harleysdoll🥀

It happens between conferences—the Avengers are constantly busy and for that reason, a lot of your work involves preparing clear and straight-to-the-point briefings in what their next move needs to be.

You had just finished the morning briefing Nick asked you to be in charge of and was still in the conference room talking to Sam and Wanda when Bucky comes back again.

"...never seen her look so excited," Sam is saying.

You miss the beginning of it, eyes too busy trailing your boyfriend's movements, but you nod in agreement anyway. He must still be talking about Shuri.

"I asked her to send me the data of the new suit she's been talking about, I'm kinda excited for it," Wanda smiles next to you.

While sharing Wanda's excitement, you can't help but glance over at Bucky a couple more times.

"Do you think she'd add a snack compartment to my wings now that I'm Cap?" Sam muses out loud, bringing laughter out of Wanda. You smile too, but your mind has other plans. Why does Bucky look sad? "I asked Steve about it and he said she'd definitely do it."

"In what world would you stop mid-fight to have a snack?" Wanda asks between giggles.

"In my world," Sam replies with a poor impression of her accent.

Wanda rolls her eyes fondly at him, then looks back at you. "Do you hear this? He's going to stop criminals, but never in an empty stomach."

"I'd expect nothing less from him," you reply with a smile.

Sitting on the far end of the table, Bucky's impassive face has the same look as when he's trying to hold in his displeasure.

Like he's trying not to frown.

"Oh oh." Sam looks between you and Bucky. "We lost the Agent."

"That we did." Wanda gets up and tilts her head to the outside. "C'mon Wilson, let's get some food before the next one starts. Steve must've come back from therapy and food shopping already, we can go annoy him."

Sam gets up to follow her. "I love the way you think, girl."

With the door closed behind him, it's only you and Bucky in the room.

Well—you two and the other holograms which are on standby until the clock hits 2p.m. and the next meeting starts.

Being Nick's most valuable and trusted Agent means you're always highly aware of your surroundings. That means knowing you and your boyfriend are being heard by world leaders at the moment.

Whether they're paying attention to the silly conversations happening between the Avengers when it's not the business time or not, it's a different matter.

Usually, you keep to yourself when you're on the clock, but that could never be the case when the man you love is sitting a few steps from you looking like that.

Like a kicked puppy, or someone who saw a puppy being kicked.

"Hey," you call him. At the sound of your voice, Bucky stops fiddling with his fingers and looks up. "You okay?"

As a response, he shrugs his shoulders.

Oh, no. That's the international Bucky sign for "I am definitely not okay, but I don't know if I should say it".

You and Steve are the only ones who can pick up on his moods that easily, and all it takes is a shrug for you to put down your folders and papers and walk the distance until you're standing right next to him.

You glance around the empty room as an instinct, then prop yourself up on the desk to sit almost in front of him.

"Was it the meeting?" you ask softly.

Discussing matters of Wakanda was a delicate subject with Bucky, and the previous briefing where T'Challa and Nick were discussing the topic at hand brought up the exact reason why—Natasha.

You two had multiple conversations about it already. Just like Steve, Bucky's relationship with the fallen Avenger had been intense and tricky, but in the end, she had been a friend.

Worry feels you that maybe Bucky's had some memories, but when he looks up at you and narrows his eyes, his answer leaves you stranded again.

"It wasn't her." So not Natasha, then. Bucky looks down at his lap again and then looks away out of the window, shaking his head at himself. "It's—I'm being stupid. Don't worry."

As if there's a world where that could ever happen. Multiple and even infinite universes could exist, but the idea of you not caring whether Bucky's happy or not, bothered or not, is alien in every single one of them.

You lean in forward and in a rare show of affection at work, cup his face between your hands to turn him to you.

"That would never happen," you whisper to him, looking him in the eyes. I always care about you. Your happiness always matters to me.

The words you said to him multiple times are spoken with one look and when his shoulders relax, you know Bucky's heard them.

He looks back at you with so much vulnerability that it makes you forget everything else around you.

The others could come back with horns blasting and Fury could start calling your emergency code—none of it would make you let go of his beautiful face.

Finally, after three heartbeats that feel too much like a small fraction of eternity, Bucky looks down again, smiling sadly this time. "Don't laugh, please."

"I won't," you promise. You let go of his face only to caress the soft hair that you love so much.

"Did something happen?" he finally ask. "You called me James."

Your movements in his hair stop and you freeze for a second, trying to recap the last few hours to know what he's talking about.

You had. Usually, you called all the Avengers by their coded names, slipping only sometimes.

Being Nick's right arm meant you worked from the air (and earth, and water, sometimes) to protect the Avengers while they worked the ground. After months of working together and growing closer, of course you slipped.

They were your friends now, not only Scarlet Witch and Captain America or Black Panther. They were Wanda, Sam, Steve, T'Challa. They were silly, and they were healing, and you were bound to slip.

You had called Bucky 'James' a few times today, you notice. When the presidents of the annoying Tricheta (as Nick called) were having their doubts about sending Bucky alone with Wanda to the facilities in question, you had stood up for him.

"James is more than capable of doing this with perfect scores, Mr. President. Matter-of-factly, he's the only one who can help Wanda get in there and do this properly without fucking up," you said with a smile, and the 'just like your agents had fucked up' goes unheard.

(Nick's snort and giggle do not.)

"I...yes?" You notice now what his previous question meant. 'Did something happen?' Bucky thinks you're upset at him because you called him James.

Because you used his name.

A giggle escapes you before you can think of it and his sad puppy looks turn confused, so you touch his cheeks gently once more. You promised you wouldn't laugh, but god, this man is too much. He's too soft, too caring, too genuine. And you love all of it.

"Isn't that your name, love?" you ask in a teasing tone, just to see the color rising in his cheeks.

"Not to you, it's not," he replies with a huff, sounding every bit as petty as Steve swears he can be.

"Oh, really? And what is your name?"

"Amor," he replies seriously. "It's in my birth certificate and all. Y/N's Amor."

Love. Your love.

Everything that Bucky makes you feel floods your chest and spreads through your body, and all you want is to kiss him senselessly.

"Amor." He looks up at you with a pleased smile now.

"Yes?"

"You're only my amor. Not theirs." Without care for all the protocols in check, you lean down to press your lips against his. Bucky responds with a hand to your thigh and his lips pressing back with passion. "I can't believe you," you giggle against his lips.

"Shut up," he says without any bite. He kisses you again, and your heart melts on top of the table you sit on. "I thought I had done something," he mumbles with a pout.

"If you ever do, trust me, you'll know. And not because I'm pettily calling you by the name your lovely mother gave you, but because I'll tell you."

Bucky breathes in deeply at your statement, then exhales happily, nodding at you.

"Okay." He looks around him like a kid reading to steal a cookie, then tilts his head up for another kiss. "You don't think that was stupid?"

"Not in a million years," you press a kiss to his temple and get down from the table before Nick loses his lenience wherever he is and tells you two to keep it professional. "If you ever call me Y/n and not 'babygirl' or 'babydoll', I'm suing you."

His laughter trails with you as you walk back to the head of the table to your sit, and for the entirety of the next briefing, your pleased smile and rosy cheeks are all everything can pay attention too, as well as Bucky's satisfied smirk.

It's one of the good days at work, and you have your amor to thank for it.

Touches remained the same; gentle hands and ardent kisses. As though an apology was spilling from his tongue.

Open wounds of the heart were treated with quick fixes — no bandaids were required when the alcohol swallowed would numb the pain.

Tears were easy to deny, searing your skin each night as you turned; back facing his while enduring another restless slumber.

Mornings were safe, the adoring moments spent together before he walked out the door. A time you could pretend everything remained as it once was — out of sight, out of mind.

For now, it was enough.

The feeling of his love was always sincere; three simple words calming the withering storm.

Vows had been shared, an oath declared.

Yet, sometimes you wonder if he ever really gave you his heart. Lord knows he kept yours.

“How did it go?” You ask, perched on the end of your shared bed as he changes into a sweatshirt. He’d already taken a shower; washing away the deceit.

“Was okay,” he replies as he walks over, slotting himself between your thighs. “The merger is almost over.”

Purring, you tuck your hands under his shirt and rub them soothingly; comforting as a line forms between his brows. “Are you ready for that?”

And he smiles, the same one that made you fall in love all those years ago; crinkled eyes and dimples barely visible beneath the stubble.

“Means I get more time with you.” He leans forward, mouth brushing yours.

“What’re you doin’, Buck?” The question ends onset a giggle; voice light and airy as he trails kisses down your neck.

“Mm, missed you.” He pushes forward, moving you to the centre of the bed as you fall on your back. “‘S been too long since you’ve been under me, bun.”

The nickname fills you with an adorning nostalgia, lacing your veins like a well-sought drug; embracing the intoxication after being without it for so long.

Bucky pulls your legs apart, fingers dancing over the slickening centre of your underwear. “So pretty for me, baby.”

Baby.

There’s something detached in the endearment; a distant memory of conversation as he laughed about it’s lack of originality — seemingly unimportant.

“Maybe not tonight, Buck.” You try your best to act indifferent; swallowing the lump that lodges itself in your throat. “I don’t feel too well.”

He watches you closely for a moment, confusion crossing his features as something unknown festers. “That’s okay,” he promises; pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

The blankets are warm, familiar as they cover you both. A part of you wants space — distance between you both as you try to shake the nausea.

Except, he wraps his arms around your frame; pulling you into his chest tightly. “I love you, bun.”

Fingers intertwining, you bring them to your mouth as you kiss softly; settling into his body as you beg for a sense of normalcy. “I love you too.”

The house is quiet for a Saturday morning.

Usually, you awoke to the sound of a pan sizzling; Bucky whistling along to whatever song was playing on the radio.

There’s a note by the coffee pot, a simple;

had to go into the office, be home by 5 xx

You wonder how long you can keep fooling yourself into believing him. How many more trips away, prolonged contracts and late night phone calls could you take?

A fire threatens to start; burning with frustration as you wonder where he is, who he’s with. That’s the worst part, you suppose, not knowing what was worth the destruction of your marriage.

Because how do you fix something you hadn’t known was broken? Not until you’d cut yourself on the fragments of his lies — the shattered promises.

An answer finds you later, as Bucky walks through the door with flowers hidden behind his back. An apology spewed like salt to your open wounds.

“It’s okay.” It isn’t.

He washes away the sour taste on your tongue with sweet words; gripping your chin as mouths meet for a passionate kiss.

Dusk was approaching, the sky illuminating golden hues across his features; warmth radiated from his touch, a tease to the cold that had seeped into your pores.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments; pushing you against the wall as he bunches your skirt at the waist. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you, bun.”

Something twists in your gut at the words. “You were a good man.” The past tense goes ignored. “Couldn’t stop myself from falling for you.”

He takes advantage of it, smiling against your lips. “It’s been so long since I’ve had you, darlin’. Need to taste you, want to feel you come undone beneath me.”

And unlike the other night, you embraced his hold on you; pushing forward as you feel him pulse beneath his slacks.

Bucky takes you apart in a way only he knows how; playing with the lines of your body the way he does the strings of your heart. Tugging and pulling — all consuming as he swallows your cries.

You don’t know where he begins and where you end, but the feeling of him inside of you; full and thick, has you begging for more.

It’s always fervent; hot and heavy as he moulds your body to his. Bucky could ruin you, over and over again, until there was nothing left. And still, you’d give him more. Every last bit of you — maybe that way, he wouldn’t stray. Wouldn’t need the reason to.

“Let go for me, bun.” His voice is molasses, heady in tone as he pleads for you to come. “Show me how much you’ve missed me, show me how you need me.”

With bitten lips and heated cheeks, you will to his command; sobbing his name like it was holy — a prayer on your tongue as you worship his touch.

The feeling of warmth spreads through your loins as he releases inside of you; seed dripping from your entrance as he whispers his love against your mouth.

Moonlight reflects in his eyes as you reconcile. Sweat slicked foreheads pressed against each other’s as his fingers flutter along the curve of your spine.

A part of you wonders if this is his own reprieve, a selfish exoneration from his crimes as his duplicit heart beats against your ear.

Sleep finds him easy, as though he had nothing to fret come the morning. Although something tells you, you wouldn’t be as fortunate.

“I saw them together.”

The words ring like ultrasonic waves, stinging your senses as you try to not coil away from Sharon’s sensitive touch.

“No.” Denial is easy, normal. “You’re wrong, I’m sure it isn’t what you’re thinking.”

Her approach is timid, as though she were approaching a scared, lonely fawn. “Bucky’s having an affair.”

“He wouldn’t.” Your voice breaks; the ring around your finger constricting.

“I know you love him,” she says. “But you deserve better than someone who would hurt you like this.”

“And you’re sure? That it’s her?”

Sharon leaves you with a photo, evidence of the one confrontation you never wanted to meet.

They’re close, his lips on her neck as a small smile plays on hers. Bucky’s hands are wrapped around her waist; close and intimate, in a way that only a lover’s would.

You hover the delete button, a potential threat removed, if you choose.

The sound of heavy footsteps distract you, Bucky’s call of your name making you lock the device before he can see it.

“There you are, bun.” He grins, arms outstretched as he pulls you in for a hug. “I was callin’ out for you, did Sharon stop by?”

This was the opportunity, maybe if he confessed, you could work on moving forward — together. “She was out by Morningside today.” Bucky tenses, humming quietly. “Weren’t you out that way too?”

Silence stretches in the air, and you hear his sharp intake of breath as your throat begins to swell. You step back to look into his eyes, waiting for his admittance.

“Actually I was out by Riverside, Sam wanted to have lunch there.”

Water burns your irises, a bitter smile on your face as you watch his brows furrow, bottom lip twitching as he gives it away. “Really?” You indulge him, wondering if he’ll take the bait.

A quick kiss is gifted, palms wiped down against the same brown coat you saw in the photo. “Yeah,” he agrees; subject changing quickly as he searches for a bottle of water in the fridge.

“Buck?” Your tone is light, treading carefully as he turns around. “C’mere.”

Surprises flashes across his features, and you wonder if he knows — that you know.

Time is your ally, and you bide it deliberately as your hands brush over his pristine buttons. “Get on your knees.”

He abides swiftly; pushing your panties to the side as your dress is removed. Your hands tug on his locks, guiding him toward your centre as he moves your leg over his shoulder.

Bucky never tires of the way you taste; saccharine on his tongue with slight zest. It’s addicting, and he treats it as such; swallowing down your nectar as you grind against him, beard burning your inner thighs as he tries for your forgiveness.

Fingernails dig into the flesh of your ass, encouraging your movements as your whines reach their peak; pouring slick into his mouth as you fall apart.

Huffing breaths fill the room, and you seperate yourself on shaky legs. You feel his hand reach out for yours, but you move away without a glance; picking up your dress and leaving him to deal with the mess.

There’s a hand on the middle of your back, guiding you through the restaurant.

Bucky’s been extra attentive, showering you with quality time and affirming words. It was enough for you to try — you’d been together for nearly ten years, and you couldn’t find it in you to give that up for something you weren’t sure existed anymore. A lapse in judgement.

But then, you see purple.

It’s striking against the red; complimentary tones as her eyes dazzle like emeralds among the candlelight.

“You remember Natasha?” Bucky introduces you to the table, vision focused on you. “My assistant.”

“Of course.” You smile politely at her, the younger woman who tries her best to not waver under your stare. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Natasha stutters, gaze flickering from Bucky to yours. “You too, Mrs. Barnes.”

The dinner is quick, barely any fuss as you catch up with those you know — Sam, Steve, Tony. All familiar faces who seemingly sense the underlying tension between the three of you who sit together.

With a peck to Bucky’s cheek, you make your way to the restroom in dire need of a moment alone. Closing your eyes for a second, you inhale deeply before washing your hands, only a small moment to yourself as your hear the door open.

“Sorry,” Natasha says; moving next to you by one of the sinks. “Just thought I’d clean up.”

The shiny silver on her wrist catches your attention, a single charm hanging off it that makes your stomach churn.

“My husband bought me one like that when we were first dating,” you tell her. “I was so enamoured with him, you know? Which is why falling in love was so easy.”

She looks down, thumb brushing over the bracelet.

You continue, “Bucky is charming, enigmatic and he’s a good man.”

“He’s been very determined with this deal.” Natasha nods, jaw clenching as she avoids your eyes.

“Yes, he has.” You dry your hands, leaving her with one last thought. “But sometimes, he becomes addicted to the chase. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

By the time you reach the table, Bucky is standing with an affectionate smile. “You good, bun?”

Taking his hand in yours, you return his gesture. “Let’s go home.”

It feels like your head is finally above water; floating amongst the calm as Bucky lays beside you, basking in the sunlight that glows.

Everything feels right, the Earth on it’s axis as balance restores your relationship once more.

The bliss is ignorance, falling back into old habits as he declares his love for you. Future plans of beginning a family are made. And you almost let yourself feel the relief you’ve been so desperately seeking.

“We are not naming our child Galadriel,” you giggle; baby book in hand as you both lay in bed.

Bucky pouts, “At least it’s different!”

Kissing his lips, you murmur, “You’re so adorable when you’re all geeked out.”

“And you, are so sexy when you’re talking about our kid.” Bucky grins, taking the book from you before placing it on the bedside table.

“Mm, what’re you sayin’, Buck?” The question is a courtesy when you already know the answer. Your legs wrap around his waist, already removing the clothes that cover your bodies.

“Wanna start a family with you, bun.” His tone is so earnest, it makes you forget the worries that plague your mind.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“‘S all I want, darlin’.” The tip of his hard length nudges your opening, coating himself in your slick. “You, me, and our little family we’ll make together.”

The test is negative.

Because you should’ve known the perceived perfection was a mirage.

The singular line a forewarning for what comes next.

I’m sorry.

Attached to Steve’s text message is a photo — of them; hands clasped together tightly as they sit on a park bench, foreheads pressed together as their lips are mid speech.

You feel foolish for letting yourself get swept up in the hurricane of Bucky’s love. How swiftly it cocoons you — devours you — destroys you. Leaving nothing but the scattered debris of your heart behind.

Strength isn’t always visible, loud, obvious.

It doesn’t need to be prideful.

Yours comes in many layers — empathy, second chances, understanding, reflection. It’s more than physicality. Worth decades of experience, of learning.

That’s why you stand tall as Bucky shouts, veins pulsing with anger as he pulls at his hair.

“You’re crazy!” He yells. “I wouldn’t do that to you!”

The dichotomy of his arguments is almost terrifying — one of a man you don’t recognise, and one of the man you loved.

Still, you’re passive in your approach. The images are louder than his roaring, and you can see as he deflates; expression crumbling under the proof.

“It meant nothin’.” His hands shake as they hold onto your face; tremors befalling your frame. “But you, darlin’ you are everything.”

Venom spits at him with every word that leaves your mouth. “How could you ruin everything for something that was nothing?”

“I fucked up, I know.” Bucky’s thumb finds solace in the dip of your chin. “It was a mistake, somethin’ that went too far. But I promise, it was never anything serious.”

You laugh, unable to decipher whether he believes himself. “She’s in love with you.”

“I don’t care.” The words sting, even though they shouldn’t, because you have no loyalty to Natasha. But there’s something in the way he writes her off, like she truly meant so little that it makes you feel sick for her.

“Who are you?” You mumble, pushing him away as you massage your temples.

Bucky tries a different approach — more delicate this time as he presses his chest to your back. “I’m still the same man you fell in love with. Please, bun. Let me prove it to you.”

Perhaps your weakness, came in the way you yielded to him, if only for a few hours more. The release of your frustration, of the hurt and pain — the endurance of a broken marriage that you’d tried to fix on your own.

It’s rushed, anguished; the build up of emotions that can only be released in the space between your bodies. Kisses are bruising and mean, touches are harsh and contused.

He sears your skin like an iron, permanently etched into your flesh with his mark. One that will be scoured raw, and with time, that you’ll be rid of.

Bucky wakes up to a cold bed, your side empty as he stretches. He searches for you, softly calling your name, only to be greeted by the quiet.

Rolling over, he smiles to himself as the lingering Gardenia scent of your perfume fills his nostrils. Lulling him to serenity as he begins his day.

It’s not until he reaches the kitchen, does he see the ring — next to a manila folder, with a note addressed to him.

James,

I have loved you, for so many years. And while I thought that would be enough for you, I’ve come to recognise that it’ll never be.

You’ve made me realise my deepest fears; breaking our vows, and my heart in the process.

Everything I thought I knew about you was a lie, and for that, I can never forgive you.

It’s over. We’re done.

I just hope it was worth it, and that one day, you’ll make peace with yourself the same way I have.

Chris Evans Masterpost

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Tom Hiddleston Masterpost