag she made out of construction paper on the first door with Yelena’s name written on it. “It’s not giant or anything but, you get a walk in closet.” She opens up another door once in the room to show off all the room inside. It’s a perfect pick for Yelena since she has the most clothes out of all of you. She places her stuff on the bed before going to check it out. “Every room has a bed, a dresser, and a desk. Anything else we decide we want I’m not above using my allowance to make the house more of a home.” Kate explains motioning towards each piece of furniture.

“Next up Wanda’s room!” Yelena stays back in her room for a minute mapping out the closet as you and Wanda follow Kate out. There’s another piece of construction paper on the door that she motions to again with a flourish before opening the door. “Lots of windows so you can have however many plants you can fit in here. Though obviously you can put them throughout the house too.”

“Oh Kate, this is awesome! I’m gonna get so many different monstera and peperomia.” 

“And now for the showstopper, Y/n here’s your room.” You follow her out of Wanda’s room and to the last bedroom. You smile at your name on construction paper before she opens the door to the biggest room yet. “You have plenty of room to put bookshelves around and the best part is…” She trails off as she opens the door to the attached bathroom. “Tada! Your own personal shower and everything. Figured you’d be doing like all the cooking so you should get the room up here with its own bathroom. Oh! But also there’s this.” She rushes towards the window that faces the back yard and opens it up before opening the screen too. “You can go lay or sit on the roof whenever you want because it's flat and sturdy enough here.”

“Kate you’re the best you know that right?”

“I know. Now let’s recollect everyone and finish the tour.” 

She shows you guys the bathroom for Yelena and Wanda to share that has two sinks and a separate door inside that gives the toilet its own privacy before taking you all downstairs. The living room is to the left of the stairs when you’re coming down and it’s completely empty and the dining room is on the other side with just a round table and four chairs. She explains how Yelena has free reign to decide how to decorate it and that her mom sent her back with a credit card specifically for getting furniture and whatnot, which Yelena took from her hand and pocketed immediately excited to start shopping after getting her stuff inside. Upon actually entering the dining room your mouth drops at the beautiful big kitchen that it opens up to.

“Kate, what the hell?” You run your hands over the finished butcher block top of the island as you take it all in. The kitchen takes up basically the whole back of the house with glass doors that lead out to the patio once the counters end. The counter space is insane and you’ll definitely have enough room to spread out while you bake or cook.

“I know! I told my mom that the only thing we needed other than the four bedrooms was a big kitchen and did she deliver or what?!”

“Go Eleanor!” Wanda cheers, swinging an arm around your shoulder, taking it in with you while Yelena opens a door to a walk-in pantry and then the other door that leads to a laundry room.

“Kate, where's your room?” You ask as you realize there’s not another room on this floor.

“I’m taking the whole basement. It’s finished with its own complete bathroom and I figured I could practice archery down there too. I’m gonna go get the rest of my stuff out of the car.” Wanda turns and follows her out and Yels stops to look at you before following them as if to ask ‘are you coming’.

“Go ahead Yels. I wanna peek in all the cupboards and cabinets first.” She nods and leaves you to it.

Bucky was getting Sam's last box when he looked over and noticed you for the second time that day. You’re swinging a bookbag on and closing the now empty trunk of a car before turning and picking up the duffle bag next to you. He can practically see the gears turning in your head as you stare at the big box on the ground, hands on your hips, bag getting ready to slide down your arms. His feet are moving before he even decides to do anything.

“Oh, thank you!” Your surprised but cheery voice greets him as he picks up the box for you. You expect him to hand it to you but he just gestures with his head for you to lead the way to the house. “Oh!” It’s silent for a couple seconds before you start talking again. “I’m Y/n. You’re Bucky right? You’re on the hockey team with Pietro.” He nods to answer your question. “Thank you for killing the spider earlier and for this. You’re a real knight in shining armor.” You motion towards the box as you walk up the steps of the porch. He nods again, adjusting the box so he can open the door and hold it for you. You’re small compared to him he takes in and realizes as you squeeze past him into the house. 

“I said I would be right out to help you, what are you doing?” Yelena comes around the corner from the dining room to yell at you for getting the rest of your stuff by yourself just to stop short at seeing Bucky with your box in his arms. “Barnes.” They nod to each other in greeting.

“It’s okay Yels, Bucky helped. Thank you again!” You thank him again as Yelena takes the box from his arms and heads straight up the stairs to put it in your room and you rush to follow her waving to him as you do.

Bucky looks at your back like you’re crazy for just leaving him, a stranger, alone in your entryway. He could be anyone or do anything. He shakes his head before leaving, shutting the door behind him and getting back to the lone box in the back of Sam's truck.

“Okay so you want a green kitchen? I can work with that.” Yelena is sitting at the island on her laptop across from you as you knead the bread dough you’ve been working on. She’s been asking you how you want the currently too white kitchen to look and all you’ve really been able to tell her is you want it to be green. “What about this?” She waits to turn her laptop around until you’re done spraying your bowl and you look up as you put the dough in it for its first rise. “Sage green on the cabinets and island but cream colored walls?”

“I like the sage green. You don’t think the cream will be too bland?”

“If it is, I'll paint you flowers or something all over the walls to help fit with your cottage kitchen dream.” Wanda sits next to Yelena in the seat she had originally pulled over for you.

“In that case that’s exactly what I want Yels. The cream and sage green make it happen.” You uncover the first two loaves of bread you started making from their second rise then put them in the preheated oven. “Okay, you get me for thirty minutes, let's find a couch we can collapse on.”

Wanda yells down the basement stairs for Kate before you all go sit on the floor in the living room surrounding Yelena’s laptop.

“Printesa! What did we do to deserve you stopping by?” Pietro opens the door and greets you after you knock. The nerves that were filling your body at not knowing who would answer disappear at the familiar nickname.

“I have gifts!” You hold out the picnic basket in front of you to show it. Pietro can smell the freshly baked bread from the closed basket and quickly ushers you into the house.The set up is similar to your own, their kitchen is smaller though you notice as he leads you straight there.

“What’s going on here?” Sam who was sitting at their table with take out follows the two of you. Bucky looks over from where he was filling his bottle up at the fridge surprised to see you standing in his kitchen.

“I made a thank you present for taking care of the spider yesterday.” And for helping with the box but you don’t say it, you just look at Bucky as you speak and hope it translates. “I don’t really know what hockey players can eat during the season. Are you guys technically in your season? I don’t even know but anyway typically I would make cookies or brownies or something and if it was just Piet I would’ve because he cheats all the time.”

“You’re yapping Printesa.” He only interrupts you because of how you just outed him in front of his teammates. Normally he enjoys listening to you ramble on. He hopes you know that, you do and if you didn’t the look he shoots your way of ‘stop snitching’ would be all you needed to know that’s the only reason he tells you to shut up.

“Right, sorry.” You send a sheepish smile his way and open the basket starting to pull out all of the sandwiches you had made earlier. “Anyway I figured sweet treats were a no go so I made a bunch of sandwiches for you guys. There’s ham and turkey and salami and chicken. Some have lettuce and tomato, others don’t because I don’t know what everyone likes." There's a warmth in Bucky’s chest as he watches you all smiles continue to pile sandwiches on the counter for him and his teammates. Sandwiches you had made just for them trying to make sure there was something for everyone. He’s almost positive he’ll be able to taste the care you put in making them. He steps closer to study you while Sam abandons his food completely to find one he wants to eat. “Oh! And one grilled cheese just for you Piet.” You had the tupperware container that was at the bottom of the basket to the twin next to you and he fist bumps before opening up to eat it while it was still warm. He groans as he takes a bite of it.

“Your bread is always the best!” You can feel your face heat up at the often told compliment still not able to take it. Your ‘thanks’ is quiet not wanting to draw attention to it.

“Wait, did you make the bread?” You nod to answer Sam. “That’s so cool if this is what we get when we kill spiders, come over or call whenever you have one. Buck write down all our numbers for her.” Bucky rolls his eyes at Sam but goes over to the fridge to rip a piece of paper from the notepad magnet anyway.

“Sam, please tell me you’re not leaving food out already. Oh, hello. Steve Rogers.” He holds his hand out for you to shake and sends you one of his famous smiles.

“Hi! Y/n Y/l/n. I brought sandwiches.” You gesture to the piles beaming at him while you do. Your phone vibrates then and you turn back to the basket to pull it out. “Oh, would you look at the time? I gotta get back before Yels picks a bad dining room table.” She could never but you all love to tease and joke that she would without all of you. You collect the basket and wave to the men in the kitchen. “Enjoy boys!” No one pays that much attention as you leave except for Bucky, who realizes that A you’re leaving without the numbers Sam made him write down and B Pietros a dick for not seeing his guest out, but what else was new really.

A hand on your shoulder stops you on your way to the door, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. When you turn around your nose almost bumps into a chest so you quickly take a step back and look up to look at Bucky’s face. Your breath hitches a little at just how much bigger he is than you and you hope he doesn’t notice, he does. He holds out the list of numbers for you to take and you do, not noticing the way that your fingers brush his, he does though.

“I can’t believe I almost left without this privileged information.” You lay it gently in your basket while Bucky examines you like you’re a piece of art which you might as well be. You’re beautiful in the way that sunbeams peaking through clouds or trees are beautiful. He has a momentary vision of you sitting in the secluded field of flowers, one he often visits to be alone, and basking in the warmth of the sunbeams that he so often does. You say bye to him again breaking him out of whatever trance he was just in and turn to keep leaving.

“Thank you. For the food.” His deep hesitant voice stops you in your tracks as you open the door.

“Anytime big guy! I’ll text ya!” You wink at him and then you're gone. Bucky can’t help the small smile that forms on his face before turning and going up to his room to finish getting ready for the gym.

You end up making a group chat, called ‘The Spider Killers’ with the numbers you were given and your household so they can all get each other's numbers and if you guys need one of them you could just message the chat. That way if only one person is home you’re not just going from person to person. Kate is quick to ask if you, her, and Wanda can hang around their house the next couple days because Yelena got painters to agree to come paint rooms in the house on short notice so when the furniture gets delivered no one has to worry about covering them. Which Wanda added before anyone can say anything that even if it’s a no Pietro will still let you all in at the same time that you said you’d cook everyone dinner if it’s a yes. Steve and Sam both agreed, Pietro jokingly said no and for Wanda to check on her twin attachment issues, Bucky didn’t respond. Which you took as him saying yes because surely if he had a problem with it he’d say so. 

Yelena’s going to stay behind at the house to make sure they’re using the right shades of colors she wants and to help where she can. One of her favorite things about decorating and renovating is the hands-on stuff and you love to joke that you’ll see her on her own show one day and she’ll have to introduce you to Chip and Joanna. And while you’d be glad to help everyone knows that inevitably you’d trip and spill a paint can the way you did helping Kate paint the archery range purple. Kate and Wanda just want to let the professionals be the ones to take care of it.

“What do you want, Sam?” Bucky finally answers his phone as he steps off the treadmill from his cool down sprint. This is the third time he’s called after sending a few texts asking where stuff is in the kitchen that Bucky’s been ignoring knowing that everyone else is home.

“Can you pick up pasta sauce on your way back? We need it for dinner.” There’s only what Bucky can describe as chaos in the background with muted yelling and he’s pretty sure the Mario Kart music coming from the tv.

“You couldn’t just text me that?”

“You weren’t answering your texts. And we’re in the middle of a very competitive grand prix so we can’t leave to get it. No, I don't want to hear it! I’m pretty sure you’re using smart steering when we said it wasn’t allowed!” Sam gets distracted with an in person discussion making Bucky grimace as his voice raises in his ear moving the phone away from it as he does.

“Fine, I'll bring back sauce.” He’s not sure if Sam is paying attention or if he hears him at all before hanging up on him.

When he does get home he goes straight to the kitchen without looking in the living room, his headphones thankfully blocking out whatever yelling was going on. He’s had to be around for too many of these things that Sam and Pietro get too into and it’s even worse if they get Joaquin over to play with them. But since he doesn’t hear anything or look in where he would’ve found Wanda trying to distract Sam so Kate could beat him nothing can prepare him for looking up and finding you in the kitchen. He was digging the damn sauce out of his bag and putting it on the counter when he looked up and over to see you looking at him expectantly.

“What?” He asks as he takes his headphones out cringing a little hoping it didn’t come out as rude as it sounded to himself. Your face contorts as if you just realized something mouth forming an ‘oh’ before you’re beaming up at him.

“I was just saying hi big guy. I hope you didn’t drive with those in, that’s dangerous you know. Oh! You brought the pasta sauce, Sam said he was gonna take care of that.” You grab the jar when you notice it turning it around to examine it. Bucky suddenly finds himself hoping he got the correct one and wishing he put a little bit of effort into picking a jar instead of grabbing the first one he recognized.

“Sam taking care of it was bothering me to do it.” His voice is gruff and annoyed but he’s less annoyed about getting the sauce since it was for you.

“Well, thank you. Normally I would make my own sauce but when I’m feeling a little lazy with it I just get a jar.” You whisper the second half of the sentence like it’s a secret only the two of you know.

“What are you doing here?” Your smile falls a bit at his roughly asked question and he has the immediate urge to punch himself in the face, an urge he doesn’t exactly understand.

“Did you not see the texts yesterday? Everyone else okayed us coming over.”

“Muted the chat when it started blowing my phone up at the gym.” Which he only did after saving the numbers he didn’t have and putting the sun emoji next to your name.

“Oh.” It’s the saddest oh he’s ever heard and it makes him immediately start racking his brain to find out how to make it better. “Well we have painters over our place today and tomorrow so we’ve been here to stay out of their way. But if you have a problem with it we can go somewhere else to-”

“It’s fine. Come back tomorrow.” Your smile comes back full force and before you can start thanking him Kate’s calling you into the living room to see how she beat Sam. Bucky’s left alone in the kitchen for a minute before he swings his bag around his shoulder and heads up to his room to empty it out. When he comes back downstairs he heads straight back to the kitchen seeming to know that’s where you would be without even looking.

“Hello again!” Your chipper voice greets him without you turning around from the stove where you’re cooking the beef for the meat sauce part of your spaghetti. “Can you get the pasta out of my tote on the island?” He does as you ask and brings both boxes over to you placing them on the counter next to the stove. He goes looking for a big pot to boil water in next. “Are you gonna help me?” You ask when you notice what he’s doing, eyes on him as he starts to fill the pot up with water. 

“Yeah why not?” He shrugs his answer and he’s rewarded with your beaming smile again, his world gets just a little bit brighter with it. 

“I wish I had my phone on me. We’d have some music while we work then but I left it at the house by accident and I didn't want to get in the way of the painters to go get it.” Bucky doesn’t think about it before he pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens Spotify before holding it out for you.

“Put whatever you want on.” 

“How was your day?” You ask after putting the soundtrack to Howl’s Moving Castle on for background noise wanting to also talk with the grump next to you while you work together.

“Okay.” 

“Come on, give me something more than that.” You tease him. “What did you do all day?”

“You’re nosy aren’t you?” He’s teasing right back and maybe he’s a little flirty with it too. It gets you to laugh and he absolutely relishes in the sound of it, immediately wanting to get you to do it again.

“And you don’t like to talk much huh? That’s okay though I’m known to talk enough for the both of us.”

“I worked and then went to the gym.” He answers your original question after a moment of silence. You light up more than you already were, which Bucky almost can’t believe is possible the same way he’s having a hard time believing that that reaction happened just because he told you something small about himself.

“Where do you work?”

“The rink. It’s nice pay and I can use the ice whenever I want.” It’s where most of the hockey team worked because of being able to go in before and after hours to run drills. That and they’re good at working schedules around practice and games.

“Ooo that’s cool. You know I’m actually the worst at ice skating? Piet tried to teach me once a couple years ago but I got away from him and fell and hit my head real hard on the ice so we weren’t there long.” Bucky fills with anger quickly at the thought of Pietro, or anyone really, letting you fall on the ice. It doesn’t matter if you were far away from him, if you were unsteady on your feet he should have been right next to you. “I’m actually really good at roller skating though, well good as in in comparison to on the ice. It’s probably because the wheels are set up differently because I’m just as bad at roller blading. Honestly I should probably just not be on wheels or blades, it’s safer that way.” You laugh at yourself as you drain the meat and add it to the sauce you had heating up on the stove. The sound relaxes him and he focuses on dumping the noodles in the now boiling water.

There’s a knock at the door then and Sam yells for Bucky to get it because they’re in the middle of a race. He grunts before going to see who’s at the door causing you to chuckle to yourself. The change from seemingly almost normal guy who talks back to grump is incredibly amusing to you. You can hear the muted greetings before someone enters the kitchen behind you.

“Smells good in here.”

“Yels! How’s my kitchen looking?” You hug your friend as she stops next to you.

“It’s not started yet. The living room is done and the dining room has one coat, the second and the kitchen are getting done tomorrow. And then the couch and stuff should be here Thursday.”

“I’m so excited to go back and see how it’s turning out! Kate and Wanda are playing Mario Kart with Sam and Pietro if you want to go get them all. Dinner’s almost done.” She nods and gives you another side hug before heading to get everyone and leaving you to make sure the pasta is fully cooked and draining it.

When everyone is seated with their food in front of them you catch yourself sneaking glances at Bucky to see his reaction to it while also trying to accept Sams and Pietros compliments on it without feeling like your face is gonna catch on fire. Dinner goes by with easy conversation and it’s almost like you’ve all known each other forever. Which is only really true for you, Wanda, and Pietro who you've been friends with since high school. Kate and Yelena quickly joined your close knit friend group freshman year of college and now it would be nice to include Piet’s closest teammates to it.

“Tomorrow we can play Mario Party instead.”

“Tomorrow you’re all going to the gym to get ready for the start of the season.” Bucky interrupts Pietro’s plans and his two teammates immediately begin listing reasons they have to stay back. Sam insists they’re fine and can skip just one more day and Pietro insists they have to be at the house to keep the three of you company. 

“Buck’s right. We’re all gonna hit the gym tomorrow.” Steve says as he enters the room having gotten home from his own shift at the rink when Bucky brought it up.

“But what about the girls?” Sam’s hands spread to motion at the four of you from his spot on the floor since there weren’t enough chairs.

“I’ll stay back. I’m the only one who’s actually been going regularly.” Bucky announces getting up with his empty dish and taking yours on his way to the kitchen.

“This is so unfair.” Sam and Pietro both pout like kids, their heads both hitting the wall as they throw them back with groans causing you to burst out laughing and a smile to show up on Bucky’s face. One he’s glad no one can see as he faces the sink.

The next day after Bucky lets the three of you in he excuses himself so he can finish unpacking, which had been his original plan for the day before he knew you’d all be there. And you, Wanda, and Kate play five hundred with the cards you brought. You keep an eye out the whole time you play in case you spot Bucky coming downstairs so you can ask him if he wants to play too. You wanted to go search him out when he disappeared up the stairs before you had a chance to ask him but didn’t want to invade his space if he didn’t want you to. You guys play a couple rounds before you leave your friends to continue playing to go curl up on the couch with your book. 

“Pietro said they’re bringing pizza home so you don’t have to worry about cooking anything.” Wanda collapses next to you on the couch and you put the sticker you use as a bookmark in between the pages to mark your spot before closing it.

“Did you just leave Kate in there to clean up?”

“Loser had to.” She shrugs and lays her head on your shoulder before you can get up to go help your other friend. “How’s your book?” 

“Good like always.” You’re rereading one of your all time favorites before going back to your to be read pile. “Why are they bringing pizza?”

“Something about them working up an appetite at the gym and not wanting to wait for food. Honestly I’d bet you any money Pietro starts eating it on the way home.”

“I wouldn’t bet against you. He can’t even wait before digging into takeout bags even if we’re ten minutes away from eating.” 

“Are you guys talking about your twin's annoying habit of eating all my fries?” Kate comes in with a mock annoyed expression on her face as she sits next to Wanda. 

“I see you’ve all made yourselves at home.” Bucky says as he comes downstairs to find you all on the couch, your friends watching something on the tv and you back to your book glancing up here and there to watch with them. His words come out with the only emotion behind them being annoyed when he couldn’t be any less. He’s enjoyed hearing your laughter float through the floorboards to be his music while finally unpacking. And he thoroughly enjoys seeing you comfortable in his space especially when you look up and give him a dazzling smile, one that rivals the glimmer of sun on water.

“Hey Bucky! Where have you been hiding all day? You missed all the fun of five hundred.” You fake a pout but it doesn’t stay long enough for Bucky to offer playing now to get you back to smiling. “The guys are bringing home pizza by the way. I think they’re on their way back now.” Bucky knows that they’ve been texting him about what pizza to get and in Pietro’s own words make sure the girls don’t have cards all over the table because they’re digging right in.

“Okay.” You open your mouth to say something else to him but Sams barging into the house yelling about it being dinnertime before you can. Bucky glares at his friend because of it which no one thinks twice about because of how often it happens. 

“Boy am I glad I didn’t take that bet.” When Pietro comes in with a slice of pizza already halfway eaten in his hand you nudge Wanda and the two of you start laughing. He soon joins the three of you in the living room, placing a box of pizza on the coffee table and making you scoot over so he can sit on the other side of you.

“So what are we watching?”

“Put on Step Brothers. Speedball here hasn’t stopped quoting it all day.” Sam says as he comes in to sit on the other couch his plate piled with slices in hand. 

When Yelena comes over later to let you guys know the painting is officially done you’re all in the living room except for Bucky who’s pretending to scroll on his phone in the dining room where he’s actually just watching you and how you throw your head back laughing at the movie.

You’re obsessed with the kitchen and you make sure Yelena knows that as soon as you see it. But the light brown she picked for the living room is going to suit it nicely and the bachelor blue, the name of which you only remember because of Kate making a joke about you all being bachelors, the dining room is doesn’t clash with the colors of the kitchen. Something you were nervous about with how it just opens straight up to it. You had even told Yelena that she could change the colors of the kitchen if it didn’t work but she insisted it would, you should’ve believed her. 

Yels more than anything though was excited to show you all the surprises she had. She had painted all of your rooms, hiding it successfully with her ploy of having all of you sleep in the basement with Kate for a sleepover in the new house the previous night and making sure to save her room for last. Kate got a light purple, her favorite color and it matches her archery uniform. Wanda got a whiter room, so the walls can reflect light better for her plants. And you got a nice shade of what you would just call orangey red but Yelena called red earth, she said it fits with you well and she would’ve given you a yellow room if she didn’t hate all the options she was shown so much. It’s safe to say you’re all as obsessed with your rooms as you are how the kitchen turned out.

The next couple days are hectic and full of chaos as furniture starts getting delivered. The table and chairs for the dining room come first and you’re pretty sure none of you were ready for it to be so big that the delivery men would have to carry it around the house and through the sliding glass door in the back. The lift top coffee table for the living room comes that same day just a little later. The couch and the tv stand don’t come until the next day both at different times and the couch took the delivery men a hot minute to get all inside the house. It was exhausting watching them go back and forth and you were all glad that it was the last furniture delivery until someone decides they need something else.

The minute they were gone and the giant sectional was the way you all wanted it you piled onto it and laid there joking about ‘if only there was a tv’ and ‘why did we get a coffee table if we can’t even reach it’ ‘we should’ve just gotten a bar table to go behind the couch’ and ‘well we still could’. You and Wanda actually fall asleep on the couch that night after being up late reading together and are woken up the next morning by Kate, who starts talking about going shopping after breakfast to get a tv and couch blankets.

Shopping takes you guys the whole day and you were glad that you and Wanda took her car instead of all taking Yels. Kate ends up getting the biggest tv she could find for the living room and insisting that it’s a necessity that there’s one in each of your rooms even though you all agree that that’s a little overkill. She had just said to suck it because she was the one with the money and stuck her tongue out. You’re pretty sure the employee who helped load them into Yelena’s Jeep thought Kate was crazy. 

Yelena picks out probably, definitely, too many different blankets for the couch and a big storage basket to keep the ones not in use. That alone took forever to the point that you and Kate had walked away from her and Wanda and when you came back they were still picking some out. While they did that though you and Kate picked out stuff for the two of your private bathrooms and the shared half bath downstairs. You know better than to try to pick stuff out for Yelena’s and Wanda’s. 

And to finish shopping off Kate tells Wanda to go crazy in a plant nursery. Where she basically pulled a Ron Swanson in Home Depot when an employee came up to ask if she needed any help. Her car ends up being almost overflowing with plants and pots and potting soil while everything else gets shoved into Yelena’s.

The first few days of classes go by without a hitch but also without much excitement. Every class is just going over the syllabus and getting out early. It was nice if not a little redundant. It helps that you share some classes with Wanda, she always helps make the boring days better. Wednesdays and Thursdays you don’t have any with her though after going without knowing anyone in your Wednesday classes you sort of started to dread your Thursday ones, knowing that it was likely to be dull too. That is until you look up from your laptop in your Directed by Women film class at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Bucky! Sam!” You wave to them from your seat in the back of the room as they come in the door to your right. Bucky prevents the smile from forming on his face as he takes you in and immediately goes to sit next to you wanting both to get away from Sam’s rambling about how this class will definitely give him brownie points with Wanda and to get the seat before anyone else can. You laugh as Sam shoves past his friend to get there first, happy to see you as much as you’re happy to see them. And in order to sit next to both of them you move over a chair leaving Bucky with the seat in the corner next to the window. “Did Pietro also convince you guys to take an easy A film class?”

“Yeah.” Bucky answers you not noticing the way your gaze stays on him the whole time he sits and you ask the question as he busies himself with getting his own laptop out.

“So…is it safe to assume that since you’re here that-”

“No Wanda took the Zombie media one with Kate and Yelena. I would’ve too but I love Greta Gerwig and I was curious to see if Twilight would be part of the curriculum.” You look back at the syllabus you pulled up on your screen then. “Honestly though this is a pretty stacked list of films and I’m excited to watch and dig into them.” Sam turns your laptop to face him rather than doing the work of pulling it up on his own. 

“Oh hey Twilight is on here.”

“I know!” You're all excitement as you exclaim it both because your new friends are in the class together and having one of your favorite comfort movies on the list. 

“I don’t know any of these.” Bucky speaks, grumbles really because he didn’t even pick this class he made Sam pick for him. It’s not that he’s mad about it, he’s more than ecstatic to see you in one of his classes, something he’ll never admit to anyone, but he thought Sam would put him in a class with movies he’s seen.

“What?” You turn towards him, the shock clearly written on your face. “How? Have you lived under a rock?”

“Bucky doesn’t watch movies.”

“I watch movies.”

“Yeah, boring long ones.” 

“Just because you and Pietro have the attention spans of flies doesn’t mean The Lord of the Ring movies are boring.” Bucky points at Sam, annoyed that they’re having this argument again.

“Steve doesn’t like them either, he's just too nice to say anything.” Bucky knows Sam is just trying to rile him up; he knows Steve likes them enough to watch them every once in a while.

“None of you have to watch them with me then.” You laugh at the two of them bickering and Bucky almost freezes completely when you turn your gaze to him, eyes shining at him.

“I’d watch them with you big guy. I like Lord of the Rings.”

“Yeah?” He’s almost breathless with the word, something Sam will definitely make fun of him about later.

“Yeah.” It’s then that Bucky smiles at you for the first time and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest because God is it a great smile and you’ve just decided that it’ll be your mission to get him to smile as much as possible from now on. Your teacher starts talking then and you have to forcibly pull your eyes away from the man next to you. That doesn’t stop him from watching you though, enjoying how you light up with excitement at what the curriculum is.

The next time you see Bucky is a couple days later when you’re sitting on the roof outside of your window leaning back on your hands as you watch the stars. You happened to glance over to see him in the window facing you at his desk working on something on his laptop. A smile graces your face and you find a bit of rubble next to you and ping it off of his window to get his attention, something you didn’t actually have to do because he had noticed you immediately when he sat down. And instead of reading an article for class like he was supposed to be doing he was studying how peaceful you look staring up at the sky. He never wished that he shared Steve’s talent for drawing till this moment when he wants to capture it and keep it for himself tucked safely away in a notebook.

When the piece of shingle hits his window he stops pretending to not be looking at you and makes a show of lifting his head away from the screen in front of him and towards you. You send him an enthusiastic wave, getting a quick wave of his hand in return before mouthing ‘wow’ motioning to the sky and then using your hands to show that you’re mind blown at the view. This causes him to let out a chuckle and you find yourself wishing you were able to hear it. His attention goes back to his laptop and you lay back again. When he finds himself getting distracted once more and getting another flash of a scene in his secret field with you laying next to him staring up at the sky that he knows has more stars in it at night than here he decides that this just won’t do if he can’t get any work done. The next night when you go out to the roof the first thing you do is glance over to find that Bucky’s moved his desk.

Tuesday you’re running late for class and in your rush to leave land on your ankle wrong going down the porch steps. It bends under your weight and you curse as you go down because of it. The pain in the moment leaves you to just see white and for a second you don’t feel anything before it hits you full force. Bucky who was getting back from the gym hears your exclamation and he’s over next to you before either of you know it.

“What happened?” His voice is full of worry, something you don’t notice as you grit your teeth at the pain.

“Nothing, just twisted my ankle a bit. I’m good.” Your voice doesn’t hold any of your normal cheery demeanor, it’s cold and dismissive, you don’t even call him big guy in greeting like you usually do, and Bucky can tell that it wasn’t just a bit. You grab onto the railing on the steps and pull yourself up to stand grimacing at the weight on your right foot before adjusting all of it to your left. Bucky notices immediately.

“How about we just sit down?” 

“No, I'm fine, I have to get to class. I’m running late already.”

“Oh no you don’t.” He doesn’t stand up to get in your way until you try walking away, almost falling as you half step on the ankle you just twisted. Your face contorts each time you try to put weight on it trying to sidestep him but failing each time.

“God, move Barnes!” Bucky’s eyes widen at your angry use of his last name before they narrow at you. Your own eyes widen at the look on his face and you can’t move away quick enough to avoid him throwing you over his shoulder just careful enough to not jostle your ankle too much. 

“Where are your keys?” 

“I threw them in a river. Put me down!” You yell at him wiggling around trying to get free so you can keep trying to head to class, which you do realize is a bad decision but you can’t start missing in just the second week. He moves up the steps and stops at the door.

“Stop being a fucking brat.” You freeze at his words and the growl in his voice as he says them, not sure how to feel about finding that as hot as you do. Your frozen state gives him the ability to fish out your keys from your jacket pocket and unlock the door. Before you know it you’re being dumped onto the couch and Bucky has one knee on it next to your feet while he unties your shoes to get them off. He’s gentle while he takes your right shoe off but more forceful with the left one. When his finger tips touch the top of your right sock you shoot up in a sitting position holding your hands out to stop him.

“Woah what are you doing?”

“I need to see how bad it is.”

“I told you I’m fine, it’s fine.” You seeth through clenched teeth annoyed that he won’t just take your word for it and leave you to your own devices. He responds with gentle pressure on your ankle causing you to gasp at the pain that shoots around it like a circle unable to contain it at how sudden it was. He immediately feels bad for causing you pain but he didn’t know any other way to get you to shut up and let him work.

“Yeah, no it’s not. Now will you let me make sure it’s just a sprain.” You huff and cross your arms leaning back letting him slowly, carefully peel your sock off grumbling about how it’s not sprained. He feels around your ankle and rotates it in a few circles analyzing your reactions to it all. “It’s not fractured but I’d say you definitely sprained it.” He stands then placing your foot down gently. “Stay there. Don’t. Move.” He puts emphasis on his words before turning and leaving the house.

Bucky lets out an aggravated sigh when he’s outside before rushing next door so he can grab his laptop and stuff to take care of your ankle hopefully before you decide to not listen to him and start trying to walk on it again. Why you’re being difficult about this he doesn’t know but he’ll make sure you listen to him about this. He knows from watching teammates and hearing about players in other sports just how bad a sprained ankle can be.

You roll your eyes at his demand as soon as the door shuts behind him. You mock him to yourself but listen to his words anyway at least for a little bit. But then you start to get hungry and he never said he was definitely coming back, though that could be heavily implied. You wait another minute listening for any movement on the porch and when there is none you smile and start to scoot your way off the couch before trying, and failing at first, to stand. You’re crossing in front of the entryway when the door opens again and you freeze, turning to look at Bucky’s hulking figure like a deer caught in headlights.

“What are you doing?” He eyes you down as he pauses in the doorway, your book bag that you dropped when you fell on one shoulder and his own bag on the other.

“Getting a snack.”

“Should’ve waited. Stay on your left foot.” He demands after shutting the door and going into the living room to put the bags down next to the couch.

“Stop telling me what to do.” You listen to him though regretting trying to walk to the kitchen.

“I’d be able to if you would’ve listened from the get go. Are you able to get back to the couch?”

“I’m hungry.” You shake your head in defiance and move your foot in a way that you slide closer to the dining room.

“Yeah, I’ll get you something. Can you get back to the couch or do I need to carry you to it again?”

“I’ve got it.” You shuffle slide on one foot for a bit before starting to limp back to the couch. “I wanted my sugar strawberries. They’re in the fridge in the glass container with the red lid. Oh and grab a spoon too.” You go back to the couch settling further in than you were before, your ankle hurting as you use your feet to push yourself into the corner of it. When Bucky comes back in he hands you the container and your spoon before bringing his bag up to rest next to him. He pulls out the bandage and the ice pack he brought over with him when he moves to grab your ankle you pull it back to you cringing as you do so.

“What are you doing now?” 

“Wrapping and icing your sprain.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing which it probably is but you’re not used to people taking care of you like this.

“It’s fine I can do it.” You place the container behind you on the bar table you all did end up getting for behind the couch before holding your hands out. “Give it.”

“Why do you insist on fighting me?” Bucky’s voice is softer than it has ever been and it throws you off. “You’re hurt, just let me take care of you.” Something in his voice, probably the unspoken pleading, has you giving in and moving your ankle into his hold while you focus back on your snack. Bucky wraps the bandage snugly around your ankle before grabbing one of the big couch pillows and propping it up. You jump as the cold from the ice pack seeps through the bandage as soon as he puts it on.

“It’ll need to stay elevated.” He explains as he moves up the couch to sit next to you dragging his bag with him to get his laptop out. “I’ll check on the pack in a bit to take it off and put it in your freezer so you can use it again when it refreezes.” He reaches behind him and then hands you the tv remote that he had grabbed. You take it from him watching as he opens his laptop and pulls up his email without looking at you.

“Are…are you staying?” You ask in a  timid voice after a moment of silence not understanding why he would after you had just been so mean to him when all he was trying to do was help you.

“Yeah. Gotta make sure you don’t try walking on it again out of spite or stubbornness.” He glances at you with a half smile on his face so you know he’s partly joking having sensed a change in your previously hostile demeanor to a more somber one. He goes back to emailing his teachers about missing class. You turn on The Office for something to watch and the two of you are silent again for a bit.

“Thank you.” Your voice is quiet and you’re looking down at your slices of strawberries as you speak. Bucky might not have heard it if he wasn’t right next to you.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me. I’ve never really had anyone do that for me. In my house it was a very like take care of yourself and stay out of the way environment. So I’m sorry about being mean earlier.” A pang goes through Bucky’s heart thinking of you getting hurt and having no one to help you at any age.

“Nah you’re good. Weren’t even that mean, trust me I know mean. Besides you’re in pain we all lash out sometimes when that happens.” You laugh at that and it’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, happy to see you smiling again.

“Don’t I know it! You should see this place during shark week since we’re all synced up.�� He smiles at you. 

When Bucky’s laptop is put away, the sugar strawberries are tried for the first time, and the ice pack is in the freezer you get him to bring you one of the big blankets and convince him to get under it with you. The two of you fall into easy conversation while you watch The Office and at some point you fall asleep on Bucky’s shoulder. When the girls get back to the house worried about why you weren’t in classes or answering your phone they find the two of you asleep, Bucky's arm wrapped around your shoulder, your head on his chest and the tv still going.

They debate with each other over whether or not they should wake you. Wanda wanting to to find out why you weren’t in class, Kate wanting to let you rest knowing how little you actually sleep, and Yelena getting her phone out to snap a picture to send the group chat. The flash that she forgot she had on causes you to stir as you begin to wake and for Bucky to immediately wake up a little disoriented because he’s not used to falling asleep in the middle of the day. But not moving too much so you can stay comfortable in your position if you don’t wake up. You need your rest and he knows from experience how much being in pain can zap the energy from your body.

“Girls.” He nods in a greeting, his voice hushed.

“Hey Bucky!” Kate exclaims before Wanda shushes her. Bucky glares because of the volume of her voice and you wake up all the way.

“Hey guys. What time is it?” You yawn as you speak and move to sit up straight.

“Close to four.” Yelena answers looking to see if the photo she had taken was ruined by the flash, it wasn’t.

“Oh my god I need to start on dinner. I should’ve put an alarm on or something but I didn’t think I’d pass out.” You move to get up but Bucky uses the arm around your shoulders to keep you back against the couch. Which doesn’t go unnoticed by your friends.

“How come you weren’t in class? Are you already skipping without me?” Wanda mocks being hurt from just the thought of you not skipping with her. 

“Oh!” You pull the blanket up over your feet so they can see your wrapped up ankle that’s still propped up on the couch pillow. “I twisted my ankle a little and Bucky demanded I stay off of it.”

“She sprained it.” He rolls his eyes as you undermine your injury again. “I don’t know how bad it is but I’m sure it’ll swell by the morning.” When he goes home he’ll have to talk to Sam about coming to confirm his thought of it being just a grade one sprain.

“I’m fine. I keep telling you.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes at him. “Wands remember when I rolled my ankle on the stairs the day before our graduation trip? It’s like that.”

“Oh so your ankle is fucked and you’re not fine.” She says remembering how much pain that time had caused you.

“You’ve done this before?” 

“I am too fine.” You ignore Bucky and focus on Wanda. “Remember I was walking around an amusement park two days later?”

“That doesn’t mean you were okay! Pietro and I even tried to get you to let us reschedule the whole trip but you were too stubborn. And your ankle hasn’t been the same since you roll it way more often than you did and there’s that weird clicking thing!”

“What weird clicking thing?”

“Oh do you wanna hear it’s so cool that it does this.” You answer Bucky this time ignoring Wanda as you begin to rotate your left ankle it clicking each rotation. “Sometimes there will be a really big one that hurts for a second.” You keep going and Bucky’s eyes widen as he hurries to stop you from doing it anymore. You flinch as you pull both feet up towards you to prevent him from doing it and Yelena snaps out of looking at her phone.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“What?!”

“You’re not gonna be able to get up the stairs and Bucky’s right you need to rest it.” Yelena crosses her arms showing that there’s no debating with her but you still try.

“What if Bucky takes me upstairs like he brought me in here?”

“Unless Bucky wants to stay the night to make sure you can get back down here, because I know you won’t stay up there all day tomorrow, then no dice.” You light up and turn towards the man next to you.

“It could be like a sleepover! We can stay up all night and watch movies and gossip and snack.” He just stares at you, not quite sure how to react to your excitement of spending time with him which you take as him about to turn you down. “Please big guy, I just wanna be in my bed.” Your soft and a little sad voice does him in and he starts to get up off the couch. “Where are you going?”

“I didn’t exactly make an overnight bag when I originally came over. But you’re letting Sam take a look at your ankle when I come back.” He turns to go only catching a glimpse of your giant smile at his words.

“So what happened?” Kate asks after Bucky leaves sitting by your feet and bringing them into her lap so she can examine the wrap job on your ankle without you realizing because she knows you’d make a big deal about it if you did.

“I was rushing to my first class because I was running late and landed on my ankle wrong going down the porch steps.”

“When does Barnes come in?” Wanda takes Bucky’s previous spot as Yelena speaks.

“He saw it happen and then threw me over his shoulder like a neanderthal when I kept trying to go to class. And then he wrapped and iced it staying to make sure I didn’t walk around on it which was so unnecessary. He’s got a real attitude problem.”

“No babe, that's you.” Wanda pats your shoulder. “And I’m sure you’re leaving some parts of the story out to make yourself seem better. We know you get mean when something is wrong. We love you even with that though.”

“Well, well, well look who decided to come home. Did you have a nice nap?” Sam teases Bucky as soon as he sees him enter the house.

“How do you know I napped?”

“A little birdie told us.” He shows Bucky the picture of him and you on the couch that Yelena had sent the group text.

“Delete that. You need to come with me when I go back over to the girls place.”

“A, I can't, it's just in the messages now and B, why?” Sam follows his friend up stairs and to his room where he watches him start packing.

“Y/n sprained her ankle want you to make sure it’s not worse than I think it is.”

“Oh shit really?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before leaving to rush over hoping to God it wasn’t worse than Bucky thought. Bucky would’ve followed him, wanting to be there when he checks your ankle out, wanting to make sure he was gentle and doesn’t twist it too far any way to make you grimace the way you’ve been doing, but he has to make sure he doesn’t miss anything he’ll need because he knows he won’t be coming back once he gets you upstairs. But Sam being on his way over puts more of a rush in his movements.

Pietro and Sam show up at the house at the same time, the former only knowing what was wrong because he was getting home as Sam rushed out the door. He muttered a ‘Jesus Christ’ before just beating him to the door not bothering knocking. He remembers the last time you did this just as well as Wanda, how despite how in pain you were you still tried to do everything normally, how the only reason you hadn’t made food like the original plan had been was because he convinced you he had been craving chinese, how Wanda had to distract you while he got all the bags in the car so you wouldn’t insist on helping, and how they kept acting like they needed breaks at the stupid fucking amusement park you insisted on still going to just so they could get you off of the foot that was obviously bothering you. He knows that you’re stubborn and annoying and mean when someone shows the first hint of trying to, in your own words, baby you when they’re just trying to look out for you. He and Wanda have both been on the receiving end of that enough times that they figured out ways to do it secretly. 

“Printesa! Your favorite twin is here!”

“Oh god who told you?” You groan knowing that he only came in the way he did, rushing into the living room his gaze immediately going to you and then down to your ankle before back up, because he found out about your not a big deal injury.

“That you’re a klutz and messed up your good ankle? Sam.” He points his thumb over his shoulder at the man coming in behind him after shutting the door. “I’m feeling like pizza tonight! You guys want some? Great, I'll order it.” You miss the shared look he and Wanda have before he starts to talk and instead brush it off as Pietro just inviting himself over like you’ve been sure would happen from the start.

“Alright I’m gonna have to unwrap your ankle to check it out.” Sam sits next to Kate on the couch and you just nod and look away, biting your tongue instead of fighting him knowing this was Bucky’s one stipulation to him staying. And right now all you want is him close his presence helping you feel better for some reason, and it’s definitely not because of the urge to take care of you rolls off of him in waves or the crush you may or may not have on him.

Bucky enters the house in time to hear you going on to Sam about how your ankle really isn’t that bad. When you let out a yelp that cuts you off mid sentence he’s rushing into the living room. He finds Sam with your ankle in hand and your own hands covering your mouth wide eyed like you were shocked the sound came out of you. Everyone else’s eyes are wide and looking at you.

“What are you doing? I told you to check on her ankle not torture her.”

“I am checking on it, Buck. I didn’t even bend it that far.” Sam defends himself, sensing the energy around his best friend that emerges when he’s tempted to lose his shit on someone. The last thing he wants is for Bucky to hit him the way he's seen him do others.  “It’s not bruised right now and it looks only a little swollen. Keep an eye on it though because I’m sure it’ll balloon up compared to the other one overnight. You were right it looks like a grade one sprain but if it starts to bruise it might be a two.” He looks at you then. “Stay off of it as much as you can for the next two days, keep it wrapped and elevated. Icing it here and there wouldn’t hurt either.” He doesn’t say that if the pain ebbs quicker that you can walk around on it sooner sensing you’re the type to start lying about it that way, but he’ll make sure everyone else knows.

“Two days?!” You whip your head up to look at Bucky. “How trustworthy even is Sam?” The aforementioned man brings a hand to his heart and his face crumbles in a mock heartbreak. “I mean what gives him the right to decide what’s wrong with me?”

“He’s studying physical therapy and helps the nurse with our team during the season.”

“Oh. Still two days seems excessive, give me a night to sleep it off and I’ll be good as new!”

“Sorry, doctor’s orders.” Sam lightly pats your ankle before getting up. “Kate, can you wrap her ankle back up? If I'm late to relieve Steve at the rink he’ll make me do extra cardio in the gym.” Sam leaves then and Kate just gets up and hands the bandage to Bucky seeing the look on his face and recognizing it because it’s one that she sees a decent amount. One that shows the worry for you specifically after an injury whether it’s you cutting yourself in the kitchen or running into corners on furniture and a big bruise forming on your thighs or sides because of it. She’s seen it on Wanda’s and Yelena’s and even Pietro’s enough that even if it’s trying to be disguised she can see it.

“Pizza’s ordered!” Pietro comes back into the living room having hung back even after the pizza was actually ordered so he could ask Sam in hushed voices how bad it was, a conversation Kate and Yelena joined into and one you would’ve heard if you weren’t busy still insisting to Bucky that you were fine. Pietro takes a seat next to Wanda while Kate and Yelena pull the sections of the couch out to make room for the coffee table to fit in front of them. Bucky takes Kate's previous seat pulling your bad ankle into his lap and leaving your other to fall to the ground without the inner sections of the couch being there. 

“You wanna play five hundred?” Yelena asks, sitting on the opposite side of the table knowing that it’ll be a great way to distract you from your ankle. 

“Hell yeah I do!” You shoot up into a better sitting position at her words. Kate shuffles the cards and Pietro digs in the table for a notebook and pen to keep score. 

“I’ll keep score!”

“No you won’t.” Yelena snatches the notebook from his hands. “I’m not having you feed points to Wanda and Y/n again. Bucky can keep score.” She throws the notebook into Bucky’s lap who catches the corner of it before it can hit your ankle.

“How am I supposed to do that?” 

“You’ll just write our names down and after each round we’ll tell you how many points we’re gaining or losing and you’ll keep doing the math until someone reaches five hundred.”

“Pietro can’t be trusted because he adds on points to whatever those two say.” Kate chimes in after you finish explaining it, motioning with her head towards you and Wanda.

“You guys caught me one time!”

“And who knows how often you did it without us realizing!”

“And we had no idea that it was happening.” Wanda says in a way that tells everyone she definitely knew it was happening. Something everyone caught onto with how poorly she acted surprised when Kate and Yelena caught him. Neither of them know that you knew too and that it was your idea to begin with and the twins have yet to rat you out.

A pillow gets thrown at her which she hits straight into Pietro's face causing you to laugh. Bucky smiles at seeing the light come back into you after it being missing since your fall. It’s the smile and companion look on his face as he watches you that has Yelena snapping another picture to send the group chat later. It’s a look that tells her he’s already in deep for you whether he realizes or not and she’ll have to start plotting with Kate as soon as possible.

Kate ends up winning after battling for it with Wanda for a while. The pizza got delivered near the end of the game and sat on the dining room table ignored by everyone but Pietro until the final rounds finished. You all eat while watching the first Harry Potter movie at Wanda’s request. And when the pizza’s gone and the movie’s over Pietro takes the dishes into the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher before saying his goodbyes. 

You argue with Bucky about how you’ll get upstairs hating that your friends side with him rather than saying you’d be fine to walk upstairs. It’s only when he threatens to throw you over his shoulder again that you give in and agree to hopping on his back. You hug the girls goodnight before begrudgingly letting Bucky help you climb onto the couch and latching onto him. You try to ignore the feel of his big hands looped under your knees to keep you steady and the warmth that seeps through your jeans from them, instead focusing on keeping your grip on his bag that he put in your hands so he could hold onto you and making sure your arms don’t end up choking him while you direct him to your room. Not that you needed to, you all still have your name tags that Kate made up. 

“You care if I use your shower doll?” Bucky asks after depositing you on your bed he had rinsed off in the gym when he was done but has yet to have a proper shower. The pet name slips out without him even noticing but it feels like a whole flight of birds has taken off in your stomach. All you can do is shake your head not thinking about how he can’t see you do it with his back still to you until he turns around giving you an expectant look, hands still rummaging through his bag to get clean clothes out. 

“Oh sorry no go ahead it’s right through that door.” You gesture towards it before bracing your hands on your bed to get ready to stand.

“Can I trust you not to move around while not in eyesight?” 

“I just wanna change while you’re in there and then I promise I’ll be back in bed.” You hold your pinky out and he follows your lead wrapping his bigger one around yours leaning his head down to kiss his hand the same time you do yours. “I can’t believe a big guy like you knows how to properly pinky promise!” You’re giddy with your excitement over seeing the giant man duck down to seal it with a kiss.

“I have a younger sister.” He shrugs before turning and heading into the bathroom, leaving you to adjust to the new information while you change into your pajamas, an old hockey jersey with Pietro’s number on it and sleep shorts. You’re tucked in bed with your current rewatch of The Nanny on when Bucky comes back out in sweats and a short sleeve shirt. It’s the first time his right arm and it’s sleeve of tattoos are on display for you. You can feel yourself staring wanting to know what they are but also ogling the way the shirt hugs his biceps before he breaks you out of your stupor.

“Nice shirt.” He nods his head in your direction as you look over at him where he’s shoving his stuff back in his bag. Your smile widens as you realize it’s an Avengers jersey from last season.

“Thanks! Piet gave it to me for being his number one fan! Of course then Wanda complained and we have matching ones now.” You stand quickly enough to stumble and wince at the same time to turn around and show Bucky the back with Maximoff across your shoulders and the number 73, the twins' birthday, underneath it. 

Before looking at it Bucky rushes over to steady you since your hands worry about holding up the shoulders to give him a better view of it instead of being free to catch yourself. When he does look up he has to ignore the acidic feeling eating away at his stomach at seeing Maximoffs name on your back when he wants it, needs it now that he knows it’s an option, to be his.

“Careful! Jesus it’s like you just have no self preservation instincts.” He changes the topic, hoping to ignore whatever jealousy there is for his teammate being close with you. 

His, big, hands on your hips guide you to sit back down and their warmth sinks in through your shorts and as soon as you’re sat back down you’re covering your legs with the blanket to hide the goosebumps along your flesh and squeeze your thighs together. You find yourself wondering how you’re going to survive the night next to him if this is how your body chooses to react to just the heat of his hands when you know for a fact that you’re a cuddler when you sleep despite trying otherwise. Yelena hates having to share a bed with you during your friend getaways because of it.

“What are you watching?” Bucky’s face scrunches up and his head turns to look at the tv as Fran laughs.

“The Nanny.”

“Why does she sound like that?”

“It’s part of her charm. Sit, I’ll start the show from the beginning since you’ve obviously never seen it.” You pat the bed next to you and grab the remote to go back to the first season before he can even think to argue about it. Not that he would, the excitement in your eyes was enough to sit next to you and be tortured by a nasally voice forever. Bucky finds it to be a trend in his life now to want to keep you happy. 

“As you wish.” He says as he slides in next to you causing you to gasp and look at him.

“Like from The Princess Bride?”

“The what?” Bucky knows what you’re referring to, he loves The Princess Bride. He however doesn’t want you to realize that he had meant it similarly to the way Westly meant it and hopes that you don’t notice his cheeks going pink like he’s sure they are at almost being caught.

“You know what, add it to the watch list. We have to educate you on film Mr. Only watches Lord of The Rings.”

“I don’t only watch Lord of The Rings.” Bucky groans in a joking way before letting out a chuckle and sending butterflies to your stomach. You have to force yourself to look back at the tv so he doesn’t catch you trying to memorize his smile but that doesn’t stop you from watching from your periphery and the smile never quite leaves his face the rest of the time you do.

You fall asleep around a season in after insisting you weren’t tired and you definitely weren’t yawning. Bucky can’t help but to smile at it when he notices you’ve dozed off. As he’s about to get up and use the light of the tv to find a spare blanket to move to sleep on the floor you move so your head rests on his lower chest. At first he freezes not sure what to do, even though the only difference between now and earlier is you’re in bed instead of on a couch, before he decides to just get comfortable. He slowly adjusts so he’s laying flat instead of in his propped up half sitting position making sure he jostles you as little as possible. Once he’s repositioned your head ends up resting closer to where his heart is than his stomach and his left arm stays laid out under your neck and shoulders. When your arm moves to wrap around his waist and pull him closer in your sleep, your body molding into the side of his, no one would be able to wipe the smile off of his face if they tried. Bucky falls asleep soon after arm wrapped around your shoulders and that smile still there.

Bucky wakes up first the next morning at first a little disoriented at the feel of another person in his arms and the smell of your strawberry shampoo surrounding him but once he finds his footing he holds you closer to him burying his nose further into your hair and adjusting his hips so you wouldn’t be able to notice his morning wood. It’s been a while since he’s woken up with anyone in bed with him or even held anyone the way he’s holding you and he makes sure to take the time to relish it because he’s not sure when the next time he’ll experience it again. He doesn’t fight the urge to go back to sleep for once until you start moving in his arms. 

You groan as you start to wake up and turn onto your other side wapping your arm around the object next to you. Which would normally be your pillow or the stuffed dog you’ve had since you were a kid so you freeze when it’s a warm body. As Bucky’s scent invades your senses when your nose gets buried in his chest you slowly open your eyes and turn your head up to look at him. Your eyes go wide when they meet his and you scramble back away from him missing the look of disappointment in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to warn you about my cuddling habits at night. Oh God you probably think I’m a nut. I bet you were so uncomfortable I’m sorry.” Bucky’s face scrunches up as you begin to ramble and he reaches out to put a hand on your arm to interrupt you.

“Hey, hey! It’s alright. Was I or was I not also cuddling you?” That stops you in your train of thought completely as you take in his words and think about exactly how you had woken up, his arms already wrapped around you before you turned and started cuddling him. A grin overtakes your features in a way that reminds Bucky of when it happens to the Grinch in the animated cartoon and you look back over at him.

“Bucky Barnes, are you a secret cuddler?” There’s a playful accusing tone to your voice as you speak.

“Never been much of one must be just having a cute girl next to me that made it happen.” Your face heats at his words and you can already feel yourself overthinking on if he’s flirting with you or not.

“I have to pee.” You blurt it out fast before rushing out of bed grimacing when your ankle takes on weight but dealing with it as you get to the bathroom as quickly as you can. As soon as the door is shut you lean your back against it and let out a breath of air. You stay against the door internally freaking out about Bucky’s flirting for a minute before deciding to give whatever energy he gives you back and actually going to the bathroom and brushing your teeth. When you leave the bathroom he’s pulling his toothbrush and toothpaste out of his bag.

“It’s all yours.” You point your thumb over your shoulder to the bathroom and hobble your way back to the bed to sit down.

“How’s it feeling today?” His head nods towards your ankle.

“It’s fine, much much better than yesterday.” You’re partially lying, it does hurt less than it did but you had tried to feel it up in the bathroom and you’re pretty sure it swelled up a little bit. He hums in response before going to brush his teeth. When he’s back he goes straight to look at said ankle in question.

“Oh sweetheart.” His voice is soft and it’s almost like it pains him to see your injured ankle the way it is when he unwraps it. There’s a little bit of bruising and it did swell but not as much as either of you were worried it would. “Be honest, how is it feeling?” 

“It does feel better, really. Still hurts but nowhere near as much as it did yesterday. Promise.”

“Okay.” He’s gentle as he wraps it back up, resisting the urge to drop a kiss to it. “Do you want to get dressed before we go downstairs?” 

“Are we gonna be going anywhere today?” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no, I'll stay in my pjs all day.”

“Alright, hop on then. And then I’ll make you some breakfast and we can watch more of that show from last night.” He turns around and crouches a little so it’s easier for you to climb onto his back. You grab your phone before wrapping yourself around him.

“Wow breakfast and The Nanny you sure know the way to a girl's heart!” You’re beaming as you rest your chin on his shoulder and his hands go to secure your legs.

“I try.” Bucky chuckles and his hands playfully squeeze your calves before he starts heading downstairs. “What do you wanna eat?”

“Can you make French toast?” He drops you on the couch carefully, still being aware of not jostling your ankle too much. 

“Yeah. I’ll be back with the ice pack for your ankle, get comfortable and get it elevated. I’ll start on breakfast after.”

You wait to actually start the show until he gets back with the food but get it ready between him sticking a pillow under your foot and resting the pack on your ankle and going to make your breakfast. You spend the time he’s cooking to scroll through your phone and text the girls about how you’re doing the chat blowing up when you tell them that Bucky’s cooking for you and that you’re letting him. Since you’ve never been one to let other people cook instead wanting to be the one to take care of it. But this time you don’t exactly have a choice in the matter and, not that you would admit it to anyone, you’re kind of enjoying being taken care of. 

When he comes back with french toast topped with powdered sugar and strawberries you could’ve started drooling. Once you put syrup on it and take a bite you swear up and down to him that it’s the best french toast you’ve ever had. He doesn’t believe you because he’s had your food and knows how good your cooking and baking is. But the way you moan at almost each bite and continue to tell him how good it is almost has him believing you. It also makes it hard to focus on the show you insist he needs to watch because it’s, in your words, a classic. He’s quick to take the dishes away to wash them when you’re both done eating even though you insist you can just do them when he starts to let you move around on your own again.

“Do you have anything you have to do for your classes today that you’re missing?”

“No, my professors just told me to go over the powerpoints they’ll be posting later. Do you?” Checking your emails to see if any of them had responded to your sorry I won’t be in class one was one of the things you had done while he cooked. Bucky nods to answer your question.

“Gotta read a couple articles. So I’ll be right back just gotta go grab my laptop.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.” 

When he comes back you continue watching the show with him glancing up now and then in between paragraphs. He gets completely distracted from his article though when you scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. You turn your head up towards him when you feel his eyes on you for longer than just a glance.

“What? Oh! Is this okay? Sorry I just sorta seem to want to gravitate towards you. Like your arms metal and I’m a magnet.” You let out a nervous chuckle and before you can move away he’s leaning more into you.

“It’s okay doll. Make yourself comfortable.” You beam up at him then before wrapping your arms around his arm and nuzzling into it. It’s very hard for him to keep focused on the article pulled up in front of him then. Thankfully it was the last one he needed to read and he was more than halfway done with it. When he does finish it he wraps the arm around your shoulder after tossing the closed laptop to the side of the couch allowing you to cuddle into his side.

“You know you’re way less grumpy today than you normally are. You’re all cuddly and smiling and talkative.”

“Must’ve woken up on the right side of the bed.” You duck your head down and bite your lip, faking paying attention to Fran and Maxwell to hide the giddy smile that his words send to your face. 

The day goes by with the two of you cuddled up on the couch watching The Nanny. Bucky makes you a sandwich for lunch just the way you ask for it and even lets you sit in the kitchen with him while he did it to give you some sort of movement. He had hovered the whole time you made your way in and back to the couch ready to catch you if you tripped or swoop in to pick you up if you grimaced a little too much. Thankfully neither option happened. And when Wanda, the first of the girls to get home, comes in she finds the two of you on the couch again much like yesterday and can’t help but smile. Bucky misses the feel of you against him when you straighten up to talk to her as she sits by your feet. Yelena gets home not long after stating that Kate will be back late because she picked up a shift at the cafe and let you know that she’s letting Stan, the owner of the place, know that you won’t be able to work for a bit because of your ankle. Which you had started to argue about before abruptly shutting up when she shot you her no nonsense look knowing it was pointless then.

She joins you all on the couch after grabbing bags of snacks, throwing your favorite flavor of Dot’s pretzels your way and Wanda's oreos into her lap on her way to the other side of the couch with her own hot cheetos in her hands. You all sit there talking to each other, Bucky chiming in here and there but mainly just listening, with the show on in the background and Bucky finds himself enjoying himself amidst it all. It wasn’t boring like when he briefly had a dorm to himself and it isn’t chaos like what he lives with now. It’s the closest he’s felt to living at home with his sister and parents and he sinks in the comfortability of it all like a stone in water. He even doesn’t mind when Pietro shows up and makes everything louder and a little bit more chaotic with changing the show to some comedy and reaching over people to steal some of their snacks. 

By the time Kate gets home Pietro is passed out, head leaned back against the couch and snoring and you’re halfway to following him. Bucky hands your Dots to Wanda as he greets the new addition that just collapsed on the couch next to Yelena complaining about it being a long day. Then he slowly moves you to lean against the corner you’re sitting in before making his way off the couch in the moment hating how big it is the way you all have it set up because of how he has to scooch down it. He bids the girls a goodnight before leaning over and picking you up to take you upstairs. You mumble a bit more asleep than awake before leaning into him, Bucky’s quick to turn around before anyone can see the smile that brings to his face. But it’s just a moment too slow because Yelena does notice it and one of her own appears.

You wake up the next day rolling over and stretching your arm out searching for Bucky’s warmth to find your bed empty and immediately opening your eyes. You find Bucky in gym shorts and shirtless doing pushups on the floor. Your sleepy eyes rake over the tattoos that cover his right arm once more, having an urge to grab it and get him to let you trace them with your fingers.

“Bucky?” Your voice is croaky with sleep as you lean over the bed to look at him more. “What’re you doing? What time is it?”

“Early.” He doesn’t have to look at his phone to know that he had set an alarm to get up at five and maybe only twenty minutes have passed since. “Was supposed to hit the gym this morning but didn’t wanna just leave you.” Your heart picks up at the thought and you go back to laying on the bed completely when he finishes his reps and stands up.

“Oh. You could’ve gone.” He goes to say something but you interrupt. “Or maybe not, I probably would’ve gotten up to look for you. But you can go now big guy, I'll stay here.” Your eyes close and Bucky smiles as he realizes you’re ready to pass out again.

“I’ll be back soon okay?” You nod burrowing into your pillows and blankets some more. “Go back to sleep, doll and I’ll be back before you wake up.” He leans over and drops a kiss to your forehead like it’s second nature for him before he realizes that he’s even doing it. A small smile shows on your lips at it and Bucky straightens up, throws his shirt back on, and grabs his bag before heading out. Yelena nods in greeting when she sees him from her spot in the dining room with her morning tea and tells him about the key hidden outside before he can leave.

After he had been at the gym for a while some of his other teammates show up, each one going to their own area except for Sam and Pietro. They make a beeline straight for him when they spot him doing bench presses. He immediately wishes he had both headphones in knowing they’re about to slow him down when he’s been trying to get done as quickly as he can in order to get back before you wake like he said he would.

“How’s my stubborn Printesa?” Pietro asks.

“Fine.” Bucky huffs out his response not wanting to dignify the question with his dumb pet name for you with an answer. He focuses back on the bar in his hands to ignore that acidic feeling that’s eating away at him again.

“Is she staying off that foot?”

“Yeah.” If Sam hadn't been the one to ask he wouldn’t have answered. 

“Yeah I was over last night, she stayed sat on the couch leaned into Bucky the whole time.”

“Wait, you were over last night? Where was my invite?”

“I have a standing invite because of having a twin on the inside.”

“So in other words you just walked in and made yourself at home?”

“Pretty much.” Pietro shrugs as he and Sam go back and forth and Bucky lets out an annoyed growl as he places the bar back on the brackets.

“Are you two here to workout or just bug me?” He doesn’t give them time to respond before making his way over to the treadmills, digging his headphone case out of his bag to put the second one in so they can’t bother him anymore.

“Will the two of you get to work and stop annoying Buck!” Steve comes in at the end and Bucky sends a thankful nod to his friend, getting one in acknowledgement back.

“Sir yes sir!” Pietro fake salutes before nudging Sam towards the squating area.

Admittedly Bucky doesn’t run as far as he normally does but as the clock ticks closer to seven he gets more anxious to get back to you. While part of it is because he said he’d be back before you wake up and intends to stick by that even though you probably, definitely, didn’t even hear it another part of it is he doesn’t want you to wake up and decide to try to get downstairs on your own. He waves to Steve and Scott on his way out, the latter ecstatically waving in return and causing Steve to laugh while Bucky rolls his eyes at how excited he is all the time. He stops at home before heading back next door wanting to grab clean clothes for the night and drop all of his dirty clothes off. 

He does still make it back before you wake up. You’re hugging a spare pillow to your chest and Bucky smiles at the sight even though he wishes he was there in place of it. He knows he smells of sweat though and instead of changing and rejoining you he heads straight into the bathroom to shower.

When you wake up again the shower’s running and instead of Bucky you’re cuddling with the pillow he must’ve been using with how it smells like him. You stretch starfish style and let out a satisfied groan when your shoulder pops before sitting up in tandem with the water turning off. You don’t pay it any mind though, instead rolling your neck to crack it you freeze though your neck still tilted to the side when you spot Bucky in just a towel in the doorway of the bathroom. You’re both frozen in space eyes wide for a moment before he speaks.

“Left my bag out here.” You can only nod as your eyes take in all of the bare skin that’s revealed to you. You can’t help but marvel at the man in front of you only snapping out of it once the doors shut again. Your face immediately heats up as you realize the way you had just been gaping at him and you fall back into bed pulling a pillow over your face to hide from the embarrassment of it. 

“Y/n? What are you doing?” Bucky asks as he finds you a chuckle falling from his lips at your muffled ‘waiting for death’ in response. He sits next to you leaning over and trying to gently remove the pillow only lifting it an inch before your arms lock it down again. “C’mon dollbaby.” The pet name practically causes you to melt, something that Bucky stores away for later, and allows him to remove the pillow but doesn’t stop your hands from covering your face instead. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot who just gawked when I should’ve responded to you or looked away at least.” An amused smile takes its proper place on Bucky’s face at your response.

“Does it make it better or worse if I tell you I would’ve done the same thing if roles were reversed?”

“You would’ve?” That gets you to peek through your fingers and look at him.

“Of course I would’ve have you seen yourself? I can barely keep my eyes off of your legs in your sleep shorts!” You laugh more at the way he says it than the words themselves. “There she is.” His voice goes soft as your eyes meet his and his hand goes to caress the side of your face. There’s suddenly suffocating tension in the room and all Bucky wants to do is lean down and kiss you and all you want is for him to do it. But instead he pulls away and stands up putting some distance between the two of you. “You want breakfast again?” He crouches for you to get on his back like the morning before.

“Yeah. What do you normally eat after going to the gym in the morning?” You get up and get on letting him carry you downstairs.

“A giant helping of oatmeal.” He spreads his arms out hoping, praying, to hear you laugh again for his wish to be granted before they go back to making sure you’re secure on his back.

“I think we have some of the apple kind in the pantry. You could make us oatmeal, maybe add some fruits like strawberries or bananas.”

“As you wish.” You want to call him out on it again but he had already said he’d never seen The Princess Bride and Bucky wants to run and hide because you’re sure to catch on to his lie if he keeps saying it.

The two of you have big helpings of oatmeal with Bucky having a bigger portion and finishing what you couldn’t eat and continuing to watch The Nanny. Your day continues like that until you realize you’re both missing your film class. He reassures you that Sam will be taking notes on what they say in class and sharing them with the two of you so you can respond in the discussion post your teacher is gonna post later and that if you want to you two can watch it then. So after lunch, which consists of your favorite takeout, the two of you put on Don’t Worry Darling and you take notes on it as you watch it about how it depicts men’s desire to control and how it critiques society's expectations placed on women so it’ll be easier to answer the discussion post.

“Oh shit is this The Nanny?” Sam asks later when he just walks in.

“Yeah!”

“What, you don’t knock anymore?” You and Bucky respond at the same time you completely unbothered with Sam’s unexpected presence and Bucky completely bothered by it.

“Pietro said he just shows up, I’m gonna just show up. Now move over Buck this shows the best!” He tosses the notebook open to where he took notes during the film class into Bucky’s lap before squeezing in between the two of you despite all the room on the couch.

“You know the show?”

“My sister would watch it all the time so naturally I got into it.”

“You can’t just walk into their place without them knowing you’re showing up.”

“Pietro does it and Y/n doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Oh I don't, we used to leave our doors open randomly when we were still in the dorms and talk to the people who walked past.”

“You’re gonna start locking your door.” He points at you after he has a moment to take in the new information you just told him. “And you go sit on the other side of the couch.” He points at Sam then before pointing over his shoulder to the other couch corner not appreciating the fact that Sam forced his way into his spot next to you.

“Relax Buck, you can sit next to your girl again later. I won’t be here for long.” Bucky grumbles to himself before moving over some more so he’s not pressed up against Sam anymore. He folds his arms across his chest as his friend resituates himself to get comfortable. You don’t notice Sam call you Bucky’s girl and Bucky doesn’t comment on it or how it calms down the unreasonable possessiveness that was just taking him over.

Sam doesn’t leave until after dinner which consists of Mac and cheese and chicken both made by Yelena and the second Harry Potter movie is over, Wanda’s pick. When he does leave Bucky immediately moves back to sit next to you and you’re quick to lean back into his warmth. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yelena or Kate who share a look with each other but does go unnoticed by Wanda who moves to your other side in between you and the couch corner to show you pictures of the plants she’s thinking of getting to add to the collection around the house. 

“So Bucky, when’s your first game of the season?” Kate asks, drawing his attention from you to the other two girls, one sitting criss-cross and the other with one leg stretched out and the other bent.

“Two weeks, practice starts tomorrow morning.”

“God, that means Piet’s gonna be over all the time to ‘fuel up’.” Wanda groans in mock annoyance and uses finger quotations around what he always says when he shows up after practice.

“Bad news Wanda, I think that means Sam’s gonna be over too.” You all laugh as she lets out an actual groan of annoyance at Yelena’s definitely correct assumption. “I bet it’s safe to assume you will be too Barnes?” She smirks in his direction.

“Why are we all apparently coming here after practices?”

“Because Y/n’s collecting hockey players like pokemon cards with her cooking.”

“I’ve been cooking for Pietro after practices for a while now.” You explain for Bucky when you recognize the confusion still behind his eyes. “You’re all welcome to come with him even though I’ve only really interacted with you three.”

“You’re not gonna be feeding a whole team every couple days.”

“Says you.” You mumble to yourself low enough that Bucky’s the only one who catches it. You get a squeeze of your thigh from him in response.

“Yeah, and I’m right.” He whispers it in your ear sending a shiver down your spine. 

“Fine, just your household then.” You keep the for now part to yourself this time and he nods in agreement knowing there’s no stopping that.

“I have an early shift tomorrow so I should head up for the night.” Yelena says as she gets up. “Wanda you should too otherwise you’re going to be a zombie and affect our tips.” 

“I hate when you’re right.” Wanda reluctantly gets up too before turning to you Bucky and Kate. “Night guys see you tomorrow.”

The three of you aren’t long to follow. You and Kate talk about how you both want to have a craft night soon while Bucky just sits and listens happy to just watch the two of you get excited over the ideas of doing paint nights or clay nights or whatever other crafts you’re both naming. He admittedly stops paying that much attention and instead is focused on watching how your eyes light up and you start to talk with your hands the more excited you get. The second you start to yawn though he’s insisting it’s time for bed and lets you slowly hobble up the stairs on your own this time knowing you’ll have to be able to do it tomorrow while he’s gone.

“When’s your practice tomorrow?” You ask him as the two of you brush your teeth next to each other.

“Early, I’ll probably be gone when you wake up. And then I have a shift at the rink so I won’t be over when Pietro shows up after practice.”

“Are you gonna start staying at your place tomorrow then?” You speak with your toothbrush in your mouth and Bucky nods before leaning down to spit into the sink.

“Yeah, I probably should. How’s your ankle feeling? You think you’ll be okay on it?”

“It feels a lot better. I'll be fine to walk on it tomorrow I think.”

The two of you don’t even try to act like you won’t end up cuddling that night immediately getting comfortable wrapped up in each other's arms once you’re in bed. Neither of you wanting to start sleeping alone again after tonight but knowing that there’s no other option with the excuse of him needing to stay because of your ankle no longer being available once you start walking on it. You had forgotten how nice it was to sleep next to another human being like this since your last relationship and Bucky’s never had anyone to sleep next to where it was as nice as it was sleeping next to you. He had never craved another person's presence quite like how he craves yours. It’s almost painful for him to unwrap himself from you in the morning when he has to go and he drops a kiss on your forehead before leaving longing to be coming back to you after.

The days go by and your ankle slowly goes back to as normal as it can. The only difference is you tend to bend it awkwardly just enough to send a quick zip of pain up it before it’s fine again now. But they also go by with the hockey players next door making themselves at home in your home after each practice. Sam and Pietro are over all the time, Pietro because he’s family and Sam because he’s this close to getting Wanda to say yes to a date, his words. 

Bucky finds any excuse he can to stick close to you. He helps you cook if there’s still anything left to make when they come over or bake if you feel like making a dessert. He sits next to you at the dining table, sickeningly close as Sam teases him with later, and just watches you, studies you really, when you’re not right next to each other. His favorite time to watch you is when you have them over for breakfast and you cook while they sit in the dining room talking with the girls. You move about the kitchen with an elegance you don’t have anywhere else and hum to yourself normally with soft music on in the background. The morning sun shines on you and he’s caught you just basking in it a few times. You’re just utterly and completely beautiful in your element and it always pushes him one step closer in the direction of taking you to his field. 

The Avengers win their first two games of the season and for both all of you show up dressed up to match with the boys, a pact you had all made with Pietro when he started complaining about having to wear suits. And while the four of you don’t get quite as dressed up as the team, Yelena and Kate show up in business casual outfits and you and Wanda dress in what Pietro calls kindergarten professional. Which means fun colors and not a lot of skin showing you both wear your matching overalls once Wanda with a long sleeved red shirt and you with a loose green sweater underneath before you switch to your cute flowery skirts. 

It’s not enough to distract Bucky. Sure his eyes get drawn to you during breaks or when he gets penalties, which has happened less him not wanting to be as violent on the ice now that he knows a sweetheart like you is watching him and not wanting you to see his rough edges even if you may have seen them before. But he takes the game too seriously to let his eyes stray from the puck while he’s actively playing. No matter how much you stick out in the crowd or how the sunshine you emit as you cheer them on could melt the ice. It’s not until the third game of the season that he gets a little bit distracted. You show up in a corset top sundress and a cardigan and Bucky can’t help but keep stealing glances your way, hating that he can’t stop himself from looking at your tits like some kind of school boy. Little does he know he’s not the only one who can’t help but look.

It’s halfway through the game when Bucky lines up in front of Brock Rumlow, Hydra’s known enforcer who they just switched to play right wing instead of left, and the look on his face already has Bucky knowing he’s about to say something to piss him off. 

“That’s some fan you guys got over there Barnes.” He nods his head in your direction. “I’m tempted to get the team to just let you guys score just to watch her jump up and down and cheer.”

“Don’t fucking look at her Rumlow.” Bucky growls out in response not wanting him to even think about you.

The match goes on and Bucky is hyper aware of where Rumlow is the whole time and how he skates by the glass in front of you and Wanda. He suddenly really misses Yelena’s guard dog presence that he knows would deter his attention but her and Kate couldn’t make it this game. It’s not too long before The Avengers score and the crowd goes wild with cheering and when Bucky should be searching out your beaming smile he’s watching Rumlow look your way.

When they get lined up again Brock whistles as he slides into place in front of Bucky.

“That dress really hugs her just right bet it’d look better bunched up around her waist while I-” The ref blows the whistle to start and immediately Bucky’s tossing his stick down and flicking his gloves off with Brock following suit. Bucky doesn’t waste any time grabbing onto him and starting to swing. He sees red as they fight and it doesn't take long before Bucky has Brock knocked out and they’re both going down on the ice. He stays there until the refs come to separate them and once he’s up he heads straight to the penalty box knowing he’s going to get a five minute penalty for fighting on the ice. He’s smirking when he turns back towards the rink enjoying how disoriented Rumlow is as he gets up from the ice.

After the game, that The Avengers had won, you and Wanda wait in the parking lot for the boys. Pietro’s the first one out, the rest of them not far behind him, and he runs over to the two of you as soon as he spots you. The three of you do your regular celebratory group hug before you turn and immediately seek out Bucky to give him a hug. His arms wrap around you and a smile slowly forms on his previously angry looking face. As soon as you’re in his arms thoughts of Brock Rumlow’s leering are out of his head. 

“Wanna go somewhere?” He speaks into your hair and you smile into his chest while you answer.

“With you big guy? Always.”

“Wanda, I'm stealing her.” The two of you separate except for your hands that Bucky had entwined together. 

“Have fun!” Your friend says as she waves to you.

“But what about celebrating?” Pietro asks because you were all supposed to go out for an early dinner.

“Celebrate without us.” Bucky calls back not pausing as he leads you to Sam’s truck that he convinced him to let him borrow with the thought that he’d be able to take your spot in Wanda’s car. He opens the passenger side door and helps you in before rounding his way to the driver's seat. He’s quick to shed the suit jacket and loosen his tie once he’s in the car and you bite your lip and look away before he can glance your way again, hoping he didn’t catch you ogling him because Bucky Barnes looks damn good in a suit but even better when he’s getting out of one.

“So where are we going big guy?” You ask a few minutes into the drive.

‘Somewhere secret.” Bucky’s been speeding trying to get you there as soon as possible while not going so fast that he could get the two of you into an accident. His dreams are about to come true quite literally because all he seems to be able to do at night is dream about you laying with him in the field. 

“Ooo a surprise. I love surprises! I didn’t get a lot of them growing up. Presents were unwrapped if there were any and my family didn’t really do anything out of a schedule. There was one time I thought my parents were going to throw me a surprise party but they had just forgotten my birthday.” Bucky’s grip on the wheel tightens, it seems everything you say about your family is bad and you say it so nonchalantly that he knows it’s just how you were always treated. “So I’ve never had one of those despite how much I’d like one.” Bucky stores that information away for later as he pulls into a parking spot near a trail that leads to the field. 

“Do you bring me out to the middle of nowhere to kill me?” You ask as he helps you out of the truck, his tie now discarded and the sleeves of his button up rolled up while his suit jacket is clutched in his hand. It’s hard for you to tear your eyes away from his forearms but by some miracle you do. 

“No, c’mon.” He chuckles at your joke and grabs your hand again to lead you along the trail. He keeps you close to him under the guise of making sure you don’t trip, which he’s doing that too, but really it’s mainly to have you close. And you’re all too happy to be close to him. Your comfortable conversation goes stagnant as the trail opens up to the clearing and you take in the field of flowers in front of you.

“Wow!” You’re breathless as you take it in and Bucky gives you a moment before pulling you to the spot he normally sits in where it’s mainly just grass. He sits and spreads out the jacket brought with the two of you for you to sit on so you don’t get grass stains on your pretty dress. You slowly sit taking in the sight around you before tuning into a bee on one of the daisies. Bucky leans back on his hands and studies you. He was right, you do make this place even more beautiful. 

“This is so beautiful, Bucky.”

“Ya it is.” He’s looking at you something you don’t know because you’re too busy touching the petals of a pink flower.

“I bet you bring all the girls here.” You tease him as you pluck the flower you’re studying to twirl between your fingers.

“I’ve only ever brought you dollbaby. Steve doesn’t even know about this place.” You turn your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. You’re shocked to hear it and the way that he’s looking at you combined with the bomb he just dropped your heart feels like it’s just completely overflowing. And before you even know what you’re doing you’re leaning over and placing a kiss on his lips. 

“Sorry! I don’t know-” You’re quick to start to pull back, shocked by your actions but you don’t get far before Bucky’s hand is on the back of your neck stopping you from going any farther, he’s positively beaming which you would argue is a better sight than the field you’re in.

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for.” He pulls your lips back to his knowing that he’s about to be an addict.

Bucky Taglist(12/30): @the-chocoholic-writer @vanillamaa @sailormajinmoon @enlyume @collywobbl @valhalla-kristin @nojamsonmytoast @esoltis280 @aactuaaltraash @cali-888 @moonNooon @Minami97

Marvel Taglist(14/30): @lieswithoutfairytales @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @neenieweenie @fluffy-bnny @bunnyweasley23 @chaoticevilbakugo @trikigirl271 @chxosunbound @mazerunnerrose @goldylions @literally-a-ferret @angelgirl45367 @supraveng  

Everything Taglist: @matchabbarnes​ @bubsonnobx​ @practicalghost​ @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts @rory-cakes

[vicmc624]

Obsession

possessive!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You don’t even really like Bucky Barnes — he’s grumpy, kinda mean, and totally clueless about how you feel. But damn, he’s so hot it’s driving you crazy. Every time he walks in, all you can think about is what it’d be like if he just took you right there. You try to play it cool… but yeah, that’s not happening.

word count: 6021

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, masturbation, dirty talk, degrading, praising, desperation, fingering, teasing, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex and he talks through it, breeding, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), possessive behavior.

A/N: i’m horny, okay?…

You don’t have a crush on Bucky Barnes.

That would imply affection. Admiration. Maybe even a little emotional investment.

You don’t have any of that.

What you do have is a deeply inconvenient, soul-destroying case of lust. A constant, throbbing ache between your legs every time he walks past. A full-body reaction to the way he stretches, or leans on the counter, or wears those fucking grey sweatpants like a goddamn weapon.

It’s chemical. It’s hormonal. It’s not personal.

Because Bucky Barnes is grumpy. Bucky Barnes is quiet. And Bucky Barnes has absolutely no idea that he’s the reason you can’t go three days without needing to fuck yourself stupid.

Like right now.

He’s just standing there in the kitchen, back to you, broad shoulders stretching that worn black Henley like it’s a second skin. His hair’s short now, freshly trimmed at the nape, the kind of cut that shows off the sharp line of his jaw, the back of his neck.

You’re staring. Again.

You don’t mean to. But he makes a little grunt when he stretches — just a tired noise, nothing sexual — and you nearly whimper like a kicked dog. Instinct. Pavlovian response.

And he doesn’t notice. Not even a flicker of awareness as he pours his coffee and walks out, oblivious, muttering something about the mission report.

You just stand there, holding a spoon, clenched thighs and flushed cheeks like you’ve just been fucked by the idea of him.

It’s getting worse.

Like, medically worse.

You’ve gone from horny to feral to clinically unwell, and it’s all because of one man.

One grumpy, emotionally constipated, vein-poppingly hot man who can’t say a sentence without sounding mildly irritated. Who barely even looks at you unless you’re in the way. Who definitely doesn’t like you — and yet somehow owns your nervous system like a fucking landlord.

And it’s not fair.

Because he’s not even nice to you.

He’s short with you in meetings. Scoffs when you crack jokes. Gives you that look when you say something mildly reckless on a mission — like you’re exhausting. Like you’re annoying.

But then he’ll do something that ruins you completely. Like grunt your name low and gravelly when tossing you your gear. Or casually push you out of the line of fire with one big, rough hand and say, “Watch it, sweetheart,” like you’re some dainty little thing.

You pace your room that night, ranting to no one.

“I don’t even like him,” you mutter, folding laundry with violent purpose. “He’s so rude. He never smiles. Doesn’t talk to anyone unless he has to.”

Your shirt gets yanked onto a hanger too hard. You nearly snap it.

“And he doesn’t even like me. Not even a little. I’m just some girl who laughs too loud and gets in his way and—oh my god, I would let him ruin me.”

That’s probably the most honest thing you said all week. You’d let him manhandle you. Throw you over his shoulder. Rail you into the mattress like a war crime. That arm? The metal one? You’ve thought about it. God, you’ve thought about it so much it’s starting to feel like a sin.

You can’t help it.

You collapse onto your bed, still in your T-shirt and underwear, legs kicking uselessly against the sheets. Your body is hot — too hot. Your skin prickles, stomach twisting tight with the sheer need of it.

You shouldn’t do it.

But fuck it — you do.

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties like second nature, no hesitation. You’re already soaked — of course you are. One fucking grunt from Bucky in the kitchen and you’ve been like this all day, wound tight and throbbing.

Your fingers slide through the slick heat of your folds, and your hips twitch. You let out a soft, breathless whimper, biting your lip like it’ll help.

It doesn’t.

He’s all you can think about.

Bucky, with that low rasp of a voice. Bucky, sweat-slicked and panting, muscles straining above you. Bucky, staring down at you like you’re a mess he likes making.

You rub lazy circles around your clit, teasing yourself, letting it build slow. Letting the images crawl behind your eyes:

His hands gripping your thighs, spreading them open.

That cold metal arm wrapped around your throat, holding you in place while he pounds into you, relentless and filthy.

His voice in your ear, rough and possessive —“You been thinkin’ about this, sweetheart? Been touching yourself like a needy little thing?”

Your fingers move faster.

You arch into the mattress, breath stuttering, hips chasing the pressure. Your other hand slides up under your shirt, finds your breast and squeezes hard, tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck,” you whisper, squirming, already so close it’s pathetic.

You imagine his hand — that hand — between your legs. Imagine him shoving your panties to the side with those cool, precise fingers and just… watching you squirm. Watching you come undone with that unreadable expression of his, like he’s filing it away for later.

You imagine him making you come like this. Telling you you’re not allowed to stop. That you’re gonna do it again, and again, until you’re crying.

Your thighs start to shake.

You gasp, pressing harder, grinding down. Your toes curl, muscles tensing, pleasure tearing through you like lightning — sharp, wet, overwhelming.

You come hard, moaning into your pillow, breathless and ruined, hand still trembling between your thighs.

And then?

You lie there. Sticky. Hot. Unsatisfied.

Because no matter how many times you make yourself come, it’s never enough.

Not when it’s him you want.

Not when it’s Bucky fucking Barnes.

———

You’re minding your business. Truly. Peacefully. Drinking your stupid little smoothie, scrolling through intel reports on your tablet, trying so hard not to think about last night and the shame spiral that followed.

You’re in the common room, feet tucked under you, hair up, living a clean and quiet life.

The front door hisses open. Voices filter in—Sam laughing, Nat muttering something dry, Steve’s boots heavy on the floor.

And him.

Bucky.

You don’t look up at first. You don’t need to. You can feel him. Like some sixth sense activated just by his presence, like the air itself is different when he walks into it.

But then you do look up and you regret it immediately.

He’s just back from the field. Tactical gear still clinging to him, black shirt soaked through with sweat in that way that makes it stick to every hard line of muscle underneath. The sleeves are tight around his biceps—dangerously tight—making it look like the fabric’s seconds from giving out under the strain of his arms.

His hair’s damp, just messy enough to be criminal, a few strands sticking to his forehead. Dog tags resting against his chest. Black cargo pants slung low on his hips, clinging to his thighs like they were custom-made by someone with your exact problem.

He’s flushed from exertion, a little dirty, jaw tight like he’s still coming down from combat.

And he doesn’t notice you. He just walks past, arm flexing as he drags his glove off with his teeth.

You actually—physically—have to grip the edge of the couch.

You squeeze your thighs together so tight your eyes almost roll back. Your smoothie is sweating in your hand, condensation dripping onto your leg, and it’s the least of your problems right now.

Because that man?

That man could rail you into next week with the anger he carries in his shoulders alone. You’d let him wreck you in the debriefing room, up against the wall, still wearing that gear and not saying a word.

You’d tear those tactical pants off with your teeth.

And he just keeps walking. Oblivious. Like he’s not singlehandedly dragging you through the gates of horny hell.

“God,” you mutter under your breath, heart hammering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He pauses for half a second like he might’ve heard you. Glances over his shoulder—just once.

And then he’s gone, down the hall.

You stare at the door for a long time, smoothie forgotten, thighs still clenched like your life depends on it.

You need help. You need prayer. Exorcism. A cold shower.

Or maybe you just need him to ruin your entire existence.

You barely make it back to your room.

Your legs are shaking. Your mind’s a blur. All you can see is him—sweaty, panting, muscles strained beneath that black t-shirt. His arm flexing, the curve of his jaw, those goddamn tactical pants hugging every inch of thigh like a threat.

You lock the door behind you with trembling fingers.

You don’t even bother taking your clothes off properly—just shove your hand down your shorts as you collapse back onto your bed, legs spread, head spinning.

He looked so good.

Your fingers slide through your folds, already wet, your body acting like it’s been starving for him. Like it’s been waiting all day, all year, for a glimpse of that man so it can break down on command.

You rub your clit in tight, needy circles, moaning quietly.

Your eyes flutter shut.

You picture him over you, sweaty and still in gear, that black shirt pushed up just enough to show the cut of his stomach. You imagine his voice, low and rough, right next to your ear—“Couldn’t even wait, huh? Needed me that bad?”

Your hips buck, thighs shaking, pleasure building fast and desperate.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you gasp, breath catching.

You don’t hear the quiet footfalls in the hall.

Don’t hear the door next to yours click shut.

Don’t know he’s just gotten back to his room.

But he hears you.

Bucky stops with one boot halfway unlaced.

He frowns—still half in mission mode—until he hears it again: a faint whimper through the wall. A soft gasp. Then—his name. Muffled. Almost whispered.

His blood goes still.

He steps closer to the wall, heart suddenly pounding, every nerve pulled tight.

Another moan. Higher this time. Desperate.

He can hear the rhythm now—quiet, wet sounds, a bed creaking slightly with every movement. You’re touching yourself. Saying his name. Whimpering like it’s been torturing you.

His mouth goes dry. Something low in his stomach twists.

He shouldn’t listen.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

You don’t know he’s there—don’t know you’ve already ruined him. That he’s standing on the other side of the wall, jaw clenched, cock straining against his pants, while you moan into your pillow and come with his name on your lips.

———

The next day, you tell yourself you’re fine.

You look fine. You act fine. You sit in the common area with your laptop open and a mug in your hands like a picture of peace. The night before? Never happened. The hand between your thighs? The breathy moans into your pillow? The orgasm that left you limp and half-ashamed?

A delusion. A private, pathetic delusion.

Until he walks in.

And your entire body remembers.

Bucky enters like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. Joggers low on his hips, black T-shirt riding up in the back, hair damp from a shower and curling just slightly around his ears.

You look up instinctively.

And he looks right at you.

Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. He holds your gaze for half a second—half a second too long—then nods, casual as ever, and heads to the kitchen.

No hello. No smirk. Nothing to suggest he heard the way you moaned his name with your fingers stuffed between your thighs like you were starving for him.

He doesn’t say a word.

You try to refocus, try to look at your screen and breathe, but your eyes keep flicking back.

He’s moving around the kitchen now, calm, quiet, efficient. Forearms flexing with every movement. The joggers cling when he crouches to grab something from a low cabinet, and your mouth actually goes dry.

Your thighs squeeze together.

He knows.

He has to know.

But he’s pretending like he doesn’t, and it’s driving you fucking insane.

You don’t even want to like him. He’s grumpy and rude and dismissive. He doesn’t flirt. He barely talks. He exists like a thundercloud with muscles and you still want to cry from how badly you want him.

And now he knows.

Now you’ve moaned his name with a hand between your legs, and he’s seen you since and said nothing.

You want to crawl into the floor.

You want to jump him.

You want him to ruin you until you can’t even say your own name.

He walks past you again with a cup of coffee, eyes flicking toward you—slow, heavy, unreadable.

And this time?

You swear there’s a hint of a smirk.

He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, that black mug dwarfing in his gloved hand. The steam curls around his face, catching the light, and he’s just staring at nothing—completely unreadable.

Until he speaks. “Sleep okay last night?”

You freeze. Your heart flatlines. Then kicks into overdrive.

You glance up too fast, trying to act casual, but your grip on the mug betrays you—tight, white-knuckled.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs. Sips again. His face is all calm, cold stillness. Like he’s discussing the weather. Not like he heard you moaning his name behind the paper-thin wall like your soul was leaving your body.

“Nothing,” he says, low and even.

You swallow hard. Try to hide the heat crawling up your neck.

You stare at him. Waiting for something. A look. A smirk. A single flicker of anything.

But he gives you nothing.

Just turns back toward the hallway, casual as ever, coffee in hand, like he didn’t just dangle a loaded gun over your head and walk away.

And as he disappears down the hall, your thighs press together again.

You’re so fucked.

———

You try to sleep.

You really, really do.

You toss. You turn. You fluff your pillow. You kick the blankets off and pull them back up. You stare at the ceiling and beg your brain to stop replaying the way he looked in that shirt. The way his voice dropped when he asked about your night. The nothing he gave you like a damn grenade and walked away.

It doesn’t stop.

It won’t stop.

You squeeze your thighs together for the fifth time in twenty minutes, but it only makes it worse. Your whole body’s aching—burning. Tight with the need that’s been building for the entire day.

You glance at the door. You know you should get up and lock it.

But you don’t. Because you’re tired. And turned on. And pathetic.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, dragging your hand under the sheets. “I’ll be quiet.”

You bite your lip as your fingers slide down, already warm, already soaked. You work slow at first, trying to stay silent—just enough to relieve the pressure. Just enough to breathe again.

But then your mind starts drifting.

To him.

Always him.

Bucky in the gym, sweat-slick and scowling. Bucky walking past you post-mission like a walking sin. Bucky pressing you into your mattress with that big metal hand wrapped around your throat, voice rough in your ear—“You’re so fucking loud for me, baby.”

You gasp. Then whimper. Soft. Barely audible.

But he hears it.

He’s in his room again. Reading. Trying to pretend like he didn’t spend all day imagining the look on your face when he asked about your sleep. Trying not to picture your hand between your thighs again.

And then he hears you.

Again.

A muffled moan, breathless and aching, like it’s being pulled out of you against your will.

He stands without thinking.

Crosses the hall with quiet, deliberate steps. His pulse is steady, but something low is stirring—something primal. Something possessive. The kind of heat that doesn’t burn—it consumes.

He stops outside your door.

Closed. Not locked.

He doesn’t even knock.

The handle turns with the softest click, and then—

He steps inside. The door shuts behind him with a quiet snick.

You don’t hear it.

You’re on your back, one knee bent, your hand buried under the hem of your shorts. Your head is tipped back against the pillow, mouth open in these soft, gasping little whimpers as you chase the edge, hips twitching, breath fogging in the dim light.

You have no idea he’s there.

Not until you hear him speak.

“Didn’t I just ask if you slept okay?” The voice—his voice—cracks through the quiet like a whip.

You bolt upright.

Everything inside you lurches, heart ramming against your ribs, a violent rush of heat and panic rising through your chest like you’ve been caught in a fire. Your hand yanks back from your shorts like it’s been scorched, and you scramble to pull the blanket up, dragging it over your thighs as your breath shatters.

Your eyes fly to the source of the voice.

And there he is. Leaning against the door like he’s got all the time in the world. Arms crossed. One brow slightly raised.

His expression is unreadable—casual, maybe—but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something dark. Something hungry. Like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you in one glance.

You can’t move. Can’t think.

Your heart’s thudding like a drumline, and your cheeks go hot, burning as your stomach flips over itself in full-blown horror.

You can still feel your arousal—sticky, heat pressed between your thighs, your pulse fluttering in places he’s not even touched.

“Bucky—” you croak, throat tight. “I—what are you doing—how—”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he says flatly.

Matter-of-fact. Like that explains everything.

And it kind of does.

You just sit there, still clutching the blanket to your chest like it can undo what he saw. As if it can erase the sound of you moaning into your pillow while your fingers worked yourself over to the thought of him.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t leer.

He just watches.

Like he’s curious. Patient. Like he’s giving you a chance to dig your own grave or shut up and let him lower you into it.

You look at him and it hits you how big he is. Broad and solid, filling the doorway like a wall. The black t-shirt is stretched across his shoulders, tucked into his pants just enough to show the lines of his waist, and that goddamn metal hand is flexing at his side like it’s already made its decision.

And still… he doesn’t leave.

Your voice breaks trying to fill the silence. “I didn’t mean— I thought I was quiet— I didn’t know—”

“I heard everything.”

That shuts you up.

His voice is calm. But it’s not soft. Not gentle. It sinks into your gut like a stone, and your thighs squeeze together before you can stop yourself—before your body betrays you again.

You look away. You can’t look at him. Not when you’re like this—hair messy, skin flushed, caught in the act like a filthy little secret with your want written all over your sheets.

He moves. Not quickly. Not harshly. Just decisively. Like this is inevitable. Like he knew the moment he opened that door that he wasn’t going to leave until you were ruined.

He crosses the room in two slow steps. Sits on the edge of your bed, right next to you. His thigh brushes yours, warm and solid, and your breath hitches—your entire body tensing as his presence crowds the air.

Then his hand—the metal one—reaches out.

He takes your wrist. Your fingers are still damp. Still twitching from where they were buried between your thighs. He stares at them for a second, then meets your eyes.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink. “What—”

“I said touch yourself,” he repeats, a little lower this time. “Show me.”

Your heart slams. His grip stays locked around your wrist, not forcing—but not letting go either. He doesn’t need to threaten. Doesn’t need to beg.

He’s already heard you fall apart for him.

Now he wants the show.

And fuck—your body obeys before your brain can stop it.

You shift beneath the covers, breath shaking, eyes wide as your free hand slides back down, slipping under the waistband of your shorts.

Your skin’s hot. Everything throbs and you’re soaked.

Shame prickles in your chest, but it’s drowned by the way he watches—focused and still, his hand still gripping yours like he owns it.

You let your fingers find that spot again, slick and swollen, and you shudder.

“Fuck,” you whisper, breath catching.

His voice cuts through it. Soft. Direct. “You’ve been touching yourself thinking about me?”

You nod, cheeks burning.

“And now you can’t stop, can you?” he murmurs. “Poor thing. You want me this much, baby?”

You let out a tiny, broken sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—and press harder.

His metal thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist, slow and thoughtful, like he’s testing your pulse. You’re so wet your fingers glide without resistance, your hips moving on their own.

“Messy little thing,” he mutters. “God, you’re desperate. Didn’t even lock the door.”

His flesh hand moves too now—reaching up to push your hair from your face, tilting your chin toward him.

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you—back arching, thighs tensing, rhythm faltering as your orgasm creeps up again, fast, tighter than before.

He sees it. Feels it. And he knows.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers. “Right here, baby? With my hand around yours and your pussy soaking your sheets?”

You sob his name and he finally leans in—breath warm against your cheek.

“Good girl.”

Your fingers slip again—rhythm stuttering, body caught in that maddening edge.

He watches you falter. Watches your mouth fall open, brows pull together, your thighs start to shake with the pressure of holding yourself there. So close. Too close.

And that’s when he moves. His grip on your wrist tightens just enough to make you freeze.

“Let go,” he says.

You whimper. “But—”

“I said let go.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

You obey. Your hand slips from your shorts, fingers slick and trembling, and your chest rises in short, desperate breaths as he shifts closer.

“Bucky—” you gasp.

But he’s already there. His fingers slide between your folds—just one, at first, cool and unreal, brushing over your clit in a slow, torturous circle. Your hips jerk like you’ve been shocked.

“God,” you moan, clinging to the sheets, “fuck—”

“So sensitive,” he murmurs.

His eyes are locked on your face, hungry, focused—like he’s memorizing the way your mouth falls open for him, the way your lashes flutter when he presses a little harder.

You can’t stop the sounds you make.

You’re already too close—too much—your body wired tight from teasing yourself for nights and thinking of him, only him.

One metal finger dips lower—in now, slick and slow—and your breath punches from your chest.

Your hips grind into it, chasing it like you’re starving.

He fucks you with it slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Watching you unravel inch by inch.

“You’ve been dreaming about this?” he says, voice like gravel. “Getting off to the thought of my hands on you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers clenching around the sheets.

Another finger slides in.

Your body wails for it—so full, so good, the metal stretching you just right—and your thighs tremble, back arching as your orgasm builds so fast it almost hurts.

“Then come for me,” he growls. “Right now. I want to feel how tight you get when you finish.”

You choke on a cry.

And then you fall apart.

Hard.

Your walls clamp down around his fingers, body convulsing as the wave hits you—sharp and electric—shaking through your entire frame with a loud, wrecked moan that echoes in your room.

His hand doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it—slower now, drawing it out, holding your body steady with his free hand while you tremble and sob and drip around him.

You don’t know how long it lasts. You just know you’ve never come like that before.

Not in your life.

Not until him.

You’re still gasping, thighs twitching, brain static from how hard you just came—but he’s not done with you. Not even close.

His fingers slip from you slow, drenched, and he brings them up to his mouth, sucking them clean without taking his eyes off you.

Then?

He smirks.

That low, dangerous smirk you’ve only ever imagined. Dreamed about. Touched yourself to. And now it’s real.

“You’ve been thinking about me so much,” he says, voice thick with heat, “I bet you want to feel my cock, huh?”

You don’t even answer. Can’t. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out but a broken moan.

He laughs. Dark. Rough. “You fucking slut.”

He stands. Hands go to the waistband of his pants.

Your breath catches, watching.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to.

The black tactical pants slide down slow over those solid thighs, revealing the outline of what’s beneath—thick, heavy, hard. You feel your whole body clench at the sight.

He steps out of them, shirt already discarded somewhere between your moans, and he’s standing there now in nothing but black briefs—soaked at the tip.

And holy fuck, he’s big.

Your lips part, staring. You want to drool.

He notices.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Look at what you’ve been aching for every night.”

He pulls the briefs down—slow, shameless.

His cock springs free, thick and hard and flushed at the tip, veins running along the length like something out of a wet dream. You whimper, thighs pressing together reflexively.

“You wanted this inside you so bad you couldn’t keep quiet,” he says, climbing onto the bed again, crawling over you until his weight cages you in. “Moaning my name with the fucking door unlocked.”

Your body arches up to meet him.

“Please,” you whisper.

He fists his cock once, dragging his head through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance.

You’re still sensitive. Still pulsing.

“Is this what you want?” he growls, notching the tip right against you. “Want me to stretch you open and fuck the brains outta that filthy little head of yours?”

You nod, desperate.

His cock sits heavy in his hand, the flushed tip glistening as he slides it through your slick folds again. Over and over—up and down—until you’re squirming beneath him, hips chasing every motion like you can’t stand another second of not being filled.

But he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

He drags the thick head over your entrance, slow and deliberate, just barely nudging inside before pulling back again.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you whimper, body arching.

“You’re soaked again,” he growls, almost to himself. “You got this wet just thinking about my cock?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. Not for him. He taps your clit once—sharp and teasing—and your whole body jerks.

“Say it.”

Your breath catches. “I—I thought about it every night,” you gasp. “I wanted it so bad. I still want it. Please, Bucky—”

He groans, low and ragged. The tip of his cock presses at your entrance again. Just a little. Just enough to make you feel the burn of it—how thick he is, how your body tries to pull him in even as he holds himself back.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, circling your hole with maddening precision. “How much your pussy needs me?”

You moan, desperate. Hands clawing at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can hold onto.

He grins. “Needy little thing.”

Then he pushes. Just the tip—slow and thick, stretching you inch by inch.

Your mouth falls open. Breathless. Wide-eyed.

“Oh my—fuck,” you cry.

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Patience,” he mutters, teasing your entrance again. “Wanna feel you beg for it.”

“I’m begging,” you gasp. “Please, Bucky—please, I need it, I need you to fuck me—”

His mouth crashes over yours, swallowing your cry as he thrusts in deep—all the way—filling you to the hilt in one thick, devastating stroke.

Your back arches. Your vision whites out.

“So fucking tight,” he growls against your mouth, rolling his hips, grinding in deeper. “Fuck—you were made for this, weren’t you?”

He stays there for a moment—buried inside you—his cock stretching you open so wide it burns in the best way, hips pressed flush to yours. You can barely breathe, your body trembling with the shock of just how full you feel.

Then he moves. A slow pull out—just a few inches—before slamming right back in.

You scream. Not from pain. From everything. The pressure, the friction, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body pinning you down like he owns you.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re fucking dripping around me.”

Your nails dig into his back.

He starts thrusting—hard and fast, hips snapping against yours with brutal rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over every sensitive spot inside you like he knows exactly where to hit.

And all the while, he talks.

“Been thinking about this tight little cunt every night since I got here. Didn’t know it was mine to take.”

You moan—choked and desperate.

“You wanted it so bad, didn’t you? Wanted me to catch you with your legs spread and fuck you like the filthy little cock-drunk slut you are.”

“Y-Yes—please—” you’re a mess beneath him, eyes wet, mouth open.

He grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Don’t you dare look away while I fuck your pussy.”

You blink up at him, dazed. And fuck—he looks insane. Hair a mess, sweat dripping down his temples, that metal hand gripping your thigh so hard you might bruise.

And still—he doesn’t stop. He fucks you like it’s punishment. Relentless. Ruthless.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, your body jerking with the force of it. The bed creaks beneath you, headboard slamming against the wall, your moans echoing like you’re meant to be heard.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You gonna soak my cock just like you soaked your fingers last night?”

“Bucky—Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing fast circles over your clit as he keeps fucking you open with brutal thrusts.

“You’re gonna come with me inside you, sweetheart. You’re gonna come on my cock like a good little toy.”

And it snaps.

You cry out—loud and broken—as your orgasm slams into you hard enough to steal your breath, your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, grinding deep into you as you come, riding you through it. “That’s it. So fucking tight—so good for me—”

He’s close now too. You can feel it—his thrusts stuttering, muscles tensing.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “You want that, baby? Want me to come inside this perfect little pussy?”

You’re still shaking, but you nod. Whimpering. Needy.

“Please—inside—want it so bad—”

He buries himself deep and groans loud—raw and wrecked—as he spills inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as you feel every hot pulse of it.

You’re ruined.

His weight sinks down on top of you, breath ragged in your ear, and for a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting.

The room’s heavy with heat and sweat, skin sticking where it meets, your body still twitching with the aftershocks of how hard he fucked you.

Then he lifts his head. Eyes drag down your flushed face. Your parted lips. Your chest rising and falling fast. Still dazed. Still ruined.

He shifts back onto his knees between your thighs, hands gripping your hips, keeping you spread open wide beneath him.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Then he pulls out—slow and thick, his cock dragging against your fluttering walls before slipping free with a wet sound that makes you whimper.

And fuck.

You feel it immediately. The warm spill of him leaking out of you—thick and hot and so much—trickling down your folds and onto the sheets in sticky, glistening streams.

Bucky groans under his breath, his eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You took it all. So fucking good for me.”

You try to close your legs on instinct, flushed and wrecked and so overstimulated—but he stops you with a firm grip, holding you open with his metal hand.

“Uh-uh. Keep ’em open. I wanna see it.”

His thumb slides down, spreads you further, letting him watch as more of his cum drips from your aching hole.

“Look at that mess,” he murmurs, gaze heavy-lidded, voice thick with pride and hunger. “You’re leaking all over the place, baby.”

You shiver under him.

He swipes his thumb through the slick, then presses it back in—just a little—pushing some of it inside again while your body jerks from the sensitivity.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You were made to be filled like this.”

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot and uneven.

“You’re gonna clean me up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick with command. “Gonna taste every drop.”

Your pulse spikes. You barely have the strength to move, still reeling from the wreck he’s made of you—but you obey, because you need it, because he told you to.

He shifts forward, settling between your thighs again. His metal hand spreads you open, keeping you wide for him, raw and messy. His other hand trails down, steadying his cock where it rests—still hard, still slick with both of you.

He throbs against your skin, flushed and glistening.

You lean forward without hesitation, tongue flicking out to catch the first salty bead that clings to the head. He lets out a quiet groan above you.

His eyes burn as you take your time, licking slowly around the tip—teasing, deliberate—before your lips part wider and you sink down, wrapping him in heat.

Your cheeks hollow as you draw him in deeper, your mouth soft and eager.

“Fuck,” Bucky grits, his hand sliding into your hair, curling tight. “You’re good at this.”

You moan around him, letting the praise sink in as you begin to move—slow, controlled bobs of your head. Your tongue swirls, tasting the mix of him and yourself, and it only makes you hungrier.

You’re not just cleaning him up. You’re savoring him and he knows it.

He pulls you up by your hair, not rough—controlled. Intentional. His mouth crashes onto yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and claiming, like he’s branding you from the inside out. His metal hand clamps around your waist, anchoring you, holding you still as he devours you like he owns you.

And fuck, maybe he does.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his breath ghosts over your lips, low and ragged.

“That’s enough,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and satisfied. “You did so well. That’s my good girl.”

Your stomach twists, body still trembling, as you melt into him — breathless and soaked, the taste of him still slick on your tongue.

He doesn’t move for a while, just lets his weight settle into you, chest rising and falling against yours, heart still pounding beneath sweat-damp skin. His breath is warm where it fans over your cheek, his metal hand still possessively wrapped around your waist.

Then, gently, he shifts. His fingers slide up, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. He kisses your forehead—soft, slow—like he’s claiming you all over again, but quieter this time.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, the words husky but reverent now. “You were perfect.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the sound, overwhelmed, wrecked in the best way. His flesh hand strokes your cheek, soothing the heat from it, while the metal one trails lazy circles over your spine.

“Did so good for me,” he whispers again, like a secret meant only for your bones.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nuzzle closer, tucking yourself into his chest.

Fuck, he did ruin you.

tags: @iamthatonefangirl

[vicmc624]

Checks and Balances

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your boss was an ass—you knew it, the office knew it, the entire country knew it. Working for Senator Brown was never easy, but you had managed it for the better part of three years and didn’t want to see your career go up in flames. Unfortunately for you, Bucky was slowly falling in love with you, and Congressman Barnes didn’t think managing it was enough. 

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Injury (kinda), hospitals, angst, an abusive boss, protective Bucky!!

a/n: Ahh a Bucky fic that's not an AU (that's also one million words)! Idk how the government works tbh so sorry if things are a little inaccurate there lol. This takes place right before Thunderbolts! Thank you for reading, I love you!! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Congressman Barnes,” you greeted, a slight nod of your head the only acknowledgement you could afford. Senator Brown was only a moment away from screaming at you again, and you could only take so much screaming in one day.  

Bucky, unfortunately, did not care about being screamed at by Senator Brown. He took your upper arm in a light grip and shot you a confused smile. “What, you avoiding me? Can’t be seen in the halls talking to me?” 

A fairer assessment of Bucky’s interruption was that he didn’t know of the wrath Senator Brown could incite upon you. Sure, Bucky knew that Brown was a hardass, and by association, his executive assistant would have to put up with it, but he had no way of knowing just how terrible the man was. 

When you met Bucky a few weeks ago, you had been alone in a hotel lobby. The heels accompanying your freshly pressed pantsuit had been killing you, and you needed a moment for your feet to breathe. Bucky, apparently, also needed a moment away from the conference, and you had gotten to talking when he plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside you. 

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

In the weeks that followed, you had texted with him, met for coffee twice because he was “in the area”, and had maybe even considered the fact that you were friends with Congressman Barnes. Friends were invaluable to have in D.C., but they were also something to be wary of. Bucky didn’t feel the type to be wary of. 

As you stood halfway frozen in the hallway, his comment began to make sense. He was calling back to your initial hotel conversation, making a joke about biases and stuck-up politicians, but this was not the time. Not that he could have known. 

Senator Brown barked out your name when he noticed you were no longer beside him, surely trying to get you to jot down some thought banging around in his head. You whipped your head to the side, almost missing the affronted expression on Bucky’s face as he registered the tone that your name was spoken in, and shook your arm from his hold. 

“Sorry, Congressman,” you murmured, turning on your heel and making quick strides in Brown’s direction. “I apologize. What can I do for you, Senator?” 

Your boss barely hid a scoff. “You can start by being where I need you to be. And write this down—I do not believe that the House takes the proper—” 

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky. 

Your heels hurriedly clicking against polished marble, you took a fleeting glance over your shoulder. Bucky remained there, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest, metal from his hand glinting against the gentle fluorescence of the hall. 

Three days later, he brought it up. 

You thought you’d found a private spot to scarf down your lunch in your allotted fifteen-minute break, but with a sandwich only half finished and your mouth full, the call of your name reminded you that there is never any privacy for you at this job. The sound of Bucky’s voice softened the blow a bit. 

“He always treat you like that?” Bucky asked, swinging his leg over the bench on the other side of the table. He watched as you tried to chew quickly, some of the hardness he’d sat down with melting from his expression. 

You covered your mouth with your hand and swallowed hard. “What?” you finally got out, reaching for your water bottle. 

Bucky raised a brow. “Brown. Does he always yell at you?” 

After a few sips and swallows, you gave up on being able to finish your lunch. You had to plan out your meals very meticulously to finish, and Bucky had already taken up 30 precious seconds. 

“Oh,” you began. You swiped a hand through the air. “It’s fine. He just gets a little intense sometimes. It’s just his personality.” 

“You’ve been working for him for three years.” 

“Right.” 

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.” 

You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” you said, reaching for the fruit in your bag. “I meant to. I’ve just been working late since the meeting on Monday.” 

“It’s alright.” A pause as you continued to eat your food. You had maybe four minutes left. “How late?” 

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.” 

You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears. 

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?” 

Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.” 

“To check on me?” 

“After Monday, I wanted to make sure—” 

Your phone started going off, the “Senator Brown” contact making your blood run cold. You brought your watch up and let out a gasp that made Bucky jump. 

“What?” he rushed, standing from the table as you started to pack your things in a panic. He went to help you, but after two brushes of his hands, he realized he was only in the way. 

“My break was over two minutes ago. I have to go right now.” 

“Two minutes? What—y/n, that isn’t—” 

He was here to check on you. Right. That was really sweet. 

Your brain tried to catch up with your panic as you reached over and squeezed his arm gratefully. “I’m really fine, Bucky. It was nice to see you. We should get coffee again.” You were sliding through the double doors and back into the building as you called, “I’ll text you. I promise this time.” 

And you did. In the seven minutes of free time you got around 9 pm, you sent him a quick follow-up text. The bubble went right below his text from two days ago, and you felt a small pinch of guilt for not answering him until now.

You: Free Saturday morning?

He answered you almost instantly.

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone. 

You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are 

You: …maybe 

And then, your seven minutes of silence were up. When Brown’s footsteps could be heard by the door, you tucked your phone into your desk and went to work on the stack of papers he assigned you. He so graciously let you know that he was going home now, and you could leave once you were finished. 

That was perfect. 

It took you an hour and a half, but when you sorted the final paper and checked his schedule for tomorrow for the last time, a sense of relief flooded you. You didn’t even care that it would take another 30 minutes for an Uber to arrive. All you could think about was your shower and your bed and taking these shoes off your feet. 

You gathered your belongings and swiped your phone from the desk, clicking to the rideshare app and somewhat dreading the small talk to come. It would be extremely convenient to have a car, but that wasn’t something in the cards for you. Your tiny apartment had barely any parking, and everything else was within walking distance. 

As you continued to ponder the pros and cons of taking the bus home, a honk from the curb made you jump. You lowered your phone and squinted into the distance of the now barren road. 

“Someone order an Uber?” 

Disbelief was your first emotion, and then shock and then confusion. “Buck—Congressman Barnes?” you asked, correcting yourself when the memory of the building at your back resurfaced. 

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today.

“I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?” 

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. You shook your phone by your face and leaned down towards the window. “Haven’t even ordered it yet. I’m not supposed to get in the car unless they can put in the code verifying my identity.” 

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.” 

Your next laugh was more of a scoff as he reached through the window to take it back. “Seriously, what are you doing here?” 

Bucky paused, looking you up and down for a moment before his jaw ticked to the side in a smile. “I’m taking you home. You live close, it won’t take very long.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.” 

You went to argue again, but Bucky only raised a brow and unlocked the doors. 

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear. 

You turned to look at him instantly, but the man only gave you a closed-lip smile and shifted the gear of his car, pulling away from the building of your nightmares. You blinked back towards the dashboard, needing a few more seconds to settle yourself. 

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.” 

Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.” 

“I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke. 

Not the best joke, it seemed, with Bucky’s fist clutching the steering wheel a hair tighter, the sound of leather meeting your ears. He shook his head. “Where’s Brown? He doesn’t let you take work home?” 

“Oh, he does sometimes,” you chipperly replied, trying to sound awake and get Bucky un-pissed off. “He just checks my timesheets when we work overtime, so I have to make sure I stay late enough so that he won’t say anything. I still have this to take care of once I get home.”

You tapped the manila file in your lap and looked over to Bucky as he drove. He was wearing jeans and a pullover crewneck, his hair tied back and casual, and even though you’d seen him outside of work before, he looked different this way. Something about the night and him driving you home made him look different. 

Bucky didn’t make a comment about your work or the system you had to avoid criticism from the Senator. Silence lapsed in the car, you lightly drumming your fingers on your thigh as the D.C. night swept past along the car windows. 

“I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.” 

“Of course it stands.” 

You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel. 

~~

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it. 

Both answers left the other person less than satisfied. 

“What about you?” Bucky asked, tilting his cup up. “Why have you been an executive assistant for so long?” 

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.” 

“I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.” 

You shot him a mock glare. “Trying to get rid of me, Congressman?” 

Bucky leaned forward, placing a hand on the small table that only separated you a few inches. He answered you earnestly, but a small amount of humor lightened his eyes, made him look less serious. “Now, why would I want to do that?” 

Your lips parted to quip something back, but then he was raising his hand again, the heat of his skin lingering at the corner of your mouth. He swiped his thumb there, and you were frozen, a replica of when he brushed your hair back a few nights ago, but the car had been a distraction then. You had been flustered and trying to sort out your belongings, so you didn’t think about it for longer than a few seconds. 

“Whipped cream,” he explained, holding you in his gaze for a moment longer than you should have been. Even as the barista from behind the counter was now standing at your table and speaking. 

“Hi! Would the two of you like to try our new coffee cake? Free samples since it’s new.” 

Bucky was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from yours to smile politely at the barista. You shook from your stupor and quickly reached for a napkin, brushing it against your lips even though nothing remained. 

You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was. 

It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant. 

“What about you, ma’am?” You blinked several times and looked up to read the small ‘coffee cake’ sign lying next to the treats, the barista’s blinding smile expecting and very retail. 

“I’m allergic to cinnamon, but thank you.” 

“Allergic to cinnamon?” Bucky asked as the barista left.

“Yeah, anaphylaxis and everything. I carry an epipen with me, but I’ve only had to use it once when I was 10. Did you know that some bakeries add cinnamon to buttercream birthday cakes?” you chuckled, reorienting yourself to the present. “Are you allergic to anything? Or, I guess you probably aren’t. Isn’t that a serum thing?” 

“Not allergic to anything, but if I had been, it would’ve been wiped out by the serum. We didn’t really have a lot of food variety in the 30s. Could have been allergic to shellfish—didn’t try that until after.” 

You had to pause the cup at your lips. “Oh my god, I forgot you’re like 100 years old.” 

Bucky’s expression morphed into an offended wince. “Alright, I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t exactly lived 100 years.” 

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?” 

You knocked your head back in a laugh, holding your stomach with your forearm. “How did I forget this?” 

“You know what? I’m not driving you home anymore.” 

With lingering giggles, you righted yourself in your chair, a smile still clear in your voice. Contrasting his words, Bucky’s smile was just as wide as yours, a slight redness to his cheeks making him look softer. You brought a hand to cover his arm on the table. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Bucky. You aren’t old. I take it back.” 

“Yeah, you better,” he taunted, though his arm flipped over and he gave your wrist a soft squeeze as he said it. 

~~

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you. 

You didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or if this was something he commonly did with his friends, but he was going to get you in trouble. 

Outside of work, it was fine—distracting and disorienting, but fine. A brush of his hand helping you into the car, fixing your bag on your shoulder, a hand on your back when you left the coffee shop; over the past few weeks, it had all begun to feel commonplace. 

It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult.��

Because, again, Congressman Barnes could not be dating an assistant. His credibility among the rest of Congress was already being questioned almost daily, and he did not need the court of public opinion breathing down his neck on top of that. It was a fortunate truth that while the internal part of his job was tricky, most of the public favored him. 

So, as much as your chest hurt and your stomach flipped whenever you were around him, you settled for friendship. A touchy friendship. 

At work, things felt heightened in the worst way possible. 

You couldn’t even understand why he was coming to the top floor so often, seemingly lingering there so he could scare the crap out of you when you’d turn a corner. And then it would be a smile and another hand at your back when he was passing you—a hand that was not necessary. Or he would find you at the tail-end of your lunch break and move your hair away from your eyes, distracting you to the point of no return. 

It was the worst because you were getting distracted, and when you were distracted, you got yelled at. 

Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head. 

You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought. 

“You should go to human resources,” Bucky commented one Sunday, the two of you sitting along a lake by the Capitol building. 

You almost snorted. “Right. And what do you think old Mrs. Martha is going to be able to do for me? Brown has been in office for over a decade. If anything, that would just get me fired.” 

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.” 

“If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness. 

But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—” 

“Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.”

“Right now, maybe.” 

You sighed, searching his eyes and trying to discern when this became such an intense conversation. Trying to figure out when the two of you had discussions like this and not just lax coffee hangouts. Against your better judgment, you placed a hand over his thigh and relented. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll work on it, but I’ll be the one working on it, okay? It definitely can’t be you—he would freak out if a representative started ordering him around. Even if you could totally knock him out.” 

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, a smile begrudgingly sneaking onto his face. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.” 

“You can definitely believe that.” 

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest.

You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way. 

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.” 

“Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.” 

You pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why? Afraid your only friend will bite it?” 

“Hey, I have other friends.” 

“I haven’t seen ‘em.” 

“Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.” 

“Okay, sure, Bucky,” you sang out, tapping his chest. “But if we need to reschedule this meeting with your 'friends,’ I would understand.” 

As Bucky went on to refute your insinuations in a grumpy tone, you tried to pretend that this felt like that—just a friendship. 

~~

Approximately four days later, everything went to shit. 

Senator Brown was on a tirade, screaming at everyone and everything in his path. When he got like this, the admin staff usually locked the doors to his office and the entire floor if they could, but today, they weren’t ready for how angry he was. 

It was a bill, or a speech, or maybe even the press catching wind that he was cheating on his wife—it didn’t matter. He was pissed and you were going to have to answer for it. 

You stood in his office with a clear view of the glass wall connecting to the hallway, hands behind your back and fighting off a wince with every curse and insult the Senator threw at you. 

“I hired you to take care of this bullshit! Why the hell am I dealing with this when I’m supposed to have an entire staff? This is fucked!” 

“You’re too worried about going home early, you can’t even assemble a reply to an email correctly! A fucking email!”

“I should’ve fired you weeks ago. When you started fucking off to wherever you take too long for your lunch break and stopped doing your job. I swear to god, this country has—” 

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers. 

Affairs and divorce were always messy for politicians. 

“Of course, Senator. I will do better. I apologize,” you offered, unsure what you were apologizing for at the present. It wouldn’t matter; he would just start up again about another topic. 

“Damn right you will or I’ll send you out on the streets. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in D.C when a Senator blacklists you?” 

Did you ever. 

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on. 

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more.

You greatly regretted setting that up for him. 

You braced yourself for further yelling as his face began to turn red, but were alarmed as the Senator reached for the wooden pencil case on his desk and threw it. Pens flew, and you knew he wasn’t aiming for you, but the cup hit a vase on a high bookshelf to your right, which then toppled over and shook loose the framed art hanging above your head. 

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you. 

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening. 

The glass door to the office swung open. 

“What the hell?” A hand was on your elbow. A colder one felt around the top of your head. It was Bucky, obviously it was Bucky, but you were too afraid to look, keeping your gaze locked on Senator Brown. “Hey, you okay?” 

The hand on your head moved down to your jaw, forcing your gaze to Bucky. He searched every inch of your face as you blinked at him, mind blank. “Um, I’m fine.” 

Your brows furrowed, trying to connect the chain of events that led to this. You brought your hand up to replace where Bucky had placed his, the action seemingly spurring him into action. 

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?” 

Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Congressman. It was a simple accident. You weren’t even in the room to see it happen.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need to be. You’re screaming at her when you’re not throwing. What kinda grown man does that?” 

“Bucky—” you cautioned, glued to the floor still. 

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?” 

You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest. 

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.” 

“Wait, I—” 

“Maybe if you spent time picking on someone your own size instead of acting like a coward—” 

“Bucky, don’t—” 

“A coward? A coward? Who’s the one who cannot speak for himself on the board? Tell me, Barnes, is that part of some unresolved trauma from some nondescript decade?” 

“You shut your mouth before I—” 

“Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.” 

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably. 

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. 

Bucky looked at the wall behind your head and then tracked his gaze to the forming lump on your crown. “But—” 

“I am fine,” you repeated slowly. Having risen from the floor before calling his name, you walked to the door and held it open. “We’re very busy. Please excuse us.” 

Bucky licked his lips as he looked to the floor, shaking his head in abject disbelief and following your direction. When he met the entryway, he tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking against it. His hand twitched at his side, and then he left, taking long, purposeful strides away from the office. 

You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so. 

~~

Bucky’s POV

Bucky was losing his mind. 

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed. 

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things. You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt. 

He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough. 

Bucky swiped a hand over his mouth. 

When had you started to matter to him so much? That was a stupid question, and apparently, he was full of stupidity today.

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage. 

“Shit,” he breathed out, knocking his head back and falling back into his office chair.

He’d messed up. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew you were not happy with him. What did “taking care of it” even mean? And why were you so dead set on keeping that awful job? Bucky could think of at least a dozen other jobs in D.C. that would not involve you being verbally and physically abused. 

Fuck, he wished he had more pull, but as a Congressman of only a few months, there was little he could do against a Senator. And he had a meeting in five minutes. 

Bucky pulled his phone out and sent you a quick text about talking after work, let out the longest sigh of his life, and then readjusted his tie. 

That had been three days ago. 

You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours. 

Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you. 

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay. 

Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that. 

Bucky brought his turmoil to the barbecue Sam was holding that weekend. The one you were supposed to be at. 

Nursing his fifth beer that wouldn’t do anything, Bucky leaned back against the fence of Sam’s yard and sulked. He’d talked to a few people when he got there, but sulking was on his agenda for the afternoon. 

“What’s up with the stank face?” Sam asked, entering Bucky’s orbit of solitude and despair. “It’s gonna get stuck like that if you keep it up.” 

“I don’t have a stank face,” Bucky argued. 

“Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?” 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“Oh, you don’t? Then it’s that.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking back more of his beer as the sizzle of burgers juxtaposed with his somberness. “Alright, fine. It’s that. But it’s stupid. We weren’t even…”

“Dating?” 

“Yeah. That.” 

“You told me you went out for coffee and all that. That you would go on long walks at the lake and canoodle at work.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared out at the merriment of the barbecue, remembering the scene more vividly than he would have liked. He tried to find an exact moment that would have led to you avoiding him, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was the entire thing? 

“I think she’s mad at me. I kinda went off on her boss and she told me she wanted to take care of it.” 

“What do you mean ‘went off’? And isn’t she working under a Senator?”

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.” 

“And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed. 

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked. 

He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.” 

“What, you mean like blackmail?” 

“Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.” 

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before wading back into the party in the yard. Bucky, feeling somewhat lighter but also still at peril, kicked off the fence and made his own attempts at being sociable. 

“As soon as I can actually find her,” he grumbled to himself. 

~~

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend. 

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician. 

That was not the case for this gala. 

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had apologized profusely, swore up and down that you didn’t know Congressman Barnes, and practically pledged your life to Brown in every way you knew how. You never left the office, never took a lunch break—you were pretty sure your eyes were permanently dry from how long you stared at a screen all day. 

Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that. 

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.” 

You offered him a tight smile and felt the ache in your shoulders begin to fester. You were more uptight this week than ever, but that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. Nothing. 

It was just this job and your future in D.C. hanging in the balance. 

Obviously. 

You meandered over to the coat check, taking longer than you needed to and dragging your feet along the way. Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your bag—most likely some PR fire you’d need to put out before more people realized Brown was cheating on his wife—and you had absolutely no inclination to drag it out. 

“Just these two,” you offered, pressing the coats into the attendant's hands and taking the ticket in return. 

“Actually, can you add this one to that ticket?” 

As if this night couldn’t get any more uncomfortable. 

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in repressed… something and spun on your heel. 

He was just as close as you were expecting and also far too close for comfort. You knocked your head back to catch his gaze, trying to appear unamused and angry. 

“Why would you do that?” you asked. 

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.” 

“You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. You clutched the coat check number in your hand and began to storm off, not in the headspace to have this conversation at this gala. Bucky, however, did not seem to mind. 

The hand on your arm was soft but firm as you were tugged into a closet and subsequently shoved into a rack of hanging coats. It was too dim to see beyond your hands out in front of you, but Bucky solved that predicament as he entered your space. 

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away. 

“I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.” 

“I was not stomping off,” you scoffed. 

“You were.” 

“Was not!” 

“I could hear your heels. You were stomping.” 

You groaned, pushing into his chest to try and create distance that wasn’t available. Your back only hit the wall. 

“Fine. What do you want?” 

Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest. 

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed. 

Your phone vibrated in your bag, and that warmth turned to ice. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you determined, wiggling your way towards the door. 

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.” 

“Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes. 

“I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.” 

All you could get out was, “Why?” 

Bucky’s next words were spoken as he stared down at your lips. “I think you know why.” 

Breaths began to fail you, each exhale more ragged than the last. You had been expecting this, in a way, and that was why you always made excuses. He couldn’t be with you because he was a Congressman. You were only an assistant. You couldn’t date him because you were too busy. He wouldn’t want to date you, anyway. Senator Brown would never be okay with it. 

All of those excuses evaporated within the shared space of the closet, and then you got scared. So, you blurted out what he wanted. 

“He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.” 

Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?” 

“I’d be blacklisted.” 

“He can’t do that.” 

“He can.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to speak again as the air in the closet became breathable and light peeked in from the cracking door. You sprang back from the Congressman, pushing his hand away from your cheek and slamming your back into the wall. It didn’t help much; the fifteen-year-old with the shawl in her hand was already making her own assumptions as you rushed past her and left Bucky to his own devices in the closet. 

Amazing. 

Just amazing. 

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it. You prayed that Brown was already drinking and wouldn’t catch on. 

Thankfully, your prayers were answered. 

While he was not happy to see you, his raised brow and side-eye deadly as you sat down, he didn’t say anything. And that was how dinner went—quiet and uncomfortable for you, but otherwise par for the course for Senator Brown. 

Bucky was staring at you from across the table. The room was backlit by dull candles and expensive chandeliers, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face like an unprecedented heat. He often flickered that gaze to Brown, but it would harden, become angry.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. 

You either stuck it out with Brown or tossed your political science degree in the trash can on your way out.

When dinner passed and dessert was served, you eyed the lemon tart mocking you from your plate. Dessert, when your life felt so out of control and confusing, couldn’t hurt, you figured, so you picked up your fork and ignored the knots taking up space in your stomach. 

“Yours looks better.” Senator Brown picked up the lip of your plate and slid his in its place. “Here.” 

“But—” 

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you. 

Was D.C. even worth it? 

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty. 

You took three bites before it started to sink in. 

You vaguely registered that Bucky had pushed out from the table, a clink of silverware preceding the motion. It was too late for him, however, because as your own fork clattered down, you could no longer breathe. 

Your tongue felt ten times too big in your mouth and your throat was glued shut, air tunneling through any openings it could find. You pushed out from the table and stood. The extra space didn’t do anything. You clawed at your throat until your legs became unsteady and failed from the lack of oxygen. 

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears. 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!” 

“Brown, what is she allergic to?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Well, do something!” 

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything. 

“Move.” 

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief. 

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy. 

“You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind. 

“I got you, okay?” 

“F-f-feels—” 

“I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register. And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

The chaos of the room went silent. Within your shaking hands clutched in Bucky’s suit jacket, your fingers spasmed out of fear. 

“Excuse me?” Brown scoffed. You were honestly surprised he was still in the room.

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?” 

“B-bucky—” 

“Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?” 

“I have no idea,” Brown spat out. He jutted his hand out towards you on the floor. “He never knows what he’s talking about. We’ve established that.” 

“Right,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling you closer to his chest as you gasped for breath. “So what do you call this?” 

“An accident, obviously.” 

Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now. 

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.” 

Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone. 

“What? No,” Brown refuted, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, either. She’s barely even a secretary. She’s—” 

The eyes around the room made his words trail off. “Barely even a secretary” was certainly a degrading title for his mistress, and everyone in the room knew it. If you were to look at your phone, you’d have seen that the newest story of their relationship had been blowing up all night. You guessed she was fed up with him denying it. 

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head. 

~~

After being monitored in the emergency room for approximately six hours, the night shift staff sent you off with a horde of medication to take for the next month and, of course, a new epipen. You trudged out past the waiting room, prepared to wait in the parking lot for an Uber, when a certain man sitting in a chair far too small for him caught your eye. 

He was half asleep, his face held in his metal hand as he nodded off and woke up just as quickly. His suit looked stiff and uncomfortable as he twisted his wrists, dragging the sleeves up to his elbows. He’d discarded the jacket somewhere, probably lost to the world now. And then he spotted you, your dress awkwardly draped over your body in your haphazard attempt to re-dress, your hair completely out of place, and your hands filled with paper bags of medication.

He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest. 

“Scared the shit out of me,” he murmured into your hair. He pressed another kiss there, reminding you that the first one hadn’t been your imagination. 

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, clutching his button-up in your hands. 

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?” 

It only took you a moment to make a decision. 

You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation. 

It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected. 

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman. 

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway. 

[vicmc624]

Always Been You

pairing: brothersbestfriend!bucky x reader

summary: you’re fresh out of a break up, and your brother is determined not to let you dwell on your shitty ex. he thinks your annual summer trip with your shared group of friends should do the trick. you think a summer spent staring at his hot best friend will at least lift your spirits a little.

set the scene: reader and her brother live together, lakehouse is owned by readers parents and this does not take place in the mcu, reader is mid-20’s and bucky, steve, sam, natasha, and readers brother are all a couple years older.

warnings: some fluff, reader gets cheated on by john walker, very anti john walker due to said cheating, LOTS of flirting (its bucky we’re talking about), self doubt, weed and alcohol mentions/consumption, SMUT MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), bucky calls reader a slut (affectionately), unprotected sex, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

other characters: readers brother (oc), yelena belova, natasha romanoff, steve rogers, sam wilson, wanda maximoff, bob reynolds, ex bf john walker (mentioned)

wc: 7.9k

MINORS DNI (18+)

—————————————————————————

knock knock

the third time in the past five minutes. andrew, your loving yet annoyingly persistent older brother, seemed to be determined to get you out of your bed. he succeeded briefly that morning when he had made your favorite breakfast and insisted you eat with him, though after putting your plate in the sink you were quickly scurrying to your room and shutting the door before he could stop you.

a sigh left your mouth as you pulled your comforter over your head. maybe if you pretended you were asleep, he would go away.

knock knock

“i know you aren’t sleeping y/n,” your brother’s muffled voice came through your door.

you rolled your eyes as you pulled the blanket down enough to yell, “yes i am!”

the handle jiggled, and you could almost hear the annoyed look on his face, “seriously? open the door or i’m picking the lock!”

you ripped your covers off before stomping to the door and whipping it open, meeting your brothers irritated features with a hard glare, “that’s an invasion of privacy, asshole.”

andrew rolled his eyes as he looked past you and into your room, “jesus y/n,” he muttered as he pushed past you and walked over to your curtains, sliding them open and bathing the room in sunlight.

your eyes squinted against the harsh light, blinking a few times before remembering you were supposed to be upset, “hey! i didn’t say you could come in!”

“yeah well i’m tired of my little sister living like a fuckin’ vampire,” his eyes drifted around your room, his face softening as he took in the sight that was now painfully visible to him.

tissues littered the floor around your bed, sheets and blankets that were usually tidy a crumpled mess on your mattress. the small trashcan in your room was overflowing with various pictures and gifts you could no longer stand the sight of. a small pile of stuffed animals had clearly taken the brunt of your emotions, a pair of scissors lying next to their mutilated fuzzy bodies.

when your brothers pitying gaze landed on you it was your natural instinct to close yourself off, arms crossing over your chest as you muttered a weak, “i’m fine.”

andrew just sighed as he walked over to you, hands resting on your shoulders cautiously, “not talking to anyone about it isn’t gonna help you.”

“what’s there to say?” you spat, your eyes staying fixed on your feet, “i thought my boyfriend loved me, he cheated, clearly i was wrong. that’s all there is to it.” your voice broke as you finished your sentence, emotions betraying your words as your eyes welled with tears.

you really did think john loved you. if not the traditional, head over heels type of in love, you at least believed he loved you in the way he could. he was irritable often times, but he always apologized. he didn’t love public displays of affection, but he showed his hunger for you in private. he didn’t really get along with your friends, but he was never outright cold to them.

well, almost all of them.

the one person who couldn’t seem to even pretend to like john was bucky barnes. your brother’s tall, charming, insanely hot best friend. it baffled you the first time you had brought john around to meet your friends, bucky’s usually kind demeanor hardening into a suspicious stare as he stiffly shook johns hand. bucky’s distaste for john appeared to be a mutual feeling. you watched their biceps flex as they seemed to have a mini arm wrestling match, brow furrowing in confusion before you pulled john away to introduce him to the rest of the group.

every subsequent group event you brought john to was like that. bucky would greet you with his usual hug and charming smile, before fixing john with the same stare and an utterance of his last name. wanda had convinced herself that bucky acted that way because he wanted you, but that didn’t really feel plausible to you. it’s not like john was your first partner, and bucky had been perfectly pleasant to everyone else you had dated.

in hindsight, you think bucky knew in his gut that john would ultimately be bad news.

andrew frowned at your words, pulling you into a tight hug, “that’s not all there is to it, y/n. he really hurt you. you’ve barely been eating, you haven’t talked to your friends in 4 weeks, i had to send mom and dad a picture of you at breakfast this morning to prove you’re alive.” he rubbed your back gently as he spoke, your body relaxing into his despite yourself.

tears flowed from your eyes freely, your arms still folded into yourself as your head rested on his chest, “i just… i wish he just broke up with me instead-“ your voice broke on a sob, chest heaving, “instead of fucking someone else.”

your body shook as you cried, the tightness in your chest a crippling weight dragging you into despair. your brother continued to hug you, rubbing your back gently as he comforted you. he walked you to the small couch in your room slowly, sitting down and keeping his arm around your shoulder.

your elbows rested on your knees as you covered your face with your hands, attempting to wipe away your tears even as more followed.

“i’ll be right back, okay?” andrew spoke softly before getting up. you remained in your spot, your brother returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and a box of tissues. you took them gratefully, sipping the water before dabbing at your eyes and nose. you sniffled, breath hiccuping as you calmed yourself down, andrew sitting with you and quietly observing the entire time.

once you were able to even your breathing you sighed as you ran a hand through your hair, “okay, maybe i lied about being fine earlier.”

andrew huffed a laugh through his nose, “no shit.”

you shot him a glare before you continued, “i just… i guess talking about it makes it feel real. final. and i’d be lying if i didn’t say i feel embarrassed about it all too.”

“you have absolutely no reason to feel embarrassed,” andrew said, his voice firm, “walker is the one who should feel that way.”

“i know, i know,” you sighed, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater, “i just can’t help but feel like everyone is gonna look at me differently now. i mean i hung out with you guys way less when i was dating john, what if they think i’m just crawling back to our friend group because i got cheated on?”

andrew called your name, making you look at him as he spoke, “you know damn well no one is going to look at you differently. if anything they’ll be thrilled to be there for you. no one is gonna be upset, they just miss you.”

“even though i cancelled on our summer trip?” you pouted.

“it’s not too late to un-cancel, you know,” your brother’s face twisted into a mischievous smile.

“please be serious, i’m not just gonna tag along last minute. you guys leave in 2 days.” you rolled your eyes as you rested your head on the back of the couch.

“you’re not ‘just tagging along’ it’s your house too, idiot. and don’t act like the group chat wouldn’t explode.” your brother stood, his voice taking on a tone of finality that filled you with dread, “here’s what’s gonna happen. one, you’re taking a shower- seriously you stink. two, you’re texting the group chat and telling them you’re going. three, pack your damn bag or i’ll do it for you and i will make sure none of your socks match.”

you pouted at your brother from your spot on the couch, your disgruntled expression the only real fight you had left in you. realistically, you knew he was right. your friends had always received you exactly as you were, and you knew this time would be no different. crying into yelenas lap while wanda played with your hair honestly sounded like the exact sort of therapy you needed.

“fine. but i’m doing it because i want to, not because you told me to,” you grumbled as you stood and made your way to the bathroom attached to your room. andrew just rolled his eyes playfully before going back downstairs.

once you had indulged yourself in a much needed hot shower, you sent the text to your friends. a small smile made it’s way onto your face when you instantly received their replies:

sam 🦅: FUCK YEAH!!!

wanda 🥀: please say you’re rooming with me 🥹🥹

natasha 🕷️: thank GOD i thought we were gonna have to handle your brother by ourselves

andrew 🧸: i resent that, nat.

bucky 💪🏻: oh good my favorite y/l/n sibling is spending the summer with us!

andrew 🧸: i resent that too.

steve and bob responded with cute gifs while yelena began arguing with wanda over who got to room with you, your chest feeling significantly lighter as you witnessed your friends antics. your eyes kept flicking back to bucky’s text, heart fluttering slightly at the thought of you actually being his favorite between you and your brother. you knew it wasn’t true, andrew and bucky had been friends since you could remember. but bucky often liked to say sweet things that made you feel special, and maybe a whole summer of that was exactly what you needed. him being shirtless a majority of the the time would be a very welcomed bonus too.

typing out a couple quick replies, you put your phone on do not disturb and tossed it on the bed before you set your sights on your clothes. the thought of doing anything else felt nearly overwhelming, but as your brain flickered back to your friends’ excited reactions, you decided that no matter what this was gonna be a good summer.

john fucking walker be damned.

—————————————————————————

the drive to your family lakehouse was filled with nerves, leg shaking, constantly checking the gps, palms sweating anxiety. andrew had to nearly force you into the car that morning, only getting you in when he called natasha to yell at you. the memory made you pout, grumbling just loud enough for him to hear, “i can’t believe you snitched on me to nat.”

“well if you weren’t being a pain in the ass i wouldn’t have had to.” he swiftly retorted.

you rolled your eyes, “is that any way to talk to your heartbroken sister?”

“don’t pull that card on me when you know i’m right.” your brow furrowed deeper at your brothers ability to evade your guilt trip, a practiced art he had long since perfected.

you two weren’t the first to arrive that afternoon, a familiar gray truck coming into your view as the car pulled into the driveway. you felt a small flutter in your tummy when the owner of the truck stepped onto the front porch, charming smile spread wide across his pretty face, muscled arm raised in an enthusiastic wave. you couldn’t help the giddy grin that worked it’s way onto your lips.

you made quick work of your seatbelt and hopped out of the car, moving to walk to the trunk for your bags. before you could haul your bags out of the back, bucky was at your side batting your hands away and lifting them out of the car with ease. you laughed a bit, pulling him into a hug after he set your bags down, “i could have gotten those myself, buck.”

“when have i ever let you do the heavy lifting, sugar?” warmth crept up your neck at the affectionate term, a nickname bucky had given you in middle school. while at first it was teasing, bucky deeming you ‘too sweet for your own good’, overtime it had morphed into an endearing thing, his voice filled with warmth whenever he addressed you as such.

from behind you andrew cleared his throat, hands on his hips as he raised an eyebrow at bucky, “what so i don’t get a hot beefcake to grab my heavy bags?”

bucky made no move to release you, snorting into your hair as he said, “i’ll get sam for you.”

“good, he’s more my type anyway,” andrew rolled his eyes as he grabbed his own bags, struggling with them a bit before closing the trunk. the three of you made your way to the house, steve and sam now standing on the porch with grins on their faces.

they both greeted you with hugs, sam nearly squeezing the life out of you before placing you back down on the wooden boards. “glad you were able to make it, y/n.” sam grinned, ruffling your hair.

you groaned as you slapped his hand away, “get your grubby hands away from my hair.”

sam laughed, holding the door open for the group as you made your way inside, “my hands are clean, thank you very much.”

a sigh left your lips as you stepped inside the house, the familiar sights and smells settling comfortably in your senses. though getting here had been a mental struggle, the second you stepped foot outside of the car you knew this had been the right call.

as kids, this trip had been a tradition that started with you, your brother, your parents, bucky and wanda. every summer was spent barefoot in the grass, catching bugs and swimming until your fingers and toes were pruned. when you and your brother were old enough to drive your group of friends, your parents decided to retire themselves from the trip, claiming to be too old to deal with the antics of your friend group.

your heart clenched painfully at the memory of the last trip you took here. john had put up a fight when you told him you planned to stick to your summer trip, saying you were prioritizing your friends over your relationship. you had begged him to come, to which he reluctantly agreed after seeing the tears in your eyes. you two ended up leaving after a week, john saying he had fallen ill, though when you got back home he was dropping you off and claiming he was going to be at the gym for a few hours.

deep in thought, you didn’t notice the presence beside you until bucky cleared his throat and nudged you gently, snapping you out of your spiral as you blinked at him, “whats going on in that pretty head of yours, sugar?”

a sheepish smile made its way onto your face, “just um… thinking about last summer. i really wish i didn’t leave.”

bucky frowned slightly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. he pressed a kiss into your hair as he mumbled, “we all know that wasn’t your choice.”

your shoulders slumped as you relaxed into his body, head resting on his shoulder, “i shouldn’t have gone with him like a loyal idiot. i should have just stayed-”

bucky’s grip on you tightened as he gave you a grounding squeeze, other arm moving to wrap around you and pull you into him fully, cutting you off. “i’ve been put under firm instructions to not let you get down on yourself or dwell on the past. and i take my job very seriously, so i’ll be hearing none of that.”

a pout formed on your lips as you tilted your head up, chin resting on bucky’s muscled chest, “andrew put you up to this, didn’t he.”

the charming grin that spread on bucky’s face as he looked down at you would have made you swoon if you weren’t focused on being annoyed at your brother, “maybe, maybe not. i’ll never tell.” your jaw opened in shock, bucky laughing at your expression before patting your hip and releasing you to grab your bags. “c’mon princess, you got the single room since yelena and wanda tried to start world war 3.”

you laughed a bit as you scooped up the one small bag bucky allowed you to carry, “i’m not sure making them room together was the solution but i won’t complain.”

once you and bucky had gotten your things settled in your room he left you to unpack, giving you another kiss on the head as he did. your heart fluttered annoyingly, the stupid crush you harbored on bucky as a kid seeming to rear it’s ugly head once more.

obviously he was attractive, you would have to be blind not to see that. but it was never about his looks for you. bucky had always taken care of you, was always one of your fiercest protectors alongside your brother. it didn’t matter what the cost was to him, didn’t matter if he got suspended for punching a kid who made you cry, didn’t matter if he had to cancel a date to come comfort you when andrew couldn’t, bucky had always made it clear you were a priority for him.

really, it was his fault you ended up having feelings for him. he didn’t have to be so good, so sweet, and beautiful, and kind. he didn’t have to treat you so gently, look at you with such adoring eyes, touch you with so much care and tenderness it made you want to kiss the life out of him and then some.

you had worked hard to stop feeling the way you did, and for a time it really seemed like you had moved past your crush. but as you sat there, stewing in your thoughts, you realized it had just been laying dormant, waiting to emerge at the right time and turn you back into the nervous mess you were around him in middle and early high school.

a sigh left your lips as you sat on the bed, glad to have your thoughts occupied by something other than your breakup. maybe crushing on bucky again would help you. it’s not like anything would come of it, and if you were being honest with yourself the butterflies he gave you were a welcome feeling, bringing you a sense of childlike giddiness you hadn’t felt in a long time, not even when you were beginning to date john, or any of your other partners for that matter. no one could make you feel the way bucky did, so why not lean into it?

what’s the worst that could happen?

—————————————————————————

“you absolutely cannot tell me he hasn’t been making fuck-me eyes at you the entire summer,” wanda said from her spot beside you, lazily stretching on the blanket. you were both lying on your stomachs, tanning while steve, yelena, sam and bucky were messing around in the lake. meanwhile your brother and bob were unsuccessfully attempting to paddle board while natasha laughed and yelled instructions from her steady place on her own board.

an exasperated sigh left your mouth as you pulled your sunglasses off to shoot her a glare, “i absolutely can and will. bucky has always been sweet to me, you know that.”

“yeah because the man is so head over heels for you i’m surprised he hasn’t gotten down on one knee yet.” wanda laughed, flicking sand at you when your glare sharpened. “oh relax, is the thought of bucky thinking of you that way really the worst thing in the world?”

your expression fell slightly as you let out another sigh, “i don’t want to get my hopes up. i was already heartbroken once this year, don’t really want to risk it happening again so soon.”

wandas teasing smile softened into something more gentle, her hand reaching for yours and intertwining your fingers with a squeeze, “i’m sorry. i just mean to say… it’s clear that bucky cares about you more than anyone else. in whatever way that may be, it’s sweet.”

you returned her gentle squeeze, a shy smile forming on your face when your eyes drifted to where bucky was, all boyish smiles and loud laughs as he wrestled with sam in the water. “it is sweet. i’ll give you that.”

“thank you, i love it when you tell me i’m right,” wanda smiled.

you laughed as you sat up, adjusting your bikini top to keep your breasts from spilling over. your eyes flicked back to bucky, surprised to see his gaze now fixed on you. he said something to sam, who shared a knowing look with steve and yelena, before he began making his way over to you and wanda.

it was hard not to stare as he approached, water dripping off of his chest and down his chiseled torso in a way that felt sinful. his wet hair was pushed back, a few wavy pieces falling on his forehead. he grabbed a towel from the pile on the blanket, drying himself off.

the teasing smile returned to wandas face as she spoke, “tired of splashing around, buck?”

a short laugh was huffed from bucky’s nose as he spread the towel and sat down next to you, “just wanted to make sure y/n wasn’t getting tired of you.”

you rolled your eyes playfully as you shoved bucky’s shoulder, “who’s to say i’m not tired of you?”

bucky pouted at you, hand going over his chest in mock offense, “don’t say that sugar, you’re breaking my heart.”

warmth crept up your neck, a small laugh leaving your lips as you shook your head playfully. you grabbed your phone, checking the time before standing and brushing yourself off, “it’s almost lunch, i’m gonna go make some sandwiches.”

bucky stood before you could finish your sentence, “i’ll come help,” he smiled.

you returned his smile then looked to wanda, who shook her head, “think i’ll join nat in laughing at andrew and bob.” she said as she stood, making her way down to the water. you and bucky headed into the house, arms brushing slightly as you walked side by side. your skin prickled with goosebumps where it met his, heart pounding when you realized you would be alone with bucky while you were both half naked.

not the worst thing to happen to you.

—————————————————————————

sandwich ingredients were strewn across the counter as you and bucky worked, keeping up a light conversation as you did. bucky was complaining about steve’s snoring, groaning as he said, “seriously, i had half a mind to grab a pillow and go curl up on someones floor.”

you laughed, grabbing plates from the cabinet, blurting before you could think about the implications, “you’re more than welcome to just crawl into bed with me.”

bucky didn’t miss a beat, even as you outwardly cringed at your words, a small smirk forming on his face, “you’d let me do that sugar?”

your words stuttered as the heat in your cheeks flamed, “i-i meant like- well i wouldn’t just want you to sleep on the floor.” you turned from where you were grabbing the plates, gasping when you realized bucky had come to stand behind you.

the smirk on his face didn’t leave as he took the plates from you, fingers brushing yours lightly as he did, and set them on the counter next to you, “you’re just too sweet for your own good, aren’t you sugar?” his voice was low and teasing, holding something molten that settled in the pit of your stomach.

you swallowed harshly as you stared back at him dumbly, his close proximity to you making words feel impossible. your back pressed into the counter slightly, voice light, “maybe just for you.”

bucky's tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip before he pulled it between his teeth. he took a step closer, crowding your space more as he leaned in slightly, "yeah? you telling me you're my sweet girl?"

even as your breath stuttered, you opened your mouth to respond, but the moment was interrupted by the sound of the screen door slamming open. you and bucky nearly jumped back from each other, looking to where your brother was storming into the kitchen with natasha laughing behind him.

"you're a horrible teacher! i would have died if it weren't for steve!" andrew yelled at natasha, going to the fridge and grabbing a drink.

"he's being dramatic, he was fine," natasha said as she came to stand at your side, leaning against the counter and fixing your brother with an amused grin.

andrew glared back at her, "i'm never taking paddle boarding lessons from you again."

"good, you didn't even pay me for the first lesson." natasha quipped, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite.

you laughed as you handed natasha a plate and a napkin, moving to plate the rest of the sandwiches as well, "relax drew, the lake isn't even that deep."

"y/n i almost di-"

you cut him off by shoving plates in his hands and spinning him around, ushering him towards the door, "enough, drama queen. bring those out to the others, we'll be right behind you."

andrew continued to grumble to himself as he left. you laughed as you turned back to natasha, "what did you do to him?"

"i might have accidentally but sort of on purpose flipped his board. i'm sure he'll tell you all about it later. c'mon, i'll help you guys with this stuff," she grabbed a couple plates and a bag of chips before heading out the door, leaving you alone with bucky once again.

he hadn't spoken a word since you two were interrupted, gaze more intense than it had ever been before as you looked at him. "guess we should head out?"

bucky stared at you for a beat longer before humming and grabbing the remaining items, "i got it sugar, right behind you."

you smiled before turning and walking out the door, unaware of the way bucky's gaze drifted down your body as you left.

—————————————————————————

the lake looked like glass, perfectly reflecting the moon and stars in the clear night sky above you. you were sat on the edge of the dock, legs swinging absentmindedly as you relaxed in the peace and quiet. your friends were inside the house, drinking and dancing the night away as you often did on these trips.

the dock was your favorite place to come when you just needed a moment for air, when breathing felt too hard and your thoughts threatened to turn into something ugly. it started to feel that way a little over an hour ago, prompting you to step outside while claiming you needed to smoke a joint. now the pack of pre rolls and lighter laid next to you untouched, you had really just taken them for show.

"thought you might be out here."

you startled slightly at the voice from behind you, relaxing instantly when you saw bucky strolling down the dock towards you. he sat next to you, close but not close enough to touch. you tried to fight the disappointment bubbling in your chest. "you disappeared on us sugar." bucky teased lightly, leaning into you to nudge his shoulder against yours gently.

you gave him a half smile, your fingers fiddling with the hair tie around your wrist, "my brain was... feeling a bit overwhelmed. just needed to think."

a thoughtful look came onto bucky's face as he studied you, "penny for your thoughts?"

you took in a breath as you began to speak, "i'm really happy i came here. that i didn't let what happened completely ruin my summer. and being around you guys again has been so healing for me," you gave bucky a small smile which he returned, sliding his hand into yours and giving you a reassuring squeeze.

ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you continued, "there's a weird part of me that just feels like i don't deserve to be so happy again so quickly. like i should still be miserable and mourning this big loss. but i just... don't feel bad about it. and that kind of makes me feel worse, you know?" you finished your rambling with a sigh, leaning your head on bucky's shoulder and wrapping your other hand around his bicep.

you were surprised when you heard bucky huff a short laugh before shaking his head and leaning it against yours, "you really are too sweet for your own good, y/n."

brow furrowing slightly, you mumbled, "what do you mean?"

"you have absolutely nothing you should be feeling bad for, sugar," bucky said, thumb now rubbing along your knuckles gently, "especially not regarding that piece of shit walker." he spat, the venom in his voice palpable when he said john's name.

there was quiet for a moment before you spoke again, "you really didn't like him, did you?"

"was it that obvious?" bucky said, the sarcasm in his voice earning a chuckle from you.

your voice came slightly quieter, as if you hoped he wouldn't hear you, "wanda had a theory about that."

bucky hummed thoughtfully, squeezing your hand again, "what was her theory?"

anxiety filled you as you shifted slightly, lifting your head from his shoulder and pulling your hand from his. bucky watched intently as you adjusted the straps of your sundress, fidgeting with anything you could get your hands on as if you could distract yourself from your own words, "she thinks you didn't like him because you want me."

bucky was quiet for a moment which you spent wishing you could swallow your words back down your throat. but when he spoke again his voice was deeper, slower, more careful. "and what do you think, sugar?"

your gaze stayed fixed on the reflection of the moon on the lake, not daring to meet bucky's eyes which seemed set on burning a hole in the side of your head. "i told her you've been nice to my partners before."

"you know that's not what i'm asking, y/n." bucky said. you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes, breathing hitching when those baby blues came into your vision. he leant in ever so slightly, breath ghosting across your cheeks, "do you think i want you, sugar?"

steeling your nerves, your response was short but certain, "i do now."

there was no denying the tension between you two any longer, the look in bucky's eyes an undeniable show of his desire for you. before you could think about it too much you were reaching for his face, cupping his cheeks and crashing your lips against his in an explosion of raw passion. bucky moved swiftly, banding his arm around your back to pull you impossibly close as he kissed you deeply.

your lips felt like they belonged against bucky’s, sparks shooting throughout your body as he kissed you fervently, as if he needed your kiss to breathe. your arms wrapped around his neck, hand tangling in his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth. bucky reveled in the soft moans he was pulling from you, arm tightening around you as his other hand cupped the back of your neck to pull you closer.

you two spent some time like that, noses bumping, chests heaving, tongues tangling in an exchange that left your brain feeling dizzy when you finally pulled away for air. bucky rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb softly.

“wanda was right,” he spoke finally, placing another soft kiss on your lips before pulling back fully to look at you, “around the time i realized you were it for me walker came along. i might have taken my bitterness out on him.” bucky smiled sheepishly, earning a grin from you in return.

“i’m it for you?” you said, your voice slightly more hopeful than you had intended it to be.

bucky gave you the softest look you had ever seen before leaning in and kissing you again, gentler this time, his lips holding all of the adoration and love he had for you in them. he pulled away just barely to whisper against your lips, "you've always been it for me, y/n. just took me way too damn long to see it."

you couldn't help the dopey grin that broke out across your face, practically throwing yourself into bucky's arms in a tight hug. bucky laughed as he hugged you back with just as much enthusiasm, his strong arms fitting around you perfectly. "you've always been it for me too," your voice was breathless as you spoke, the truth of bucky's words still settling in.

bucky held you for a little while longer before you pulled apart, pressing a kiss on your forehead and then standing and holding his hand out to you. you smiled as you took it and stood, fingers intertwining with his as you both walked back to the house. before going inside you stopped him, grabbing the collar of his open button down and pulling him to your mouth in one last fevered kiss. bucky looked dazed as you pulled away, earning a grin from you as you stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

"come to my room tonight." you knew he didn't need to be told twice as you patted his cheek gently and then sauntered into the house.

—————————————————————————

bucky didn't make you wait long that night, slipping into your room shortly after everyone had gone to bed. you barely had time to get a greeting out of your mouth before he was on you, kissing you with the same fierceness he had on the dock.

he walked you back to your bed as he kissed you, hands bunching your dress at your hips as he groaned into your mouth, "fuck sugar, do you have any idea what you've been doing to me?" he mumbled against your skin as he kissed your neck, lying you down on the bed in the process. a soft moan left your lips when he nibbled behind your ear gently, legs spreading to let him settle between your thighs fully.

the thick bulge that pressed against your center made you gasp, hips instinctively jerking at the contact. bucky hissed, holding your hips down with one hand while tugging the strap of your dress down with the other. your breasts spilled out of your dress, the cool air pebbling your nipples. bucky swore under his breath before latching onto one of your breasts, tongue laving around your nipple while his fingers tweaked the other one.

you whined at the stimulation, sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core as bucky kissed his way down from your breasts, pulling your dress farther off your body as he went. he licked and sucked at your skin, seemingly determined to leave marks wherever he could.

when he got to your stomach he slid the dress off you fully, leaving you in just your panties. his gaze was reverent as he took you in, eyes roaming your body shamelessly while he palmed the tent in the front of his shorts. you bit your lip, tugging at the bottom of his shirt in a silent plea for him to strip.

bucky smirked, grabbing your wrist gently and bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss your fingertips, "something you want, baby?" he cooed teasingly, earning a petulant whine from you as you pouted.

"gotta use your words, sugar." bucky said firmly, kissing your wrist before biting it gently, earning another small noise from you.

"take it off, bucky," you pouted, your free hand reaching to tug at his shirt. before you could grab it though bucky snatched your wrist, moving it to where your other hand was and pinning them both above your head with one hand in a move that stole your breath.

he leant over you, his weight pressing down into you ever so slightly as he spoke lowly, "i know you're used to getting whatever you want with me sugar, so i'll let that slide. but if i'm gonna entertain your pretty cunt, then you're gonna be a good girl and use some manners. you hear me?"

your body felt like it was on fire at his words, mumbling a yes as you nodded enthusiastically. bucky smiled, leaning down to kiss you before saying, "now let's try that again, sugar."

"p-please take your clothes off, bucky," your voice was a breathy sigh, bucky's dominance over you making your head feel light.

"good girl, that's my good girl using her manners." bucky praised you before pulling away to strip, leaving himself completely bare. your gaze landed on his cock as he settled between your thighs again, gawking slightly at the size as your pussy fluttered.

"can i touch you?" you said, giving him your best doe eyes though you really didn't need to. despite his show of restraint, bucky was just as turned on as you were, if not more.

he quickly guided your hand down to his cock, allowing you to wrap it around his shaft, groaning at the contact. his hips thrust into your hand as you pumped him, the slick between your thighs pooling at the effect you were having on him. you swiped your thumb across the tip, earning another groan and a jerky thrust from bucky before he grabbed your wrist gently, ceasing your movements.

"gonna make me cum in your hand if you don't stop, sugar," bucky chuckled at the confused expression on your face, kissing you softly before hooking his fingers in your panties and pulling them off your body. his gaze darkened when it landed on your glistening center, pupils blown with desire. you squirmed slightly, suddenly feeling vulnerable under bucky's intense stare. his hands on your hips stopped your wiggling, firm and grounding.

"this all for me, sweet girl?" he mumbled as he used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips apart, sucking in a breath when he caught sight of your pulsing, wet hole winking at him. as if on instinct he shifted to his stomach, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was latched onto your pussy and eating you out like a starved man.

his tongue ran up and down your center, dipping into your hole to collect your slick before dragging it back up towards your clit, latching his lips around it and suckling. you cried out as he fucked you with his mouth, palm slapping over your mouth when you remembered there were other people in the house. though the thought of them catching you only turned you on more.

bucky seemed to take note of the way you clenched, pulling away and replacing his mouth with his fingers on your clit as he kissed your inner thighs, "i know sugar, it's so hard to be quiet isn't it? don't want anyone to hear what a good girl you're being for me, do you? don't want anyone to catch you being my little slut, huh?" bucky cooed at you, knowing the effect his words had on you and reveling in your body's reaction to them. you whined behind your palm, hips jerking in an attempt to get bucky's tongue back on your swollen cunt. bucky just shushed you, banding his arm around your waist to hold you to the bed. "be good for me baby. you make a sound, i stop." and then he dove back in, his efforts to make you cum on his tongue doubled.

your back arched off the bed, mouth open on a silent scream as tears filled your eyes. your pleasure was overwhelming you, bucky's expert mouth bringing you closer to your release swiftly. the entire time your hand was clamped over your mouth tightly, not daring to move it for fear of ripping your orgasm away from yourself.

bucky groaned into your pussy, the vibrations making your eyes roll back into your head as you fisted your hand in his hair. when he latched his lips around your clit and gave another harsh suck the cord snapped, white hot pleasure shooting through your body as you came with a muffled cry. bucky didn't stop, his tongue working to collect your cum as your hips rolled into his face. he only pulled away when you weakly shoved at his head after coming down from your high, the overstimulation causing you to shudder.

he kissed up your body, whispering praises into your skin before latching his lips to yours firmly. your arms wrapped around his neck as his tongue slipped into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself.

reaching down between the two of you, you wrapped your hand around his shaft once more, pressing his cock between the soaked lips of your cunt. you both groaned at the contact, bucky thrusting between your pussy lips instinctively.

"fuck sugar, i'm not gonna last long once i get inside you. been dreaming of this tight cunt forever," he mumbled into your neck and he continued to thrust gently, further coating himself in your slick.

"don't care, just want you inside me, want you to fill me up, please bucky please," you babbled, rolling your hips up to meet his and biting his shoulder to muffle your moan when the tip of his cock rubbed against your clit.

bucky groaned into your neck, shushing you with a kiss before he pulled his hips back and sank into you in one thrust. you couldn't help the keening moan that left your mouth when he filled you, head dropping back and body tensing. bucky put his hand over your mouth before he began thrusting, rolling his hips in a brutal pace that left you gasping for air.

"gotta be quiet baby," he rested his forehead against yours as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, "when we go home i'll take you back to my place and you can be as loud as you want, yeah? i'll fuck this perfect pussy until you're crying."

your moan was muffled by his palm, pussy fluttering at the promise of more. bucky groaned at the feeling, thrusts picking up speed as a string of curses left his swollen pink lips. he latched his mouth onto your neck, sucking and groaning as the speed of his thrusts picked up. his other hand slipped between your bodies to circle your clit frantically, his mouth pulling away from your neck briefly to whisper in your ear, "all fucking mine now, aren't you? mine to fuck, mine to love- fuck-" his voice cut off on a broken groan when you squeezed around him at his words, the possessiveness in his tone shooting straight down to your cunt.

bucky managed to compose himself enough to continue, "c'mon baby, milk my cock. let me feel this perfect little pussy cum around me," his breathy voice in your ear combined with the way he was using your body sent you over the edge, your second orgasm crashing over you in waves that had you sobbing behind bucky's hand against your mouth. he was soon after, thrusting harshly a few more times before burying himself in you fully and groaning as he filled you with his seed.

he made no move to release you as you two came down, only removing his hand from your mouth to kiss you sweetly while he stroked your hair. when it became uncomfortable, he pulled out of you, biting his lip as he watched his spend trickle out of your used hole. he had half a mind to fuck it back into you with his fingers, but one look at your sleep expression had him softening and pressing a kiss to your head before grabbing a wet rag and cleaning the both of you up gently.

he tucked you into his side after you had both dressed and settled in your bed, both now a giggly, fucked out mess.

"did you mean it?" you whispered, thumb stroking his cheek lightly where your hand rested on his face.

though you didn't specify, bucky understood. he grabbed your wrist gently, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand before mumbling against your skin, "every single word. it's always been you. and i'm not making the mistake of letting you go twice."

you smiled before leaning up and kissing him, unable to stop smiling as you did. bucky was just as giddy as you, his lips turned up in a grin against your mouth as you two exchange giggly kisses. you eventually pulled away, settling into his side comfortably before drifting off into the best sleep of your life.

—————————————————————————

the house was quiet as you crept down to the kitchen, intent on making a cup of coffee for yourself and bucky. you figured it was too early for anyone else to be up as they had all been drinking, so you were shocked to see your brother sitting at the kitchen island, cup of coffee in hand and a suspicious look on his face.

"rough night?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at you as he sipped his coffee.

you cleared your throat, going to grab two mugs, "i don't know what you're talking about."

"is that what we're doing now?" the look andrew gave you let you know you had been caught, but you did your best to keep your cool.

"what exactly are we doing now?" you said as you grabbed the creamer from the fridge.

"lying to our older brother about fucking his best friend?" your shoulders tensed at his words, turning to him slowly. you expected him to be angry, but you were met with a look of annoyance. "oh come on, y/n! you're getting two mugs for christs sake!"

"w-well! it could have been for... someone else!" the octave of your voice was growing higher before your brother shushed you. you bounced on the balls of your feet nervously, "are you mad?"

he looked taken aback slightly at your words, "what- no? i've had a bet going with wanda for years. i lost by the way, thanks for that. thought it would take you guys at least a couple more years of pining."

you blinked, slightly stunned by your brothers calm demeanor, "wait.... you knew?" he nodded, "this whole time?" he nodded again, "about both of us?" he nodded once more, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"i think it might have been one of the worst kept secrets of the century. but you both thought you were being so discreet, the rest of us just... let you guys have it. we knew it would happen eventually." he spoke matter of factly, as if stating the obvious.

"and... what do you think about it?" you said nervously, though your nerves were quickly washed away by your brothers warm smile.

"i think it's about damn time," he said as he stood and grabbed his coffee, "but if he breaks your heart, i'm killing him myself. same goes for you, be nice to him."

you smiled back at him as you grabbed your mugs, "i think i can manage that just fine." you bumped your hip against his before making your way back up to your room, snorting when you saw bucky sitting up in bed and pouting at you.

"i woke up alone," he grumbled, holding out his arms and making grabby hands at you. a soft laugh left your lips as you walked over to him, setting the mugs down on the nightstand before you let him pull you back into bed with a giggle. he littered your face in kisses before placing a final, soft peck on your lips and nuzzling his face in your neck.

you think not breaking bucky barnes' heart was the easiest task you had been given.

—————————————————————————

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[vicmc624]

masterlist

minors do not interact. fics will have full warnings, but you are responsible for your own media consumption. i do not consent for my work to be copied, translated, redistributed or used for any ai programming.

* indicates smut and/or 18+ content

── .✦ SERIES

neighborly advice* (complete, 45.9k words) ch. one | ch. two | ch. three | ch. four | ch. five ch. six | ch. seven | ch. eight | ch. nine | ch. ten bucky x reader your elderly next door neighbor moves out, only for someone... even older than him to appear in his place.

── .✦ ONE-SHOTS

mission partners* (14.9k words) bucky x reader you have no idea why bucky has a deep rooted hatred for you. you two are paired up for a mission, and you find yourself facing the demons of your past while having to deal with bucky's mood swings.

in this life* (coming soon) bucky x reader "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."

── .✦ BLURBS

...

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[vicmc624]

mission partners [one-shot]

bucky barnes x avengers!reader

summary: you have no idea why bucky has a deep rooted hatred for you. you two are paired up for a mission, and you find yourself facing the demons of your past while having to deal with bucky's mood swings.

warnings: smut, 18+, mdni, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers kinda, misunderstandings (?), reader is lowk very depressed here, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, mentions of sa (not in detail), kidnapping, mentions of torture, consume media at your own risk

word count: 14.9k

a/n: im ngl idk what this is i just woke up the other day and kept writing this. i hope this keeps you guys happy while i try to figure out how i want neighborly advice to progress </3 -- also there's a lot of story building in here bc i like giving reader a backstory whoops.

masterlist

The wind was knocked out of your lungs before you could register the pain radiating through your body. You groan, shifting over to your side to force yourself up.

“On your feet,” he grunts from above you. 

If this were any other moment, any other scene, the sight of the man before you– hovering above you– would have your heart beating fast for a different reason. A man made of both metal and flesh, strong, rough around the edges. He’s calculating, hard, and smells faintly of cedarwood and gunpowder most of the time. On rare occasions, you catch the scent of fresh linen and cotton. 

Right now though, your heart is thumping against your rib cage angrily. This is the fifth time he’s had you on your back within the hour, and he’s not pinning you down in the way that you would secretly hope for. Not that you would ever admit or voice your delusions to anyone else. Just your own little secret to fester in the back of your mind when you think no one’s watching.

You bite back the curse bubbling in your throat, and slam your fist into the mat. You find yourself upright once more, ignoring the sudden rush of blood going through your head— the dizziness. 

“You keep falling for the same damn thing,” Bucky clicks his tongue, bringing his hands up, ready to strike again.

“Not my fault you come at me like you’re trying to kill me,” you say with a frown, barely having the time to duck your head as his fist comes at your head quickly. You can't help but feel the shock that rushes through your body in that moment— he would’ve knocked you out with that swing. 

“Everyone on the field will be trying to kill you,” he reminds you with a shake of his head. You know he's right, and it pisses you off. “What’s the point of training if you’re not prepared for the real thing?”

You dodge once more, but his wingspan is too large. He grabs onto your hair– the low ponytail that you had it in– and you let out a yelp of pain as you grab at his wrist, trying to claw his hand away. 

“Your hair is too long,” he says, frowning. “You either need to cut it or figure something else out otherwise shit like this is going to keep happening to you. It’s always fucking down. Doesn’t it bother you, getting in your way like this?”

You don’t answer him. You don’t want to answer him– you don’t believe that he deserves to know the truth. You grit your teeth, and shift on your feet— one swift movement to slam your heel into the side of his head. 

It doesn’t connect. He easily deflects, grabbing your ankle, and throwing you down. This time, a groan of pain escapes your throat. Bucky lets out a sigh above your head, and doesn’t even look at you, but you can feel the energy radiating off of him without looking at his face. Disappointment. 

“I’m calling it for today,” he says. You open your eyes, finding him already walking away, leaving you on the mat. 

You stay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath with your eyes shut. Slowly but surely, the rise and fall of your chest evens out, and the room is no longer spinning. You open your eyes to stare at the fluorescent gym lights overhead, glaring. 

What the fuck was his problem?

You’d joined the team as a healer. You weren’t necessarily first on the field— you spent most of your time hanging back and waiting for everyone else to come back to the jet. If anything, he needed to be training with Steve to get better at making sure no one would be able to get to you. 

You were decent with guns, knew your way around regular hand to hand combat, and stealth wasn’t that big of an issue for you. You had more than enough qualifications to land you in your current position, and the backstory to match. You were brought into the team after spending most of your life under the radar, but you should’ve known you couldn’t have hidden for too long. 

You fit in well with the rest of the team. They didn’t ask questions about your origins, and you never shared.

Steve and Sam had originally been mentoring you before Bucky took you under his deranged wing. At first, it was all business. Eventually, both men would start talking to you more outside of the gym and the shooting ranges. Sam started including you on his jokes whenever he picked on Steve.

The girls opened up to you faster, Natasha and Wanda including you on girl nights almost immediately. They mentioned something abiout needing more women on the team, and being more than happy to welcome you with open arms.

Where Natasha went, Clint went, which meant the sharp shooter had also taken a liking to you and often gave you various snacks whenever he came back from whatever mission he returned from. He reminded you of a dad, if you were being honest.

You had spent some time with Bruce in the lab. At first, it started with him examining your blood to understand what about your biological structure made you be able to heal, but then it progressed into a kind of bond. You found that your healing had a calming side effect that managed to keep the big guy away during tough days.

Tony's banter made you misunderstand him at first. He opened up right away with strange nicknames like magic hands. He once called you doctor once. Natasha had to explain that it meant he had taken a liking to you- he only joked and poked fun at those he thought were worth his time.

Thor sung your praises all the way to Asgard. Apparently, healers were rare and very precious back on his planet. He stated they were often targeted first as they were seen as the biggest threat to any war. Every time you were on a mission with him, you found yourself feeling ten times safer than usual.

It was only Bucky. Bucky fucking hated you, and you had no idea why. You didn’t even necessarily hate the man. In fact, you held a great deal of respect for him. His fighting styles, his command that he held in a room… All of it was something that you held with awe. You would never tell him that though. With how often he puts you down, your pride would never allow you to compliment him. You were certain that he would only scoff at you and dismiss you without another thought.

If you were really being truthful, you harbored the 'smallest' of crushes on him. You enjoyed watching him from afar. When he shut the fuck up and stopped arguing with you, he was handsome. When he didn’t pick apart every single aspect of your skillset, you thought he was smart. Your eyes would follow him more often than you would like to admit. Your heart would jump when you found out that he had gotten hurt on a mission, and relax to find out it was nothing major. 

Your feelings betrayed your mind– which made all of his comments hurt tenfold. You didn’t know if he had any respect for you as a member of the team. If he found out you were on a mission, he would argue it. Say he didn’t need you there, that you were a liability to deal with if things ever went sideways. 

It’s what led to these private training moments. Steve was fed up with his best friend’s anger, and proposed these borderline workplace abuse sessions. 

“If it bothers you so much, you train her then,” Steve had said. Your eyes damn near bulged out of your skull.

“Cap?” you said cautiously. 

“Just indulge him,” he said with a sigh. “If it gets him to stop complaining, then it’s better for you, too.”

You quietly hoped there was some part of Bucky that did hold a bit of respect for you. That the reason he even bothered with these training sessions was for your own good. You’d watched him long enough to know that he wouldn’t do anything he thought wasn’t worth his time. Yet, here you were, nursing your own injuries that you couldn’t heal on your own— well, that wasn’t the truth. You could. But there was always a price that came with that. 

“He did a number on you,” Natasha says with a grin, coming into view. You sigh, and watch as she sticks her hand out for you to take. You take her hand with a grunt, allowing her to yank you up to your feet. Every muscle in your body protests at the sudden movement. 

“It’s like he’s trying to kill me before anyone else can,” you murmur, rolling your shoulders experimentally. Nothing is dislodged or broken, thankfully.

“I mean, he does have a point,” Natasha shrugs, patting your back. You two went over to the benches, and she handed you a bottle of ice cold water. “If our enemies find out that we have a healer on our team, they’re gonna start surpassing the rest of us to get to you.”

You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips as you take the water. You stare at it, knowing she’s right– knowing that Bucky’s right. “Doesn’t mean that he gotta act like that,” you murmur stubbornly. 

“Maybe he doesn’t have to come at you like you have years of training under your belt, but it comes from a good place.”

You give her a look, and she smiles in return. “A good place?” you repeat, your voice dry.

“You don’t see him dragging Tony’s ass in here to do hand to hand,” Natasha said, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow.

“Stark has a metal suit with rockets,” you respond. “There’s no reason for him to need to do hand to hand.”

“What if the tech fails? Then what? Can’t rely on gadgets all the time. Just like you can’t rely on us to be your shield all the time,” she hums. “He’s only looking out for you, even if he’s doing it in the wrong way.”

“You know so much about him, huh?” you ask, eyeing her strangely.

“I’m observant,” she corrects, shaking her head. “Which means I also see the way he looks for you in every single room when he thinks no one is watching.”

“Yeah, probably to take out his anger on me,” you grunt, ignoring what she’s trying to hint at.

“And,” Natasha continues, “I see the way you stare at him.”

“With hatred and anger? I know the feeling all too well.”

“More like you don’t know whether or not you want to kiss him or fuck him.” She’s grinning now, and you can feel a heat begin to crawl up your neck and face. 

You hate assassins, you decide at that moment. You hate them and how easy they can read people. You hate Natasha, and you hate Bucky. You clear your throat, intent on distancing yourself from the situation at hand. However, you don’t correct her. You don’t deny her statement either.

“I’m off to shower. We have a meeting soon– something about another mission?” You stand, taking a deep gulp of the water before you grab your bag.

Natasha sighs, “It’s always another mission.”

“I’m not going on a mission with her.”

You drop your chin to your chest, closing your eyes tight. You can feel the headache coming on and pulsing from behind your eyes. Your body still aches from the training session this morning– and the training sessions that you’d had together every day for the past two and a half weeks. It has been hell on Earth, and Bucky still refuses. The constant rejection is starting to wear you down.

“Barnes, the mission calls for the two of you. I need you to watch her front, and she’ll watch your six,” Fury says, eyes narrowing at the super soldier. He’s fed up. Everyone in this room is fed up. “In the event that you are injured–”

“Unlikely,” Bucky cut him off, dismissing the thought like it could never happen to him. Which, truthfully– it rarely has. Out of everyone on the team, you’d only seen him severely injured a couple of times. Other times were the normal scrapes and bruises that were sustained in battle; but he never even came over to you for those like the rest of the team did.

“If you get injured,” Fury sighs, correcting himself just to placate him, “she will be there to help you.”

“I don’t need deadweight with me. It’ll only slow me down,” Bucky argues, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your jaw clenches at the words, and you suck in a deep breath. Deadweight? You’ve been on more than a handful of missions yourself at this point. You’ve gained the respect of the other Avengers and worked alongside them easily. Your solo missions may never be a straight battle, but you have other strengths. 

“Gonna keep talking about me like I’m not even here?” you demand, finally lifting your head to look at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, the nickname coming out of his lips almost mockingly. You could feel your blood begin to boil under your skin at the patronizing tone. The anger that you’d been feeling the past couple weeks is coming to the surface, bubbling and rolling over. You’re about to burst.

“What’s your fucking problem?” you start, standing up.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Steve cut in, slamming his hands on the table. Steve’s giving you a look, telling you with his eyes to back down. Reluctantly, you sit back in your seat. “Buck, she’s going on that mission with you. Bottom line– obviously you two are paired together because she needs to be there.”

Fury nodded slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat, grabbing your attention once more.

“You’re going undercover.”

“Undercover,” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yes, which is why you need to be his partner.” Fury says before he looks at Bucky, and sighs. “She’s familiar with the area and the situation– she’s been there before, and she has the information necessary in order to make this operation go smoothly. You two will be infiltrating a charity gala that's being used to front a human trafficking scheme for enhanced individuals, and she needs a dance partner.”

“Why the hell can’t it be Steve?” Bucky grunts, frowning deeply.

“Because Steve can’t dance, now can he?” Fury snaps. “I suggest you brush up on your forties’ charm, Barnes. You need to be one hell of a convincing partner if you want to fool the other guests."

The room goes silent. There's no room for fighting, not with the tone your boss just gave you. With the lack of argument, he nods.

"This meeting is over, no objections. I’ll have the mission details be sent to your rooms by the end of the day, and you two will report to leave in the morning. You are all dismissed.”

Chairs are scraped against the carpet as everyone shifts. You listen as footsteps start shuffling out of the room, but you stay planted in your seat. Dread is building up in your gut, and you might throw up if you move too fast. It’s overshadowing the ache in your muscles, the pain and anger you felt just moments ago.

Wanda stops beside you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey… you okay?” she whispered, a hand touching your shoulder.

No. You’re not okay. You know this gala. You know why you’re going there– and what’s waiting for you. The argument, the blow up you had with Bucky in front of everyone is no longer important to you right now. You have to suck it up, and go back into where it all began for you. You let out a shaky breath, then give Wanda your most convincing smile.

“I’m okay,” you tell her, standing. “Head just hurts from all the yelling.”

You force your feet to move, to walk. You have to pack.

You do your best to hide your anxiety on the jet as you sit opposite from Bucky. The aircraft is being operated by F.R.I.D.A.Y., and you were already informed that it would be back at the rendezvous point to pick you two up in one week's time. If you missed the loading time, you two would be shit outta luck and need to get back to base on your own, or at least contact back to let everyone know that you needed more time for the operation.

“Romanoff said you often did espionage. Why do you look so nervous?” Bucky questions, making you look up. You blink at him, pausing. He doesn’t look indifferent. In fact, he looks curious. 

“Why do you care?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You watch as his face immediately turns sour at your response, and he looks away. Uncharacteristically, there’s no response. He doesn’t say anything to piss you off. Instead, there’s only silence. You wonder if Steve made him promise to be nice to you during this trip.

This would be the first mission you go on with Bucky by yourself. Usually, there would be another person here with you to act as a buffer– to shield you from him. He usually stayed in his own head during missions, but if interaction was necessary, he would avoid talking to you. You laced your fingers together and squeezed your hands tight. This would be a long week.

You’re dropped off to the safehouse soon, and Bucky mutters something about checking the perimeter while you check the indoors. Firearm in hand, you go inside to inspect. Just as the report said, it’s a fully furnished home.

It’s an unsuspecting cabin in the outskirts of a suburban town, and you two would need to drive into the city to get into the gala. It’s small, with just a living room, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Just the bare necessities. Everything else you two could possibly need is yourselves.

After deeming the inside secure, you check the amenities. Running water, working electricity. Someone back at the base must have updated the safehouse recently– a lot of the furniture was new. Either that, or this place was recently built and only made to look old and rundown from the outside. You find even the pantry and fridge has enough food for the week.

“Tomorrow night is the gala’s first night,” you say as you hear Bucky enter through the door, closing the door of the fridge. “Our outfits should already be in the closet.”

“Perimeter secure,” he reports, ignoring your own comments. 

“I assumed, otherwise I would’ve heard fighting out there.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with raised eyebrows. Bucky lets out a deep sigh of annoyance in response.

“You take the bed.”

“We can switch off every night,” you propose. Now, he looks surprised. “We’re here for a week, and that couch looks small. I’m sure you won’t complain, but I don’t necessarily think dancing will be easy if you’re stiff from poor sleep for a week.”

Bucky lets out a breath, then nods once. “Fine.”

You turn towards the hall, ready to turn in for the night, when you stop. “Barnes.”

“What?” he asks, slight annoyance coming through.

“I know you hate me, but I really need you to hide it when we’re in front of everyone tomorrow,” you say, looking over his shoulder. He pauses, and you continue, “I can’t do my job and let you do your job if you mess me up. Just follow my lead.”

His lack of response is the only answer you get from him, pushing you into the soft mattress in the bedroom.

Bucky tosses the keys to the luxury vehicle to the valet driver as another staff member opens your door, and offers you a hand. You smile graciously– practiced, perfect. This is second nature. Nothing that you learned during your time with the Avengers. This was already instilled in your bones way before you were ever recruited. 

When Bucky rounds the car and comes to your side, you slip your arm through his, and feel as his body tenses slightly. You smile and lean closer into him as you two walk up the stairs. 

“Act like you tolerate me or we’re both going to get gunned down before we even pass the doors,” you whisper into his ear, still smiling.

“There are no guns aimed at us,” he whispers back. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Did he even read the mission report? There were enhanced individuals all around, all being forced to work for the handler– and you had no idea who the enhanced were.

“Not yet,” you remind him, and he takes a deep breath, but ultimately relaxes beside you. He even rests his opposite hand on yours, leading you through the threshold and into the lion's den.

The gala is exactly as you remember it.

The dazzling chandeliers that hang overhead, lighting up the ballroom to ensure no one could hide in the shadows. The bustle of servants and staff members whose eyes are constantly watching you to ensure that every movement gets reported to upper management. The live band, playing at a volume just loud enough to ensure the screams from the tortured below are not heard by unsuspecting guests that have no idea that this is not a charity ball at all. The whispers and gossip of the elite members of the gala, all those who know why they are really here and are buzzing with excitement for the auction to begin on the last day of the party. 

All of it makes you want to throw up just the same.

You two find a space on the side of the floor– not too out of the way that makes you both look suspicious, but not directly in the middle of all the action. Today is about scouting. Finding information. If you two could get an invitation to the auction, then you could forgo the next three nights of the gala, and only show up for the last night. 

You’re sipping slowly on a flute of champagne as you let your eyes wash over the crowd. 

“The servants are most likely enhanced,” Bucky whispers, leaning down from behind you. The action startles you briefly– the proximity. It makes your heart beat just a tiny bit faster, and you’re glad he’s behind you and unable to see your face. His chest is touching your back, his lips so close to you that you can feel his breath fanning against your neck as he whispers. “Their movements are too sharp, too calculated. They’re looking around as if they’re waiting for something.”

“They’re not,” you whisper back, getting a hold of yourself. You lean into him a little more as you notice someone glance over at the two of you. Bucky stiffens for just a second before relaxing, a hand coming to rest on your hip. He was adapting quickly to the part you two were supposed to be playing.

“What makes you say that?” he murmurs.

“The enhanced would be branded. Numbers on the back of their necks. Like merchandise to scan and check out when they’re bought.” It’s hard to conceal the bitterness that comes through your voice.

“How do you know that?” he asks, the hand on your hip squeezing you a bit tighter. 

You freeze in place. You swallow down the remainder of the champagne and turn in his arms to smile at him. “Didn’t you read the report?” you ask, tilting your head. You watch as his eyebrows furrow, and his lips part to respond, but he never gets the chance. 

The host comes out– he comes out– and calls for everyone’s attention at the front of the room. Everyone turns to look, the music quieting down but never stopping. Just played above a hush. He has no microphone, there are no speakers, but somehow his voice is amplified and can be heard by everyone in the ballroom.

“Thank you for coming tonight. I am your host, William Talbot,” the host grins, holding his arms out wide. Applause erupts from everywhere, you and Bucky joining in. “I am delighted to have you all here this week. All your donations are being put to a good cause; research towards children and young adults' infectious diseases and developmental studies. I beseech you to enjoy yourselves this week as we continue to celebrate each and every single one of you. We would not be able to save as many lives as we do at our lab if not for each of the guests in this room!”

Cheers and whistles join in on the applause as Talbot takes a deep bow, crossing one hand over his chest as he does. After he rises, he turns, disappearing back into the hallway that he came out from, the music one again increasing in volume. People start mingling around the two of you, and there are some that begin to float onto the dance floor with their partners. 

“Piece of shit,” Bucky mutters, making you snort. “That’s our guy, isn’t it?”

You nod, and take a deep breath. “I didn’t expect to see him on the first night, though. We need him or his assistants– someone to get an invitation from.”

The plan had already been set– the two of you had finalized it in the car. After spending some time together in the beginning of the night to establish that you were a couple, you would end up breaking off naturally to find other people to mingle with to feel out the crowd. Find out who was close to Talbot, see who had the connection to get you into the auction.

Worst case scenario, the two of you would attend all nights of the gala trying to get the invitation and have to do this same song and dance. If, on the off chance, you didn’t get an invitation, you two would stake out the place and find the auction. It would be a lot messier, but it needed to happen. 

So, you started. Bucky disappeared into the crowd and you hung out on the outskirts of the dance floor. You knew you looked lonely, nursing another flute of champagne with no one to talk to– it would give someone the perfect opportunity to approach you. These people always wanted to bite the bait, and it was only a matter of time until someone did.

“All alone tonight?” a voice came from your side. You turned, and paused. You knew this man– and you knew he had no idea who you were. 

“My partner saw someone familiar and ended up heading off,” you say with a smile, “I’m just waiting.”

He let out a small scoff, shaking his head. Then, he offered you a hand. “Benjamin Talbot. You dance?”

“Talbot? That was your father up there?” you ask, placing your drink down on the table behind you. You take his hand, your smile widening despite the bile burning in your stomach.

“My old man is a little embarrassing at times. I try not to be associated, but unfortunately I am his flesh and blood,” he answers with a grin. Benjamin leads you to the floor, then stands directly in front of you. His hands fall to your waist as yours go to his shoulders. You feel that tingle under your skin– the power threatening to take over, to do what it did to save you all those years ago.

You push it away.

“You must be proud,” you laugh, shaking your head as he starts to lead you in a dance. “Your family is doing very revolutionary things.”

“What can I say?” he hums, standing a bit taller now. Boastful– and you realize this is a good angle. 

“Can I assume that you’ll be taking over once your father decides to rest?” you hum. “You must be studying under him, if not already his right hand man.”

“The time may be sooner than later,” he says, his grin only growing larger. “We have a lot of amazing things planned. You’ll be blown away once you see it all.”

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “Like what?”

His lips part briefly, and there’s a look in his eyes. You know you’ve got him. 

“Have you been invited to the fifth night of the gala yet?” he asks.

“There’s a fifth night?” you ask, feigning innocence.

He grins at you, nodding. “We’ll show off our best merchandise there– it’s much less a gala night and more of a business night. If you’re interested, I can get you and your partner an invite.”

You brighten at the words, and nod excitedly. “I would love that! It’s always a pleasure to see what the Talbots have in store!”

“Wonderful,” he chuckles, nodding. The music comes to an end, and he lets go of you. You quickly let go of him as well, watching as he pulls out two business cards from his pockets. “Address is on the back– don’t lose this. This is your ticket.”

“Honestly, you’re amazing, Benjamin. Really,” you smile at him. He pauses, then pulls out a pen from his breast pocket, scribbling something on it. Then, he hands it to you, leaning close.

“My number,” he whispers into your ear as he presses the card into your hand. “In case you and your partner don’t work out.”

A shiver runs down your spine– one of disgust. You mask it quickly, turning to him with a smirk before giving him a wink. He chuckles darkly before walking off. You wait until he’s far enough away before you turn to look for Bucky. The second you move, there’s a grip on your arm that makes you jump.

“We’re leaving,” he grunts.

“What? Bucky–!” you exclaim, shocked.

He’s all but dragging you towards the exit, and you’re barely able to stop yourself from tripping over your heels and dress. Bucky doesn’t stop even when you get to the exit, his grip on you strong enough to bruise. The valet is quick, your car pulling up in record time– and you’re thrown into the damn car, the door slammed shut behind you.

“Barnes, what the fuck?!” you scream at him once he gets in. 

He doesn’t answer, and hits the gas, the two of you taking off. Bucky keeps his eyes on the road, and you see his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. You pause for a second. His jaw is clenched tight, there’s a vein popping in his neck.

“Bucky?” you ask slowly. “What happened? Who did you talk to?”

There’s no response again. He only takes a slow, controlled, deep inhale. You swallow before you settle in your seat, turning to face the road. Despite the anger he’s feeling, he’s not driving like a maniac. You’re not even sure why he’s angry right now. 

Once you reach the cabin, you move to get your stuff out of the bedroom. It’s his turn to sleep on the bed tonight, after all. He must need it, after whatever he’s been through tonight. When you come out into the living room, Bucky’s just standing in the middle of it. His frame is taking up the space, and he’s staring at the wall like he wants to punch it down.

“What happened back there?” you try again, frowning. “I got us the invitations, so we don’t need to go back until auction night. We’re fine to lay low or scout out the area prior to the auction–”

“Show me the back of your neck,” Bucky cuts you off, turning to look at you. Your breath catches in your throat.

“What?” you whisper.

“Your neck. Show me the back of it,” he repeats, taking a few steps closer. You instinctively take a few steps back. 

“Why the hell do you need to see my neck?” you ask, trying to will your voice to be even. It takes everything in you to not cover the area with your hand.

“I read the report. There was no information about numbers on the enhanced,” he said. You were backed into a wall. Nowhere to run. “Show me your neck.”

“What does this have to do with anything–”

“I need to know if you’re too damn close to this mission to think rationally. If you’re compromised, I’m sending you home,” he cut you off again. “Show me your fucking neck.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” you whisper.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you with those same steely eyes. You know he’s serious. His body is rigid, and he’s one second away from spinning you around and pinning you to the wall to move your hair out of the way to check your neck himself. You can only feel bitterness begin to build.

“You go on every single H.Y.D.R.A. related mission,” you say with a swallow, shaking your head. “How are you not too closely related to that?”

“That’s different,” he dismisses.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How?!” you exclaim, placing your hands on his chest to push him back, reclaiming some space for yourself. To your surprise, he gives in. “It’s exactly the same!”

Once again, Bucky chooses to not answer you. Whether it’s because he doesn’t have a good enough reason to tell you why it’s different, or if it’s because he has decided that you’re not worthy of knowing why he does what he does– you don’t care. You just want to get away from him. The night has been tiring enough, and you barely were out and about. 

You know he won’t let you go too far without confirming his suspicions. 

With a shaking hand, you turn, pulling your hair to the side.

“Are you fucking happy? There’s nothing,” you spit, staring into the wall. 

You can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your neck– your skin. Even in the low light, you know that he’s searching for something that isn’t there. Numbers that were already gone, numbers that you removed yourself.

The touch of cold metal brushing against your skin makes your breath hitch and your body straighten. Goosebumps rise where his fingers touch, and you swallow thickly. The grip on your hair tightens. You’re trembling slightly.

“There’s a scar,” he whispers. There’s a thread of concern in his voice. “From what?”

You take a deep breath and tear yourself away from his touch. You push your hair back into place, covering your neck once more and turn to face him.

“I was sent here for a reason,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “You have your orders, I have mine. Stay out of my way, soldier.”

You shove past him, going into the bathroom. The door slams behind you with a resounding thud.

The next couple days are filled with silence. Neither of you are talking to each other, much less speaking to one another. What he does during the day doesn’t concern you, but you assume he’s trailing your targets and checking out the auction site. Meanwhile, you’ve been running scans on the auction perimeter to see if everything is set up the same way it was before. If it was, then you know exactly where the ‘merchandise’ will be located.

Bucky needs to take in Talbot– that is his mission. Yours is to evacuate and get the enhanced out of there– as many as you can, safely, without having the kill switch in their necks get activated. 

You can still feel the phantom ache in your own neck, from when you ripped out the small bomb before stealing the life out of your buyer to heal yourself before you bled out. 

The location may be different, the country may have changed, but nothing has really been stopped. After you escaped all those years ago, they just went into hiding. You thought they’d put an end to the program after realizing that it was possible for their enhanced to rebel against their systems. 

Bucky might be right, as much as you hate to admit it. You may be way too close to this operation. It’s personal. They took everything from you. The years of pain and suffering that you endured under their scalpels and bright lights and teams of scientists meant nothing– Benjamin Talbot didn’t even recognize you all these years later. How could he? You were no longer malnourished, covered in scars and bruises, and struggling to survive.

You let out a shaky breath, and buried your face in your hands. You were trembling. It was only two more days until the auction. The invitation cards were on the coffee table, staring at you with malice. You wanted to burn the place down. 

A clink of ceramic covered the cards, making you pause. You looked up, seeing Bucky placing a bowl down in front of you while holding one for himself.

“Soup,” he says, nodding towards it. Your eyes narrow at the liquid.

“Did you poison it?”

“What good would it do for me for my partner to be dead, sweetheart?” he says with a sigh as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You watched as he ate from his bowl first, gulping down the contents of what looked like chicken noodle soup– then he stopped. He reached over to swap it with the bowl he had given you, and started eating from that one as well to prove that both bowls were safe.

“Thank you,” you mutter, beginning to eat as well.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday. You need to keep your energy up for whatever’s going to happen in a couple days.”

“I know,” you say with a deep sigh. The soup is warm, flavorful. “Was this from one of the cans?”

“Hell no,” he scoffs, offended. “I had to go into the city and get this. Whatever they stock this place with is just for war rations in the middle of winter.”

“What, and you’re unable to stomach that?”

“I have learned to enjoy the better things in life, doll.” Bucky gives you a shrug that’s almost nonchalant.

“Thought you still struggled with all of that. Enjoying things.”

“I did,” he says slowly. His next words are softer, quiet. A hint of vulnerability attached to them. “I still do.”

The three words hang between the two of you in a heavy silence. It takes a few moments before the sound of a spoon hitting the edge of ceramic fills your ears again as you two attempt to eat more of the soup, pretending that his confession didn’t just break something inside of you. 

“I don’t hate you,” he finally says, breaking the silence. It makes you pause.

“What?”

“You said it on the first night. And I can feel it in the way that you look at me. I… I don’t hate you,” he confesses. 

“Are you sure?” you ask dryly, staring into the soup. There’s a slight layer of oil on top of the water. “You didn’t want me on this mission, and you already tried sending me back home on a single suspicion. Not to mention, you make it abundantly clear that you think I’m too damn weak for this job.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him wince. Bucky lets out a deep sigh, and reaches to place his bowl on the coffee table to free his hands, and runs them through his hair before he speaks again.

“I look at you and I see me.”

“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrow, and you look at him. He’s serious. 

“You’re angry. Unsure. You have no idea where to put your energy to, and you’re just going through the motions of everything around you. You didn’t even join this team because you wanted to. You joined because you were tired of running from everyone and everything and this was the first opportunity that gave you a chance to go straight,” Bucky said, your jaw clenching in response.

“You don’t know a damn thing,” you whisper, hands tightening around your bowl.

You hate it. You hate him. You hate how he's able to read you so easily, and he's never even had a full conversation with you before. Were you this predictable? Was it this noticeable?

“I see you during every single mission we’re put on together,” he continues, sitting up straight. “You look like how I used to be. You don’t care if you die today, tomorrow, or the next day. You’re going through the motions–”

“Barnes. I suggest you stop talking.”

“This is the first mission that I have ever seen you be so worked up for,” he says, shaking his head. “When I went off into the gala, I slipped into one of the backrooms. I found files of the enhanced. I had enough time to go through some of them, and there were the successful cases at the very top. I read one of them- fully read one. About an A0-92.”

Your blood ran cold. You felt your heart stop in your chest. The world must’ve stopped spinning around you at this exact moment.

“There was a picture in the file… It was a kid,” he whispers, then swallows thickly before meeting your eyes. “You were a kid.”

You stood quickly, dropping the bowl of soup in your hands. The liquid was hot, burning at your skin, and the ceramic shattered on impact as it hit the ground. Your knee hit the coffee table, his own bowl of soup sloshing around with the jostle. You needed to get out here. Fresh air. The walls were closing in on you– your neck was hurting, throbbing. You could almost feel the white hot pain of the bomb beginning to detonate just moments before you took a knife to claw it out of your own body. You could feel the brand being burned into your skin again. A0-92.

You ran out of the cabin, and into the dark woods that surrounded it. Everywhere you went, it felt like you were trapped. The bite of the cold air reminded you of the cold cells, the steel tables you used to be strapped on as you were injected and cut open multiple times. The sounds of the wind sounded like the soft begs of the other children pleading you not to bleed their life away from them to heal your own wounds– but it was kill or be killed. 

You ignored the pain in your feet, every scrape and stab of rock and branch that the woods gave you. None of it hurt compared to the ghosts that haunted your every waking moment. Everything that you tried to shoot down– everything that you tried to ignore and pretend that didn’t exist. Because he was right.

You were tired of running away. You wanted to go straight, do something that mattered to other people. If it meant that you were weak, by deciding to not go into the fray– by not hurting other people again, then so be it. You would heal others, offering them the endless life force that you had cultivated over your years of torture for the auction house. One day, in the distant future, it would run out. The supply you took from others would be depleted, and your task would be done. Your debt would be paid. 

When your lungs couldn’t handle your sprint, and your legs gave up, you finally stopped. You didn’t notice the hot tears that were streaming down your face until you realized your vision was blurry. You leaned against a tree, covering your mouth with a hand as you slowly slid down to your knees, trying to suppress the sob. 

A twig snapped from behind you– a clear indicator that he had been behind you the entire time. Bucky was letting you know he was there. You knew that he could have appeared without a single sound if he didn’t want you to know of his presence. 

Slowly, you’re lifted off the ground. You don’t find the energy to fight back as he holds you against his chest, and begins the walk back towards the cabin. He doesn’t say a single word, and neither do you. The only noise between the two of you is the sound of his steady heartbeat under your ear as you listen, while trying to calm the raging storm inside of you.

Once inside, he brings you to the bedroom. The living room is still a mess from your outburst. He sits you down on the edge of the bed, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels down at your feet, making your heart stutter as he takes a foot in his hand.

“Wait– I can do that,” you whisper, reaching out to stop him.

“It’s my fault for approaching the situation like that.” Bucky shakes his head, gently pushing your hands away, and back onto your lap. “You wouldn’t have ran out and burnt yourself if I didn’t pry. Just sit still.”

You watch as he begins to quietly remove the debris off of your bare feet. His touch is careful, afraid of making the wounds worse. You don’t tell him that this is nothing compared to what you’ve felt before, and part of you wants to make a joke that he must know what that feels like. The look on his face makes you think twice.

He looks pained. Upset– not at you, but at himself.

“I don’t hate you,” he says again, then murmurs an apology when you flinch at the sting of the antiseptic.

“I’m starting to realize that,” you whisper back.

“I don’t… know how to comfort people,” he says slowly, clenching his jaw briefly before relaxing it. “I pulled you out of the gala after I saw the file– I took it back with me. It’s in my stuff. I didn’t want them to have anything on you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You could cry more, if you didn’t already dehydrate your entire body of tears. You only gave him a wordless nod.

“I was afraid someone there might recognize you,” he continues. “So I needed you out of there.”

“It’s been years. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t look like that, you know,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.

“I recognized your photo at first glance,” he argues. “You were smaller, maybe a little starved, but you look exactly the same.”

“Natasha says you spend a lot of time staring at me. Probably why you could recognize me,” you say with a soft laugh. His hands still, just for a moment, before he continues– moving on to spread ointment on your feet. 

“Romanoff said that, huh?” he grunts, shaking his head.

“Do you? Look at me a lot?”

“I do,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes. You stare back. “Like I said– I don’t hate you.”

“You have a funny way of showing that you don’t hate me,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing at him. At the insinuation.

He lets out a breath, and smiles slightly. “That’s my bad.”

You shake your head, and don’t fight the faint smile that comes onto your face as well. You continue to watch him as he moves carefully. It’s almost strange. Such a large man made of both flesh and metal, treating you as if you were the most delicate thing in the universe. His touch is barely a whisper against your skin, almost as if he is afraid pressure would make it all worse. Yet, he’s methodical. You suspect it has to do with his own experience from way before everything happened to him, when he was just a soldier fighting in a war for his country. Basic medical training for the field. 

“The soup didn’t burn you too bad,” he murmurs as he finishes up wrapping your feet. “Your skin is a bit angry right now, but it’s just irritated. It’ll go away. Should use a wet cloth to soothe though.”

“I’ll do that,” you say with a nod. 

Bucky’s no longer touching you, beginning to pack up the med kit and clean up the soiled materials that he used to fix you up. You find yourself missing the warmth that he previously had you wrapped in. Right now, he looks different from all the other times you have seen him. Is it the confession? The sudden heart to heart? You’re coming to realize the man in front of you isn’t so bad after all.

“I cut the numbers off of me,” you tell him. He pauses in his clean up, looking up at you once more. “There’s a small bomb in each enhanced’s neck. It’s what makes us unable to fight back. It’s why we’re stuck down there, in the auction, and why we get sold off. We rebel, our heads get blown off. Some of the kids down there decided that dying was better than being a slave.”

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he whispers, and your hands clenched into fists– just to give yourself a reminder that you’re real. To ground yourself back to reality. “You cut it out of yourself– of your neck?”

You let out a shaky breath, and swallowed. “Girls get sold for higher prices… and I wasn’t bought just for the enhancements. One day, my buyer messed up. Fell asleep in front of me, and had their weapons at the bedside table. I cut it out of my neck. With my last bits of remaining strength before I died, I took his life to heal myself. I was a kid. Couldn’t see or feel how deep the implant was. Then, free– I killed a lot of people fighting to get out of that mansion.”

Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. You blinked down at your hands, letting them relax. You examined the crescent shaped indents you left behind on the palms. You took one more breath before meeting his eyes, and forcing a smile on your face.

“I might be too close to this mission, but I need to see this auction burned to the ground,” you whisper. 

“I’ll hand you the match, then,” he answers, placing a hand on top of yours. He gently squeezes. The comfort that rushes through your body is almost immediate.

The next two days are filled with planning. The kids are underground, and from the scans that Bucky was able to acquire, he counts there are about fifty kids. Less than what you thought, but it still makes your heart ache all the same. Only fifty made it to this point– there were countless others that were still in the lab, or died on those tables.

You would attend the auction, and have F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan each and every single guest to be sent back to base. When the time was right, each of them would be arrested and incarcerated. No one would be left without punishment here. 

The children would be rescued by you and other agents on standby outside the perimeter, waiting for your instructions to go in. They wouldn’t move unless they got the green light. No one wants to risk the bombs going off.

“Would you tell anyone if I killed Talbot?” you asked him the night before the auction. 

Since that night in the forest, the tension between the two of you had basically disappeared. Coupled with the fact that you two were speaking to each other, and eating every meal together– you were comfortable. It was scary how comfortable you got with him. 

You’d be lying if you said these two days weren’t filled with a strange tension. You were acutely aware of him. You always were, but this was different. You saw the way his eyes watched you, the way they scanned over your body slowly when you walked out of the bathroom after a shower. When you would look at him, and catch him staring– he wouldn’t look away. 

You noticed how his voice was softer now. More gentle. He wasn’t speaking down at you, but rather approaching you at a different angle. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t doing something to you. After him speaking to you in such an authoritative voice for so long, the quiet hush of his words brought a comfort to you that you didn’t know you would be able to feel with him. Then again– you were always at ease whenever you knew he was around. 

There were multiple times in the last couple days where the two of you brushed against each other. Whether or not it was a mistake or on purpose, it left goosebumps on your skin wherever he touched. 

Bucky took a long drink of his beer– one that you learned didn’t even do anything to him. He told you that he simply drank for the taste and nostalgia. The serum pumping through his veins made his metabolism burn through the alcohol.

“No,” he answered.

“You don’t think it makes me a bad person?” you press, tilting your head. Bucky snorts, shaking his head.

“If you’re a bad person, doll, then what am I?” he asks, rolling his eyes. You can only smile, then take your own drink of beer.

“Sweetheart. Doll. What else will you call me?” you ask, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Hate it?” he shoots right back, glancing at you.

“Not as much as you supposedly hate me,” you tease. He groans.

“Enough of that.” Bucky sighs deeply.

“You would say those nicknames with such malice, too,” you continue. “Really thought you were patronizing me or something.”

“My Ma’ would kill me if she ever heard I was talking to a lady like that,” he grunts, frowning.

“You’re a mama’s boy?” you ask, surprised.

“No,” he says, looking at you. “I had a little sister. I had to be a good example of what a gentleman was like. So, I treated women with respect and care– that way my sister had a nice foundation to use when she grew up and went out into the world to find herself a husband one day.”

You made a face. “I don’t think you respect me by calling me weak.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes as he admits defeat. “I had an awful way of trying to get you out of the line of fire. You’re a walking 51-50 waiting to happen.”

“I don’t think you should be the one talking right now,” you point out, fighting the smile that was threatening to grow on your face.

“Well. Takes crazy to know crazy.” Bucky shrugs without a care. There’s a smile playing on his lips as well. “I’m surprised they don’t have you in some sort of mandated therapy.”

“Unlike you, I didn’t commit war crimes against the entire world, so,” you remind him. You watch as he contemplates your words, then nods in agreement. “Therapy may be helpful though.”

“Nah,” he denies immediately. “Don’t do it. Well– maybe my therapist just sucked.” 

“Ever thought about getting an emotional support animal instead?” you suggest. “You’re good at taking care of people, so maybe having a little kitten around would be more healing than trying to talk out your feelings with a stranger.”

“Me? Taking care of people? You’re really good at jokes, you know that?”

“I mean, I can count all the civil conversations we’ve had on one hand, but after we’ve cleared our misunderstanding, I think you’re a pretty decent person. Besides that, you’re not the only one that can observe the other.”

Bucky let out a small laugh, and smiled down at his bottle. “I noticed. Except, you were always killing me in your head when you looked at me. I guess I can’t blame you.”

The air between the two of you was nice. Comfortable. Both of you were sitting on the couch together. On the coffee table were the plans and maps of the auction house, a reminder of what was the beginning of the end of this madness. Beside it were remnants of the Chinese food that Bucky had picked up in the city, once again proclaiming that the safehouse food was too shitty to consume. You quickly realized that he was lying to you. Bucky just wanted to feed you good food.

“Don’t get hurt tomorrow,” Bucky says, making you look back at him. He’s already looking at you. There’s something soft in his eyes when he says the words, almost pleading.

“You can get hurt tomorrow,” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood once more. “I’ll put you back to normal if you do.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I need you to steel your emotions tomorrow. There’s a chance we might not be able to save them all.”

“... I know,” you whisper, and nod once at him. 

“Don’t go trying to die in there either,” he warns. “I’ll yank you out of there before you can detonate with any fucking bomb.”

You crack a smile. “How romantic. Is this how you used to flirt with girls in the forties? Were you raised on the belief that boys who were mean to girls had a crush on them?”

“You’re not as dense as I thought,” he grunts.

“You’re not denying it, you know?" You raise an eyebrow at him then clarify, "That you hold a candle for me in your heart.”

“I’m not a liar, doll.”

“I get a free pass to throw you on the mat when we get back home. To make up for all the times you had me on my back,” you say, and down the rest of your beer. It’s a flimsy attempt to try and distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach. “Let’s call it the start of your courtship.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Just because I have the smallest crush on you doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you. I push you hard for your own safety.”

“Fine. I’ll just go back to avoiding and ignoring you when we get back,” you huff, turning away from him again. You can see him tense out of the corner of your eye. 

“One time,” he finally relents. “Just once.”

You grin and look at him. “Only a small crush?” you ask, tilting your head. Bucky stares at you for a few moments before clearing his throat and looking away. You swear there’s a slight tint of pink on his cheeks that you know cannot be blamed on the alcohol.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Can’t admit how much you like me, Barnes?” you ask, humming. “Should I text Nat and ask her how often you stare at me when I’m in the room?”

“Yeah?” Bucky sits up straighter. “I don’t recall you denying her question when she asked you whether you’re trying to decide if you wanna make out with me or fuck me.”

The grin is wiped off your face and transferred onto his. He looks smug now, enjoying your reaction.

“I hate assassins,” you whisper in disbelief. “You were listening? I thought you fucking left!”

“You were having an abnormally loud conversation,” he says with a shrug. “And if I’m not mistaken– you’ve also been quite mean to me. Seems that I’m not the only one with a crush. I might be the only one between the two of us to admit it, though.”

You could only stare at him, feeling your face warm. You could say it was the alcohol– something that he couldn’t do. Your pride was getting in the way again. There was something in his voice that irritated you to no end.

“I never not said it,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not a liar either, Sergeant.”

“Sergeant, huh?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you teasingly. 

You roll your eyes at him. “Shut the hell up, Barnes. I really could just go back to pretending you don’t exist. Maybe I’ll pick fights with you again. For fun this time, since I know how you feel.”

“Yeah? And how do I feel?”

“You like me. Romantically. Maybe you wanna kiss me as much as I do,” you challenged.

“Oh, sweetheart, I wanna do more than just kiss you,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Then why don’t you?” you ask, tilting your head. It’s his turn to pause, to stare at you. You know you’re daring him– pushing him now. And you’re waiting with bated breath to see if he pulls through. 

Part of you wonders if he actually does like you, or if you've been somehow misinterpreting his words this entire time. That was always the possibility. After all, it was only last week that you were cursing out the man into hell.

After a few more beats pass between you two without any movement, you let out a small huff and stand. You grab your plate and your empty bottle, heading towards the kitchen.

“Knew you were full of shit, Barnes,” you say, throwing the tease over your shoulder as you go to clean up your mess. 

You often forget how quiet Bucky is when he wants to be. You barely got the plate in the sink before he’s behind you— both hands on either side of your body, caging you in against the sink as he presses his chest to your back. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating against yours, the thump of his heartbeat. Then, his lips are near your ear.

“Would you let me?” 

His voice is barely above a whisper. If he wasn’t so close, you wouldn’t have heard him. You wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the husk of the words, the slight desperation behind it. You can only swallow before you nod once. A metal hand slides over your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.

“Gotta hear you say it,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder.

“Yes.”

A moment passes between you before his lips press against the side of your neck. You let out a sigh at the feel. It’s exactly like when he tended to your wounds– a ghost of a touch, barely brushing against your skin. Almost as if he’s afraid to hold you closer. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nod again, leaning into him. Bucky hums, and then he shifts a little. He moves your hair out of the way, and presses a soft kiss to the scar on the back of your neck. You tense slightly at the feeling, and he feels it. Immediately, he rubs circles into your waist with his fingers, trying to comfort you. You let out a shaky breath, and allow him a few more kisses at the sensitive spot before turning in his arms.

“All you’re gonna do is kiss my neck?” you ask quietly, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“If that’s all you want,” he replies, and you know he means it. He won't go any further if you tell him not to. You shake your head.

“No. Want more,” you tell him, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. He’s hesitating, and you can feel it. You decide to move forward, to close the remaining distance between the two of you.

His lips are soft, just as you thought they would be. They feel even better against your own. You give him one soft kiss, just to test the waters, but he comes back for another one. Bucky fully crowds your space, his flesh hand cupping your face as he tilts your head upwards to him, to make it easier for him to deepen the kiss. 

You sigh against him, relaxing in his embrace. He’s warm. This is the same warmth you felt in the forest, the same warmth he gave you when he wrapped your wounds. You were certain he would continue to wrap you in this warmth if you gave him the chance.

Bucky’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, just slightly, quietly asking for entry. You grant it, and meet his tongue with your own. He lets out a soft groan against your mouth, and the feel and sound of him sends shockwaves through your body. You want more of him– you want him closer to you. 

He seems to feel the same, both hands reaching to pull you upwards, easily taking you into his arms. Your legs rest on either side of him now, and your ankles lock behind his back to help hold yourself in place as he begins to move out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. 

All the while, he never stops kissing you. Your lips, your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. By the end of the night, you’re certain that there will no longer be a part of your body that Bucky has not claimed as his.

You’re gently laid down onto your back with such care it almost makes you want to cry. He hovers above you, a hand stopping just below the hem of your shirt. He’s touching your skin directly, but not moving any further. He’s pressing himself onto you, and you can feel his growing length against your thigh. You need more of him. You push on his chest, freeing yourself momentarily.

“Shit– I’m sorry–” he quickly scrambles to say, but you cut him off with the swift removal of your shirt. 

“Your turn,” you tell him, tugging on his t-shirt. His eyes trail over you, the exposed skin you graced him with, and he wets his lips before nodding wordlessly. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally speaks when he finds his words. You smile– Bucky’s a soldier through and through. 

After discarding his shirt somewhere behind him, he descends upon you once more. His hands are touching you again, this time without anything stopping him. The metal has already warmed up from its constant tracing of your body, from kneading your breast while his mouth takes hold of the opposite. You let out a needy whine, hands threading through his hair as you close your eyes.

He nips at your skin, making you jump briefly before looking back down at him.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he whispers to you. His eyes seem darker– pupils blown out and swallowing the steely blue eyes that you adore. The pure need all over his face makes you shudder, and your heart jumps in your chest again as you nod at him. 

You feel him before you see him. His hand trailing down to the waistband of your shorts, then dipping down and beneath the fabric. 

“Bucky,” you sigh as his fingers come into contact with your core. He’s ghosting again; simply spreading your slick over your folds to get a feel of your arousal. He lets out a soft moan, and swallows thickly.

“All this for me? I’m flattered,” he tells you with a small smirk.

“Bucky,” you say again, with more desperation. 

“I could probably slide right in without even doing anything to prepare you,” he continues, trailing kisses up your chest. “You want that? You want me to stretch you and fill you with my cock?”

Despite his words, he presses a single digit into your entrance. You let out a gasp, your hips bucking to meet his hand. Bucky coos in your ear, the heel of his palm pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves to stimulate it just a little as you grind against his hand.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, though relishing in the way he nips at the space just below your ear. 

“Need you to tell me you want me, doll,” he hums.

“Your hand is in my shorts, and you still need me to say it?” you ask, dumbfounded. 

“What’s with the sudden attitude?” Bucky clicks his tongue in disapproval, and a second finger joins in, making you moan. He hums, satisfied with your reaction. “I like you better when you’re like this.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers find a slow, lazy pace to thrust in and out of you.

“That’s the plan. Did you forget–” Bucky pulls out his fingers until only the tips are left inside, before slamming them hard inside of you. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, and you grab onto his arms for support. "-to keep your eyes on me?”

You comply because what else are you supposed to do? He has you under him, at his mercy, and you simply need more of him. Bucky can see it on your face, the way you’ll fall apart for him. He’s craving it.

“Good girl,” he whispers, humming with approval now.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you tell him, though your body is betraying your words. Bucky only smiles in response, and catches your lips with his own. His fingers leave you moments later, and you find yourself regretting your comment. You’re about to pull away, and take it back when he starts sliding both your shorts and underwear down your legs in one fluid motion. 

You didn’t even realize he had taken off his sweatpants earlier. 

“Not so annoying now, huh, sweetheart?” he chuckles against your lips.

“Can you shut the fuck up and fuck me?” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Bucky pulls away from you. You’re breathless, confused, and looking at him. He has his hands planted on either side of your head, and he’s staring at you. His face is suddenly serious. It makes your heart stutter with anxiety.

“This can’t be a one time thing,” he whispers, his jaw clenching. “If you don’t feel the same about me– I can’t do this.”

“Wouldn’t even let you touch me like this if I didn’t feel the same way,” you tell him, reaching to touch his face. Bucky lets out a breath, one of relief, as he leans into your touch. His eyes close as his head drops just slightly, like the weight of the world had just been lifted off of his shoulders. “You still need to let me throw you on the mat. Want you on your back.”

“You can have me on my back anytime you want, doll. Right now, you’re staying on yours,” he replies, and comes back down to you.

He’s warm. Extremely warm. His skin is on fire, but you’re not sure if that’s heat that’s radiating off of him or if it’s you. Either way, you feel like you’re about to explode when he finally presses into you. Bucky’s forehead presses against yours, mouth agape as he slowly stretches through your walls. 

“Tight,” he grunts, hands on your hips tightening, “so fuckin’ hot and wet– God, doll. You tryna kill me here?”

“Maybe,” you manage to answer him. You’re struggling as much as he is. The stretch is delicious. He’s just as long as he is girthy, and he really didn’t do much to prepare you earlier– but it makes it all the more pleasurable. 

He takes a few moments to breathe when he finally bottoms out, pelvis pressed right against yours before he sets the pace. It’s slow, calculated. He’s savoring every inch of you, not wanting to miss a single moment. It’s driving you insane in the best way possible. You can feel every vein in every thrust, every twitch and every jump of his cock as you clench around him.

Bucky never stops praising you throughout. 

“So pretty,” he says, eyes roaming all over your body as one hand lets go of your hip to begin to thumb at your clit. You gasp at the feeling– the contrast of tight, quick, small circles being rubbed against the slow and controlled movements of his hips. “So good for me.”

“Shit, Bucky,” you moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. He groans at the feeling, eyes closing briefly before he opens them and looks between you two– looks at the connecting point where one of you starts and the other ends. 

There’s nothing rough or hard about the moment. He doesn’t take you like a wild animal– he’s cradling you in his arms and holding you tight, letting you feel exactly what you do to him. You feel warm under his gaze. 

It’s only a matter of time before your release catches up to you, and threatens to shove you over the edge. Bucky can feel it– the fluttering of your walls and the way your body is beginning to tense under his. 

“There you go, doll,” he urges, panting. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body as he swallows, taking in the full sight of you. “Let go. Wanna see you fall apart under me.”

You can’t deny him what he asks you so nicely for. 

Moments after, Bucky follows you right off the same cliff. You feel his thrusts grow sloppier, hear his breaths go ragged, and then the warmth of his orgasm filling you completely full. 

He’s kissing you throughout the whole thing, continuing to sing your praises as he rides out his high before he pulls you into his arms with his cock softening inside you. You almost whimper at the feeling of him leaving you. 

Bucky’s hand is in your hair, massaging your scalp and the base of your skull as he holds you to his chest. You sigh into him, closing your eyes as you let his warmth once again wrap around you and keep you safe. 

“I like you,” you finally confess to him, your voice just barely above a whisper. Bucky lets out a laugh, the rumble of his chest comforting you as you listen.

“I figured,” he chuckles. “I like you, too.”

“Mhm. I know,” you say with a grin. Bucky shakes his head, but you’re certain that there’s a smile on his face.

“Rest up, sweetheart. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Your ears are ringing, and the world is spinning around you. You can’t see properly. Everything seems blurred for some reason. There’s two, maybe four of everything around you. In the distance, you can hear the sound of crackling and fire, and someone screaming out your name. You blink slowly, or at least you think you are. Time is moving at an unnatural speed.

All at once, everything comes crashing back to you, just as you are brought back to your feet, hands on your arms. Bucky is in front of you, a gash on his head with blood rushing down the side of his temple. Worry is painted all over his features, and you’re unsure why. He’s saying things to you, but you can’t understand him. You can’t hear him over the ringing. From the shape of his lips, it looks like he’s saying your name.

Bucky gets increasingly frustrated, but you do have to admit he still looks handsome even like this. There’s dirt and soot on him, along with sweat on his brow from how he must have been fighting his way down to you, down to the cells.

Fighting?

You gasp sharply as reality hits you once more, steadying yourself in his grasp. 

“You back with me, doll?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod quickly, and immediately regret the movement. You close your eyes tight, trying to will away the dizzy spell that comes over you.

“Fuck happened here?” Bucky whispers, looking around. “Where are the enhanced–”

Bucky cuts himself off, and looks back at you. Your jaw is clenched as you stare down at your feet. Your breath is ragged. You’re trembling in his arms. You’re injured in several areas, but you’re alive. That’s more than you can say for the fifty children that you came down here for.

“Where’s Talbot?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Apprehended,” Bucky answers. “He… mentioned another kill switch. I ran down here to try to warn you, but I heard the explosion...”

You laugh dryly, nodding. Just moments ago, the kids were crying to you. You were telling them you had the release on their necks– that they were free. They were safe now. One of them asked about the one in their hearts. Your blood ran cold, and you froze. You didn’t even have time to turn around and search. The first child exploded in front of your eyes, and the rest followed like a chain reaction.

“There was another one. In their chest. They put another fucking one.” 

“It’s not your fault, doll,” he whispers, and you shake your head. You don’t want to hear it right now. You can’t do this.

“We need to get out of here,” you say, changing the topic. “We’re several feet underground and that explosion definitely fucked up the infastructure. We’ll be buried if we don’t leave soon.”

Bucky doesn’t waste a second before scooping you in his arms, and sprinting to where he came from. You don’t fight him this time, either. Your body is protesting from just his movements alone as he carries you. There has to be a broken rib or two in your body, along with another fracture somewhere in your leg. You were too close to the explosion. Whether you like it or not, your enhancements wouldn’t let you die so easily. 

The lights above ground let you know the operation was a success, all things considered. The mastermind was taken in. Now, they would be able to go through his personal assets and find out where his labs were and put an end to everything. Maybe they would be able to free those children.

You don’t think you would ever be free of the faces of the kids that you saw down there.

You’re carried into the jet, and you vaguely hear Bucky say that your part of the mission is over with. The two of you would be heading home now– you both sustained injuries that require immediate attention. It’s only then that you snap out of your own head.

You look at him– really look at him. There’s more than just the blood on his head. There’s a bruise and cut on his cheek. His tactical gear is ripped and cut open in some places. There’s dark spots on his body that could or could not be his own blood. You see the slight limp in his walk when he finally sets you down in a seat. 

The two of you are in the air before you know it, a heavy silence between the two of you. Bucky’s across from you. His eyes are closed shut, head leaning back against the wall of the jet. You know what he’s thinking of, too. 

Then, you shift. You ignore the sharp pain in your body screaming at you, and you sit down next to him. He opens his eyes to look at you, questioning. Then, he sees it. The soft golden glow from under your palms, and the change of colors in your irises.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head as he tries to lower your hands. “Save your energy. Your injuries are a hell of a lot worse than mine.”

“Let me help someone tonight,” you whisper– no, you beg him. Bucky’s lips part, and he lets out a shaky breath before he relaxes in his seat. He doesn’t make a move to argue with you again.

You let your hands hover over his temples first, concentrating your powers on the gash on his head while also reaching for the rest of his body. You can see it. The broken rib, the fractured wrist, the sprained ankle. There’s multiple, deep cuts on his body from when he must’ve gone against several armed guards, and maybe a few older enhanced humans. 

Slowly but surely, each pathway to the injury closes off. You can see the stiffness in his body disappear, the crease in his forehead begin to smooth out as you take his pain away. You reverse the damage that had been done to him, and you save one person tonight.

When he opens his eyes, you watch as his face softens. He reaches for you now, hands cupping your face. His thumbs brush right under your eyes, wiping away tears that you didn’t know had fallen.

Just like that, you crumble and fall apart in his arms. He holds you tight on the way home, careful of the injuries that he isn’t sure you have, but keeps his hold strong to ground you all the same. He’s the only one listening as you wail in the jet, and no words pass between the two of you.

When you arrived at the base, there was already a gurney and team of medical staff waiting for your landing. Bucky carried you out of the jet, and laid you there, barking out orders to hurry up and get you examined. 

You spent a week in the medical ward. Dr. Cho was flown out from Seoul to take care of you, and get you back into shape as soon as possible. 

“It’s not what you can do, but it’s the next best thing,” she told you with a gentle smile.

In that same week, you denied all visitors to your room. You wanted to be alone. You got alerts from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that each of the team members had tried visiting at least once, but you didn’t allow access. Even to Bucky– who came by every single day. Sometimes, he came multiple times a day. It was only Fury who came in, the only person that you couldn’t just turn away without proper reason. 

“The labs have been found,” he informed you as you stared at the pristine white sheets you were under. “Another hundred kids were taken in, all under the age of twelve. All of them are alive, as they haven’t had the final stage of the experiments done to them yet. They’re in recovery in a safe location to rehabilitate.”

“And their parents?” you asked him, your voice small.

“We’re working on locating all of them,” Fury said. “Along with all the parents of the deceased.”

You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I want to quit.”

“Rejected,” he denied immediately. Your head snapped up to him, and he’s staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “Those kids need someone that understands what they have been through to teach them how to live. How to survive the shit they’ve been through.”

You pause, the words weighing in your mind. “I killed them, Fury,” you whispered, desperation in your voice. You feel like crying again. “I– I don’t even know how to survive the shit that I’ve been through!” 

“Give it some thought. If you really want to quit, come talk to me after you’re discharged,” he told you, then turned to leave.

You’re discharged within another week. In that same week, Tony bypasses the order you gave to F.R.I.D.A.Y. and storms into your room with a gown in hand. He’s throwing another party– one to celebrate you and Bucky’s successful mission and to gather donations for the rehabilitation center for the children.

You really tried to skip out of it, tell him that you weren’t interested in a party after everything that you’d been through. You even asked him if he read the mission report. 

“I did,” he said with a nod. “And all I can say is that I’ve fucked up, too. I have blood on my hands that I’ll never be able to wash away. You, me– all of us on this team. We’re all the same.”

“Tony, please,” you begged. “I can’t just go to a party after that.”

“Then, don’t think of it as a party for your honor,” Tony said, and hung the dress up across from your hospital bed. “Think of it as a distraction. One night to get away from the demons in your head, to enjoy yourself. You deserve a break, too.”

You couldn’t fight against him on that. Not when you realize that he was just trying to cheer you up in the only way that he knew how to. 

The party is the first time you see the rest of the team since your departure for the mission. Once again, no one asks questions. No one pries. You’re certain they all read the mission report, and they know why you requested for the time to be alone while you healed. 

The girls greeted you with a smile, Natasha immediately mixing you a drink of something fruity that was strong, but not strong enough to make you dull the ache in your chest as you watched the world continue to spin around you without you moving in it. 

“Barnes has been distracted these past two weeks,” Natasha says, bumping your hip with her as you stand at the bar in between her and Wanda. “He jumps at the mention of your name.”

“Just worried,” you say with a sigh.

“Sure, but he never was like that before. Did something happen while you two were out on the field?” Wanda grins at you. 

You want to smile at them. You really do. You want to indulge in the girl talk. You want to feel the embarrassment and shyness as you confess that you do have feelings for Bucky and that you both had acted upon those feelings, but you just can’t.

It was nothing against Bucky, or anything that he did. You don’t feel worthy of those feelings for him. The last two weeks of silence, of being in your own head– you realize that the words he used to spit at you with fire may have been more true than you wanted to admit.

You were a liability. You were too close to the mission. You were emotional and reckless– you didn’t double, triple check the situation. You wanted to be a hero, to save lives. At the end of it, you didn’t even walk out of there on your own two feet. 

You didn’t even succeed in your own mission– to save the hostages. He succeeded in his– to apprehend Talbot. He was right, at the end of the day. You knew he was. Even if he had already reassured you, whispered to you in your ear that he didn’t mean it like that, you were starting to believe there was someone out there that did. 

How could you face him now?

You excuse yourself, murmuring something about fresh air. You ignore the way both of the girls share a look with each other, and let your feet carry you out the door to the rooftop. 

You sat out on the terrace, watching the skyline. The compound was far away from the city, but you were still able to see the twinkling lights in the distance.

Here, you thought about everything. Your place. Your thoughts were taking a dangerous turn. You no longer felt worthy of this team. Of having these powers that could help people when nothing you did aided. You didn’t feel worthy of the feelings that Bucky had for you– the respect and care and worry that he secretly held all this time.

“Been waiting everyday at the gym for you to throw me, you know?” 

Just his voice alone was enough to melt away the self loathing that you threw yourself into. You looked over your shoulder, seeing him walk towards you, a hand in his pocket, a whiskey glass in the other. 

“Been drafting up my resignation letter,” you respond softly. “Don’t think we need to continue training anymore.”

Bucky comes up beside you, placing his glass beside yours on the ledge. He lets out a breath as he leans against the stone, and looks at you.

“I’m really not good at comforting people, doll. Can you help me out here?” he asks. He’s trying to make the tone light. Trying to cheer you up.

You give him a tight smile, and shake your head. “I couldn’t save them.”

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. My earpiece– it broke. Got knocked out. I couldn’t reach you fast enough. If I was more careful–”

“I should’ve done more research,” you cut him off. Bucky looks helpless at your words. “It was my mission. Not yours… And it will haunt me forever.”

Bucky lets out a deep breath through his nose, then wets his lips. Thinking. Then, he reaches for your hand, tugging on it. He’s pulling you away– bringing you somewhere else.

“What are you doing?” you ask. Your voice sounds tired. It doesn’t sound like you.

“I can’t make the nightmares go away,” he whispers, looking down briefly as he continues to lead you away from the edge of the terrace. “I can’t make it all stop hurting, but I was sent on that mission with you as your dance partner. We didn’t even dance. You're gonna let me fail at the mission given to me, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the laugh that exits your lips as he brings you to the middle of the rooftop. He smiles at the sound, and stops before you. He guides your hands onto his shoulders, then comfortably rests his on your waist.

“Just for right now, you and I can forget all the bad stuff,” he says.

“Is that really okay?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to meet his. He shrugs a little, and smiles more.

“They’re playing our song right now, doll. Can’t be sad when we’re together,” he tells you, and leads you in a dance. 

The music from inside is loud enough to carry outdoors, to where the two of you are. At this moment, you let Bucky take the lead. He holds you against him as you sway together, breaking away only for a moment so he can take your hand and spin you around like a princess in a movie. The action makes you giggle just a little bit, and you miss the soft look in his eyes as he watches you. 

You don’t know how much time has passed like this– with him. All you know is your head is against his chest, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. He’s humming along to the song as he leans his own head against yours. You can feel his heart beating, and distinctly realize yours is beating in the same time. 

“Stay here. Stay with me,” he finally speaks, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

You’re quiet for a few moments. The pain won’t go away in one night. Bucky isn’t claiming that he can make it disappear, either… but being in his arms dulls the ache in a way that you know that you can’t do by yourself.

“Will you complain if I go on a mission with you again?”

Bucky lets out a small laugh before lifting his head, pulling back to look at your face. A hand comes to cup your face. “How long will you be holding that against me?”

“Depends on how long you think we have together,” you respond, leaning into his touch. 

“Forever, then,” he confirms, smiling down at you before the familiar feel of his lips press against yours. 

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens **let me know if you would like to be added to a general bucky taglist for whenever i post a fic for him :)**

[vicmc624]

PLUS ONE PROBLEMS MASTERLIST

When your best friends demanded proof that your ‘perfect’ boyfriend wasn’t imaginary, there was clearly only one solution— fake a relationship with the grumpy-but-gorgeous neighbor across the hall. Bucky Barnes was many things: ex-assassin, world-class brooder, and definitely not your type. But when he needed a wedding date to avoid his meddling friends (the illustrious Sam Wilson), your mutually beneficial arrangement seemed to be foolproof.

The plan: fake smiles, strategic hand-holding, AND absolutely no falling in love.

The problem: Bucky was surprisingly soft beneath the gruff exterior, your friends were dangerously nosy, and it was hard to keep things just pretend when his smirk made your heart race.

Word count: approx 106k

Available on AO3

Shoutout to @scoonsalicious for your oh so valuable input on every part of this story. Couldn't have done it without you.

NO tag list for this one. Follow me on @skittles-archive for notifications.

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

MASTERLIST: (please expand for full list)

1. Wrong Foot Forward

2. Mission: Plus-One

3. Uninvited Guests

4. Promises Over Pie

5. Fake Dating 101

6. Snapshots and Sticky Notes

7. The Cat’s Approval

8. Paintball, Puns, and Plans

9. Operation Surprise Party

10. Under the Surface

11. Crossing Lines

12. Through the Alley

13. One Step Closer

14. A Wilson Welcome

15. Louisiana Lovin’

16. Beneath the Surface

17. The Weight of Silence

18. More Than an Act

18.5. Just us

19. No Going Back Now

20. Henna Hijinks

21. Mission: Matrimony

22. Shattered Illusions

23. Your Love is a Lie

24. The Space Between Us

25. Locked In or Locked Out

26. Forgiveness Comes Easily, Trust Does Not

27. The Hunger Games: Super Soldier Edition

28. Lost and Found

29. Words that Heal

30. Real, For Us

31. Wish Upon a Star

Epilogue: One Year Later

[vicmc624]

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 18 (final part)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterlist

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 3,068

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI

After a few hours of reading, you closed your book with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m bored. And hungry.”

Bucky just chuckled, closing his own book and looking over at you. “Alright. Where do you wanna go?”

You just hummed, then looked at him with a smile. “We should go somewhere nice. First official date as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “I know a place.”

He stood, grabbing your book from your lap, then reaching out his hand to help you up. You took it and stood, then laced your fingers with his as you made your way back to the car.

He opened the passenger door for you, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in, leaning back and tossing the books back into the bag in the back seat.

The drive wasn’t long, just about twenty minutes, with soft music playing on the radio and your fingers still laced with his over the center console. You tried to guess where he was taking you, throwing out random names of restaurants and diners around the city, but he just smirked and shook his head each time.

When he finally pulled up to a charming, warmly lit restaurant tucked on a quiet street corner, you let out a delighted little gasp.

“This is perfect,” you said, already reaching for your door handle.

“Ah, ah,” Bucky scolded playfully, immediately getting out and circling the car.

You just smiled, heart fluttering a little as he opened it for you and held out his hand. You took it gladly, stepping out, and as soon as you were on your feet, he gently tucked your hand into the crook of his arm.

“Such a gentleman,” you murmured, teasing.

He just smirked. “You bring it out of me.”

Inside, the hostess greeted you with a warm smile and led you to a cozy table near the back, the lighting soft and golden. Bucky pulled your chair out before you could even think to reach for it, then sat across from you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a fondness that made your cheeks warm.

You both scanned the menus for a few minutes before placing your orders, and once the waitress walked away, you both settled in comfortably, conversation flowing easily.

“You know,” you said, twirling your straw in your drink, “if you keep being this perfect, I might get used to it.”

Bucky grinned, leaning back in his seat, one arm resting over the back of the chair beside him. “That the worst thing that could happen?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Hmm…no. But it does raise the bar significantly for everyone else.”

He leaned forward a little, voice low and teasing. “Good. I don’t want anyone else to try.”

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh, but your smile lingered as you rested your chin on your hand. “You know, I like this. Just…us. Normal.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Me too, doll.”

The food arrived not long after, and the conversation shifted from mission stories and random Avengers chaos to childhood memories and bucket list dreams. You laughed so hard at one of Bucky’s sarcastic remarks about Sam that you nearly choked on your water, and he looked so pleased with himself it only made you laugh harder.

By the time the plates were cleared, you felt full – not just from the food, but from the warmth of the night, the comfort of Bucky’s presence, the soft kind of happiness that didn’t need to be loud to be real.

And when the waitress asked if you wanted dessert, Bucky looked at you and asked, “You want something sweet?”

You smiled. “I already got you.”

He groaned at the cheesiness, but he was grinning like a fool.

“Alright, now you’re just trying to kill me,” he said with a chuckle.

“Okay but seriously,” you said, looking at the waitress and raising an eyebrow, “what do you have.”

She laughed softly before handing you a dessert menu, telling you she’d give you a few minutes and stepping away.

Bucky clutched his chest as if you’d wounded him, eyes wide with mock betrayal.

“You actually do want something sweet?” he gasped.

You grinned, totally playing along. “I do. I can’t help it. I’m craving something rich and chocolatey.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. “Unbelievable. I give you my heart, and you throw me aside for dessert.”

You snorted. “Please, like you weren’t planning on stealing bites the second it shows up.”

He narrowed his eyes with a smirk. “Bold of you to assume I like sweet things.”

Before you could reply, the waitress returned, and Bucky turned on the charm like a switch. “She’ll have the chocolate lava cake, please.”

You rested your chin on your hand and smiled at him. “You know me so well.”

“I do my best,” he said with a wink.

When the dessert arrived, you practically lit up, grabbing a spoon and diving in with a satisfied hum. “Oh, this is so good.”

You held out a spoonful to him. “C’mon, just one bite.”

He leaned back slightly, shaking his head with a half-smile. “I’m not a big sweets guy.”

You froze mid-spoon lift, gasping dramatically. “Excuse me?”

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You don’t like sweets?” You blinked at him in mock horror. “So you don’t like me?”

His grin turned sly. “Oh, I like you plenty. I can handle some sweetness.” He leaned forward slightly, voice low and teasing. “I’m just saving my dessert for later.”

You paused, caught completely off guard by the heat in his tone. Your brain short-circuited for a second, your cheeks heating as your spoon hovered in midair. But then you laughed, biting your lip and shaking your head.

“Wow,” you said under your breath. “Did not see that one coming.”

But inside, your thoughts were far less composed. The words replayed in your head on a loop, and suddenly, your legs felt a little weaker under the table.

You finished the dessert with a flurry of shared smiles and lingering glances, and when the waitress brought the check, Bucky was already reaching for his wallet.

“I can–” you started, but he was already slipping a card onto the table.

He gave you a look. “I’ve got it.”

You shrugged, completely unbothered. “Good. Because I didn’t even bring my wallet.”

That got a real laugh out of him, head tilting back slightly. “Unbelievable.”

You just grinned smugly, pushing the empty plate toward the edge of the table. “What can I say? I like being spoiled.”

He leaned closer, lips curling into a soft smirk. “Good. I like spoiling you.”

And you couldn’t help it – your stomach flipped again, that light, happy flutter taking over your whole chest as you looked at him across the table.

The waitress came and took the check, then came back a moment later, setting it down with a smile. “All set. You two have a great night.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a nod as he stood, already moving around the table.

You started to push your chair back, but he was there before you could even touch it, gently sliding it out for you. You gave him a look as you stood, a smile tugging at your lips. “You really going for the perfect gentleman routine tonight, huh?”

He just offered his arm with a smirk. “Always, doll.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you toward the exit. He opened the restaurant door for you too, holding it until you stepped outside, then following close behind.

When you reached the car, he quickly jogged around to open the passenger door for you. “After you.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Careful, Barnes. If you keep this up, I might get used to it.”

He smirked. “Good. You should.”

The second you were buckled in, he shut your door and rounded the front to slide into the driver’s seat. He started the car, one hand on the wheel, the other settling comfortably on your thigh.

At first, it was casual – his thumb rubbing slow circles into your leggings. But then his hand started to drift. Just a little. Barely noticeable.

Except your stomach noticed. Immediately.

You glanced down, then shot him a look, grinning. “You know that’s illegal, right?”

He looked far too smug for someone who was definitely not watching the road as closely as he should’ve been. “What? My hand? It’s just resting.”

“Resting doesn’t involve slowly creeping up my thigh like that,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

His thumb moved just a little higher. “You sure? Feels pretty natural to me.”

You snorted, trying not to squirm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” he added casually, “if you didn’t want me touching you, you wouldn’t be wearing these leggings. They’re criminal, doll.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

“Completely,” he said without missing a beat. “You wear them, I suffer. It’s a crime against me, really.”

“Uh-huh.” You leaned your head back against the seat, trying to hide your smile – and how warm your skin was getting under his palm. “You’re laying it on thick tonight.”

“Can’t help it,” he said, flashing you a grin. “You looked too damn good crawling across that bed earlier. It’s burned into my brain now.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “You’re such a menace.”

He chuckled, voice low and rich. “You love it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Unfortunately.”

He laughed again, and you felt his hand squeeze your thigh gently – still wandering dangerously close to territory that was definitely not rated for a public highway. But his grin stayed playful, teasing, never crossing the line.

And the whole ride back, the two of you kept trading jokes and flirty banter, your laughter filling the car, the heat between you simmering quietly – the kind of warmth that promised more later, once you were back behind closed doors.

By the time you pulled up to the compound, your face hurt from smiling and your stomach still fluttered every time Bucky’s hand moved just a little higher on your thigh.

He parked the car and turned off the engine, glancing over at you with that same teasing smirk he’d worn all night. “You good?”

You raised a brow. “You mean aside from being relentlessly harassed in the passenger seat?”

“Harassed?” he scoffed, feigning offense. “That was gentle affection.”

You snorted. “Your definition of gentle needs some serious revision.”

He only grinned more, unbuckling and hopping out. You reached for your handle, but – of course – he beat you to it, opening your door with a flourish and offering his hand.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you said with a curtsy of your head as you stepped out.

He shut the door behind you and leaned in. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You walked side by side into the compound, your steps slow, a bit lazy from the comfortable buzz of good food, warmth, and the lingering tension still dancing between you. The building was quiet – most of the team already turned in for the night. The low hum of lights and soft echo of your footsteps filled the halls as you headed toward his room.

The second you turned the corner toward his hallway, Bucky’s hand found your waist and pulled you in closer, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. “Still sweet?”

You glanced up at him, meeting those blue eyes with a challenge. “Why? You planning on testing that theory?”

His grin was slow and dangerous, his hand tightening just slightly on your waist. “Maybe.”

“Well then,” you said, opening his door, stepping inside, and tugging him in by the front of his shirt, “let’s see.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and the second it did, Bucky was on you.

One hand stayed on your waist as his other came up and cupped your face as his lips met yours. His fingers slid back into your hair as the kiss deepened, and your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, your bodies pressing flush.

You walked backward blindly, lips never parting, until your legs hit the edge of the bed. His hands were everywhere – your waist, your back, skimming the hem of your sweater and slipping underneath. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his fingers on your skin, warm and a little rough, his touch reverent and searching.

He picked you up effortlessly, laying you down on the bed as he climbed on and hovered over top of you. He used his knee to part your legs, then settled in between them as he leaned back down to you.

His lips crashed into yours again, more urgent now. He pulled your sweater up and over your head, tossing it aside without even looking, then leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses down your neck, taking his time like he had nowhere else to be but with you.

You gasped when he reached a sensitive spot near your collarbone, your hands tightening in his shirt before you started pulling it up. His red henley joined your sweater on the floor, and your fingers traced over the defined lines of his chest, the contrast of soft skin and firm muscle beneath your palms making your stomach flip.

His hand slipped underneath your back, unhooking your bra, then pulling it off of you.

His eyes dragged over you with quiet reverence, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the center of your chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, lips brushing over your skin with every word. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You felt your cheeks flush, your breath catching as his kisses trailed lower – over your ribs, down your stomach – each one deliberate, slow, like he was savoring you.

“Still sweet?” he whispered again, his smirk returning as he glanced up at you, lips just above the waistband of your leggings.

You arched an eyebrow, challenging. “You tell me.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His fingers hooked into the band of your leggings, dragging them down achingly slow. “I plan on finding out,” he murmured, the heat in his voice sending a shiver through you. “Told you I was saving dessert for later.”

He kissed your hipbone, then lower, his voice rough with want as he added, “And I’ve been starving, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched again as he settled between your thighs, and then his mouth was on you – warm, purposeful, and utterly devastating.

You cried out, fingers threading through his hair, hips instinctively rolling toward him. He held you firm, one hand gripping your thigh as the other slid slowly up your side, grounding you.

“Mmm,” he hummed, wicked and pleased against your skin. “Knew it. Fucking sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You were already trembling, pleasure curling low in your belly, but that voice – his voice – was what unraveled you. He kept talking between kisses, every word more sinful than the last.

“Could spend all night right here, doll…tasting you, hearing those sounds…”

You whimpered, and he chuckled darkly. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Let go for me baby.”

It didn’t take long.

And when he finally pulled himself back up over you, his mouth found yours again – slow, deep, dizzying – and when you tasted yourself on his tongue, your whole body lit up all over again.

And for the rest of the night, he made good on every promise his voice had made.

--

The soft hum of the alarm drifted through the room just after sunrise.

You didn’t move.

You were still curled against Bucky’s chest, your leg draped over his, your body tangled with his beneath the sheets. His arms were wrapped around you, protective even in sleep, one hand resting over the curve of your waist like it belonged there.

You felt him stir before the alarm clicked off – his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, laced with sleep.

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes still closed, “no it’s not. It’s too early to be morning.”

He chuckled softly, and the sound rumbled through his chest against your cheek. “Fair point.”

You both lay there in the stillness for a while, no rush, no expectations. Just the warmth of the covers, the quiet hum of the compound beyond the walls, and the comfort of being exactly where you were supposed to be.

Eventually, you shifted just enough to look up at him. His hair was tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the soft look on his face when he met your gaze made your heart flutter.

“What?” you whispered, smiling.

He shook his head slightly. “Nothin’. Just…never thought I’d be waking up like this.”

You let your fingers drift lightly over his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your touch. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Kind of crazy how fast everything changed.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but he looked at you with that rare kind of softness that was reserved only for you.

You tucked your face back into the crook of his neck, breathing him in, and let your thoughts wander. It really was wild, how different everything felt now. How not long ago, he was the quiet, brooding guy in the corner, the one everyone called grumpy. The one who barely spoke to anyone.

And now?

Now he was the one who kept your toothbrush in his drawer. Who ordered your dessert without asking. Who kissed you like it was the only language he knew.

“Y’know,” you said softly, “you haven’t been that grumpy lately.”

He hummed, eyes closed again. “Don’t need to be. Not when I’ve got you.”

You felt your chest squeeze, your smile turning soft and full of something deeper.

“Guess the new girl fixed the grump,” you teased gently.

He smirked, eyes cracking open. “Nah. She just gave him something to smile about.”

You leaned up and kissed him, slow and sweet – no rush, no pressure. Just love. Real and full and steady.

And as the morning light spilled gently through the curtains, you stayed right there in his arms, knowing that this wasn’t the end of your story.

It was just the beginning.

--

Masterlist

Thank you guys so much for the love on this series!!!! I appreciate you all so much! I loved writing this, but I decided it was time to wrap it up...I have so much more in store for you all though!

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken @starfly-nicole @440mxs-wife @vicmc624 @lostinspace33 @prettylittlepluviophile @softpia @maryevm @glossy01 @ye-olde-trash-panda @bonnyclydecat @iyskgd @ohdrey89 @death-in-love @herejustforbuckybarnes @whitewolfluvr @violetpassionfruit @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @silas-aeiou @avengemepercy @starstruckfirecat @yehfitoormera @ifilwtmfc @navs-bhat @buckysgirl-12 @comfitchaotic @youknownothingjohnwatson @rnurse-kole

[vicmc624]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist (Completed)

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

Chap 1

Chap 2

Chap 3

Chap 4

Chap 5

Chap 6

Chap 7

Chap 8

Chap 9

Chap 10

Chap 11

Chap 12

Chap 13

Chap 14

Chap 15

Chap 16

Chap 17

Chap 18

Chap 19 - End

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

Link for Dad I Can't Let You Go

Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

[vicmc624]

Change of Plans

pairing: mafia boss!Bucky x reader

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, and abuse (not from bucky); bucky technically “kidnaps” reader; hurt/comfort

notes: i’ve actually never written an au piece like this before but someone requested a hurt/comfort piece with mafia!bucky and i wanted to give it a try!

summary: Bucky Barnes, notorious mafia boss and your fiancé’s biggest rival, decides to use you as leverage for a business deal. however, you soon find out the man is not what he seems

You sit at the empty counter of the diner and absently swirl your paper straw around the whipped cream that sits neatly on top of your milkshake. Other than the waitress who sits filing her nails at the register and the elderly couple nestled into a booth at the back of the restaurant you’re alone, but you like it this way. It’s rare you ever get a chance to set foot out in public like this without your fiancé or an escort of his choosing, but you’re grateful for the chance to finally breathe again.

The bells above the door jingle with the entrance of another patron, but you don’t bother to remove your tired eyes from the glass in front of you. You enjoy the sweetness of the shake and the dreamy love song that plays from the jukebox, but your muscles remain tight with tension despite your calm surroundings, something the man who seats himself next to you seems to notice.

“Long day?” His smooth voice prompts from beside you. A barely visible quirk of your lips follows his remark, and you subtly shift your gaze over to him. His features are kind, his eyes showcasing a genuine interest in your overwrought state while his smile signals his polite nature. He doesn’t seem threatening or overbearing like the men you tend to surround yourself with, and this makes it easier for you to open yourself up to the complete stranger.

“I just needed to escape for a little while,” you admit with a meager shrug, absently trailing your finger along the condensed glass.

“Are things that bad?”

“You could say that,” you huff humorlessly before taking a long sip of your shake. The man hums thoughtfully in response before reaching into his pocket and producing a wallet.

“In that case,” he says warmly while setting a ten dollar bill on the counter, “your shake’s on me.”

You stare at the man in bewilderment, unused to such acts of genuine kindness from complete strangers. Most people tend to stay clear of you, the people that occupy your home never so much as even sparing you a passing glance, and you find yourself speechless as you process the genuine joy you feel at finally being seen.

“Thank you,” you utter gratefully, swallowing down your emotions as you turn to look at the bill on the counter. “I-“

The glint of silver catches your eye and you freeze when you make note of the metal fingers that rest upon the dollar. Your horrified gaze slowly trails up his hand and along his bionic arm before meeting his innocent smile. Your blood feels like ice in your veins, stomach heavy with dread as you force yourself to swallow down the accumulation of nervous spit that had pooled in your mouth, and you suddenly find yourself wishing you hadn’t left the house alone.

“Judging by the look on your face I assume you know who I am and what I do for a living,” he says coolly, raising his hands in surrender to signal his innocence.

“I… I do,” you manage to get out despite the tremble of your voice.

“Good, that’s good. Saves us both some time.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” You whimper softly, bottom lip quivering in a way that tugs at the man’s heartstrings.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures you sweetly despite his intimidating aura. “Despite my line of work, I make it a point to treat all dames with respect. It’s how I was raised. That’s why I’m sitting here asking you nicely to come with me. I really don’t want to manhandle you or drug you or throw you into the back of a van like your meathead fiancé would. I want you to walk out of here with me feeling dignified and respected.”

Your mind is reeling from the contradictory nature of the man sitting before you. You’re not an idiot, you’ve heard the stories of Bucky Barnes and the things he’s done to get to the position he’s at now. You know he’s the leader of a rival gang here in New York, and you know he’s been at it with your fiancé for months over territories in the city and shady business deals that always seemed to fall through, and yet here he was behaving like the perfect gentleman.

“Does that sound good to you, y/n?” He presses gently, the sound of your name coming from his lips filling your stomach with dread. He flashes a charming grin that would have had you giggling like a school girl in different circumstances, but in this instance it only has you fearing what is to come.

Knowing you have no way out of the situation and that the best possible outcome for you has been thrown into your lap, you reply in defeat, “I’ll walk out of here with you.”

“Smart girl,” Bucky coos with a grin before standing up from the stool and offering his arm for you to take. You swallow nervously while slowly lowering yourself off the stool and locking your arm with his own, allowing him to guide you out of the diner and towards the black SUV that sits waiting for you both.

Your body trembles against his own, fingers digging tightly into the fabric of his expensive suit jacket the closer you get to the car. Your entire body feels like it’s moving on autopilot due to the fear coursing through your veins, and you don’t even try to put up a fight as he opens the rear door and helps you into the car.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re in good hands,” he assures you with complete sincerity. You merely sit in silence and watch him shut the door closed, leaving you alone with the thoughts that race through your head.

While most would assume your frightened nature to be the result of essentially being kidnapped by one of the most notorious mob bosses in New York, it wasn’t Bucky that had your entire being on edge. You didn’t fear him, and despite his reputation you trusted his word that no harm would come to you while in his care. In fact, Bucky was the least of your concerns.

What frightened you most was what your fiancé would do to you once you were returned to him and the consequences you would face for leaving the house on your own. You knew that you’d rather endure whatever Bucky had planned for you than be met with your soon-to-be husband’s wrath, and you didn’t look forward to what was to come. He’d be livid to know you’d willing let yourself be taken by his biggest opponent without so much as putting up a fight, and he’d take out the hit to his ego on you.

You were utterly screwed.

~~~

You arrive at a mansion hidden in the outskirts of New York about half an hour later. You aren’t given much time to enjoy the scenery as you’re rushed inside, but you note the luxurious front lawn and pristine water fountain that make the home appear much nicer than your own. You’ve never been one for wealth or material items, but you had to admit Bucky had excellent taste.

Your heels click along the marble tile as you’re guided down a hallway and towards an office nestled in the back. Bucky sits waiting for you in his leather chair, a blond man and redheaded woman standing intimidatingly at his sides. The door shuts softly behind you, and Bucky quietly signals for you to take a seat in the chair across from him. You swallow nervously before slowly sinking down into your seat, on edge for what is to come.

“What do you think?” He prompts with a subtle grin, gesturing to the space around him. It’s much bigger than your fiancé’s office and much nicer too, equipped with a fireplace and antique decor. It’s inviting and warm despite being owned by a notoriously cold blooded man.

“It’s… nice,” you answer truthfully. “I’ve never been in a mansion like this.”

“I’m glad you like it, because while you’re here with me I want you to think of this as your home. You’re free to walk around and explore or to enjoy the gardens and the pool as you please.”

You’re stunned by his admission, definitely unused to such hospitality from mob men like Bucky. Your own fiancé didn’t even treat you so kindly, and your own home came with restrictions and a total loss of your autonomy. You felt guilty for being almost grateful at the fact that Bucky has decided to take you in, but you remind yourself that it isn’t permanent, and he’s only doing this to achieve a much larger goal at hand.

“The only rule is you can’t leave the grounds, and while I want to trust you’ll keep your word, I’ll still have to keep eyes on you at all times just in case you start getting antsy. Sound fair?”

“That’s fair,” you answer truthfully despite your underlying distrust. Surely this must be some sort of trick or cruel joke he’s playing on you, his hospitality a facade to catch you off guard, but so far he’s kept to his every word.

“I’m glad you see it that way,” he exhales while sinking back into his seat. “I don’t exactly enjoying holding you hostage like this, but your stupid fiancé left me no choice. Rumlow hasn’t been taking my threats seriously, so I figured kidnapping his girl might finally catch his attention.”

The mere mention of his name fills your entire body with dread, but you’re quickly able to mask the feeling with practiced ease. Every bad thing that’s happened to you since your engagement has been because of him, but you know that when all is said and done this little incident will be blamed on you. You hate him, but you’ve been conditioned to keep such things to yourself, so you only offer Bucky a quiet nod and keep your eyes glued to the ground like you normally do in the presence of mafia men.

“If there’s anything you need you let me know, and if you can’t find me you can ask Steve or Natasha,” he says while gesturing to the two beside him. “They’re my best workers which means I trust them with my life and yours. In the meantime, I’ve got work to do, so Natasha will show you to your room.”

“Thank you,” you utter meekly before rising from your seat, chancing a glance at the man across from you. His eyes are still full of kindness like they’d been at the diner, and you find your stomach flipping at the mere sight of his careful smile. You feel like you should be more afraid, you shouldn’t be so willing to be this man’s prisoner, but you can’t find it in you to care.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be taken care of here with me,” Bucky assures you with a wink before signaling for Natasha to show you out.

You keep your gaze low as you follow the woman down the hallway and up the stairs, too intimidated by her to speak yet too curious to resist casting a look her way. You’re startled to find she’s already looking at you, a small smirk forming on her lips at your jumpiness.

“He means it, you know,” her smooth voice says while taking careful steps up the stairway. “He won’t hurt you, and we’ve been given strict orders to look after you.”

“So you’re one of his workers too?” You ask in astonishment. Rumlow never hired women to work for him, and he never so much as dared make business deals with them either. She chuckles.

“It’s like he told you- Bucky treats all dames with respect,” she notes fondly, reaching the top of the steps and turning a corner down another hallway. “We’re all equals here, including you.”

“How long will I be here?”

“That depends on Rumlow. Your fiancé won’t keep off our territory and owes Bucky a hefty amount of money. He also doesn’t like people taking his property, which is why you’re here. He always brags about you during business meetings, so Steve suggested you might be a good motivator for him to fall in line.”

You try your best not to let show the hurt her words bring, especially because she means no harm, but it’s degrading to hear yourself referred to as property. Though, you suppose it’s true considering he owns you and your autonomy as a result of your engagement, and you know that once you’re married you’ll never be free to be your own person ever again. This thought sits with you long after Natasha shows you to your room and leaves you to your own devices.

You find yourself unable to sleep for most of the night.

~~~

You’re awoken the next morning by a maid knocking on your door to inform you of Bucky’s request that you join him for breakfast. She leaves you a dress reminiscent of the ones you have in your own closet back at home, displaying Bucky’s excellent attention to detail when it comes to business. It seems he’d planned this out much more in depth than you’d thought, and you’re not sure whether this detail should be taken as a comfort.

You make yourself presentable and slip into the dress with ease before making your descent down the stairs and towards the dining room. The house is awfully quiet despite the morning hour, but you appreciate the stillness. Brock can be loud and overbearing, and his henchmen aren’t any better, so you enjoy the change of scenery.

Bucky sits at the head of the table when you finally peek your head in, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other as he passes the time until your arrival. An appetizing breakfast spread fills the table, immediately prompting your stomach to growl loudly. Your last meal had been the shake at the diner, so it’s safe to say you haven’t exactly eaten proper food in some time.

“Good morning,” you greet timidly to alert him of your presence, seating yourself across from him while he quickly sets his paper aside with a smile.

“Good morning,” Bucky responds pleasantly, his sole attention now on you. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept okay… all things considered.”

“I can understand that,” he hums thoughtfully before gesturing to the food laid out on the table. “I had the kitchen staff prepare a little bit of everything so help yourself. What’s mine is yours.”

“Thank you,” you murmur sincerely. An awkward silence settles in the room as you begin to fill your plate with fruit, Bucky simply watching your every move much to your discomfort.

“I knew that dress would suit you,” he compliments in an attempt to break the silence. You flash him a meek smile but say nothing as you pop a strawberry into your mouth. “It looks good. Although, I’m thinking I should have gotten one with longer sleeves to cover that hand shaped spot on your arm there.”

His words have you freezing in place, eyes widening in dismay as he brings your attention to the ugly bruise that paints the skin of your arm purple and blue. You quickly slap a hand against the mark to hide it in vain, prompting Bucky to let out a sigh. You watch the clenching of his jaw while he sits back further in his chair, brows furrowing together in dismay as he tries to piece together his next sentence carefully in his head.

“Rumlow do that?” He asks, though you don’t have to answer considering the look of shame and fear on your face seems to answer for you. You offer him a single nod, prompting a scoff of disbelief to leave him. “Fucking scum.”

“I’m used to it now,” you defend pathetically, head lowering in shame and eyes glassy with tears that threaten to fall. “It’s just how he is.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” he grumbles to your dismay. Sensing your discomfort, Bucky immediately softens his features and tone. “It’s not you I’m mad at, y/n. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that a brute like him found a girl like you for a wife. You don’t seem like the mafia type- you’re too trusting, too sweet.”

“That’s because I’m not,” you admit with a humorless laugh, sniffing away your tears before finally willing yourself to meet his gaze. You don’t know why a man you’ve only known for a day is able to get you to open up so easily to him, but at this point you can’t find it in you to care. “I never wanted any of this.”

“How’d you get mixed up in all of this?” Bucky presses gently, not wanting to force you to talk in fear of making you uncomfortable.

“My father owed a debt to Brock, and he paid it back with me. I never had a choice, and I gave up fighting it once I realized it would only make things worse for me. Accepting that this is just the way things are now makes it easier to survive.”

A look of quiet astonishment settles on Bucky’s features as if he hadn’t expected that answer, and you quickly revert your eyes back to your plate of food to avoid his sympathetic gaze. You don’t like talking about your impending marriage or the fate your father had forced upon you, but Bucky has a way of making you talk without inhibition. You almost hate it, but you haven’t been able to have a real conversation with anyone in over a year, so you have to admit it feels nice to finally have someone who listens to you.

“What about you?” You ask to change the subject and remove some of the attention off of you. “You don’t seem like the mob type either. How’d a man like you end up in this business?”

A nostalgic smile spreads across his lips as he shifts in his seat and begins to reminisce on his younger years. “Steve and I grew up in the slums. Crime and violence were rampant in our neighborhood, but corrupt politicians decided to pocket the resources meant to help us fix our home. Once we realized no one was going to do their job, we decided to do it for them. I don’t particularly enjoy the more violent aspects of the mob, but it’s a necessary evil if I want to get anything done.”

It’s your turn now to be stunned by his response. Most men like Rumlow join the mafia for the money or the notoriety; they join gangs for power and personal gain. But not Bucky. The more you learn about this man the more alluring he becomes, and the facade of the cold blooded killer people paint him out to be quickly fades the more time you spend with him.

You want to ask more questions, to spend hours getting to know more about the infamous Bucky Barnes, but your breakfast is cut short by the arrival of Steve who politely apologizes to you for the disruption.

“Something’s come up,” he alerts Bucky with a knowing look, “we need to go.”

“Great,” Bucky mutters before rising from his seat and flashing you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to cut breakfast short, doll. I’ll make sure the chefs cook us something nice for dinner, alright?”

“Actually, would it be okay if I made dinner?” You ask timidly, catching both men by surprise. “There isn’t much to do here, and I’d like to repay you for breakfast.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky agrees with a fond grin, “whatever you want. I won’t be long.”

You watch the two men hastily exit the room, leaving you once more to your own devices in a dining room that suddenly feels much too big for you. You find yourself glancing down at the purple mark on your arm, gently running your fingers along its surface with a sigh before returning your gaze to the now empty chair in front of you.

Why couldn’t your father have promised you to a man like Bucky instead?

~~~

You’re in the middle of chopping vegetables when you hear a commotion coming from the front door. The sounds of yelling and muffled cursing fills your ears, prompting you to carefully set down your knife and slowly make your way towards the living room.

A trail of blood stains the marble tile floors as Natasha drags Bucky into the home while Steve barks orders to the other men. Despite the chaos, Bucky looks oddly calm and only mildly annoyed at the disruption. His eyes meet your worried ones when he catches sight of you lingering in the doorway, and he signals for Natasha to pause her steps.

“Y/n, honey, just stay put, okay? I’ll be down for dinner in a minute,” he instructs cooly despite the blood that slowly oozes out of his torso.

“I can help,” you insist gently, earning a distrusting look from Natasha. When neither of them respond to your proposition, you continue, “I know how to clean up a wound like that. I do it all the time for Brock, and I can do it for you if you’ll let me.”

After a moment of hesitation, Bucky finally gives you a nod. “The first aid kit is in the bottom cabinet of the bathroom down the hall.”

You quickly scurry off in search of the kit, following Bucky’s directions and grabbing the case full of medical supplies. After double checking it holds everything you need, you promptly make your way back to Bucky. The once tumultuous living room is now silent save for the man’s heavy breathing, and you find him waiting for you on the couch. Your stomach suddenly finds itself full of nerves as you approach him, but you do your best to remain calm as you seat yourself beside him.

“What kind of wound is it?” You ask while slipping on the medical gloves from the kit.

“Stab wound,” he grits through clenched teeth while shrugging off his suit jacket. “Didn’t see the bastard coming.”

You hum softly while sterilizing your tools and preparing the disinfectant, your movements immediately faltering when you look up to find his shirt completely unbuttoned. You can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes you at the sight of his perfectly sculpted muscles and the sheen of sweat that coats them, your stomach fluttering nervously as you carefully begin to wipe away the blood and disinfect the wound.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” you state aloud in an effort to distract yourself. “I’ve seen much worse.”

“How’d you learn to do all this?”

“Another mob wife taught me,” you explain with a faint smile that fails to reach your eyes. “She was the only person to show me kindness when I became a part of Brock’s world. Taught me everything I’d need to know to survive.”

A pensive silence fills the room, the air filled only with the steady breaths that fall from Bucky’s lips as you delicately stitch the wound closed. Your brows scrunch with concentration, tongue darting out from the corner of your lips without you realizing, and the sight tugs at Bucky’s heartstrings. It’s no shock to anyone that you’re beautiful, the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid eyes on even, but you’re also gentle, kind, and too sweet to ever be mixed up with someone like Rumlow. Bucky knew better than to get attached to people, especially when it came to business, but he couldn’t help it when it came to you. You hadn’t been here for long, but already he’d grown fond of you and your soft nature that heavily contrasted the brutality of his life.

“I’ll have to change the bandages before you go to bed,” you murmur absently after finishing your work. “Did you still want dinner? I can heat it up for you.”

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” Bucky reminds you with a careful smile. “You’re a guest here, I should be taking care of you.”

“I don’t mind,” you insist with a shrug, “anything to help the man that’s treated me with nothing but respect since I got here.”

Bucky says nothing, but the careful brush of his metal fingers against your jaw is enough to signal his gratitude. Your lashes flutter shut in content almost immediately, all inhibitions thrown out the window as you enjoy the intimacy of being here with him alone.

“I’m going to get changed then come back down for dinner. Sound good, doll?”

“Yes, Bucky,” you chime softly, casting him a fond smile while he pulls himself up off the couch and makes his way up the stairs towards his bedroom. In the meantime, you clean up the mess and do your best to get the blood stains out of the couch before washing your hands of the remaining grime.

While Bucky changes, you reheat the dinner you’d prepared in his absence and set the table. It’s oddly domestic, and though this is a routine you’ve completed hundreds of times before for Rumlow, this is the first time you’ve ever felt at peace doing so. You remind yourself not to get too used to being here, that Bucky isn’t your fiancé, but it only serves to fill you with dread at the thought of having to return to reality.

He returns ten minutes later in a Henley and pair of sweats, and you try not to take notice of the way his biceps nearly bulge through the seams. You say nothing as you set his plate down at the table before seating yourself beside him in favor of your normal place across the table. If he takes notice he says nothing, only moving to take a bite of his dinner after a grueling day of work.

“You’re an angel,” he express gratefully, and though you try to wave him off with a bashful shake of your head he insists, “I mean it. You’ve brought a light to this place I never thought was possible. It’s been nice having you here, though I wish the circumstances were different.”

“Me too,” you profess quietly despite keeping your eyes glued to your plate of dinner. Bucky looks upon your features for a moment, taking in the details of your face while silently working up the nerve to make a confession.

“I have a meeting tomorrow,” he utters abruptly, catching your attention and prompting you to look up from your plate. “It’s with Rumlow.”

Bucky’s statement has you feeling overcome with an immediate sense of dread. Your heart begins to beat rapidly in your chest, and you try to control the shakiness of your hand as you stab your fork into your vegetables.

“You do?” You murmur quietly, an obvious edge to your tone.

“He’s asked to meet so we can discuss the conditions of your return. He wants you home.”

Your ears begin to ring. Your body feels unbearably hot with panic and your eyes immediately begin to pool with tears. You don’t want to go back to him, and you don’t want to leave Bucky. Maybe he had technically kidnapped you, but you never once felt like a prisoner here with him. In fact, you felt the freest you’d ever been in his mansion than back at home with your own fiancé. You knew what was waiting for you with Rumlow, and you didn’t think you could bear it.

“I suppose it was a matter of time,” you state calmly despite the trembling of your bottom lip. Bucky nods silently in agreement, though his brows furrow in contemplation as he leans back in his chair and grasps his chin with his finger.

“The thing is,” Bucky begins with a defeated sigh, “I don’t think I will be returning you.”

You nearly drop your fork in response to his words, your eyes widening in shock as you look to him in search of any signs of humor or sarcasm. Instead, you are met with a face full of sincerity. Not once has Bucky ever teased you or lied to you during your stay with him, and this time is no different.

“You… you mean it?” You ask with a hopeful glint in your eye.

“What kind of monster would I be to send you back with him? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that. I won’t stand for you to marry someone who knocks you around and treats you with disrespect. I don’t have all the details worked out just yet, but I want you to trust that I’m going to help you get your freedom back. Can you trust me, y/n?”

“Yes, oh, thank you, Bucky!” you exclaim gratefully, unable to help the tears that begin to fall down your face. You’re overcome with emotion at the mere notion of finally being free from your impending marriage, and you have no words to express how thankful you are for him.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he coos while gently cupping your face in his hands and wiping away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Everything’s going to be okay. I swear to you I’ll make it all better.”

You sniffle, letting out a watery laugh when he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. You’re the happiest you’ve been in ages, full of hope and light you thought had long since been extinguished.

And it’s all thanks to Bucky.

~~~

You’re restless.

You can’t help yourself from pacing around Bucky’s office as the minutes slowly drag by. He’s been gone for two hours now and you’re starting to worry.

“You’re going to tire yourself out like that,” Sam comments after looking up from his book to watch you frantically move around the room. Bucky has entrusted the man to look after you in his absence in case Rumlow has any ideas about snatching you while he’s away. So far the mansion has been quiet, but it only serves to unsettle you further.

“Shouldn’t he be back by now? What if something’s happened?” You press urgently only for Sam to shut his book with a sigh and gesture for you to take a seat. You do so reluctantly, but your body is relieved to have ceased its constant movement.

“Bucky knows what he’s doing,” he reassures you as best as he can. “Plus, he’s a man of his word. He promised you your freedom from Rumlow so that’s what he’s going to do.”

Sam’s words are enough to quell your anxious state for now, but it doesn’t stop your mind from spinning with all the different possible outcomes that could result from this meeting. You want to be free of your engagement more than anything, but you’d hate for that to come at the cost of Bucky’s life.

After what feels like ages a knock finally sounds at the door. You nearly jump out of your chair from the startle it gives you, and Sam is quick to rise from his seat and draw his gun. The room becomes deathly silent as you both watch the door slowly creak open, but standing in the doorway is only a disheveled Bucky. His right cheek sports a fresh bruise, and blood that is not his own stains his clothes. He looks to Sam and gives him a single nod, prompting the man to make his exit so that only the two of you remain in the office.

You watch with bated breath as the man slowly walks towards you, his hulking frame towering over your own as he gently takes your hands in his. He looks exhausted, but he still manages to offer you a gentle smile as he raises your knuckles to his lips and presses a gentle kiss upon them.

“I took care of him,” he finally says, immediately alleviating you of all tension and worry. “You’re free.”

Your bottom lip quivers despite the smile you wear while you fight to hold back tears of joy, and without a second thought you throw your arms around Bucky in a bone crushing hug that he’s quick to return. His metal hand finds its place on the small of your back while the other delicately cradles the back of your head. You don’t care about the blood that stains his clothes or the metallic scent that he emits: you’re forever indebted to your savior, and you want him to know just how much you appreciate what he’s done for you.

“You can stay with me for now until things calm down and we find you a place-“ Bucky begins to say, but his words fall upon deaf ears as you crash your lips onto his own in a passionate kiss. You can’t think of any other way to express how happy you are, and judging by the way he immediately pulls you flush against him to return the kiss, he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

His lips move tenderly against your own while his arms wrap around your frame in the most impassioned kiss you’ve ever received. All inhibitions have been thrown out the window, but neither can find it in you to care. From the moment you met him you knew Bucky was a different man from the rest- a smart, respectful man who fully cared about your wellbeing despite hardly knowing you. In return, you’d given him unwavering kindness and tender care he once thought would never be attainable. Your story wasn’t conventional by any means, but neither were the two of you, and together you were perfect.

Embraced in the passionate arms of your protector, you think you’ve finally found the place where you belong.

~~~

You wake to the feeling of his lips gently trailing along your bare shoulder. You let out a quiet hum and stretch yourself awake before meeting the eyes of your lover. His face sports a sleepy smile as he continues to trail kisses along your arm and up to your neck.

“Good morning,” you utter pleasantly, entangling your bare limbs with his own from beneath the sheets.

“Sorry for waking you,” Bucky utters apologetically while pressing his lips against your temple. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“I don’t mind,” you assure him with a careful smile, tucking your head beneath his chin to enjoy his warmth and bask in his natural scent. His arms come to tenderly wrap around your figure and pull you in closer, and you wonder if you’ll be able to find it in yourself to get out of bed today.

It’s been three months since Rumlow’s death and the disbandment of the Cross Bones mafia. Bucky now fully controls the territories in New York, and you think it’s better this way. Crime has been at an all time low, the streets are cleaner, and life is peaceful.

Though you can come and go as you please and have all the freedom in the world now, you still call Bucky’s mansion home. It was clear the two of you had formed an instantaneous connection that couldn’t be broken, and neither of you could bear to be separated. You were given your own room and had all of your belonging moved in, and though you wanted to take it slow, it wasn’t long before you migrated into Bucky’s bedroom.

You immediately solidified your place in his life as his shining light and motivation to get out of bed in the morning. Everything he did was for you now, for your future and the life you planned to build together. This was it, and Bucky was happy to have a new sense of purpose once more.

“Why don’t we go into town today?” He suggests, voice still hoarse with sleep. “We can visit that antique store you’ve been eyeing.”

“You mean it?” You gasp, looking up to find any hint of insincerity in his features. Instead, he merely smiles and presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Anything for my girl,” he avows earnestly before pulling you closer for a kiss.

Your new life with Bucky is perfect, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[vicmc624]

Super Soldier Support Group Masterlist

Summary : Sam Wilson starts a Support Group for Super Soldiers. You and Bucky sit next to each other during the sessions.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings/tags : Slow Burn. Trauma. Just a bunch of Super Soldiers who really wanna get better :) 

Notes : Hi all! I wrote 11 chapters of this. Each chapter is a different support group session talking about adjusting to the modern world as a super soldier, while Bucky develops a crush on you. All the chapters have been written and drafted, so I will post updates to this semi-frequently. let me know if you want to be tagged in this, or added to the General Bucky Taglist. Enjoy!

COMPLETED

Session One 

Session Two

Session Three

Session Four 

Session Five

Session Six

Session Seven

Session Eight 

Session Nine

Session Ten

Session Eleven

[vicmc624]

Days, Weeks, Months, Years MASTERLIST

Warnings: SMUT in the earlier chapters. VIOLENCE in the later chapters.

One ~ The introduction.

Two ~ The team meets Valentina.

Three ~ Natasha gives you her two cents.

Four ~ Bucky gives you an update.

Five ~ Tony, of course, throws a party.

Six ~ Bucky tries to talk to you.

Seven ~ A new mission is brought to the team's attention.

Eight ~ The mission.

Nine ~ Bucky finally talks to you.

Ten ~ The conclusion.

[vicmc624]

Simplify

Summary : Bucky falls in love with his best friend's ex-girlfriend.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : You're Sam's ex. Cursing, CA:BNW spoilers. Fluff!!!! Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Sexual references, sexual themes, and implied sex, though no overly graphic descriptions. Break-up grief.

Word count : 12.9k

Note : Whooo I definitely went overboard with this. Will respond to comments soon! Enjoy!

The first time you met Sam Wilson, you were in your early twenties, freshly heartbroken, and three shots deep in a hole-in-the-wall bar just outside D.C. He was a little bit older, maybe in his late twenties, cocky in a way that was still charming.

You had no idea who he was going to be back then— he told you he was a pararescueman, not a superhero in the making. To you, he was just a guy who slid into the seat next to yours and made you laugh so hard you forgot why you were upset in the first place.  

“You look like you just got stood up,” he had said to you that night.

You glanced up at him. “I wasn’t,” you corrected, taking a sip of your drink. “Just… broken up with.”

“Damn, that’s even worse,” he said, chuckling. “Guess you wouldn’t mind some company, then?”

You shrugged. “Depends. You a creep?”

“Nah,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m Sam. Air Force. And a gentleman, despite what my sister says.”

So you introduced yourself to him.

It started casual between you. Late-night texts, stolen weekends when he was not in a war zone. Sam wanted someone to fool around with in between deployments, and you had this fucked-up military fantasy that he fulfilled. You became friends with benefits, sharing nights in tangled sheets and lazy mornings where neither of you bothered to define whatever this was. You were young, reckless, and Sam had the kind of charm that made it easy to keep things short-sighted.

And then, one day, he stopped texting.  

Not in a cruel way. Life just… happened.  The deployments got longer, life got busier, and you had to move away to take a job. No hard feelings, it was just time pulling you both in different directions.   

—

Years later, after the whole Flag Smashers mess, Sam found you again. It was pure coincidence—he ran into you at a coffee shop in D.C., and the moment your eyes met, it was like no time had passed.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sam said, smiling as he approached your table.

You looked up, startled. “Sam?”

“In the flesh,” he said, arms outstretched like he was waiting for a hug. “Wow, you look good.”

You laughed, standing up to hug him. “And you look... exactly the same.”

“I age like fine wine, sweetheart.” He pulled back, winking. “What are you even doing here?”

“Living,” you teased. “I moved back a while ago. What about you? You flying around saving the world now, Cap?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look modest. “Something like that.”

That coffee turned into lunch, which turned into dinner, which turned into you waking up in his bed the next morning, except this time, things weren’t just casual fun. Sam wanted more.

“You know I’m not just passing through this time, right?” he murmured against your bare shoulder, tracing patterns on your skin.

And before you knew it, you weren’t just someone he called when he was in town— you were his girlfriend.

—

A couple of months later, Sam took you by the hand and said, “Okay, you gotta meet my boy. He’s a softie, you’re gonna love him.”

“Who, Joaquin?” you teased.

“Nah, not Torres. My other best friend.”

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Bucky Barnes in a small cafe, nursing a cup of coffee while Sam rambled about something you weren’t really paying attention to. 

See, Bucky was exactly as advertised. Standoffish at first, eyes studying you like he was assessing a threat. But the thing about Bucky was that even if he didn’t talk much, he listened. And once he realised you weren’t just Sam’s temporary fling, he started to warm up.  

From that moment on, it was easy.

You and Bucky clicked in a way that surprised you both. He was quiet, but you could get him to laugh. You teased each other, shared inside jokes, and—much to Sam’s delight—became friends faster than either of you expected.

“You two are like… my proudest achievement,” Sam said one night, slinging an arm around both of you as you sat on the dock behind his house. “My best friend and my girl? Getting along? Life is great.”

You leaned into Sam’s side, content. You glanced at Bucky as Sam rambled on about how great this all was. And for a second, you let yourself admit it— Bucky was handsome.

Not in the same way Sam was, not in the way that made you dizzy with laughter. No, Bucky’s was different. It was something you would never—never—act on.

Right?

Over time, Bucky watched you and Sam together, and saw the way Sam beamed every time you saw each other. He could see how much you cared about each other.

But Bucky also saw the cracks.

The way your smile faltered when Sam’s phone rang. How Sam never hesitated before answering. How you always waited. 

Bucky had seen it before. Sam’s heart belonged to the job. It always had.

But it wasn’t Bucky’s place to say anything.

—

Two years later, things weren’t bad between you and Sam. Not exactly.

But they weren’t good, either.

Sam had spent the last two years becoming Captain America— taking on mission after mission, rebuilding trust with the government, working with Joaquin, training, speeches, outreach programs, meetings. 

Always something.

And you understood. You knew who Sam was before you got involved with him. You knew what being with him meant.

But lately, it felt like you weren’t his girlfriend so much as his afterthought.

It was little things at first.

He’d cancel dinner plans last minute because Joaquin needed him at the base. He’d text you not to wait up because a job he couldn't refuse came up. He’d say he was exhausted when you finally got time together, and then turn around and fly across the country at a moment’s notice.

The worst part was you didn’t even think he realised he was doing it.

So, you didn’t say anything—  not at first.

The night it all came to a head, you were sitting at a restaurant alone, your fingers tracing patterns on the linen tablecloth. 

Sam was supposed to be here. It was your anniversary.

Then, you heard a notification. 

Your boyfriend texted you: Something important came up. Rain check?

That was it. No apology. No phone call. 

Were you not something important to him?

You should’ve seen it coming, but it didn’t make it sting any less.

You scrolled through your contacts, wondering if anyone would be available for a rant. 

Bucky. He was your friend, too, right?

So you texted him: are you free tonight?

Not a minute later, he answered: Yeah. Sam told me something came up. You okay?

You stared at the message for a second too long. 

A few minutes later, you called. Bucky answered on the second ring.

“You still at the restaurant?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you admitted. “But I think I’m heading home.”

“I’ll meet you at yours,” he said, and you didn’t argue.

—

By the time Bucky arrived at your place, you had already changed into sweats and wiped off your makeup. You looked tired. Almost…  defeated.

Bucky sighed, setting down a bag of takeout. “Figured you didn’t eat,” he said.

You gave him a small smile. “You figured right.”

He sat down next to you on the couch, cracking open a takeout container. “So. You wanna talk about it?”

You let out a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say that I haven’t already said to myself a hundred times before.”

“Try me,” Bucky said, handing you a fork.

You poked at the food, hungry but not really having the energy to eat. “I just… I feel like I come second. Like, if it’s between me and the job, it's always going to be the job.”

Bucky was silent for a moment. Then, he said carefully, “And is that something you can live with?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean, it’s not Sam’s fault that he puts the job first, that’s just who he is,” Bucky said, watching you closely. “But if he’s not willing to compromise, then maybe his values are… not suited to you.”

Your throat tightened. “I care about him, Bucky.”

“I know,” Bucky said, gently. “But do you see a future like this?”

You didn’t answer.

And Bucky didn’t push. He just stayed with you, eating in silence, ignoring his phone when it buzzed. Sam’s name lit up on the screen, probably to ask him to check on you.

And he ignored it. Because you had called first.

—

You didn’t sleep.

The hours bled together, stretching endlessly as you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the too-quiet nothingness.

Sam wasn’t here— not that he usually was.

Maybe that’s why this hurt so much. You had already felt alone for so long.

The sun had barely risen when you sent Sam a text.

Can I come over? I need to talk to you.

His response came an hour later. 

Sure, sweetheart.

When you walked through Sam’s door, he looked tired— his uniform still slung across the kitchen table, his hair slightly damp from a shower, like he’d come straight from a mission. Like always.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as you sat down in the kitchen. “Sorry about last night. I know I messed up, I just—”

“Sam.”

Your voice wasn’t malicious by any means, but it stopped him in his tracks anyway.

Slowly, he turned to face you. His eyes scanned your face. He sighed as he sat down, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

Here goes nothing. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His expression didn't change right away. It was like his brain refused to register the words. Then, after trying to process, his brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly. “What?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I love you, Sam.” Your voice cracked at the mention of his name, and that made his entire body go still. “I do. But I can’t keep coming second to everything else in your life.”

He blinked, thoughts shifting behind his eyes. “Come on, that’s not fair—”

“But it is.” Your voice was firmer now, more desperate. “It’s fair, Sam. Because I get it. I get why you put the job first. I get that the world needs you. I get that you’re Captain America.” Your throat tightened. “But I need you, too.”

For a second, there was only silence. Sam’s muscles flexed. He looked away for a moment, inhaling through his nose. “I’m here now.”

“No,” you whispered. “You’re here today. But what about next time? And the time after that?” Your voice wavered, hands starting to tremble now. “How many more anniversaries are we going to rain check?”

Sam didn’t answer. Because you both already knew the answer.

Your chest ached with dull pain. You felt like you were holding onto sand, the last of it slipping through your fingers.

And fuck. Fuck. He wasn’t even fighting for you.

He should’ve said, Stay. Please, stay.

He should’ve said, I’ll do better.

But he didn’t. Because those were promises he just couldn’t keep. 

So you reached for his hand instead, threading your fingers through his fingers like you had so many times before. 

For two years he had been your safe place. Your home.

“I will always care about you,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Sam shook his head, looking down on your clasped hands, his fingers tightening around yours like he could hold you here forever if he just gripped hard enough.

“Then why are you leaving?” he asked, barely above a whisper. 

Your heart shattered. “Because I care about myself, too.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, finally, you leaned in… and kissed him.

It was slow and painful. The kind of kiss that felt more like a gunshot. The kind of kiss that left a wound behind, that dug into your ribs like a knife and twisted around in your flesh. You kissed him like you wanted to memorise him one last time— how he felt, how he breathed, how he tasted.

He tasted like salt and sweat and regret. Like the past. Like he was already slipping away.

Sam kissed you back— just once. Like if he just kissed you hard enough, maybe you’d change your mind.

But you didn’t.

So you pulled away.

And Sam let you go.

You turned toward the door, pausing only once to glance back.

He was sitting there, looking at you like he wanted to stop you, but he didn’t know how.

But he didn’t say anything.

So you left.

—

That night, Sam called Bucky.

“Meet me at the gym,” was all he said.

Bucky didn’t ask why. He just went.

When he arrived, Sam was already wrapping his hands, his movements more rigid and mechanical than usual, like he was just itching to hit something.

Bucky grabbed his own wraps and joined him. They didn’t start with words nor questions. They sparred in silence for a long time, fists landing against pads, grunts filling the space where words should’ve been.

Then, finally, Sam stepped back, rolling his shoulders.

“She broke up with me,” he finally said.

Bucky already knew that. Or at least, he suspected. He had watched you cry last night as Sam ditched your anniversary dinner for a mission, but hearing Sam say it out loud… That made it real.

“I’m sorry,” was all Bucky had to offer. 

Sam let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Man, I—” His voice broke.

And suddenly, he wasn’t okay.

Bucky’s stomach dropped.

Because Sam Wilson—Captain America—was crying.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. His sobs came in choked breaths, his hands on his hips, his head dropping forward.

Bucky had never seen him like this. Ever.

“…Shit,” Bucky muttered, pulling off his gloves. He hesitated, then stepped closer. “Sam—”

Sam wiped his face, shaking his head. “I knew,” he said, voice open like a fresh wound. “I think I knew this would happen. I knew I wasn’t giving her… enough. I just—I thought I had time to fix everything.”

Bucky swallowed hard, and repeated. “I’m sorry, man.”

Sam let out a shaky breath, blinking up at the ceiling. 

“I got a mission coming up,” he said. “Couple of weeks.” His voice was quieter now, like he hated the words coming out of his mouth, because this had proved you right— that the mission will always come first. He finally looked at Bucky with red eyes. “Can you just… make sure she’s not alone?”

Bucky hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam nodded too, like he already knew Bucky would say yes. 

You were his friend, too. 

And then, without another word, Sam threw his fists back up.

And Bucky let him punch the grief out of his body.

—

The next day, he found himself on your doorstep.

And Bucky didn’t knock.

He just let himself into your apartment, the way he always did when Sam asked him to check on you. But this time, Sam wasn’t your boyfriend anymore.

The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn, the television playing some random sitcom you weren’t even paying attention to. You were curled up on the couch, buried under a blanket, staring at the screen but not really seeing it.

You looked… tired. Worn down, the way people got when they spent too much time wanting something they couldn’t have.

Bucky sighed, setting yet another takeout bag down on the coffee table before sitting beside you. Close, but not too close that it felt claustrophobic. 

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than usual.

You blinked, slowly turning your head to look at him. But you didn’t respond.

Bucky nudged your foot lightly with his knee. “C’mon. Say something. At least yell at me for letting myself in.”

You said nothing. Perhaps because you felt nothing— numb and hollow, because you just broke it off with the man you loved.

You had been Captain America’s girlfriend for two years. You have occupied that space, and he had filled in so much of your life, that you don’t even know what made you special if you weren’t tied to his whole Stars and Stripes career.

Bucky, perhaps, knew a little of what that felt like. 

He frowned, leaning forward. “You miss him.” It was an observation. 

Your breath hitched, and just like that— you broke.

A choked sob clawed its way out of your throat. You pressed the sleeve of your sweatshirt to your mouth like you could somehow shove it back down, like you could hold it in if you just tried hard enough.

But you couldn’t.

Tears spilled over, your shoulders trembling, and you turned away from him. You didn’t want him to see.

Bucky could only lean back against the couch. He didn’t tell you not to cry. He didn’t tell you Sam wasn’t worth it. He didn’t say it was going to be okay.

And when you finally stopped pretending he wasn’t there and pressed your forehead against his shoulders, he didn’t hesitate putting his arm around you.

Bucky held on to you until you stopped shaking. Until your breathing evened out, until the tears slowed down. 

Eventually, you spoke. “I-it’s only been a day,” you choked out, “a-and I already miss him.”

Bucky sighed. “I know.”

You exhaled shakily. “I miss everything. I miss how he always made me feel safe. I miss how he would bring me coffee in the mornings he was available and complain about how mine was too sweet. I miss how he always smelled like clean laundry and aftershave. I miss how he laughed at his own jokes— God, his dumb fuckin’ bird jokes.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “They were terrible.”

“They were,” you whispered. “But I loved them anyway.”

A comfortable silence stretched between you, letting your thoughts settle. 

Then, softly, you said, “I miss the way he used to look at me like I was his whole world.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He had seen that look. Had seen Sam look at you like you were everything.

But he had also seen the way it faded. The way he took your presence for granted.

And now Sam was not your boyfriend anymore, and you were here, sitting beside his best friend instead.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “You’ll be okay.”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t feel okay.”

He nodded. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you will be.”

You didn’t argue. You just sat there, leaning into him.

—

It became a habit. He’d visit every other day. 

The third time Bucky checked on you, you didn’t let him leave. Not really. 

You weren’t okay, and he could see it in the way you hesitated when he got up, the way your eyes darted toward the door like you were already dreading being alone again.

So he sighed and said, “I’ll crash on the couch.”

You’d say “thank you” and hand him a pillow and a blanket before retreating to your bedroom.

That was the first night. Then the second.

And then, without really thinking about it, Bucky just… stayed every once in a while. 

He spent his nights on the couch, spent his mornings making coffee in your kitchen, spent his afternoons convincing you to leave the apartment to do small things to keep you from going insane. Sometimes, he offered a walk. Maybe a visit to the  bookstore. Or a late-night grocery run because he laughed and said he couldn’t eat another one of your sad freezer meals.

Little by little, you started getting back on your feet.

Until one night, you saw Sam on TV.

You had just started feeling normal again—had started breathing without it hurting, had started waking up without reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

And then there he was.

The news anchor was talking about Captain America, but all you saw was Sam. He was at a podium, addressing the country about a recent mission. He looked strong, like he always did. He looked… whole.

And God, if it made you selfish… but it hurt that he wasn’t shattered, that he hadn’t fallen apart the way you had.

That he didn’t seem like he was missing you at all. 

You weren’t sure when the tears started again.

Bucky walked in just as you swiped at your face. His eyes flicked from the TV to you.

Oh.

Sam looked.. fine on screen. But Bucky knew his best friend. And his best friend hid his emotions well when he wanted to.

“You’re not okay,” he muttered.

You let out a huff. “You think?”

He tilted his head, watching you for a second before stepping in to turn off the TV.  “So, what’s the verdict? You planning on crying yourself into dehydration, or is this just a one-night special?”

You shot him a glare. “You have the emotional depth of a teaspoon.”

“That’s not true,” he said, faking offense. “I’m at least a ladle.”

You huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was amused enough. 

Bucky took that as a win.

“Listen,” he continued, plopping down onto your couch like he lived there (He practically did at this point), “I’m heading out of town for a couple of weeks. Campaign stuff.”

Ah, right. Congress. Everyone said he had a real shot. An honest man in politics— you knew Capitol Hill could use a guy like him.

He stretched his arms behind his head, shooting you a glance. “And, uh… clearly, you can’t be left alone for two seconds without turning into a wet puddle—”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“—so, I’m just gonna extend the offer.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“To events,” he clarified. “Speeches. Dinners. Awkward meet-and-greets with people who pretend to care about the public’s welfare.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds awful.”

“Right? Misery loves company.” He chuckled. “And clearly, you could use an excuse to get out of the house. And I might need you to hold me back from punching a lobbyist.”

You frowned. “So, what, I’m your emotional support human now?”

“I mean.” He shrugged. “I seem to be yours right now.”

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it with a kindgrin.

“I just figured…” He hesitated, the playful edge in his voice smoothed out by sympathy. “Instead of sitting here, waiting for things to get better, you could go out and use my campaign circus as a distraction.”

You stared at him.

Sam would’ve left you behind.

Sam would’ve told you to “take care of yourself,” give you a kiss, and assumed you’d be fine.

But Bucky…

Bucky was asking you to come with him.

Because maybe this wasn’t just about you being alone. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone, either.

Your throat tightened. “Okay.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Yeah?”

You swallowed, nodded. “Yeah.”

He nodded, rocking back slightly like he hadn’t expected you to actually agree. Then, because he was Bucky Barnes, he just shrugged.

“Cool. Pack something nice.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” he stood up and stretched, “if I gotta suffer through these events, I’d rather not do it with someone in smelly sweatpants.”

You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “Are you insulting my loungewear?”

“Not insulting. Just… you’ve been wearing those for five days.”

You hurled yet another pillow at him. He caught it easily, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“But these are comfy.”

He groaned, heading for the door. “Fine. Stay here. Cry over Sam.”

You laughed, catching his sleeve before he could escape. “I’ll pack something nice.”

He paused to look at you.

Then, quieter than ever before, he said, “okay.”

You weren’t sure why that made your stomach flip.

Or why you let yourself watch him walk away, just a little longer than necessary.

And you definitely weren’t sure why, when you finally dragged yourself to your room to pack, you found yourself reaching for something really nice.

Something you knew would make Bucky look twice.

Not that you cared.

Obviously.

It was just… strategic. For the campaign.

That was all.

Right?

—

When you showed up at the airport the next day, Bucky told himself he was just doing Sam a favour.

That was all this was.

He was keeping you company, making sure you weren’t alone, just like Sam had asked.

It wasn’t because he liked having you around.

It wasn’t because he liked the way you smiled at him.

It wasn’t because you made him feel more human that he had even been. 

It wasn’t any of that.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

—

Campaign life was a whirlwind. Speeches, press conferences, stiff handshakes with people who smiled too wide and cared too little.

Bucky took it all in stride. He gritted his teeth and smiled through the fake pleasantries, rolled his eyes at the bullshit, and kept himself calm when answering the same three questions a hundred times.

You, however, were just trying to survive.

“You didn’t tell me there’d be this much small talk,” you whispered at one of the evening fundraisers, swirling the champagne in your glass as you stood beside him in a too-shiny ballroom.

“I figured you’d figure it out,” Bucky said, scanning the crowd. “Besides, you like talking.”

“Not this kind of talking,” you grumbled.

And it was easy—easier than it should’ve been—to fall into step with him. To stay by his side during conversations. To steal each other’s untouched hors d'oeuvres when no one was looking. To sit beside him in the car after a long day, both of you half-asleep, Bucky rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, stretching his legs out with a tired groan that you definitely didn’t stare at.

And somewhere in between the speeches and the late-night drives and the endless political nonsense, he became the person you talked to about everything.

And, yes, that included Sam.

“I mean, I get it,” you sighed one evening, your shoes discarded on his hotel couch. “I get why things didn’t work out. I do.”

Bucky nodded, sitting beside you, his tie loose, his jacket ohh. “Mhm.”

“And I get that he’s this whole… larger-than-life thing now.” You exhaled, stretching your legs across the couch in his hotel room. “But it’s like—he thought of me like I was a footnote.”

Bucky was silent for a moment. “Trust me,” he told you, “You were never a footnote to him.”

You scoffed. “Sure feels like it.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not saying Sam’s not an idiot—”

You rolled your eyes. “Good start.”

“—but I need you to know he didn’t mean to hurt you,” Bucky said. “He’s just… Sam. He doesn’t always see things the way other people do.”

You rolled your eyes. “You always defend him.”

“Because I know him,” Bucky said simply. 

—

Somehow, you got more… involved in his campaign.

When he muttered, “I fucking hate this paperwork,” and you just laughed, took the folder from him, and organised it yourself.

The next morning, after you restructured his entire PR strategy, Bucky stared at you in horror. “I’m gonna have to hire you.”

You scoffed, flipping through notes. “Bucky, no. This is just a favour for a friend.”

Yeah. A favour.

A friend.

You both kept pretending that’s all it was.

That’s all you were. 

—

It had been two months since you walked out of Sam’s apartment. Two months since you had kissed him one last time. 

You were sitting on your hotel bed, curled up in one of Bucky’s campaign sweatshirts—because apparently, there was merch now—scrolling mindlessly on your phone when the screen lit up with a name you hadn’t seen in weeks.

Sam.

Your stomach didn’t drop the way you expected it to.

You hesitated for half a second before answering.

“Hey.”

There was a pause. 

“Hey.”

His voice was steady. A little too steady, like he was putting conscious effort into making sure it stayed that way.

You weren’t sure what to say.

And maybe he wasn’t either, because for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

“How are you?” He finally asked. 

You blinked. That was not what you expected.

“I’m…” You thought about it. “I’m okay.”

You could hear him processing that.

“You are?” His voice was careful, as if he didn’t believe you.

You shifted against the pillows. “Yeah. I mean—don’t get me wrong, I was a mess for a while.” You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “But, y’know. Time, distractions. That kinda thing.”

“Distractions?” He echoed.

You hummed. “Bucky’s been dragging me around on his campaign. Keeping me busy. Making sure I don’t, I don’t know, waste away in my apartment or something.”

Something changed in Sam’s breath. It wasn’t loud, nor was it obvious. But you knew him.

“…You’re travelling with Bucky?”

You frowned slightly. “I mean, yeah. It’s not—” You hesitated. “It’s not a big deal.”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal.

And yet, on the other end of the line, Sam was gripping the edge of his kitchen counter, staring at the floor, trying to ignore the splintering feeling in his chest.

Because he had been so sure you were still drowning without him.

Had convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, you were just as wrecked as he was.

But here you were, saying you were okay.

That Bucky—his best friend—was the one making sure you were okay. Sure, he had asked him to, but he didn’t realise the lengths he would go to just to make sure you weren’t lonely. 

And now, Sam was suddenly, completely, unbearably aware of the fact that he wasn’t okay.

“That’s good,” he finally said, “I’m—I’m glad.”

For the first time, you heard a break in his voice. 

It should’ve made you angry— should’ve made you want to throw his own actions back in his face. You left me no choice, Sam. 

But instead, you just felt… tired. Because it was too late for both of you.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Me too.”

Sam cleared his throat. “When are you back home?”

You glanced at your calendar, thumb hovering over the screen. “Two weeks. Tuesday.”

“Oh.” His tone was unreadable. “Well… call me then. I want to pick up my stuff from your place.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of seeing him again. “You have a spare key, Sam. Just use it.” You still trusted him— of course you did. That had never been the issue. 

Sam let out a deep breath, like he was tiptoeing around glass. “I know. I just… I wanted to do it in person.”

Oh.

Your fingers curled against your palm. “Okay.” The word felt insignificant, but what else was there to say? Sam would come over. He’d gather his things. You’d stand in the doorway, hands tucked into your sleeves, watching as he took the last of himself out of your space.

Or maybe… he had something to say. Maybe he needed an excuse to see you again. 

“Take care of yourself, Sam,” you said finally, gentler this time. “I better not see you outside the hotel room window, throwing hands with another rage monster.” You joked, because maybe, you wanted to make sure this didn’t become awkward. You wanted to make sure that even if you weren’t his, he would always be your friend.

“Yeah,” he chuckled in a whisper. “You too.”

And so, even when the call ended and the silence settled back in, you didn’t feel like crying.

On the other side of the country, Sam put his phone down, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and wished, for the first time, that he had done things differently.

—

You knocked on Bucky’s hotel room door.

“Hey.” He said when he answered voice was a little rough from disuse— maybe he’d been winding down for the night. He was in a Henley and sweatpants, barefoot, hair in a bun a little messier than usual. 

You sucked in a breath, needing to just…  talk. “Sam called.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. Just stepped aside to let you in.

You sank onto the edge of his bed, arms wrapping around yourself. He sat across from you in the chair by the window, forearms resting on his knees.

“I think we needed to hear each other’s voices again,” you admitted. 

Bucky nodded, waiting for more.

You shook your head. “And I think… I think he really did care about me.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. “But he was always looking at the next thing. The next fight. The next problem to fix. And I— never felt like I could share my problems.”

“You know…,” Bucky started, “The break up wasn’t your fault.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why did it feel like it?”

Bucky inhaled sharply, like he’d given this a lot of thought. “Because it wasn’t his fault either,” he said simply. “You just wanted different things.”

You licked your lips, but you saw it— that look in his eyes— a certainty, as if he had been sitting on this for years.

You narrowed your eyes. “You knew it was never gonna work between me and Sam, didn’t you?”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Your heart ached. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t my place.”

You studied him. “But you knew.”

“I knew Sam,” he admitted. “And I got to know you. You needed more than he could give.”

“And what was that?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, hands nervously twitching. “He did love you.” His voice was quiet. He felt like he needed to preface that. “But I think… I don’t think love was enough.” He considered. “I think you… wanted time with him. I think you wanted attention.”

You closed your eyes briefly, nodding. You knew that. You had always known that— that Sam’s attention was always on the good of all mankind. 

“Bucky, I—” You stopped mid-sentence.

Because suddenly, the realisation hit you.

Time. Attention.

The things you’d never gotten from Sam.

Bucky had stayed. He had been there, making sure you got out of bed, making sure you were okay, pulling you along on this campaign, keeping you close.

And suddenly, you were seeing it—him—differently.

“Those are the things you’re giving me now,” you whispered. 

Bucky gulped.

His teeth clicked. His fingers curled against his thighs. His eyes didn’t move from yours.

Neither of you said anything for a moment, but the silence wasn’t empty. It reminded you of every moment you’d spent together the past few weeks. The banter. The  glances. The way you gravitated toward each other in a crowded room without even thinking about it.

“You should go to bed,” Bucky finally muttered. His voice was low, a little uneven. Fuck, was he scared. You were getting too close to the truth, to how he’s always felt about you. 

“Yeah.” You agreed but didn’t move. Neither did he.

His fingers twitched. Your breath hitched.

“This is—” He groaned like something inside him snapped, dragging a hand down his face. “This is so stupid.”

You swallowed. “I know.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“I know.”

“And you’re…” He trailed off, shaking his head, eyes flicking down to where your trousers met his sheets. You should’ve moved. You should have gone. You should’ve this should’ve that. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

Bucky’s fingers curled, gripping the edge of his chair like he needed to ground himself. 

“This… this is nothing, right?” you said, and you said it like a warning. You were trying to convince yourself to believe.

His jaw was tight, his throat bobbing. So quietly you almost missed it, he whispered, “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Like what?”

His fingers curled against his thighs. “Like I’m your next mistake.”

A heat bloomed in your chest— something that felt too much like frustration, like a want that you had denied, that had been simmering under the surface for weeks and was finally clawing its way out.

Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, your hands fisting against your lap. “You could never be a mistake.”

Bucky flinched. 

And the way his shoulders stiffened made it seem like he didn’t believe you, because of course he didn’t.

Of course he thought this was wrong.

Of course he thought he wasn’t allowed to want this. Want you. 

Bucky’s breath was shallow. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something—like he wanted something.

And then—

“Fuck it.”

His chair scraped back. His fingers found your wrist.

And then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate.

Sam kissed like a promise. Bucky kissed like he was drowning and begging for air. 

His hands were firm but hesitant, gripping your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you— like he was waiting for you to push him away.

You didn’t. Instead, you were pressing closer, fingers fisting in his shirt, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, gasping when his hand trailed up your spine, leaving a burning trail of in its wake.

You had only broken up with Sam two months ago. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered against your lips, exhaling hard, like he was trying to catch his breath. His forehead pressed against yours, his grip on your waist tightening like he was afraid to let go. “We shouldn’t—”

You swallowed. “I know.”

“Then why does it feel like I’ll fucking die if I stop?” His voice was ragged. This was killing him.

You closed the gap and kissed him again, because kissing Bucky was addicting. 

Sam had always kissed you slowly, held you like you were fragile.

Bucky?

Bucky kissed you like the wild thing he was. Like he had been starving for you.

His hands were firm, his mouth rough against your skin, his hips moving like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed this, like he needed you to survive.

He gripped your waist, mouth moving against yours, the way he groaned when your fingers tangled in his hair—God, you couldn’t stop.

He sighed when you moaned against his lips. He gripped your thighs hard, dragging you closer, deeper, until there was nothing left between you but heat and aching want. Soon, your back was against the mattress, your clothes discarded. 

His weight pressed you into the sheets, his lips dragging down your throat, hot and desperate. His stubble scraped your skin, sending sparks of heat curling in your stomach.

Sam used to be careful. Always controlled, always measured.

Bucky was not.

His hands were everywhere. Rough, needy. His metal fingers traced over your ribs, cool against skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your throat. His breathing was ragged. “If you want me to stop, just—”

You didn’t.

You grabbed his face, dragging him back to your mouth to taste him— and he tasted sweet. He tasted like your future.

His name slipped from your lips like a prayer, and when he finally sank into you, you shattered.

Sam was always slow. Always careful, murmuring praises against your skin, pressing feather-light kisses to your collarbone.

Bucky was none of those things.

He buried himself in you, his forehead pressing against yours. He felt so good, so full, so much— it was overwhelming.

And fuck, he looked at you like you were a vice he wasn’t supposed to have, but took you anyway.

Sam used to say your name, pressing kisses to your jaw. Bucky grunted your name like a prayer, like he was losing himself.

And you wanted him to.

You wanted him to lose himself in you.

Because right now, you weren’t thinking about Sam.

Right now, you weren’t second place to a job. 

And when you finally broke apart beneath him, gasping, trembling, falling apart at the seams—

Bucky followed right after.

—

Bucky was a light sleeper. After years of war, of Hydra—his body never let him sleep too deeply.

Which was why, when his phone buzzed on the nightstand, his eyes snapped open instantly.

His arm was still wrapped around you, your bare skin pressed against his. You were still asleep, your breathing soft, lips slightly parted.

Fuck.

His chest tightened, guilt gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

He carefully reached for his phone, trying not to wake you, and when he saw the caller ID—

Sam.

Fuck.

He answered anyway. “Hey.”

“Hey, man.” Sam’s voice was too kind, like he was trying to mask something else. “Uh, thanks for keeping an eye on my girl—” he stopped in his tracks, before letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “I mean… well. Not my girl anymore. Just—uh, I didn’t expect you to bring her with you.”

Bucky glanced down at you. What was he doing? What was he supposed to say? 

“She was in no place to be alone in D.C.,” he replied. “I did what I had to.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Yeah, I get that.”

Then, Sam said something so soft Bucky almost didn’t hear it.

“Do you think there’s a chance she might want me back?”

Bucky closed his eyes. 

No. No, no no. Sam couldn’t still love you that way, right?

He swallowed hard. “Sam… you… this…” He exhaled. “You know how this ends.”

Then, he heard a longer sigh.

“Right.” Sam’s voice was strained. “You’re right.”

Bucky stayed silent, listening as Sam shifted on the other end of the line.

“I’d just hurt her again,” Sam murmured, almost to himself. “Wouldn’t I?”

Bucky’s throat tightened. “Hm.”

“I don’t want that,” Sam admitted. His voice was stripped back. “I don’t want to do that to her again.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “Guess we should just be friends.”

Bucky swallowed. “Hm.”

Sam was quiet for a long time, before saying, “Take care of her, alright?”

Bucky looked down at you again, at the way you had shifted slightly, brow furrowing, lips parting. His fingers brushed over your shoulder.

“I will.”

And for the first time since he answered the phone, Bucky didn’t feel guilty about it.

—

When your eyes fluttered open, you woke to the scent of him still lingering in the sheets. The room was still dark, the hotel curtains muting the scorching sunlight.

You could hear the faint rustling of clothes, the sound of trainers being laced up.

Bucky was standing near the desk, already dressed in his jogging clothes— sweatpants, a t-shirt that clung to his frame, a hoodie zipped halfway up. His hair was damp, probably from a shower. He glanced at you when he noticed you stirring.

“Mornin’,” he greeted.

You sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist. Your eyes went to the clock— 8.45 AM. “Press today?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured I’d go on a coffee run first.”

You tilted your head, watching him. Then, before you could overthink it, you pushed the blankets back and stretched. “I’ll come with you.”

—

The café smelled like burnt espresso and fresh pastries, the morning rush having finally calmed enough for you and Bucky to claim a quiet booth in the corner. The windows fogged up, the city humming on the other side of the glass. 

Bucky sat across from you, stirring sugar into his coffee even though you knew he drank it black. A distraction, maybe. Or maybe…  he needed a shock to his system.

“You good?” he finally asked, hesitantly.

You nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.

“I…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I don’t regret it.”

The spoon in his hand stilled. The soft clink of metal against ceramic was the only sound between you. Then, slowly, he looked up, blue eyes searching for any sign of a lie. “No?”

You shook your head. “No.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Even though it’s… messy?”

You huffed, almost amused. “Bucky, our lives have been messy for a long time.”

That made him laugh. His shoulders relaxed, just a little.

“What about you?” You tilted your head, arms crossing over your chest. “Do you regret it?”

He exhaled through his nose, glancing out the window like the answer might be written in the crowds. “I thought I would,” he admitted. “I thought I’d wake up and… feel like I’d done something wrong.”

“But you don’t?”

His fingers tapped against the side of his cup, like he was cataloguing his thoughts. Then, quietly, almost like a cardinal sin, “No. I don’t.”

The silence between you stretched before you swallowed, voice quieter this time. “I’ll always care about Sam.”

Bucky nodded. He had already known that. 

You sipped your coffee. “When I was younger…” You sighed, choosing your words carefully. “When I first hooked up with Sam, it was just a fling. I knew he could get up and leave at any time, and I wouldn’t blame him. So when he offered a relationship, I was over the fucking moon. I thought it would be different. I thought—if I could make it work—it would prove I wasn’t disposable.” You let out a self-deprecating laugh.“I think staying as long as I did—knowing I’d never ask him to stop being Captain America—just gave me… abandonment issues.”

Bucky’s eyes softened, “You were never disposable.” He reassured. “Not to me. Not to Sam, either.”

You looked away. “It doesn’t matter if he thinks so. I don’t feel like I’m not.” You exhaled, barely believing that even after you had just slept with Bucky, after breaking things off with Sam, yet here he was, still defending his best friend.

“Sam… He’ll always put the world first.” And you understood that. So you let the statement steep in silence.

He stared down at his coffee for a long moment. His fingers drummed against the ceramic, like he was debating whether to say something, anything. Then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it, he said, “I’ve been in love with you for a long, long time.”

Your breath hitched.

He let out an almost bitter chuckle. “Figured I should put that out there.”

Your heart pounded in your ears “How long?”

Bucky’s eyes darted, like he was debating whether to tell you the truth. “Since the first time you laughed at one of my jokes.”

A disbelieving gasp left your throat. “Bucky—”

“I hated it,” He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head like he didnt like admitting it. “I fucking hated it, because you were with Sam. He’s my best friend.” His voice cracked, just a little. “And I’d never do that to him.”

Your chest tightened. “Did you ever think about telling me?”

He hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “Not as long as you loved him.”

But you didn’t, didn’t you? Not anymore, not in any way that mattered in this conversation, anyway.

You swallowed hard, the truth pressing against your ribs. “I think… in the last couple of months, when Sam started taking on more and more missions—after the president, after everything—I think I started… having… feelings for you.”

Bucky’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours so fast it almost startled you. What?

You didn’t let yourself back down. Not when you owed him this—owed yourself this. “But… I was with Sam.”

Bucky didn’t say anything right away, but you could see his fingers twitching where they rested on the table. When he finally nodded, it was slow, like he was letting each word sink into his skin. “And now you’re not.”

You nodded, searching his eyes. “Now I’m not.”

You could always tell when he was holding something back, his muscles would tighten just a little too much, his fingers would tap away. He was doing it now, tracing the rim of his coffee cup. His lips parted, “I didn’t tell you something.”

Your stomach twisted. “What?”

He looked up at you then, “Sam called this morning.”

You blinked. “Oh…”

Bucky’s grip on the cup tightened. “He asked me if I thought you’d take him back.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

A month ago, you would’ve said yes without hesitation.

A month ago, if Sam had promised to change—to make more time, to choose you over the mission just once—you would’ve taken that deal in a heartbeat.

But now, after knowing what it felt like to have someone who was there, who made sure you were okay before you even thought to ask, who would make you his first priority— You couldn’t imagine life without him.

Your throat felt tight. “What… did you say?”

He shook his head,  “I told him he knew how this ended.”

You looked down nervously at your lap.

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I—maybe I shouldn’t’ve assumed—”

“Do you think I should take him back?” you interrupted.

He went still. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and they looked like they were burning.

“No,” he said, hopeful.

The café buzzed with life around you—clinking mugs, distant chatter, the hiss of steam from the espresso machine—but none of it mattered.

All that mattered was the way Bucky was looking at you the way you wanted him to.

You swallowed. “Do you think I’m a bad person for wanting to be with you instead?”

“No,” he whispered

Your hands found the sticky vinyl of the booth seat. “Shit,” you shook your head. “I feel like I should feel worse about this.”

Bucky tilted his head, “You loved him.”

“Yeah,” you admitted. You traced the tabletop with your finger, avoiding his eyes. “But I love you more.”

Bucky took a deep breath, like you’d knocked the air clean out of his lungs. His pupils blew wide, and for a second, he just stared at you, lips parted like he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming.

“Say that again,” he breathed, almost begging. “Please.”

Your throat went dry, finally looking him in the eyes.“I love you more.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath, raking a hand through his hair, like he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t be this happy, should I?”

“Probably not,” you admitted, laughing weakly.

Bucky leaned in slightly, nearly knocking over his coffee. “If you let me,” he promised, “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel disposable again.”

The world outside your little coffee booth faded into nothing. Just you and him and this inevitable connection.

“Deal.”

Bucky froze, just for a fraction of a second, before shoving the contained aside, climbed halfway over the table, and kissed you like a man starved. His hands cradled your face, fingers tangling in your hair as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was messy, and perhaps a half apology for making you wait this long.

You gasped against his mouth, fisting the front of his jacket to pull him even closer. His metal hand slid against your neck.

Somewhere in the distance, a throat cleared.

“Uh.” The barista’s voice rang in your ears. “Not to kill the vibe, but this is a family-friendly establishment.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, forehead pressed against yours, and let out a breathless laugh.

You bit your lip, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, still dazed, “Sorry.” He leaned back, but not before pressing one last, fleeting kiss to your lips. And then you just looked at him.

Hair tousled from your fingers, lips kiss-swollen, eyes alive in a way you hadn’t seen before. He grinned—grinned, like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

In that moment, you realised that while Sam had spent the last two years figuring out what it meant to be Captain America, Bucky had spent that time figuring out who he was outside of the Winter Soldier.

So of course Sam couldn’t put you first. He had the whole damn world resting on his shoulders.

But Bucky could.

Bucky would.

And maybe it was complicated. Maybe it would get messy.

But with Bucky smiling at you like that, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

—

But how do you even bring something like this up to Sam?

How do you look him in the eye and say, Hey, I know we broke up, but your best friend and I…

So, you didn’t. Not yet.

When you got home two weeks later, you didn’t call Sam like you said you would. You figured he could survive a night without the spare clothes you still had.

But Sam had texted earlier, even called a couple of times, too. When neither you nor Bucky answered, he started to get worried. It wasn’t like either of you to ignore him completely.

That worry led him here.

Standing at your door, with his spare key in hand.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

That was… weird.

He hesitated—just for a second—before slipping it into the lock. The door swung open, and he stepped inside, expecting a dark apartment. Maybe you were curled up on the couch watching something with Bucky eating ice cream, both too distracted to check your phones.

What he didn’t expect—what he never could have expected— was the sound that stopped him cold in the doorway.

“Oh—God—please, please—”

His stomach turned to ice.

He heard the bed creak, he heard the sound of skin hitting skin at a pace so incredibly intense, he felt like he was about to throw up. 

Then Bucky’s voice followed, so goddamn gentle.

“That’s it, that’s it. Let me hear you.”

Oh. 

Oh. No.

Why did it have to be Bucky? Sam thought, why couldn’t it have been anyone else?

Sam’s lungs filled like it might as well have collapsed.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be hearing this, but his feet wouldn’t let him move. His fingers gripped the key so tightly it cut into his palm.

“You like that, sweetheart? You know I’d give you anything. Just gotta tell me what you need.”

Sweetheart.

Sam used to call you sweetheart all the damn time. He used to say it over breakfast, in sleepy murmurs when he curled around you at night, with laughter in his voice when you teased him. You had smiled, then. You had kissed him. You had never asked him for more.

“Please…”

Sam could count on one hand the number of times you had begged him for anything.

You had never been needy with him. Never desperate. You had been understanding. You had been patient.

“Buck— James—please, I—”

And the worst part?

You had never once said his name like that— like it was a prayer, like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.

A choked sound tore out of him before he could stop it.

He barely managed to step in, barely remembered to breathe as he forced his legs to carry him into the kitchen, blinking rapidly.

The spare key felt heavy as he set it down on the table. His hands shook as he reached for a pen, vision blurring as he scribbled the words before he could think too hard about them.

He left immediately.

—

Bucky was up before you the next morning.

When he walked into the kitchen, he saw the key.

The note.

The second he recognised Sam’s familiar handwriting, his stomach dropped.

‘Sounds like this key belongs to you, Barnes. -S’

His fingers trembled as he picked up the key, as if it might vanish between his fingertips.

He knows.

The room suddenly felt too small, his chest too tight.

You walked in a moment later, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, his henley hanging off your frame. “Sweetie… you left me alone,” you mumbled adorably, voice still groggy.

But the second you saw his face, your brows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He just handed you the note, watching as your expression shifted from confusion to horror.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Sam had heard, Sam had been here, and Bucky hadn’t even noticed. He had been too caught up in you, too caught up in the way you had fallen apart beneath him.

“I’ll call him.” he gulped, “I’ll meet him. I’ll talk to him.”

You swallowed, watching the tension grow in his shoulders. “I could come with—”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, “I need to do it on my own.”

You didn’t push, though concern flickered in your eyes. You just nodded.

—

Bucky had asked to meet in a text.

Sam had agreed.

The bar was nearly empty, the kind of place where no one asked questions and no one cared about anyone else’s problems.

Bucky sat across from Sam, hands wrapped around a half pint of beer he hadn’t touched. Sam hadn’t touched his either. Neither of them were here for that.

Sam didn’t waste time. He didn’t dance around it. “How long?”

Bucky blinked. “How long what?”

Sam’s teeth clenched, his fingers curling into fists against the wooden tabletop. “How long have you been in love with her?”

What was the point of lying?

“Longer than I’d like to admit.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath. He shook his head once, like he could shake them off. “How long have you been waiting for me to fail?” He demanded, “How long were you just waiting to step in?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “That’s not what happened.”

“No?”  Sam let out a humourless laugh. “Then tell me what did.”

Bucky didn’t answer fast enough for Sam’s liking.

“Tell me,” Sam repeated, “Tell me everything.”

God, it was terrifying to see Sam like this.

He was always so level-headed, so in control. But now his anger crackled like a live wire.

It didn’t feel like him. It didn’t look like him.

“Sam,” Bucky said slowly, “I never told her to leave you.”

Sam leaned back. “Sure.”

“I didn’t—” Bucky insisted, leaning forward. “I just— I pointed out that you two had different values. That maybe you weren’t giving her what she needed. That’s it.” His mechanical fingers whirred. “I did nothing wrong.”

Sam’s eyes flashed with red. “Nothing wrong,” he repeated, like he could barely believe the words. His voice was quieter now, but it cut deeper. “You knew.”

Bucky didn’t move.

“You knew how much I loved her.”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sam—”

“No. Don’t ‘Sam’ me,” Sam snapped. His voice was rough. “You answered the call and listened to me talk about her. You knew how much I still cared, and you l—” He stopped himself, chest rising and falling too fast.

“She wanted more,” Bucky said, exasperated, “You didn’t see it, or maybe you did and you didn’t care, but she was waiting for you, Sam. And she got tired of waiting.”

Sam’s hands curled into fists. “And you just happened to be there when she did, huh?” His voice was scathing.

“I didn’t plan this!”

“But you sure as hell didn’t stop it,” Sam shot back. “You sure as hell didn’t tell me—”

“What was I supposed to say?” Bucky’s voice rose into a subtle shout now, frustration bleeding through. “That I’ve been in love with your girl for longer than I can remember? That every time I saw her look at you, I wished—” He cut himself off before he could spiral, shaking his head. “What would that have changed, Sam? Huh? Would you have treated her any different?”

Sam’s nostrils flared. “I loved her,” he could only repeat those words. 

“I never told her to leave you,” Bucky said again, as if to drive the point home. “But I wasn’t gonna tell her to stay, either.”

Sam shook his head, laughing under his breath, but there was no humour in it. “Yeah. Yeah, I bet you weren’t.”

Bucky let out a deep breath. “Sam—”

Sam shoved back from the table, chair scraping against the tile as he stood.

For a second, it looked like Sam might say something else.

But he didn’t.

He just turned and walked out.

And Bucky let him go.

—-

When you saw Bucky by your door, you knew something was wrong.

He looked drained, like he had been hollowed out from the inside. 

You reached for him the second he stepped in. “Bucky—”

“I told him,” he said, voice rough. “We talked.” A dry chuckle left his lips. “If you can call it that.”

Your chest tightened. “That bad?”

Bucky closed the door behind him. “Yeah.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his hipbones. “Did he say anything else?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know.” His voice was quieter now, more worn out. “He’s hurt. He’s pissed. And I— I don’t know if he’ll get over this.”

You didn’t push for more. Instead, you just pulled him into you, wrapping your arms around his waist.

The moment your arms circled him, his entire body gave out. He melted against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I got you,” you cooed, one hand threading through his hair, the other rubbing slow circles over his back.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there like that, but eventually, Bucky’s weight grew heavier against you. You carefully guided him to the couch, easing him down beside you.

The second you settled in, he curled into you without hesitation, head resting against your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Get some rest, baby,” you said.

Bucky sighed. He nuzzled closer, and within moments, he was asleep in your arms.

—

Two hours later, Bucky was still asleep. He hadn’t moved in a long time—so emotionally exhausted that even when you carefully shifted out from under him, he barely stirred.

You knew you had to do something about this. 

If you left this too long, the fallout between Sam and Bucky would be worse than when you and Sam broke up. So much worse.

So you grabbed Sam’s spare key buried at the bottom of a drawer, shoved there weeks ago like out of sight meant out of mind.

On the way out, you grabbed the last of his things— the small pile he had planned to come back for. A sweatshirt, a couple of books, little trinkets he probably hadn’t even realised he left behind.

You called Joaquin on your way

When he answered, he was half-yawning. “Kinda late, isn’t it?”

You shifted the bag higher on your shoulder. “Yeah. Just—checking in.”

Joaquin sighed. He already knew why you were calling. 

“It’s bad,” he admitted. “Not gonna lie.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I checked on him after he met with Bucky and… He’s not talking much, which is weird for Sam.” Joaquin’s voice was quiet, like he wasn’t sure he should even be telling you this. “Just kinda… sitting in it, you know?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

Joaquin hesitated. “He’s pissed. I think he’s just—” He sighed. “I don’t know, man. It’s rough.”

You knew this would hurt him. You knew it would break something between you, between all of you.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

“I’m bringing his stuff now,” you said.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Joaquin asked.

No.

But it didn’t matter.

—

Sam opened the door on your first knock like he had been waiting for you.

The circles under his eyes were deeper than you remembered. His usual magnetic warmth, that easy charm, was gone. 

Without a word, you held up the bag. “Brought your stuff.”

Sam didn’t reach for it. He just stepped aside. "Come in."

The apartment looked the same. It was the same kitchen where you used to make coffee while he read the news, the same living room he used to sneak up behind you, pressing a sleepy kiss to your temple.

But it didn’t feel the same.

It felt… abandoned. Like a house after the fire has burned out—everything still standing, but covered in soot.

You set the bag down and turned to face him. 

Joaquin had warned you that he was not himself.

But seeing him like this… made it real.

He broke the silence first. “Joaquin said you called.”

"Yeah."

Sam let out a dry chuckle. “Checking to see if I’m still breathing?”

You looked at him in half-shock. He had always been so calm and collected. He had never, ever been self-destructive before. "Sam."

He shook his head, looking away. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I care about you, Sam.”

That made him laugh. “Funny way of showing it.”

You flinched, but held your ground.

"Come on,” you said, voice tight. “You know this isn’t about that.”

His eyes flashed. “Enlighten me, then.”

"We just weren’t a good fit,” You trailed a hand on his forearm, somehow feeling too close and not close enough. “We kept pretending, we kept trying, but deep down, we both knew it wasn’t right.” You gestured between the two of you. “I did nothing wrong. You did nothing wrong. We just— We just weren’t meant for each other.”

His fingers trembled just a little. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

"I know.” You soothed. “I know it hurts.”

For a moment, the anger bled out of him. "He should’ve told me before it happened."

"He– we,” you corrected, “We didn’t plan this.”

Sam scoffed. 

Your frustration bubbled over. “You’re really gonna let your friendship with Bucky die over a girl?” You shook your head, voice finally rising. “Over me?”

He had nothing to say to that.

"Two months, Sam.” You swallowed hard. “Two months we weren’t together before anything even happened. You can’t sit here and act like we were still—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head.

He swallowed hard, finally meeting your eyes.

"I loved you," he said, voice rough, like the words had splintered on the way out.

"I know," you whispered.

He looked away. His fists unclenched. “Well this fucking sucks.”

"Yeah." You gave a sad, tired smile. “It does, but I’m always going to be your friend." You gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “And Bucky… Bucky is your best friend.”

Sam’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"Don’t treat him like this,” you almost pleaded. “Not over me.”

With a long, tired sigh, he nodded. He never could argue his way out with you. 

"J-just give me time," he said.

And you did.

—

A week later, Sam wasn’t angry anymore. Not really.

But he didn’t know how to fix it.

He had never really exploded on anyone before, not in a way that left wreckage behind. He had spent so much of his life learning how to hold it together, how to bite his tongue and keep moving forward.

But this wasn't something he could outrun.

Because now, when he looked at Bucky, all he saw was you leaving him.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe that was selfish.

So yeah, he was not angry anymore, but he hadn’t really processed the fact that you had found something with Bucky that you couldn’t find with him.

And Sam didn’t know how to move past that.

He let the days blur together, filling them with distractions that didn’t work, pretending he wasn’t falling apart.

Until Joaquin called him on his shit.

"Alright, man. Enough of this."

Sam barely looked up.

Joaquin stood across the room, arms crossed. Sam had been so unfocused while working on his wingpack that Joaquin had finally just snatched it from him, setting it down with a loud clank.

"You can sulk all you want, but this is ridiculous." Sam sat at the table, fingers loosely curled around the glass of iced coffee he hadn’t touched in over an hour.

"Didn’t know my personal life was any of your business," Sam shrugged.

Joaquin scoffed. "You broke the law for him, Sam.” His patience was running thin. He was sick of being stuck at work with a fucking brick wall that only said one or two words every two hours. “You broke the damn law for that man, stood by him when no one else would, risked your life a hundred times over. And you’re not even talking to him!”

Sam’s fingers tightened around his glass. "It ain’t that simple.”

"It is," Joaquin said. "I’m not saying Bucky isn’t a dumbass for falling in love with your ex— but have you even tried being happy for them? The guy who’d take a bullet for you is the same guy who’d take a bullet for her— You think that’s a coincidence?”

He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to admit that Joaquin was right.

But… he knew had to face it.

Sam let out a long breath, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes before finally pulling out his phone.

Then, finally, he typed:

I’m ready to talk again.

And he hit send.

—

So now, here they were.

Sitting in silence in the same bar, drinks in front of them.

Sam just sat there, studying Bucky like he was waiting for something—an explanation, an apology, hell, maybe a fight.

“So… you ready to yell at me again,” Bucky sighed, rolling his shoulders, “Or can we just talk?”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. “You act like I’m the unreasonable one.”

"I mean." Bucky gestured vaguely. “You did storm out of a diner after accusing me of stealing your girl.”

Sam leveled him with a flat look. “Because you did.”

“We’re already doing this wrong.” He leaned back. “Look, I don’t wanna fight you. But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I don’t—” He stopped, considering whether or not Sam wanted to hear him out. Then, quieter, “Like I don’t love her.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Bucky huffed out a laugh. “Look, I am sick for her, man.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"No, I mean it," Bucky continued, rubbing a hand over his face. "It’s disgusting. You ever see a dog get left alone for too long and lose its goddamn mind the second someone walks through the door? That’s me. She walks in, and suddenly I forget every bad thing that’s ever happened to me."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sam’s lips curled into a small smile. “That’s pathetic.”

"I know."

"You’re a grown man."

"I know."

Sam took a slow sip of his drink. "That’s embarrassing for you."

Bucky just shrugged.

“…Was it always like that?” Sam’s voice was quieter now, but not accusing. “Did you always love her like that?”

Bucky’s fingers tapped against his glass. “I tried not to. I really did.” He huffed. “Told myself you were my best friend, told myself it wouldn’t happen. But—” He shook his head. “It wasn’t something I could turn off.”

Sam’s jaw tightened. He knew he had asked his next question before, but he had to ask again. He had to be sure.

"So did you?” Sam leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Did you sit there the whole time, waiting for me to fuck up?”

“No,” Bucky said without missing a beat. “I sat there hoping you wouldn’t.”

That shut Sam up. How was he supposed to answer that?

Bucky sighed, his fingers curling loosely around his glass. "Sam, you’re a better man than me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don’t start with that dramatic ass—"

"I mean it." Bucky turned toward him fully, "The world will always be your priority. You are a hero, Sam. You always will be. That makes you a better man."

Sam scoffed, tipping back the rest of his drink. "Yeah? And what does that make you?"

"More selfish." He admitted. "More broken."

Sam didn’t think so, but he didn’t argue, either.

Bucky’s voice went a bit more quiet. “You will always protect the world." He looked him in the eyes. "I will burn the world for her."

Sam froze.

"Have you ever thought that’s what she wants?" Bucky asked.

He hated how much sense it made.

"Sam." Bucky leaned forward, elbows on the bar. "She is as selfish as I am."

Sam shook his head. "She’s not selfish—"

"She is." Bucky’s voice was firm, no room for argument. "She asked to be the center of my world. And I can give her that."

Sam inhaled deeply, tilting his head back. “Shit.”

Bucky huffed. “Yeah.”

Then, Sam shook his head, letting out a cynical laugh. “You know what pisses me off?”

"What?"

"That I have to admit I overreacted.” Sam let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I was mad, I was hurt, but—shit, Buck. She wasn’t mine anymore. And I acted like—” He shook his head. “I acted like an asshole.”

Bucky smirked. “Yeah, you did.”

Sam shot him a pointed look.

Bucky held up his hands. “Hey, your words, not mine.”

Sam sighed. "I still think you should’ve at least told me."

“I know,” Bucky nodded. "And I’m sorry you found out the way you did."

Sam groaned, shaking his head. "Man, I did not need to hear all that."

"Yeah, that was rough."

Sam groaned louder, rubbing his temples.

“So…” Bucky nudged his shoulders. “You done being mad at me?”

Sam shrugged, shaking his head. "You’re still a pain in my ass."

Bucky smirked. "You wouldn’t know what to do without me."

"Whatever,” he dismissed, but there was no real disdain behind it.

Bucky arched an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

"Man, what do you want from me?” Sam finally chuckled. “You already stole my girl, you want my blessing too?"

Bucky grinned. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Sam groaned, shoving at his shoulder. “Fuck off, Barnes. Now buy me a drink before I change my mind.”

Bucky just laughed, and somehow, somehow, it felt like things might just be okay.

—

A Year Later…

"To the left."

"No, the other left."

"Barnes, if you drop that couch, I swear to God—"

"It’s fine, Sam, I got it."

"Do you? Do you really? Because that thing is tilting real suspiciously—"

"Bucky, sweetie, please don’t break the couch before we even sit on it."

"I got it."

THUD.

Joaquin snorted. “Yeah, you totally got it.”

Bucky shot him a glare as he flexed his metal fingers. The couch had technically made it inside, albeit with a new scuff mark or two. It now sat in the middle of the living room—your living room. Yours and Bucky’s.

"I should’ve stayed home," Sam muttered.

"Me too," Joaquin agreed, clapping him on the back.

"No one asked you two to help," Bucky pointed out.

"We came because she asked," Sam insisted, pointing his chin at you.

You grinned, stepping around Bucky and squeezing both his arms. "Alright, enough whining, boys," you said. "We need to get everything unpacked before we drown in boxes."

Bucky sighed but gave in, nudging Joaquin toward the kitchen to help with electronics. Before he left, he pressed a kiss to your lips. It was a bit rough, but still loving, as it always was. He never failed to make your heart flutter.

When Bucky was out of earshot, he leaned against the wall. “You know,” he said after a moment, holding up his hand. “I was this close to asking you to move in with me our second year together.”

You turned to him, "Oh?"

He shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Figured it would’ve been nice. You and me. House in the suburbs, co-parenting Redwing…”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sam…” it was a gentle warning.

“I know, I know.” He shook his head, crossing his arms. “You’re with him now.”

And that was okay.

It really was.

“Hey,” you stepped closer, bumping your shoulder against his. “I’m glad you boys came around.”

Sam huffed, shaking his head. He glanced toward the kitchen, where Joaquin was currently attempting to swindle Bucky out of the last slice of pizza.

“I just—” He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he should say it, “—I’m glad it’s him.”

You blinked. "What?"

Sam sighed. “With you. If it had to be anyone else, I’m glad it’s Bucky.”

You hadn’t expected that. A year ago, he might’ve made a snide remark. Maybe stormed out.

But he’d done the work to balance job and life. He’d gone to therapy. He’d let himself heal.

And now, here he was. Helping you move in together with his best friend. 

You swallowed. "Me too."

He shrugged, then sighed. "You know what I realised?"

You shook your head.

"I was never mad that you moved on with him," he admitted. "I was mad that you moved on easier than I did."

You let the confession settle between you.

Then you broke the silence, “I’m… I’m proud of you.”

For putting in the work. 

For being happy for you.

For being happy with himself.

And you meant it.

He only smiled.

You and Sam were always going to be friends. Maybe not in the way you once were, but in a way that still mattered. That would always matter.

Then, Bucky caught both you and Sam staring at him, he waved.

Sam waved back.

And when Bucky smiled at you again, this time with an adoring look, like you were the best damn thing that had ever happened to him— Sam knew, without a doubt, that the truth had always been simple:

Bringing you and Bucky together was still his proudest achievement.

-End.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10

[vicmc624]

Lucky | Bucky Barnes

COMPLETE

She’s America’s sweetheart. He’s a weapon trying to forget who he used to be.

After years in the spotlight, she is the picture of perfection, flawless smile, designer gowns, a legacy of roles that made the world fall in love with her. But behind the flash of cameras and carefully curated charm, she’s unraveling.

When her team hires Bucky Barnes as private security, he doesn’t understand why a movie star needs someone like him. But the longer he watches, the more he sees, the cracks beneath the glam, the loneliness, the cage disguised as fame.

What begins as silence becomes trust. What begins as protection becomes something deeper. But in a world built on performance, can anything real survive the final curtain.

⭐️ The Opening Scene 🎬

⭐️ The Finale Cut 🎬