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buckyalpine · 1 year

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Come back to you

Bucky x pregnant!reader

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

Warnings: FLUFFFFF, sweet charming 40′s Bucky, time travel, teensiest bit of angst.

“Buck, are you sure about this” You shuffled nervously by the platform Bucky was standing on, his latest mission requiring him to travel through a time portal. It wasn’t something he hadn’t done before but time travel was still tricky and the last thing you wanted was something happening to Bucky.

Especially now.

“I’ll be fine doll” Bucky assured you, holding onto a device Tony had made to gather information, the time stamp on the portal set to 1943. All he had to do was locate the coordinates he was given, scan a few documents and return to the present. Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Bucky pulled himself out of high risk missions but this seemed easy enough and he was the only one familiar with the location. “Promise I’ll come right back to you in just a few seconds babygirl”

He gave you a wink, kissing your cheek before nodding to Bruce who was by the machine console, rechecking the timestamps and settings so all Bucky had to do was press a button on his suit when he was ready to come back. You held your breath, standing back while the platform lit to life, a flash of white nearly making Bucky disappear instantly. While the mission could feel like minutes to hours for him, it would be mere seconds for you.

You fidgeted with your fingers while Steve monitored Bucky’s tracker, getting the platform ready for him to return. You nearly let out the breath you were holding, seeing a green light indicate Bucky had pressed the button to return and you’d have him back in your arms again.

“Alright, the portal is stable, he’ll be back in 5...4...3...2...1″

The bright light flashed again, the super soldier standing right where he’d left, not a hair out of place. Bucky blinked, looking down at his suit, frozen on the spot before looking to his best friend, the only person he seemed to recognize in the room.

“St-Steve?”

“Buck” Steve’s brows furrowed noting the way Bucky’s eyes darted around the room with a confused look on his face.

“Where-where am I?” Bucky whipped his head around, before looking to his best friend again for answers. “What am I wearing?” He looked down at his hands, eyes growing wide when he saw his metal one, flexing his vibranium digits. “My arm?”

He looked like a lost puppy, unable to move from where he was standing, nearly pinching himself because he had to be dreaming. “What’s going on punk, where am I, why-why does everything look so different, where are we?”

You felt sick to your stomach as your husband looked at you for not more than a second having no idea who you were, having no idea where he was himself. He tugged at the sleek material of the tac suit with an expression of fascination and horror, his flesh hand tracing over the metal one.

“Steve, whats going on?” You looked over to him, blinking back tears, already feeling panic rise in your chest, desperately hoping the time travel made Bucky a little delirious, something a bit of rest would fix. Steve swallowed thickly, slowly approaching Bucky, something telling him the confusion was more complex than just being shaken from time travel.

“What year is it, Buck”

Bucky looked at Steve with furrowed brows but answered anyway.

“1943″

“Your full title?”

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th” He replied with confidence, not a hint of humor in his voice. He stood with the confidence of a soldier, shoulders rolled back, with a strong stance. Steve nodded while Bruce immediately started to fiddle with the portal, understanding the mission had altered something in Bucky. The Bucky that stood before everyone was physically from the present but his mind was from the 40′s.

“Just give me a sec Buck, I’ll be with you in a minute” Steve keep his voice light, not wanting to worry his bestfriend further. He took away the device Bucky was holding, leading him to stand away from the platform while he gently led you away to speak with Bruce. “Banner, what the hell”

“His departure was fine but there must have been a glitch with the portal coming back. When Barnes travelled back, something warped with his memories; right now he’s Bucky from 1943. He doesn’t have any recollection of anything after that” Bruce continued to press at buttons while carefully watching Bucky walk around the lab, his face softening in sympathy.

Bucky eyes held child like wonder, staring at the high ceilings and vast technology he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He found himself wandering around the room, waiting for his bestfriend to tell him what was going on, distracting himself with science in the mean time.

He always loved science.

Tony and Sam joined the lab after a few frantic text messages; Tony joining Bruce in trying to figure out what went wrong whereas Sam had come to check on you and make sure you were okay. Sam sat down with you, gently squeezing your hand in his, not wanting stress to end up hurting you or the pregnancy.

“He doesn’t remember me” You blinked back tears, your hand coming up to rest on your swollen belly, watching Bucky stare at the other creations Tony had lying around on the tables, in his own little world of fascination and utter confusion.

“Look, we’re gonna get him back. Remember when Scott returned as a baby and then an old man 10 seconds later and he wasn’t sure which version of himself shit his pants?” He gave you a comforting smile, taking you put of the lab to rest while Steve made his way over to Bucky. “C’mon mama, terminator would wage war on all of us if we didn’t take care of you. He’s gonna be okay, he’d want you to be taking care of yourself first”

Steve kept Bucky occupied for the time being, not wanting to confuse him with too much, only explaining a few things to him such as the metal arm. Bucky understood bits and pieces, such as something about time travel, war and something else about a mad scientist. Any details about you were left out, not wanting to complicate things further.

Over the next few days, Bucky was learning to adjust to the modern world all over again, staying in Steve’s room while Tony and Bruce worked on resetting the portal. You kept your distance from him, going about your routine as best as you could along with a sadness pulling at your heart when you didn’t have him by your side.

The bed was too cold.

It wasn’t comfortable when he wasn’t there to be your human body pillow.

He wasn’t there to cuddle up with when you were feeling needy.

He wasn’t immediately by your side with chamomile tea that soothed any nausea you felt, always knowing when you needed some without you saying anything.

He wasn’t there with his warm and cool hands to sooth the kicks that nudged in your belly; your Bucky would always have his hands on you, obsessed with his pretty angel all full of him.

Now you had to wait.

But even Bucky from 1943 couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“Whose that?” Bucky pointed over at you, having noticed that you spent a lot of time alone, no partner by your side though you were clearly very pregnant and nearing your due date. You had come to the kitchen to make some tea, not realizing both super soldiers were grabbing a snack after a morning run, deciding to continue with what you were doing instead of leaving abruptly. Steve glanced over to where Bucky was looking at, his eyes growing wide noticing the concerned look on his best friends face.

“This is y/n” Steve nodded for you to come over, letting his hand rest on your back to give you some support while Bucky gave you a boyish smile. “Y/n, this is my best friend, the very James Buchanan Barnes, the same punk I’ve told you a lot about”

“You can just call me Bucky”

“Nice to meet you” You gave him a soft smile, returning his charming one, feeling butterflies all over again just like the first time you had met him. Your cheeks grew warm when he gave you his hand, immediately asking if you needed help with anything else.

“You need us to get you anything, doll? Why don’t you go rest in the living room, I can bring this to you once the waters boiled” He sent you away so you could get off your feet, watching you with heart eyes as you waddled away out of the kitchen. He then shook his head, remembering that you probably had a husband and it wasn’t right for him to look at you that way.

Steve shook his head at Bucky’s antics as the brunette grabbed a bag of chamomile tea before pouring the water in and checking the temperature before bringing it over to you. He didn’t linger around too much, wanting to be respectful, letting you relax while he made his way back to Steve.

However, each day his curiosity only grew. Between passing good mornings and shy smiles, he couldn’t help but wonder why no one ever mentioned anything about your partner or spouse. It had been nearly 3 weeks and you were always alone. He wasn’t one to pry and he definitely didn’t want to come off as nosy or seem like he wanted to know your business.

Still.

He didn’t like that he hadn’t seen anyone by your side the whole time.

12:45 AM

Bucky’s ears perked up when he heard soft footsteps padding towards the kitchen, setting down the book he was reading to find your tired face, your hand resting on your baby bump. He felt something tug at his heart seeing sleep still etched on your face, hair still tousled, your other hand supporting your back. He sprung to his feet, leading you to sit down before you could say anything, crouching down while keeping your hand in his.

“What do you need doll, should I get some water started?” He gave you a gentle squeeze when you nodded, hearing the faint rumble of your tummy, “Maybe a snack too” He grinned, getting up and filling a kettle and rummaging through the fridge to cut up some fruit, adding a double chocolate cookie on the side.

“There ya go, can’t have you goin’ back to be hungry” He gave you a wink, sitting down beside you with his own mug.

“Thank you, Bucky” You couldn’t help but giggle at the cookie he proudly added to your plate.

“You don’t have to thank me sweets, I’m happy to help” Bucky insisted, pleased to see you munch on the fruit with a satisfied hum, chuckling when your eyes rolled back as you sunk your teeth into the cookie. “Can’t have you doin’ all this by yourself”

“Well, I’m not by myself when you’re around” You gave him a light hearted smile, wishing you could slink into his arms and feel him wrap you up, blinking back tears that stung your eyes.

“You’re doin’ this alone?” Bucky looked at you with wide eyes, shock evident in his voice, a sliver of anger slipping through. How could anyone abandon someone as sweet as you, especially when you were carrying their child.

“I-um-sort of-” You nodded, hoping to keep your emotions at bay, swallowing the lump in your throat.

No.

You’re right here.

But you’re so far away

Your mind was screaming but there was nothing else you could say, taking a sip of your tea to keep yourself from sniffling.

“I’m sorry sweets, bet you’re real strong though. Always smilin’ like sunshine” Bucky sat closer to you, resting his hand on top of yours, holding it softly. He gave you one of his classic dashing smiles, washing up your cup and plate before walking you back up stairs and wishing you a good night. You snuggled up in your sheets with a content sigh; whether it was Bucky from the 40′s or Bucky from today, both were still sweet and protective as ever.

You made your way downstairs with your shopping list in hand, growing fed up with the lack of potato chips in the cupboards and still needing to get baby supplied with your due date growing even closer. You slipped on a comfy sun dress, stepping into the elevator and passing through the common room. You paused at the sight of your Bucky, his nose tucked in a book again, the sunlight from the ceiling high windows making his skin glow. You adored the slight scrunch of his nose as his eyes flicked over the words, heavily engrossed in another sci-fi novel, his favorite thing to read after raiding Steve’s library.

“Good morning’ doll” He peeked up from his book, giving you a bright smile, noting you were dressed to go out, “goin’ somewhere?”

“Just going to get some fresh air, stop by the store for some things I need”

“Is anyone going with you?” Bucky set down his book, looking over his shoulder to see if someone was going to accompany you, frowning when he saw there was no one else.

“I’ll be fine Bucky, really-”

“Not a chance, my ma would have my head if I just let you go out alone, especially right now” Bucky shook his head, shoving a bookmark between the pages and setting it on the coffee table. “Pretty dame like you shouldn’t be going out alone. Steve can grab what you need from the store, just give him the list. I’ll take you out for a walk"

Bucky kept his hand gently at the small of your back, the other holding your hand as you both walked though the park, keeping his eyes trained everywhere, making sure you were safe.

“Are you feelin’ alright?” He asked, always pausing incase you felt tired, concerned etched on his face whenever you huffed, firming his grip around you. “Let’s get you home sweets”

As you both walked back home, you missed your Bucky even more, a part of you enjoying spending time with the sweet care free man from the 40′s, another part of you desperately missing your husband. Once you got back, Tony was waiting for you, taking you over to the lab where Bruce was still tinkering away, both men looking exhausted from endless nights of no sleep.

“Good news, we’re almost ready, should be good to go in just a few days” Tony smiled, noting your face fall ever so slightly, your heart jumping because you’d finally get Bucky back but you’d miss the young soldier version of him.

“You’re gonna miss pre-grumpy terminator, huh” Tony chuckled, while you playfully rolled your eyes, waddling back to the kitchen, following the scent of something sweet that caught your attention. You smiled at the sight of Bucky moving gracefully around the kitchen, every so often asking FRIDAY questions, his eyes lighting up with joy each time the AI answered. You didn’t want to disturb him, quietly entering until you felt a strong kick to your side.

“Oof-”

Bucky looked up to see your face scrunch, dropping the spoon he was holding and making his way to you.

“Doll? What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“They’re kicking” You smiled, resting your hands over your tummy, trying to soothe the movement but to no avail. They only responded to their daddy.

“They?” Bucky’s eyes grew wide, taking in what you just said while you nodded, taking his hands in yours and placing them on your belly where the babies fluttered, their little feet pressing against your skin.

“Two baby boys”

“S’like you got me and Stevie in there” Bucky chuckled, his eyes sparking in awe feeling the movement in your belly, “Causin’ a ruckus for their ma. Can I get somethin’ for ya?” He gave you a boyish smile, ushering you to sit down.

“They seem to respond to you” You hummed, feeling your little ones settle after Bucky’s hands rested on your stomach, something that seemed to soothe all three of you. “Sometimes they only rest when I walk around, tire all of us out”

Bucky thought for a moment, his face glowing when an idea popped into his head.

“Steve just showed me how to work this, not that it makes much sense” Bucky fidgeted with his phone for a bit, his tongue sticking out with his focus. He pulled up a playlist of 40′s music, picking something slow before setting the phone down and helping you back on your feet, “Maybe this will help”

“What are you doing Bucky” You giggled as Bucky took your hand in his and twirled you towards him, your hands resting on his chest. He kept his hands around your baby bump, rubbing soft circles on your sensitive skin, dancing with you in the kitchen.

“I’ll be gentle” he started to sway with you, humming along to the soft music, “Can’t have those little punks tiring you out, mama” You allowed yourself to melt into his touch, turning your body to the side so you could rest your head against his chest, hearing the same steady beat of his heart that grounded you. You nearly fell asleep with the way he held you, keeping you and your babies safe, his soft scent surrounding you, every muscle in your body relaxing.

“C’mon, I’ll take you up to bed” He whispered when he noticed your eyelids grow heavy, a small yawn slipping past your lips the more you snuggled into his arms. He pushed away the thought of scooping you up into his arms, not wanting to over step his boundaries, holding you close to his side instead as you made your way up the elevator.

“Thank you for that dance, soldier” You gave him a shy smile while he stood by your door, every part of him wanting to hold you for longer.

“You’re a real charmer, sweets” Bucky blushed, his hands still resting on your baby bump, “I’m tellin’ ya, if you were mine...” He caught himself before speaking to much, his cheeks turning peachier.

It was evident things were different in the future.

If he had met you just like this in the 40′s, he would have stepped up and been by your side. Of course, he’d ask you to marry him, have Steve as his best man. He would have wanted to be your man, a good husband to you and a father to your babies if you’d let him. He indulged in his fantasy for a little longer, thinking about the two little boys he’d be happy to call his and perhaps having a baby girl later on.

“What if I was yours” you gazed up at him while he gave you a signature flirty smirk, bright blues twinkling.

“You’d be my darlin’, my sugar” Bucky pressed an innocent kiss to your cheek, blushing more himself when you giggled, returning his kiss to the dimple on his chin.

“Maybe one day, solider”

“I’d like that, babydoll”

You held your breath watching Bucky step on the platform again, repeating back all the instructions Steve had given him, still a little confused about time travel but trusting anything his best friend said.

“Push this button when you get to these coordinates and you’ll come right back” Steve assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“You sure I won’t die, punk?” Bucky snorted, checking over his tac suit, glancing over to you, wishing he could take you back with him.

Maybe one day.

“Take care of yourself doll” Bucky quickly stepped off the platform to give you another kiss before getting back on with a grin at the wolf whistle from Sam and Tony, waving to those in the room before giving Bruce nod. He disappeared in a flash, your anxiety kicking up again waiting for your Bucky to come back, the green signal lighting up once again, just like last time....

“Alright, 5..4..3..2..1″ Everyone stood in silence as Bucky reappeared once again, blinking just as he had done before, but this time, his eyes landing to you first.

“Bucky?” You whispered, still holding your breath as he stepped towards you, a relieved smile on his face, instantly enveloping you into a hug, inhaling your soft scent, the one that reminded him of home, his heart, his safe space.

“Hey darlin’” He kissed the top of your head, before cupping your face to look at him, peppering soft kisses across your cheek before dropping his hands and slipping them up your shirt to feel your belly, smiling at the feeling of soft flutters and kicks.

“You’re back” You pulled him down for a kiss, letting out a relieved sigh at the feeling of his warm pillowy lips finally on yours again, ignoring the hollering that went on in the background, your hands clutching onto him.

“Told you I’d be back” He smiled against your lips, scooping you into his arms, not wasting another second, taking you straight to your shared bedroom. He set you down gently on your feet before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“My darlin’ my sugar” He playfully whispered, holding you close to him. You gasped, pulling away to see his lips tick up into a smirk, giving you a wink,

“You-you remember?”

He nodded, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“You said maybe one day” He dropped to his knees, resting his head on your swollen belly, his heart swelling at the feeling of his babies, finally home again with the one person who lightened up his life “Glad to see you’re mine, babydoll”

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc @buckybarnessweetheart @pandaxnienke @manyfandomsfanvergent

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dc-marvel-crossovers · 1 month

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Crossover Fanworks Celebration Masterlist

Thanks so much to everybody who participated! We're still waiting for a couple late entries, but here's the wrap-up of all the fics that were fanworked and their related works. You can find the Ao3 collection right over here.

It seems like everybody involved had a great time, so it's very likely that this will be a repeating event. If you'd like to join in on the next one, follow us here and/or send us a message about joining our Discord!

Knaves All Three by @ginbenci: gen, focused on Steve Rogers, Bruce Wayne, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, and Tony Stark. Funny comedy-of-errors identity porn. 7922 words, rated T.

All Three Knaves by @o-kaythislooksbad

Playlist by @bittercape

Third Wheel by @kangofu-cb: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Established Bucky/Clint. Roleplay gone hilariously awry leads to a hot-as-hell threesome. 10,776 words, explicit.

Sequel by @carcrash429

Bookbinding by @moonshinebindery

Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock

Playlist by @capriciouswrites

Won’t You Stay Awhile? (I’m Staring At A Ghost) by @daddyswickedqueen: Jason Todd/Steve Rogers. Steve gets picked up (and flustered) in a dive bar; sexy, but also a great look at both characters. 5022 words, explicit.

Podfic by @betrayedbycinnamon

Remix by @sammialex

Sequel by @darbydoo22

Moodboard by @drgrlfriend

Snow On The Beach by @bittercape: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Interconnected vignettes of a developing relationship — some funny, some fluffy, some smutty, and some all of the above. 13,181 words, range from T to explicit.

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

More art by @o-kaythislooksbadkay

Timestamp by @betrayedbycinnamon

Spider and Bat Friends by @emmacortana: mostly gen. A series of standalone fics about Peter Parker in Gotham. Mixed bag with something for everybody: some wildly creative crack, some angst, and more. 170,897 words total, mostly rated T.

Podfic by @graham-cracker-guillotine

Art by @wyxan

The Stockings Were Hung by @betrayedbycinnamon: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes and background /Clint Barton. Christmas lingerie, insecure Jason, and a tender, reassuring Bucky. 3945 words, explicit.

Remix by @darbydoo22

Moodboard by @kangofu-cb

Sunrise On The East Side by @wyxan: Tim Drake/Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, established Peter/MJ. Spilled coffee + endearingly awkward Peter; luckily MJ is a boss and very comfortable doing something about his crush on Tim. 8816 words, explicit.

Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock

Podfic by @noxnthea

Finders Keepers by @drgrlfriend: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Adorable “meet-ugly” courtesy of animal friends. Clint and Jason aren’t used to romance, and Bucky decides to change that. 3081 words, rated T.

Art by @bittercape

Podfic by @daddyswickedqueen

Remix by TheologyDiscography

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

What's in the name by @graham-cracker-guillotine: Peter Parker & Bruce Wayne centric. Feel-good fluff and humor. 2142 words, rated G.

Podfic by @carcrash429

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

blood upon the snow by @carcrash429: One fic is Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes; others are gen, focused mainly on Clint and Dick Grayson, with appearances by Natasha, Roy, and others. Fae Clint fantasy AU with great world-building. 11,900 words, rated T.

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

Podfic by @noxnthea

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

can't start a fire without a spark by @mightymightygnomepriest: Frank Castle/Jason Todd. Frank saves a puppy and gets caught in the rain. Soft and sweet and sexy. 3468 words, explicit.

Remix by @daddyswickedqueen

Sequel by @bittercape

getting better in the worst way by @o-kaythislooksbad: gen, featuring characters from Moon Knight, Doom Patrol, Teen Titans, Hulk, and Venom. Creative canon mashup with characters that don’t get a lot of representation in fic. 80,064 words, rated T.

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

Hawksnest by TheologyDiscography: Jason Todd/Clint Barton. Post-Under The Red Hood friends-to-lovers with a fun twist on Clint’s story. 3359 words, rated T.

Podfic by CainPods

Sequel by @o-kaythislooksbad

Marshmallow Crime Lords by @noxnthea and @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, but the relationship isn’t the focus; lots of BatFamily shenanigans and fluff. 46,440 words, rated T.

Remix by @bill-longbow

Sequel by @bittercape

Art by @wyxan

Podfic by @flowerparrish

Playlist by @carcrash429

If It's A Highway by @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes, Lost Days/post-CA:TWS canon fusion. 77,122 words, explicit.

Timestamp by @bill-longbow

Art by @wyxan

#marvel #dc #dc marvel crossover #crossover #crossover fanworks celebration #art #fic rec list #podfic #jason todd #clint barton #bucky barnes #peter parker #bruce wayne #tony stark #steve rogers #frank castle #winterhawkhood #dc/marvel

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castieltrash1 · 1 year

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summary → patience is a virtue and you show bucky barnes he’s worth waiting for

word count → 17k

warnings → angst/comfort, pining, insecurity/jealousy, partial soldat!bucky, mentions of violence, ptsd/nightmare references, ambigious pre-wakanda timeline, alcohol, wanda/vision mentions, reader is non-gendered but gets called “sweetheart” “doll” “darling” and “kid,” bucky is scared of thunderstorms, physical scars and canon-level violence, basically just a big ball of emotion with a happy ending

a/n → yes guys it is, in fact, finished. i’d like to thank the academy aka my bucky anon and @f1nalboys bc without them this fic would’ve never seen the light of day </3 this one is for yall MWAH !!

+ each section of the fic is kind of based on a different song so u can listen to those [here] hehe :3 but the whole fic is based on the song outer space/carry on by 5sos (the title is from lyrics hehe)

---

I. The Archer; “And I don't see an end to this, so I'll enjoy the fire.”

Bucky enters the kitchen almost silently, the slosh and drip of his drenched clothes giving away his sudden presence.

You turn your head just in time to watch a few drops hit the floor, water collecting into a murky puddle of shadow on the tile around his clunky boots. It takes an eternity of a stretched second for you to recognize him. Everyone had turned in for the night, supposedly. When your brain registers who’s standing in front of you, your eyes widen, heart skipping a beat. Even with everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve watched him do, it still doesn’t feel right to see him in this state.

He’s already stalking off with a rubbery squeak when you grab a spare dishtowel from the counter and rush over to him. For a moment you think he’ll ignore you, but then he stops in his tracks, albeit without sparing you a glance. He’s not all there -- stance stiff, eyes glazed in a way that disregards the usual sliver of warmth in his deep blue gaze. But he’s polite -- obedient -- regardless.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologize -- for not being fast enough, not noticing him; anything he might take offense to in this sensitive state. “I didn’t realize you were still out... I thought…” He doesn’t reply, but his jaw ticks as water trickles from his hair to his cheek. It lets you know he’s not completely numb. Not yet. You lift the towel, but he grabs it from you before you can get any closer.

He drags it across his eyes, forehead, nose, before shoving it back into your hands. When he slicks his hair away from his face, you take note of the blotchiness of his skin; concentrated around his nose and under his red-rimmed eyes. They’re bloodshot, and the veins are bright against his grey expression.

He offers you no more than a sniff as he brushes past, heading towards the bathroom.

When the door slams shut behind him, you break from your stupor and trace his wet footprints back to the puddle that’s begun to seep into the lines between the tile. You sacrifice the already dirtied towel to clean it. Bucky will feel bad for the mess eventually, even if he’s apathetic now. The searing hot shower will slowly bring him back, steam opening the guilt-filled pores that hide under his scarred skin. He’ll come out and scrub the grout until his hands bleed.

The water is still running when you reach the bathroom door to wipe up the last of the mess, just a heelprint of thinned mud.

As you retreat to your room, you text Steve. He’ll be the first one up, and the only one equipped to deal with the emotional hangover. He’ll be the only one who really cares.

You let him know that Bucky just got home, hoping he’ll note the late timestamp of your message. And you tell him Bucky seems tired. Tired. It does little to encompass everything -- all the exhaustion, fear, and confusion he’ll wake up with. But Steve will understand. He always does. And you do your best, even when there’s not a single recognizable part of Bucky left.

Steve catches you by the wrist in the lounge the following early afternoon, tugging you to the corner of the room. A soft smile spreads across his face as he wipes away the sweaty remains of his morning run; all warmth, skin glowing in a way that only happens after a good workout.

His eyes scan the rest of the room, a movement almost too fast to catch. He lets out a heavy, relieved sigh when he realizes you’re alone, and brings you to the nearest couch.

“I got your text,” he says lowly, hesitant to breach the topic in person. “I wanted to thank you.”

You see the nervousness in his gaze and scoot closer to pat his shoulder. “Of course. I know he can be… Unpredictable. You deserve a heads-up if you can get one.” Steve’s been caught off guard before; you all have. It’s easy to think Bucky is just being distant, just being him. And then he’s sleeping too late, saying too little. His dinner plate will stay untouched, but the kitchen will be ransacked at midnight once everyone’s gone. Steve can barely catch up, and you doubt Bucky can either.

Steve shifts, letting out a shaky breath. “I want to help him.”

“You do more than any of us,” you reassure, truthfully. “Bucky trusts you -- he loves you. I think your presence is all he needs most of the time.”

Everyone else has to put more effort into their support. Natasha peels back the scars of her past in hopes of sharing the pain. Bruce spends weekends hunched over his desk trying to make sleeping pills that Bucky’s metabolism won’t immediately digest; tired fingers shaking as he tries a new dose, a new capsule, a new something.

But Steve’s existence alone is more of a contribution than anything.

“He knows you help, too,” he finally says, staring in a way that makes you squirm. It’s the hardened soldier’s gaze that leaves no room for argument. Whatever he’s telling you is a belief buried deep in his soul, an unwavering promise.

It makes your chest clench. Steve confirming that Bucky pays you even an ounce of attention is enough to make your heart race. “I’m just trying to be a friend.” You stress the last word, hoping it’s not visible that you’re curled around the ledge of a maybe more.

“He’ll notice eventually,” he tries, but his determined gaze is gone, and he’s holding onto hope just as much as you are.

The surface of Bucky’s healing has barely been scratched. There’s an entire life for him to uncover, remember, forget, and relive. It’d be selfish to expect any more than that from him. You know that, Steve knows that. A part of you hopes Bucky does too -- that someday he’ll realize his existence isn’t at the expense of others, even if that expense is love.

Steve stands with curled lips and a gentle double-pat on your leg that’s too comforting for something you shouldn’t even be disappointed about. It makes you feel like you’re mourning, but maybe you are, and maybe he’s just the only one who realizes it.

II. Studio 6; “I reached out to wake you but I learned that he'd taken you back.”

Group dinners are impossible, but there’s always a good handful of you in the kitchen at one time.

Tony will sip something bubbly that’s worth a mortgage, while Bruce tosses a salad fit for two; perpetually charged with thinly veiled green anger. Clint will scarf down a slice of week-old pizza and Nat will scrunch her nose at the unpleasant sounds she can never seem to avoid when he’s within range.

And, if Steve’s around, so is Bucky. The latter has only made an exception for Sam if his prior friend is on a mission for too long that he can’t sustain a hunger strike.

No one questions it or why his presence is more likely to exist when the dining room is crowded. He seems more inclined to show up when he can sink out of a conversation without anyone noticing, without any eyes on him -- except yours. He always catches onto your staring quickly though, feeling the heavy and uncomfortable weight of your focus.

But tonight, his chair by the corner of the room is noticeably empty. No one dares to disturb it, even if the extra seat is needed. No one says anything either -- at least not too loudly, though you catch some distant mumblings between Sam and Tony. They’ve chosen to forget (or purposely ignore) the fact that Steve, who’s sitting beside them, has beyond-perfect hearing.

And he’s quick to hear the vibrating of his silenced phone, brows furrowed as he discards his fork to reach for the device. Normally, he’d scold you for ignoring table manners, but when he reads your hasty message, he understands.

“Have you seen him eat today?”

Steve gives you a tight-lipped frown and discreet shake of his head as a response.

You’re quick to stand from your chair with a sigh, the room quieting as everyone’s eyes focus on you. “I’m done, so I’ll do dishes tonight.” All of them happily agree without question, piling their plates onto yours. Wanda smiles in gratitude, whereas Clint presses a messy kiss to your cheek in thanks. Steve, who usually has clean-up duty, just nods, giving you permission for whatever you’re planning.

Thankfully, the kitchen stays empty for a while. Laughter and voices echo from the lounge, and you half listen to the retold stories as you load the dishwasher. Everyone is still going strong by the time you finish cleaning and grab a new plate from the overhead cupboard.

You hope Bucky won’t take offense at the basic sandwich; certainly not the homely dish of meat and potatoes he might think of as a family dinner. No silverware, no mess. The fridge is mostly stocked, if you ignore the Asgardian leftovers and the three-hundred-dollar block of cheese, so you pile up what you can.

The sliced tomatoes wobble while you walk down the hall, dish balanced in one hand. Light spills underneath Bucky’s bedroom door frame, but when you knock softly, there’s no response. You tap a bit harder, and call out: “Bucky… I have some food for you.” Try as you might to keep your voice steady, there’s a waver that makes you grimace. Contrary to what he may believe, it’s not him you fear -- not in the way others do. He still doesn’t answer you.

You leave the plate on the ground; a pathetic offering of inclusion and peace.

It’s just a sandwich.

When you’ve retreated to your own room, you send him a text letting him know what’s waiting for him. And even though it stings when he doesn’t reply, you feel a silent weight lifted off your shoulders. You played your role today, just as you did last night.

If there’s one emotion Bucky has never evoked in you, it’s guilt.

You don’t check your phone until you’re making coffee the next morning, barely awake as the smell of roasted beans fills the air. The sandwich and its recipient feel like a half-forgotten dream. Only when you’re a few sips into your drink do you see the notification, and the one word it bestows.

Thanks.

It catches you off guard, and you busy yourself by rinsing the pot for the next person, a ceramic glint catching your eye. The stainless steel sink is home to a single plate -- the plate. There’s still a smudge of mustard on the corner from when your hands shook, and the squeezed condiment missed the bread.

You scrub at the dried stain, a much easier mess than the mud-covered floor. It’s just a small task, just a sandwich, just a friendly gesture.

It’s clear Bucky thinks nothing more of it either. The following weekend he’s fine in his own way. After an episode, the air around him feels off; a thick aura that makes your gut instincts fire up. He’s a human timebomb, one wrong step away from mass destruction.

And then he smiles at Steve, you overhear their conversation about Coney Island, and suddenly all that fear is gone.

His laugh is more of a throaty chuckle than anything else, but there’s a flash of his pearly whites when he jokes about taking Steve on the Cyclone (a story you’ve all heard countless times) and time seems to slow. You hang onto the sight of him like a single frame in a movie; the sway of that one curl on his forehead, the slow upturn of his lips. It’s almost like he’s not there, not really, because he’s someone entirely different -- and not in the ways you’ve seen before.

It feels like you’re standing in the museum again, looking at all the Sergeant Barnes plaques and pictures. Not a hint of Winter Soldier, not even Bucky, just… James.

You must be grinning like the lovesick idiot you are because Steve finally nudges your shoulder. “Don’t you start laughing now. You’dve thrown up too if you went on that thing.” It takes a second for you to realize they’re still talking about roller coasters, and you just shake your head.

“Whatever you say, Cap’.”

“C’mon, Buck, back me up here!” He’s reverted to the past just as much as his friend, though less noticeably. Just a shift of the shoulders and a stance that fits a skinny Brooklyn kid, not a trained Avenger.

“Nah.” Bucky laughs again, stifled now that you’re involved in the conversation. “Steve’s just a chicken.”

“Oh, eat it,” Steve retorts. “I had stomach ulcers! Of course, I threw up.” He acts truly offended, but there’s no malice in his tone. He loves a good row, even when he acts otherwise. You pretend not to catch his barely visible smirk even as he walks away to go talk to Sam, who’s just entered the room.

You lean closer to Bucky, hand covering the side of your mouth, voice lowered. “He’s just bluffing. I heard he screamed over a spider yesterday.” There’s not much space between you two, and your head spins as you realize he must’ve leaned in too. Just a little. Unconsciously, perhaps, though a hopeful part of you thinks he calculates every moment, no matter how small.

He laughs, enough for you to see his chest puff, but too quiet to cover the whirring of his metal-plated arm. Making him laugh gives you a feeling that’s unmatched by any other form of euphoria. It’s a baby step, a sign of comfort, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re enough. Enough for him.

Your heart skips a beat, and when his eyes dart to watch your upturned lips, you wonder if his does too.

III. Sign of the Times; “Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets?”

A part of you is beginning to believe good and bad luck are destined to come hand-in-hand.

It’s an odd feeling having Bucky next door to you, even with the heavy, soundproof wall border. There are simultaneously mere inches and a world apart between you. His steps are silent and his door is always closed, but his presence is still there, and you don’t know if you’d still feel it if you weren’t head over heels for him.

Considering the rest of the building’s layout, you’ve been blessed with this corner of the facility. Steve’s across from Bucky, Sam from you. Despite the square shape, they’re a tight-knit triangle most of the time, even if you consider yourself somewhat involved in their friendship. But it’s partially relieving to not always be included since they can be a handful otherwise.

And that much is proven true when a loud clattering wakes you up at four in the morning.

The sound would wake anyone up, but your job and training are responsible for the way you jolt, heart racing. Any remaining sleep is blinked away as your fingers drift to the side of your bed, where you know a knife is sandwiched between the mattress and frame. No one can get in or even close to the facility without Tony’s knowledge, but the smooth metal feels reassuring against your fingertips regardless.

Silence follows for a few seconds, long enough for you to wonder if the disturbance was just a vivid nightmare. And then you hear one door open, and another; both slammed into the wall behind them. Steve’s voice echoes down the hall, calling your name, and you slide off the bed to your door, forgetting your disclosed weapon.

Steve’s halfway through your name again when you enter the dark hall, finding him standing in Bucky’s doorway. He’s bleary, blue eyes clouded with an uncertain look you’ve only managed to see once or twice; most notably, on the freeway that fateful day. He’s forced to adjust to the situation quickly, you realize, when you join his side and peer into the room.

Everything about Bucky is wrong.

His chest heaves, and when Steve shifts forward, he growls. It’s not a warning, but a threat. If his mouth could foam, you’re sure it’d be dripping down his chin at this point. He’s an offensive predator at first glance. And then you notice the little clues: disheveled sheets, sweat gathered on his brow, the broken vase by his bed stand, and the water dripping from his flesh hand.

Bucky suddenly becomes a wounded, scared animal.

You inch closer, Steve grabbing your wrist when Bucky reacts with a snarl. But you don’t halt, forcing yourself past the threshold. One checkpoint at a time.

“Bucky, it’s me.” You stand, palms face out. “I don’t know what you dreamt of -- I’m sure it scared you. But Steve and I are here, ok?” His eyes flicker between you, respectively, and a glint of recognition flashes in them. “Can you sit back down on your bed?”

His expression trembles, metal fingers curling and stretching repeatedly.

You rack your brain for any idea of ways to de-escalate the situation when he doesn’t follow your suggestion. And then it hits. He doesn’t need a suggestion. He needs an order.

With a deep breath, you steady your tone and catch his gaze. “Bucky…” His eyes glaze, but you try again. “James.” He twitches, just a small shift, but you grab onto it. You want to use the least amount of soldier-related words you can and if his legal name works, you’re not going to push your luck.

“Sit down on the bed, now.” You can feel Steve burning holes into your back, but you ignore his presence, and keep your eyes trained on Bucky. His shoulders drop after a moment and he blinks a few times before shuffling backward until the underside of his knees hit the bed frame. His recline is slow, but he finally sinks into the soft mattress with a heavy breath.

When you walk closer, he doesn’t react at all -- just watches your movements. And when you sit beside him, he continues to stare at you curiously. Steve’s still watching as you grab Bucky’s warm hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of his palm in a soothing repetitive motion.

You begin to murmur affirmations while you continue, not daring to initiate any more physical contact. And he slowly, almost unnoticeably, begins to react to it. Steve sandwiches Bucky’s other side and grabs the latter’s fluffy thick blanket from the middle of the bed.

“He’s sweating,” you whisper to Steve, and he nods, but adjusts the fabric on his friend’s shoulders anyway.

“He doesn’t like the cold.”

You swallow down the quickly forming lump in your throat.

Bucky blinks away the fog a few silent moments later. His fingers grip yours and he looks down at them, tracing your arm up to your face. He says your name quietly.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He scrutinizes you for a second, making your heart flutter, and then his gaze shifts to Steve.

“Steve?”

The blond smiles and nods, patting Bucky’s back gently. “Hey, punk. You alright?”

He swallows thickly, too many words and not enough answers. His fingers are still within your grip. “Yeah. I think.” The wavy strands of hair around his ear are slick with sweat and his tongue darts across his chapped lips in a nervous tick.

“Steve, can you get some water?” you ask, and Steve seems taken aback by your control of the situation, but he finally stands and makes his way to the door. When his steps grow quiet, you return your focus to the man beside you.

“I’m sorry if we scared you,” you begin, but then Bucky jerks his hand from yours as if your touch is the red-ringed surface of a hot stovetop.

His vulnerability shrivels away and he covers the rest of it with his blanket as he shifts toward the other end of the bed. If he notices your hurt expression, he doesn’t mention it, and you do your best to hide it as you stand from his bed.

You slowly drop to your knees, beginning to pick up the remains of the shattered vase; counting each thread in the carpet to take up more time. The flowers that fell are already shriveling, stems cracked into stringy vertebrae, petals smashed into the woven flooring.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky suddenly asks, voice gruff, but with a hint of hesitance. When you look up at him, your breath catches; the table lamp behind him is a warm yellow halo, and you can’t dismiss the feeling of kneeling before him, rose gathered in your palm as you pray he loses the solemn look that covers his face.

“Do what?”

He gestures his chin toward the floor. “Pick up my… messes.”

Steve’s promise rings through your ears. He’ll notice eventually. Your hands shake, and you look back to the floor; constant and unchanging, unlike his expressions. “It’s not a big deal. We all make messes sometimes.” And while that’s true, both of you know there’s no one else you’d be picking up glass shards for at four in the morning.

“You don’t,” he says, before continuing in a hushed tone, almost so you don’t hear, “make messes, I mean.”

His words make you still: what does he perceive? What does he know about you, what does he see that you overlook? What has he pieced together on how absolutely ruined you are for him?

Steve walks in with a cup of water, and the questions silence.

He feels the change in the air quickly and grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “I got it. Go back to bed.”

You toss the glass into the trash, pocketing a few of the intact flower petals to press and save.

When their quieted murmurs and sounds of cleaning continue, you dare a glance back. Bucky pulls his blanket closer, chasing as much warmth as he can take. His hair is almost dry, but the shorter and thinner strands are still stuck to his forehead with sweat. When you blink, he looks the same as the night before last -- wet from the rain and too uncomfortable in his own cold skin.

His reaction to the rain suddenly makes all too much sense.

IV. worldstar money; “Don't hate me, am I crazy? So tenderly you watch me burn.”

It turns out that the nightmare is the peak of Bucky’s episode, and his outburst ends quickly after. He returns to nightly dinners -- with Steve in tow -- and you don’t wake up to either of them yelling again.

Coincidentally, his plateau of emotions also lines up with Thor’s periodic arrival. His presence is always a date to anticipate and the team can spend up to a week preparing if they’re given the time. The god is not a handful, per se, since he’s more than capable of entertaining himself. But, at this point, it’s a tradition that his appearance is paired with a party. The few times one hasn’t been organized before he shows, Thor’s taken it upon himself to create one spontaneously; with no regard to his surroundings. Tony’s already lost a few pieces of furniture to Asgardian liquor stains and he won’t make that mistake again.

As the preparation begins and the excited trainees at the facility are informed of the event, your mind drifts back to Bucky. His attitude change seems too instantaneous. The decline and regrowth can take weeks. A part of you hopes it’s a sign of healing - the fast recovery. The logical side of you thinks he’s simply hiding his discomfort since everyone is busy, too busy for him.

Thankfully, Wanda keeps you distracted. Whenever something normal like a party happens, she’s the most excited, and it’s hard to not feel infused with her radiance. Even Natasha becomes more playful, talkative. Despite popular belief, it seems that redheads have the most fun, especially ones who crave some regularity in their lives.

“What about this one?” Wanda pulls the nth dress from her closet, both you and Natasha lifting your heads from where you’re lying on her purple bed. It’s a simple red piece, with a small flower pattern and flowy skirt.

Natasha sighs, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Too simple.”

“You only wear little black dresses,” you retort, sliding up to her side. “I think it’s pretty, Wanda.”

“Hey, it’s a staple to any good wardrobe.”

“Nat?” you playfully jab. “Are you hiding a secret stylist side of yourself from us?”

Wanda clears her throat and you glance back at her. “Nat’s right. I’ll order something new.”

You frown at their obvious attempt to gang up on you. “I thought I was right!”

Natasha chuckles and Wanda attempts a sputtered excuse before she ends up laughing as well. You flip both of them off, but they see the smile gracing your face regardless.

“Fine. What about you, Nat?” You rest your head on her shoulder, feeling her shrug.

“I don’t plan for this stuff.” A total lie, but you let it slide.

Wanda looks over her shoulder as she returns the dress to her overfilled closet. “Picked something to seduce Bucky in yet?” Her accent deepens as she fakes a sultry tone, sending a mascara-lashed wink your way.

“Oh my god,” you groan.

“I think you should get something to highlight your ass,” Natasha muses, playfully tapping her chin. “That’s a pretty obvious hint, don’t you think?”

“Not you too!” But she pulls you into her arms regardless. Wanda jumps on the bed a few seconds later, curling up to your other side. You’re so close to them, and not just physically. You feel like you could reveal anything, admit any secret, and it’d stay in this group of minds forever. A Bermuda Triangle friendship for your confessions.

You can’t help but mumble: “Why doesn’t he notice anything I do?”

It still feels selfish to think, let alone say out loud, but there’s no judgment in response. There’s not the pitying comfort from Steve or the teasing grins of the others who don’t understand the depth of the situation. Natasha pats your arm and Wanda squeezes you a little tighter, and they don’t need to offer an explanation because just having them listen is enough. You know that’s how Bucky feels with Steve and you wonder if, in some other dimension, he trusts you just as much.

Natasha leaves first; off to the shooting range with Clint, and you follow soon after.

“Hey, Wanda,” you call, halfway through the threshold. She looks up from investigating her heeled-boot collection, red waves of hair crashing over her shoulder. Her thin brow lifts in question, and you smirk.

“I think Vision would like the flower dress, just saying.”

You don’t look back, even when you hear her sputter a retort, because you already know her face is flushed to match the outfit hanging in her closet.

V. sex money feelings die; “Trade love for one night, two pills and a red wine.”

The air in the facility only changes when Tony Stark is in charge. Routines, workouts, meetings -- they’re all forgotten and replaced with tipsy staff and good music. An inkling of professionalism remains in the lounge, but it’s discreet; fancy champagne, expensive suits, and a few public heads lingering in groups. But as a whole, it’s nowhere near the usual stiffness of your daily life. The facility may be your home, but it’s your workplace as well. Except for during moments like these.

You’re able to spot everyone quickly. Unlike the previous Stark Tower parties you attended a few years back, the guest list tonight is much smaller. Natasha is holding her own in a conversation with a few snobby businessmen and Clint lingers on the balcony behind her looking like he’d rather jump off than engage in any small talk anyone has to offer.

Wanda, in all her flowered-dress glory, is a tad tipsy, but Vision stables her with a hand on her waist, and you can see her cheeks flush from across the room.

Tony is with Bruce at the bar, and Thor is surrounded by excited trainees who’ve only heard stories about him. A second later, your gaze lands on a group of three: Steve, Bucky, and Sam. The last catches your eye and waves, heading your way before you can take a step in their direction.

He stumbles on his path, which means he’s drunk. Sam Wilson is not a lightweight, but deep inside his body lives a frat boy who only appears when he’s had too many shots to remember.

“Hey!” He grins and pulls you in for a hug, the type he’d usually give you after a two-week mission away, even though it’s been two hours since you talked last. “I didn’t see you around. Thought you decided to skip.”

You chuckle. “You know me. Just… Lingering.” And watching for Bucky.

Sam raises his brow cartoonishly high. “I think you’re partying wrong. You,” he starts, grabbing your hand before you can blink, “should be dancing.” He extends your arm above your head until you appease him with a spin.

He whistles, then sighs. “You know, I hate to admit it but I think Barnes would be a better partner. Dude’s how old again?” Sam laughs, palm warm as he squeezes your hand. “Seven decades of dance moves. Hell, you think he can moonwalk?”

It’s a nice thought: Bucky, not yet greying due to his years on ice, being free in the eighties. His hair fluffed with hairspray and a neon earring dangling from his lobe. But that’s another life. Another era he’ll never live.

“Hey, you alright?” The new wave illusion fades away and you’re left staring at Sam’s toothy smile. “You have too much to drink?”

“No, actually.” You play off the spaced-out moment and Sam is too inebriated to notice. “I haven’t had anything yet, really.”

He immediately gets a playful glint in his eyes. “Steve got his hands on some of that God beer, or whatever -- if you wanna try.” Despite internally refusing the offer, you don’t dismiss Sam. Mainly, because Bucky is still standing by Steve, and you can see the invisible walkway leading up to them. You nod, and Sam heads back in their direction with you trailing behind him.

Steve pulls you to his side the minute you’re within reach, breath hot and sweet against your cheek. “Wondered where you wandered off to.” He loosens his grip but lets his weight rest on your shoulder, enough to keep you warm. He flashes his flask at you, silver metal and dark brown leather, but you shake your head.

Before you can politely decline, Sam reaches over to take the offer from Steve’s hands. Three sets of eyes watch, with bated breath, as he tosses back a shotful, complete with a face-scrunching cough. “Is it that bad?” you ask, but Sam’s too busy clearing his throat to respond, and Bucky grabs the flask.

He makes Sam look like an amateur as he takes his own drink. It goes down smoothly, the veins in his neck tensing as he swallows without hesitation. None of his other muscles even twitch. You marvel at him in quiet awe as he licks away the last golden drops clinging to his lips.

Bucky’s eyes catch yours when he’s done. Tonight, he stares, like he’s trying to understand your gaze for once. A part of you wonders how he can struggle to profile emotions as visible as yours. Another part of you wonders if he remembers what attraction and amazement look like to the naked eye.

You don’t have time to consider it before the man of the hour is pushing his way into the conversation, sliding a toned bicep around your neck to pull you in. He grins, sends the other guys a nod. “My favorite human,” he starts, though you’re not sure if that ranking was decided pre or post-Jane. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, Thor, thank you.” He pats the small of your back in response and then directs his attention to the others -- distant chatter of mead and parties fading into the background. You’re in the midst of zoning out when a gentle, but direct, cough alerts you of someone’s presence. Thor doesn’t pay you any mind as you pull from his grip, turning to face a guy you think you recognize. A security guard, maybe -- or a media reporter?

You’ve got a superhuman soldier on one arm and a God on the other, but this, presumably mortal man stays rooted in his place. “Good evening,” he starts and throws your last name out like the idea of being beneath you socially crushes his already crippling ego. “I know this might be, well, quite forward, but…” In the back of your mind, you realize the others have halted their conversation to watch how this will unfold.

“I’ve been waiting to see you all night.” You give him a polite smile and hope your cringe isn’t obvious.

“Thank you…” He is optimistically brave and you know that letting him down without a fight is unavoidable, so you play along to save face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.” His grin is bleached white, a staggering contrast against his dark suit and brown eyes.

“Well, now that you’re here,” but he can’t finish the tacky line before Sam snorts, only silencing when Steve jabs him in the side.

You feel downright sick. His intentions aren’t pure, obviously, but you wonder what his motive is. It always starts like this -- a nice, albeit forced, conversation, and next thing you know, he’s asking which Avengers are fucking behind closed doors (or whatever other gossip is trending at the moment.)

“Anyway.” You brace yourself; here it comes. “There’s a private gallery showing downtown next weekend. I was hoping you’d be interested in going with me?”

Oh. Oh.

“I’m sorry?” You’re still not convinced. “Are you asking me on a date?” The word leaves your mouth and you faintly feel Steve take a step closer, gentlemanly instincts kicking in. He’s watched the others be tempted by similar propositions, only to be ambushed by paparazzi or caught in a pre-planned scandal.

“You could call it that, if you’d like,” the guy responds, a flirty lilt in his tone. “I understand if you’re not available -- a lifestyle like yours doesn’t leave much in the schedule, I assume.” He rustles in his suit’s breast pocket before pulling out a card, off-white with a dark grey print. You catch a glance of his name -- Tom -- before he’s speaking again.

“If you end up having time, I’d love to take you.”

You nod dumbly, still not sure how to process the situation at hand. But if his disinterest towards your opinion wasn’t obvious before, it’s clear when he’s already walking away with a grin before you can attempt to respond.

When you finally turn around, all four men are staring at you with different expressions. Thor is impressed, it seems, even when he falls into a bout of surprised chuckles. Sam’s slightly more annoyed, but not enough to stop himself from laughing either. Steve is staring daggers into Tim -- Tom’s -- departing figure, and Bucky is… You’re not sure. His jaw is clenched, tightly, and his stance is far more predatory than it was before; shoulders squared, chest puffed. He’s the perfect picture of jealousy, but you know he’s probably just put off by Tom’s cocky demeanor.

Regardless, the change in the air is palpable, and you end up excusing yourself before you can choke on the tension. You rescue Natasha from her painfully dull conversation and pull her onto the balcony to relax with Clint. He’s staring off at the landscape below, and you both press against the railing with him. His gaze doesn’t shift, but a smirk becomes visible on his sharp profile. “Nice escape in there, you two. Barnes and those businessmen were really shaking their heads.” Natasha scoffs, but you tense.

“Bucky?” you ask, and Clint huffs, faking surprise.

“Yeah, Bucky. Thought the old man was about to go into cardiac arrest when that other guy asked you out.”

“What guy?” Natasha cuts in.

At the same time, you say, “How did you know he was asking me out?”

Clint isn’t easy to annoy, so he continues to answer your questions. “I know because Barnes looks jealous as hell. I can hear his heavy breathing from here, and in case you’ve forgotten,” he gestures towards the purple aid lodged in his ear. “And since you’ve gotten over here, he’s taken it upon himself to finish off Steve’s flask.”

“Gross,” Natasha groans. “I wouldn’t touch that shit if it were the last drink on Earth.” She accentuates her words with a sip of her bubbling champagne, long red nails tapping the glass flute.

“Whatever you say, Barton,” you chuckle, but there’s a hesitation in your words; a silent gap waiting to be filled with more questions. Was Bucky really jealous? Is Clint just humoring you? The thoughts drift around in your head, and your friends let the conversation flow into another topic, saving you from dwelling for too long.

As they begin to playfully argue over something -- like always -- your eyes drift back to the party. It’s reached a quiet buzzed state, the energy of the room coming to a lull. The calmness is enough to leave you feeling dazed, letting the cold breeze coat your skin with goosebumps. You silently hope that Bucky is watching from afar, indulging in your shadowed silhouette against the darkening night. But when you examine each partygoer to find him, you land on Steve instead; with that look.

Natasha finally notices, or at least announces, your distraction: “You alright?”

“Yeah…” You trail off, watching as Steve and Sam glance around the room; searching, worried. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bring more drinks on your way,” Clint suggests, but his favor leaves your mind the second you head inside.

VI. SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK; “Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms.”

Your shoes clack against the floor and Steve lets out a sigh of relief when you enter his line of sight. “Thank God you’re here,” he half-jokes as if you can’t see his flustered expression. “I was just about to call you. Bucky wandered off and... I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. He’s not in his room -- Sam checked.”

“Bathroom?” You ask, but Sam, approaching, shakes his head. He looks like he’s a second from toppling, his earlier shot taking a visible toll.

“Looked there first.”

You raise a disbelieving brow. “Geez, I’ve barely been gone five minutes and he just disappeared on you both? Isn’t that what he does?” You discreetly gesture around to the crowd, gritting your teeth. “This isn’t really his scene.”

Steve’s concern doesn’t lessen. “No, I know. He just, he somehow got buzzed. I don’t think he’s slept in days and… I don’t know...”

You know his ability to burn off alcohol is unparalleled, but unlike Steve, Bucky hasn’t touched the stuff since ‘42 -- not even one of Tony’s mild wines at dinner. If he was drinking as much as Clint said, there’s a fair chance he could be slightly inebriated; just enough to throw him off his perfectly calculated balance.

You can’t leave him to his own devices, so you let out an exhausted huff. “Fine. Take Sam to his room, though. He’s about to pass out.” Said drunk sends you a glare, then promptly stumbles in place. “I’ll make the rounds in the meantime. Text me if you see Bucky on your way.”

Both men nod, Sam’s head bobbing in a way that makes you dizzy. They head off, attracting a few whispers along the way, but make it down the hall without too much of a scene. You sneak away in the opposite direction, towards the other half of the facility. It’s eerily quiet as the voices fade away until there’s just silence. The lights automatically flicker on as you walk, turning off behind you when you leave their range.

The closest rooms are the lounge and some storage closets, but they’re all empty, along with the pool. He can’t be in the shooting range or armory, since they’ve been locked up tightly for the night; FRIDAY can’t even open them without Tony’s approval.

But there’s another set of bathrooms down the hall; less used, without everyone’s necessities inside. When you walk past the door, a few sounds catch your attention: a drunken mumble, squeaky boots, and water running. There’s a possibility it’s a public hookup since it’s practically a mile-high achievement to fuck at a Tony Stark party. At least, it was, back in 2011.

You push open the door slowly.

Bucky is leaning against the sink, face flushed and dripping water. It’s been unceremoniously splashed against his skin, dripping down his neck and spilling across his maroon dress shirt. The patches of wet fabric cling to his chest, and you barely manage to pull your gaze away from the smooth outlines of his torso. His jacket is draped next to the faucet, freckled with stray droplets like a garden flower.

His eyes catch yours in the mirror, blue drifting into a hazy grey.

“Hey…” You trail off, closely monitoring his expression. “Steve wondered where you ran off to.” You refrain from mentioning your own concern; a good choice, considering Bucky gives you a tight smile in return. You’re just thankful for more than a grimace at this point.

“It’s pretty loud in there, right?” you continue, looking away as you grab some paper towels, thin white, masking your palms like sheet ghosts. Bucky’s eyes are still on you when you turn back, making you jump. You try to play it off by taking a step closer, slowly raising your hand. “Is this alright?”

He doesn’t respond, but his chin juts outward. When he’s steel-faced like this, you can’t tell who you see more: Sergeant or Soldat.

His reaction seems like a yes, albeit a stubborn one. His skin is warm even through the napkins as you gently pat his face, drying it off. He’s completely still, and it takes a second for you to realize neither of you is breathing. You’re sure your heart is beating much faster than his. You dab his cheekbones and when you move to his forehead, he tilts toward you. It’s tender and trusting and your heart melts; dripping over your rib bones and living jitters in your stomach.

Bucky’s lips pout as you press them once, twice, and you savor the indirect kiss.

And then you pull away, and he leans back.

You smile, and for a second it looks like he does too. “All dry.” He’s quick to grab his jacket, slinging it over his broad shoulder. Right as you move aside to let him leave, he takes an unbalanced step, hurriedly adjusting himself. The sight of Bucky tripping over his own feet is enough to make you giggle, and the quieted sound makes his cheeks flush a shade darker.

“Are you drunk?” you press, and he scoffs.

“Can’t get drunk. You know that.” But the corner of his lips upturn just barely, and you know only a drunk Bucky would ever smile at you.

“Whatever you say…” You pull his jacket onto your own shoulder. “But I’m taking you to your room. Steve’ll put me on dish duty for a week if I don’t.”

VII. Out Like a Light; “If I betray our lonely nights spent out like a light, with no kiss goodnight...”

Bucky is quiet the entire walk to his room, but his presence is warm and comforting behind you; thick like drizzled honey. You don’t have to look back or strain your ears just to feel him, to sense him. You don’t mind that he doesn’t utter a single word or attempt to sync his steps next to yours -- you just make your way down the hall, distantly noting Sam’s door being open a sliver. It’s a habit of his, like many others, that you’ve grown to recognize. He can be overly cautious, sometimes to a fault, but you’re relieved to know he got to his room with a few screws left intact inside that wild head of his.

“And here we are, safe and sound.” You extend your arm to Bucky’s door with a cheesy grin: “Home sweet home.” When he tenses at your words, you try not to falter -- even when you know home to him is a century away, in another life, and another world. Even if home to him means young laughter, warm cooking, and a scratchy record. You can’t apologize for wanting to be home, for hoping the occasional laughter of Peter and the motherly nagging of Pepper are enough to makeshift a family.

Bucky gracelessly stomps into his room, immediately falling back into his unmade bed. Any other night, you’d close his door and walk far, far away. But tonight he’s still got his shoes on and you know one wrong move will track God knows what across his sheets. You can’t help but wonder how many messes Bucky Barnes will make before you finally give in and kiss him.

Without another thought, you close the door behind you, causing Bucky to look up with a raised brow.

“I’m not gonna let you fall asleep fully dressed,” you tell him, voice stern, and he’s half-asleep by the time you’re untying his second shoe, tugging it off his socked foot. He managed to undo one button on his shirt, but promptly gave up, leaving his arms beside him.

You murmur his name and he groans. “Buck, c’mon. What do you normally wear to bed?” He answers by rolling over, muttering something into his pillow.

It’d be frowned upon to go through his drawers, but you’ve got no other choice. You quickly grab a t-shirt and some sweats. You don’t stare when you pull off his button-up and slacks, and you don’t ogle when you pull his impromptu pajamas on. You don’t glance at his scars or his chest or his stomach because he trusts you.

He’s as vulnerable as you could ever hope for, but he’s also stumbling drunk, and bound to forget this encounter tomorrow morning. He will never trust you like this again, so you cling to the moment as you tuck him in and brush his bangs from his face.

The thought of his upcoming headache sends you to the bathroom to fill a glass of water, thankful the tap is filtered. You set the cup on his bed stand, next to his toppled prescription bottles. He’s got a memo pad, unmarked but indented from previous writings, and a silver pen there too. You scribble a note telling him to drink water and take his meds in the morning. You add a little heart, stick it on the glass, and resign yourself to the fate of this being a blurry moment for the rest of your life.

You’re finally about to walk away when Bucky grabs your wrist, completely catching you off guard. His eyes flutter open, drowsy blue and thankful in a way that reminds you you’d do anything for him. “Please, don’t leave me.” He blinks, glossy and unfocused, and you sit next to him with a gentle nod. His hand stays locked in yours, even when he shifts to rest on his side. Your thumb rubs his knuckle while his opposite metal one clicks into place with a soft rattle.

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles, but when you ask why, he just shakes his head and dozes off with a few slurred words. Something like thank you, and then a gravelly rumble of Russian -- Золотце.

A part of you wishes you didn’t understand it. Another part of you is glad Natasha has called you darling so many times before.

VIII. Even If It’s a Lie; “And I know you don't love me so, but please say it once before I go.”

If Bucky remembers anything from that night, he never acknowledges it. The others joke about the party in their sober states, reminiscing and reliving all the antics you missed while you spent the night baring your heart and soul to the man who now can’t stand to look at you.

“I wish I’d drank more and forgotten that night,” Clint jokes before the mention of alcohol jogs his memory and he glances over at you. “You never brought back our refills, so I’m blaming you.” You can tell he’s playing around, and you hope his words will fly under everyone else’s radar, but then Nat nods, growing suspicious. You’re all having dinner -- one of the good ones, where everyone is warm and full -- so you hope she won’t prod. But you can feel the shift in her energy as she leans in, raising a sharp brow.

“You’re right, Barton -- for once in your life.”

“Thanks.”

“Where did you go?” Her cherry lips curl on one side, and Wanda can’t hide her amusement as she snuggles up to Vision on the loveseat; unlike you and Bucky, they’ve barely left each other’s side since that night.

Instinctively, your gaze darts to Bucky, and you’re surprised to catch him already staring back. A hint of something lies in his gaze -- something more unrecognizable than usual. It’s neither embarrassment regarding your time together, nor a glare warning you against speaking up. If anything, it’s almost a silent plea, though not one rooted in regret. He’s asking this to be your secret and yours alone.

“Sam got hammered,” you start, rolling your eyes jokingly. Bucky physically relaxes, you note, watching him from the corner of your eye. “I had to help him get to his room -- with Steve, who did most of the heavy lifting. Literally.” Everyone seems appeased with the answer and you’re relieved to have made the right call.

Someone -- you’re not paying much attention at this point -- remarks how difficult it is to get drunk nowadays; between being on-call and not being able to enter a bar without ten different security precautions. You don’t doubt the gratitude the team shares, both for each other and the satisfaction of saving people. But it comes with a certain yearning. You see it at Steve’s apartment when he makes you dinner and talks to you about the weather like you’re just his neighbor. Or when Wanda paints her nails before missions, even when she knows they’ll be chipped bare by the time you return home.

Everyone wants what they don’t have; a normal life -- a chance at something different, mundane, peaceful.

And you… You want Bucky.

Considering his usual aversion to your presence, it takes a while for you to realize he’s purposely ignoring you. You’d hoped your white lie to the group would build you some rapport in his mind, but the awkwardness builds up until it rolls off him in waves whenever you walk by.

The silent-stand off reaches unbearable levels until Bucky ends up assigned to a day mission. It’s a sad realization, but you can tell the entire facility relaxes at the lack of his presence. No one’s gotten the hang of being around him, so it’s easier when he’s just...gone. If anything, he’s usually in a better mood when he gets back. The alone time, the structure, and the familiarity of burning knuckles and bloody lips calm him in a way nothing else can.

Steve pulls you into his room that late afternoon. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips; his thinking look. You sometimes forget he doesn’t have all the answers, despite appearing old and wise. He’s navigating the same life as you are. He’s lived two eras, but so few years. He doesn’t always understand.

His room is clean and stark, bare walls and pristinely tucked sheets. It’s still warm, in all the right ways. It smells soft and sweet like him -- a woodsy linen scent -- and there’s a cream, knitted blanket draped across his bed that drowns you whenever he lets you borrow it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he starts, sitting on the edge of his bed with you. His broad frame takes up most of the space, but you don’t mind. “How did things go that night, with Buck? I asked him how he got to his room, but he said he doesn’t remember.”

The single spark of optimism you had for keeping that night a special secret fizzles away without another word. Within a mere second, the realization hits you. Bucky’s not cherishing some romantic rendezvous because that’s not what it was. If anything, he’s probably ashamed at how easily he opened up to you after too much alcohol.

You can’t help but scoff to hide your pain. “Lucky him,” you joke, nudging Steve’s side. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he frowns, immediately scooting closer to you.

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

You’re blinking back some form of emotion -- heartbreak, anger, the burning feeling of your conscience sneering I told you so. I told you this would happen. “I just got him to bed, that’s all.” It’d be easier to believe that, to gaslight yourself until the memory is nothing more than a faded delusion. If Bucky refuses to acknowledge it, why plague yourself with the isolated recollection?

With the tone of an overbearing mother, Steve sighs. “I know that’s not true, doll. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be crying.” And then you feel your wet cheeks and the faint taste of salt gathering on your lips, tears streaking without you even noticing.

“He called me… Darling -- in Russian.”

“What?” Complete disbelief. “Are you sure?”

You know he’s just as surprised as you were, but the question burns: Why would Bucky ever call you that? It’s what Steve’s secretly asking. “Nat,” you answer. “She’s used it with me before. I recognized it right away.”

“Darling...” Steve muses, the world pulling out in a Brooklyn drawl instead of a Russian purr. “Well, I can’t lie and say I was expecting that, but…” He tilts his head with a smile, blond wisps curled around his ears, glowing white in the setting sunlight. “That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

You go to wipe your eyes, but Steve beats you to it, rough knuckles brushing the tears away. “I don’t think so. He won’t even talk to me now. I think he’s ashamed -- but he shouldn’t be, right? It was just a drunk mistake. We all make those.” You know your tone isn’t convincing -- you’re still trying to prove it to yourself, and Steve’s face morphs into a look of pity. His features are drawn with guilt, and you don’t know when you both began to take the fall for Bucky’s faults.

“I’ll be honest.” Steve sighs, leaning forward. It’s hard to see him like this, so unsure. “I can’t always tell what Bucky’s thinking -- not anymore.” He shakes his head. “Maybe back then, before. Things were less complicated. It was easy to understand him.” He reaches for your hand, cupping it between both of his, and the contact steadies your wavering heart. “Sometimes, I think he’ll handle things like he used to, you know?” Sergeant Barnes -- the flirt, all confidence and smooth words. He’d treat you differently, but that’s not what you want, who you want.

“But that doesn’t mean you can doubt yourself, ok?” Steve’s words aren’t a cure-all, but they soothe the growing ache in your chest. He’s a terrible liar, so you know he’s being honest, and his reassurance means more than most people’s.

“Whatever Bucky decides to do - that’s his choice. You’re not doing anything wrong by trying to offer him love.” He doesn’t hesitate with the last word, which burns in every way possible; relief, knowing he understands the depth of your feelings; pain, that even with that knowledge, he only has hope. If Steve, with all of his unwavering optimism, is hanging by a thread, you know you’re past saving.

“Thanks, Steve.”

He says nothing else, just pulls you closer, and lets you rest in his arms for a few beats while you take in his natural scent and warm hands. In another life, he’d be easier to fall for. You’ve snagged a part of his heart, just like the others, but whoever gets it all… That’d be a type of love you’re not sure you could ever wrap your head around.

“I’m gonna go for a walk - try and clear my head. Alright?”

“Yeah, doll. Get to bed soon though, ok?”

You nod, and the sun has set by the time you make it down the hall, incoming moonlight lighting your way up to the balcony.

IX. Two Slow Dancers; “It would be a hundred times easier, if we were young again.”

The outside air is crisp, occasional winds biting into your arms and coaxing goosebumps from your skin. It’s the type of weather that leaves you alone with your thoughts, too sharp to let you zone out into an unfeeling haze. Everything lingering in your mind confronts you when you’re cold like this, and you wonder if that’s why Bucky hates the midnight chill so much; if it forces forward the memories that aren’t really his, the guilt of his subconscious actions.

You’ve all made countless mistakes, misjudgments. It’s part of the job. When you rely so heavily on instincts and adrenaline, slip-ups are bound to happen. But at the end of the day, you have yourself to own up to, not a foreign entity wearing your skin. Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier, but the Winter Soldier is a part of Bucky, in a way that can’t be denied. To consider them separate entities would be ignorant, but to blame Bucky would be cruel.

Bucky mirrors your route at some point in the night, quietly joining you. The cold is making your body ache, much like your mind, but you can’t find it in yourself to turn around and go back in, especially when you see him. He’s still in his mission clothes, dark and clinging to his sweaty skin. He looks untouched, though you’re sure he’s got a few cuts and bruises you can’t see.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until the morning,” you state, with a slight chatter of your teeth. The stars above shine brighter than they did at the tower, unobstructed by city lights and various forms of pollution. They feel closer, almost as if they’re listening to every word you say and whispering amongst themselves.

Bucky busies himself by tugging his leather gloves off. “Got done early. Steve said you’d probably be here.”

Bitterly, you acknowledge he didn’t check on you because he felt inclined. Rather, he’d been put up to it. Instead of giving him a verbal response, you hum. Your mind races with what Steve must’ve said, how it led to this. You know you’re being given the conversation you spent nights begging for, but instead of joy, you feel fear. A sour bile rises to your throat. Bucky has dirt caked on his clothes, you’re half-freezing in the dark night, and the universe is cruel for deciding now is the moment.

“I know what you’re doing.” He’s straight to the point, just like always. No flowery language or attempt at sugar-coating, which you find both a blessing and a curse. He won’t say anything that could be misconstrued, but his statement is vague enough to lure you into your own admission.

“Yeah? What’s that?” The crest of fresh tears burns your already irritated eyes. You feel the end of all ends coming, but you won’t be the one to start it. Your pride was what kept this infatuation going for so long, even though it’d been predestined to fail. And your pride is what keeps you from giving in, even with the settling realization that Bucky never intended to treat you differently or give you a chance.

His hands, and their now visible bruised knuckles, curl around the balcony railing. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you, yet he’s never felt so far away. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself,” he says gruffly, and it sounds worse coming from him than anyone else. Less comforting, more pitying.

“Look at me.” You hesitate before obliging.

The sight catches you off guard. You know what Bucky looks like when he’s uncomfortable; seen it countless times - this is worse. He’s gone through Hell and back, yet he still looks more tortured glancing at you than at any time in his past. Why he wants to see you when he does this, you don’t know. Sadistic is the best word for it. Why must he gouge a hole in your chest while giving you those baby blues?

His eyes are dark, stars catching in their reflection as the colors swirl like a galaxy. The celestial vision is only yours to enjoy for a moment before he squints, brows furrowing. He must see the tears, the pleading look on your face that you no longer bother to hide. “Doll?” Like a stab to the gut, he delivers the one word you’ve imagined falling from his lips so many times before. There’s no warm sun or shy smiles or soft kisses to accompany it, only a pitying gaze and the gloomy sky.

“Please - don’t call me that.” You attempt to be stern, but your voice wavers, words barely coating a stifled choke. The second you turn away, Bucky latches onto your wrist, calloused fingers pulling you close; finally wanting you to invade his space.

His lips form a tight line. “Won’t you at least listen to what I want to say?”

“Why should I?” you ask, voice sharpening into a bite. “I know what you’re gonna say. I can tell just by looking at your face.” Chest heaving, you continue. Now that the confidence to speak has hit you, you can’t seem to stop. “I’ve known every day since you came here, Bucky. I know you don’t like me, but I don’t know why you seem so determined to rub it in my face.”

Ripping your wrist from his clutch, you rub away a fresh set of oncoming tears. Bucky blinks, wide-eyed, but composes himself quickly. “You think…” He almost laughs in disbelief. “You think I want to hurt you?” For a second, your stomach churns with guilt, but it dissipates before he speaks again. He is hurting you, whether he intends to or not. “I’m telling you this because I want to protect you.”

Voice trailing into a barely restrained yell, your chest bubbles with frustration, spreading like wildfire. Every word slices through the icy air with a hiss. “Protect me from what?”

Bucky shakes his head, brown waves of hair swaying with the motion. “You don’t know what you want,” he says, sternly. “You think you know how you feel, but you don’t. You… You don’t realize the things I’ve done -- what I’m capable of.”

A second of silence passes before the dam inside you breaks. The tears dry up, scorched away by the anger in your veins. “We all know, Bucky,” you retort, not missing the flash of hurt on his face. All you can think of is Steve, Tony, everyone who’s lost in the name of the man in front of you. They’ve worked tirelessly to push aside the past, putting their trust in the future, in the one who has caused them so much pain. “And we are the ones who have given you a second chance, despite it all. You’re the only one who can’t forgive yourself.”

His chest heaves, letting out a low breath as your words sink in. “You’re right,” he admits, lowly. “Which is why I can’t let you shoulder that burden.”

“Stop assuming you know what I can and can’t do,” you snap, lip curling into a snarl. “This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that you refuse to think anyone can see the good in you!”

“That’s because there isn’t any good in me!” Bucky yells, finally managing to startle you. He steps closer, chest puffed and jaw twitching. For a moment, you imagine this is how his victims must’ve felt in their final moments. “It’s the ugly truth and you’ve gotta face it. I can’t ever be what you want.”

At that moment, you realize it’s never been you that he’s disliked; only himself. The thought makes you spiral, and you immediately soften, voice hoarse and hushed. “You are what I want,” you tell him, hoping he understands. “Just as you are, Bucky. Why can’t you accept that?”

“You’re…” He shakes his head, strung so tight his body shakes. “You’re being unrealistic. I - I can’t see you with hope now when I know that there’s no future where I’m the person you’re imagining.” He’s entirely resigned to the fact, despite all you’re willing to give him, every possibility ahead.

You have to remind him of the light at the end of the tunnel. “What about all the work we’re doing? The therapy, the meds? Steve’s even making negotiations with Shuri… I… Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“What if it works?” Bucky questions and the thought makes you stop. “Are you going to follow me there? To Wakanda?” he asks, and it’s almost sad how quickly you come to a decision. For him, and the chance of something more, you’d leave it all behind.

“I would,” you admit, keeping your voice steady. “If there’s a chance - why… Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider it. “It doesn’t matter… It’s something I have to do alone.” He’s burrowing himself into a pit of isolation despite your pleas. Every time you hold your hand out to help, he’s just inches away, fingertips brushing yours. Just one reach and you can pull him to safety.

“I know I can’t heal you, Bucky - that’s not... That isn’t what I’m trying to do. I just… I want you to know I’d wait for you, every step of the way.”

He stops, thinking about his next choice of words. Somehow, you already know what he’s going to say. “What if…” His voice is hesitant, almost as if it pains him to speak. It’s going to hurt you even more. “What if I don’t want you there?”

Finally, it hits; the admission you’ve always been preparing yourself for. The excruciating buildup slams into you with a deafening crescendo. The letdown, the pure collapse, is unavoidable. Not a cell in your body can fight it. Any chance of convincing him is over -- completely and utterly so. It’s the sharpest ache you’ve felt in so long, but you can’t break in front of him - not any more than you already have. You can’t allow him the satisfaction he’s been waiting for since he demanded you look him in the eye; the fact that he is wholly, unequivocally, and painfully right.

“Okay,” you finally exhale, trembling but not looking away. “If you… That’s all you need to say. If that’s what you want.” You don’t think you’ve ever seen Bucky regretful, because the emotion held in his eyes is not something you recognize; downcast eyes, slumped shoulders. This is one instance where the guilt is entirely his own. “I care about what you want too, Bucky,” you tell him, unsure of how he could ever think differently with all you’ve given him. “Just because I feel a certain way… I-I’d never force you to feel the same.”

The balcony falls into silence, neither one of you having anything left to say. The last bit of warmth disappears as Bucky retreats to the doorway, gentle winds brushing his hair back for just a second; long enough for you to see a light gloss of tears coat his eyes. He blinks them back, features relaxing on instinct as he shifts into the perfect picture of numbness like he’s been trained to do. Any hint of emotion is washed away in one crawling, desperate wave.

He stops halfway through the threshold, one final consolation on his tongue. “It wouldn’t have been forced,” he admits, and, for a second, it’s like the dream you’ve always imagined; his soft eyes, the chance of him feeling the same. But the confession is for another life, a different version of yourself that you can’t quite imagine.

Bucky gives you a trace of a smile, and your frustration spills away as quickly as it came. All that remains is the longing for what could have been -- for what will never be. “Thank you,” you tell him, and this time you mean it. He leaves quietly, almost as if he’d never been here to begin with.

You’re left standing in the cold, nose burning, and fingers numb. The stars stare down from above, twinkling and all-knowing. You can’t help but wonder how many heartbreaks they’ve witnessed in all their years, finding yourself grateful for a finite lifetime of them. One streaks across the sky and you let a silent wish cling to the bright white tail, hoping and begging to never take its place in the universe. You’re not sure how many more broken hearts you can handle.

At the very least, not an eternity’s worth.

X. Strange (Instrumental)

The night on the roof slowly fades away, word by word, until you start to forget exactly what Bucky said, and in what tone. The emotions linger in a way akin to sickness; a tight chest, twisted stomach, clammy skin. At the very least, the physical reactions are easier to hide, covered by excuses like a sparring match gone wrong or spoiled leftovers.

To most, you seem entirely fine. No one knows about your conversation beneath the stars, though a few begin to suspect something happened after Bucky’s return. He’s calm. He’s participating. He sits at dinner with everyone else, passing you the salt when you ask and listening intently to your repetitive drones about training. Natasha and Wanda watch with wide eyes, not bothering to muffle the sounds of them smacking each other under the table every time you and Bucky so much as glance at each other.

You neither confirm nor deny their suspicions, partly so you can revel in their happiness. They deserve the relief of thinking your silly little crush is over, even if they do believe it ended in a more favorable conclusion.

Your fork has barely touched your finished plate when Steve picks it up for you, stacking it upon his own scraped dish; three servings packed away in his super soldier stomach. Dinner cleanup is usually his chore, but he’s prematurely eager about it tonight. Everyone is still sitting around the lounge and kitchen, forgotten bites dangling off their cutlery between conversations.

“I got it, doll.” He presses a gentle kiss against the top of your hair before heading to the sink and you don’t miss the curious glances sent in your direction; Tony, halfway through a bite of pasta, focuses his brown eyes on you like a laser.

You know exactly what Steve is doing. Steve knows you know. He’s been stuck to your side like glue for going on a week now, and you’re equally thankful and sick of it. His footsteps sync with yours on the way to the gym, the pool, and even your shared hallway. At night, you curl up into his blanket, which he lent you with a silent acknowledgment. It’s soft and easy to cry into, even if it doesn’t heal the painful cold that fills your body.

Faintly, you wonder if Bucky’s blanket does; if, when he dreams of the blood-stained snow, it warms his metal heart.

Your facade lasts another couple of days before it begins to crumble. Bucky is completely unaffected and, for once, you find yourself envious of him. It’s disgusting to admit, to tell yourself you’d rather feel his aching numbness than the deep pit of sorrow nestled in your stomach, but it’s true. Everyone else praises his change in attitude: That’s three nights in a row that Barnes has come to dinner. Isn’t that great? The words seem to echo in every room you enter and you want to scream, revealing to everyone that the only thing different in Bucky’s life is you. He’s finally rid himself of you, cut you from under his skin like nothing more than an obsessive parasite.

Thankfully, it’s easy to come up with an excuse. In your line of work, everyone gets burned out from time to time, retreating to different areas of the world. Clint goes home while Tony visits the beach. Bruce drops off the grid entirely.

“And you swear you’re alright?” Tony asks, again, watching as you pack an overnight bag. You know he’ll drop it eventually, begrudgingly respecting your privacy, but it’s obvious you’re not being entirely truthful about why you want to leave. If you want to admit it, now’s the time.

You stuff Steve’s blanket into your old duffle. “I’m sure, Tony. Just tired, you know?” He scoffs, nods, and gives you a slight smile -- in that order -- silently agreeing; I’m Iron Man, kid. I’ve been tired since 2008.

He finally relents, clapping his hands like he always does when filling an awkward silence. “Alright, well… I’ve got a driver downstairs for you. He’ll take you wherever you want to go -- which is where again?” You give him an unamused look and he huffs. “What?”

“None of your business,” you remind him, with a smile. “Thanks.”

He waves you off, suddenly humble, and goes to leave the room, actually making it halfway down the hall before his steps audibly reverse. Tony sticks his head back in your doorway with a hesitant look; an expression you’re not used to seeing. “If you want me to, uh, take care of Barnes while you’re gone…” He drags his index finger against his neck in a cartoonish gesture, his smile softening after your laughter quiets. “Just let me know.” His expression isn’t aggressive or vigilante, closer to what you assume is his attempt at fatherly protection. I’m here for you, he says silently.

You’re thankful he leaves before you have a chance to respond, unsure of what you’d even say. You’ve always known not to underestimate Tony, even with his questionable social skills, but another part of you knows you’ll never fully grasp him, and not just in the way you’ll never truly get anybody but yourself.

If everyone is a grain of sand, Tony is a speck of snow. No matter the weather, you will never understand a blizzard.

XI. Outer Space/Carry On; “And the rain, it came too soon, I will wait for you to love me again.”

The door to your apartment swings open with an old creak, wood bouncing off your jutted hip. It smells like dust and there’s a distinct humidity filling the rooms. Your complex is far from dingy, but you do have to smack the air conditioner a few times before it switches on; probably from a lack of use. When you do visit, the electricity and water are usually questionable for a day or so, but the landlord never questions your absence -- a perk of Tony’s bribing.

You drop your duffle on your bed, which, while unmade, is still relatively clean. Knicknacks flood the surrounding bookshelves and your socked feet rub against the old rug tucked under the slatted frame. It’s a far cry from your room at the facility, which is fitted for everyday use. It holds your most worn clothes, all of your life’s necessities. Your apartment is more complex, deeper memories lingering in the walls. It has all the things you couldn’t box up and take with you. There are pictures of old friends on the walls, their voices long forgotten, and belongings from your childhood slipped under your bed in undisturbed nostalgia. Bucky’s question from that night suddenly hits you in full force. If he had to go to Wakanda, could you leave here behind?

You don’t have an answer and soon his voice fades away too. For the first time in a while, you sleep well, only stirring awake once, at around five in the morning. The room is filled with that early blue filter and your sheets are extra cold, your body tingling in its barely awake state. The world is quiet, and you think only of the eyes that match the outside sky.; steel, with icy highlights, and the mist of unshed tears and almost rain.

The weekend morning greets you with dark clouds rolling overhead. Rain drizzles lazily as you walk to the nearest bodega, a couple of stray bills stuffed in your coat pocket. It’d be smarter and safer to order takeout, but you crave the normalcy of buying groceries and cooking dinner, especially now that you’re alone.

The shop is relaxed. Radio music and news announcements overlap in dull robotic voices, patrons harmonizing as they talk amongst themselves; arguing over deli prices and which cheap wine to pair with dinner that night. No one looks at or speaks to you, and you feel invisible, which is somehow a relief. Again, you think of Bucky. He has so often tried to fade away -- usually bringing more attention to himself -- but you finally get it. The ignorance of the customers is your much-awaited bliss.

It seems, you realize, you’re understanding Bucky more every day.

You follow the speckled tile floors to the cashier, who gives you little more than a glance. Her glazed eyes focus on the box television behind the register, hands blindly scanning your items out of instinct. She mutters your total with a heave of nicotine breath, but you barely notice. You wish she understood how much her disinterest means to you.

The plastic straps of the grocery bags dig into your wrists the entire walk home, but you’re just happy to be free.

The storm reaches its full, beautiful, raging glory by the time you get back to your apartment. Lightning strikes, illuminating the living room with flashes, followed seconds later by heavy rumbling. The windows streak with tear-like drops, each one chasing the other to the bottom of the pane, and you feel like a child again, betting on which one will win the race.

Thunder shakes your apartment lightly, and the droplet you watched connects to the one beside it, gravity pulling them both into a long splotch. On the coffee table, your phone blinks awake, unread texts rolling in one after the other. The messages are all similar declarations of missing you, but each one makes you smile, even if you’re a bit surprised no one’s noticed your absence until now. Then again, you’ve been guilty of the same, even with Bucky; not realizing he’s disappeared all day until everyone gathers for dinner. You’re used to sharing confused glances with Steve across the lounge or in the kitchen, two pairs of hands deep in the soapy warm water filling the sink. You did the same thing right after Bucky moved in, cowering and suspicious like a stray dog.

“Is he going to be ok?” you’d naively asked Steve, scrubbing away the soup-dried bowls from dinner.

He had simply smiled, the back of his hand meeting yours beneath the water. “I think so.”

At that moment, you’d dedicated yourself to the cause; to saving Bucky Barnes -- if not for himself, then for Steve. In your eyes, there were two lives lost, two souls who’d gone through Hell and back just to reconnect in an equally cruel and gracious act of destiny. They both deserved a second chance, especially considering they never got a first.

“I can help if you two ever need anything,” you offered, brimming with confidence. Steve nodded, and the conversation inevitably trailed off to some other topic. Bucky was just a casual discussion, one with too many questions and too few answers. You’d both gravely underestimated his recovery, a process that everyone else knew would be difficult. If anyone were to expect miracles in Bucky’s name, it was bound to be Steve and you.

You’d always felt like you’d known Bucky before he came home. The minute Steve found out he was still alive, you’d been the one he confided in, sharing his stories. The countless memories spilled from his lips with intricate details, coming to life before your eyes. He spoke and you could taste the cotton candy of Coney Island, see the wonders of the 1943 Stark Expo, and even smell the bloody battered war.

A part of you was aware Bucky wouldn’t be the same, and Steve had always been prepared for some version of that reality. When he was younger, though, his earlier doubts revolved around war-related PTSD or combat stress reaction, as he called it. Bucky had gone through much worse -- seventy years of torture and an unending abyss of pain.

He didn’t walk into the facility with a suave wink or smooth-as-butter Brooklyn tone. You weren’t disappointed, even as pre-war Bucky dissolved right before your eyes, leaving a hardened man in his place. You just convinced yourself this was like Steve. He was no longer a sick, scrawny boy, right? But Steve was the same, in many ways. His mannerisms and language were stuck in another century, and when he laughed, the insecure sound of a young kid squeaked out. He’d been Captain America for so long, but still hit his head on short doorframes and bought clothes a few sizes too small, always remaining shocked when they didn’t fit.

Bucky was not the same. He didn’t flirt or dance. He didn’t laugh, joke, drink, or brawl, and you failed to imagine how this was the same man that tried talking the red dress off of a young Peggy Carter. Finally, it had hit you that Bucky’s early life was long gone and no years of healing would bring it back.

Even now, curled up on your couch, you can’t fool yourself into thinking he could ever truly be fixed. There would always be more levels of healing to endure, more coping mechanisms to learn, further ways to grow. Sometimes, he didn’t seem driven to take any steps toward bettering himself, content with his internal and external scars being all he had to show for his trauma. He was determined though -- had made it all of these years somehow. Even if his stubbornness worked against him, it had to count for something.

You’re about to let yourself wallow over him once more when a thump echoes loudly through your apartment, rattling the walls with its intensity. You will yourself off the couch, leaving behind a half-eaten bowl of pasta, and glance out the back window, seeing nothing but sleet-streaked streets. It takes an admittedly long time to realize someone’s knocking at your door, but you don’t need to look at the clock to know it’s way too late for visitors. Some animalistic instinct warns you to be cautious, but you have little confidence in whatever criminal has decided to pay you a visit in the pouring rain.

You unlock the door with a sigh and swing it open, cold air chilling the tip of your nose instantly.

“Bucky?”

The immediate sight of him evokes a nauseating sense of deja vu; hair slick against his forehead, lips nearing a shade of purple. When he awkwardly shifts his weight, you hear the telltale squeak of his wet boots and it lets you know he’s nervous since you wouldn’t hear him otherwise.

He exhales in obvious relief. “You’re still here.”

You’re thankful the overhang blocks the rain from reaching him since you don’t feel too inclined to welcome him in. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask, but barely listen for his answer as you take in his exhausted expression. His chest is heaving, and you glance out to the road expecting to see his motorcycle in the distance, but the street is bare.

“I thought…” He must think better of whatever assumption he’s brewing since he quickly shakes his head. You flinch at the cold water that speckles your skin. “It doesn’t matter. I need to talk to you.”

He must be stupid to not realize he’s the reason you left. You need to be away from him and inviting him inside your otherwise isolated apartment is far from the best idea. “What is it?” you ask, not budging. “Is everyone okay?”

It’s clear he’s expecting a different answer, though you can’t entirely blame him. If he’d shown up any day prior to now, you’d be laying out a red carpet. Instead, his features melt into confusion, and it’s one of the few expressions you’re still not used to seeing; his brows soft, lips plump with a heavy sigh. “You had that date tonight,” he answers, and you’re too distracted by his mouth for the words to register.

When they do, you’re confused. “Wh-”

“I was gonna stop you from going.”

The rest of your question catches in your throat, words lodged in your airpipe. The night of the party fills your head and you breathe in the smell of alcohol and heartbreak. “Tom?” you ask, racking your brain for his name. The single utterance results in a sour expression from Bucky, one that you mirror quickly. “Jesus, Bucky. Did you really think I’d go out with that douche?”

He goes to speak, but you cut him off, irritated. “Even if I did, how the fuck does that have anything to do with you showing up here? Christ, did you walk here? You’re soaked.”

“Ran, actually,” Bucky corrects, and your heart skips a beat. “Can I come in?”

The sane and logical answer would be to slam the door in his face, so you open it wider and step aside. You have to know why he ran in the middle of a storm to check on you, even if a hopeful inkling deep in your heart has already come up with a reason. You probably just worried Steve by running off, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “Alright…”

The second Bucky steps inside, your carpets are soaked with dark boot marks. “Fuck,” you curse, cringing at the sight. “Let me get a towel.” You can’t stand to be next to him for another second anyway, so you race down the hall before he can argue. When you catch a glance of yourself in the bathroom mirror, your nerves are more than visible; your skin losing color by the second, eyes strained with overthinking.

It’s easy to start coddling him once you return, patting away the water on his face before sandwiching his hair between the folded towel and squeezing the strands dry. “I know you do a lot of stupid shit, but running through New York City during a storm has to be one of your worst ideas yet,” you scold, but your touch is gentle and, for once, he allows it. “And I know you hate cellphones but could you really not call? Or get a taxi, at least?”

You know you’re rambling, but you’re keenly aware that if you don’t talk, neither of you will, and that silence will make you spiral. Chest pounding, you start to talk again, before realizing Bucky is gripping your wrist, pulling you from him softly. “Doll,” he murmurs, and this time you’re too nervous to correct him. “It’s okay.” With a slight tug, you yank yourself from his grasp, shaky fingers digging into the wet towel. You use the last dry corner to pat his damp palms, ignoring how large and rough his hands are against yours.

“I told you to stop doing this,” Bucky reminds you softly but doesn’t interfere. “You’re always trying to fix people… patch them up. You gotta take care of yourself, too.” Still, he lets you finish his other hand before he steps back, and you glance at him.

“No offense, Buck, but me coming here -- alone -- was kind of my attempt at that,” you tell him, frowning.

“I… I know, I’m sorry-”

“Bucky.” You’re not sure you can take another second. “What are you really doing here?”

He inhales sharply, and when he begins, you can immediately tell he’s not going to answer your question right away. Knowing he’s a man of very few words, you latch onto the way he seems to be opening up. “Every day, it’s like…” He shakes his head, trembling. “I don’t know who I am or if any of this is even real. It feels like every day is my last and everything is catching up to me all at once. I didn’t want you to be stuck in that, too.”

Bucky glances at you and his eyes soften; white ice cracking to reveal soft blue water underneath. When he reaches for your hand again, you’re in too much shock to deny him, even when he’s squeezing so tightly it hurts. He’s not just scared you’ll be taken from him, he’s scared you’ll willingly leave.

“You deserve better than that, doll.” His voice cracks around the nickname this time and you can hardly believe what’s happening. “I… I won’t ever be able to give you what you deserve.” Your fingernails leave crescents in his palm, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to hold him closer or scare him away. “I just can’t go another day without you gone,” he finally admits, and you gasp.

“Bucky… I don’t-”

He inches closer, face flush with insecurity. “I know. I fucked up -- I fucked up so bad. I don’t blame you if you don’t want this… If you don’t want me, I understand. I just -- you deserve to know how I really feel. I can give you that much, at least.” His grip finally loosens, and you realize he’s shaking, but not from nerves.

Your lips part, and his eyes glimmer with hope. “You’re freezing,” you finally say, and he visibly deflates. “You need to -- um, just sit down for a second.”

“...I’m fine.”

“Please? For me?” The second his chin tilts in a hesitant nod, you’re stalking off toward the bathroom with him in tow. You throw the dirtied towel in the hamper and rustle through the cupboard for a few more. Your bathroom is small, and when Bucky squeezes in behind you, his damp chest presses against your back for a second too long.

When you turn to face him, your noses practically touch. “T-these should be enough,” you stutter, clearing your throat and handing him the fresh towels. “You can hang your clothes up on the towel rod,” you tell him, inching back. He raises a brow and you quickly answer his silent question. “I have some spare stuff you can wear, I think.” And, before he can ask anything else, you push past him, shutting the door behind you.

You have mere seconds to contain yourself, so you rush to your room, mind racing. As you search through your spare drawer, a million questions run through your head. Is Bucky saying he wants to be with you? Does he even know that’s what he’s saying? Is he here on his own accord, or did Steve and Tony send him to ease your heartbreak and lure you home?

You can hear him rustling through the wall and you blindly grab at the only t-shirt and sweats you think could fit; extras left behind by one of the other guys. Hopefully, they’ll work long enough for you to dry Bucky’s clothes and kick him out. He can’t just decide he’s ready, especially not after how he turned you down. You’ll do the polite thing and let him stay until the storm ends, but then he needs to leave.

The bathroom door creaks open the second you step in front of it, Bucky peering out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Just like the last time he was shirtless in front of you, you will your eyes to stay above his neck. Still, you can’t ignore the fact that now he’s allowing himself to be in this state with you, completely vulnerable.

“I found these,” you squeak, handing the carefully folded clothes to him.

He doesn’t take them. “Whose are these?” Silent envy drips from his tongue and you shiver at the thought of it; Bucky being possessive of you, yearning to fill the small drawer in your wardrobe. Swallowing heavily, you rustle the shirt to see the tag.

“Steve, probably? Maybe Clint…” You spot the letters and shake your head. “No, it’s an extra large. But the sweats are definitely Clint’s. Steve never wears them.” Bucky listens amusedly to your rambling, and you quickly clamp your mouth shut. You practically shove the clothes into his hands, stumbling backward. “I’ll just be in the living room.” The door doesn’t click shut until you’re out of view.

It’s hard not to collapse on the couch the second you reach it, overwhelmed with a sense of relief of a wall separating you two. Try as you might, you still can’t comprehend what’s currently happening. As much as you want to kick Bucky out and never see him again, pure delight has started clawing at the inside of your chest, eager to be let out. If he confesses to you once more, you don’t think you’ll be able to turn him down.

When Bucky emerges from the bathroom, your heart pangs at the sight of him. He sinks into the chair across from you with an air of domesticity, like he’s always meant to be here. It’s like you bought that chair with him in mind because it fits him perfectly, and he fills it just the right amount.

“You look better already,” you comment, with a shy smile.

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, glancing up at you from between falling strands of hair, and he’s never seemed more beautiful than in this moment. “I feel better,” he admits. “I’m not a big fan of-”

“The cold,” you finish for him. He blinks in disbelief and you sputter out an excuse. “Sorry. Steve told me.” Then, deciding against putting all of the blame on the one who’s kept you sane this whole time, you continue. “I mean, I’d already kind of guessed so because of that night in the kitchen. He told me later.”

“I don’t remember much from that night,” Bucky confesses, sheepishly; not embarrassed, ashamed.

You’re not sure if it will make him feel any better, but you agree: “I don’t either, actually.” Surprisingly, you mean it. A few days ago you could’ve recalled every small detail from that memory. Now it’s just a dream inside a dream or a blurry image, abroad a ship, stuffed deep in the bottleneck of your glass brain.

Bucky showed up on your doorstep and it’s like he’s never left.

It’s a slightly unconscious action, but when you shift to make more space on the couch, Bucky takes the silent invitation. His gait is wide, a few silent steps until he’s lowering himself beside you. The line between cushions acts as a border. Even next to you, he’s like an opposing magnet, slowly inching further and further away. He’s toeing over the edge of a cliff, waiting for you to let him fall or tug him back into your desperate arms.

“Bucky-”

“Can I touch you?” His words overlap yours, which isn’t hard considering you’re choking on a whisper, and he’s finally letting the depths of his soul speak without reservation. There’s no context for his question, no way for you to decipher what he’s insinuating. You don’t care. You decide to step off the ledge with him.

“Yes.”

His fingers are grazing your chin, calloused tips warm and rough and gentle. Your pulse thrums against the thin skin of your throat, a lump of emotion gathered in a swallow you can’t force down because Bucky is staring, seeing you for the first time. You don’t blink, and neither does he, blue eyes dew with the first rainfall of spring. You watch winter melt away beneath his fluttering lashes.

“You are so soft,” he murmurs, and you know he doesn’t mean just physically, even when his palms are like sandpaper against your jaw. His grit flattens the rest of your apprehension, and your hands find the sharp angle of his scruff-peppered chin. When your thumb strokes the indentation below his lips, his mouth parts just barely, enough for you to feel the shaky hot exhale he sighs in silent relief.

When he begins to lean in, you don’t budge; not until he’s a hair width away and you feel the tips of his fingers shaking, one hand ice cold, the other burning hot. Then, you close the gap, hungry for the taste of his bleeding heart. The kiss is desperate in its own way, lustful for vulnerability and the satisfaction of finally.

Bucky is the one to press harder, nose harshly digging into your own as his face tilts to fit into the curves of your features like a missing puzzle piece; knocked haphazardly onto the floor when the box is first opened. You can feel his hair, still damp, against your forehead. His metal arm clicks into place, fingers adjusting their grip, and an unfamiliar sensation shoots up your spine. Fear.

He’s never been so close. His hand could easily wrap around your throat and take you out, without him even sparing a second glance. A moment of desperation and your lack of resistance would be all he needed. One kiss is all it would take.

Instead, he pulls away, though not without leaving one last sweet peck on your pursed lips. When your eyes flutter open, he’s blinking in the sight of you with a genuine smile painted on his face; tongue quickly darting between his teeth and catching the last taste of you on his mouth. He lets out a disbelieving laugh, a stifled chuckle that’s just enough to have you joining him, until your cheeks burn from grinning.

“Did -- was that okay?” Bucky asks, lines around his lips deepening. “I thought you were gonna pull away for a moment there.”

“No!” you answer quickly, feeling your skin flush at the admission. “It was… nice. Very nice.” He’s clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words, especially when he strokes your cheek to further fluster you. “G-great, really.”

“Great,” he echoes. “I haven’t kissed anyone since 1945.”

You can’t help but laugh at his secret. He’s kissing you and only worried he wasn’t good enough. Bucky, the playboy, Barnes, is worried some seventy years of inexperience could stop him from stealing your breath with a single touch. Thankfully, he knows your reaction isn’t out of dismissal or jest, and soon his face is red with cheerful exertion.

“Can I ask you something?” He questions, quieting down but not losing any of his warmth. “Will you come back? To the facility, I mean.”

“No,” you start, watching his face fall before you can finish. “But only because I bought enough groceries to last me the whole weekend and I don’t want them to go to waste. But you can stay with me if you want.” His eyes are wide, brows raised. “My place is big enough and I think I have more of Steve’s clothes lying around…”

“You’d…” He swallows the lump growing in his throat. “You’d actually be okay with that?”

You let out a soft sigh. “Of course.” You force yourself not to backtrack or shy away. Not now. “We could rent some movies? It’ll probably storm the next couple of days so there’s really no point in heading out. Unless you want to?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No. I don’t… I’d want to stay in if I stay. I want to stay. Can I?”

“Yes.” You grab his hand in yours and squeeze. “Yes, Bucky. Stay with me.”

The air settles but you see an unanswered question lingering on his mind. You’re about to press, but then he’s asking, shyly: “Will you let me kiss you again?”

It’s such an easy question, so effortless, and yet it holds the weight of months spent alone. You wonder if he has suffered the same aching coldness as you, desperate for someone else’s warmth. You want to tell him he can kiss you forever, until forever, after forever. “You can kiss me whenever,” are the words you finally settle on, and it’s clear they appease him.

“I’ll take the couch, tonight,” Bucky says a moment later. A small relief, since it’s too soon for anything like that. Personal space is something you’ll need to work on. Not tonight.

But you’re still curious: “What if you have a nightmare?”

He huffs, albeit with the ghost of a smile. “If you don’t hear me, I’ll wake you up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Later, after so many bowls of pasta you realize you’ll have to order takeout eventually, Bucky sinks into the couch; toes pressed against the arm, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. You excuse yourself for a moment to go turn on the heater, setting it a few degrees higher than usual so he doesn’t get cold. Your phone beeps softly from the pocket of your pajama pants. It’s Steve.

“I told you he’d notice.”

When you hear the tell-tale sigh of a snore, and realize Bucky has drifted off, lights still on and arm dropped off the side of the couch, you have to smile.

“Took him long enough.”

---

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel angst #marvel fluff #t: writing

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justkending · 1 year

Text

Finding Memories. Prologue.

Series Summary: Waking up with little to no memory of her past, and being saved by a group of individuals who call themselves heroes, sends a long time captive for a whirlwind trying to find some form of grounding in this world she quickly learns runs on chaos. But she’s not the only one trying to figure out her forgotten backstory. Bucky Barnes, along with the other Avengers, can’t help but sense that there is a lot more to the whole situation than a diagnosis of amnesia. Her background slowly starts to come forward in pieces of her past and hidden information discovered. Who is she? And why was she in the room they were meant to destroy?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4800+

TW: Torture, cussing, and blood.

A/N: And we are off with another series! This came to me with the thought of writing outside of my normal comfort zone. I’ve written so many characters that off the bat are badass and can hold their own. My personal favorite type of character if you haven’t noticed. BUT, I thought I would start this one a little differently. We will see where this goes. Hope you enjoy it and I’m excited to see what you all think of it! XOXOXOXO

Prologue:

It was dark. The only source of light was coming from the red lettering on the emergency exit with bright flashes of the floodlights flickering around the room.

For the first time in a long time, she didn't have bright fluorescent lights beaming into her soul while men and women in lab coats and sterile wear hovered over her and poked and prodded her exposed body.

The sound of alarms and shouting woke her up from the drug-induced sleep she was put under. She was groggy and discombobulated from her senses being overwhelmed by noises and lights she wasn't used to.

As a reflex, she used every ounce of energy she could muster up to pull her hands forward, but they were still strapped down along with the rest of her body on a cold metal table.

There was not a single patch of fabric covering her body and the cold air circulating the room made a rush of goosebumps envelope her body. The one thing keeping her from being completely exposed was the bindings across her chest and waist keeping her trapped on top of the cool metal.

The door she was facing shook as a loud bang sounded behind it. The adrenaline and terror starting to course through her veins gave her an extra bump of energy to wiggle more in her spot.

When she attempted to talk, it was muffled by another strap she noticed was tightly covering her mouth.

She groaned at the pressure all the restraints showed when she continued to try and escape. But it was pointless as she could barely make any movement that would be helpful in this situation.

Instead of wasting energy, she began taking in her surroundings. Most of the time she had been drugged up and unable to comprehend what was around her outside of the scientists and doctors who used her as a lab rat. So she wasn't surprised to see all the medical equipment alongside surgical tools laid out in a precise way on a cart next to her.

On the other side, she saw in her peripheral what looked like IVs and liquids. Deducting they were likely the drugs they had pumped through her veins all this time.

All this time... How long had she been here?

Everything was mostly a blur besides the experimenting and surgeries that had been forced on her.

She cringed at the only memories that came to the forefront of her mind. Luckily, it didn't last long as the sound of grunts and loud bangs came closer. And even those didn't have timestamps in her mind.

She looked at the door in front of her and her breathing increased in speed. She could hear screams and shots as a fight was clearly happening on the other side of the door.

"Bucky! Check that room!" A low voice sounded followed by another grunt and crash. "Nat said it's that one. Check for the weapon!"

"Behind you!" another voice shouted back before more shots rang out.

Her eyes were wide open and she began using the growing rush of adrenaline to jerk harder in her spot, trying her best to loosen her restraints even a little. But again, nothing happened besides the table shaking some from her struggle.

The next thing she knew, a loud crash sounded and she closed her eyes as the thick metal security doors to the room busted open.

Terror washed over her body as she imagined what waited on the other side, she knew the type of people who came through that door. Almost always, they were never there with friendly intentions.

"Steve-," the voice said in shock. "It's not a weapon."

No one answered him and she continued to keep her eyes shut tightly.

Her breathing became faster. The straps across her body became tighter with every quick breath she took, terrified of what was to come next.

"Hey, it's ok."

The voice was soft yet closer now. At least 3 feet in front of her, but the sound of his shoes stopped as he kept his distance.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

Her curiosity beat her nerves and she opened her eyes slowly to see a tall brunette man with an assault weapon in his arms. There was a cut above his eye down to his temple. It was bleeding but looked like it had stopped as parts of it were already dried. How long had he been here?

He pulled his gaze away from her bruised and beaten body, and looked around the room quickly, surveying what all it held, but immediately turned back to her.

"You're ok," he said in a gentle tone. He put a hand out attempting to show peace and noticed as her eyes followed down to the gun in his hand. He noted the fear in her intense stare and twisted the strap of the gun to his back so it was out of view. "I'm sorry. I promise I'm not here to hurt you."

Now both hands were out in front of him showing he wasn't planning on using any weapons on her.

He took a slow step forward and as a reaction, she began to fight against her restraints again, this time she had a little more force than her attempts before.

"Hey, hey," he stopped moving and relaxed his posture to seem less intimidating. "I'm one of the good guys. My friends and I are here to stop the people who are in charge of all this."

Her eyes stayed set on him and he noticed the sentence did nothing to ease her rapid heartbeat. It was beating like a baby rabbit who had just been caught in a trap.

"Listen, I know this is frightening, but I'm going to as gently as possible take the restraints off you," he said calmly, even though it was hard to keep that kind of tone when there were still guns firing with loud screams and chaos happening in the background. "Let me get you something to cover you up with," he said more to himself, but also out loud for her to know his next moves.

There weren't any outfits laid out around in the lab, but he did see a few lab coats hanging on the wall that would have to suffice.

Quickly moving to grab one, he placed it slowly over her as he went to work on the restraints. The first being her mouth.

"Ok, I'm going to remove this now, is that ok?" he asked. She didn't answer, but something about this man showed he wasn't a danger to her... Yet.

From what she did know about this place, everyone she met was there to hurt, harm, or use her, but there was something in his eyes and actions that showed he knew this type of situation from a prisoner's point of view. The look of pure sorrow and sympathy for this stranger in front of her was a hard one to fake.

She noticed he wasn't going to do anything without her permission as he was still waiting silently for her to give him some kind of signal that he could help. Though she appreciated that, he was still a stranger and strangers did lie. What if this was some new kind of torture they had come up with... It wouldn't be unlike them to trick her like this again.

But time was not something she had and when they both looked at the door that had more and more crashes coming from behind it and closer too, she didn't have time to be hesitant.

She gave him a small nod and he began to unbuckle the first restraint around her mouth, once free, she let out a deep breath.

"We are kinda on a time crunch, doll. So I'm going to get the rest of these off and we have to get moving," he said, moving to her hands and feet next.

Though she was still semi-incapacitated with the number of drugs and chemicals she had running through her veins, she did her best to unbuckle the straps along her torso and waist while he worked on the feet.

He finished the feet faster than she could, so he went to help around her chest area that she was struggling with.

He knew she was completely exposed, so after her permission again, he loosened it and she finished throwing it off.

Quickly and delicately helping her put the lab coat on, he looked toward the door that Steve was now running through.

"We got to go. Nat said the facility is going up in flames building by building. We have less than 5 minutes before this one is gone too," he instructed, looking outside the doors for any more enemies. It was clear for now. "What-" he froze seeing the young woman that was wrapped in a lab coat two times bigger than her.

"No weapon in here," Bucky answered the question written on his friend's face. "But we need to get her to the med bay, ASAP."

Steve nodded, walking closer and putting his hands out as he noticed her eyes still wide in fear.

"Can you walk?" he asked her.

She looked back at Bucky since he was the only one she had any form of association or trust with.

He looked at her nodding silently, sharing his trust in the blonde.

She attempted to take a step and her legs weakened. Bucky was quick to wrap an arm around her back and stand her up before she could fall.

"Ok, Buck, can you help her?" Steve asked, looking around the room for anything else to help them.

"I got her," Bucky nodded, wrapping a tight arm around her as she hesitantly threw her arm over his shoulder.

"Ok, follow me. The exit is on the west side. We have less than four minutes," Steve nodded, waving him on.

"Ok, let's go," Bucky nodded, adjusting his grip on her as she hobbled alongside him.

They got about two hallways over, and just as they were about to get to the exit door, another round of agents turned the corner and opened fire on them.

The two men quickly turned into another room that had already been infiltrated. Much like where they found the girl, this room also was set up as an experimentation room. But there was no prisoner in this one.

"Talk about commitment. They do realize that this place is going to explode in minutes with them inside it, right?" Bucky grunted, readjusting his grip on the girl who was slowly starting to gain strength as the minutes passed.

"As long as we're in here when the place goes up in flames, they win," Steve said, catching his breath and surveying the room.

"We need a plan," Bucky announced, realizing that they were at a disadvantage in keeping the girl alive while also going into what would be a war zone if they walked out of the room.

"I'm thinking," Steve was searching the room.

Bucky led the girl to a chair to sit in while they came up with a solution.

She sat quietly and also tried to think of ways to escape. It's what most of her daydreams were about, but she had never had the advantage of being freed from straps holding her down in her daydreams.

As Bucky and Steve ransacked the cabinets and carts for anything to help, she looked over the vials of liquids that sat in a secured airtight case.

She closed her eyes thinking back to some of the plans she had come up with and tried to remember one of the thousands of tricks she intended on using.

The code.

She thought back to the sound pattern that played every time they got a new drug from this type of case. But in a new room, the code could be different.

She looked back at the men who were preoccupied with knives and surgical tools. They were stashing them in the pockets that littered their uniform as they discussed a plan to infiltrate. Extra weapons sure, but nothing that compared to the ones she was looking at.

She moved down the bed enough to reach the safe on the cart next to her. Closing her eyes, she typed in the code by listening to the sounds it made. The first time played a sound showing her sequence was wrong. She huffed in annoyance and tried again. By the third time, it beeped and unlocked.

Letting out a hissing sound as the vacuumed sealed door opened, she began searching the vials.

She found ones she had learned and grown to know more than she had ever hoped anyone on this planet would have to.

She turned to the men and hobbled to them on shaky legs while using surrounding tables and furniture to get her there.

"We can make it, but what about her? She won't get past that corridor without some kind of injury," Bucky explained as they ran out of time. When he saw her out of the corner of her eyes, he turned quickly to steady her on her legs. "Whoa, what are you doing up?"

She didn't answer as she didn't trust her voice. She shoved the vials toward him.

"What is that?" Steve asked, looking at them cautiously before her.

She pointed to the door and then the knives they had stashed.

They gave her a pointed look confused by her silence.

She rolled her eyes and dug into Bucky's pocket pulling out a scalpel. Then quickly, she undid the small bottle that held the poison showing it to the brunette.

Bucky picked up on what she was saying.

"I think she's saying to cut them with this," he took the drug from her and she dipped the scalpel in it.

"What does it do?" Steve asked, taking the bottle and reading it.

The label read; DANGER. DO NOT INGEST OR ALLOW IN THE CIRCULATORY SYSTEM. PARALYSIS AND DEADLY SIDE EFFECTS CAN BE INSTANTANEOUS.

"How much ammo do you have?" Steve asked Bucky.

"About two rounds, but I'll have to resort to knives pretty soon."

"Ok, I guess follow her instructions. Even as skilled as you are with a knife, these guys aren't going down easily. Might as well take the extra precaution," Steve nodded. "We don't have much time. We have to go now."

"What about her?" Bucky asked, looking at the girl who was using the table for support now.

"Can you stay in here until we give you the all-clear?" Steve asked her. "We're going to clear out the hall and get a clear shot to the exit. Just stay out of the firing zone."

She nodded, but Bucky was against it.

"She can barely stand on her own. How do you expect her to run to the exit?"

"It's either that or get shot on the way out. We don't have many options or time to come up with anything else," Steve replied sadly.

"But-" Bucky began, but she put her hand on his arm showing there was no time to argue.

He didn't feel right not thinking of the pros and cons of this idea, but Steve was right. They didn't have the time to weigh every option. Their best shot was clearing the enemies out and quickly getting her out after.

"Ok, but as soon as it's clear, you have to get out of here. I'll try and meet you halfway to help," he looked at her as he moved himself to her level.

She nodded and handed off the weapons to him.

"Ok, let's go," Steve nodded, strapping his shield on tighter and moving toward the door.

"Stay away from the doors. In case someone comes in," Bucky instructed.

She tightened the lab coat to her and gave him a shake of her head that showed she would follow his instructions.

He was out the door seconds later and gunfire started back up. She cringed at the sound and went back to the small fridge that still held more serums in it.

She quickly riffled through them and investigated the labels. She read one's name that made her freeze as it registered why it meant something to her.

Hearing shots and grunts, she knew she didn't have much time. Quickly she put a few bottles into one of the pockets in her coat before grabbing a few more things and moving to the side of the door. Hidden from anyone that tried to come in, she waited for the all-clear.

"Hey! You can come out now! Quickly!" Bucky's voice rang from down the hall.

She did her best to move her still weak legs and looked out in the hall to double-check that it was still clear, Bucky was next to the door where Steve was outside waiting for the two. He waved her over and she quickly started running, but more so hobbled his way.

Just a short ten feet away from freedom, a hand grasped tightly around her ankle, halting her in her race, which caused her to fall hard on her knee before she was completely on the ground. She turned to the hand and tried to shake out of the grip, but the man's final mission was to keep her here with him to die.

She struggled as she tried to kick him, but her little bit of strength was nowhere near what she needed to escape.

"You're not getting away that easily, bitch," he said with blood covering his teeth and a dark grimace on his lips.

The voice was familiar, but she didn't know how. All she knew was that it infuriated her.

From her pocket, she grabbed a syringe she had filled with another drug that had a novel of side effects on it and stabbed it harshly into the center of his hand.

He let out a roaring scream as the liquid began to spread in his veins and he quickly lost control of the muscles in his hands as they seized, causing her to crawl away from any further assault.

If she was given a second longer to watch, she knew the types of lesions that would spontaneously appear. The drug she had stolen was not one for the strong let alone the weak.

She felt hands around her forearms start to pull her up, and by instinct, she fought back until she noticed who it was.

"It's ok, I got you," Bucky consoled, helping her to her feet. "We got to go. Come on," he picked her up bridal style quickly and took off where Steve was waving him to run.

Not even 10 seconds later and a couple dozen yards ahead, the building did what Natasha said it would.

The pulse of the explosion knocked the three to the ground, but no other injuries occurred as they made it out in time. __________________________________________

She remembered the voice that was attached to the hand that had stopped her. She remembered the explosion. She remembered someone's body covering her as the building went up in flames and debris came falling down from the sky afterward.

But she didn't remember coming to the room she was in now, or the process of being hooked up all over again to machines and needles.

In a panic, she started pulling at the tubes and medical tape that were attached to her. She was sedated once again, so her struggle didn't make much of a difference. However, she was faster than the nurses because she was able to rip out an IV before they could hold her down.

She was screaming and grunting as she fought the four people who were trying to keep her in her bed.

The only thing making her pause and stop fighting was when a fifth person entered the room, pushing past the nurse closest to her head.

"Hey, it's ok! You're fine! They're here to help you. They aren't trying to hurt you," he chided her as she looked up at him with nervous and terrified eyes.

Recognition hit her causing her to ease her panic, but she still was trying to wrap her head around everything from earlier.

"Who are you?"

The first words she spoke. Her throat was hoarse and dry from not speaking all this time. Had it been days? Months? Years even?

Bucky was shocked at the sound even if it was small and barely coherent to a normal person's ears.

"My name's Bucky," he said simply. "Do you remember anything that happened recently?"

She looked at him confused as she registered that she did in fact know this man. She nodded in response.

A nurse moved to bandage up where she pulled the IV out and she drew her arm back, quickly back on alert.

"It's ok. They aren't going to hurt you," he reminded her softly and calmly, placing a hand on the edge of the bed in reassurance without touching her. "They're here to get you back on your feet, I promise."

She looked at his hand and then back at the nurse who was now waiting for permission to continue her job. She was hesitant but eventually laid her arm back out where the blood had already clotted. The nurse wasn't as shocked by it as Bucky, but she sent him a look that showed she would tell him in a second.

"You've been asleep for about two days. How are you feeling?" he asked, grabbing a chair and sitting in it next to her. His level was now below her to show he still was no threat.

"Thirsty," she answered, bringing her hand to her throat instinctively.

He chuckled at that and looked to the nurse who was already moving to get a glass of water.

"Sergeant Barnes, do you mind if I speak to you outside please?" she asked, softly while handing off the drink.

He acknowledged the question and followed her out. Before leaving the room, he turned back to see the Y/H/C-haired girl lift the drink to her lip and swallow the cold water with a cringe.

How long had it been since she had decent care?

Once the doors shut, he turned to the nurse with furrowed eyes waiting for her thoughts. She was one of the head nurses that worked on things like this for the Avengers. She was a retired agent that went back into the medical field after an injury of her own. She went by Nurse Alma and she was the only one not scared to tell it straight to the Avengers around her.

"That wasn't the first time we noticed the clotting," she got straight to the point. He gave her a look to continue. "When she got in, she had multiple bruises and puncture wounds that looked to be a day old or so, but about 5 hours later, they were all gone. Which if it is healing at that rate, by calculations, the marks were from earlier that day." She paused thinking about it more. "You told one of the other nurses she hit her knee on the concrete while trying to escape?"

"Someone grabbed her ankle while she was running for the exit and she hit the ground pretty hard. It didn't happen without a nasty sound," he answered thinking back to the injury he had witnessed. "Was it healed?"

"If it was there, it was gone by the time we got to her. No reminiscents of that kind of injury."

"So she heals fast," he concluded. "What about that poison she had us use?"

"Dr. Banner is still messing with it in the lab. It's nothing we've seen before."

Steve was walking up now and listening in on the last few words of the conversation.

"Is she ok?" he asked.

"She woke up about 5 minutes ago," Bucky answered. "Even said a few words too."

"Did we get a name?" Steve asked, hands on his hips.

"Not that far yet, we were just discussing how our new friend heals at an abnormal speed," Bucky replied.

"So, enhanced?" Steve deducted.

"Looking like it. I'm guessing nothing came back from the facilities database since you don't know her name either?" he asked.

"Nat's still working on it. So far no luck on any of our intel," Steve shook his head.

"We're going to keep her under observation for the rest of the day. Depending on how she is doing this evening, we will let you know if we will release her," the nurse stated. "It's a good thing we got her blood samples while she was asleep. I worry that with her reactions to most things, it could have triggered something while she was awake."

"Nothing else besides the healing so far though?" Steve asked.

"As of this second, only enhancement we've caught onto. I'll let you know if she uses the force on anyone anytime soon though," she winked going back in.

Clearly, she had worked within the Avenger's med bay long enough to know ways to lighten up a gloomy time.

"What did she say?" Steve asked, looking into the room where the nurse calmly and carefully told her what she would be doing next.

"Asked who I was and said she was thirsty."

"Nothing else?"

"I'm sure she will talk more once her throat heals from the lack of using it. That and when she trusts us a little more," Bucky noted, watching the girl monitor the nurse closely as she checked her blood pressure. "I know what it feels like to be in that position. We need to give her some space to trust us before asking too many things that can trigger her."

"I'll keep you updated on anything we find, but Nat says the database is highly coded. The intel we need for her may take a while to get it."

"Baby steps until then I guess..." Bucky sighed, turning back to the unknown woman. "Hey, do you think Tony would be willing to room her?"

"Um, I'm sure he wouldn't care," Steve replied. "Are they releasing her soon?"

"With how fast she's healing, no need to keep her in another cell with wires and IVs stuck to her," he shrugged, knowing how hard it can be to find trust in a new group when all they're doing is a different version of what you just got away from.

"Hey," Steve placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You ok?"

Bucky could sense the worry coming from his friend but nodded it off.

"You know how this stuff makes me feel," he nudged his head to the room as he turned to the side. "You would think people would learn, but we continue to repeat these kinds of issues."

"We'll get her back on her feet. Things will start to jog her memory and she'll be fine one of these days," Steve attempted to reassure. "Especially because you'll be there to guide her at the time she needs it the most."

"I don't know if I'm the man for the job," he started, still learning to come to terms with the fact that he had actually moved past a good chunk of his trauma. It no longer had the hold on him that it once did.

"Don't do that to yourself," Steve was quick to correct him. "You are a great mentor and have a very similar understanding to her situation many do not. You can at least guide her in the right direction for dealing with all this."

When Bucky didn't answer, Steve paused realizing the pressure he was putting on his friend.

"I'm sorry. I'm not saying all this to make you feel like you have to do any of that," he watched Bucky monitor the girl from the distance as he listened to his friend. "But I know you Bucky. You aren't one to leave someone behind. You always make time for the underdog."

"Who's to say she's an underdog?" he chuckled, knowing Steve was referring to the scrawnier version of himself. "She can heal herself, so what more is there that we don't know?"

The diversion from the conversation was a good one, but it didn't go unnoticed by the blonde.

"That's what I'm hoping one of us can find out. Be that you, or Nat first," he shrugged stepping away as a SHIELD agent paused next to him with a folder waiting to be read. "I'll keep you updated so long as you do the same," he shot a finger gun his way before turning and following the agent to his next task.

"If she's anything like me, I think Nat’s going to beat me out fast," he mumbled to himself before stepping back into the room.

If you would like to be tagged in this upcoming series, please comment on this chapter! Thank you:)

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies forever:

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Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

#bucky barnes x reader #justkending new series #justkending #bucky barnes #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x reader series #marvel #marvel series #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x enhanced reader #mcu #mcu series #bucky barnes x series

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there-must-be-a-lock · 1 year

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A Muscle The Size Of Your Fist (Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton)

Aka the mid-2000s punk band AU! Now with art by @misterknife right over here and by @vexedbeverage on Ao3 here!

Also, character moodboard/collage thingies over here!

Explicit, ~99k total.

One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten / Eleven / Twelve / Thirteen / Fourteen / Fifteen / Epilogue

And a timestamp: Some Days It Gets Better

#winterhawk olympic bang #winterhawk #winterhawkbingor4 #bucky barnes x clint barton #marvel fic

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mthofferings · 6 months

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FestiveFerret

See FestiveFerret’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Email: [email protected] Discord: festiveferret Tumblr: festiveferret

Preferred organizations: - Assistance Dogs International - Girls Who Code - Innocence Project - Médecins San Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) - National Disaster Search Dog Foundation (See the list of approved organizations here)

Will create works that contain: Romance, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, rom com, non-power AUs (college, coffee shop etc), a/b/o, dub-con, pining, tropey nonsense (soulmates etc). If you’re not sure if I’m up for something, please contact me! I may be open to doing a sequel/timestamp to one of my fics, but it’s not guaranteed (especially for collabs) so please check first if that’s what you want. My wheelhouse is tropey romance with angsty pining and Big Moment get-together at the end and meet-cutes with lots of fluff and banter.

Will not create works that contain: Underage (T-rated high school AU is fine, no graphic underage or one under/one over-age situations), non-con, torture (this is fine if it’s a setup for H/C or an otherwise happy ending, but I won’t write torture porn with no resolution–writing pain, I can do!), dark/evil, unhappy endings, permanently unrequited feelings, death, fantasy/medieval AUs, OOC, CW fix-it (or anything at all about the Accords), anti-Endgame (including fix its for stuff you didn’t like about it), bathroom kinks, age play, daddy kink, pet play. Again, contact me if you’re not sure!

-- Fic or Other Writing --

Auction ID: 1153

Will create works for the following relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU, Ultimates Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton - MCU

Work Description: I’m offering a custom fic written to your prompt. It will be at least 3k words long, but is unlikely to be longer than 5k. I like to be involved with my prompter, so if you’re someone with a lot of ideas who likes to ramble about your favs and see those rambles included in a story, I’m your ferret! I can also work with short prompts and no input, but there’s no telling where the story will end up. I like to take tropes and flip them on themselves. I’m happy to have more than one pairing in a fic, but I won’t end any of the pairings I write in favour of another’s endgame (reach out to me if you want to know which characters I'm happy to use as the "bad ex"). There are some fics of mine that I may be willing to write a sequel or timestamp for (please check first) but I’ll be less flexible about which prompts/ideas I accept for those, if any. I can do shippy AUs of movies, but as this is a short fic, it likely can't be the whole plot. I don’t write gen or friendship fic, but I will write established relationship. I prefer not to write pure porn/pwp, but I can add a bit of smut if you like. By request, my winner will have access to my wiplist/plot bunny hutch, if you don’t have a prompt of your own, and can optionally pick one of those. If you have any questions at all about what I will or won’t write, please contact me! I have examples of all the ships on my AO3 and you can see full fics between 3-10k here plus all my ficlets here

Ratings: Teen, Mature, Explicit

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

#FestiveFerret #auction: fic #mth 2023

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kandisheek · 3 months

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FIC REC WEEK 4 – STUCKONY FAVORITES

Comic Books and Kings by ashes0909

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 10,503 Tags: Childhood Crush, Pining, Possessive Supersoldiers

Summary: Tony Stark read Captain America comics and everyone knew it, but it was only ever about Bucky Barnes.

Reasons why I love it: I love love LOVE when fics take on the whole fanboy Tony angle, and seeing it applied to Tony's obsession with Bucky instead of Steve is really fucking fun. Also Captain Wonderbread as a nickname makes me unreasonably happy. I just want to smoosh these three idiots together, but luckily they get there all on their own. Check this one out, you won't regret it!

journeyman by orphan_account

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: M Words: 6,165 Tags: Tony & Strange Friendship, Telepathic Bond, Space Travels

Summary: /Old man/Tony thinks, resigned. /This could be my sea. Space, the final frontier./ Steve thinks as hard as he can: come home. /Not like anyone's waiting for me back on earth, anyways./ Steve puts his fist through a wall. [alternately: Tony wanders through space while Steve and Bucky listen to his thoughts]

Reasons why I love it: I came for the Stuckony and was blindsided by how much I loved the parts of the fic where Tony and Strange are bickering their way through space, with some great cameos from the Guardians. That being said, the Stuckony is fucking fantastic, and I hope you give this fic a try, because it's definitely one of my favorites.

1994 by orphan_account

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: M Words: 6,495 Tags: Fem!Tony, Angst with a Happy Ending, Miscommunication

Summary: Tony goes blonde for a few months. She isn’t nuts about it, but Steve and Bucky really seem to hate it, which is a good selling point. The press are convinced it's the beginning of a mental break. They might not be totally wrong.

Reasons why I love it: Toni's characterization here is top notch. I really love a femme fatale, but her soft spots are what really make this fic so great. The writing style of mystery author is also really cool, almost poetic in some parts of the fic. Getting these small, really poignant timestamps throughout the plot feels really refreshing, and the pacing is great. Definitely read this one if you like Toni being an irresistible temptation to the superserum duo.

Sharing is Caring by SailorChibi

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: M Words: 3,837 Tags: A/B/O (Alpha Bucky and Steve, Omega Tony), Heat Cycles, Bad Guys Made Them Do It

Summary: When Steve goes into a rut while he and Tony are kidnapped by Hydra, Tony is convinced that what happens between them is going to ruin everything. He's wrong.

Reasons why I love it: I'm a sucker for all things sex pollen, x made them do it, fuck or die shenanigans, and if you are too, then this fic is right up your alley. Add to that the delicious moral dilemma of Tony trying to protect the sanctity of Steve's and Bucky's relationship along with a mutual guilt complex, and you've got an amazing fic right there. Plus, the writing style is fantastic, so that just elevates it to the next level. Definitely give this one a read!

Hide A Heart Of War by RayShippouUchiha

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: T Words: 13,617 Tags: Flowers, Soul Marks, Pining

Summary: “You’ve got war in your heart boy,” Howard sneers, “don’t ever try and pretend to be anything but what you are.” Tony feels the familiar burn of a flower mark being etched into his skin but he doesn’t look, doesn’t try and check to see what it is. Instead he keeps his eyes on Howard and his hands cupped around his bleeding mouth and nose.

Reasons why I love it: You've probably read this fic already, but Jesus Christ, go and read it again right now because it deserves all the love it can get. The whole concept is godtier, and the choices for which characters have which flower marks are so goddamn brilliant, I just – fucking hell, I love this fic so much. If you by some miracle haven't read this one yet, go and do it now! I promise, there is no better use of your time!

#marvel #stuckony #fic rec #fanfic #fanfic rec #a year in fanfic recs

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holylulusworld · 2 years

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Mr. Grumpy - Timestamp 2 years

Summary: A little timestamp.

Pairing: Alpha!(Mobster)Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, grumpy Bucky, a/b/o dynamics, pregnant omega, fluff, daddy!Bucky

A/N: This timestamp got inspired by Tfatws and the scene in the GIF.

Mr. Grumpy Masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“What’s that?” Bucky grumbles as you, once again, renovated his office. Now a little golden cat is standing on his desk, winking with its left arm. “Why? What for…?” He frowns, watching the cat’s arm move up and down, up, and down. “Doll, what’s that?”

“OH! That’s a Maneki Neko. A beckoning cat or welcoming cat. You put it in your home to welcome good luck into the building,” excitedly you tell your husband about all the stuff you learned at the Feng Shui course your best friend invited you to. “Look, I got a book for you too, so you get to know all the amazing things I have learned. We should move the couch and change the curtains too.”

“Move what?” your alpha longingly looks at the comfy sofa. He shakes his head as you explain the importance of things he doesn’t want to know about.

“Doll, I—” Bucky looks at the cat again, a deep frown coloring his features he reaches out for the cat to stop its arm from winking at him.

You silently watch Bucky cock his head. He grumbles, muttering something under his breath as the cat starts to move its arm again.

“Aw, you love the cat, don’t cha?” he nods, not giving away he’d like to throw the cat out of the window. “My grumpy alpha loves the happy cat.”

“I don’t know yet,” your alpha scoots closer to the cat to get a better look at the shiny little cat. “I think that thing tries to mock me or something. It won’t stop moving that fucking arm!”

“Bucky, alpha,” you gently pat his cheek, smirking as he purrs low in his throat, “I hate to break it for you, but it won’t stop moving its arm. That’s what the cat is going to do.”

“Until I break it,” a smirk appears on his face, and he chuckles. “Accidents happen, doll. What if I put my feet onto the desk and it falls onto the ground, breaking its little arm?”

“You wouldn’t dare to hurt the poor cat,” gasping you playfully put one hand on the cat’s head. “Right, kitty cat? My alpha would never break your cute arm. He loves me too much.”

“Omega,” Bucky’s eyes dart from you, giving him the sweetest pout to the annoyingly cute cat on his desk. “Fine, I won’t break it. Can’t say the same for Steve or any other punk entering my office.”

“Oh, baby,” you carefully sit on his lap to wrap your arms around his neck, “none of your men would dare to break it either. They fear an omega’s wrath more than anything, Bucky.”

“An omega’s wrath,” Bucky kisses your cheek. “I don’t want to sit in a corner again to think about what I have done.”

“I think you have mistaken your son with yourself again, Bucky,” you chuckle at his pained expression. “He had to sit on his bed for like one minute to apologize to his sister for stealing her favorite toy.”

“He sniffled and pouted, doll. Bucky jr. was about to cry,” now you run your hand over Bucky’s cheek, smiling as he tells you it broke his heart.

“Alpha, we need rules for the kids. I don’t want to be the bad guy, but sometimes a child needs to hear they can’t do some things. Like stealing a toy from their sister and making them cry. Bucky jr. apologized and played with his sister not moments later.”

“I think he was about to cry,” your husband argues. “Next time I’ll take him to my office and have a serious conversation with him.” And with conversation, Bucky means to give your son a cookie and tickle Bucky jr. until he squeals.

“Bucky, I think you have a weak spot for your pups and omega,” kissing his cheek you smile against his skin. “I hope you know, with four of them, it will be even more lively within these walls.” You take his hand to place it onto your small bump.

“I just couldn't help myself,” he grins when you look at him with glassy eyes. “I had to put more babies in your womb to mark my territory and all.”

“Yeah, just tell this to yourself,” while you rest your head against his shoulder, enjoying the few moments of silence until your little angels wake from their afternoon nap, your alpha moves his hand over your belly, gently rubbing it. “We all know you are a needy alpha, Mr. Grumpy.”

“You are as needy as I am, Mrs. Grumpy,” you both chuckle now. “How about we check on our little angels…I already miss them...”

>> Timestamp 2

Tags in reblog.

#Mr. Grumpy - Timestamp 2 years #bucky barnes #alpha!bucky barnes #mobster!Bucky x Reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #a/b/o #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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winterhawk-ao3feed · 12 days

Text

Hell or High Water

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54686707

by there_must_be_a_lock

Timestamps, deleted scenes, alternate POVs, and other assorted bits and pieces related to Forever Kind Of Thing.

Words: 3835, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Werewolf Polycule 'verse

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: Roy Harper, Jason Todd, Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes

Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Roy Harper

Additional Tags: background Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Dirty Talk, Car Sex, Werewolves, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Clint Barton Needs a Hug

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54686707

#WinterHawk #Bucky/Clint #Clint/Bucky #WinterHawk fic #ao3feed #fanfic

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theladybarnes · 1 year

Photo

READY TO COMPLY - CHAPTER ELEVEN: BAD BLOOD

“Band-aids don't fix bullet holes. You say sorry just for show. If you live like that, you live with ghosts”

▸ summary: there’s no turning back, the truth is out and feelings are set free ▸ characters: steve rogers, bucky barnes, tony stark ▸ word count: 4.1k ▸ warnings: angst, canon dialogue, canon violence, gun violence, ▸ series masterlist

The silence inside of the bunker felt like hours, but it was merely seconds from when Tony asked his first question.

“What is this?” he yelled out, sounding distressed. Almost like he was afraid of what was going to be shown. But he was only met with silence as the man continued to stare back with the same disdain he had when the lights came on. “Tony.” you whispered, feeling your voice begin to leave you. His hand is clasped over your wrist after that, tugging you closer to his side without acknowledging you.

The video begins to play out. Muted sound with grainy texture blinking before the number on the timestamp began to move. For a moment you think it’s of nothing until a car suddenly bursts into the screen, crashing directly into the trunk of a tree. You had always been told that your parent’s death was a complete accident, having suddenly crashed and passed. But your eyes caught it, the sight of a motorcycle driving beside them.

It continues to show as the cyclist turns around, parking near the broken vehicle as the driver suddenly falls out the door. The dark figure coming towards the scene is familiar, and if you weren’t so stressed out with the sight of the car, you’d have gotten a better look. There’s a clicking noise from the screen and suddenly the room was filled with the echo of the video.

“Help my wife…Please.Help.”

The air is taken from your body at the sound of the man’s–your Father’s voice. The fear as he blindly scrambled over the floor. Just then the figure stepped forwards, merely reaching down to grab the pale white hair that lay on top of Howard’s head.

With a forceful tug, he pulled Howard back, causing the older man to look up in shock at the figure. Even with the lower quality of the video, you can see it in his eyes. He’s looking up at the figure with pure shock. A pain began to grow in your chest. Making whatever air that was coming out of you hard to breathe. Nothing could have prepared your heart for your father’s next words.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

Snapping your head up, you finally meet his gaze. It couldn’t be him. This had to be another ploy of Hydra’s or a fabricated video again. Just like Vienna. It had to be fake. It couldn’t be him.

“Howard!”

Tony stiffened beside you, eyes following yours as you both watched for Bucky’s reaction. The screen continued to play on, showing hit after hit against Howard’s face. His body sagging to the floor after all he’s endured. From his lifeless motion you know he’s already gone by the time she called out again.

“Howard!”

The sound of your Mother’s cries brings a blurry of tears over your vision. She’s not supposed to sound like that. The pain from not hearing him respond. In all videos of your parents growing up, you’ve only ever heard her melodious laugh. The stern but loving scolding she’d call to your brother when the child version of him would begin his crazy antics on film. This wasn’t supposed to be in your memory. None of this was.

Your father’s body is dragged up from the floor, placed perfectly back in his seat. Just like in the photos you’ve seen from the database. There’s not much more you think you can take. Inside you’re begging for whatever God, be it Thunder or Mischief to come to your aid, make this sick video be a figment of your imagination.

But it doesn’t stop. And the more it plays out, the harder Tony’s grip on your wrist becomes. Like he’s using you to help anchor himself as his breathing grew unsteady.

“Please, don’t.” you gasped. You blink away tears as the shadowy figure walks around the car. Over to the passenger door. The familiar heavy trudge from favoring his left side. It’s all too much. But you can’t look away.

Her life is gone in seconds. Someone who would have been your world was gone. Taken by the fist of Hydra.

Emerging from the shadows, the figure walked over to the source of the recording. Gaze hard as the camera revealed his face. You’ve seen that look not too long ago, the cold stare with no thought behind it other than to finish the job. With a single glint of light to his metal arm, the winter soldier raised his gun and cut off the feed with a single precise shot.

Tony is the first to react, impulsively attempting to lunge over to Bucky.

Steve is fast to grab hold of Tony, holding onto him from making it forward. Unfortunately, he never had the chance to catch you. Watching in shock as you reached for the gun at your side, aiming it directly over at Bucky. There’s tears in his eyes, he spares a quick glance to the gun in your hand before he looks up at you.

“No, Tony, Scout.” Steve pleaded.

You can’t tear your eyes off the man in front of you. The gun felt heavy in your hands, but you managed to keep the line of the shot aimed directly at his face. Behind you, Tony caught up with his train of thoughts as he spoke up. Asking the question that all of you seemed to already know.

“Did you know?”

“..I didn’t know it was him.”

The sound of Steve’s wavering tone was clear enough for you. But Tony needed the clarification. He had to hear it from the man himself.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?”

“..Yes.”

The words caused a bubbled up cry to escape from you. Nearly gasping as you left some emotions out. Without another thought you jumped forward, rushing to Bucky as you pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. Steve called out to you, urging you with your name but you couldn’t turn back.

“Did you know?” you whispered, feeling the wave of tears continue to fall past the sides of your face and onto your collar. Soaking the material. “Did you know when you met me?”

Bucky is almost defeated by your words, eyes closing as he leaned his forehead against your gun. Like he’d accept this fate from your hands. But to your surprise and relief, he shakes his head. “I’d never-” he croaked, choking up at his words. “I’d never keep this from you..”

“Sweetheart,” Steve called again, making you flinch away from Bucky. The gun sagged down to your side as you moved away from the boys. It’s not until Steve comes into your line of sight that you feel the anger coarse back inside you.

“How long?” you gritted, hand gripping tightly to the gun.

“..What?”

“How long did you know?”

Tony has moved now to face Steve, the furrowed expression growing harder. From the side you can see his fingers twitching, tensing even more as the moments ticked by. “Answer her, Rogers.” he practically growled.

Steve is quiet as he thought out an answer. Shuffling only half a step as he looked between you and Tony. “No matter what I say, it won’t fix anything.”

“What you say next is very important to me. Now give me a goddamn answer. How long did you know?” you were shocked by how deep and pained your own voice sounded but you couldn’t help but ask. It was like needing the final nail in the coffin.

“..Since SHIELD fell.”

The answer makes your knees buckle, almost bringing you down to the ground. It’s been years since he put it together and he kept it from you. All that time spent together and he kept this lie. He kept this whole lie from you and Tony. So many memories run through your mind, nights where you two bonded over each other’s losses, the longing of a family life that neither could get. At the time it felt like secrets you could trust with him. Unfortunately, he was keeping more from you than you thought.

Being so lost in your thoughts, you barely registered Tony’s reaction to it all. The slightly aggravated chuckle in his throat is barely audible for you to pick up. And you realize it’s too late to take any other action because before you know it, he makes his attack.

Steve is hit with Tony’s gauntlet hard enough that he’s flying across the desk. Causing Bucky to pick up his gun, ready to aim over at Tony. But he’s faster this time, disarming the gun quickly and shooting it with a single blast.

In the blink of an eye his throat is wrapped around Bucky, lifting him from the ground as he dragged him halfway across the room. You stand there, stunned by what happened in mere seconds before you snap out of it and chase after them.

Steve’s shield flies past you as he aims it to hit over Tony’s head, making Tony’s blast to Bucky miss the shot. The ringing of the metal hitting against metal is loud to your ears but you dash over without so much as a plan. All you know is you have to stop this.

But the closer you get, the more you notice the unfairness of the two fighting against Tony. And your heart can’t handle the divide it’s having. Running to Steve, you watch him struggle against the binds that Tony shot at his feet.

“Hypocrite!” you yelled, jumping over him to straddle at his waist. He held up his arms, using the forearms to protect his face against the assault of punches you were throwing at him. “You hid this from me! You lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie! I didn’t know how to tell you!” he cried out, dropping the shield to grip one of your arms. You used the open space to throw in a punch to his mouth, satisfied when you heard a grunt from him. For a second he stared up at you, dark blue eyes wide as he noticed the pack to your punch.

“You let me search for him, you let me go look for their killer!” The words don’t even hit you until they’re spilled out and it’s like ripping a bandaid on a wound again.

“It wasn’t him! He had no choice, you know this!” He pushed you off him roughly, sending you to fall back against the ground. The back of your head hit the floor roughly, but you managed to pull yourself up in time to see Steve use the shield to break off the binds.

An explosion rumbled inside the bunker, making you snap your head up just in time to see one of the pillars begin to fall. Running away, you managed to climb over the center floor where the machine that wiped memories stood. What you didn’t notice was another pillar coming down, the shadow casting over you for only a quick second before you’re being pulled away. It crashes against the floor and you’re tucked into someone’s arms as you’re pulled away from the wreck.

Opening your eyes, you’re able to see Bucky’s panicked expression as he pulls you in close. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something but all he could do was bring up his gloved hand. Holding the side of your face gently for just a moment before Steve called out to him.

“Get out of here!” he warned. The sound of debris beginning to move let all of you know Tony was not down for the count yet.

“Please.” he said finally, looking back at you.The words can’t come to your mouth. Despite suddenly feeling desperate to say something, anything to him at this moment. But instead of giving him a reply, you reeled back your fist, swinging it over at him. Just like you’ve both practiced so many times, he dodged the hit. Moving into a defensive position for your next attack.

Using the front of your foot, you hooked the back of his knee, bringing him to stumble forward. A move you knew he’d forget when training. And like before it allowed you to get a swing this time with your other arm. The pain in your knuckles from having fought both Bucky and Steve already is barely there but you notice that the skin has started to tear, making small streaks of red from at the bone.

Bucky gripped at your arm, twisting you around so that he could have your back against his front. You’re struggling a bit in his hold before he leaned in. “I’m sorry.” Using his leg, he nudged against the back of your knees and gave a light shove, causing you to fall forward and give him the chance to leave.

Tony zipped past you, and from your spot on the ground you can hear him take another shot. Steve’s voice is the only thing that alerts you of his hit missing the mark. “It wasn’t him, Tony. HYDRA had control of his mind!”

“Move!” Tony demanded, picking himself from the ground to fly over him. You managed to climb over a small mountain of concrete to watch as Steve used the shield to destroy one of the stabilizers in his suit. But the hold isn’t long and soon Tony flies over to get towards the tunnel exit to get Bucky.

There’s an attempt for Steve to follow through but Tony shoots behind him, causing one of the walls to fall and create a divide made out of the debris. You use this chance to charge after Steve, using the front of your knee to crash into his side.

“You’re a liar! A traitor!” you yelled, using all the anger and emotions inside you to help get a better hit on Steve. For a second, he allowed you again to get in some hits. But he used the shield this time to cover himself and your hand came into contact with the hard metal.

A horrendous crack came from your hand and you let out a cry at the pain. “Oh God!” Steve stuttered, rushing over to reach out for your hand. But before he could make any contact, you reached with your good hand to grab the gun from your holster.

“Do not fucking touch me!” you rasped, holding your gun up. Steve’s eyes followed your hand, noticing the shot that’s aimed directly at his chest.

“Please don’t do this..you’d never hurt me..you’d never hurt anyone.”

You held the broken hand against your chest, feeling your body tremble a bit over his words. In many ways, he still knew you, and his words now only seemed to hurt you more. As if he could use them against you. “No, I don’t hurt people. But they apparently get to hurt me, right? My friend, my boyfriend, they both get to hurt me and I’m supposed to take it?”

The thoughts running in your mind don’t make sense and the pain is only making it worse. “There was never going to be an easy way to tell you. Do you think this is the answer to that?”

There’s a rumbling noise and you can only imagine the chase going between the two men you cared most about right now.

“You had so many chances to tell me..but you didn’t.” Clicking your thumb over the safety, you grip harder but the aim is lowering and you hate that his words are getting to you. “You were my friend, Steve. I loved you.”

He blinks hard for a moment, reeling in your words. “I know, and I can’t take back everything.” Rationally, you know this and you feel the weight of what’s going on around you coming in. “But sweetheart, we have to stop this. Just listen to me for once..” You nearly dropped the metal from your hand when he breathed out the last thing you wanted to hear. “..I love you.”

The shot echoed loudly in the bunker, alerting you. Looking down at your hand you notice the small bit of smoke coming out from the end before you realize Steve is clutching at his side. After having waited so long to hear it from Steve, the moment the words came out of his lips, the world of hate and anger returned to you.

Not giving him a second to recover, you bum rushed him again, using the gun as a weapon to give blunt attacks on him. But this time, instead of being on the defense, he used his fist to bash at your good hand, knocking the gun down and kicking it over towards a lower shaft.

“Scout, please!”

The anger was too much. Making you blind in a rage that continued to try and attack Steve. Even with one arm down, you swung and kicked in any direction that could hit him. Seeming to have enough, he used his shield again to push you away. But he underestimated his force and instead of getting you back, it sent you flying.

The blow was hard and before you could scream you were landing hard against the wall, falling down concrete of the shaft until you rolled down to the ground. Cold air whipped at your face, and you could feel a warm liquid begin to spread over your face. The fall had hurt you pretty bad. Raising your semi good hand up, you dab lightly at your nose to feel the blood begin to come out.

Your vision blurred and you couldn't tell if it was the fact that you were crying or that your head had been hit too hard.

Another body soon after is rolling down, making your blink away the blur to see that Steve had come flying down. There were loud clinks of Tony’s armor climbing over the wall and you groaned out to him. But Steve quickly took away his attention, climbing back up and missing you barely awake in the corner.

“This isn’t gonna change what happened.”

“I don’t care. He killed my mom.”

A sob built up your throat but you held back to try and gather your strength. The two of them go back into fighting with each other. You’ve heard them fight before and known them to get each other annoyed but this was different. There was so much pain in it.

There’s a loud yell and Bucky is flying in with Steve’s shield, using it to hit at Tony’s back. It’s enough to give the two a one up on your brother. Fighting against Tony in tandem. He’s barely able to get hits back and you try to yell out for them.

This fight was going to get worse.

“Stop!” you yelled out, finally able to sit up from the ground. The world spins and you barely catch as Steve is sent flying back. The light beam from Tony’s repulsor etched over the wall as Bucky continued to fight back. “Bucky, stop!”

He has Tony pressed against the wall, using his right to grip at his mask while his left punches against his arc reactor. The metal banging loudly before he gripped tight at the center. He lets out a guttural yell, making you panic at what could happen next.

Searching around you, the metal of your gun shined through and you rolled over to grab it. Aiming over at Bucky, you hesitate for a moment, unsure you could do the unthinkable. But Tony’s head is being pushed further and you know you have to make a choice. You aim for his leg, shooting a single warning shot into his thigh.

He gave out another yell and looked over his shoulder before he finally noticed you. The shock of you being there was enough distraction that Tony used the arc reactor’s shot against his arm. Shooting the limb off his body.

Bucky is down on his knees, using one hand to lift his body while he’s deliriously realizing he doesn’t have his arm on him. Another shot from his hand and Bucky is flying forward, landing on the ground near you.

Tony is already making the move to attack him and you found yourself crawling over, towards his body. “Tony, don’t.” Moving to hold your hand up, you’re barely able to keep your body up as you try and stop him from coming over to Bucky. “We can’t.”

Steve comes in again, pulling Tony back in the fight long enough that you’re able to let your guard down. A groan from the floor alerts you and you notice that Bucky is regaining consciousness. “Stand down.” you order him.

The fight around you both is getting more intense and for a moment, it looked like Steve had Tony down before he countered his attacks. Using a new technique to get Steve back on the ground.

The blonde groaned as he struggled to get up from the floor. He’s on his knees as Tony slowly approaches them. “He’s my friend.” he tried, pants with a tired breath.

“..So was I.”

Punching him, he grabbed Steve by the collar, flinging him against the pillars that let the snowy air inside. “Stand down. Final warning.” But in typical Steve fashion, he continued to get up. You knew well enough that he’d never stand down from a fight, despite the outcome.

“I can do this all day.”

Below Bucky is turning over, slowly extending his only hand out towards your brother. And just as Tony is about to aim a shot at Steve, he gripped tightly to his leg. Making Tony lose focus and send a kick to Bucky’s face.

That’s when Steve took the chance to grab Tony in his suit and fling him. The stabilizers turned on at the wrong moment and sent him flying faster against the wall. You crawled over to Bucky finally, looking down as the blood began to come out his nose.

Your hand reached out, pulling him up to help place his head on your lap. From the corner of your eye you see the fight turning vicious. “They won’t stop,” you whimpered, moving your hand to cup at his cheek. “The fighting won’t stop.”

Bucky placed his hand on top of yours, warm and gentle as he squeezed back. “I’m sorry.” he whispered, wincing at some of the pain that came from talking. “I’m so sorry.”

A clang echoed in the room and you gasped in horror at the site of the shield wedge into Tony’s reactor. At first it looks like he’s been stabbed by the metal, but from the way your brother lied back in shock, breathing heavily, you knew he was okay. But there was defeat on his face as you watched as Steve pulled away. Climbing off his body and taking the shield off with a grunt.

He approaches you and Bucky and you find yourself recoiling away from Steve. Making the man flinch with hurt before he reached down to help Bucky up from the ground. You scoot away from them, giving them room to leave.

“That shield doesn’t belong to you.” Tony snapped, attempting to push himself up. “You don’t deserve it. Our father made that shield!”

Steve stopped in place, looking down for a second before he dropped the disc to the ground. The vibranium echoed loudly and you stared down at the shield before hearing your name. Bucky who still stood in the same place looked at you, blue eyes filled with crystal like tears.

“You’ll find me?” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

It’s at this moment you truly feel what it’s like to have your heart break. Because while every part of you wishes you give him the answer he wants to hear. There’s a loud, pained voice telling you what you should do. What you need to do.

“No, Bucky. Not this time.”

He looks physically broken at your reply, lips parting in shock. The shared bond of seeking out one another has been a staple in both of your lives, but for the first time, you know you can’t continue on. Steve takes it at a cue to continue on, leading the two of them to the stairs.

By now Tony has managed to crawl over, using a gentle grip to help you up from the floor. But no matter what soothing words he’s attempting to murmur at you, all you could do is watch as the only two men you’ve given yourself to make their exit.

Taking a little bit of your heart with them.

a/n: IM SO SAD. I really hope people enjoy this chapter because it probably one of the best dramatic moments in the mcu.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #angst #violence #rtc #this one scene is what made me want to like do this whole series tbh

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