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am I tripping or you wrote something like bucky and neighbour? if I remember correctly reader wasn’t kidnapped or anything but he had sad thoughts about someone like her being so nice with him??
I know technically it’s not a fully request but if you have it still I’d like it 🥹 (hope you didn’t lose it completely)
My sweet neighbour
a/n: hi anon!!! no you're not tripping, i have wrote something like that with a neighbour but unfortunately it was one of the few i lost when i had the problem with my old account. so here we are i wrote it again (that's why it took me some time) hope you like it as you liked the first version. this version contain SMUT.
“Why do you still live there? It’s so far from here.” Sam asked Bucky on the jet, coming back from a mission.
“Yeah pal,” Steve adjusted his shield. “It’s far and you always have something to do.”
Bucky looked down at his boots.
He liked that place, the cozy condo he found four or five block away from the Avengers’ Tower, but he loved even more his neighbor.
“It’s somewhere I can wind down… you know how I am…” Bucky gulped, worried about saying something more than what he wanted. “It’s also cheap and there’s no Tony Stark pumping heavy metal in the morning.” He smirked.
The billionaire laughed snorting at the cockpit near Nat.
The remaining journey back home was quiet and peaceful, everyone thought about what to do within the next couple of days of rest.
Once the jet landed on the tower’s platform, Bucky packed his bag and headed out.
He always walked from the tower to his condo. He liked the night air and the dark atmosphere around him. He passed in front of a florist, and like every time he did, he thought of coming home to you with a big bouquet of roses. He saw in his mind the happiness on your face, your arms linked to his neck and your body pressed to his.
The reality was way more different.
You were on his floor, your door right in front of his. Some hello every now and then, a wave of hand if you saw him while being on the phone. He would never forget how your eyes widened the first time you saw him.
You recognized him immediately.
Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, on your floor.
Broad shoulders, wide chest, blue eyes and dark brown hair. A cheeky but shy smile when he presented even if that wasn’t necessary.
You run into your apartment, not wanting to face him and Bucky immediately got it.
You were scared of him.
Again, the reality was different.
Once you run into your apartment, you rested your back against the door. Chest moving up and down, a hand on your heart trying to calm it down. Your lower lip crushed between your teeth.
Bucky Barnes was by far the most handsome and hottest man you’ve ever seen.
Your body reacted immediately, like on autopilot, and you clenched your legs.
In the following days, you took a peek in the peephole trying to figure his routine.
Bucky did the same with you, but you had very different habits.
Bucky at five in the morning always headed out for his morning run. You preferred sleep.
Around nine, you finally woke up. Shower and a light breakfast and then straight to your office. At the same time he usually took his shower after his four hours of cardio and exercises.
Having different habits and routines, and not seeing you both as much, made it even more weird when you both got locked in the elevator.
People were supposed to know your neighbors and the fact he was taking more space with his body made you tremble.
Bucky got that as fear.
He saw you in the corner of the elevator, trapped and scared. He tried to make himself little bit but of course it was impossible.
He was a super soldier, six feet tall and 200+ pounds. His shoulders took all the space and he shuffled in his feet uncomfortably and ashamed of his past.
In your head tho, the reality was the total opposite.
You looked at him, finally not from a peephole. It seemed that his shoulders almost asked you to grab them, to rest your tights on them while he ate you out while grabbing his locks. You took a moment to admire his metal arm. You noticed how he tried to pull down the sleeve, trying to cover even the hand.
You took your sweet time admiring his lips. They seemed so soft and full. Imaging them on your skin made you shiver more.
His eyes were the thing you loved more. They were usually so shiny and bright. A blue so intense you found yourself staring at them in pictures once you found out he was your neighbor.
The great Bucky Barnes. The man turned into a weapon and then finally a hero with all the recognition he deserved.
You suspected he wouldn’t like being recognized like the Winter Soldier and so you preferred waving at him from the distance and simply saying hello to him.
“Sucks being stuck here, right?” You tried to asked him.
He hummed nodding.
“Okay,” you whispered crossing your arms on your chest. “So… do you like it here?”
“It’s fine.”
This time, you nodded without speaking.
You saw him in the opposite corner of the elevator far from you, as far as the space allowed.
Suddenly the elevator shook and you lost balance, crushing into his arms. His reflexes were on point like you suspected, as he grabbed you in a second. His flesh arm around your waist and your face against his chest. You inhaled his intoxicating smell. You didn’t see it but he smelled your hair too as he was way more taller than you.
“Oh sorry, Bucky.”
You looked up at him.
He looked down at you.
Bucky.
You said his name, so you of course knew him.
You saw the pain in his eyes. The regret of his past conditioning his present.
He removed the arm immediately from you and licked his lips.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Did it hurt you?” He asked with a low tone.
You were about to reply but the elevators’ door opened. You saw two firefighters opening the heavy and metal door.
“Are you alright guys? Hey,” one of the firefighters removed his helmet. “You’re Bucky Barnes… god… you’re a hero.”
“Yeah… thanks…” Bucky replied shyly.
The firefighter who opened the door immediately helped you to get down since you were blocked between two floors. You refused his hand, and looked for Bucky’s hand. He gave his flesh hand to you, helping you balancing.
You looked at him straight in the eyes while thanking him.
It was now two weeks after being locked in the elevator. Bucky was nowhere to be found. He disappeared three days after.
You heard his door opened during the night and you immediately run towards the peephole. You saw him with his tactical gear and a duffle bag.
Almost a week away, you heard the news.
The Avengers were in a country you barely remember the name, fighting for the world. The local anchorman and cameraman filmed them after a fight.
Dirty, bloody and exhausted.
Bucky appeared on the screen.
Your breath got stuck in your throat.
He was suffering, painfully tired and absolutely handsome. His eyes tired and puffy. His chest moving up and down.
You picked the phone up and took a picture of the screen.
You missed him so much even tho you barely interacted with each other.
You got back on the bed and closed your eyes imagining him coming back.
After another week, he was back. You heard the keys in the door and immediately jumped up from your couch. You swung your door opened as he was about to close his.
“Bucky,” you whispered.
He turned and looked at you.
He didn’t have the same exhausted and dirty look he had on TV the week before, but he had a sad look in his eyes.
“Go back to sleep.”
“No.”
“We barely know each other… you should stay away from me.”
“No.” You replied again.
Bucky moved suddenly and you took a step back flinching at the speed not at him.
He froze.
“See?” He smiled sadly and got inside his apartment.
You run towards the closed door. “Bucky, please… you don’t get it. Open please.”
You kept knocking on his door but he didn’t answer.
He stayed near the door, hearing your knocking and looking at you through the peephole.
After some minutes your eyes were red and tears began to stream on your cheeks.
Bucky died inside seeing you like that, but he kept his facade.
As the days passed, you noticed how he avoided you even more. It looked like he was trying to even avoid getting on the floor the same time as you. At least sometimes you used to meet at the elevator.
He kept his five in the morning run cause he knew you would sleep at that time. He began to notice how the curtain of the living room, perfectly on sight from the street, was closed every time you were out and wide opened when you were in as you took all the natural light possible. He started monitoring the curtain as his personal tracker.
Close safe.
Open not safe.
It was inevitable seeing each other again.
It happened one afternoon after a summer storm. You were back from the office, no umbrella and light dress on. The first thunder made you walk a little bit more faster. As the rain began to pour, you found yourself two blocks ways from the condo.
The water wet your dress, making it cling to your body. Sadly that attracted weird looks from a man waiting on the bus.
You passed in front of the stop, one block from home, and he whistled at you. You kept your face down for not getting an eye contact with the man, and also for shielding your eyes from the rain and wind. You were right in front of your door looking for your keys, sensing his presence approaching.
“Hey beautiful,” the man began. “Why don’t you let me in your home.”
“Get off!”
“Mommy didn’t teach you the manners?” He lifted his arm in the air. You didn’t know what for, because it got stuck in the air.
Turning, you saw something shiny and metallic grabbing the man’s wrist.
Bucky.
You exhaled calming yourself, while your heart kept beating hard in your chest.
“Think you need to go dude.” Bucky said with a lower tone of voice. His eyes almost closed threatening, teeth gnarling and an evil smirk on his face. A wet wall of muscle, probably coming back from a run.
The man completely shuttered.
He nodded quickly and once Bucky left him, he run in the rain.
“Bucky,” you began.
“Did he hurt you?” He asked you worried. “Did he?”
You shook your head, thinking at what could have happened. “Thank you. You’re my hero.” You said opening the door of the hallway.
He looked down, letting you pass in front of him. You noticed he gave a final look at the street before closing the door.
You press the elevators’ button and stood near him. His scent, mixed with the rain, was in the air and you found yourself inhaling all.
The elevator hissed and again he let you pass in front of him. He pushed your floor’s button and rest his back against the wall of the elevator.
His henley stuck to his chest, his hair wet and messy. He passed a hand through them and you took a deep breath.
You turned and pressed your chest against his.
“Don’t talk.”
You pressed your lips against his, lifting yourself on your tip. Your arms circled his neck as your fingers began to play with his hair.
He growled in the kiss and grabbed your hips. You began to press yourself more against him and you felt definitely something getting harder.
“Wait,” Bucky told you. His hands on your shoulders. “Wait… wait… wait.”
Shame and sadness on your face.
You’ve never felt so bad.
Was that meaning he wasn’t interested in you?
Was it all in your head?
Were you the only one feeling the attraction?
“Sorry Bucky… I misjudged apparently…”
You slid away from him.
The elevators’ door opened and you rushed out. Bucky remained blocked and shocked.
You kissed him.
Hardly and passionately and roughly.
He saw you closed the door of your apartment and disappeared.
Why did he told you to wait?
Wait what?
Something more exciting of this?
His body reacted way too good at you but his brain stopped him.
He got back to his home and didn’t let anyone interrupting him.
He moved to the bedroom, cock heavy in his pants. He laid down on the bed while removing pants and underwear. He grabbed his shaft, already hard and leaking. He thought about your face, your hands around his neck and your chest against his.
Your soft and full boobs crushing on his hard pecks. He pressed his metal hand more around the base of his cock, while his mind pictured you in your soaked dress. The fabric clinging to your body like a vision.
He slid his hand up and down more, his thumb gliding on his tip as he felt the pleasure rising in his body.
What he didn’t know in that moment, was that you were doing the same in your bedroom.
You didn’t even take your time to remove the dress, you simply pulled it up around your hips as you sat on the bed. Legs spread opened and your phone on the dresser.
Bucky’s news picture on the screen.
You looked at him. His eyes looked at you as you were able to capture the moment the starred at the camera.
Your hands began to slid down your body. You fingers rolling your nipples pinching them.
Your chest already moving up and down quickly. You spread your legs more, lifting one on the mattress. Your index began to play with your clit, but it wasn’t enough.
Sitting better, you laid down on your elbow and rolled your clit more into your fingers.
“Bucky…” you panted. “Yeah… please…”
You licked two fingers and slid them in your hole. Already worked up, you didn’t need much time.
His picture staring at him was able to let the pleasure rise in you. You grabbed the sheet under you and starred more at the pic. You remembered his chest against yours, how his hands grabbed your hips and his soft and wet hair in your fist.
“Please let me come Bucky…”
“Please let me come Bucky…”
Bucky couldn’t possibly imagining what was happening on the other side of the wall. He suspected over the weeks that your bedroom was right near his and just a wall was separating you. Now he was sure.
He heard your moans after coming down from his high, already worked up enough.
He stood up, letting his clothes fall on the ground and rest naked against the wall. He pressed his forehead on the wall and grabbed his cock hard again.
Being a super soldier with enhanced senses had some flaws but this one was definitely an advantage.
Metal hand on the wall and flesh around his cock, Bucky began to pant and moan again.
He heard all the wetting sound your fingers made. He heard his name coming out of your lips and that made him shiver more.
“Y/N,” he grunted against the wall, punching it as he came again.
It was the first time he said your name out loud.
Everything stopped and he realized it later.
You heard him hearing you.
You stood, unsatisfied, and walked toward the wall. “Bucky?” You asked in the silence of a stormy afternoon.
“Yeah…”
“Can you hear me?”
“Yeah… I can…” his hand still around his cock. He pumped himself more as you spoke.
“Want to help me?” Your hand slid down too. “Why don’t you come here? I’ll opened the door just now…”
Bucky heard your footsteps getting far and even your door unlocking. His sense were so overstimulated that he was aware of everything.
You got back and punch lightly the wall for him. “Here I am… I’m waiting Bucky…”
“I’m ruining you if I’ll come…”
“I’m counting on it…” you breathed out. Your fingers sliding inside you again and Bucky heard the wetting sound he heard before.
He took his short, no underwear, and put them on. “Coming sweetie.”
He didn’t think of putting his shirt on, it wasn’t necessary.
In a second he was inside your apartment.
You scent reached his nostril in a second and he felt his cock hardening even more.
He removed his shorts and began pumping himself again.
“Follow my voice, Bucky…” you told him.
He gulped and licked his lips and indeed followed your voice.
You kept talking to him until you saw him on the edge of your room, naked and hard. He growled when he saw you. He kept pumping himself as you kept sliding in and out your fingers from your pussy.
“How… how could you… po-possibily... hear me…oh my god…”
“Sweetie,” you saw his knuckles getting white as he pressed more. “Super hearing… you made me weak and on alert all the time…”
His cock twitched in his hand.
Naked too and legs spreading on the bed. You back anchored to the mattress as you rested on your elbow. Your hand kept playing with your pussy.
“Why don’t you come here?” You asked in a sexy tone.
He moved like a leopard, precise and fast.
He grabbed your knees and spread your legs even more. He took a look at your glistering pussy before diving in you. His tongue licked a long stripe until his teeth grabbed your tiny and pulsing clit.
“Fuck… Bucky… you’re so good…”
“I know… stay there…” he ordered you.
You tried, really tried, but he was too good and your upper body irreversibly stood a little.
As he felt your core clenching, after began pumping two fingers in you, he stopped.
“Why?” You whined.
“Told ya to stay there. You have to earn it now…”
He looked at you with a smirk, you didn’t feel any ounce of fear, just excitement.
He slid up, reaching for your lips. He dove his tongue in your mouth as his hand kept your chin steady. He bite your lower lip while his all body crushed yours. You felt his fingers still playing with your pussy.
“Bucky… please…” you panted against his mouth.
“You wanna come?” He asked you, kissing your neck.
You nodded.
He looked at you and turned your entire body on the bed.
“Ass up,” he said lightly spanking it. “Are you gonna stay there?”
“YES YES YES… I’LL DO IT…”
“Good girl…”
He kissed your back, still a little wet from the rain in your hair. He grabbed his fat cock and teasing your entrance with his tip. You tried to wiggle a little but you were remembered what he told you with his hand grabbing a little harder your hip. You stopped when you felt him sliding into you.
It stung a little but it immediately transformed into pleasure. You felt every inches of him, stretching you deliciously.
He grabbed your hips both and began to push harder inside you. “God you are made for me…”
“Bucky…” you were able only to pant and moan his name.
“Yeah… that’s my name… scream it loudly…let everyone hearing it…”
“BUCKY!” You screamed as he pull out and push himself inside hardly.
“So beautiful with that dress on it… wait,” he kept pushing inside you. “Is that my face on your phone?”
You froze while he was still pushing into you. In the rush of adrenaline you completely forgot your phone and his picture.
“Can… explain…” you tried to told him in the middle of your moans.
“God,” he lowered more on you, letting your legs buckled and fell on the bed. He crushed you more as he kept pounding in you. “That’s the hottest thing even… I heard my name from your mouth pretty girl…”
“Bucky… please…”
“Yeah… just like that…”
He grabbed a fist of your hair, pulling yourself up on your not so stable knees. He circled an arm around your waist, then rested his palm on your chest letting you up. Your back pressed more against his chest. His cock kept sliding in and out. He felt clenching your muscles and snacked a hand on your clit. His fingers played with your clit.
“God Bucky… I need to come…”
“Come pretty girl… come on my cock…”
Your body reacted in an aggressive rush of pleasure. He let you fell forward, balancing on your elbows. Your ass pushing more against him as he kept pushing and sliding in you walking you through your orgasm.
“I’m coming sweetie…” he rasped, hands grabbing your hips.
“Inside Bucky. I want it inside.”
He let his head fall behind and grunted as he came. Hot spout in you, that he kept inside with his big cock.
He finally slid out of you, resting his forehead on your back. Once he stood, you stopped him.
“Lay down.”
“What?” He asked you confused.
“Do it.”
He did, and laid down on the bed. You knelt on the bed and turned. Bucky began to understand once you straddled his legs.
You lowered your head near his cock, too close.
“Sweetie… you don’t have to…”
“I want to,” you smiled at him. “I really do.”
You pressed a kiss on his tip as he pushed his head more into the pillow. Grabbing the base of his shaft, you began to bob the head on him. He was very well endowed so you had to really hollowed your mouth. His hips jerked up a little as he felt the tip of his cock in the back of your throat.
His hand immediately flew to you head, grabbing a fist of your hair. He wasn’t controlling you, he was guiding you and you wanted to be guided by him.
Already overstimulated, Bucky came again in a few minutes. You let him come into your mouth, greedily swallowing all of him.
You felt on him, arms opened and chest ready to let you sleep on it.
As your skin touched his, he circled you with his arms and caged you against his warm and sweaty body.
He peppered your head of kisses, it was sweet and kind, totally the opposite of what you both did.
“Why did you avoid me, Bucky?”
“It was easier. You’re too pure to be in this with me…”
“But I want to…”
“No, you don’t,” Bucky slid his hand on your back in a gentle caress. “The first time you saw you run away… I know fear when I see it… but it’s not your fault… I mean…”
“OH MY GOD!” You laughed hard and loud. “YOU REALLY THINK THAT?”
Bucky looked at you as you stood naked in front of him.
“Sweetie it’s normal… I get it…”
“Why the hell would you think that after I let you fuck me?”
“Well-” Bucky stopped.
Now that he was thinking, why letting him in your bed if there’s only fear from your side?
“You don’t tremble because I scare you?”
“Bingo,” you replied sarcastically. You took a look at his sad eyes. “Oh god, Bucky I’m sorry… you must sensing fear from people a lot…”
He nodded sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Well,” you said sitting on his tights and circling his neck with your arm. “I am not scarred of you… and the first time I saw you I run inside because I was horny…”
You looked down, right at his cock, and smirked.
“Horny?”
“Yes horny. Weren’t you horny the first time you saw me?”
“I’m always horny when I look at you…”
You turned, straddling his lap. The warm of your pussy touched his cock, hardening it again. You kissed him deeply and hardly. His tongue fought with yours. You snatched a hand between you, grabbing his half hard cock.
A couple of pumps and it was hard fully again.
Keeping kissing him, you let it slid inside you again.
You didn’t move, he didn’t just grab your hips.
He remained there, his cock protected in your warm and welcoming pussy. His metal hand, a little cold treat with the warm temperature in your room, resting on your back keeping you caged against him.
Kissing Bucky was good, maybe too good.
You rolled your lap a little and he grunted in your mouth. The sound made your nipple hardening even more.
He circled his flesh arm around you now, he pressed it against your hips.
You began to move a little, adjusting the position.
“Don’t move please…” he moaned.
You nodded but clenched your muscles. He moaned more, harder and deeper.
Music for your ears.
You did it again and made him come again.
A couple of pushes from under you as he came, made your orgasm approached too.
Hours later, the storm was already a memory from the past.
You convinced him to take a bath with you.
“How could I fit in there?” He asked you confused.
“We’ll make you fit…” you voluntary smirked in an allusive way.
You did made it fit in the tub.
His back completely against the end of the tub. His long and big legs spread opened. The right one completely out, resting his calf on the edge of the tub.
You sat in the middle of his legs, grazing his cock on more.
“Sweetie, you need to behave…”
“No.”
You laid down, back to his chest.
Your torso completely on him.
You took his arm and circled your collarbone with it.
“Are you sure it’s okay for you, sweetie?”
“More than okay, Bucky.” You said, eyes closed.
His metal fingers grazed your forehead, sliding out of your cheek some wet locks of hair.
“Can I wash your hair?” Bucky asked whispering.
“Of course, Bucky.”
You sat better, feeling already the loss of his chest to your back. You stretched your arm on the other edge of the tub, where some bottles stood there.
“Here,” you said, turning to him slightly. “Here’s the shampoo.”
He took the bottle as it was made of glass, then squeezed out a little amount of shampoo. Lathering between his hands, he makes the foam.
Once his fingers were on your scalp, you moaned.
“God… your so good…”
You heard him taking a deep breath.
“Mmh... Bucky… just like that…”
“Sweetie please…” he fought the urge to pull your head toward him and kissing you.
“I love this.”
“Yeah,” he snorted. “Figured…”
As he washed and rinse your hair, and even untangled them, you turned to him.
“Your turn…”
“What? How…”
“Don’t worry.”
You took the same little amount of shampoo and lathered it too.
You began washing his hair, and then you pulled his head toward your chest.
“Stay there.”
Bucky rested his face on your boobs, the best pillow he could get. They lightly giggled as you move your arm on his head.
He found himself cupping them with his both hands.
“Sorry,”
“Don’t say sorry. Do it again.”
He did.
Light and soft touch. He took care of them as he took care of you before.
His fingertips rolling your nipples making you deep breathes.
Once you rinsed his hair, he kissed your chest.
“I can get used to this, sweetie.”
“You have to get used to it.”
You kissed him, he circled your waist and pulled you against him slouching some water out the tub.
Thinking of the question from Steve about how he preferred living there, well… now he had a real answer.
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: kinda fake enemies to lovers | heavy smut on purpose | oral sex | rough sex | spanking | heavy overstimulation | consensual choking | very dominant!bucky | brat!reader | power dynamics | forced proximity | emotional tension | aftercare | trauma references | hydra and red room mention | protective undertones | future angst in the next parts
word count: 7.7 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
a/n: this is a relative "short" chapter while the other ones will be definetely longer. if someone already read it in the first place (i hope you'll do it again) there are gonna be some parts that may or may not trigger you.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue
The briefing room hummed with quiet tension and fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. There was a weird light in there as the main screen lit up with surveillance images grainy aerial shots, infrared blips and blurred faces in the snow.
The Hydra outpost was a remote fort almost invisible to satellites.
Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “This isn’t just a weapons depot,” he muttered. “Hydra’s cooking something nasty in there. Biotech signatures don’t lie.”
Natasha crossed her arms, eyes fixed on the screen. “Two names flagged from the old Red Room and Winter Soldier files. If they’re there, this isn’t a recon job this is a clean sweep.”
Steve nodded grimly. “Agreed. We don’t just need precision. We need people who can get in, eliminate the targets, and get out without leaving a trace.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sam groaned. “You’re thinking Bucky and Y/N, aren’t you?”
“They’re the best,” Natasha said without hesitation.
“They also hate each other,” Sam countered, raising a brow. “Last time they shared airspace, I thought she was going to strangle him with her own belt.”
“They don’t hate each other on the field,” Steve said but his tone wasn’t confident.
Tony snorted. “Right, they hate how much they understand each other. It’s worse.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Can they at least pretend to cooperate? Or are we deploying World War III with stealth camo?”
“They’ll manage,” Steve said firmly, ignoring the look Tony gave him. “They’ve both led black ops. Both trained to compartmentalize. Whatever’s between them they’ll bury it for the mission.”
Natasha gave a small, knowing smirk. “Or they’ll use it to get the job done faster.”
Tony flicked to the next slide; blueprints of the Hydra outpost. “High-altitude drop, full winter gear. Satellite blackout zone. And if they’re compromised-”
“They’re ghosts,” Steve finished. “No rescue. No trace.”
Silence fell again.
Finally, Tony exhaled. “Guess we’re betting the mission on gritted teeth and sexual tension.”
Sam muttered, “This is gonna be a shitshow.”
No one disagreed.
In the meanwhile, in the compound’s gym grunts echoed off the padded walls. The rhythmic slap of fists on mats, the crack of limbs colliding sharp and clean but focused.
Y/N ducked under Bucky’s swing, sweat-slick and breathing hard. She twisted, leg sweeping toward his ribs but he caught it with a grunt, tossing her off-balance. She rolled, came up in a crouch and smirked. “Slowing down, Barnes.”
He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, metal fingers flexing. “I’m giving you a chance to keep up.”
They circled each other again, bodies coiled like springs.
Neither pulled punches.
Neither gave ground.
Outside the gym, behind the reinforced glass of the briefing room, the other were still talking abou them.
Steve folded his arms. “You’re sure about this pairing?”
Natasha raised an eyebrow, glancing at the sparring match. “They’ll get it done. They always do.”
“But they’ll kill each other doing it,” Sam muttered, sipping coffee.
Tony leaned back in his chair and turned on the camera from the gym, watching Y/N shove Bucky back with a palm to the chest. “Or they’ll finally screw and get it out of their system.”
“Tony,” Steve warned.
“What?” Tony grinned. “Tell me you haven’t noticed the tension. I’ve seen less eye contact in war zones.”
Sam chuckled. “Still… it’s Hydra. Deep recon. Snow, low visibility, unstable terrain. This op needs the best.”
“And that’s them,” Nat said simply. “Like it or not.”
Steve sighed, watching Bucky catch Y/N in a hold and pin her against the wall.
She elbowed him in the ribs he grunted and she slipped free.
“They’ll fight it,” Steve said quietly. “Each other. The mission. Everything.”
Nat’s eyes narrowed, but her voice was sure. “Then they’ll survive it.”
Y/N’s breath came in short bursts, sweat glistening on her skin as she twisted into a takedown. With a sharp grunt, she hooked Bucky’s arm and shoulder-rolled him clean off his feet. He hit the mat hard, the thud echoing through the gym and the microphone of the camera but before his back fully met the ground, his boot swept out low and fast nailing her ankle just right. She yelped as her balance gave out and a heartbeat later she was sprawled beside him, face-first on the mat.
Both of them groaned, tangled in exhaustion and bruises. Neither willing to admit the other got the last hit in.
It was a draw. Again.
Tony turned the camera off and proceed to reach the gym. The others following his steps.
The door opened with a hiss of hydraulics.
Steve entered first arms crossed and expression unreadable. Behind him, Nat, a now worried Tony who let pass Steve first and Sam filtered in observing the sprawled pair with thinly veiled amusement.
Steve arched a brow. “Kids,” he said mocking them.
Both Y/N and Bucky raised their heads.
“Shower then briefing room. Now.” Steve was now less confident.
Y/N flipped onto her back, breathless. “You calling me a kid, Rogers?”
Bucky snorted. “He meant me, obviously.”
Tony smirked. “Sure, grandpa. C’mon, before you two make it weird.”
Y/N and Bucky exchanged a competitive glance, lingering and electric but neither said a word. They both stood, brushed themselves off, and silently made for the locker rooms.
Nat leaned into Steve as they left. “They’re going to love what’s coming next.”
Steve just sighed. “They’re going to hate it.”
Y/N now showered stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Eyes locked on the frost-streaked glass. She didn’t even flinch when the door opened. Bucky entered with that same grim tension he always carried before a mission jaw tight, shoulders squared and gaze already wary the moment it landed on her.
Steve followed a second later, holding a tablet. Nat, Tony and Sam lingered by the doorway, exchanging a glance that practically screamed this is gonna be fun.
Steve didn’t waste time. “Hydra’s back in motion. Remote outpost in the Carpathians. Two or three high-value targets confirmed on site. We need them taken out, clean and quiet.”
Y/N arched a brow without turning. “You’ve got half a dozen field agents who can do quiet. Why call us in?”
“Because it’s not just about infiltration,” Natasha said, stepping forward. “They’re building something. Biotech. Red Room adjacent. You both have history with the programs involved.”
Bucky’s tone was flat. “Who’s the lead?”
Steve paused for half a beat. “Joint op. You and Y/N.”
The silence hit like a thunderclap.
Y/N turned slowly, her eyes cold. “No.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I work alone.”
“Yeah and I work with people who don’t get me shot,” Y/N snapped.
Steve held up a hand. “We don’t have time for this. You two are the best options. You know Red Room and Hydra’s playbook better than anyone else.”
“And he doesn’t listen when someone smarter gives him orders.” Y/N shot back.
Natasha sighed. “Look, no one’s asking you to hold hands and braid each other’s hair. We’re asking you to eliminate a target and survive.”
Sam added under his breath. “And preferably without killing each other before extraction.”
Steve stepped between them, calm but firm. “You’ve done this before. You don’t have to like it… you just have to finish the mission.”
Y/N stared at Bucky for a long, silent moment, something unreadable passing through her eyes. She scoffed and looked back at Steve. “Fine. But I’m not babysitting him.”
Bucky’s voice was low. “Wasn’t planning on needing it.”
Steve nodded, handing them both comm devices and the mission tablet. “Gear up. Wheels up in two hours. High-altitude drop, sub-zero conditions. You’ll be alone out there.”
As the others filed out, Y/N and Bucky lingered behind tension thick enough to cut with a knife. “You stay out of my way,” she muttered, strapping the comm to her wrist.
He didn’t blink. “Only if you don’t get yourself killed first.”
“Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she said, brushing past him.
He watched her go, eyes narrowing slightly. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was the only person on the planet who could get under his skin and still make his blood run hot. This mission was going to be hell. But he was already in it.
The metallic clatter of weapons and gear echoed faintly as Y/N adjusted the straps on her tactical vest. The cold metal of a knife sheath slid into place along her thigh.
Focused. Silent. Tense.
A soft footstep behind her didn’t make her flinch she already knew who it was. “I know it sucks, working with him,” Natasha said, leaning casually against a locker with her arms crossed. “Trust me. I’ve done it.”
Y/N huffed. “Wasn’t planning on letting him slow me down.”
“You won’t,” Nat said easily. “But you should know… he respects you. Even if he shows it by growling like a rabid dog.”
Y/N smirked, despite herself. “Charming.”
Nat pushed off the locker and walked over, voice lowering. “Look I know it’s complicated. He gets under your skin. Pushes every button. But in the field? You two work like a loaded gun. Clean. Precise. Lethal.”
“That supposed to be comforting?” Y/N muttered, adjusting the clasp on her gloves.
“No,” Nat replied. “It’s supposed to remind you don’t have to like him but you can trust him especially when it counts.”
Y/N didn’t reply right away but her jaw unclenched, she knew Nat was right.
On the other side of the armour, Bucky sat on the edge of a bench. Metal fingers worked methodically loading his gun, but his face was far from calm.
Steve approached quietly, offering a small nod. “You packed?”
Bucky slid the mag in with a sharp click. “Almost.”
“You don’t have to like her Buck,” Steve said carefully, resting a hand on the back of the bench. “You just have to get the job done.”
“That’s the problem, Steve,” Bucky said, not looking up. “I do like her… pn the field. She’s reckless, sharp and brutal. Like she knows exactly how far to go and then goes two steps past it.”
Steve raised a brow. “Sounds familiar.”
Bucky gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess that’s what pisses me off.”
Steve studied him for a beat. “You think she’ll be a liability?”
Bucky finally looked up. His eyes were clear. Certain. “No. She’ll have my back, even if she wants to shoot me right after.”
Steve gave a faint smile. “Then that’s all that matters.”
As Bucky stood sliding a knife into his belt and slinging a rifle over his shoulder, his gaze shifted to the snowy sky through the high windows. “She doesn’t know how dangerous she is,” he muttered.
Steve clapped his shoulder. “Maybe that’s why you’re both still alive.”
Ready to move, the hangar was dark and lit only by the floodlights lining the floor and the sleek silhouette of the quinjet idling on the tarmac. Y/N walked in first, boots echoing sharply against the concrete. Each step steady and unbothered. Her gear was tight, efficient. A second skin molded to every curve and angle of her body. It wasn’t for show and yet it had the effect of one.
Tactical, precise, and effortlessly lethal.
She didn’t look at Bucky as he approached from the other end of the bay, but she didn’t need to as she felt him like always.
The weight of him and the quiet storm that trailed behind her in silence.
Bucky almost faltered.
His eyes locked onto her, tracing the lines of her frame. The way the combat vest hugged her torso, the smooth stretch of her sleeves over lean but powerful arms. He told himself it was reflex, muscle memory from a lifetime of watching for threats and assessing allies.
But it wasn’t that.
Not really.
It was her.
She moved with purpose like a loaded weapon unaware, or maybe fully aware, of how every calculated movement pulled him in.
Bucky knew better than to let his guard down but around her, the lines blurred.
Watching her… wanting her had become a habit he couldn’t break.
He clenched his jaw and forced his eyes elsewhere, pretending to check his gear but they always drifted back.
Just a glance.
Just one more.
It was a facade, the way he acted around her. The cold nods and the rude impersonal words. He wore indifference like armor, because it was safer that way. None of it was real.
What he wanted, truly wanted, was her.
Not just the version in combat boots and Kevlar, but all of her. The fire behind her eyes, the quiet strength and the way she never flinched around him, even when others did. He wanted to touch her like he wasn’t afraid of breaking things anymore.
But for now, he just watched pretending it didn’t burn.
Neither of them spoke.
The rear ramp of the jet lowered with a hiss. Steve stood at the edge arms still crossed, watching them both like a parent sending his problem children off to boarding school. “You’ve got coordinates locked,” he said. “No comm chatter unless necessary. Target recon first. Elimination second. Extraction window is tight.”
Y/N nodded once. “Copy.”
Bucky just grunted checking his sidearm as they reached the ramp at the same time.
Steve gave them a look half warning, half faith then stepped back. “Don’t die,” he muttered.
Y/N smirked. “I’ll try not to kill him.”
Bucky didn’t respond but the corned of his lips slightly moved up as he just walked past her up the ramp with heavy boots thudding against the steel. Each step a measured beat in the silence between them.
It was Y/N’s turn to look.
She hadn’t meant to, told herself she wouldn’t but her eyes followed him anyway.
The broad set of his shoulders beneath his jacket, the way his muscles moved under the fabric like coiled wire.
Controlled and contained, always on the edge of snapping loose.
There was something about the way he walked, like he carried centuries of weight in his spine and didn’t trust the ground not to give out beneath him. That same quiet tension that radiated off him when he stood too close. Like lightning in the air before a storm.
She swallowed.
He wasn’t looking at her and yet she still felt seen exposed, somehow.
The way his silence said more than most men ever did with a full sentence or the way he kept his distance but never really left her orbit.
It was easier when he looked away, easier to pretend none of it mattered or that her mind didn’t remember the sound of his voice or the rare and barely there smile that threatened to undo her completely.
Watching him climb the ramp, back rigid and jaw tight, Y/N felt something twist inside her because she knew the truth, whether he said it or not.
He wanted her and that was clear but, god help her, she wanted him too.
Want was dangerous.
Want got people killed.
So she kept her hands to herself and her feelings locked behind walls even he couldn’t break through. At least, not yet.
Inside the jet, the atmosphere was colder than the sky outside. She slid into a seat strapping herself in, while he took the bench across from her.
Their knees almost touched.
She didn’t look at him.
He did.
The engines roared to life as the jet lifted off into the night.
For a long moment, nothing but the hum of flight and the quiet rasp of breathing filled the cabin.
Then Y/N finally spoke, voice low and calm. “Let’s get one thing straight.”
Bucky arched a brow. “Go on.”
“I don’t like you.” Her eyes cut to his, sharp as glass. “But I trust what you can do.”
His jaw twitched and a muscle ticked in his temple. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Good,” he said. “Because I don’t like you either.”
A pause, then the faintest curve at the corner of her lips. “Perfect.”
The roar of the jet engines hummed low beneath the silence that had settled over the cabin.
Mountains of white sprawled endlessly below them, wind currents buffeting the Quinjet like a steady heartbeat.
Snow. Ice. Silence.
Y/N sat strapped in arms crossed, eyes fixed on the endless whiteness outside the small window. She hadn’t said a word since takeoff. Bucky sat across from her, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like it might open up and swallow him whole. He finally exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Listen, if…”
Her head snapped involuntarily toward him. “If what, Barnes?”
He looked up and met her eyes. For once, there was no heat behind his stare. No sarcasm, no challenge just… sincerity and something wounded.
“If you see something about the Red Room… memories that trigger you or files or… whatever,” he said quietly before pausing, looking for the rights words. “Remember you’re not a Widow anymore.”
The silence stretched.
She blinked once, then again. The cold edge in her gaze softened, just barely. “Same for you,” she said after a moment, her voice warmer now. “You were never him.”
The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile or a grimace. Just something real. “I know.” he said.
They both knew it was never that simple.
The Quinjet rumbled on, slicing through the storm and for the first time in a long time, they didn’t feel entirely alone with the weight they carried.
They stared at each other.
Steady. Electric.
Two weapons locked in the same box, waiting to explode.
Outside, the clouds swallowed the jet whole, and the mission began.
The quinjet touched down with a low hum, its engines cutting through the frigid mountain air like a blade. Snow drifted in thick, blinding sheets, settling in every crease of Bucky’s tactical gear as he stepped into the whiteout, rifle slung over his shoulder and jaw clenched tight. Y/N followed just behind him, checking her weapon one last time before pulling her hood over her head. The cold bit through everything, even their high-grade suits, but neither of them flinched. They weren’t here to get comfortable they were here to kill.
“Target compound’s half a klick northeast,” she muttered glancing at the tablet in her gloved hands.
A grainy satellite image flickered on the screen squat buildings hidden beneath camouflage netting, high fencing barely visible beneath the snowdrifts. “Hydra’s ghosts are nesting again. Intel says two of the names on the watchlist are confirmed inside.”
Bucky gave a tight nod but didn’t look at her. “We get in, eliminate the targets and get out. No heroics.”
She scoffed. “I wasn’t the one who tried to play human shield in Jakarta.”
“And I wasn’t the one who ignored backup protocol in Prague,” he shot back, voice clipped.
They fell into silence, trudging up the slope through the snow both too stubborn to acknowledge the sting behind each other’s words.
They didn’t like working together.
Never had.
Too much alike.
Too much history.
But they were the best and when the mission was this delicate.
Hydra wasn’t just regrouping they were testing limits again.
Quiet, hidden cells scattered across the globe, rebuilding what was lost, piece by twisted piece and the two assets best equipped to erase those pieces? Y/N and Bucky.
They reached the ridge twenty minutes later, breath fogging the air, snow clinging to their gear. The old compound lay below, barely visible through the storm a few scattered figures moving between buildings, heat signatures glowing faintly in their goggles. Y/N dropped to her stomach behind a jagged outcrop of rock, pulling her sniper rifle into position.
Her heartbeat slowed, and focus narrowed.
They took different paths.
“Three tangos out front. Two near the east gate,” she whispered into the comms. “Looks like shift change. This is the window.”
But before she could take the shot, Bucky’s voice crackled in her ear low, firm, and already laced with tension. “You’re too exposed on that ridge,” Bucky’s voice crackled through the comms, rough with tension. “Pull back, now.”
“Negative,” she replied, crouched low behind a jagged outcrop of stone. Snow whipped across her face like razors. “Targets in the open. I can take the shot.”
“Not with those thermals scanning the perimeter. They’ll spot you before your finger touches the trigger.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
There was a pause. “Copy that.” Bucky said clipped.
She adjusted the scope, heart pounding. She could feel him fuming through the comms, but this was her op. She had led it from the beginning reconnaissance, planning, infiltration.
Bucky was only there for backup, and his presence had been a thorn in her side from the first briefing.
Too intense and too observant. Still, she trusted her instincts until everything went to hell.
The second her finger squeezed the trigger, the world lit up in red sensors flared. Alarms screamed and within seconds, a flood of heavily armed guards swarmed the compound. She dove for cover, adrenaline crashing into her system like lightning. “Fuck! I’ve been made-”
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU!” Bucky growled over the comms. “Fall back to point Zero. Now.”
“I can still-”
“No.” His voice snapped like a whip. “You stay and fight, you die. Move.”
She hesitated just a second and that second nearly killed her. A blast tore up the snowbank beside her, spraying ice and debris across her face. She scrambled to her feet and ran, sprinting toward the treeline, heart thundering. Shots rang out behind her. They weren’t aimed at her. She skidded into cover just in time to see Bucky all muscle and fluid brutality drop from a ledge and take out three guards before they could follow. His movements were precise, lethal, beautiful in the worst possible way.
“We’re clear,” he muttered. He eliminated all the guards, alone. He grabbed her arm and hauled her into motion without waiting for thanks. “You compromised the op,” he said through clenched teeth as they ran. “We improvise now.”
“And what? You’re in charge suddenly?”
He stopped abruptly, backing her into a tree, his breath misting hot between them. “I don’t give a shit about rank. I care about getting us out alive. So yeah I’m in charge unless you want to bleed out in the snow.”
She hated the way her heart jumped. Hated that she couldn’t argue because he was right. And when he turned and took off again, she followed without another word.
“You good?” He asked, voice lower now but rougher.
She glanced at him. Nodded. “Yeah.”
But she wasn’t. Not really. Because even now standing in a battlefield of snow and blood and broken bodies she felt it.
The tension. The pull. The urge to slam him against the nearest tree and scream out every unsaid thing with her mouth, her fists, her hips.
And worse? She saw it in his eyes, too.
He stepped even closer. She didn’t move. His voice was quiet, unreadable. “You disobeyed a direct order.” Her lip curled, defiant.
The snow crunched beneath their boots as they moved through the shadowed trees, the cold biting through their layers but doing nothing to cool the fire simmering between them. The moon hung low, casting pale light over the frozen landscape, every breath visible in the icy air.
Neither spoke. Words felt useless. Too sharp and too vulnerable.
Y/N’s mind raced, every nerve alert, every glance at Bucky’s rigid posture a reminder of how close they were to the edge of the mission, of each other. He led without looking back, silent and sure, like a predator confident in his path. She kept pace, matching his steps but keeping a careful distance. Their breaths rose and fell in uneven rhythm and every so often, their eyes would meet. Brief, charged flickers before darting away like startled prey.
The extraction point came into view, no quinjet waiting.
Bucky paused, scanning their surroundings once more before turning toward her. All that remained was a twisted, smoking wreck shattered by Hydra’s ruthless strike while they’d been occupied. Y/N’s breath hitched as she took in the ruined craft, the blackened metal glowing faintly in the cold night.
Bucky cursed under his breath, fists clenched tight. Without hesitation, he pulled out his comm and dialed Tony.
The static crackled before Tony’s voice came through, strained but calm. “Bucky, we saw the attack. The quinjet’s a total loss.”
“What’s the plan?” Bucky asked, scanning the dark tree line.
Tony sighed. “Weather’s worsening. Visibility’s dropping fast. You’re stuck there for the night. Find shelter, stay low. I’m sending reinforcements at first light.”
Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of their predicament settling like ice in her stomach.
Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Copy that. We’ll hold position.”
He ended the call and looked at Y/N. His voice was low, clipped. “No extraction tonight. We find cover, keep watch. This just got a hell of a lot more complicated.”
She nodded, heart pounding not just from cold or danger, but from the way his eyes held hers.
Dark, fierce, and raw.
The night was far from over.
The wind howled through the trees, slicing cold air through their layers as they trudged deeper into the woods. Snow crunched beneath their boots, every step echoing in the stillness around them. Bucky scanned the darkness ahead, muscles tense and eyes sharp for any sign of danger or refuge.
Y/N’s breath came out in frosty clouds, her fingers numb despite the gloves. The chill wasn’t just from the weather anymore. After what felt like hours, a faint light flickered through the trees warm and steady, a beacon in the cold night. They exchanged a quick glance, silent agreement.
Moving cautiously they approached the source and saw a small, weather-beaten cabin tucked among the pines, smoke curling gently from its chimney. The house looked abandoned but sturdy, just enough to shield them from the storm. Bucky reached the door first, pressing his ear against the wood before turning the handle slowly. The hinges creaked, but the door gave way.
Inside, the air was stale but dry. Dust motes danced in the weak glow of a lone lantern hanging from the ceiling. Y/N stepped in, closing the door behind them, shutting out the storm and the world outside. Bucky dropped his pack with a thud and locked the door behind them.
“We’ll make it,” he said, eyes already searching for firewood or anything useful.
Y/N nodded, muscles still taut but a flicker of relief warming her.
For now, they had shelter but the night was still young and so was the storm between them.
Inside, after the door slammed shut behind them, Bucky turned slowly to face her. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice low and bitter.
“I didn’t ask you to save me.”
“No. You didn’t,” he said. “That’s the fucking problem.”
She stared at him, chest heaving. Rain dripped down her face but her blood burned hotter than ever. “I don’t need you.”
He stepped closer. “Yeah? Then why’d you listen when I told you to run?”
She said nothing because the answer was simple. She did trust him. Even when she hated him for being right. Even when she wanted to push him against the nearest wall and…
The silence cracked between them like thunder.
The storm outside hadn’t even started yet. The power flickered twice then died, leaving the place in a cold, humming silence.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” she muttered, soaked through and scowling.
Bucky locked the door closed behind him, shoulders tense and eyes already scanning the dark with soldier precision.
“No power. No signal. We’re stuck until morning.” She blinked. “There’s only one bed.”
“And no heat,” he said, jaw tight. “This high up in the mountains? We’ll be hypothermic by dawn.”
She pulled off her soaked jacket, biting back a shiver. “What, no generator in your fancy arm?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “But I’ve got body heat.”
She scoffed. “Wow. Original.”
“I’m serious.”
He always was too serious.
In the dimness, she peeled off her boots and gear, teeth clattering. Bucky shrugged out of his gear with more force than necessary, metal arm clanking as he yanked his harness free and dropped it to the ground. He looked at her and his jaw was tight, twitching like he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.
They watched each other intently as they slowly peeled off every piece of clothing. Fingers trembled slightly with anticipation, eyes tracing every curve and line revealed with each discarded layer. The air between them thickened with heat and unspoken desire, every glance speaking louder than words as they bared themselves completely, standing vulnerable and exposed before one another. He watched as the tactical pants slid slowly down her legs, the fabric slipping over smooth skin.
She watched how his metal arm moved deliberately, unclipping and pulling the belt free with quiet strength. Their eyes met, the small moments charged with something electric between them.
When she removed her bra, Bucky kept his eyes fixed on her face. Inside, he was dying to touch those delicate breasts, to suck on the nipples now fully erect but he also knew she’d probably shoot him if he tried.
“You always think you’re right,” she snapped, pacing across the floor. “Like your instincts are the only ones that matter.”
His head jerked toward her, blue eyes sharp. He stopped undressing, his shirt and boxers still on. She looked at how tight the boxers were, the fabric stretched against his skin.
“I was right,” he growled. “If I hadn’t pulled your ass out, you’d be cooling in a body bag.”
Her ass, Bucky thought, now bare except for a tiny pair of underwear clinging to her skin.
She stepped in closer. “You don’t get to throw that in my face.”
“I do when you nearly got both of us killed.”
Her pulse spiked. “I had it handled-”
“Bullshit. You’re too reckless.”
“And you’re too cautious.”
“I’m still alive.”
“I made the call-”
“AND IT WAS THE WRONG ONE!”
That hit like a slap.
Her breath left her in a short, sharp exhale. The room felt smaller and tighter. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You think just because you’ve got a metal arm and a haunted past, you get to take over whenever you feel like it?” She hissed.
He stepped forward. “No,” Bucky said, voice low and dark. “I think I get to take over when you start making decisions with your fucking ego instead of your head.”
The silence after that was deafening. They glared at each other, the storm howling outside. Rain hammered the roof. Their chests heaved in unison her in just a tiny pair of underwear, him still in his shirt and boxers.
Then she laughed sharp and humorless. “God,” she said, her voice rough, “you are so fucking infuriating.”
He stalked closer. “Funny. I was about to say the same about you.”
She peeled off the last piece of clothing and grabbed a very light blanket she found. Curling under it on the bed, she settled in, the fabric barely shielding her skin. Bucky watched her remove the last piece of clothing, his breath catching as he took it all in. He inhaled deeply, the air thick with tension and something raw between them.
“This is stupid,” he said. “You’re freezing.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He stripped off his shirt and boxer slow, deliberate. His chest, all scars and muscle and too much perfection, caught her eye even if she didn’t want to look. Then he was beside her, sliding in behind her, his arm circling her waist like a steel band. “Bucky-”
“Shut up,” he said into her ear, voice low and rough. “It’s survival.” She tried to ignore the heat blooming under her skin. The sharp contrast of his bare chest pressed to her back. His breath on her neck. She was flushed too flushed and it wasn’t from the cold.
“You always get this worked up when a guy’s just trying to keep you warm?” He murmured.
She turned her head, eyes narrowing. “You’re enjoying this.”
He didn’t flinch. “I’m hard,” he admitted, blunt and brutal. “Doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it.”
She blinked. “You’re serious?”
“Fine. I’ve had dreams about you,” he said, voice like gravel. “Nights where I woke up panting and touching myself to the sound of your voice echoing in my head and you acted like you didn’t fucking notice.”
She turned fully and stared at him. Thunder cracked overhead. “I noticed,” she said, just above a whisper. “I just wanted you to beg for it.”
“I’d never beg for you,” Bucky said.
A long, heavy silence filled the space between their bodies, broken only by the pounding storm outside and the way his chest heaved beneath her.
“Oh?” she said, tilting her head, voice all silk and steel. “You sure about that, soldier?”
His jaw clenched. “Dead sure.”
She wasn’t supposed to lose control.
In the past out in the field, she was the one barking orders dragging Bucky out of fire, running point with steel in her spine and fire in her eyes.
But now? Now it was Bucky who’d saved her life and that shift sudden, jarring left her off balance in a way she couldn’t explain.
Now, he was on top of her in a second.
Now, his hand was curled around her throat with just enough pressure to remind her that she was his at least for the night. “You don’t know how long I wanted to see you like this,” Bucky rasped, voice low and thick in her ear. “All bark, all orders… but look at you now.”
She was naked beneath him, thighs spread wide, breath caught in her throat as he pinned her wrists above her head with his flesh hand.
“Bucky,” she whispered, writhing beneath him, desperate and aching.
“No,” he growled. “Tonight you listen. No control. No orders. Just me. You just love pushing me, don’t you?” He growled, metal hand clamped around her throat unyielding, cold and terrifyingly precise not choking, but firm enough to pin her there. “Out there, you love giving me orders like I’m some fucking lapdog.”
Her lips parted. Breath shallow.
“You gonna do it again?” He asked, eyes blazing. “Or are you finally gonna learn what happens when you make me feel like I don’t have any power?”
“Get off me,” she said but her voice shook, not with fear… but anticipation.
He smirked. “Oh, we’re playing that game tonight,” he murmured darkly. “Good.”
She wanted this. She wanted the loss of control. She wanted to be taken.
“You act like you’re in charge,” Bucky hissed, grinding against her. “But look at you now. Shaking for it.”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“I wasn’t going to.”
The moment he flipped her over, she knew she was in trouble. Not just because of the bruising grip on her waist, or the way his cock slid between her folds with maddening precision but because of the way he smiled when she whimpered.
Like he had won.
“Look at you,” Bucky murmured, dragging the blunt head of his cock through her slick folds but refusing to give her what she wanted. “Acting like a big-shot in the field… but needy as hell the second I get my hands on you.”
She clenched her fists in the sheets, growling. “Just fuck me already.”
He paused. “We stop the second you say the word. Always.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Then crack a sharp slap landed across her ass. She gasped, hips jolting forward. “Bu-Bucky…”
“You gonna boss me around again?” He asked slapping her ass, then gripping the bruised flesh. “I don’t remember giving you permission to talk to me like that. I saved your fucking life before… do you remember?”
She lifted her head slightly, breathless. “Maybe I like being punished.”
“That’s right,” he rasped. “Because this body? It’s mine now. You only get to act like you’re in charge.”
His chuckle was dark and low and filthy.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he rasped again leaning over her, pressing his cock along the seam of her pussy without entering. “You have no fucking idea what that does to me.”
Before she could reply, he pushed in hard stealing the breath from her lungs.
She cried out, pain and relief at the same time, arching her back to take him deeper.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “So desperate for it and still you act like a brat.”
He started thrusting deep, slow, punishing strokes each one knocking her further forward on the bed. His hand gripped the back of her neck, holding her in place like a doll. “You wanna act like a mouthy little thing?” He growled into her ear. “Then I’ll fuck the attitude out of you.”
She gasped, grinding her hips back just to spite him. “Maybe I want you to try.”
Another slap this one harder, across the curve of her ass, the sound echoing in the tiny room. “Careful,” he warned. “I’ll break you in half.”
She smirked into the mattress, panting. “Big words from someone already close to coming.”
That did it.
Bucky grabbed both her wrists, pinning them behind her back with one strong hand. His other hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back as he slammed into her, over and over, faster and rougher until her moans turned to ragged screams. “Say it again,” he demanded, sweat dripping from his brow. “Tell me how bad you want it. Beg me like the needy little brat you are.”
She was too close and too full and too wrecked to keep her defiance intact. “I want it,” she gasped. “Fuck, Bucky I need it-”
Another slap. Another sharp, blissful sting. She moaned, shaking. “‘Need isn’t good enough,” he growled. “Tell me you belong to me.”
“I’m yo-” She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She was unravelling. “I belong to you, Bucky. I’m yours. Just please let me come.” He shoved deeper, hips grinding against her ass, the wet sound of their bodies colliding filling the room, obscene and perfect. “Say it louder.”
“I’M YOURS!”
That broke him.
His rhythm turned feral, his fingers bruising against her hips as he fucked her hard and messy and deep, chasing both her orgasms like a man starved. Her legs shook. Her walls clenched. She screamed his name as she came, her whole body tightening like a bowstring then snapping apart beneath him. She felt him pulse inside her moments later a raw, guttural noise tearing from his throat as he came with her, collapsing forward, keeping her caged beneath his body as he filled her.
They both lay there, breathless, soaked in sweat, marked in each other’s prints.
She was still shaking when Bucky pulled out slow and thick and wet making her moan at the loss. Her body was boneless, wrecked, trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm, but he wasn’t done. Not even close. Because this wasn’t just about heat. This was about power. About payback.
And she saw it in his eyes the second he turned her onto her back his pupils blown wide, chest heaving and jaw clenched tight with the restraint he hadn’t yet dropped.
“You think you’re done?” He growled, crawling over her, sweat-slick skin sliding against hers.
“I-”
He grabbed her jaw, forcing her eyes on him. “All those times you gave the orders. Made me wait. Treated me like a subordinate instead of a partner.” She whimpered as he lined himself back up, her body already aching, still sensitive and leaking from the last round. “You liked teasing me in the field, didn’t you?” He said, voice low and dark. “Bossing me around. Making me watch you walk away.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed back into her with a brutal thrust, ripping a gasp from her throat.
“Bucky…” she cried trying to squirm or to adjust but he was relentless deeper than before, fucking her harder now.
“You wanna act like you’re in charge?” He hissed into her neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. “Then take it.”
She clawed at his back, nails dragging down muscle. “Please don’t stop…”
“Oh no baby,” he snarled. “This is just the beginning don’t worry.”
He sat up on his knees, grabbing her thighs and folding her in half forcing her open. Her hips trembled, overstimulated and exposed.
“You’re gonna lie there and take it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Every. Last. Drop. Until you forget how to boss me around.”
She moaned like she was falling apart, her body shaking with every thrust. Her legs touched at his shoulders so he just grabbed her ankles, pinning them back. His metal hand wrapped around her throat again firm, not tight just enough to make her gasp.
“You’re mine now,” he said, hips snapping mercilessly. “You understand?”
She tried to nod, words gone.
“Say it,” he growled.
“I’m yours,” she gasped, tears prickling in her eyes. “I’m yours, Bucky…fuck…”
He fucked her through it, another orgasm as she didn’t know when the begging started. She just knew she couldn’t stop shaking or moaning.
By the time he flipped her over again face down, ass up, back arched and marked with bruises her voice was wrecked. Every sound she made came out hoarse and breathless, her body trembling from the overstimulation and rough praise he’d dragged out of her.
He settled behind her, kneeling between her thighs. His hands smoothed over the curve of her hips, fingers tracing bruises like they were battle scars he was proud of. Then, without a word, he leaned in and spread her open, dragging his tongue through her soaked folds with slow, deliberate pressure. She gasped high and broken her thighs trying to close instinctively, but his hands kept her wide and vulnerable for him. The flat of his tongue pressed against her clit, flicking, circling, teasing. He moaned into her like he was drunk on her, the vibration of it sending jolts of pleasure straight through her spine.
“Fuck…Bucky,” she cried into the pillow, voice muffled but desperate.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. His mouth was relentless tongue plunging deep, then retreating to flick her clit again and again until her hips were shaking. His metal hand gripped her ass tightly, holding her still while his other hand slipped between her thighs, two fingers sliding inside her with ease. He fucked her with his mouth and hand like he meant to break her all over again.
She clawed at the sheets, sobbing out broken curses as he devoured her. Every time she thought she might come down from the edge, he sucked her clit hard enough to make her scream, dragging her higher all over again. Her body wasn’t her own anymore not with the way he worshipped her, wrecked her. Her legs trembled violently, barely holding her up. He moaned into her cunt like he belonged there, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he muttered against her, lips slick and voice ruined with heat. “I could stay here forever.”
She sobbed into the mattress, her body shaking uncontrollably, every nerve on fire. And when the yet another orgasm finally hit, it shattered her like lightning. Bucky kept licking her through it, through the aftershocks savoring every drop of her release like it was the only thing that could satisfy him.
Y/N tried to speak, to form a single coherent word maybe a protest, maybe a plea but the pleasure was too much. Her mouth opened, a sound barely escaping nothing more than a whimper caught in her throat. Her mind was fogged, drowning in sensation, every nerve lit up and thrumming like live wire. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe all she could feel was his mouth on her, his fingers deep inside her and the overwhelming heat crashing over her in relentless waves.
“B-Bucky-” she managed to gasp.
Her fingers clawed at the sheets desperate to anchor herself, but her body refused to obey. Her thighs shook, her back arched, and she let out a strangled cry.
He knew.
Of course he did.
He could feel her tightening, hear the breath hitch in her throat, see her hips trying to pull away even as she ground herself against his mouth.
“You gonna fall apart again, sweetheart?” He murmured against her soaked flesh, lips brushing her clit like a tease. “You trying to tell me to stop?”
She shook her head violently, breath catching. “No…please…don’t stop… give me more Bucky… please…”
He growled and then his mouth was back on her harsher, deeper as if he wanted to break every bit of control she had left.
Y/N sobbed into the mattress, trying to say his name but her voice failed her again as pleasure took over.
All that came out were helpless moans, wrecked and breathless.
Her body went limp beneath him, trembling violently and tears pricking at her eyes from the sheer intensity of it all. Bucky just kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and reverent, like he hadn’t just dragged her through the edge of oblivion.
By the time he finally pulled back her thighs were soaked, her body boneless and her breath coming in shallow trembling gasps. He just smirked lips glistening, eyes dark. His palm came down on her ass, sharp and fast. “Pretty little brat,” he grunted. “Finally shut the fuck up.”
She didn’t even know how, but now he owned every inch of her.
Bucky hovered above her, hand stroking her thigh, now gentle. “You still with me, doll?” He asked softly, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face.
She nodded, eyes half-lidded and body trembling.
He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her lips. “Good,” he whispered. “You did so fucking good for me.”
And this time, when he pulled her into his arms, she didn’t fight it.
She curled against his chest, his warmth sinking into her bones and let herself be held safe and undeniably his.
pairing: chubby!bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: fluff | angst | bucky sad | cheating if you squeeze (emotionally) | reader confident | smut in the next part | body shaming
word count: 12k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are in love with each other, everybody knows but they don't yet… or maybe they do. Y/N is beautiful and she’s not afraid to tell it. Bucky stopped being the HYDRA experiment and now is a little chubby, but still handsome. Someone want to destroy this balance.
a/n: so that's one of the longest i've ever wrote so it's gonna be two parts like it was in the old account!
part 1 | part 2
On field, the former Winter Soldier and the most efficient ex-Hydra spy.
Two of the most feared names in the field. In the Avengers’ tower just Bucky and Y/N.
Tony, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were proud to fight alongside them.
More than teammates.
A family.
Y/N charismatic and confident. The heart of the team, the one who made everyone feel like they belonged. She lit up every room she walked into, without ever trying to outshine anyone. Stunning and effortlessly magnetic she turned heads sure, but no one ever called her a pick me or fake. She was real and kind and unforgettable. Y/N knew she looked good. She wasn’t shy about it either.
She liked the curve of her hips, the cut of her jaw, the shine in her eyes when she pinned her hair back in the morning. The world might’ve whispered “attention seeker” when she walked into a room with her head held high and her eyeliner sharp enough to kill, but the Avengers? They knew better. She wasn’t just pretty. She was lethal. Sam once joked that she could dismantle a nuke and flirt with the enemy at the same time and he meant it as a compliment.
Bucky, on the other hand, had grown quieter more thoughtful and a little reclusive. He hid behind silence, but those who truly knew him saw the warmth he guarded so carefully. Fortunately, the HYDRA days were long forgotten and he was still in every way a super soldier with a broad and muscular body but got soft over the years. No more exhausting training sessions, some late snacks he allowed himself and delicious food. That's why, a small belly formed one he often tried to conceal beneath hoodies and crossed arms. He sometimes felt ashamed of it, even though everyone around him insisted he was still just as strong and just as attractive. Just a normal life, living with superheroes and fighting aliens, but still a normal life.
If Bucky was the dark quiet night, Y/N was the golden light of dawn.
Opposites in so many ways, but that was why they had always fit together so well.
Bucky watched her with a sort of reverence as if each time she walked into the common room in leggings and a crop top, she was rewriting the laws of physics just for the hell of it. He never said much, not directly, but she caught the way his gaze lingered especially when he thought no one was watching.
The way his lips parted when she smiled not even at him, just in general. The way his whole face softened when she laughed. And God, she was gorgeous.
Y/N noticed. Of course she did. She noticed everything.
Like the way he brought her coffee just the way she liked it. The way he grumbled about Tony being an idiot but never missed a single mission debrief she led. The way he froze when she leaned too close.
That morning, she caught him mid-stare while she stretched after a workout. He looked away so fast, he almost gave himself whiplash. Bucky used to watch her from a distance. He never said anything when Y/N walked into the room looking like she belonged there, like the Tower was hers just by the way she moved. She could quiet a boardroom with one glance and laugh like she hadn’t been through hell to earn her place on the team. She was loud when she wanted to be, soft when it mattered and completely out of his league. So, he watched quietly and hopelessly. A stupid ache in his chest every time she ruffled Steve’s hair or stole fries off Nat’s plate or leaned against Sam’s shoulder during movie nights. She deserved someone whole. Someone who looked like he belonged next to her in magazine spreads. Not a worn-down ex-assassin with broad shoulders, a soft stomach and nightmares that left him shaking in the shower.
That day, Lexi Connor came into their life.
Tony hired her through SHIELD.
Shiny resume, sharp clothes, the kind of smile that came with calculated sweetness, first in class in SHIELD Administration.
Bucky didn’t pay her much attention at first. He was used to new faces passing through the Tower. But then he overheard her. “So, I’ll be just there coordinating?” Lexi asked Tony, gesturing toward the lobby.
Tony raised a brow at the tone. It was dipped in something that wasn’t quite disdain, but damn close. He didn’t like it. “You’ll be there to help directing operations, making sure nobody unauthorised steps foot into our building, and help keep things running smoothly.”
Lexi gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Right. Got it.”
Tony plastered his most, fake, charming smirk but inside his sensors were already blaring. He knew that look. He worn it himself in boardrooms when he was twenty-four and thought everyone around him was an idiot. Lexi thought she was better than the job. That was clear.
Helping to direct the operations in the Avengers’ Tower? Still a front desk girl, and Tony swore himself she didn’t like it.
Still, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. For now.
Tony, leaned one elbow on the sleek desk and sunglasses perched smugly on his nose, showing Lexi something on a tablet. “So, mission coordinator means you keep tabs on who’s punching what galaxy-level threat and make sure they’re not late for the daily debrief,” he said, flicking through holograms with casual flair.
Lexi didn’t blink. Her eyes scanned the interface, her fingers already rearranging mission schedules, rerouting field agents, and uploading encrypted codes before Stark had even finished his spiel. “I’ll triple the efficiency in a week,” she said, voice smooth, almost bored. Tony raised an eyebrow. She leaned forward, lowering her voice with a smirk. “Let’s just say coordinating missions is a nice warm-up. But I’ve got bigger plans, Stark. Avenger-level plans.”
“Right,” Tony muttered. “I’ve seen that look before. Usually ends with someone building a killer robot or trying to rewrite reality.”
The hum of servers filled the quiet control room. Lexi sat alone, tapping commands into the console with eerie precision. She began a couple of hour ago, but she was already at ease. Multiple mission feeds flickered across the screens; agents in action, crises unfolding, enemies slipping through shadows.
Later that evening, completely unaware of Lexi, Y/N found Bucky on the roof looking out over the city with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “You okay?” She asked, joining him.
He gave her a small smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
“About?” She said, voice light. His ears turned pink. “I can tell there’s something.” She murmured, stepping closer.
He turned to her, eyes wide.
About you, Bucky thought.
Y/N smiled at him. He didn’t answer her question.
Two weeks after Lexi’s arrival, Y/N strolled through the Tower after training. Sharpie ponytail, leggings and oversize hoodie.
Gorgeous as hell.
A vision.
Lexi looked up from her desk and blinked. Then her gaze narrowed, just for a second. It didn’t go unnoticed.
Bucky was, totally coincidentally, near the gym when he caught the exchange. Y/N smiling, saluting Lexi like she saluted everyone.
Lexi blinked at her like she couldn’t quite figure her out. When Y/N started to walk away, Lexi muttered under her breath, “Wow. Must be easy getting away with anything when you look like that.”
Bucky froze. His super hearing was a bless just as much as a disdain. Something cold settled in his chest. But Y/N too heard her. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. She stopped mid-step turning around slowly and tilting her head. She wasn’t angry but kept a calm grace that made her so terrifying.
“I don’t get away with anything,” she said, voice steady, sweet like honey with a razor underneath. “I earned every ounce of respect in this place. You want to talk about my looks? Fine. But don’t mistake it for weakness, or my face for my worth.”
Lexi opened her mouth, then closed it again, visibly shrinking. Y/N offered her a smile sharp, polite and utterly untouchable then turned on her heel and walked away with shoulders squared and head high. Bucky stood there for a beat longer jaw tight, something protective and proud churning low in his gut.
God, he loved her fire. He swore himself to marry that girl one day, even just in his dream.
Bucky didn’t go straight to the gym. Instead, he turned and reached Lexi. “Hey,” he called out, voice calm but firm.
Lexi looked up, trying not to look flustered. The handsome super soldier surely caught her attention the very first day she met the team. “Bucky. Everything okay?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “About what you said… to Y/N.”
Lexi shrugged, feigning confusion. “Did I say something wrong? It was just a comment.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Y/N’s more than how she looks. She’s one of the best people on this team. Stronger than most, smarter than all of us on a bad day. She’s earned everything she has, and she doesn’t deserve that kind of disrespect.”
Stunning as the sun, he added in his mind.
Lexi blinked, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was fighting the urge to smirk. “Of course,” she said, nodding with mock understanding. “You’re right. I didn’t mean anything by it.” But her eyes said otherwise. “I don’t even know her.” She already pieced it together. The way his shoulders stiffened, the way his voice softened just slightly when he said her name. She found the chink in the Winter Soldier’s armour... Y/N.
Bucky stared at her for another beat, trying to read her. But Lexi just smiled and tilted her head. “I’ll be more careful next time,” she added, turning her eyes back on the screen like she didn’t just step on something fragile.
Bucky, still fuming, reached for the gym. He didn’t realise it yet, but Lexi wouldn’t have forgotten the look in his eyes. And she certainly wouldn’t missed the weakness she saw. She didn’t say anything then. She didn’t have to. Not yet.
She was sick and tired of hearing her name and her actions. Even before joining the Avengers, just as mission coordinator even if in her head she was already a member of them, she heard about how great and brave Y/N Y/L/N was. For the SHIELD was a role model, for the Avengers the bravest one and for Bucky… oh stupid, handsome Bucky. He thought of her like the hanger of the moon and stars. The heroine who sacrifices herself for the others. She was just a pretty girl.
Did he really think a girl like her, would ever put her eyes on a guy like him? Pathetic.
She saw the chaos of heroism and believed she could do better. Fix the flaws, remove the unpredictability, command outcomes like a chess master and maybe taking Y/N’s place in the Avengers and into Bucky’s heart.
She remembered the day Y/N turned her down. Calm, collected and merciless in her honesty. “You don’t have enough preparation, Connor...” She had said during recruitment.
Words sharp but clinical like a doctor diagnosing something terminal. There had been no cruelty in her voice, and somehow that made it worse. No anger, no disdain. Just a quiet certainty that she wasn’t enough. But preparation wasn’t just brawn, and strength was discipline. Vision. Willpower. “Please, Y/L/N. Give me another chance.” Lexi said, breathless, frustration barely veiled beneath her words.
Y/N looked down at her, eyes unreadable but steady. There was no smirk, no malice just expectation. “Get up then, Connor.”
Lexi scrambled to her feet, the ache in her ribs ignored. She stepped back onto the mat, determined, fists raised in front of her face like she’d rehearsed a hundred times. She didn’t flinch when Y/N mirrored her stance calm, balanced and effortless.
This time would be different.
Lexi told herself like a mantra. She learned from last time. Timing, footwork, patience. She’d studied every move Y/N made, practiced counters in her dreams. But dreams didn’t fight back. Y/N moved first. One step. One faint shift of weight. Lexi blinked and then, humiliation.
Again.
Before she could react, she was on the mat, back slamming hard, air punched from her lungs. A clean sweep. A lesson. Another reminder. Y/N offered no hand this time. Just a quiet look as she stood over her. “Told you, Connor,” she said, voice low but firm. “You’re clever but not field prepared.”
Lexi stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, chest burning. It wasn’t just pain she felt, it was the weight of never being enough. And Y/N never even raised her voice. She would prove that. She would show them all. Y/N, the Avengers… Bucky. There was more than one way to be a hero. And this time, she wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.
Bucky had always trusted his instincts. But ever since Lexi showed up, those instincts felt clouded, not wrong, just… off. She didn’t say much at first. Just little things. Comments he would normally shrugged off, if they wouldn’t have been about her.
“Wow, she’s confident, huh?” Lexi had said one afternoon, when Y/N walked through the common room still in her tactical gear.
Boots heavy on the floor, lipstick bold against her smile, a streak of dried blood running down her cheek like it belonged there.
“Must be exhausting always needing to be the center of attention like that.” Bucky frowned but didn’t reply. “Why putting make up on a mission?” He didn’t agree. Y/N has never needed attention. Lexi hadn’t pushed. She just smiled and moved on like she didn’t say anything at all.
“She humiliated me,” Lexi said during another break with Bucky, her voice soft but charged as she leaned back against the railing of the Avengers training deck.
The late afternoon’s light cast sharp angles across her face, the shadows falling just right.
Vulnerable, but not weak.
Y/N was resting after a tough mission, while the other in the tower were monitoring the outside. “Right there on the mat. No hesitation, no mercy. Just… took me down like I was nothing.”
Bucky didn’t look at her right away. He stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the skyline. But she knew he was listening. He always listened.
Lexi went on, letting a shaky laugh slip through. “She didn’t even help me up. Just stood there and said I wasn’t field prepared. Like I was some intern who wandered into a war zone. You know what she called me? ‘Clever.’ Do you believe it?” Her mouth twisted slightly. “Like that was a consolation prize.” Bucky’s jaw clenched just a little, barely noticeable if you didn’t know him. Lexi noticed. “She made it personal. Always did. I think… I think she was threatened. I worked hard. I studied tactics, psychology, combat theory. I wasn’t handed anything. But it didn’t matter. Because I wasn’t her. I didn’t have her little reputation or… whatever she had with you guys…”
That last part hung in the air like smoke. Bucky finally turned to look at her, his eyes unreadable. “Y/N is tough,” he said, his voice low. “But she wasn’t cruel.”
Lexi blinked, caught between offense and panic. “I didn’t say she was cruel, just-”
“You said she humiliated you,” Bucky cut in gently, but firmly. “Sounds more like she did her job.”
Lexi’s stomach turned. She hadn’t expected that. “She never gave me a real chance,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor. “…maybe I never needed her approval anyway.”
Bucky didn’t respond this time. He just looked away again, his silence louder than any defence. Lexi felt the weight of a story that didn’t quite land the way she wanted it to.
The next time, Lexi was more careful. More casual. “She’s always touching people.” She muttered to herself, leaning on the desk, skimming the security footage like she was bored. “Flirty…”
Y/N, passing behind her just in time to catch it, didn’t even slow down. She raised an eyebrow, offered a calm smile, and said, “It’s called being affectionate, Lexi. Some people call it emotional intelligence.”
Lexi began to say something, but Y/N was already gone. Hips swaying, voice echoing back down the hall.
Or that time during lunch, “Oh, I didn’t realise she was that close to Steve. No wonder she got promoted so fast.” She said to Bucky.
Bucky noticed. He noticed all of it.
He tried to shake it off at first, tried to convince himself Lexi just had a rough edge, and it got harder every time. That time Bucky felt something sharp in his stomach, something ugly. Because he noticed the way Y/N tugged playfully on Tony’s tie when she teased him, how she leaned into Sam’s side when they laughed at game night. The casual affection she spread so easily. But then he noticed that Y/N treated Natasha the same way, kinda flirty.
Once Bucky started remembering his moments with her, the way she used to pull him into dance-offs in the common room ruffling his hair when he brooded too hard or when she put her head on his shoulder during movie nights.
Y/N did it with everyone. Not just the guys, but something in his chest sank no matter what.
“She’s just friendly,” Bucky mumbled.
“Sure,” Lexi replied, smiling just enough. “If that’s what you want to believe…”
And that was it. Nothing outright cruel. Nothing too bold. Just suggestions. Innuendos. Enough to plant seeds. And Bucky hated himself for letting any of it fester. But once they were there, those seeds took root. He found himself watching Y/N differently not in awe like before, but… guarded. Maybe Lexi had seen something he hadn’t.
Was Y/N really flirting with everyone?
Was that special look she gave him just… her being nice and flirty with everyone?
Could she really have even ever flirted with him?
Surely, he mistaken her being nice to something deeper. Y/N Y/L/N would never, ever, have flirt with him.
One evening, Bucky watched as Y/N threw her arms around Steve’s neck after a sparring match, laughing breathlessly. Steve beamed, strong arms around her waist as he twirled her once in the air before setting her down. Bucky’s heart twisted.
Lexi’s words in his head, “Told you.”
And he said nothing. Y/N noticed his change.
Lexi never wanted to be a superhero. She wanted control. “Let’s start from Barnes.” She thought that day back when she had her first encounter with Y/N.
“Oh Y/N, how gorgeous is Y/N”
“How brave is Y/N”
“She took down a HYDRA base alone”
Blah, blah, blah
Deep down, Lexi wasn’t looking to destroy the Avengers. She just wanted to replace them. Or at least one of them.
Her plan? Build a covert network of operatives and digital tools that could neutralise threats before they ever reached Earth.
No capes. No explosions. Just precision.
But to prove herself, she’d need to test her system, maybe even sabotage a few heroic missions to show how vulnerable they really were.
That night, he ignored Y/N’s knock on his door.
He didn’t see the way her smile faltered when he didn’t answer.
Didn’t hear her whisper through the wood. “Everything okay, Buck?”
Didn’t see her stand there for a minute longer waiting and hoping, before she walked away.
One month.
30 days since Lexi entered the tower.
From day one, Lexi and Y/N clashed.
Y/N, a skilled field agent, respected by the Avengers and trusted with high-risk missions saw Lexi as cocky and untested and too comfortable behind her desk.
Lexi, on the other hand, saw Y/N as reckless, too reliant on muscle and instinct and blind to the strategy that saved missions before they even began.
Every meeting was a silent battle of eye rolls and sharpened remarks.
“Sorry, I thought we were solving this with intelligence not throwing fists,” Lexi would say, coolly adjusting her headset.
“Funny. I thought saving lives meant showing up, not sitting behind six screens” Y/N would fire back.
Tony found it hilarious. Steve tried to mediate. Natasha mostly stayed quiet watching the storm brew.
Y/N wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what she told herself. She’d fought gods. Faced death. She wasn’t going to let a pretty coordinator in four-inch heels and a shiny French manicure rattle her. But she noticed.
That morning, she noticed the way Lexi seemed to be there, always there.
In the hallways, in the break room, outside the gym with that coy little smile and just the right amount of lean whenever she spoke to Bucky.
And Bucky? He used to light up when Y/N walked in the room. Used to meet her eyes across the table during debriefs and smirk at her sarcastic remarks. Used to bring her coffee without being asked and always saved her a spot on the couch. Y/N was careful, always. Not just with missions, not just in battle, but with feelings.
Especially this one.
She loved Bucky Barnes, for longer than she cared to admit. But she didn’t let herself believe he could love her back. Not like that. She wasn’t the one people chose. She was support, not the story.
She always made dinner. After missions, after meetings, after days the world felt too sharp and heavy. It had become a quiet tradition neither of them ever named, but both kept returning to. It grounded them. Gave them something normal. Some excuse to spent time with him.
After a tough mission, some months ago, they came back frozen and bruised too tired to speak more than a few words on the flight. The cold had settled in their bones. The silence had weight.
So, after a super hot shower, Y/N cooked. She moved through the kitchen with quiet precision, sleeves rolled up.
Bucky watched from the other side of the counter, the scent of her lasagna already warming the room. When they finally sat down, he ate three portions. She hadn’t said a word about his body nor his size. She didn’t comment at first, just watched him with that small and amused smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “This lasagna is to die for,” he said through a satisfied exhale, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Seriously, Y/N, I think I’d betray the whole team for another bite.”
She raised a brow at him, half-laughing. “Didn’t know you liked it that much, Barnes.”
“You kidding? I’ve been thinking about it since we got on the jet.”
Y/N’s heart did something traitorous in her chest. He said it so casually, so fondly.
Like the idea of coming back here, with her, was part of the mission plan. Like this mattered.
She swallowed it down, hiding it behind a sip of wine and a well-rehearsed smirk. “Well. Noted. I’ll keep a tray on standby in case you ever have to flee the country.”
Later, they ended up on the couch, not from some grand plan but because they were tired, full and comfortable.
He’d fallen asleep first, head tilted slightly toward her, lips parted in a rare kind of peace. And she’d watched him for a long time, tracing the scar on his temple with her eyes, not her hands. So she slept beside him.
Close, warm, unaware. And she stayed still, pretending it was enough. Because for now, it had to be.
Nights like that were now long forgotten. Now he barely looked at her. And when he did, there was something different in his eyes, something wary like he didn’t trust what he was seeing any more. It made her stomach twist.
Y/N knew, of course, that Bucky wasn’t in love with her like she was with him.
She would have sworn to not feel anything for the super soldier, but then in her room at night closed her eyes and thought about holding his hand during a walk. She just liked the idea of him being in love with her not because she needed attention but just because the reality of him not being interested was killing her inside. She used her cockiness as a shield, just as a fantasy of her and Bucky dating.
Bucky Barnes, the Bucky Barnes, in love with her? Absurd.
She should have never get her cockiness, her facade, between them. She went to the gym.
Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of the training room, idly wrapping and unwrapping the tape around her knuckles. Her voice was low when she finally spoke. “Nat… do you think I’m too cocky?”
Natasha, perched on the bench nearby tilted her head, one eyebrow rising. “That’s dramatic even for you.” She laughed but stopped when she saw Y/N’s expression.
“I’m serious.” Y/N didn’t meet her gaze. “I know I can come off a little… too confident.”
Nat let the silence stretch a beat, watching her closely. Then she stood, walked over, and crouched beside her. “Confidence isn’t a crime, Y/N. Especially around here. You’re sharp, capable, and yeah… maybe a little mouthy sometimes. But hate you? No. Not even close.”
Y/N gave a half-smile, still not quite convinced. Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly, something sharp and familiar behind them. That subtle tilt of the head. The look she gave when she’d already solved the puzzle but wanted to hear you say it anyway. “Is this about someone in particular… or are we pretending it’s a general observation?” She asked, casual but with precision. Y/N hesitated, too long. “Is this about Bucky?”
The colour bloomed immediately in Y/N’s cheeks, soft but undeniable. She looked away, fingers fussing with the roll of medical tape in her hands, suddenly too focused on wrapping her own wrist.
Nat sighed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Right. Thought so.”
Y/N didn’t answer, but her fingers stilled completely on the tape.
That was all Natasha needed. Her expression shifted, the teasing edge fading into something more careful. “This have anything to do with Lexi?”
Y/N finally looked up. Her voice was quiet, words slipping out with more honesty than she intended. “She’s always around him. Like, always. And I’m not trying to be that girl who gets weird about it. He’s not my boyfriend, but…” She trailed off, letting the sentence dissolve under the weight of her thoughts. “It’s hard not to notice.”
Nat leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. “You’re not imagining it. I’ve seen it too.”
Y/N blinked. “You have?”
Nat just nodded, her expression unreadable now. Calm but alert. “Lexi knows exactly what she’s doing.”
Silence fell between them for a beat. The kind of silence where everything was understood but not everything had been said. “What do you think?” Nat asked quietly.
Y/N looked down at her hands again. “I don’t know, Nat,” she whispered. “If Bucky wants Lexi… then it’ll happen, I guess. And I’m not going to get in the way of that.”
Her voice broke just slightly at the end. Not enough to cry. Just enough to reveal the truth she kept buried. “I mean, why would he choose me?” Y/N added with a breathless laugh. It wasn’t bitter, just tired. Worn thin around the edges. She rubbed at her wrist absently, her voice growing quieter. “Lexi’s calm. Quiet. She says what she wants. Maybe Bucky needs someone like that.” She paused, eyes flickering toward the floor like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear herself say the rest. “I’m not like that. I’m… cocky. Too confident. Loud when I should be quiet. I speak before I think. I fight hard, and I love harder, and sometimes I wonder if it’s just…too much for someone like him.” Y/N exhaled. “Bucky needs someone calm…”
There was a long silence. The kind where it felt like the air shifted. Natasha’s expression didn’t soften like most people would. She didn’t reach for Y/N’s hand or offer some delicate reassurance. That wasn’t how she loved people. Instead, she straightened a little, voice low but solid. “Bucky Barnes doesn’t need someone like Lexi. He needs someone who makes him feel safe.” Y/N looked up, startled. “And for the record?” Nat continued, eyes locked on hers. “You’re not too much Y/N. You’re real. And real is rare around here.” Y/N swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “And if he can’t see that,” Natasha said, rising to her feet and tossing the tape roll onto the table, “then that’s his mistake. Not yours.”
She started to walk away but paused at the doorway, glancing back with a knowing look. “But between you and me? I think he already does.”
Y/N gave a short, humourless laugh. “So, I’m not just being paranoid.”
“No. You’re just jealous” Nat said softly. “And I don’t like it. Lexi’s… calculated. She plays sweet, but she watches people like she’s gathering intel. And I don’t like how close she’s getting to Bucky especially when you’re involved.” She said, intending something else.
Y/N let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “Nat… you’re exaggerating. Bucky doesn’t feel anything for me.”
Nat raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah.” Y/N gave her a tired smile. “He’s nice to me… at least he was.”
“So, you’re the only one with the gigantic crush?” Nat said, rushing to the gym’s exit.
The same afternoon, she walked into the lounge and froze. Lexi was perched on the arm of the couch close, too close to Bucky. He was saying something quietly, and Lexi laughed like he’d told the funniest joke in the world. Her hand brushed his forearm as she leaned in. Y/N felt something inside her snap.
Nat, who had followed her in, raised an eyebrow. Lexi was still touching his arm. It did bother her. It bothered her more than it should’ve.
“Why she’s never at her desk?” Y/N said.
Nat snorted. This wasn’t just about Lexi, this was about Bucky acting like Y/N had done something wrong. She waited until Lexi finally left the room swaying her hips before she approached.
“Hey,” Y/N said, standing in front of the couch.
Bucky blinked up at her, surprised. “Oh. Hey.”
“Got a minute?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
She sat beside him but not too close, not like Lexi. “You’ve been… distant.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Just been busy.”
“With Lexi?” That surprised him.
He turned to look at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Y/N shrugged, casual. “She’s always around you. Didn’t know you two were close.”
Bucky looked away. “She’s just easy to talk to.”
Ouch. That landed sharper than he probably intended.
Y/N stared at him. “Am I not?” He didn’t answer. And that silence said everything.
The next day, Lexi stood by the projection screen, flawlessly presenting the team’s plan. Her voice was calm, clipped, and deliberate. “Y/N, you’ll take Rear Sector 7,” Lexi said. “It’s the least active quadrant, but you should be comfortable there.”
Y/N blinked. “I usually lead recon.”
Lexi smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes. But we had to adjust after… last time.”
Last time.
Yes, last time when Lexi rerouting the mission almost killing the avengers. “My system projected a 78% success rate with the alternate route. It was statistically right.” She said, defending herself. Lexi learn on her skin that 78% success rate it’s not 100% success rate.
Now, a quiet murmur rippled through the room. Natasha shot Y/N a look. Bucky frowned.
Y/N crossed her arms, jaw tight. “That ambush happened because of you reroute.”
“But you save everyone, right?” Lexi replied, sliding her finger across her tablet. “Mistakes like that usually prompt a shift in responsibility.”
Tony leaned back in his chair, watching, eyebrows lifted. “Easy, Lexi. It was still your mistake, not Y/N’s.”
Lexi didn’t break stride. “I just misread the date. We all want what’s best for the team.”
Y/N locked eyes with her, voice low. “Don’t confuse team with agenda. Don’t worry Tony, I’ll take sector 7.”
The team got up toward the locker room, suiting themselves.
Y/N and Nat, on the bench were talking both strangely attentive. The mission went obviously well.
Lexi wasn’t stupid. She saw the way Y/N looked at Bucky. The way her smile faltered every time she walked into a room and found her already there, chatting with him or touching his arm just a little too long. She saw the jealousy and she thrived on it.
Bucky was sweet. Quiet. Easy to read once you knew where to look. He flinched at attention, softened at kindness, and was desperate for someone to choose him. And Lexi was more than willing to play the part.
Especially if it meant knocking Y/N down a peg or two. So, she waited. She let the tension simmer. Let Bucky feel increasingly distant from the woman he clearly adored. Let the doubts she’d planted bloom into something painful.
Then, after they got back from the mission where Y/N did took sector 7 and won, so she made her move.
She caught Bucky in the hallway, back from the mission, reorganizing the supply crates with quiet diligence. He’d pulled his hair back, a few strands still slipping loose, and his hoodie was slightly oversize. He looked more civilian than super soldier. He looked tired. Vulnerable. Perfect.
“Hey,” she said, with a soft smile playing with her tower’s pass, wrapped around her neck. “Can I tell you something? Kind of… personal?”
Bucky blinked, wary but polite. “Yeah. Sure.” Lexi bit her lip, hesitating just enough to make it seem like a confession. “I overheard something. In the locker room, just before getting on the jet. Between Y/N and Nat.”
Bucky straightened, already tense. “What kind of something?”
Lexi lowered her voice. “Y/N was talking about you. About how she knew you had a thing for her, and how she was letting you hang around because it was cute... her words, not mine.” Lexi said, holding her hands up. Bucky went completely still. Lexi tilted her head, softening her voice. “She said you were sweet. But not really her type. That she liked guys who could keep up with her, you know? Guys who looked like they belonged on the front of magazines… like Steve”
Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“I mean first she almost dismiss an order and now talking bad about teammates behind their back?” Bucky didn’t hear how Lexi was still rambling about Y/N not taking order, he just listened his heart crushed in his chest. “…it’s not a good thing to do.” Lexi stepped closer, hand brushing his arm like it was nothing. “I just thought you should know. Because you deserve better than being someone’s backup. You deserve someone who sees you.”
Bucky gave a tight and quiet nod, eyes on the floor. Lexi smiled to herself. And down the hallway around the corner, just out of sight Nat had stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide, having heard everything.
In her room, dim light from her monitors casting eerie shadows across her desk. Her fingers danced over encrypted systems, patching into a classified black-ops satellite. “She did actually take sector 7,” Lexi said looking at her screen. In her room, she felt like a real avenger free to do whatever she wanted. “Y/N outperformed expectations again,” she muttered, pulling up combat data. “Typical…” she took a sip of tea. “Let’s see how she performs when intel fails.”
With a few keystrokes Lexi made some change into the mission lead. Y/N’s next op came alive on the screen and she inserted a false threat profile. The team would head in under-prepared, just enough to cause chaos. Not to kill… just to rattle. If Y/N stumbled, if Bucky stepped in, the narrative could twist in Lexi’s favor.
The briefing room buzzed with quiet conversation and the shuffle of data pads as the team filtered in. The lights were low, the air stale with too much recycled coffee and not enough sleep. Y/N sat near the center, her hands folded over the mission file she’d already read twice.
Another mission, the day after. Weird.
Something was wrong. The threat profile on the screen didn’t match what she’d prepped for. The satellite data. The ground intel. The enemy strength ratio off, just slightly. Sloppy enough to be overlooked, smart enough to be dangerous. She frowned, flipping through the digital brief again. This wasn’t just an update. It had been restructured.
“Command recalibrated after a late intel sweep,” Lexi said from the corner, too casually. “Minor adjustments.”
Y/N’s eyes flicked up to her across the table, narrowing for half a second. But then she looked at Bucky... instinct and habit and... hope.
He was across the room, arms folded and gaze on the screen.
Not on her.
Not even a glance.
No warning.
No softness.
Just distance.
The silence rang louder than anything Lexi could’ve said. Y/N’s pulse picked up. Her lips parted, the beginnings of a protest catching in her throat. She could raise a flag. Call it out. Her mind wandered.
“I’m cocky. Too confident.”
“Maybe Bucky needs someone like her.”
She blinked, her shoulders tightening subtly. Maybe this wasn’t sabotage. Maybe she was just reading too much into it. Paranoid. Overcompensating. Trying too hard to prove herself. She pressed her mouth shut and sat back in her seat.
“Understood,” she said flatly.
Lexi glanced at her, just briefly. The smallest curl of satisfaction behind her eyes.
Natasha, on the far end of the table, raised an eyebrow barely perceptible, but it was there. She caught Y/N’s eye for a flicker of a second. Saw something wasn’t right. The meeting moved on. Slide by slide. Order by order. But under the table, Y/N’s fingers dug hard into her palm. And in her chest, the doubt bloomed like a bruise.
The locker room hummed with quiet motion. The click of gear locking in place, the shuffle of tactical boots, the low murmur of voices down the corridor. Y/N adjusted the straps on her vest not quite focusing on her reflection in the narrow mirror above the bench.
Natasha walked in, checking her sidearm with a swift, practiced flick. She didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the row of lockers beside Y/N, arms folded. Watching. “You’ve triple-checked your gear,” Nat said finally, voice low.
Y/N didn’t look at her. “Just being careful.”
“You’re always careful,” Nat replied. “But this?” She tilted her head. “This is different.”
Y/N paused, fingers tightening around the edge of her glove. “I’m fine.” Nat was quiet for a second, then pushed off the locker and stepped closer. “No, you’re not.” Y/N hesitated, breathing shallow. “I saw your face in the briefing,” Natasha continued, voice softer now. “You knew something was off. Then you swallowed it.”
Y/N finally met her eyes. There was a flash of emotion there; doubt, frustration, something raw trying to surface but held back. “I didn’t have proof. And I’ve been wrong before.”
“When? Back in third grade? Since when that has stopped you?” Nat pressed gently.
Y/N looked away again, jaw clenched. “Bucky didn’t even look at me. He always looks at me when something’s off. Today…” She shook her head. “Maybe I am reading too much into it. Maybe Lexi just… knows better than me. Maybe she should be leading.”
Nat’s expression darkened. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“But what if I’m not cut out for this?” Y/N whispered, barely audible. “What if everything I’ve done, everything I’ve tried to be- what if it’s not enough for him? Or the team?”
Nat’s reply was firm. “This isn’t about being enough. This is about something not adding up, and you trusting your gut.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “And I trust your gut.” Y/N blinked hard and nodded once, but the weight didn’t leave her chest. Nat reached forward, rested a hand briefly on Y/N’s arm. “Stay sharp out there. And if anything feels wrong, anything, you say it.”
Y/N looked up, something steadier flickering back into her. “Yeah.”
And as they walked out together, neither of them said it aloud since they both knew Lexi had just made herself a problem. The final checks were underway. Armor sealed. Comms tested. Weapons calibrated. The air was thick with adrenaline and quiet urgency, that strange kind of calm just before insertion.
Lexi hovered close to Bucky, too close, if anyone had cared to look. She was tightening the strap on her sidearm when she leaned toward him, her voice light, but loaded. “I’ll be here if you need me,” she said, fingers brushing her comms as if to underline the point.
Bucky gave a short nod, distracted. His eyes flicked across the room to where Y/N stood, silent and sharp-edged as she checked her loudout.
No banter.
No quick-witted comments.
No offhand remarks about his over-polished knife or Sam’s endless gum chewing.
Just… quiet. Too quiet.
Something tugged at him.
Lexi followed his line of sight and gave a little tilt of her head. Then, in a low voice meant only for him, she added, “See how Y/N’s like a well-trained puppy now? Isn’t it better without her constantly snapping at me?”
Bucky’s brows furrowed immediately. His head turned slightly in her direction, the shift in his expression subtle, but clear discomfort. Disapproval. He opened his mouth, about to say something.
“Buck!” Steve’s voice rang out from across the hangar. “C'mon, we need to go!” Bucky glanced toward him, then back at Lexi. Steve paused just a beat, eyes cutting toward the two of them. “Lexi,” he said, sharp now. “No mistakes this time.”
Lexi stiffened, lips pressing into a flat line. “Copy that.”
Bucky stepped back, his gaze lingering on her for a second longer before he turned and walked toward the jet. Y/N was already up the ramp, silent but alert, her jaw tight as she checked the interior lockers. She didn’t look at him as he passed. But Bucky did. And for the first time in days, he really saw her. The storm hadn’t hit yet. But it was coming.
The mission had gone south fast. Too fast. Y/N crouched behind the wreckage of a flipped transport, her breathing ragged, heart hammering against her ribs. Bullet casings rang like bells around her, and the sky overhead churned a cold, steel gray. She’d known it the second they landed. The silence wasn’t right. The heat signatures were too consistent, the response time too fast.
Hydra wasn’t just here. They were ready.
“This isn’t recon,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s a setup.” Her fingers flew across the small console clipped to her forearm. Incoming data… scrubbed. Rewritten. Artificially trimmed. Then it hit her. This wasn’t an intelligence failure. It was manipulated intel. Her blood ran cold.
“Lexi,” she growled into the comms, slipping between broken cover. “We need extraction. NOW!” There was a long pause. Too long. “LEXI!” Y/N yelled.
Then Lexi’s voice came through, detached and cool. “I’ll reroute available units… standby.”
“Standby?” Y/N snapped. “We’re boxed in with no high ground and zero exit coverage-”
An explosion cut her off.
The blast was close. Bucky didn’t hesitate. He moved like instinct, like muscle memory. Threw himself in front of her, his metal arm raised just in time as a grenade burst nearby. Shrapnel tore through the air. His body caught most of it.
“Bucky!” She screamed, catching him as he staggered. Blood stained the edge of his gear. Not fatal, since he was a super soldier, but bad.
They hit the dirt together behind a concrete slab. Y/N pulled his arm around her shoulder, dragging him to better cover. Her hands were slick, her breath coming fast but her mind was clear. And something snapped. Forget caution. Forget self-doubt. Forget whatever fake modesty she’d wrapped herself in since the briefing. Her voice cracked through the comms, sharp and commanding.
“This is Y/N. Mission parameters are compromised. Intel is fabricated. We walked into an ambush. HYDRA units are embedded and waiting. This was never a recon sweep. This was staged.”
She didn’t care how it sounded. She didn’t care if she was wrong. She wasn’t. She looked down at Bucky, who was clutching her side, but almost conscious. He was watching her.
Y/N switched frequencies. “Red? This is Widow-Two. Confirming op breach. Requesting immediate extraction and medical for Sergeant Barnes. Repeat. Hostiles overwhelming. Mission integrity compromised.”
For a moment, silence. Then Natasha’s voice came in, crisp and fierce. “Widow-One here. Copy that, Widow-Two. We’re en route. Hold position.”
Y/N’s lips pressed into a hard line. And this time, she wasn’t staying silent.
The compound was too quiet. The storm still lived in Y/N’s chest, even after the jet had landed, even after the medics had rushed Bucky to the infirmary, even after Natasha gave her a nod that said I’ve got him, a nod that let Y/N move.
Now, her boots echoed down the corridor like warning shots. She spotted Lexi in the common room. Calm. Alone. Tea in hand, like she hadn’t just nearly gotten them killed. Y/N didn’t hesitate. She stormed across the floor, anger simmering just beneath her skin. Her voice cracked like a whip. “You doctored the data.”
Lexi turned her head slowly, utterly unfazed. She took a small sip of tea, one eyebrow raised. “Or maybe the enemy just got smarter. That happens sometimes.”
Y/N stepped closer, fists clenched at her sides. “You wanted me to fail.” Her voice wasn’t yelling. It was lower, more dangerous. Raw. “You sent us in blind. You knew we’d walk into a trap. You knew, and you did it anyway. You risked everyone just to-what? Make me look incompetent?”
Lexi stood, letting her cup clink gently against the saucer. She tilted her head, eyes cool and amused. “No one made Bucky jump in front of that grenade. He chose to protect you. He bled for you.”
Y/N’s face went still. Lexi stepped closer now, her voice softening, as if it was suddenly a private confession. “Just think how deep that guilt will run if you keep letting him get hurt.”
Y/N blinked, stunned still not by fear, but by the sheer calculated cruelty in Lexi’s words. Lexi smiled wider, slow and sharp. “Now tell me…” she whispered, “who’s really the dangerous one here?”
Y/N’s body stiffened like a pulled wire. For a second, the room felt like it might explode from the pressure between them. “You’re manipulating mission data,” Y/N said through gritted teeth. “That’s not dangerous, Lexi. That’s treason.”
Lexi’s mask didn’t crack, but her eyes darkened. “Careful. Big words make you sound hysterical.”
Y/N took a slow breath, forcing herself not to swing. Not here. Not yet. “You think no one will believe me?” She asked, voice icy now. “You think I don’t have people watching? Natasha was listening the second things went off-plan. She’s already running your logs.”
Lexi’s smile faltered only slightly, but Y/N saw it. “And Bucky?” Y/N added, stepping forward now, refusing to flinch. “He might not have seen it before. But he will now.”
Lexi tried to recover her smirk. “You think he’ll choose you after this?After you froze in that briefing room? After I held the team together while you sat there second-guessing yourself?”
Y/N’s eyes flared. “I froze because I was trying to be decent. Because I was trying not to turn this place into a battleground over ego. But make no mistake, Lexi if you try to rewrite the truth again, you will see exactly how dangerous I can be.”
They stood in silence, tension electric.
Later that night, Lexi leaned against the cold steel corridor outside the lower weapons vault, posture relaxed, one foot crossed over the other like she had all the time in the world. Her breath fogged faintly in the chill. Timing was everything. And sure enough, right on cue, Bucky emerged.
His jacket was half-zipped, fingers still tugging at the collar as he stepped through the security lock. His cheeks were pink from the cold. Or maybe something else. Lexi smiled. “Cleared for duty?” Lexi asked, her voice light with a practiced kind of concern.
Bucky glanced at her briefly. “Yeah. Just a couple cracked ribs left to deal with.” Lexi gave a low whistle and pushed off the wall, falling into step beside him. “Always playing the hero. You know, most people use recovery time to, I don’t know, recover.” He didn’t laugh. “I saw your mission report,” she said lightly, pushing off the wall like it was coincidence. “You really threw yourself into the fire for Y/N. Again.”
Bucky barely paused, but she noticed the slight twitch in his jaw. He tried to walk past. “She’s my teammate,” he said, low and short.
“Of course,” Lexi agreed quickly, falling into step beside him. “She’s smart. Bold. Beautiful. She knows exactly how to pull people in.”
That made him slow. Just enough. Bucky’s eyes flicked to her. “What are you trying to say?
Lexi tilted her head, kept her tone light, sympathetic. She clasped her hands behind her back like she was sharing something personal, something painful. “I just think… maybe you should ask yourself what she gets out of it,” she said softly. “You’re loyal. You’re kind. You’re protective. You’re…” Her voice dipped, almost reverent. “Safe.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. “And?”
Lexi gave a little shrug. “She needs someone like that until she doesn’t anymore. Until the mission shifts. Until the stakes change. Until someone more super walks through the door and catches her eye.”
Bucky looked away. He shouldn’t have. But he did.
Lexi caught it. Pressed in. “She doesn’t talk about you when you’re not around, you know. Not really. Not like she talks about Steve, or Sam, or even Natasha. You ever notice that?” Bucky didn’t answer. His mouth had gone tight. “She doesn’t linger,” Lexi said, almost gently now. “Doesn’t stay. Doesn’t see you. Not really. Not when you’re not bleeding for her.”
There was a long pause. Her words echoed quietly in the sterile hallway, and Bucky’s silence only made them heavier. “You deserve more than that,” Lexi added finally, voice a little lower. “You deserve someone who sees you. Chooses you. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when they’re scared.” She looked away for a beat, as if baring something vulnerable in herself. Then, “I see you that way.”
The words hung in the air between them like a stone dropped in still water. Bucky exhaled through his nose. His hands flexed at his sides. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t look away either. Lexi didn’t expect him to respond. That wasn’t how this worked. It just had to sit there. Long enough to grow roots. And in the silence that followed small, poisonous things started to bloom.
At the end of the week, Bucky didn’t say anything to anyone for the rest of the week. He trained until his muscles burned. Pushed himself harder than he had in weeks.
Every punch he landed on the bag echoed Lexi’s words in his head.
“She said you were sweet. But not really her type.”
“Letting you hang around because it was cute.”
All those late-night conversations. Her laughter when he said something sarcastic under his breath. She did talk to me outside work. Right? He almost didn’t remember the last time she had a conversation with Y/N, but the way she leaned into his side on the jet, falling asleep like she trusted him.
Had it all been pity?
Had he misread everything?
The more he thought about it, the more everything seemed to warp. Every kindness from Y/N felt like a performance in hindsight. Every compliment a setup for a punchline he’d never seen coming. By the time he got back to his room, his chest ached with something sharp and ugly. He stopped showing up to movie night. He skipped breakfast. He didn’t text her back. Y/N noticed. The messages started off light.
Y/N: You okay?
Y/N: Haven’t seen you lately. Did you get kidnapped or just hiding from me?
Y/N: Bucky, seriously. What’s going on?
He left them unread. Because what if Lexi was right?
What if Y/N was really laughing about him behind his back with Nat?
What if everything she did was just to make him feel wanted without ever meaning it?
He couldn’t face her. Not when he felt this raw. This stupid. He went silent. Detached. He even started spending more time near Lexi, not because he wanted to, but because she was safe. Predictable. She didn’t make him feel the way Y/N did. And right now, that felt like protection.
The rest of the team noticed. Steve tried to get him to open up. Sam gave him space. Nat watched him with eyes sharp as razors, saying nothing yet but waiting. Watching.
Y/N, meanwhile, was unravveling. He could hear her outside his door one night. The quiet sound of her voice. The hesitation.
“Bucky… please talk to me. If I did something wrong… just tell me. I’ll fix it.”
He sat with his back to the door, hands in his hair, breath shallow. He wanted to open it. He ached to. But Lexi’s words echoed again. “You’re not her type.”
So he stayed silent. And Y/N walked away heart bruised, fists clenched not knowing that Bucky Barnes was slowly breaking in the room behind her. If she didn’t like him, why she was begging him to talk to her? Was it a cruel joke? Someone was lying? He remained on the floor.
A couple of day later, Lexi found Bucky in the corner of the file room, flipping through old case logs, face drawn in quiet thought. She slid beside him with ease, placing a sealed report gently on the shelf. No reason to be here, except him.
“You read her latest mission debrief?” She asked, casually.
Bucky nodded. “Yeah. She held her ground.”
Lexi tilted her head. “Held it. Took credit. That’s what she does.” He didn’t respond, but his grip tightened slightly on the folder. “She’s incredible, I’ll give her that,” Lexi continued. “But she’s polished. Political. She knows exactly how to use what she’s got. Even you.”
Bucky’s brows knit together. “Y/N doesn’t use people.”
Lexi stepped closer, her voice soft. “Then why does she always find herself at the center of everything? Every mission. Every spotlight.”
“You’re saying she-”
“I’m saying,” Lexi interrupted gently, “she’s smart enough to notice. And to know it makes you loyal. Protective. Maybe even a little… blinded.” Bucky’s expression fell, subtle and wounded. Her voice dropping to a whisper. “You think she could be with someone like you? Someone who’s broken, tired, carries scars she’s never had to face?” The silence hung like fog. “She needs someone perfect. Someone the press loves. Someone safe to love in public.”
She straightened slowly. “But you’re not public, are you, Bucky? You’re shadow. The Winter Soldier. Steel. Weight. That’s not a life she wants.” Bucky stared at the file, at Y/N’s bold signature on the mission report, his heart aching. “She’s only using you during mission. You should take credit for them, not her. You deserve someone more caring.”
A couple of hours after, Y/N stood now near the window in the file room, flipping through mission files. Sunlight streaming across her brow. She glanced across the room, instinctively searching for a particular figure in gray... Bucky still there at the far table with arms folded, deep in conversation with Lexi.
They weren’t close, physically. But Lexi leaned in like she belonged, and Bucky didn’t shift away. Y/N blinked.
Later, Bucky exited the file room without his usual nod. No shared smirk. No “stay safe.” Just silent focus.
Y/N pulled him aside, fingers brushing his wrist making him stop. “Hey, Bucky,” she said quietly. “You good?”
He hesitated. “Fine.”
“You haven’t spoken to me since…” God she didn’t even remember since when. “… after saving me from that bomb. And… yesterday, you gave Lexi a full smile. I’ve only ever seen you give that to dogs or Sam when he brings you coffee.” she tried to joke.
Bucky looked down, sheepish. “It’s nothing.”
But Y/N pressed, voice softer now. “Did I do something?”
He swallowed, jaw tightening. “No. You’re… great. You always are.” That was worse than silence.
Y/N stepped back, heart twisting. “Then why do you look at me like I’m not real any more?”
He didn’t answer, and proceed getting out the file room. And somewhere down the hall, Lexi watched.
The room was quiet, bathed in amber glow from a single lamp. Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, headphones nestled over his ears. The music playing was soft. A blend of vintage jazz and ambient hums that Lexi had recommended. Soothing, she’d called it. A nightly ritual, just for him. Underneath the saxophones and sleepy rhythms, buried below frequencies too subtle for conscious thought, was her voice coded, layered, undetectable. Whispered affirmations laced with distrust.
Y/N takes advantage of you…
She doesn’t see you…
She belongs to the world... never to you…
Trust is dangerous when it’s given to someone like her…
Bucky’s eyes closed, the tension in his shoulders softening. He never remembered falling asleep during the playlist, but he always woke feeling… detached. Clouded. A little colder toward Y/N each morning.
Bucky woke abruptly, sweat slicked across his neck, his heart racing. He couldn’t remember what the dream was, but Y/N’s name was tangled in it. Not her face just flashes, feelings, doubt. He reached for the headphones still on his pillow. The music was still playing softly. Familiar notes. Comforting. But lately, it felt hollow. Like something behind the melody was speaking through it.
Across the room, the mirror reflected dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well. Not since Lexi started curating his “mental wellness routine.”
In the morning, during sparring, Y/N reached out to help Bucky from the mat after a slip but he flinched. Pulled back too fast, like her touch stung. Everyone noticed.
“Sorry,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
She frowned. “You okay?” He nodded once.
But inside, something twisted. She’s controlling the narrative. She makes you feel small. She smiles when you’re broken. She’ll never choose you. Not really.
The whispers were always underneath the surface now, whispering before he could form thoughts. Lexi’s voice buried in the soundtrack replayed in his memory at odd moments before decisions, during arguments, after silence. He didn’t even realize he was humming one of her songs out loud.
That night, Lexi watched a neural pattern chart dance across her screen, confirming subtle changes in Bucky’s behavior; reduced trust, heightened emotional withdrawal, selective memory fragmentation. She kept trace of it like a diary. She smiled faintly.
“Not mind control,” she whispered. “Just better instincts.”
She cued up the next playlist for tomorrow night. Just enough suggestion to nudge him toward confrontation.
Toward suspicion. Toward her.
In the interrogation room, Y/N was reviewing surveillance footage in the dim file room, tracking a recent Hydra breach. Her fingers danced over controls, the glow lighting her face. The door slid open sharply.
Bucky.
He stepped inside, arms folded, eyes darker than usual not icy, just fogged. Distant. “You intercepted the intel on Sector Delta before I could access it,” he said. Flat.
Y/N looked up, surprised. “Because Lexi said it was corrupted. I was trying to cross-reference-”
“You always have an explanation,” he cut in. “Always one step ahead.”
She stood slowly. “Bucky, what is this?”
He took a slow breath, like he was reciting something he wasn’t sure he believed. “I don’t think I can trust you anymore.”
The words fell like glass. Y/N blinked. “You’re serious?”
“Too many things don’t add up. Timing. Positions. Intel flow.”
He paused. “Lexi thinks-”
“There it is,” Y/N said, voice trembling but sharp. “Lexi thinks. And now you do.”
Bucky hesitated, his fingers twitching like his whole body was arguing with itself. “You saved me on mission nearly a week ago,” Y/N whispered. “You held my hand during recovery last year when i got severely hit. That was real.”
“She sees more in me,” Bucky muttered. “She believes I’m more than what you think.” Y/N’s expression cracked, hurt pouring through.
“Then she’s brainwashed you better than Hydra ever did.” She said regretting almost immediately.
Bucky looked away. Her words definitely broke him. Bucky didn’t stay. He looked away and walked away. Y/N opened her mouth, heart thudding in her throat. Something rose inside her raw, quiet, desperate. A truth she’d never let herself say aloud until that moment.
“…maybe she sees you,” she whispered, barely audible. Bucky didn’t hear. “…but I love you.” Her voice cracked on the last word. But he was already too far.
Some days after, Y/N was sad. Very sad and upset.
Then she’s rewritten you better than Hydra ever did.
That phrase still vivid in his mind. Bucky didn’t mean for it to happen.
One evening, while Y/N was wandering into the common room, looking for her phone charger. Bucky was there. And so was Lexi. They stood near the window, just out of the main light, talking in hushed tones. Lexi’s laugh drifted out first soft, calculated and just a little too breathy.
Her shoulder touched his arm. Standing there like two lovers.Y/N paused near the doorway, half-shielded by the wall.
Lexi reached out, fingers brushing Bucky’s arm. “You know,” she said, voice low and intimate, “you’re not as unreadable as you think.”
Bucky gave a quiet chuckle but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Uh-uh.” She stepped closer, too close. They now stood one in front of the other. Bucky looked down at her face.
NO PLEASE DON’T KISS HER, Y/N though
“I notice things. Like how you always stay just a little distant… except around certain people.” Lexi briefly looked down, at the floor. Then she looked up again. Bucky’s expression shifted, guarded. Lexi took that as permission. “You don’t have to keep pretending,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “If you’re looking for something real… I’m right here.”
Y/N’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. Lexi brushing her hand against his. Her offering to grab him coffee during breakfast. Walking with him to the gym, laughing at his dry sarcasm like it was her favourite sound in the world.
All little steps that got Bucky slowly attached to Lexi. All little steps that brought them that night, near the window.
He didn’t kiss her at first. He didn’t even want to. But she was there. Steady. Warm. Always saying exactly what he needed to hear. “You deserve someone who really sees you. You don’t need to chase after someone who’ll never choose you.”
So when she kissed him, soft lips and tentative fingers curling at the collar of his hoodie he didn’t pull away. Because Y/N hadn’t knocked on his door in days. Because her texts had stopped. Because maybe he was just a joke to her.
Y/N saw their first kiss from across the hall. She froze, hidden just enough to watch Lexi press a kiss to Bucky’s lips, linger at his jaw like she belonged there. Bucky closed his eyes. He just stood there near that window, letting it happen. He let Lexi kiss him again. And again. He was so tall, so she stood on his tip. Hands grabbing his hoodie. Y/N left before they could see her. Before seeing Bucky’s hands stayed still, along his body. Not on Lexi’s hips. Y/N’s hands were shaking.
“She kissed her, Nat,” Y/N cried that night in Natasha’s arms. “Bucky let Lexi kiss him.”
“What do you mean ‘let her kiss him’?” Natasha asked, her voice low and sharp.
Y/N buried her face deeper into Natasha’s shoulder, her voice cracking. “He didn’t stop her. He just… stood there.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. Never, she saw Y/N like that. “Did he kiss her back?”
“I don’t know,” Y/N whispered. “I couldn’t watch any more.” There was a pause heavy, aching. “I feel so stupid,” Y/N whispered.
“No,” Natasha said firmly. “You’re not stupid. You love him. That’s not a mistake.”
Natasha held Y/N until her sobs softened into silence. Her thumb brushed gently over Y/N’s shoulder but her eyes were hard, focused on something far away. “I told him that she rewrote him better than Hydra ever did.” She remember crying. “Nat, do you realise how he must have felt in that moment?”
Nat swore to herself, right then and there, she was going to get to the bottom of this.
A week after, the team found out about their first kiss. Bucky and Lexi had been seen together again, the team’s reactions came quickly.
Steve was the first to say something, cornering Bucky in the hallway. “Tell me this isn’t serious,” he said, voice low but laced with disappointment.
In the common room, Sam muttered, “Lexi? Really?” under his breath as the two walked in. Tony just shook his head when he passed them, not saying a word but the silence said plenty. Nat silently judging.
Now the clink of a spoon against a ceramic mug was the loudest sound in the kitchen that morning. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making everything look deceptively peaceful. Y/N was perched on a stool at the island, nursing a coffee that hadn’t quite kicked in yet. Tony was poking at a croissant like it had personally insulted him, while Sam and Steve sat across from each other in the usual competitive silence that happened when both were pretending not to care who finished breakfast first.
Then there was Bucky. He was sitting at the counter beside Steve, hunched over a plate stacked high with eggs, bacon and toast moving with soldier-like precision. His metal hand made a soft clunk each time it tapped the counter top, but no one mentioned it. They never did. Y/N tried not to glance at him. She really did. Nat, beside her was preparing to see Lexi entering. The night before, was the first she actually spent in the tower with Bucky.
Lexi, dressed in Bucky’s Henley like it was a trophy, walked into the kitchen like she owned it. Nothing happened between them, but Y/N couldn’t be sure of this and she was sure Lexi was just acting like something did happened.
Her expression was all casual confidence and just a touch of morning superiority. The oversize shirt slipped off one shoulder just enough to be calculated. Her hair was still damp from the shower.
Bucky’s shower, maybe? Y/N’s stomach turned at the thought. “Hi,” she said breezily, not bothering to hide the smug little smile she tossed at Bucky.
Y/N forced a polite smile. She walked over to the island, standing behind Bucky and leaning her arm casually on his shoulder. He didn’t look at her, just kept chewing. The girl wrinkled her nose. “You eat like… that every morning?”
Everyone looked up.
“Like what?” Bucky asked, finally glancing at her.
She waved vaguely at his plate. “Just… all that grease and protein? No fruit? No carbs that aren’t… what is that? White toast? God. Don’t you ever detox?”
Sam tried very hard not to rumble into his orange juice. Natasha raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her black coffee, clearly not enjoying the scene.
Bucky slowly lowered his fork and turned to the girl. His voice was flat. “I was hungry.”
“Well, sure” she said with a small laugh. “I just figured you’d be more… I don’t know. Mindful?”
Y/N couldn’t stop the eyebrow that arched before she looked back down at her mug.
“Mindful?” Bucky repeated.
The girl nodded like she was being helpful. “Yeah. You know. Of your body. What you put into it. I mean… you’re still fit clearly but like… your arteries must be begging for mercy.”
Steve intervened first. “He’s got a metabolism you wouldn’t believe,” he said smoothly but upset, giving Bucky a subtle nudge under the table.
Sam, always a master of making things worse, grinned. “Yeah, don’t worry, sweetheart. The guy burns calories just by brooding.”
“Well, we’re starting a diet soon together. Right love?” Lexi said.
Y/N swore she said love looking at her. No one talked.
“Jeez. Was it something I said?”
Y/N set down her mug. Her heart beat a little too loud in her ears, but she spoke anyway quiet, cool, and clear. “Actually, yeah.”
Lexi blinked. “Sorry?”
“You said something,” Y/N continued, voice calm but knife-sharp. “You walked in here like you belonged, like you earned something. But all I see is a guest trying too hard to rearrange furniture in someone else house.”
The room went still. Lexi tilted her head, but the gleam in her eye sharpened. “Well, maybe someone needs to.”
Bucky… still hadn’t said a word. But he was looking at Y/N now. Not past her. Not through her. At her. Like maybe, for the first time in weeks.
Meanwhile, Nat was watching and she was done staying quiet. She hadn’t liked Lexi from the start. There was something too smooth about her. Too polished. Like someone always performing. And Nat didn’t miss much. She remembered the day she’d overheard Lexi whispering to Bucky, spinning her little story about Y/N mocking him.
At the time, she hadn’t wanted to believe Bucky would fall for it. But now… Now she saw the way he avoided Y/N like she was radioactive. The way Y/N’s bright spark had dulled to something brittle. The way Lexi always looked smug around both of them, like a cat who’d eaten the canary. It was all wrong. And the diet? Y/N could never.
The breakfast incident had become just a blip in memory. A forgotten detail, but now Lexi was pushing every morning green smoothies and lean protein on Bucky like it was her mission, smiling too sweetly while casually shaming the man who used to eat cheeseburgers on rooftops with Y/N after long missions.
Everyone began to notice that Y/N and Bucky were almost never parried for mission.
If Bucky had a mission in Europe, Y/N remain home.
When Y/N was sent to Russia, clearly expecting Bucky on the jet, she then faced Sam clearly confused as her.
That morning, Y/N got a text from Lexi. Cool and casual, just coordinates and the message.
“Intel said you’d want to handle this one yourself. Good luck 😉”
Y/N didn’t question it, in the beginning. It wasn’t unusual from Lexi, sending personal text for the mission. She should have. The building was supposed to be an empty safe house for recon.
What it was?
A trap.
Four armed men.
Two snipers.
One with tech strong enough to scramble her comms for nearly forty minutes, but Y/N was still Y/N.
Even bleeding, even outnumbered, she moved like a ghost and struck like lightning.
When she walked back into the Tower nearly two hours later, her knuckles were raw, her uniform torn, and there was a dried blood at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t say a word. Just walked through the lobby with that same terrifying calm that came before a storm. The security cameras caught the moment. She didn’t flinch, didn’t slow down. But Lexi saw it first. She was seated in the common room, on the couch, with her arm linked with Bucky’s one. She was laughing at something Tony had said, until she looked up and caught sight of Y/N entering.
Her smile slipped. Just for a second. Just a flicker of fear in her eyes.
And Bucky saw that too. His body tensed, not really knowing why.
He turned slowly, watching Y/N as she passed by, her eyes scanning the room landing on Lexi for a single, ice-cold second before continuing toward the medical bay.
No reaction. No words. Just that look.
And Lexi… She paled.
Not enough to draw attention from the others. Not enough to be obvious, but enough. to realised something in that moment.
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pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: fluff | angst | bucky sad | past dates gone bad | red flag man (not bucky) | smut eventually | reader insufferable (i know i'm sorry)
word count: 2k
summary: Y/N has dates on dates but she’s unhappy, because she can’t find a good man. Maybe she should look elsewhere.
a/n: i really hope people that loved this story in the old account will love it again! Chapter will be longer, this one is the general context of the story. Since i'm not so good describing location, i'll let you know how i see the tower. In my mind is like a hotel with a "receptionist" and an elevator behind like a lobby one. FRIDAY's gonna be ofc part of it. As long as i can tell on reader and Tony, i see them clearly as big brother and annoying sister of like bff with no romantic intentions at all (i kinda thought of Abby and Gibbs in NCIS).
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | epilogue
Silence filled the early evening in the Avengers Tower.
The team was scattered across the common room, Steve flipping through a book, Sam and Natasha half-watching some action movie neither of them cared about, Tony perched at the bar with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, Bucky at the end of the couch glancing at his phone. The mood shifted the moment the elevator let out its familiar ding.
You stepped inside the room with a dramatic sigh that made all heads turn. The black heels in your hand dangled like evidence of a crime scene, your dress slightly rumpled, and your carefully styled hair now pulled into a frustrated bun with a rogue bobby pin.
Tony blinked once. “You’re back early. Did he die at the table?”
“Worse,” you muttered, dropping the heels on the floor. “He talked about crypto for forty straight minutes and then told me to split the bill because he forgot his real wallet in his ‘gym pants’, apparently crypto has a fake wallet online… i don’t know…” You made air quotes with tired fingers. “I don’t have problems with that, but he ordered the most expensive cocktail ever”
Sam winced. “Oof. Not the crypto.” Nat smirked. “And I guess we haven’t even heard the full story yet.”
Steve, ever the gentleman, put his book down and sat up straighter. “You okay?”
You waved a hand. “Just bruised my pride a little. And possibly developed a second-hand allergy to the words ‘blockchain’ and ‘passive income.’”
You flopped onto the couch beside Sam. “He had this… ego. Like the date was an audition. I kept waiting for a hidden camera.”
Tony snorted. “I’d pay to see that footage.”
Natasha leaned in, chin on her hand. “Did he at least compliment you? You looked like you stepped off a Vogue cover when you left.”
You rolled your eyes. “He told me I had ‘alpha female energy’ and then asked if I could tone it down a little, while talking. Said I was ‘a bit much.’” You replied. “I mean I’m not overdressed. Am I?”
There was a collective groan. Even Steve, Mr. Neutral, visibly cringed.
“Okay, that’s it,” Sam said, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it dramatically across the room. “We’re doing it. I’m making a list.”
“A list?” You asked.
“A list,” he confirmed, grabbing a notebook from the coffee table and flipping it open. “Of every guy you’ve been at a first date with, this year. With reasons why they sucked.”
“I love this already,” Natasha said, her eyes lighting up with mischief.
Tony raised his glass. “A toast. To all the morons who failed to recognise a goddess when she walked into their overpriced little restaurants.”
You laughed despite yourself. “You guys are ridiculous.”
“We’re supportive,” Nat corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Steve chuckled, shifting to get a better look. “Alright, let’s hear it. Who was the first?” Sam scribbled dramatically at the top of the page.
‘Y/N’s Hall of Shame’
You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “This is a terrible idea.”
“But it’s happening” Tony declared.
“Okay,” Sam said, tapping the pen to his chin. “Number one: Jacob. The guy who said your job was ‘just a hobby.’”
“Yep,” you muttered. “And asked if I wanted to try something real. Like tech blogs. I am an Avengers for goddess’s sake”
“Off to a flying start,” Steve said, brows raised.
“Number two,” Natasha jumped in. “Nick. The one who tried to neg you into bed.”
You nodded. “Said I had a ‘cute face for someone not model material.’”
Everyone groaned again.
“The worst about Nick, is the fact she actually did give him a chance” Tony said, leaned forward.
“Yeah, alright. Not my best idea. Next?” You replied. “Three. Jason. The guy who wore a velvet blazer and referred to himself in the third person, and talked about his screenplay that doesn’t exist,” you added, holding back laughter.
At the far end of the couch, Bucky hadn’t spoken once. But he was listening every word carefully. You were smiling now, even laughing, but he could see the tired tension in your shoulders. That tiny crack in your voice when you talked about how you “tried.” He hated that you had to try for anyone who wasn’t worth it. He was holding back, again, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something stupid. Because if he opened his mouth, he’d probably confess. Or punch a wall. Natasha caught his glance and gave him a knowing look.
“Last but not least… number four,” Sam went on. “Tom, the current reigning champ of disaster.”
“Finance bro, crypt king, and emotional support man-child,” Tony summarised.
You sighed. “Ordered the most expensive cocktail and even a $90 wine. Then flirted with the bartender when I called the Uber.” Bucky’s jaw tensed.
“And asked you to split the bill” Tony added. You nodded in response.
Steve shook his head, genuinely shocked. “Jeez, he did all that in one night?”
“Guys… do you think I’m broken or maybe I’m the problem?” you said, laughing, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Either this or my taste in men is cursed.”
“You’re not broken,” Steve said gently.
“Definitely not,” Natasha echoed.
“You’re just looking in the wrong places,” Sam added.
There was a beat of silence. A soft one.
You stood up from the couch, going toward the big open kitchen for a glass of water “Four dates in a year, and I’m still single…” You said, reaching the kitchen island keep talking by yourself.
Tony finished his drink, then pointed his glass at Bucky. “So, Barnes. Care to explain why you haven’t made a move on my best friend?” He whispered, so quietly that you can’t hear it in the kitchen.
Bucky blinked. “What?” He replied, scarred you heard. You didn’t hear him.
Steve raised an eyebrow, watching Bucky like a scientist observing a particularly slow experiment. “You’ve been pining over her for six months.”
“Seven,” Nat corrected.
“Nah… eight,” Tony said smugly. “I checked the Tower security cams. First recorded heart-eyes was February.”
Bucky groaned, running a hand over his face. “You guys need hobbies.”
“This is our hobby,” Sam grinned. “Watching you implode silently every time she walks into a room.”
“She’s been through so many idiots,” Steve said seriously. “And all she really wants is someone who listens. Who sees her.”
“She deserves better,” Bucky muttered, his voice low.
“Then be the better she deserved,” Nat said bluntly. “You already are.”
He glanced toward the kitchen, you were sipping from a glass staring at your reflection in the microwave door like it held answers. He loved you. Maybe too much. Maybe it was his undoing. But every time he thought about telling you, he remembered the parade of men you’d tried with and how tired your eyes looked each time they failed.
“She needs someone who doesn’t play games,” Steve added.
“She needs you,” Tony said, standing. “But you’ve gotta stop watching from the bench.”
Bucky sighed and let his head fall back against the couch. “What if she doesn’t want me?”
Sam threw a pillow at him. “Then at least you’ll know. But what if she does?” He didn’t answer. Hearing your footsteps, they all went silence again.
You returned, throwing yourself back onto the couch with an exaggerated groan. “…you know what’s the worst in this situation? Nick was kinda the best one.” You added.
“The least bad maybe.” Tony said, mocking you.
“Okay, fine.” You said.
Tony clinked his glass. “To the list. May it grow no longer.”
“That list is the most therapeutic thing I’ve done all week.” You looked around at all of them, smiling grateful and a little embarrassed, but touched. Your eyes landed on Bucky for a beat longer than usual. He looked away too fast. “You guys are too good to me.”
Bucky’s hand twitched against the cushion. It took every ounce of self-control not to reach for yours.
Later that night, when you said goodnight and disappeared down the hall, the room fell quiet. You took the list with you, and once in your bedroom you put it on your desk. In the living room, while you were upstairs, Steve looked at Bucky. Tony just raised an eyebrow. Natasha crossed her arms.
Sam shrugged. “Tick tock, Tin Man. She’s not gonna wait forever.”
And Bucky sat there in silence, the list echoing in his mind, wondering if maybe, just maybe, it was finally his chance.
pairing: bucky barnes x novelist!fem!reader
warnings: established relationship | hurt (a little) | self doubt | fluff
word count: 1160
summary: Bucky and Y/N are dating. They live two different lives, but it works. She’s a novelist, he’s the hero with a terrible past.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
Mornings with Bucky Barnes were simple, safe and quiet even. No noises around her except for the soft humming of the coffee machine and the occasional creak of wooden floorboards under his weight. Life with him wasn’t perfect, but to you, it felt like peace after a lifetime of war. The apartment near the Avengers Facility had become your sanctuary.
Bucky woke before you did, as he always did. Muscle memory, he’d said once. It didn’t matter how comfortable the bed was or how late he’d gone to sleep, his body just remembered.
The morning sun spilled over the bed like honey when he leaned in, brushing his lips against your bare shoulder.
“Still sleeping, doll?” he murmured, voice rough with sleep but laced with affection. You made a vague sound, a half-sigh, half-grumble, and he smiled.
He slipped out from under the covers and padded toward the kitchen. Within minutes, the aroma of coffee filled the apartment. He worked quietly, setting out the pastries you’d bought the day before from the little bakery two blocks down, your favourite. You’d been working so hard on your next manuscript that he thought you deserved the treat.
By the time you realized the bed beside you had gone cold, you blinked awake and instinctively reached toward the empty space. A second later, you caught the scent of Colombian roast and melted sugar.
“Hey,” you greeted as you appeared in the kitchen, still in his T-shirt, rubbing your eyes.
Bucky turned, holding a mug toward you like an offering. “Hey, sweetheart. Figured I’d let you sleep in.” You smiled, grateful. After a few lazy bites of pastry and sleepy kisses over coffee, he pulled on his gear and strapped on his gloves.
“I should be back for dinner,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Sam said it’s nothing major. Just training the new recruits.”
“Alright. I might go write at that bar I like you know, the one with the annoying neon sign and those awful stools that kill my back but somehow make me feel creative?”
He laughed. “I know the one.”
You kissed him again, lingering just long enough to make him consider staying. But he eventually left, murmuring promises to pick up dinner on the way home.
Once the door closed behind him, you stretched your arms above your head, took a shower, and started prepping your workbag. Before leaving you sat down at your laptop to scribble something from a napkin you use the day before, when the idea suddenly come into your mind.
“Reasons to Leave Him”
It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t about Bucky. The idea came to you while thinking about your relationship with Bucky. Of course, he had in common with the protagonist the fact that he hadn’t yet fully opened, but who could blame him with everything he’d been through? Having taken all the strengths and best characteristics of Bucky, you wrote down that list with everything opposite of him.
Your female main character, a woman who’d been too blind for too long, clinging to a man who didn’t see her needed to understand about leaving the male main character that you create.
You typed them quickly, like ripping off a band-aid:
Doesn’t talk about his feelings a lot
Inconsistent effort
Jealousy and control
Only love an idealized version of you
You saved it to your project folder and left, completely forgetting it existed.
Bucky came home earlier than he’d expected, and the apartment was quiet when Bucky got home.
There’d been a change of plans, one of the recruits had broken an ankle during training, so they’d wrapped up the day early. He picked up takeout anyway, stopping at your favourite place, thinking maybe he’d surprise you. You might already be home, sprawled on the couch, working in that weird way you did, one sock on and hair up staring at your screen like you were reading someone’s mind.
But the place was still. Empty. Like the apartment itself was holding its breath. He set his keys down and toed off his boots, trying to shake the strange weight in his chest. He told himself you were probably just out at the bar you liked, scribbling notes on napkins again like you always did when inspiration struck, and your hands couldn’t wait for your laptop.
Then, he walked toward your desk, half-thinking of leaving you a sticky note like you always did for him.
That’s when he saw the napkin on the desk.
“Reasons to Leave Him.”
His gut dropped before his heart could catch up. He read every word. Then read it again. And again.
He stood there for what felt like an hour, the food going cold on the counter, his breath uneven.
You had written it. And even if it was just for yourself, you’d written it.
There were only four lines. Written in your handwriting. Sharp. Rushed. Like something you had to get out before it ate you alive.
Doesn’t talk about his feelings a lot
Inconsistent effort
Jealousy and control
Only love an idealized version of you
Bucky stared. At first, he didn’t even breathe. Just stared. It was a list. He knew what kind of list it was. He wasn’t stupid. It was about him. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slow. Heavy.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes kept drifting back to the words like they had teeth.
Doesn’t talk about his feelings? he tried. God, he tried. But sometimes his thoughts were so loud in his own head, and silence was the only way to survive them.
Inconsistent effort? maybe he hadn’t been showing up the way he thought he was. Maybe the coffee in the mornings and holding your hand at night wasn’t enough when he spent whole days avoiding eye contact and brushing off your questions with grunts.
Jealousy and control? his jaw clenched at that one. He hated that you might feel watched, like he didn’t trust you. That wasn’t what he meant. But maybe the way he bristled when strangers talked to you too long had started to feel like something darker. But then he thought about that bastard who allowed himself to whistle after you in the street, and five people including you had to stop him
Only love an idealized version of you? that one hurt the most. Because you knew him. Not the soldier. Not the mask. Him. The broken parts and the buried shame and the haunted quiet. And if you thought he only loved a version of you…
Then what had he done to make you feel like that? He folded the napkin carefully, like it was something fragile. Then he sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. And waited for you to come home. Because something had shifted. And he couldn’t let you keep carrying the weight of this story alone.
pairing: chubby!bucky barnes x popular!fem!reader
warnings: fluff | bucky's nerdy and chubby (it's a warning) | kinda instant attraction | college universe
word count: 3.4k
summary: Bucky Barnes, the chubby and handsome nerdy boy in the campus and Y/N the popular and stunning it girl one day cross their path.
a/n: little premise; this prequel came out much later than the story so i tried to make it fit in the context and the plot. Sorry if there are some things wrong!
prequel | part 1 | part 2 | part 3
The smell of coffee and coconut hair masks hung heavy in the apartment as you shuffled into the kitchen, hoodie half-zipped, still blinking sleep from your eyes.
“Morning, princess,” Nat said without looking up from the counter, where she was slicing an aggressively green avocado. “John didn’t text you back again, huh?”
You sighed and flopped into the nearest chair, letting your head fall to the table with a dramatic thud. “Can I get five minutes before we start the daily roast?”
“Not when you’re dating an extra from a frat boy disaster movie,” Wanda chimed in from the couch, remote in hand still in her fluffy socks and a messy bun that somehow looked deliberate.
“His name is John,” you muttered into the table.
Nat smirked. “We know. We just choose to forget.”
“He’s not that bad,” you argued but even you didn’t sound convinced.
Last night, he’d bailed on movie night again to go “review plays” with the team, which you all knew was code for bar-hopping and ego-inflation.
Wanda threw a pillow at you, gentle but pointed. “You’re you. Smart, hot and cool. And he’s… a walking chin. Like... I’ve met goldfish with more depth.”
You lifted your head, glaring playfully. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.”
Nat dropped a piece of avocado toast in front of you, a peace offering. “We’re not trying to be mean, babe. We just think you could be with someone who doesn’t talk about protein shakes more than your actual day.”Your phone buzzed beside you.
Sorry babe, got practice this morning
Your heart sank and Nat saw it before you could hide it. “That was this morning’s excuse?” She asked quietly. You nodded, poking the toast. “He says he’s just busy lately.”
“Busy’s one thing,” Wanda said, suddenly soft. “Making you feel like a side quest in his campaign to win MVP? Not okay.”
You let out a long breath, unsure if it was frustration or relief. Because deep down… maybe you agreed.
You were half-speed walking, half-scrolling through your texts trying not to overanalyse the third one-word reply from John that morning.
Cool.
That was it.
Your thumb hovered over your keyboard, mentally drafting a witty but not-too-needy response.
Thud.
Your shoulder hit something solid and warm. “Oh, what the hell!” You snapped instinctively looking up, your temper flaring first and then froze.
It wasn’t just any guy.
He had thick-rimmed glasses, pushed slightly askew. His brown hair was tousled like he’d run a hand through it ten too many times and he had the kind of soft, rounded cheeks that looked unfairly adorable paired with a jawline that still somehow managed to be sharp. His hoodie was oversized and covered in some obscure sci-fi reference and he clutched a folder to his chest like you’d just tackled him.
His eyes big, nervous, blue blinked behind his glasses. “Oh my god, I am so sorry!” He said quickly, voice low and laced with panic. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, are you okay? I didn’t break your phone, did I?”
You blinked.
You were supposed to be mad.
You wanted to be mad but instead, your mouth went a little dry. “I-uh-no, I’m fine. Totally fine. It was my fault.” You laughed, awkwardly brushing your hair out of your face. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Texting while walking. Classic hazard.”
He looked relieved, but still a little shy. His cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink. “Still, I should’ve seen you. I get too into reading while I walk sometimes,” he said holding up a book wedged between his folder and arm. “Terrible habit. Almost walked into a tree last week.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Well, trees are less forgiving than people.”
His lips twitched into a grin soft, sweet and genuine. You almost dropped your phone. Because in that moment your world, your whole perfectly polished popularity-coded campus life tilted. And you had no idea why your heart was suddenly beating faster than when John kissed you.
The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos trays clattering, laughter echoing. Someone trying and failing to discreetly microwave fish. You slid into your usual seat across from Nat and Wanda, tray in hand, eyes distant. Wanda barely looked up from her smoothie. “You’re late. John finally decided to grace you with his presence?”
You poked at your salad half-heartedly. “Didn’t see John.”
Nat raised a brow. “Okay… Then why do you look like someone dropped you into a romantic daydream playlist?”
You hesitated biting your lip before glancing down, trying, failing, to keep your voice neutral. “I just… kinda bumped into someone. Literally.”
Nat set down her fork. “Oh?”
You shrugged, eyes fixed on your tray. “He was cute. Not a big deal or anything.”
Wanda leaned in, eyes narrowing. “What kind of cute?”
“I don’t know,” you muttered, instantly regretting saying anything. “Soft-cute. Glasses. Hoodie. Chubby. Just… kind of adorable in this, like, anxious golden retriever way.”
There was a beat of silence and then Nat grinned. “You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You so are,” Wanda said, pointing. “Right there. That dreamy corner-of-the-mouth thing you do when you’re trying not to smile.”
“I don’t even know his name,” you mumbled, cheeks heating. “It’s not a thing. I just… ran into him.”
Nat leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Ran into him and now you’re low-key glowing.”
“It’s nothing!” You insisted but your voice cracked halfway through and Wanda snorted.
“Oh, babe,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve got a crush.”
You buried your face in your hands. “I don’t even know his name!”
“Don’t worry,” Nat said smugly, sipping her iced coffee like she already knew the ending. “You will.”
You were just about to change the subject, desperately, when a shadow fell over your table. You didn’t have to look up. That high-pitched fake-innocent voice gave it away. “Well, well, well…”
Sharon Carter.
Queen of side-eyes, platinum highlights and weaponized whispers. She folded her arms over her designer crop top like she was about to deliver a TED Talk in cruelty. “I saw you earlier,” she said, eyes locked on you with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Walking through North Hall, right?”
You sat up a little straighter, sensing the trap but unsure where the jaws would snap. “Yeah? So?” You replied, tone as flat as your patience.
Sharon glanced at Nat and Wanda for added effect because of course she was performing then back at you. “I just thought it was so cute the way you bumped into that guy. You know… that guy.”
Nat cocked an eyebrow. “You mean the guy she accidentally walked into because she was texting? Like humans do?” Wanda tilted her head.
“Or is this about how your blood sugar drops every time someone else gets attention?” Sharon rolled her eyes, ignoring them entirely. “I’m just saying… he didn’t really look like your type. Kinda looked like he coded the lunch menu for fun. You sure you’re not slumming it?”
You felt your jaw tense. And with that, she spun on her heel and walked off like she owned the cafeteria. You exhaled, heart thudding. You picked up your drink, still watching where Sharon disappeared down the hall. “…I really want to know his name.”
You were still mid-sip of your iced coffee, muttering something about how Sharon could fall into a fountain and you wouldn’t blink, when Wanda suddenly sat up straight. “Wait!” She said, cutting you off with a gasp. “I know him.”
You blinked. “What?”
Nat turned, too. “What do you mean you know him?”
Wanda pointed at you, her eyes lighting up with that I-just-put-it-together gleam. “The guy you bumped into. Glasses? Kinda shy? Nerdy sweater that looked like it came from a comic book closet?”
You nodded slowly, heart skipping. Wanda grinned. “That’s Bucky Barnes.”
You froze. “Bucky?” You repeated, the name slipping from your mouth like a secret you didn’t know you’d been waiting to say.
“Yep,” Wanda confirmed, now scrolling through her phone like she was checking receipts. “He’s in my comp lit seminar. Super quiet. Kinda mumbles when he talks, but like… in a cute way. I’ve seen him carrying around Dune and Howl’s Moving Castle at the same time.”
Nat raised a brow. “A man of culture.”
Wanda smirked. “And also? Ridiculously smart. Like, professor’s favorite kind of smart. He’s always tutoring someone in the library. I think he works at the help desk part-time.”
You sat there in stunned silence, your heart doing cartwheels behind your ribs. “Bucky Barnes…” you whispered again, just to feel how it sounded. And damn, it sounded good.
Wanda glanced at you, then nudged your arm. “Y’know, if you’re so desperate to run into him again… I can accidentally drag you past the comp lit wing tomorrow.”
Nat grinned wickedly. “Or we could just stage a fake study emergency at the library. You, a broken laptop, tragic academic tears…”
You laughed, but you could already feel the gears turning in your brain.
Bucky Barnes.
Now you had a name. And suddenly, this crush didn’t feel so accidental anymore. In a little part of your brain appeared the image of John. You easily erased it.
The library was quiet the kind of quiet that made every page flip sound like a cannon blast. You wandered through the rows with your laptop clutched to your chest and a very fake look of focus plastered on your face.
Totally normal.
Totally chill.
Just a girl… searching for a table. Definitely not stalking a certain soft-looking boy with glasses and a sci-fi hoodie.
Then you saw him. Far end of the library, near the windows seated alone at a wide table, hunched over a thick binder and a mechanical pencil he twirled between his fingers. His glasses slid a little down his nose as he read, eyebrows scrunched in concentration.
God, he was cute.
You adjusted your bag, cleared your throat (for no one but yourself) and started walking over like it was the most natural thing in the world. You stopped a few feet away, pretending to scan the area. “Hey… is anyone sitting here?”
Bucky looked up, startled at first like he never expected anyone to voluntarily approach his personal corner of the library. He blinked, then shook his head quickly. “No! I mean uh no, no one’s sitting here. It’s all yours.”
You smiled and slid into the seat across from him, trying to seem casual while your heart practically climbed out of your chest. “Thanks. All the other tables are kinda… full.”
Lie.
He nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Yeah. Gets crowded before midterms. People panic-studying.”
You opened your laptop, screen still dark. “Totally. I mean, I’m not panicking. I’m just… preparing.”
He smiled softly, barely but enough to make your stomach flutter. A pause. Then he glanced over, tilting his head. “Wait… you’re the girl from the hallway, right?”
You looked up, pretending surprise. “Oh my God I didn’t recognize you without my phone in my face.”
He laughed under his breath, that shy but deep kind of laugh that made his shoulders shake just a little. “Yeah, I… uh… meant to say I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried I knocked you over or something.”
You smiled. “Nah, you didn’t. Though I might’ve lost a few brain cells from the sheer impact of how cute your hoodie was.”
He blinked, flustered. “W-what?”
You grinned and tapped your keys like nothing had happened. “Nothing. Just saying I liked the reference.”
He stared for a second, cheeks flushing the softest pink, before glancing down at his notes again definitely not reading them now.
“Bucky.”
“Y/N.”
You hadn’t even opened a textbook, but suddenly? The library was your new favorite place.
The door hadn’t even clicked shut behind you before Nat’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Well? Did you accidentally study with your dreamboat, or what?”
You kicked off your shoes, trying to hide the way you were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “We… sat at the same table.”
Wanda peeked around the corner with a bag of chips in hand. “And?”
“And talked. A little.”
Nat narrowed her eyes like a bloodhound on a scent. “And?”
You plopped down on the couch, laptop bag still slung across your shoulder. “He remembered me. From the hallway. He was really sweet. Like… awkward and soft and funny without even trying.”
Wanda threw herself dramatically next to you. “God, I love that for you.”
You leaned your head back against the cushion, still dazed. “It’s just… different. It didn’t feel like I had to act like someone I’m not. I didn’t feel like I was being watched or judged or like I was on some invisible scoreboard.”
That quiet hung in the air for a beat. Then Nat leaned on the back of the couch behind you and asked, voice low and knowing. “And John?”
You groaned. “I don’t know. I mean… we’re supposed to go to his party this weekend. But it’s like I show up and look cute, I laugh at his teammates’ dumb jokes and he barely even notices I’m there unless someone else is.”
Nat snorted. “So… like a human prop.”
Wanda nodded solemnly. “The cutest accessory in his lineup.”
You looked down at your hands. “What should I do?”
Nat didn’t hesitate. “Dump that idiot.” You looked up. “Seriously,” she continued, coming around the couch and flopping into the armchair like it was a throne. “You and Bucky? You’d be so much better. He sees you. Actually sees you.”
Wanda gave a little smirk. “And he looks at you like you invented air and... you know him since last week...” She laughed about it.
Your heart fluttered painfully. You buried your face in a throw pillow.
Nat grinned. “I say ditch the quarterback and start crushing on the real MVP.”
You let out a muffled groan from behind the pillow. “You guys are evil.”
Wanda tossed a chip at you. “We’re right. That’s worse.”
Months had passed since that first library moment. You still weren’t with Bucky not even close but he was lodged in your life now like a secret you didn’t want to let go of. You studied near him every chance you got.
Shared snacks.
Swapped jokes.
Texted, sometimes late into the night and every time he pushed his glasses up his nose with that shy little smile, your heart did something ridiculous.
You also joined his Shakespeare’s club. And you talked about him. A lot.
“Jesus, you’ve got it bad,” Nat had said once.
Wanda hadn’t even looked up from her mug. “She’s in love.” You didn’t deny it. Not anymore. But then the party happened. It was supposed to be nothing John’s big win party after the game, same crowd, same noise, same lukewarm beer.
You showed up out of obligation more than interest. You’d spent most of the week talking with Bucky in the library anyway. The comparison between them had become almost painful. And that night… the final nail. You found him in the upstairs bathroom. Not sick. Not drunk. With another girl. You didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just… stood there, watching him tug his shirt back down, face twisted in guilt he wore like a costume.
“I can explain,” he said, like that ever worked.
You just stared at him. Something in you cracked clean in half, and you didn’t wait for the rest. You left. Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t even look back.
When you got home, Nat and Wanda barely let you speak before Wanda shoved a blanket over your shoulders and Nat muttered, “Told you so,” before hugging you tight. You didn’t cry that night.
Around the same time, campus was buzzing with rumors. Sharon, the school’s platinum-blonde hurricane of passive aggression had done something… different. She’d been seen sneaking out of the dorms one night, smudged lipstick and a smug little smile. And then? She told people. All the wrong people.
“Some guy,” she said. “Wasn’t even a big deal. Thought he’d be fun. He was… okay, I guess.”
But what hit everyone wrong wasn’t just the way she brushed it off it was how she laughed about it. Like he was beneath her. Like it was a joke. But no one knew who the guy was. Whoever it was? He never spoke up. Never came forward. Just faded further into the background, swallowed up by the whispers and shame.
“Alright, Y/N,” Wanda began arms crossed and eyes gleaming like she was about to unleash a master plan. You looked up from your phone, suspicious. “Now it’s time to do something.”
“Like?”
“Like inviting out the hot nerdy guy.”
Your eyes went wide. “Are you mad? I cannot just invite him out.”
“Oh, I didn’t know Y/N Y/L/N was a coward…” Wanda teased, grinning like she already had this in the bag.
“I’m not!” you shot back, trying to sound braver than you felt.
“Then prove it.” She pulled out her phone, flashing a smug smile. “Ten bucks says you invite him over. I already made a bet with Maria you know, the girl in my science class? The one who totally has a crush on Bucky too.”
You stared at her like she was joking. She wasn’t. “Deal,” you said, surprising even yourself.
Wanda whooped and punched your arm lightly. “That’s my girl. Now go get him.” You could already feel the butterflies but this time, you weren’t running from them.
Later that night, you were lying in bed, your mind racing through every possible way to ask Bucky out without sounding like a complete dork.
Meanwhile in the living room, Nat glanced over at Wanda, eyebrows raised. “Isn’t Maria… you know, lesbian?” Nat asked quietly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Wanda smirked, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, but she didn’t know that. She needs a guy like Bucky in her life, and maybe the idea of competition is what she needs.”
They shared a quiet laugh.
You spotted Bucky sitting in his usual corner of the cafeteria, tucked away but not hidden, head bent over his notebook.
The chatter around him swirled like a storm, but he seemed wrapped up in his own little world. With iced coffee in one hand and a racing heart, you walked over. His shoulders hunched instinctively when you stopped beside him, and he adjusted his glasses, fingers tightening around his tray like it was an anchor. The cafeteria was loud. A world so loud and vibrant, it seemed like it belonged to everyone but him.
You smiled, breaking through his bubble. “Hey, can I sit?”
He blinked, surprised, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure.” Sliding into the seat across from him, you balanced your iced coffee like it was no big deal but inside, you were buzzing. “You should sit with me more often,” you said casually letting your eyes roam over his soft features. The way his cheeks flushed faintly or the shy glint behind those glasses.
Handsome in that quietly earnest way only a few noticed. Then, leaning in a little, you added, “Actually… wanna grab a coffee? Like, just us?”
He blinked, processing the words as if they were a secret code. “Wait, seriously?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You tilted your head, lips curling into a teasing smile, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Unless you think I’m joking.”
He hesitated then slowly smiled back the kind of smile that started in his eyes and spread shyly across his face. “I’d like that,” he said softly.
And just like that, the noise around you both faded into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of possibility.
Summary : Steve kemp after his morning runs is the most mesmerising thing ever
Warnings : 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (m. rec.), a little dirty talk, allusions to kidnapping, stolkholm syndrome (like the worst case okay, reader is like way too obsessed with him, she needs to be sent to an asylum atp), dom-sub dynamics, Steve kemp is a munch, use of nickname (bunny….@singulartoast will not be happy about this lmao. I was thinking of you when I used that nickname toastyyy), and like other freaky stuff scattered here and there, and a liiittle plot twist in the end (nothing scary or graphic. just some……wordplay)
Word Count : 2.5k
A/N : Sebastian stan as Steve kemp is the hottest thing to ever exist. Period.
More A/N : Guys this is FREAKY like freaky freaky. I do not know what consumed me when I wrote this. Actually I do know it was this gif but holy shit was I on a roll. This whole thing was written and edited in less than an hour. I literally dropped studies to write it.
And boy do I know there's something wrong with me for loving this freaky little thing so fucking much. (Tagging @venigrantrogers out of spite coz she fears steve kemp 😈)
The day is bright and sunny as you peek outside from the kitchen window. Your eyes lingering on the walkway that leads to the porch to keep an eye out for your oncoming captor.
Steve would be back any minute from his run and you need to have breakfast ready by the time he reaches home. Its not everyday you get to roam freely in this house. Well almost freely given that everything else but kitchen and the living room and the bathroom is inaccessible but hey, you dont need to be handcuffed to follow his rules.
You're complacent with what steve gives you and knowing its always more than what the other girls get….well it makes you happy to say the least.
You plate the scrambled eggs, humming slightly as you go wondering if he'd love it and take you out on a date some night. You're garnishing it with a little spring onion and coriander for that refreshing mouthfeel when you hear the lock click at the front door followed by heavy steps that lead him to the kitchen.
You look up from the plate not wanting to miss the surprised look on his face at the spread you've cooked. Eggs, and toast, hashbrows and beans, grilled tomatoes and orange juice and you know its everything he likes. But your plan to note the surprise on his face falls flat immediately when your eyes land on him.
If you think steve kemp is hot, steve kemp after his run is a weapon of mass destruction.
Broad shoulders in that tight compression shirt that should be illegal, tiny running shorts that flare slightly around his thighs. It would be so easy to just slide your hand in through that flared bottom. His gloriously soft and fluffy hair falling slightly into his eyes. The veins in his arms that bulge ever so slightly as he plucks out a water bottle from the fridge and gulps greedily.
You track the droplet of sweat that runs from his temple down his throat just as he swallows, making his adam's apple bob every once in a while.
You gulp. God. This man is beautiful. It doesn't matter if he's practically a criminal or that he violates basic human rights or that he has practically kidnapped you. All that you know is that you're his favourite and that maybe he brought you here forcibly but you're staying here because it's your own choice.
Delusion pro max.
“What's so captivating, bunny?” He raises a brow as he watches you stare at him.
“You” your answer is honest and it makes him chuckle.
“Yeah?” He stalks forward, a palm landing at your hip, right above your ass and suddenly you're ovulating “You're in a mood. Aren't you?” He teases, a finger coming up to trace the line of your bottom lip.
“But I'm so tired, bunny” you don't miss the glint of mischief in his eyes and his sly smirk as he continues to tease you “I've been running so long. I think a need a little rest.”
He walks slighlty backward but you grab his hand, putting it back at its righteous place on your waist as you push yourself closer to him.
“No, please.” Your hand finds his cheek, wiping slightly at the sweaty skin “Don't go. Let me take care of you. I even cooked breakfast.” He glances at the dining table and his smirk widens “And I dressed up nice for you” you motion at the cute sundress you've adorned for him. Its the colour you know he likes on you.
“Let me take care of you, please. I'll be so good” you urge, clasping one of his hand in both of yours bringing it to your lips and kissing it chastely.
It only takes a second of you smiling shyly at him for his mouth to land on yours. His hand cups the back of your neck, angling it to his liking as he deepens the kiss.
The hand on your waist pulls you roughly into him and you feel the hard line of his cock against your abdomen. Making you gasp in his mouth. He swallows the sound like its his favourite thing to do.
Your hands are splayed into his messy hair. Tugging the long strands between your fingers as he sucks and nips at your lower lip. You shudder, moaning loudly when his teeth sink deeper and draw blood. He soothes the sting repeatedly with a slow drag of his tongue.
He pulls away a second later, to admire his handiwork. Your lower lip is swollen and bleeding just a little from where he bit into it. You're still breathless when his hands find your shoulders, pushing you lower “On your knees for me bunny”
You drop down, knees to the carpet, without a second’s delay and he makes a low sound of approval somewhere deep in his throat as your hands slowly trail up the smooth skin of his thighs.
Your mouth worships his knee first, kissing softly working its way up his chiseled thigh. The muscles feeling more corded under your palms from the work he has put them through with his run.
You don't leave his other leg untouched as t
Your mouth worships one. Your soft palm making its way up and up until it brushes the flared bottom of his running shorts. You don't resist sneaking your way in. But not touching quite where he wants it.
Your grip remains firm on his upper thigh as your mouth laps and kisses its way up stopping just short of where his shorts end. And as if on cue, a sharp pull of your hair makes you look up at him.
“You're teasing me?” He raises a brow at you as if it's a felony. What's so wrong about it? He teases you all the time. Sometimes long enough to make you cry and beg all pretty. You want him to know you can do it too.
“Bunny” the warning in his tone is sharp when you don't answer back.
“I'm sorry” you pout “I just—I want to take my time with you” you press a kiss on his clothed cock for emphasis making his hips twitch ever so slightly. But his hold on your hair doesn't loosen. It isn't hurting, but its tight enough that he can yank you up and call this off if he wants to.
But he doesn't. Because you're his favourite “Aw look at you going all sweet on me” His grip loosens as his palm traces your cheek then your lips “What's up with you today, bun?”
There's a note of concern in his voice that one could mistake with indifference very easily. But you know him so well. You know he only calls you bun when he's really soft for you. You know you have to worry when your real name slips out instead of his nickname for you because he only says it when he's mad. Which reminds you it's a good thing that hasn't happened in over a year.
You're doing so good.
Your eyes water slightly due to the dedication you have for him “I just want you to be happy with me.” You lean against his leg and the hand caressing your head appears in an instant. “I don't want you going to all those girls. I want me to be your only one. And I want you just for myself.” You look into his eyes for emphasis “All mine”
His hand never stops stroking your hair as he speaks “I'm all yours bun. You know it.” He grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger tipping your head towards him “And I am happy with you. You're so good to me. I can never be mad at my bunny”
You smile at that. Real and instant and all consuming. It brings out one of those amused little smiles from him that he gives you every once in a while but its never enough, you always want to see it.
Your fingers curl in the hem of his shorts and you tug them down in one swift motion, throwing them aside as you take your time looking at his glorious cock.
You drool at the sight of him. Its tinged pink for you and leaking slightly, making heat pool low in your belly as you lean in, kissing the side of his shaft, licking the sensitive underside but cruelly ignoring the tip of him that begs for your attention.
He groans at the feel of your tongue against him. Whining in protest when you avoid the most sensitive part of him yet again.
“No more teasing, baby” he warns and your mouth closes around the head of his cock. Suckling and licking, and the sound he makes goes straight to your core.
You let your teeth graze against him just slightly, making him moan out loud and you take it as an achievement it is because steve kemp never moans out loud. Its always low grunts and groans of approval. But this sound…gosh its pure fucking heaven.
“You really are feeling brave today aren't you, bunny?” He sounds breathless as you look up at him through your lashes watching his eyes squeeze shut as you hum around him.
“Maybe I'll just have to teach you a lesson afterwards then, huh?” The warning sends shocks of pleasure through your body. The last time he gave you a similar warning he ended up spending the entire night in your bed. So the lesson is very much welcome.
You work him in slowly, alternating between little kitten licks and harsh sucks as you try to take all of him in your mouth. “Maybe I should just tie you to the bed. Put you through the same torture you're putting me through and then you'll know”
When you hum around him again, agreeing to being tied up for him while he eats you out, his tip hits the back of your throat, which constricts when you hum, choking his cock and bringing out thr delicious sounds you've never got to hear from him.
You make note of every movement, every sound you entice out of him, noting it down so you can use it to your advantage the next time. Maybe if he's happy enough, he'll let you move into his room.
Not that your room is bad. Its pretty. Really pretty. He has used that wallpaper you like with little lemons across it and there's always fresh flowers in your vase because he knows you love them. But its still lonely. Coz steve is hardly ever around.
Hanging out and watching movies in your room isn't his thing. He's either there to fuck or to summon you to his room, or to drop you off after he has cooked and fed you lavish dinners.
He watches you squirm at his threat, unaware of the scene playing out in your head as he chuckles amusedly “you want that, bun? Want me to tie you up?”
You nod slightly, taking him deeper until the blunt head of him hits the back of your throat, making you gag “Easy, baby. Don't try to take it all in one go. I'm too big for your little mouth” He reassures, letting you work him at a pace of your liking.
You wrap your hand around what you cannot take, stroking him in the same rhythm your mouth is working in.
You start to bob your head gently at first, then faster when you feel his hand grip your hair harder, his thigh tightens where you're holding it with your free hand, nails digging into the soft flesh there.
You resist the urge to sink your teeth into the smooth skin of his thighs and focus on the sounds spilling out of him as your head bobs faster.
He groans and grunts and curses as he feels himself on the edge. A few more strokes of your hand and your warm wet mouth working around him is all it takes for him to spill down your throat with a breathy “Fuck”
You swallow. Before sitting back on your haunches and just looking at him. God, he looks so good. All sweaty and wrecked and half naked for you. All yours. You're never going to let him go.
“Fuck, bunny” he says when he has catched his breath. “You've ruined me. Didn't know you could do that” He pulls you up and you stand on surprisingly steady legs after unravelling him.
“I can do so much more than that” you wink, feeling rather proud.
“Oh yeah?” he laughs “Confident much aren't we” He teases. But before you can laugh his mouth is on yours.
His skin is flushed slightly rosy when he pulls away “My turn now”
You loosen the leash on his mind just slightly—wanting him to be a little more feral than usual today, as he picks you up and carries you to his bedroom—But not enough that he realises, you're not the one captive here….
You said it, didn't you? He's all yours. You're never letting him go.
Even more A/N : Guys if you want to read more of steve kemp x witch reader, let me know. I have ideas for them…wink wink…
Dividers by @diviniyae
Tagging my known Steve kemp girlies @phoenix-in-writing @buckysdecaflove @buckybsdoll I love how we're the same level of freaky 😉
I have no idea who else to tag in this one so let me know if you want to be added to the taglist
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Bucky who doesn’t know how to take naps x gf!reader who’s soooo sleepy all the time, always curled up on the nearest couch or in bed and fast asleep. Bucky who is always bewildered, but he likes to see you rest, anyway. (Before, in days so olden he barely remembers them, he used to indulge in naps, too—back when his sleep was dreamless and easy, a brief stretch of reprieve instead of just another place to be haunted by. But even then, he never slept as much as you did, or for as long). Your favorite spot to lay your head is often his thigh, warm and wide. It makes him feel involved, somehow, even though he can’t join you past the thin barrier of sleep; he feels your breaths soak through the threads of his sweatpants, the loose grip of your fingers curled around his knee. It calms him, to see you so at peace. You sleep like he’s the safest place you can be, all the weight of a trusting child leant against his side. You could sleep too, you tell him. Just close your eyes. But he knows he can’t. His body doesn’t know how to do it anymore. But sometimes, you’re insistent, and so sometimes, he indulges you and lets his eyes fall closed.
He never sleeps, but every once in a while, he’d feel himself drift, jolting awake to the shift of your body against his, your fingers curling into his shirt, your hair tickling his chin. And Bucky would go on closing his eyes, in case it happens again
summary: you feel comfortable enough going to bucky when your pms is bring you you down. you aren’t prepared to bleed on his sheets.
warnings: this is my first fanfic so that’s something to be wary off. this is just fluffy comfortability with best friends in love.
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You were a couple days away from your period, and the time before your period is always hard. You get anxious, tearful, and an overall feeling of blah. Like there’s a disconnect between your brain and your body.
When you get this way it can be hard to find comfort in anything. You just have to sift through these days with that heavy feeling on your bones.
Tonight was hard—you felt small, weepy, and torn. You didn’t want to bother Bucky, but you longed just to be with him. Ever since you two became friends, something about his presence made you feel…still.
Still in the way your thoughts aren’t all jumbled and racing, but clear and smooth. Still, like sitting on the beach—feeling the wind rustle through your clothes, hearing the ocean creating white noise—and all you do is just enjoy the present moment.
Your friendship with Bucky was not automatic by any means. He is the way he is, so of course he was guarded, closed off, constant grump face. Slowly, you chipped away at his walls. You were yourself to a fault, and Bucky couldn’t help being sucked into your orbit.
He became looser around you—he’d crack a dry joke instead of just grunting in response, he let himself smile instead of pretending your jokes annoyed him.
Your bond grew over time—small jokes became easy banter, smiles became full laughs. You got to see his charming goofy side, and he got to see your quiet soft side. Late night talks on the balcony overlooking the lake—learning about each other’s deepest struggles, happiest memories, biggest fears.
You two became very close. Always looking out for one another, knowing when the other is feeling off. You were never bored when together, even if you’re just in the same room doing separate tasks. Sure you could annoy the crap out of each other, but you’d also be protective and caring for each other at the same moment.
On bad nights, you two would find solace in each other’s rooms. Bucky had more of those night than you. Tonight wasn’t even that bad—you just didn’t want to be alone.
You wrap your favorite blanket around your shoulders, and quietly shuffle down the hallway to his room. It’s not late, but you still knock softly just in case he could actually sleep tonight.
Bucky is propped up against his headboard reading ‘The Great Gatsby’, he’s been trying to read the modern classics he’s missed out on. His gaze lifts to the door, immediately he knew it was your knock.
“Come in,” he calls out, lowering the book with a thumb holding his place. He can tell when you open the door you aren’t feeling quite yourself.
“Can I just lay in here? I don’t need to talk, just don’t feel like being alone,” you ask. Holding your blanket securely around you.
“Come here,” his voice already becoming the gentle version, for when you’re like this. He sets his book on the nightstand, then lifts the covers for you to climb in.
“Thank you,” you say, gently nudging the door shut, then crossing the room to your designated side of his bed. You slide under the covers—nestling your head into the pillow.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, while he drapes your blanket on top of you.
“I just feel… off.” While you speak, he shifts to lie down on his side. His gaze is devoted to yours—trying to be see whatever you feel. “My period is in a couple of days. You know how I can get.” You shrug.
Bucky does know how hard it can be on you sometimes. It breaks his heart seeing you like this. He tried his best to learn what helps you during this monthly depressive episode. Usually it’s just support to get through it.
“I’m sorry, doll,” he says softly. He tugs the covers further up on you, before resting his hand on your shoulder.
“I’m okay. I just wanted to be with you,” you give him a soft smile. His eyes soften even more, and his thumb begins rubbing circles over the fabric of your shirt.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, no pressure in his tone, just care.
“Not really. You keep reading. I’m just gonna sleep, if that’s okay?”
“Whatever you need, sweetheart,” his hand gently squeezes your shoulder.
“Thank you, Buck.” You already feel relief from the dark cloud that settled over you. Bucky leans over to place a kiss on your head. You huff air from your nose, and a small teasing smile pulls your lips. “Dork,” you murmur as a term of endearment.
“Weirdo,” he replies as usual. Smiling softly, feeling a little better that you still have some teasing in you.
Bucky adjusts back to his sitting position, and resumes his book. He looks over at you snuggling deeper into the bed.
“The light not gonna bother you?” He asks, voice a juxtaposition of rough and soft.
“Doesn’t bother me at all. Plus, your big head is blocking it pretty well,” you tease softly, a small lazy smile pulls my mouth.
“You’re a punk,” he huffs in amusement, shaking his head. You chuckle softly.
Every couple of minutes Bucky notices you move just a hair closer to him—a shift of your leg or subtle move of your hand. Whether you’re conscious of it or not, he doesn’t know.
Bucky looks over—you’re curled up facing him, forehead only a few inches from his elbow. He smiles softly to himself. He scoots further down the pillows—so he’s mostly lying now. He reaches his human arm, the one closest to you, over to pull you into his side.
You crack your eyes open, when you feel his hand pressed against your back. He gives you a soft knowing smile. A sleepy smile grows on your face, then you scoot completely into his side—head on his shoulder, right arm draping over his torso.
He hears the content exhale as your body relaxes. He cranes his neck to see your eyes are already closed again, hints of your sleepy smile still remain. He feels his chest tighten with affection for you. He wants to wrap you up in a cocoon of blankets, hold you tight in the safety of his arms, and plant kisses all over your cute sleepy face.
Instead he just savors what he has been given. Relishes in the love he feels he doesn’t deserve. He lets himself love you like this, even though he knows he could love you more. He’ll just never let himself.
His fingers tickle your back lightly, while his metal hand holds his book. Finagling with the book to turn each page without having to take his hand off of you.
After a while, he feels his eyes are getting heavier, and hears your quiet snores start against his shirt. He carefully sets his book on the nightstand, and stretches to turn off his lamp but keeps his arm around you. The movement pulls you from your slumber— making you mumble sleepily.
“Bucky?” You rasp, eyes barely cracking open. As soon as he hears your voice he goes to soothe you.
“Just turning off the light, doll.” He says softly, making you mumble incoherently. After the darkness takes over the room, he turns his body to yours, pulling you into his chest.
“Go back to sleep,” Bucky whispers, as his arms settle around you. Metal arm careful but firm over your waist, hand splayed against your back. His flesh arm is under your neck, hand cradling your head that is tucked into his chest.
“You okay?” You mumble, voice showing you aren’t really awake. The care in your voice despite being asleep makes the loving ache in his chest grow.
“Always okay with you.” He whispers, fingers card through your hair soothingly. You hum something incoherent, and Bucky knows you’re not conscious.
As he falls asleep, he lets himself pretend he’s not afraid of loving you. He lets himself feel not like a monster, but a man who loves a woman.
—————————
In the very early morning, you are awoken to the feeling of a baby alien trying to rip through your uterus, aka period cramps. You lift your head off of the pillow, which you come to realize is Bucky’s bicep.
Bucky is sound asleep—he always sleeps better when he’s with you. That doesn’t change the fact he’s been trained to be a light sleeper. Your quiet whimper pulls him right awake.
His eyes fly open to see you hunched over, eyes closed like you’re still trying to milk the last ounces of sleep in you. He sits up, placing his warm hand on your back.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Bucky’s voice rough with sleep. You open your eyes, face turning to his.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” You rasp, discomfort evident in your voice.
“What’s wrong?” He asks again, ignoring your concern for waking him.
“I’m cramping,” you make a small noise of pain. “My period must be starting.”
“Stay right here. I’m going to get you something for the pain.” Bucky is on his feet, and walking out the door.
You don’t want to move, but you know you need to go to the bathroom to put something on before the blood starts. With a weak groan you slide out of Bucky’s bed.
You switch on the lamp to check the sheets, just in case, even though you can’t imagine anything has actually started yet—you freeze when you see the fresh blood on his gray sheets.
“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Tears automatically come to your eyes, panicking over what to do. You immediately start stripping the bed. Your mind is a cloudy mixture of pain, embarrassment, and sleep disrupted weepiness.
You’ve barely moved the pillows out of the way, when Bucky returns with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. You whip your head to him, putting your hands out as if that would stop him from coming closer.
“Wait, stop!” You try to tell him, but he’s already making his way to you.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He asks in confused worry. Setting down the glass and pills on the nightstand, so he can move grab onto you. His eyes almost frantically taking in your expression, then he looks past you to the bed. It clicks in his brain when he sees the blood on the sheets.
“Oh, doll,” his voice painfully tender. You step back trying to block the bed.
“I’m so sorry. Give me a second and i’ll fix it,” your voice a sad plead. His heart breaking over the look on your face.
“What? No. Come here,” he shushes you. He steps forward, closing the distance, and pulling you into his chest.
Your mind is too cloudy with embarrassment to stop. You try to push off of him, but he holds you tighter—not in a painful way, but in a reassuring way.
“Bucky,” you cry weakly into his shirt. He shushes you, one hand stroking the back of your head.
“It’s alright, doll,” he coos. He understands why you’re upset, but this is nothing to be embarrassed over. Especially not with him.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I was gonna start tonight,” you sob into his chest. He feels the dampness of your tears through the fabric.
“Stop it. It’s okay,” his voice is so tender it makes you cry more. He says your name like a gentle plea.
“You can go lay in my bed and i’ll change your sheets, okay?” You hiccup, lifting your head off of him. Immediately, Bucky is shaking his head.
“Absolutely not,” both of his hands come up to cradle your face, and make sure you listen. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna take care of this while you go sit in a warm bath.” Your brow furrows in disagreement. He can’t help but find it adorable. You shake your head, but before you can speak, Bucky says your name with such sure care.
“I can’t let you deal with this. It’s gross,” you try, but he just scoffs in reply.
“Nothing about this is gross, you got me?” He lowers himself so he’s eye level with you. “You’re hurting. Let me take care of you.” The sincerity in his eyes, and the stabbing pain in your uterus, makes you lose your ability to protest anymore.
“Are you sure?” You cry pitifully.
“Sweetheart,” he pulls you back into his chest, “please stop crying. I’ve got you.” He kisses your head, then rests his cheek against your hair.
You let yourself melt against him, arm finally coming up around him. Once your crying becomes a soft sniffle, he pulls back just enough to look at you. The tears made your face puffy and splotchy—it breaks his heart.
“Here,” he reaches for the glass, handing it to you. He grabs the ibuprofen, shaking some into his hand. “That enough?”
You nod, reaching out to take the pills. Rasping a quiet, “Thank you,” after swallowing them.
“Attagirl,” he praises, while taking the glass from your hands to set it down. His hands come to rest on both of your biceps. “Now, hows a bath sound?”
“Yeah…” you nod, “that sounds good.” Bucky feels a sense of relief you aren’t fighting him on this anymore.
“Yeah?” He gives you a gentle encouraging smile. “Let’s go get you a bath then.”
Bucky guides you, carefully, down the hall to your room. You turned down his offer to carry you, cause you were worried about blood somehow getting on him.
“Why don’t you grab you some fresh clothes, while I run the bath?” He suggests. You give him a small ‘okay’. You shuffle to your dresser to grab some designated period underwear, a big oversized shirt, and some gray sweatpants.
When you walk into your bathroom, you notice only some of the lights are on—casting the room in a dim warm light. Bucky is sitting on the edge of the tub ensuring the water is not too hot. He notices you when you set your clothes on the counter. He stands up moving over to you.
“There’s my girl,” he gives a supportive smile. If your stomach wasn’t in so much pain, you would’ve felt butterflies when he said that. “I’m gonna go change the sheets, then i’ll be back to check on you.”
Your eyes tear up at the embarrassing thought of him having to change his sheets. He quickly notices and goes to shut it down.
“Hey, hey, hey. None of that.” His rough yet oddly soft hand brushes away a tear from your cheek. “I just want you to feel better.”
You wrap your arms tightly around his torso. He’s taken aback at first, then tightly hugs you back. “I’m really sorry,” you apologize again.
“Stop that,” he gives you a squeeze before pulling back. “Just try to relax. I’ll be back soon,” he kisses your forehead, then leaves the bathroom.
————————
The heat of the water soothes your discomfort. Dulling the pain of your cramps. Relaxing your muscles from the tension they’ve been holding. You sink deeper into the water—your hair tied dryly atop your head. Probably not safe, but you almost fell asleep. A soft knock on the door made you come to.
“Doll, I’m back. You doing okay?” Bucky’s voice comes through the door. Hearing his voice reminds you of the embarrassment—bleeding on his bed, sobbing in his arms.
“I’m good,” you call back, cringing at yourself for simply existing.
“The pain any better?” He asks.
“Yeah, some,” you reply. You feel awkward talking through the door when you’re currently in the tub.
“Good, hopefully the meds are kicking in,” his tone indicates he’s not feeling awkward at all, he just wants to help you. “Do you need anything else?”
“I’m okay, thank you. You don’t have to worry about me. You should go back to bed,” your voice sweet in way that makes Bucky frown.
“Doll, stop that,” he sighs through the door. He knows you are embarrassed, and you don’t need to be alone stewing on it.
“What?” You say, acting like you don’t know what he’s talking about.
“You take your time, and i’ll be out here when you’re done,” he says, giving you no room to argue.
—————————
When you finally climb out of the tub, the pain is a dull whisper. Your muscles warm and relaxed, making your movements slow. You dry off, make sure whatever period product you use is secure, and get dressed in the fresh pajamas you set out.
Bucky stands from your bed when you exit the bathroom. His heart skips at your appearance—shoulders hunched, baggy clothes, hair a half fallen mess tied up on your head. To him you’re so beautiful.
“Buck, you shouldn’t have waited for me,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to shield your warm skin from the cool air.
“How many times do I have to tell you I want to be here, before it gets through that hard head of yours?” He closes the distance between you, and pulls you into his arms. You let your tired self melt into his hold.
“I feel bad,” you murmur against his chest.
“Enough of that,” his flesh hand comes up to angle your face up at his. He feels unworthy to be able to touch something so soft.
“But Buc-“ you start but he shakes his head.
“Now do you want to lay in your bed or mine?” Bucky asks simply. “Either one you pick i’ll be there,” he adds. Making you huff softly. That feels like a win to him.
“My bed,” you say quietly. He smiles softly, thumb stroking your cheek once more.
“Your bed it is,” he nods. He gently guides you to lay down. He climbs in beside you, and automatically you find yourself in his arms. You’re curl into him, hands tucking against his chest.
“I’m really sorry about everything,” you mumble quietly against him, you still feel embarrassed despite how tired you are.
“Please stop apologizing,” Bucky’s voice just above a whisper. His metal hand cradling the back of your head, while his warm flesh hand rubs up and down your back.
“It’s so embarrassing,” you mumble sadly.
“Hey, look at me,” he pulls back enough to angle your head upwards. His eyes lock onto yours, trying to get the point across. “It’s not embarrassing, especially not with me.”
“How are you not upset?” You asks, tired lip pouting.
“How could I be upset?,” he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief that you could even think he was upset. “I just hated it for you, so stop apologizing. Okay?”
“…Okay,” you exhale softly. Your eyes have a shine of love as you look up at him. “I hope you know how grateful I am for you.”
Bucky presses a soft kiss to your forehead, your eyes flutter closed. He reaches up to gently brush a stray strand from your head. He notices the slight furrow in your brow. “Headache?” He whispers.
“Not too bad,” you open your eyes.
“Let’s get your hair down,” he hums softly. You rest your forehead against his chest, while his hands carefully unwind your hairtie. His hands so large and rough, yet so delicate with you.
Once your hair is free, Bucky slides the hairtie onto his wrist, then runs his fingers over your scalp. You felt like you could’ve purred from the touch. It released any left of tension in your body.
“That better?” He whispers. Your hum is all the response he needed to hear. It makes a small smile grow on his lips.
He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him. You settle on top of him, as he pulls the covers higher over you.
“You okay?” He hums.
“Mhmm,” you nod against him.
Bucky keeps his flesh hand on your back and the metal one gently rubs your scalp. He knows the coolness helps with your headaches. It’s very obvious by the way you go limp against him and start drooling on his shirt. He smiles to himself, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Sleep good, pretty girl.”
———————————————————————
i hope you guys enjoyed my first fic ! let me know what you think !
Tags: soft!bucky, also grumpy bucky (soft grump bucky?), fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, sliiight possessiveness, mentions of the thunderbolt team, no use of yn, petnames, reader has hair long enough to get stuck in a necklace
Summary: You get influenced by Bucky's friends, and he really, really doesn't like it.
Word count: 1k
── .✦
Bucky was never having them over again.
He would say he didn't know what possessed him in the first place, but that would be a lie—it was you, of course it was you. He still couldn't fathom it, why you were so keen on meeting his rag-tag, hastily stitched team of ruffians. And he said his—and also said team—very lightly, with a very, very generous grain of salt.
You were always asking about them—you never tell me anything about them, James. And he always more or less replied the same: sweetheart, trust me, they're not worth your time. But you didn't think so, and the universe agreed, and so, in some cosmic collaborative effort, you were placed in the direct path of not just one Yelena Belova and one Ava Starr, but one John Walker as well. It was a graceless, unavoidable collision, with Yelena's voice ringing out and Ava's sly gaze darting to where you had your arm looped around his.
Ambushed, Bucky hadn't been able to come up with something quick enough, and you already knew them—knew of them, at the very least—and hurried to introduce yourself. The three of them had perked up like a pack of dogs who'd just seen a bone. All the while he watched, helpless and glum not only as you exchanged pleasantries but also cheerfully invited them over to your home.
Your home.
In hindsight, he should've seen it coming.
"Oh, we'd absolutely love to." Yelena had drawled. Her voice was positively sunny, her grin wolfish and pleased. "Bucky never even thought to invite us over."
And he genuinely never would have. But you, his wife, wanted it, and so he made it happen, with his hands tied behind his back and his mouth stitched into a docile, agreeable smile. For you only, of course.
The others, not so much.
But at least it was over. And, he thought begrudgingly to himself, not entirely horrible. You were, for reasons unclear to him, utterly charmed. Yelena made you laugh, and Alexei tided you over with a barrage of nonsensical anecdotes. Bob brought some sort of dessert that turned your eyes to hearts. Ava was…Ava, which suited you just fine, and John wasn't too much of an asshole, so, okay, whatever. You were happy with how it went.
And he was very happy with the silence that currently reigned over the house, a blanket of complete and utter quiet save for the sound of Alpine's purring across his lap. That is, until your voice drifted out, muffled through the bathroom door.
"Bucky?"
His blood froze to ice. You sounded agitated, the syllables sharp and thorny through the wood. He immediately stood, crossed your bedroom in two long strides, and dragged his knuckles across the door in a cursory knock before pushing it open.
You were in those clingy, cotton pajamas of yours, frowning, lips pursed, one hand holding on to something at the nape of your neck.
"What?" He managed.
"My hair's caught in my necklace. Can you…?"
He nodded, once, a jerky cut of his chin through the air, and stepped in behind you. Bucky wet his dry lips. Gently, he nudged your hand away and took a look at the necklace. Its chain was trapped beneath a small knot made by your hair. He started unraveling it.
His fingers set to work, careful and steady, but his thoughts were occupied. Eventually, though, he worked the necklace free and unclasped it.
A sigh of relief left you. Bucky leaned over you to place the necklace on the counter; you turned to face him, your arms curling around his neck, mouth open in a smile that suddenly collapsed halfway through.
"What's with the frown, handsome?" You tilted your head, your own brows furrowing.
The petname put him a little at ease. He shifted, but couldn't get far with your arms around his neck. That eased him, too.
Bucky's voice was almost a whisper. "You're not upset with me, are you?"
"What—?" Your face scrunched in confusion. "James, no. Why would I be?"
His spine went soft with relief. Exhaling, he took your face in both his hands. "Please," he breathed, "never call me that again."
"What?" You murmured again. The furrow then loosened between your brows, a laugh brightening your expression as you realized. "Bucky?" You guessed, grinning at the pained look on his face.
"Please, doll."
"You're so dramatic," you said fondly.
He made a low, wounded sound in his throat.
You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "It's cute," you insisted. "Makes you sound all cuddly. All of your friends call you that."
"They're not my friends," he said automatically.
"I thought I'd try it, too," you continued as if he hadn't spoken, still grinning. He really couldn't see what was so funny. It was physically painful to him, an axe hacking its way through his chest.
You were the only one who called him by his given name; you always had been, since day one. He liked the sound of it in your mouth, private and sweet and just for him, just from you, your James.
Sometimes, when you were teasing, you called him Barnes. When he was getting a scolding, it was the whole, James Buchanan Barnes, just like his mother used to, and he'd find himself going so soft he'd have no rebuttal for whatever it was, only, yes Ma'am, sorry, sorry, sorry, dotted in kisses across your face.
"Don't call me that again," he begged quietly, a desperate, desperate plea.
You pressed your forehead to his, a softer smile tugging at your mouth. "Why not?"
"'Cause it's not my name," he murmured. "Not to you."
He felt your fingers sifting through his hair. Your lips ghosting over his.
"James."
He hummed, kissing you. "Baby. That's right."
Rewatched thunderbolts on a whim and I caught the bucky bug. Help. I’ve always been hopelessly enamored with the idea of reader being the only one to call him James lol. Anyway this is my first go at him, if you enjoyed pls lmk! And if you want more pls lmk too :DD
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
TW: su!c!de , unhealthy relationship dynamic (possessive) , an attempt at [body] horror , angst , spoilers for Something Is Knocking At Your Door/Verity PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU , PRIORITIZE YOUR HEALTH
SUMMARY: Mob’s attempt at sending Verity back to where he came from has failed. He only has one option left, and it’s for both of their sakes.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: the first half and second half were written at two different times , so this may not make any sense . also doesn’t help it’s not proofread . This lowk helps me figure out how to write more angst for my oc series .. hmmmm …
CREDS: thanks @pxrce-lain for the lovely dividers !
Mob stood at the glass, watching the complex machine spin. He tuned out Verity’s cries, his pleas, because he wasn’t human. Mob was terrified to imagine what he really was, but he just wanted him away, just wanted him gone.
And he was. The smoke cleared, and the machine was empty.
Verity was finally gone, and Mob released a breath that had felt stuck ever since Verity changed. Ever since he had shown his true face.
That relief and hope that had bloomed in his chest, however, shattered the minute he saw a bony yellow slam against the glass. He stumbled back, watching the horrible creature rise—it’s too wide and ever present smile, its beady eyes, right on Mob.
Then it slammed its forehead into the glass. Once already made it crack, and the sound echoed in the laboratory—enough to cause Mob to finally snap out of it. His legs shook, enough to cause him to stumble back before taking off into an attempt to run. Verity’s screeches echoed after him, resounding in Mob’s very bones.
He just needed to get out of here, somewhere far away at the very least, just—
“It only works one way.”
Mob’s feet stopped, right at the door—he could see the hills and trees outside, he was right there. But Verity’s voice had shifted back, back to its originally sweet cadence. It felt like a damn dream, maybe Verity hadn’t ever been that monster. Mob wanted to wish that, wish that with every bone in his body.
But that wasn’t true.
“It receives, it was never designed to transmit.” Verity shifted on his feet, his fingers tapping against his thigh. That habit hadn’t changed. “Whoever built it only needed me to arrive..not leave.”
Mob hated the pity that rang through him. Verity was far too good at pretending to be human.
“Did you just try to get rid of me?” Verity suddenly mumbled, his voice right behind him. Mob spun around, clenching his fists as Verity replied for him. “You did.”
“You know—“ Mob swallowed. “I could just leave. I could ignore you, I could get away from you. But—but I feel bad for you! I was just trying to get you home—!”
“You could, but I’d still find you,” Verity replied, far too casually. “This isn’t my true form, so it would be easy. You….you don’t wanna end up like Twixle, do you?”
Mob felt his breath catch at the name, but still he pushed his words out. “Then can you just stop? Can you just—just leave?!”
Verity just stared, that damn helmet still sitting askew on his head. Mob wouldn’t ever get a clear look of his face, see a lying tell on his face—if he even had one.
“Stop what?” Verity finally asked. Had this been the first day the two met, Mob would have bought the almost childlike confusion in his voice.
“This!” he snapped. “All of this!” Verity finally moved, a flinch. Like the very first time he had shown Mob his new “skin”. Only this time he wouldn’t soften his voice, wouldn't lower it because it wouldn’t ever get through to him.
Mob jerked his chin up, his scarf pulling with the sudden movement. “Just go. Leave me alone.”
For a second that seemed far too long, the two just stared at each other. Mob stared at the unmoving helmet on Verity’s head, still tilted. He hadn’t moved a muscle, not to adjust it, not even tapping his fingers anymore.
“I can’t,” Verity finally murmured.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Once more silence ensued. “Both..”
“You killed Twixel!” Mob cried.
“He was trying to destroy me..!” Verity’s voice wavered, and he finally took a step forward.
Mob jerked away, shaking his head. “He was my friend!!”
“AND I’M NOT?!”
Verity’s voice echoed in the long, sterile hallway. Mob’s breath hitched, and god he wished it hadn’t. Verity wasn’t human, Verity wasn’t anything Mob wanted to figure out anymore.
Verity’s shoulders trembled, his head lowering. “I have been a face people skipped, a voice they ignored. I am—I—I was a helper! A helper that was shut off the second I became useless!”
He finally lifted his head, his breath coming in short hiccups. Verity was crying.
No. No, Mob couldn’t fall for that. Mob wouldn’t believe it, Verity was just mimicking emotions.
He had to believe that. Because if he let even the slightest bit of doubt kick in, it would make everything harder. It already had.
“I’m always close, close enough to watch them leave! Always close enough to know exactly when I became obselete…”
He tugged at his gloves, his hands shaking too hard to even grasp the edge. “But….but then you came back. Nobody comes back.”
He lifted his head, his helmet slipping up for just a moment to make out his neck and chin. Then it slid back into place.
“Do you have any idea what that does to me?! You coming back, it says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than a hundred fucking years and only you came back!!”
Mob stilled, and damnit he hated how Verity’s voice wavered. He isn’t human, he kept telling himself, and yet still he wanted to treat Verity as such.
Abandonment can’t be felt by code, but it can be faked. Mob wasn’t sure which it was, if Verity’s shaking hands were truly that uncontrollable or if he was just playing the part so damn well.
“Mob,” Verity exhaled, his name coming out more like a reverent prayer rather than just a damn name. It made his skin tingle, being wanted like this. He almost forgot what a monster Verity was, how possessive he would always be.
Verity took a step forward, and by pure reflex Mob stepped away. He watched Verity’s slim shoulders drop, and felt his mind continue to be fucked.
This made no sense. It makes no sense.
Verity can't be human, it isn’t possible. That form? It is just for comfort, he said that himself!
Mob feels his breath thin, his hood and his scarf and clothes and skin feeling as much like a cage as Verity’s arms were in each embrace. His hand automatically moves to the gun in his pants shoved in the back. He watches as Verity does nothing besides huff a depressive laugh at the sight of the firearm.
“Go ahead! Do it!” he cries, “it won’t do a damn thing! I’ll just be back here again!!”
“I know,” Mob mumbles, his eyes trailing down to his hand. He likes the thought of this being his own choice, likes the sight of his own dark finger at the trigger.
It is as though a countdown starts when he presses the barrel against his temple, 3.
Verity visibly tenses this time, and stumbles forward with his hands out—not to grab, not yet, but to calm. “Mob, wait—“
Mob clicks the safety off, 2.
“Mob! MOB DON’T DO THIS!” Verity cries, forgoing the slow approach and surging forward this time.
1.
Mob remembers the day Verity changed into a human. He hadn’t realized how much he liked it, but now that he’s about to leave it, he cements that love in his head.
I liked Verity’s hugs, surprisingly enjoying the firmness of them.
I liked Verity’s clothes, the old conductor outfit Mob watched Verity fuss with too many times.
I liked Verity’s helmet, the familiar, first form Mob saw him as—a little smiling, yellow orb—always sliding off his head when he moved too quickly.
Mob sees that now, the helmet sliding halfway off his head as he tries to lunge for the gun. He sees his neck, then his chin. He catches a glimpse of his cheek, his nose, and half of his lips.
Mob vaguely wishes he could have seen his eyes, wonders if he even has any. He would see, then, if Verity truly has a soul.
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WORD COUNT: 1.3k
TW: su!c!de , unhealthy relationship dynamic (possessive) , an attempt at [body] horror , angst , spoilers for Something Is Knocking At Your Door/Verity PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU , PRIORITIZE YOUR HEALTH
SUMMARY: Mob’s attempt at sending Verity back to where he came from has failed. He only has one option left, and it’s for both of their sakes.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: the first half and second half were written at two different times , so this may not make any sense . also doesn’t help it’s not proofread . This lowk helps me figure out how to write more angst for my oc series .. hmmmm …
CREDS: thanks @pxrce-lain for the lovely dividers !
Mob stood at the glass, watching the complex machine spin. He tuned out Verity’s cries, his pleas, because he wasn’t human. Mob was terrified to imagine what he really was, but he just wanted him away, just wanted him gone.
And he was. The smoke cleared, and the machine was empty.
Verity was finally gone, and Mob released a breath that had felt stuck ever since Verity changed. Ever since he had shown his true face.
That relief and hope that had bloomed in his chest, however, shattered the minute he saw a bony yellow slam against the glass. He stumbled back, watching the horrible creature rise—it’s too wide and ever present smile, its beady eyes, right on Mob.
Then it slammed its forehead into the glass. Once already made it crack, and the sound echoed in the laboratory—enough to cause Mob to finally snap out of it. His legs shook, enough to cause him to stumble back before taking off into an attempt to run. Verity’s screeches echoed after him, resounding in Mob’s very bones.
He just needed to get out of here, somewhere far away at the very least, just—
“It only works one way.”
Mob’s feet stopped, right at the door—he could see the hills and trees outside, he was right there. But Verity’s voice had shifted back, back to its originally sweet cadence. It felt like a damn dream, maybe Verity hadn’t ever been that monster. Mob wanted to wish that, wish that with every bone in his body.
But that wasn’t true.
“It receives, it was never designed to transmit.” Verity shifted on his feet, his fingers tapping against his thigh. That habit hadn’t changed. “Whoever built it only needed me to arrive..not leave.”
Mob hated the pity that rang through him. Verity was far too good at pretending to be human.
“Did you just try to get rid of me?” Verity suddenly mumbled, his voice right behind him. Mob spun around, clenching his fists as Verity replied for him. “You did.”
“You know—“ Mob swallowed. “I could just leave. I could ignore you, I could get away from you. But—but I feel bad for you! I was just trying to get you home—!”
“You could, but I’d still find you,” Verity replied, far too casually. “This isn’t my true form, so it would be easy. You….you don’t wanna end up like Twixle, do you?”
Mob felt his breath catch at the name, but still he pushed his words out. “Then can you just stop? Can you just—just leave?!”
Verity just stared, that damn helmet still sitting askew on his head. Mob wouldn’t ever get a clear look of his face, see a lying tell on his face—if he even had one.
“Stop what?” Verity finally asked. Had this been the first day the two met, Mob would have bought the almost childlike confusion in his voice.
“This!” he snapped. “All of this!” Verity finally moved, a flinch. Like the very first time he had shown Mob his new “skin”. Only this time he wouldn’t soften his voice, wouldn't lower it because it wouldn’t ever get through to him.
Mob jerked his chin up, his scarf pulling with the sudden movement. “Just go. Leave me alone.”
For a second that seemed far too long, the two just stared at each other. Mob stared at the unmoving helmet on Verity’s head, still tilted. He hadn’t moved a muscle, not to adjust it, not even tapping his fingers anymore.
“I can’t,” Verity finally murmured.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Once more silence ensued. “Both..”
“You killed Twixel!” Mob cried.
“He was trying to destroy me..!” Verity’s voice wavered, and he finally took a step forward.
Mob jerked away, shaking his head. “He was my friend!!”
“AND I’M NOT?!”
Verity’s voice echoed in the long, sterile hallway. Mob’s breath hitched, and god he wished it hadn’t. Verity wasn’t human, Verity wasn’t anything Mob wanted to figure out anymore.
Verity’s shoulders trembled, his head lowering. “I have been a face people skipped, a voice they ignored. I am—I—I was a helper! A helper that was shut off the second I became useless!”
He finally lifted his head, his breath coming in short hiccups. Verity was crying.
No. No, Mob couldn’t fall for that. Mob wouldn’t believe it, Verity was just mimicking emotions.
He had to believe that. Because if he let even the slightest bit of doubt kick in, it would make everything harder. It already had.
“I’m always close, close enough to watch them leave! Always close enough to know exactly when I became obselete…”
He tugged at his gloves, his hands shaking too hard to even grasp the edge. “But….but then you came back. Nobody comes back.”
He lifted his head, his helmet slipping up for just a moment to make out his neck and chin. Then it slid back into place.
“Do you have any idea what that does to me?! You coming back, it says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than a hundred fucking years and only you came back!!”
Mob stilled, and damnit he hated how Verity’s voice wavered. He isn’t human, he kept telling himself, and yet still he wanted to treat Verity as such.
Abandonment can’t be felt by code, but it can be faked. Mob wasn’t sure which it was, if Verity’s shaking hands were truly that uncontrollable or if he was just playing the part so damn well.
“Mob,” Verity exhaled, his name coming out more like a reverent prayer rather than just a damn name. It made his skin tingle, being wanted like this. He almost forgot what a monster Verity was, how possessive he would always be.
Verity took a step forward, and by pure reflex Mob stepped away. He watched Verity’s slim shoulders drop, and felt his mind continue to be fucked.
This made no sense. It makes no sense.
Verity can't be human, it isn’t possible. That form? It is just for comfort, he said that himself!
Mob feels his breath thin, his hood and his scarf and clothes and skin feeling as much like a cage as Verity’s arms were in each embrace. His hand automatically moves to the gun in his pants shoved in the back. He watches as Verity does nothing besides huff a depressive laugh at the sight of the firearm.
“Go ahead! Do it!” he cries, “it won’t do a damn thing! I’ll just be back here again!!”
“I know,” Mob mumbles, his eyes trailing down to his hand. He likes the thought of this being his own choice, likes the sight of his own dark finger at the trigger.
It is as though a countdown starts when he presses the barrel against his temple, 3.
Verity visibly tenses this time, and stumbles forward with his hands out—not to grab, not yet, but to calm. “Mob, wait—“
Mob clicks the safety off, 2.
“Mob! MOB DON’T DO THIS!” Verity cries, forgoing the slow approach and surging forward this time.
1.
Mob remembers the day Verity changed into a human. He hadn’t realized how much he liked it, but now that he’s about to leave it, he cements that love in his head.
I liked Verity’s hugs, surprisingly enjoying the firmness of them.
I liked Verity’s clothes, the old conductor outfit Mob watched Verity fuss with too many times.
I liked Verity’s helmet, the familiar, first form Mob saw him as—a little smiling, yellow orb—always sliding off his head when he moved too quickly.
Mob sees that now, the helmet sliding halfway off his head as he tries to lunge for the gun. He sees his neck, then his chin. He catches a glimpse of his cheek, his nose, and half of his lips.
Mob vaguely wishes he could have seen his eyes, wonders if he even has any. He would see, then, if Verity truly has a soul.
It's been a while since you've left the comfort of your bed, your phone forgotten on the nightstand, buzzing with yet another missed call from Dex. Sheets are wet with your sweat, the air is stale and humid. You're kneeling in front of the toilet, body tensing with spasms, your lunch leaving your stomach with terrifying speed. How long have you been hunched over the bowl? You totally lost track of time. Your head is pounding, your skin is burning and your guts certainly decided to kill you today. What was it that you ate? You can't remember. Does it even matter at this point when all of it is in the bowl in front of you? Ew, don't think about it. Too late. Another spasm leaves you gagging but nothing's coming out. Empty, at last.
You run your tongue across the backs of your teeth to collect the remnants of your vomit and spit them into the bowl before pressing the flush button and collapsing onto the bathroom floor. Cold tiles cooling your hot skin, solid and unwavering under your cheek. You've been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while before you heard a frantic clinking of the keys from the outside of your apartment door. The lock turned once, twice before opening with a soft click; a tall figure stepping inside cautiously—Dex.
“Babe?” he asks carefully, taking his shoes off. You can only whine in response, too exhausted to move, fingers twitching against the tile. He stalks into the bathroom, gasping at the sight of you spread like a starfish on the floor. “Baby! What happened?” he questioned, examining your sprawled out form. He sits on his hunches next to you and brushes a stray strand of hair from your wet forehead. “Did you fall?”
A weak groan left you.
“No. I'm laying here willingly.” you quipped with a sigh. “I'm… unwell. Sweated all over the sheets… I think I ate something bad… I'm feverish and… and I threw up. Like, a lot. Can I please just die in peace…?”
Dex let out an unexpected snort at your whining. Like hell he's gonna let you die! You must've gone insane. He'll save you from the embarrassment of dying on the bathroom floor all sweaty and stinky and with an aftertaste of your own vomit lingering in your mouth. He's not a knight in shining armor—oh no!—he's just a good boyfriend like that.
With a huff of warm air from his nose, Dex rolled you over onto your back. “Alright, listen up, little miss. I have a plan. It's a good plan and you're gonna follow through, okay?” You nodded. Dex grinned, pleased with your compliance. “Mhm, good girl. First, we're gonna clean you up, then I'll change your sheets and give you medicine… You'll take a nap and when you wake up… I'll make you soup. Nuh uh, don't look at me like that. It's gonna be a good soup—it's good for your gut health. You trust me, right, baby?” Another nod from you, another content smirk from him. “Good. Now let's start with our plan…”
Dex stood up with a grunt and helped you sit, propping you up against the wall. Then he reached into the storage closet to grab his folding shower stool. Ever since he got his spine broken and then reconstructed with cognium it's been a hell of an exercise for him to take showers standing up. Sure, he built some muscle, strengthened his muscular framework and stuff, but his back was still aching. And who wants to stand while showering anyway? He unfolded the stool and placed it securely onto the shower floor. Shook it a little. Yup, all good. Nice and sturdy.
“A throne for the princess!” he proclaimed proudly, sliding you up the wall with his hands secured under each of your armpits. You gave him a weak giggle and dropped your forehead to his shoulder. “Silly…”
Dex chuckled and shook his head. “No ma'am. I'm just trying to hype you up. Because you feel bad. And because I love you, dumbass.” You gasp in mock offense. “‘M not a dumbass…”
A kiss landed onto your temple before you even had the time to register the movement. “‘Course you're not. You're a royal dumbass. Now will you do me an honor of letting me undress you, your majesty?” You were helpless against his charm, really. “Yes. You may undress me now, peasant.” You snickered with a smirk on your face. You leaned your head against the wall and let your eyelids fall closed, letting Dex unbutton your pajamas and slide them off your body, followed by your underwear, leaving you bare to the cool air.
He then scooped you gently into his arms and carefully seated you onto the stool. “There… Now I'll bathe you and you'll be all nice and clean and smelling good. Alright?” Dex asked, cupping your face in his palm after turning the water on. You nodded yet again, soft and pliant under his watchful gaze. “Good girl. Now open wide…” You obliged and opened your mouth to let Dex pour some water into it. “Swish it around.” You sighed, swishing the water from one side of your mouth to another, letting it wash off the gunk that was haunting your senses. Dex was busy with wetting your toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles. “Spit.” You spat the dirty water and immediately felt Dex shoving the toothbrush into your mouth. “You'll have to brush your teeth yourself, like a big girl you are. I'll take care of the rest. You can do it, right?” Enthusiastic ‘mhm’ fell from your lips as you got to work while Dex started wetting your hair to wash them.
You slumped a little, focusing solely on your main task of thoroughly cleaning your enamel and making sure to reach the farthest molars, enjoying the feeling of Dex's fingers on your scalp, lathering your hair in shampoo, which was quickly turning into fluffy foam. “No conditioner this time, I'll just spray them with a leave-in later, alright?” You nodded. Dexie knows what's best for you and you trust him. You sit quietly through him rinsing your hair, the suds and water running down your shoulders, chest and thighs. Nice. He then takes the toothbrush from you and makes you rinse your mouth before lathering a loofah up with your shower gel and starting to wash your body. Then he leaves you on your own for a while to go change your sheets and open the windows to let the fresh air in, letting you sit and revel in the feeling of running water kissing your skin. When he came back, you were smiling like an idiot to yourself, giggling quietly.
“What's s'funny, babe?” Dex inquired, dumbfounded. You can't help but just snicker in response. “I feel like a jungle monkey.” He snorted at that. “A jungle monkey? Well, that's new… Now come on now, we need to dry you off and give you meds. Yeah? Yeah.”
Next couple of minutes were a bliss of you getting absolutely pampered by your boyfriend: him patting your body dry and wrapping your hair with a towel, applying your lotion for you, even dressing you in a fresh pajama set; he then carried you to your freshly made bed and gave you meds that made you sleepy and you absolutely dozed off lying sideways on the bed while he took care of your hair—spraying the leave-in, blow drying them and then braiding them carefully. When he finished, he rotated you so you lay the normal way and retreated toward the kitchen to make you the soup that he promised.
Half an hour later your peaceful slumber was disturbed by the shuffling and the rich aroma tickling your nostrils. Your nose twitched slightly as if trying to smell better and find out what that was. Dex emerged from the kitchen with a bowl in his hands and padded carefully into your room, placing the bowl on the nightstand. He wakes you up gently to present you the masterpiece that he created—a bowl of miso soup! You try to be a brat at first and tell him that you don't need a soup because you're not five and… and he shushes you with a kiss to your forehead—actually checking for fever. All the fight got out of you eventually and you ended up surrendering and letting him spoon feed you. Good girl.
