lynn

Your own pep talk was still fresh in your mind. Act like you deserve to be there. Smile like everything is just fine. It's a good opportunity for the Avengers to find allies. Have a drink, look relaxed. Pretending is the one thing you’re good at. And it’s just for a couple of hours. 

A couple of hours trying not to notice the way Bucky’s suit clung to his thick frame and how good his long hair looked when stylists got their hands on it.

The room was suffocating, all the voices merging into one unbearable pitch and yet everything fell silent within a second when those tired, tormented blue eyes focused on you with an unwavering resolve.

Bucky's very presence, his tall, bulky silhouette in your peripheral vision was enough to ignite the flutter of your heartbeat. These were not butterflies fluttering in your stomach, but hornets. You felt the heaviness of that gaze like it was something tangible. Lifting your head feigning nonchalance, you met Bucky’s eyes, every thought in your mind screaming at the sight of the person who was the object of all your desires. The reason for the gaping heartache in your chest that sank deeper and deeper the longer you lived in a reality where he's not yours. 

I have no right having these thoughts. He is not mine.

But gods, do I wish he was.

At first it was an inconvenience, a ruckus in your chest you thought would be gone soon. You thought it was understandable, given just how handsome and captivating Bucky was.

Then it turned into yearning you tried to fight off, until it grew into something more. Something uncontrollable. Affection. Fondness. Devotion. And now you had to live with it festering inside, unable to fulfill the one thing these feelings wanted to do - to be fully given to the one you desperately desired.

While you were lost in your thoughts, Bucky’s gaze trailed a path up and down your whole figure mapping your dips and curves, like he couldn’t help himself. Every inch touched by his gaze was scorching your skin. A hot flush rushed to your cheeks. Ground swept beneath your feet, movements slowed down to a still and any semblance of time escaped your grasp. Your breaths were laboured, as if you were unable to draw a proper breath. Hands shaking. Knees weak, and ready to fall before him in worship. 

He unknowingly turned your world off its axis the moment he entered your life. The more time you spent around him, the more your thoughts weaved a network of their own you couldn’t control - your heartbeat in the rhythm of his breaths, your thoughts eloping to wherever he was, your dreams a collection of never ending reveries that were only ever about him. Things you shouldn’t think about, things that were not yours to daydream about.

This one-sided affection you felt for Bucky has very quickly turned into a damnation. The love that was growing for him has filled your lungs, creating a garden of delicate flowers; and while the love was diligently nurturing it, too much of a thing eventually becomes poison.

Where flower petals once stood are now sharp, rigid thorns and wilted leaves. How can he be your everything, if he was never yours? How can you be homesick for his embrace, if you were never his? 

You had once believed such lovely things were no longer for someone like you, a broken soul, hidden in the shadows in the deepest corners of the world. Hiding in plain sight was second nature to you, shadows clinging to you in the cover of darkness. Everyone who has ever truly known you has long since died, your liveliness and warmth buried deep with them like long forgotten artifacts erased from history. But that part of you still lingered because soft souls can never truly turn rigid. They can only scar and hide away, unable to resurface through the sharp edges of you.

You’ve locked yourself away, revealing only the parts that were necessary. That’s what agents did, right? You've trained your body into a lethal weapon to help, keep safe and protect. To fight and get your hands opened raw and bloody to escape from yourself. The only way to stop an emotional wound from hurting is to mask its pain by inflicting a physical one. 

In the aftermath of protecting others, you have forgotten to protect yourself. And the most obscure little thing you forgot about caught you off guard, threatening to be your undoing. It slipped your notice that a harmless thing such as love could actually be the most dangerous thing of all.

Your longing for warmth and affection has corroded your heart and thoughts, strengthening your belief that you were not meant to have that in this world after it slipped through your fingers. You’ve lost the ones that meant everything to you, and you vowed that no one will ever become that important again.

Until he reignited you from within. Bucky Barnes. Love was a divine intervention, one which you finally understood only when a pair of ocean eyes met yours at a briefing in a crowded room and stopped time from flowing its course. 

Divine intervention? More like exasperating meddling I never asked for.

These social events have always filled you with dread, especially when he attended them as well. You knew what was going to happen. What always happens.

There was always a woman too tipsy, too flirty, too eager to get her hands on him. Her eyes usually betrayed a lust to conquer, and not to love. It was a mere conquest to these women, something to brag about later. James Buchanan Barnes, an achievement on someone's list, used for the convenience of others.

In his self-destruction he let them, and this evening was no different. You met Bucky’s eyes one more time as he finally lifted his gaze to yours after he took his time tracing the curve of your neck. Burning several degrees higher, your face suddenly displayed an emotion that stunningly looked like yearning to Bucky.

Something deep settled in his eyes, his face betraying an inner conflict. A lovely woman that had been eyeing him the whole night approached him and got on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, grabbing on to his arm as he was already hers, the manicured nails almost like claws trying to hold him firmly in his place. And what hurt even more was that he did nothing to push her away. Bucky's gaze was however still fixed on you, as if you were the one thing that could make him decide differently.

There was a second of softness as he was analysing your face, so brief anyone else would've missed it. But you caught it. In a breathless moment and eyes clouded with sorrow, you muttered a soft, pleading “James…”. He flinched gently when he read his name on your lips and saw the expression on your face, the softness that graced his features for a second longer ebbing away for a different kind of emotion.

Brows furrowed, eyes darkening and falling into a resolve. He let the woman pull him away, happy to have gotten what she wanted. Your glossy eyes met his broad back, shoulders slumped, moving away from you in more ways than just physical. In some twisted way, you couldn't look away. The thing that hurt you the most was the one you desperately wanted. 

You understood why he was acting this way, going from one woman to the next. He was alone and deprived of intimacy for decades, and he must've craved it so bad that he was finding it the only way he knew. The only way he thought he deserved. 

It weighed heavy on you that he didn’t recognise that you could offer him that, and so much more. Something genuine and real. You suspected that he was aware of your feelings that you wore on your sleeve around him. It was the only thing you couldn't suppress, and it scared you how hot the fire he set alight was burning within you.

He never even dared assume he was worthy of the feelings you felt for him, even though some slight show of reciprocation slipped through the cracks against his better judgment. Feather-like touches to your lower back when he wanted to pass by, positioning himself in front of you during dangerous missions, checking up on you when you were injured. One time when he was too tired and sleepy to care about self-control, he stroked your hair tenderly, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind your ear and caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. You were completely distracted the next few days that you had to sit out a mission for “not having a clear enough head”. 

He was self-destructive and broken, choosing fleeting encounters over something that could be real and solid. He didn't seem to think that he deserved a gentle, genuine connection, which was precisely the reason he's never entertained the thought of having you.

He didn't dare to even think about it. Bucky couldn't offer you himself in an honest, meaningful way, and you deserved more than a trivial one night stand void of emotion.

He never could see just how loving and gentle he was, but you could. You saw. His disdain and hatred for himself blinded him from noticing the genuine kind acts he did for others, in silence when no one noticed. In Bucky's mind, he considered that he was doing such things out of duty, out of this nonsensical conviction that he owes the whole world an exposed repentance for what he has done.

He was such a beautiful, sad thing. A soul woven of inconceivable and unimaginable experiences. An impossible being that somehow came into existence, created against his permission.

And yet, they called him a monster. A cold-blooded soldier.

Soldat. A demon. 

But you loved broken things. Lonely things. You never thought that broken people needed to be fixed, just loved until their broken pieces form a connection between themselves again. And that was what you wanted for James Barnes. He deserved a chance to feel whole again, to feel joy and warmth and love. He deserved that after all the horrors his life has dealt him with. Even if he thought he didn't.

There was no point in staying after he was out of your sight. You moved through the crowd unnoticed, grabbing an abandoned bottle of whiskey from the bar as you passed towards the exit. Heaviness settled upon your chest, hollow and tender, the kind that made a dull pain upon each breath. The ache in your chest was too unbearable to contain, and you couldn't fight it anymore. In some twisted way, you felt a palpable relief that you finally let yourself surrender to your grief. Sometimes it felt good to yield to self-destruction and relinquish all self-control to get the poison out of your system. At least for a little while. And if he can drown his demons, so could you.

The explosion detonated with an ear-splitting thunder, bathing the surroundings in blinding light and rattling your bones, making you lose your balance as you crashed down to your knees and palms, scraping them in the aftermath. Just another mission where the team had a perfectly prepped plan where nothing could go wrong and confidently walked into an ambush no one anticipated. I guess having an inside informant didn’t pan out this time.

This was not the first time this had happened. Nothing ever went according to plan no matter how much prep the team did beforehand. Once you’re out there, nothing can save your life but improvising and relying on your instincts. This time however, something was different. Something was off. An impending doom was approaching fast like a storm cloud, and you could feel it twisting in your gut, like your insides were drilled and your heart was dropping to your feet. 

You were outnumbered, overpowered, and amidst the uncontrollable chaos, you lost sight of Bucky. He was always on the front lines, putting himself in danger before anyone else as if he had no sense of self-preservation. And he didn't. But you still knew that despite all odds he always walked out alive. So why couldn’t you shake off this feeling of dread and agonizing worry? This shaken faith in him to protect himself this time?

You got back to your feet, dust setting down through the air. One foot in front of the other, walking turned into running, running turned into sprinting. Your breaths were shallow, the flying dust sticking to your airways and suffocating your lungs. Every muscle in your body was burning and shaking from exertion, but the adrenaline spike hid all that from your brain. You’ll feel it all later, when there’s time to fall apart.

You ran down a corridor of the damaged building, charred and unstable from the explosion, led lights blinking and throwing a sickly blue hue on the walls. You heard a commotion and a deep, merciless sound as if someone was growling through clenched teeth, making the goosebumps on your arms rise.

He sounded just like the Winter Soldier when he felt trapped. Like a cornered animal with no escape route.

Bursting into a laboratory in full sprint you stopped in your tracks analysing the scene before you, the look in your eyes that of someone who’s only ever gazed upon nightmares and had known no other emotion but that of terror. Your body became wired within a second, and the whole scene played out like someone who controls the threads of reality pulled a string that made everything move twice as slow.

A loud gunshot pierced the air, illuminating the barrel of the gun as the bullet flew in slow motion straight towards Bucky. He was being held by two other Hydra soldiers, muscles taut and shaking from exertion, struggling to release himself from their clutches and titanium restraints they managed to put on his vibranium arm. Despite gaining the upper hand as his vibranium arm violently pulled to shatter the restraints, he didn't have the time to move away from the fast approaching bullet and its trajectory that aimed straight at his heart. 

Your body did the only thing it has ever known - to protect him. To love him and care for him in any way available, which at this moment meant running in front of him without a second thought. Bucky had just gotten himself free, knocking the soldiers unconscious, sharply raising his head to look ahead startled by your sudden presence.

Not a half second later, the bullet pierced your shoulder, dangerously close to the middle of your chest. The sheer force of it pushed you into Bucky's chest as he stood there horrified, quickly catching you with both arms as your body fell. 

The scorching bullet pierced your flesh with a sickeningly dull sound and in a merciful moment of sanity you were allowed before the pain exploded, you gratefully uttered a silent prayer that the bullet didn't exit through your back as it would’ve shot Bucky who was standing flush behind you. 

He slid down and kneeled with you in his arms, crimson blood dripping down his fingers as he pressed down harshly on your wound to stop you from bleeding out.

“What the fuck have you done?!” Bucky's eyes were wild, succumbing to emotions you had never seen him show before. 

You tried to speak but your mouth filled with thick blood, a violent cough making it splatter out and trickle down your lips. 

“No, no, no, please…not you…“ he frantically said, voice breathless and breaking, raw with panic, “... anyone but you…”

The very warmth of your blood made him nauseous, the feeling of your life slipping through his fingers turned his own blood cold in his veins.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He made sure to lure the soldiers away from where you were. He made sure you were at a safe distance. It had always been you he tried to protect. So why the fuck did you do that? There was not a single timeline of this life where his life is more valuable than yours.

You heard Bucky yell orders in a tone that left no space for discussion. It was like hearing unintelligible words through thick water.

“...y/n has been shot…”

“...gunshot wound to the chest….bleeding out….” 

“...call the hovercraft and get the medics...” 

Blood was still gushing out, absorbed by the material of your black tactical suit, darkening it as it disappeared out of sight. The only giveaway of your wound was the deep crimson colour staining Bucky's hands. The pain was so excruciating that it almost rendered you numb. A clammy, cold sweat covered your skin that was losing its colour by the minute. 

Gods, you were cold. Your body felt so heavy that you thought you were sinking into the concrete itself. Perhaps if you closed your eyes, just for a minute. Your eyelids were heavy as iron, your strength dissipating. Just a quick rest… your heartbeat spiked in alert as two strong hands violently shook you out of your slumber, sharp pain in your chest increasing. 

“Stay awake,” Bucky rasped, voice now fully shaking. “Help is on the way. You're going to be okay, j-just… hang on tight. Please. Please.” This is the most scared he's been since falling out of that train all those years ago. Hell, he was terrified. His mind drew a blank. He felt useless, paralysed by the feeling of utter helplessness. 

He pressed your wound using more of his strength, making you groan and shiver at the increased pain. The tortured sound that left your lips made Bucky swear that he will do everything to never hear that sound coming from you again. 

“Shit….Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry y/n,” he stammered, speaking under his breath as he fumbled to find something to press your wound with that wasn't his bare hand. “I know it hurts but I have to, okay? I need to stop the bleeding.“

His eyes were filled with hot unshed tears. He ripped the sleeve off of his suit in one clean and violent yank, and bundled it up in his hands to put pressure on your shoulder. You used the last of your strength to raise your hand and place it gently on his cheek. Your voice was raspy and faint, but you could see that he was slowly descending into unavoidable panic. 

“It'll be alright…” you whispered. ”It's okay James, i-it's okay, you're okay….“

Your voice was weak, void of life and warmth. But you could see that he needed to hear it, to know that you're fighting to stay. 

To stay with him. 

“This is nothing, Bucky. W-we've had worse, remember? James. Breathe…”

You trailed off as your hand fell from his cheek, leaving a red trail in its wake on his cheek. 

The amount of effort it took you just to speak said otherwise. Bucky was bewildered and beside himself from shock and disbelief. Why were you the one comforting him? You were bleeding out in his arms and still trying to keep him from falling apart.

You were dancing on the edge of a double edged sword of life and death, and yet the only thing that mattered to you were his inner wounds and if he'll survive this. The state of his soul being a priority over your physical body and what you were going through was outside of his comprehension. He didn’t deserve this kindness. Bucky looked so upset, so hurt, deep helplessness and anger etched on his lovely features. 

Someone spoke in his ear piece and he sighed an angry exhale, shutting his eyes tightly for a brief moment to compose himself. He needed to be calm for you, at least a semblance of it. He had to get his shit together if he was going to pull you out here alive. 

“y/n, the craft is coming but I need to carry you out of the building.”

There was a pause, and you nodded weakly.

“You understand what that means? It’s going to hurt when I move you and you'll have to keep pressure on your wound until I get you out. I…. I have no other choice.”

A frail and shaky ‘I trust you….’ flowed over your lips stained with blood, a sight and sound so eerie to Bucky’s ears that he knew it would haunt him in his nightmares. 

“I have to get you out.” 

“I can do it, Bucky. I'm not made of glass,” you uttered with a shallow breath. Bucky begged to differ. For such a gentle person, he always found you to be unnecessarily stubborn. He doubted your kindness was what qualified you to become an agent. 

“That's a bold claim for someone who's struggling to speak and breathe properly, y/n.” He inhaled a deep breath. Exhaled with a conviction.

“Take this and press as hard as you can.” You took the dampened cloth with a shaky grasp and hissed when you made contact with your shoulder. An uncontrollable shudder ran down your body when you pressed it on the wound, and he went rigid with anger.

He was angry with you for protecting him. Angry at the soldier who fired that bullet. Angry with himself for not being fast enough. If only he’d gotten himself free ten seconds earlier, this waking nightmare wouldn't be happening. 

Bucky picked you up slowly, mustering every ounce of gentleness he had in him so the pain would be minimal to you. Everything was flowing in slow motion, each breath and movement slow as if it was suspended in water. Gazing at the deep blue his eyes wouldn't be the worst way to die. You wouldn't have it any other way - to be welcomed by swallowing darkness in the warm embrace of his comforting arms that held you so tightly as if he could somehow grasp and tether your very soul to his to stop it from leaving.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, you heard yelling and fast, heavy footsteps approaching. Somewhere in the distance a loud whirring of a jet roared, and there was a bright light behind Bucky, illuminating the both of you. To your hazy, barely conscious mind, he looked luminous against the dark surroundings, as if there was a helo around his stature. Now able to see his face, your heart squeezed itself painfully at the divine, picturesque being gazing at you with raw and unhidden affection.

Perhaps it was divine intervention after all.

You were finally being held in his arms. No need to be homesick anymore. You finally knew how it felt to have his hands on your skin, to be caressed as gently as one would touch rose petals that are about to fall off. 

Oh god. Your guardian angel was crying. Why does he look so heartbroken? It's almost as if he…

Despite all the chaos around you and in you, all you cared about in this moment was him. You let your eyes roam freely on his face, mapping his features and inking them beneath your eyelids so you can see him even with your eyes closed. He was breathtaking. His long, disheveled hair fell softly, his lips plush and kissable, his face flushed and full of life. The blue of his eyes has never looked so crystal clear before, raw with emotion that was fully set free after his walls crumbled. What a sacred sight to see before you die.

He gently laid you down onto the stretcher, cradling your face with utmost care and leaning in so only you could hear him.

“Why did you do this?” he whispered so quietly that you almost missed it. 

“Why are you so afraid of losing me?” you countered softly.

Bucky remained silent, but his ocean eyes never left yours.

You were on the verge of falling unconscious, but you fought it for just a few more moments. If he could hear your inner thoughts, he’d hear a chanting echo of I love him, I love him, I love him. You pulled him gently towards you, your lips brushing his cheek as you spoke the words that would change everything. “That's what people do when they're in love, Bucky…”

The last thing you felt were his searing teardrops trailing down your cheek, and the velvet touch of the softest lips on your forehead.

The first thing you were aware of was your sense of touch. The bed you were in was pleasantly cool and comfortable. You were covered by something thin and soft, feeling like silk on your skin. You hadn’t settled into your body yet. The medication they gave you was still in your system, making it hard to come to your senses.

You tried stretching to alleviate the soreness of your worn out muscles but the stiffness and pain in your shoulder woke you up some more, as it was tightly bound and pulsating with a dull ache. Memories of what happened came to you in gentle waves, each sharper in detail than the one before. 

Blood. Chaos. Blue eyes, unshed tears. Bucky carrying you in his arms. 

You felt your hand being held in a tight grip. Warm, you thought. Safe. 

Opening your eyes, you blinked a couple of times to chase away the lingering sleepiness, and realized you were in your room that was reorganized to fit all the medical tech needed to monitor your vitals. Waking up in a familiar environment in the only place you gave yourself permission to be who you really were was comforting, putting you at ease. You glanced sideways and saw Bucky fast asleep slouched on your bed, his hand enveloping yours. A lifeline you can follow to find your way back to him. 

His skin was slightly pale and purple bruises bloomed under his eyes, his hair disheveled as if he kept running his fingers through it. A lock of hair fell across his face, moving in the rhythm of his breaths. He looked like someone who hasn’t slept for days, and was only knocked out now because his body made that decision for him.

Despite the exhaustion that was obvious, Bucky looked peaceful in his slumber. His features were relaxed, and it made him look endearing with his face smushed and his pink lips slightly open. However, the position he was sleeping in looked very much uncomfortable, and you knew he was going to be hurting all over until he’s had a full night of sleep in a proper bed.

A feeling started settling down in your chest, and you quickly recognized it. Guilt.

He was in this state because of you and your recklessness. It must’ve been quite a scare if someone so stoic succumbed to his emotions in full. The bedside table was a mix of medication, half eaten snacks and empty coffee cups. Bucky’s tactical suit and equipment were draped on a chair in the corner of the room, and he was now sporting comfy sweats and one of his henleys. 

He didn’t notice you were awake yet, and you remained unmoving and silent to steal this moment and look at him. He was lovely when he was disarmed and resting. He looked younger, sweeter. You gently moved the hair that fell over his eyes, and you continued to caress his hair, running your fingers through his hair ever so gently. It felt good to finally do that, like when you give into your desires after fighting them for too long. More than yearning to be loved by him, you wanted to love him.

He felt the light brush of your fingers on him and opened his eyes, fixated on you in an instant.

A pause. Another second. Bucky drew a breath and his eyes widened as his whole body became alert.

“Oh my god. You’re awake-”

He jumped on his feet straight towards you, his body on autopilot. All he could think about was being near you. Touching you. Feeling the warmth of your body. Seeing your chest rise and fall with each breath. Noting down and memorizing each little indication that you are alive.

He stopped himself abruptly, once he was in his right mind to remember that you had a gaping hole in your shoulder two days ago and pulling you into a crushing hug wouldn’t be the best idea.

“Go on then. Or are you just going to leave me hanging without a hug?” Seeing the amused look on your face made him relax, his features softening. 

“Yes y/n, I bet a crushing hug from a super soldier with a metal arm is just what you need to heal.”

You huffed, discontent and determined.  “If you don’t hug me this instant, I swear to god I’ll-”

Bucky started moving before you even got the chance to finish your sentence, and gently sat down next to you and helped you sit up with the utmost care. His hands were warm and steady, and your heartbeat picked up a little bit just by having his hands on you.

“I promise to give you the most suffocating hug when you’re healed. Deal? If your wound opens again, the medics will kick my ass.” Something was off with him despite the light tone he tried to keep in his voice. There was an edge. A heaviness he tried to mask.

You furrowed your brow at what he said. “....opens again?” 

Bucky looked reluctant to answer, as if reliving it again was something that he was not ready for. He debated what to say and how to say it until you intertwined his fingers with yours and interrupted his train of thoughts with a calm tone. “Tell me what happened after you brought me to the craft.”

“I…” his voice wavered only slightly, but you still caught it. You remained silent, watching him. He doesn’t need coaxing, he just needs time to recollect his thoughts. He deserves  patience to answer when he’s ready, not when he’s ordered.

“The medics were all over you when you lost consciousness. Your condition worsened within a minute.” His gaze was distant and pensive. Almost like he was trying to detach himself from the scenes that were plaguing his mind.

“You lost a lot of blood. Your blood pressure was dropping and they had to remove the bullet. Your…” he swallowed heavily, his words caught in his throat. “Your heart stopped. Twice.”

You were lost for words. If the roles were reversed, you had no idea how you’d even keep your composure without completely falling apart. “Bucky…” 

You stroked his arm up and down in a gentle caress, hoping the contact would comfort him. He continued in a strained voice. “They resuscitated you, reopening your wound a couple of times right after they finally managed to stop the bleeding. You were finally stable when we brought you to the compound and had access to full medical tech.”

“Did you sleep here the whole time?” you asked softly.

“I didn’t, but I was with you here the entire time. You needed a blood donation, and a lot of it.” He lifted his arm, a gauze fastened around his elbow. “We’re a match. The serum only affects my cells and not my blood so it's safe for you to receive it. I decided to stick around in case you needed blood again. Not that I wouldn’t have been here either way. Couldn’t do shit until you’re awake and safe.”

He turned to look at you and was startled to notice the stricken look in your eyes, your lower lip trembling with emotion and your eyes filled with hot unshed tears, until one escaped and rolled gently down your cheek. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, Bucky. I’m so sorry you had to do all that. Thank you. Thank you for saving my-”

The interruption was swift, his jaw clenched as he spoke in a low, tight voice, his tone pure ice. “I will not hear those words from you, do you understand? You will never say that to me. You saved my life.” A silent pause. “And what you did will never happen again.” 

“If you took that bullet, that soldier would’ve just shot me next and then we’d both be dead.”

“Don’t you dare be logical right now. I’m still fucking angry with you.”

“Bucky, it was a calculated action with prior forethought! I knew you’d get us out of there and we’d both have a chance at surviving.”

He shot you a look that clearly said that’s bullshit. “You jumped in front of death with absolutely no thoughts in your head.”

You sighed, realizing quickly that there’s no point in arguing with Bucky. “Yeah… true. I did. And I’d do it again if it meant saving you.” Bucky said nothing, but the fury brewing in him was evident from a mile away. Something told you he won't be dropping this easily. 

His voice broke through the silence. “Did you mean it?”

“That I’d save you again? Yeah-”

“No,” he interrupted. “That you did this…out of love.”

A nervous shiver ran down your spine as you heard those words. You knew this conversation was going to happen sooner than later but that didn’t mean you were prepared for it. 

But what bemused the most was that Bucky Barnes, the formidable six feet tall Winter Soldier, was nervously scratching the nape of his neck, looking embarrassed and a little flushed. He’s never looked more endearing than he did right now, disarmed and open. He’s finally opening up to you. He’s finally asking. He’s being vulnerable and you wanted to scream it into the universe until you lost your voice. Instead, you uttered his name softly.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“I’m in love with you.” 

His head shot up so quickly that anyone else would’ve gotten a whiplash and a sprained neck. A bewildered look in his eyes. Relieved. Stunned. Hopeful, you thought with surprise.

“I have been for the longest time. Even when you were breaking my heart.” He looked at you in question, frowning at what you said.

“You let others warm your bed for a few hours just to feel something, instead of finding a steady source of that warmth with me.”

“That's not- I didn’t-,” he stuttered, not finding the right words. 

You looked at him with gentleness, keeping his eyes glued to yours. “I know why you did it. I know you better than you might think. I see you, Bucky. All of you. The person you were before the Winter Soldier is still within you, it's the one thing they couldn't rip away. But you don't need to be the “old” you in order to be loved. No one ever stays the same, we all age and change, but our nature stays.”

He listened to your words, holding on them like they were a tether keeping him firmly grounded. Like he waited for the longest time to hear these words.

“And your nature, my beloved,” you whispered, “is as kind and as good as one can be. You not accepting that doesn't make it untrue.”

“Y/n….”

“You just need someone to make you see it.”

“Can you?”

“...can I what?”

“Make me see it.”

“James Barnes, I have been doing that this whole entire time. Whether you'll let me or not is up to you. I cannot be the one to fix you. You need to heal yourself on your own, but with me at your side.”

Bucky exhaled, and went still. In one swift movement, he brought his face impossibly close to yours. His breath was your breath. Your mind short-circuited, pausing all coherent thoughts. “This is your chance to say no.”

There was only silence coming from you as you slid your hand up his shoulder, resting it on his nape. All it took for Bucky to lose control was a gentle pull on his hair. He closed the distance capturing your lips with his, and nothing else in this world mattered anymore as your body was set ablaze.

His lips were softer than velvet and incredibly warm, moulding into yours in a kiss that you knew will consume your every waking thought. Bucky held your face in his hands as if holding something precious, kissing you senseless until your lungs were burning making you break the kiss reluctantly so both of you can get air. Not even the most rigorous training had you this breathless. Your lips still felt the pressure of his, already missing the contact. 

Nothing mattered but the two heartbeats harmonizing, right here in this room. Bucky licked your lower lip playfully, then placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Then he kissed your lips again. And again. 

“I love you,” he whispered right before he dived again, breathing those words into you as if sealing a contract that cannot be undone.

He placed a feather-like kiss on your left eye, then on your right eye. Next was a quick peck on your nose. Then he kissed your bruised, rosy lips one more time, reluctantly breaking it in a way that promised much more. A tender kiss found its way on your neck, making you shiver with anticipation, the softest moan leaving your lips and a wonderful, achingly warm feeling pooled in your lower tummy. The look he gave you looked a lot like “I feel it too” and “I'll make you see stars later”.

He then lifted your hand up and kissed the inside of your wrist with tenderness that brought another flush to your face. He left his lips linger on your skin for a moment, after which he leaned down until his forehead gently fell on yours, savouring the proximity. “I love to feel your heartbeat on my lips. Something to remind me that you’re alive when I’m not next to you.”

This was it, you thought. Whether I jump in front of a bullet or not he’ll be the death of me.

“y/n…I know I've hurt you. Tell me how to make this right. I'll spend a lifetime retracing my steps to make the right choices if I have to.” 

“Oh, you'd do that for me? Go back in time to make things right? Stealing the time stone might prove to be the one thing that's above even your capabilities.”

Bucky scoffed playfully, nudging you gently. “You know what I meant.”  

A pensive pause. 

“But I'll steal the stone if you ask me to.” He mumbled in his beard, grumpy and moping, “can't believe you said that…. above my skills… as if… ”

“There, there, superhero”, you said in a teasing tone, tapping his shoulder. “I know you're annoyingly capable. Terrifyingly so, really. It’s kinda unfair.”

You basked in this moment where you got to see him this playful. You wanted more of it. More of him. 

Your voice softened, enveloped in a more serious tone. “There’s nothing to make right, James. I just need you to be you. I need you to be with me. And - I need you to hold me whenever I ask. No exceptions.” Bucky placed his palms on your soft hips and squeezed in response.

You closed your eyes and sighed with palpable relief. “You feel like home.”

★ ─ manchild ( roommate!bucky, frenemies to lovers )

synopsis. bucky can't help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you. ( 34.4k words )

★ ─ tears ( bf's older brother!bucky, childhood crush to lovers )

synopsis. bucky has been your ideal man since the fresh buds of puberty made your eager eyes gravitate towards his biceps: intelligent, considerate, good with his hands... his only flaw? he's your boyfriend's older brother.

★ ─ my man on willpower ( congressman!bucky, established relationship )

synopsis. in the blink of an eye, a couple has become a throuple: you, bucky, and politics. you've always been down for a threesome, but you're getting sick and tired of the government coming between you and bucky's sex life.

★ ─ sugar talking ( tinder crush!bucky, strangers to lovers )

synopsis. months of dancing around one another, never too far yet always just out of reach, comes to a head when you finally give your tinder crush an ultimatum: put your money where your mouth is, or i'm blocking you.

★ ─ we almost broke up again ( new avengers!bucky, make up sex )

synopsis. after a mission goes awry and voices are raised, the entire watch-tower is forced to reckon with the fallout of you and bucky's relationship. thus commences the rest of the team's ploy to get you back together.

★ ─ nobody's son ( dbf!bucky, age-gap )

synopsis. your relationships have a life-span of 3 months before it all goes to shit... so perhaps it's time you stop looking for someone's son, and set your eyes on someone's father.

★ ─ never getting laid ( ex-fiancé!bucky, romcom )

synopsis. being natasha's maid of honour comes with three simple rules: be civil, be polite, and please don't start an argument with steve's best-man. that's easier said than done when the best-man just so happens to be your ex-fiancé, bucky barnes.

★ ─ when did you get hot? ( surgeon!bucky, rivals to lovers )

synopsis. working as an anaesthesiologist is stressful enough, the last thing you need is an entitled surgeon breathing down your neck. too bad that's exactly what you get when your high school rival walks through the hospital doors and proclaims himself the new chief of your department. worst of all? bucky is hot now.

★ ─ go go juice ( best friend!bucky, friends to lovers )

synopsis. drunk, horny, and alone, you're on a mission to entice any old flame to come satisfy your needs. in a twist of fate, your thumb slips and suddenly you're begging your best friend to come screw the brains out of you.

★ ─ don't worry i'll make your worry ( knight!bucky, royal au )

synopsis. amidst royal balls and pleas for your hand in marriage, you strike up a dangerous affair with the man your father assigned to keep you safe... in your defence, his sword is really big.

★ ─ house tour ( tfatws!bucky, new relationship )

synopsis. you've finally been handed the keys to your new house, so naturally the next step is to host a house-warming. the guest list? one super soldier, and a mission to christen as many surfaces as you can.

★ ─ goodbye ( neighbour!bucky, fake dating au )

synopsis. tired of your ex showing up at your door with crumpled flowers and a plea to get back together, you accidentally drag your unsuspecting neighbour into a ploy of feigned affection and play-pretend dates.

And even if he wanted to, what the hell was he supposed to say? Hi, sorry, I can’t stop staring at you when I should be watching the guy with the grenade launcher. No. He kept his mouth shut because that was safer. Safer for him, safer for everyone.

But it didn’t matter what he told himself. You were still there, in his head.

It was the way you moved through a room effortlessly. Everyone else leaned closer when you spoke, even people like Tony who rarely listened to anyone.

You didn’t demand attention; you collected it the way fire collects moths. A hand on a shoulder, a laugh tossed lightly into the air, a question asked like you genuinely wanted the answer—and suddenly, you had them. All of them, including Bucky.

That was the part he couldn’t stand. Watching you draw people in and knowing he wasn’t immune. Watching the rest of the team light up around you, and catching himself memorising the way your smile tilted, the cadence of your voice, the way your presence shaped the whole atmosphere.

It made him restless and angry with himself, because Bucky Barnes didn’t get restless over anyone, not anymore. He’d had that burned out of him long ago.

So why the hell couldn’t he stop tracking the sound of your laugh over the comms? Why couldn’t he keep his eyes on the perimeter instead of catching glimpses of you through the chaos?

Bucky told himself it was tactical. In fact, he told himself countless things he knew were complete lies. But every time he caught you looking back at him, even just for a second, he felt the ground shift under his boots.

That was when he decided you weren’t just a distraction, you were dangerous. 

You’d caught the weight of his stare once or twice in the mayhem of a mission; the kind of look that wasn’t meant to be spotted. Quick, averted, almost guilty. But you were stubborn enough to notice him anyway, and stubborn enough to remember.

You didn’t blame Bucky for keeping his distance. Siren wasn’t the kind of codename that inspired trust. It sounded like trouble, like temptation, like something a man with Bucky’s past ought to run from. And your ability didn’t help either. Your voice could slip past a person’s defences like a knife between ribs, coaxing truth before they could resist. 

Useful, yes, but unsettling to anyone who didn’t know the limits of it.

As a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, you were capable of holding your own without using your abilities on most missions. But it was the only way to get information out of a mercenary with ties to Hydra. 

You had the merc cornered against a crumbling wall. Your power thrummed in your throat, low and resonant. “Who hired you?” 

The merc’s mouth moved before he could even think to resist, eyes wide as he gave up everything he knew. You dropped the thread of power the moment you had what you needed, your voice gentling back into warmth as you relayed the intel over comms.

Somewhere nearby, Steve was giving orders into comms, boots thundering on cracked concrete. Beneath all of it, you felt the burn of someone’s gaze.

When you turned, Bucky was watching you. Not casual, not even curious about your abilities. He didn’t seem to have noticed you used them in the first place.

Bucky was watching like a man who knew better, but couldn’t stop anyway. His jaw was locked tight, expression carved from stone, but his blue eyes betrayed him; sharp and fixed like he couldn’t help himself.

You offered him a quick smile—polite, maybe a touch coquettish—before moving on.

Back at the compound, everyone parted ways, grumbling about showers and sleep. After a long, hot shower, you padded into the kitchen with sock-clad feet, expecting it to be empty, but found Bucky there instead.

He stood stiffly at the counter like he hadn’t decided whether he was staying or fleeing. His shoulders were hunched as if bracing for impact, but he looked softer around the edges. His hair was almost black when wet, and his clothes were looser too: grey sweatpants and a faded navy T-shirt that clung to his shoulders but slouched everywhere else. 

Most people read that aura as Caution! Do not approach, but you weren’t most people.

“Tea?” you asked, flicking the kettle on and rummaging through the cupboard for your favourite bedtime blend.

Bucky blinked, startled you’d spoken at all. His pause was longer than it needed to be, and against what looked like his own better judgment, he nodded. 

You pulled two mugs from the cabinet, the faint clink of porcelain filling the hush between you. The silence wasn’t empty so much as alive, humming with the soft whistle of the kettle and the faint scrape of your movements. 

Bucky’s gaze tracked every small motion: your hand brushing hair from your face, the curve of your mouth when you concentrated, the way your body seemed to move with easy unconscious grace. He told himself to look away, but he couldn’t. All he could do was admire the way your sleeve slipped back from your wrist and the curve of your shoulders when you leaned forward. 

He was watching too closely, and you felt it, the weight of his attention warm on the back of your neck.

When you turned to face him, steam curled between you in fragrant ribbons of chamomile and lavender, heat fogging the air just enough to make the kitchen feel smaller. You offered him a mug, and for a heartbeat, his calloused, warm flesh hand brushed yours. Though his skin was rough, the press of his fingers against the back of your hand was feather-light. 

The touch was deliberately fleeting, but not so fleeting that you missed the sharp intake of his breath. Bucky pulled back like he’d been burned, lips pressed together.

“Thanks,” he muttered. His voice was rougher than you’d expected, gravel clinging to the edges of his tone even in the safety of the compound. It made the single syllable sound reluctant.

You sipped your tea, letting the heat sink into your palms, waiting for him to say or do something. Bucky didn’t immediately bolt, as he often did when the team tried to rope him into things, so you tried again. 

“Recon missions with new people are always a little hectic. Could’ve gone worse, though,” you said casually.

A pause. Bucky’s jaw worked, and then a low sound rumbled from him, almost like agreement.

You pressed, light but curious. “We don’t get to work together much, do we?”

Another pause. Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, swift and hot, before sliding away. “No,” he agreed.

You smiled into your mug. “Guess I’ll have to start putting in requests.”

This time, Bucky’s lips curved too. The smallest grin, quick and self-conscious, but real. And when it faded, his eyes lingered on you like he’d already let more slip than he should.

You always found your way to the Avengers Tower’s rooftop by accident. The first few times, you’d gone to the roof when the insomnia wouldn’t let up, and the walls of the tower felt like they were pressing inwards. Even though you had just as many fond memories at the tower as you did at the compound, some moments felt too polished and artificial, and you needed a breather.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The night air hit sharp against your cheeks, that particular New York chill that carried the smell of exhaust and something frying three streets down. You closed your eyes and breathed it in. The city was loud even at this hour, horns blaring, subway grates sighing.

Still, when you leaned against the railing and looked out, your chest tightened. DC wasn’t so far in miles, but it may as well have been on another planet. The memory of rooftops there—quiet, stolen places where you’d sat trying to decide whether you were really helping anyone, or just another cog in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s well-oiled machine—pushed its way in, unwanted. 

The sound of the door sliding open behind you made you stiffen. You expected Tony to lecture you about safety protocols and F.R.I.D.AY. waking him to alert him that someone was on the roof, or maybe Steve to remind you that you actually needed to be in bed to get a good night’s sleep. 

Instead, it was Bucky. He paused in the doorway, shoulders squared as if it’d taken a lot of courage for him to see you through the glass door and decide to join you. He stepped forward, silent despite the heavy weight of his boots. 

You wondered—not for the first time—if the super soldier serum had made him unnervingly stealthy on purpose, or if he just enjoyed startling you.

You glanced at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. Bucky leaned against the railing beside you, a careful two feet away. He always liked his distance. He wore that heavy jacket of his, zipped high, though you knew it wasn’t the cold that bothered him. His vibranium arm was covered, and his breath came in steady clouds.

“You don’t sleep much either, huh?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant.

Bucky’s mouth lifted faintly, like he wasn’t sure if he’d forgotten how to smile or if he didn’t trust it. “Not really.” His voice caught at the edges, the kind of sound that hummed against your skin long after it faded.

You tilted your head, trying for lightness. “Is it the mattress? Too many Egyptian cotton threads?”

That got you a small huff of air, an almost-laugh. The sound curled through you far too easily, catching low in your chest. Unfair, really, that one almost-laugh could feel like a personal victory.

Bucky looked out at the skyline. “Noise,” he said finally. “City’s loud.” A pause. “I used to sit on rooftops in Brooklyn when I was a kid. If it got too noisy inside, I’d go higher. It always felt quieter up there.”

“I had roof access in DC,” you offered, surprising yourself at how much you wanted to meet Bucky where he was. “Slept better up there than in my own bed. Guess it was easier to breathe when there wasn’t a ceiling above me. Or a mission the next morning.”

His gaze cut to you then, sharp and searching. “You didn’t like the missions?”

You swallowed, the cool air stinging your throat. “Didn’t always know who I was helping.” You trailed off, alluding to the way you, Steve, and Natasha had exposed Hydra’s infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D. “Funny how you can spend years fighting the good fight and not even know whose definition of ‘good’ you’re following.”

That earned you a heavy silence. 

You let yourself shamelessly watch Bucky, then. Not ogling or studying him, just observing him in the way you always seemed to watch people. As a trained spy, you spent a lot of your time trying to understand people through their behaviours so that you could give them exactly what they wanted from you. 

With Bucky, you just hoped your training would let you get to know him better. You liked the way the streetlight caught in the faint silvering at his temples, and his jaw flexed when he thought too hard. He smelled faintly of leather and soap despite the grit of the day still clinging to him. 

You caught yourself wondering what it would be like to close that careful gap he always held between you.

“The world’s loud in different ways now,” Bucky said at last. His voice was quieter, as if meant only for you. “Hard to tell what’s real.”

You tilted your head, watching the faint curl of your breath fade into the night. “The city, or people?”

Bucky huffed, closer to laughter than you’d ever heard from him. “Both.” His eyes lingered on the skyline. “Brooklyn used to feel smaller. Easier. You knew who was on your block, who’d slip you an extra cannoli at the bakery if you carried their groceries home. Now,” his hand made a vague gesture over the surrounding skyscrapers, “it’s like living in someone else’s memory. Looks familiar but doesn’t sound right.”

Hearing him admit something so personal without you prying surprised you. You softened. “I get that. DC felt that way after S.H.I.E.L.D. Same streets, same cafés, but I couldn’t walk them without wondering who’d known what. Who I’d smiled at in passing while they were pulling strings above my head.”

Bucky frowned, a shadow of empathy flickering across his face. “Guess we’ve both had the rug pulled out from under us.”

“More like the whole floor,” you quipped, before you could stop yourself. But Bucky’s lips curved, brief and genuine, and you decided you’d die happy having put a smile on his face.

He looked at you, steady in a way that made you shiver more than the cold. “So what keeps you here? With them?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just searching.

You blinked. “What keeps me with the Avengers?”

Bucky nodded.

You shifted, leaning against the railing, your fingers brushing cold metal. “Because even if the ground isn’t steady, the people are. Steve, Nat, Sam—they make the world make sense. And,” You hesitated, aware of the weight of his attention. “Because I want to believe in good. Even if I’ve been wrong before.”

Bucky’s jaw worked, as if he were chewing on that. Then he asked, almost softly, “And do you?”

Your throat tightened. “Most days. Some days more than others, especially when I’m not up all night contemplating it.” You chuckled quietly. “More than anything, I see good more than I believe in it.”

Bucky leaned his forearms on the railing, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he moved closer. If you moved even an inch, your sleeve would catch on his. The thought was absurdly magnetic, pulling at you.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get back there. To believing.” Bucky glanced sideways, a flicker of something raw passing through his eyes. “But sometimes I think it could be possible. Around the right people.”

You felt the admission settle between you, fragile and earnest. Your chest ached with the desire to ease the rawness in Bucky’s voice. 

You tipped your head, your lips curving into a smile. “Well,” you murmured, “I guess that makes for a decent audition tape for Team ‘Believing in Good Again.’ Obviously headed by Steve, America’s Golden Retriever Boyfriend. Not sure what the benefits package is, though. Fingers crossed for dental.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “Therapy would be nice,” he deadpanned. “Think they’d cover ninety years of back pay?”

That startled a laugh out of you, loud and unguarded enough that you clapped a hand over your mouth. “God, that’s dark.” The fact that he’d reciprocated your banter instead of shutting it down made you grin so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Honest,” Bucky corrected, his tone bone-dry.

You laughed harder, helpless against it, and Bucky joined in too. A low sound, quiet but genuine, breaking out of him like it hadn’t seen daylight in a long time. You turned to look at him, wanting to catch it before it vanished.

It didn’t vanish. The sound was rough, unpractised, but real. You wanted to wrap it in both hands and keep it safe.

Bucky was still chuckling softly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d gotten him there. The sound warmed the cold air more than any jacket could.

“Okay,” you said, breathless with amusement, “I think you make an excellent addition to the team. We don’t have nearly enough comic relief.” Your sardonic tone made Bucky smile again. If anything, the Avengers had too many sarcastic assholes who lived to make everyone laugh.

He arched a brow, the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. “That’s why they let you in, isn’t it?”

You mock-gasped. “Excuse you, I’m multi-talented.”

That earned you another little huff of laughter, and this one came easier, freer. Bucky didn’t look away this time either. His gaze stayed with you, steady and open in a way that made your heart thrum. It felt dangerously like trust, like a door creaking open just wide enough to glimpse the man he still was beneath all that armour.

Bucky lingered in the hall longer than he should have. The tower was alive tonight, laughter spilling from the common room in bright bursts. He caught the cadence of Sam’s bark of amusement, Natasha’s low drawl, and Peter’s earnest whining that always gave way to more heckling. Cards slapped against wood, a chorus of voices rose and broke again.

He’d only meant to come down for water. Nothing more; in and out, like one of their recon missions. But when he turned into the hallway and saw you in the kitchen, he couldn’t help but want to linger.

You leaned against the counter, bathed in the pale glow of the fridge. Hair swept up, but just messy enough that it looked deliberate. Your mouth already tipped into a smile when you noticed Bucky in the doorway.

“Well, if it isn’t Sergeant Midnight Snack,” you teased, lifting your glass with a lazy flourish. “At least tell me you’re here for Cheetos or something. Don’t ruin this for me with celery sticks.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the doorframe before he moved. Keep it steady, he reminded himself. Controlled. He brushed past you toward the cupboard, careful not to graze you. “Water,” he muttered.

“Water,” you echoed, amused. You tipped your head, eyes gleaming. “Living on the edge, I see.”

Bucky almost smiled. God, it was too easy with you. He reached for a glass. His hand stilled halfway when you slid one off the counter instead.

“Here,” you offered, filling it at the sink. The sound of water pouring was louder than the laughter down the hall. You held the glass out to him, steady, waiting.

Bucky hesitated. A thousand instincts screamed at him to retreat, to keep the space between you. He couldn’t afford softness, couldn’t afford the memory of your warmth stitched into his palm.

But he reached anyway. 

The brush of your fingers hit him like a spark—searing through his veins, too quick to disguise. His chest locked up, then hollowed, a dangerous looseness spreading where control should have been.

You didn’t even blink, just looked at Bucky with a smile so easy it made him dizzy. “You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence but not moving your hand, “if you want, I can teach you how to play. UNO’s not as terrifying as it sounds.”

Bucky huffed, a sound caught between dismissal and laughter. His voice came out rougher than he meant. “I think I’ll sit this one out. Not sure how much of Stark I can take once he’s started with the scotch.”

The common room roared again: cheers, shouts, Peter’s name yelled with mock outrage. But in the kitchen, between the hum of the fridge and the heat of your fingers still brushing his, it was quiet.

You grinned, mischief sparking, your voice velvety soft. “You’re already here, Bucky. Might as well take a seat before Clint cheats again.”

“I don’t cheat,” Clint’s voice called from the other room, immediately followed by Sam barking, “He cheats all the time!”

Your smirk deepened. “See? Justice needs you.” With that, you grabbed your own glass and headed back to the common room.

Bucky shook his head, but his unfaithful boots carried him those few steps toward the noise. He told himself he’d sit for one round, maybe two, and then slip away again.

The table was chaos—cards flying, Steve laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair, Wanda calmly dismantling Clint’s entire hand with two cards.

Peter made space instantly, practically bouncing in his seat. “Oh! Mr Barnes, sit here! You can totally take my spot.”

“He’s good,” you cut in smoothly, hand brushing the back of the empty chair next to you. “This one’s his.”

For a moment, Bucky paused. The expectation was always that he’d hover at the edges, watching but never joining in. But no one protested. They just kept shuffling, dealing, arguing over the rules—Yelena and Peter louder than anyone else.

“Barnes,” Clint said, already smirking. “You’ve never played UNO, have you?”

Bucky gave the faintest shrug.

“He doesn’t need experience,” you cut in, dealing the re-shuffled deck now that Bucky had joined. “He’s got the look of a man who can sniff out lies. Which means your cheating reign of terror is finished, Barton.”

Laughter rippled across the table. You leaned in, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “Rule number one: don’t listen to Tony. He thinks a Draw Four is a valid form of diplomacy.”

Tony lifted his drink in salute. “It’ll work one day.”

For the next few rounds, it was pure anarchy.

Sam narrated every card he played as if he were a sportscaster; Natasha destroyed Clint with surgical precision; Wanda and Yelena teamed up in a way that made Peter groan dramatically. Bucky seemed to angle himself toward you, so subtly you could almost convince yourself you’d imagined it.

You kept the banter flowing, firing off one-liners like sparks, revelling in the warmth of being part of this ridiculous found family that somehow hadn’t banished you yet.

You didn’t notice the way Steve’s eyes flicked to Sam, both of them catching the soft set of Bucky’s mouth when you laughed. You didn’t see Wanda hiding her smile behind her glass, or Natasha and Yelena exchanging the kind of look that could topple governments.

The pile of cards in front of Clint was obscene, and you had never been more delighted in your life. “Twenty-three,” you counted loudly, pointing to his spread across the table. “That’s not a hand, Barton. That’s a fire hazard.”

Clint, naturally, refused to concede. “Strategic arsenal.”

“Strategic losing streak,” Sam corrected, sliding a card down with far too much flourish. “Which, ladies and gentlemen, leaves me in the lead once again.”

“You’ve been in the lead since 2015,” Natasha deadpanned.

“That’s called consistency,” Sam said, grinning, and you nearly doubled over laughing.

Beside you, Bucky shifted, the kind of minimal movement that would’ve gone unnoticed if you hadn’t already been watching him. The corner of his mouth curved into a real smile, and seeing it felt like a victory greater than winning a game of UNO.

Still, you put down three Draw Four cards and gave the Avengers’ team leader a sugared smile.

Steve groaned loudly. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, staring at his new stack of twelve cards. “You played me,” he accused you.

You fluttered your lashes at him, unrepentant. “Played with you. For a while.”

Steve’s ears went red. “I wasn’t—” He stumbled, tripping over his own words, and Sam let out a delighted cackle.

“Look at him!” Sam hollered, pointing an accusatory finger. “Cap’s blushing like it’s prom night. That wasn’t strategy, that was seduction. You never stood a chance.”

“Seduction?” Steve repeated, scandalised.

“Oh, 100 percent.” Tony leaned across the table, eyes bright. “Textbook Siren manoeuvre. Get him cosy, lull him into trust, then—bam! Draw twelve. You should’ve known better, Capsicle.”

Clint wheezed a little. “She did smile at him all sweet, right before she gutted him.”

“Classic her,” Wanda cut in, smirking. “She pulls the same thing in training.”

Nat agreed, “You fall for it every time, Steve.”

Steve’s laugh grew more helpless, his blush creeping down his throat. “Okay, but she was being nice—”

“Nice?” Sam cackled. “She had you wrapped around her finger, man. Don’t even try to deny it.” He pointed at Bucky in a dramatic warning. “Careful, Buck, don’t sit too close to her. She’ll have you doing her bidding before you even realise she’s humming a tune.”

“Siren,” Yelena said in a husky whisper, teasing you for the codename you’ve had since your S.H.I.E.L.D. days and grinning as Natasha snorted beside her.

Steve complained again, dragging his hands down his face. “This is so unfair!” His protest broke into laughter, the tips of his ears already pink.

You’d been friends with Steve since the Avengers first formed, and you knew exactly how to appeal to your kind-hearted, big softy of a team leader. A tilt of your head, a lowered voice, a smile that suggested conspiracies shared just between the two of you. Steve was putty every time.

“Oh, come on, Rogers,” you teased, letting your fingers tap against the table. “You like trusting people. You trusted me, and it felt good, didn’t it?”

Steve sputtered, “I—that’s not—” He broke off into helpless giggles.

Sam leaned back, delighted. “Would you listen to him?”

Yelena let out a bark of laughter. “Is this normal? Does she do this every game night?”

“Every single time,” Wanda confirmed.

“I was the victim last time,” Peter recalled, matching Steve’s blush.

Laughter rolled across the table, easy and familiar as family. By now, they were used to the way you could shapeshift and charm to fit anyone’s needs—and to the way you shamelessly wielded it on game night. They couldn’t hold it against you. They knew you too well, and still fell for it every time.

But Bucky’s gaze was fixed on Steve’s hand on your shoulder. His chest rose too fast, like his ribs were suddenly too tight, and for one disorienting moment, the world blurred at the edges. The laughter muffled into a distant echo, and Bucky felt oddly like everything was moving in slow motion.

Siren. 

The word echoed, venomous and familiar in all the wrong ways. 

She’ll have you doing her bidding before you even realise she’s humming a tune. Was that why you were consuming Bucky’s every thought? You were using your powers on him?

His pulse thundered like an alarm in his ears. The warmth of the room—the light, easy banter he’d been enjoying all night—faded, leaving only the memories and sting of Hydra training and commands behind. 

You didn’t notice at first, caught up in Sam’s running commentary, in the ease of being teased by people who knew you too well to ever mistake your tricks for malice. You were oblivious to the way Bucky’s hand curled into a fist against his thigh.

When you turned, Bucky’s eyes were locked on you—blue, wide, and startled—like you’d just morphed into something sharp and dangerous.

The sight knocked the air out of you. You’d been making jokes, leaning into the jesting the way you always did, certain this was safe ground. Everyone else had laughed, But Bucky’s face made doubt curl in your stomach.

Had you crossed a line? Had your harmless flirting with Steve made Bucky uncomfortable?

“Bucky?” you murmured. Not playful this time. Just quiet and uncertain, caught between an apology and concern.

He couldn’t hear the softness in it over the ringing in his ears.

It started the morning after game night.

You weren’t expecting Bucky to send you flowers and a mixtape or anything. But you were expecting at least the usual nod in the hall. That minuscule flicker of acknowledgement he always gave, like he knew you existed in the same dimension and maybe didn’t mind it. Sometimes, if you caught him in a good mood, there’d even be the ghost of a smile.

But the next day? Nothing. Bucky passed you in the kitchen, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself the world’s grumpiest teammate.

And maybe that was just him. You knew he wasn’t Mr. Sunshine at the best of times, but then it happened again. And again. No nod, no hello, not even a grunt when you made some joke loud enough for him to overhear. 

It was like someone had flipped a switch from tolerating you to couldn’t care less if you lived or died.

At first, you brushed it off. People have bad weeks. The Avengers have bad weeks where “bad” involves alien warlords or the occasional robot uprising, so you figured he was busy.

But then you noticed the small things. Bucky had started sitting near you at the briefing table recently—not close, but within quipping distance. Now he deliberately picked the seat furthest away, next to Sam, since you always sat with Nat and Steve. And when you tried to talk to him, Bucky gave you these tight, clipped answers.

Polite, sure, but with all the warmth of an ice skating rink.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t seen the other side of Bucky. The side that came out on the balcony, when his shoulder almost brushed yours and he’d admitted, low and raw, that maybe he could believe in good again. The side that had joked with you and then, God help you, laughed like a careless little kid. Not a grunt, not a huff, but a real laugh, cracked and rusty and beautiful because it was his.

You’d thought—naively, apparently—that you’d reached some fragile truce where Bucky trusted you enough to be honest. But now he was shutting doors you hadn’t even realised he’d opened, and it left you fumbling in the dark.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if you hadn’t realised how much you’d come to enjoy those little moments. The way Bucky used to glance over when you were bantering with Yelena and Bob, that half-exasperated twitch of his mouth like he wanted to roll his eyes but was secretly amused. The way he’d linger for a second after you said goodnight, like there was something he might add before deciding against it.

They weren’t big things. They were barely-there things. Things you could almost convince yourself you’d imagined. But their absence was loud, and you kept wondering why it hurt so much.

The worst part was that you had no idea what you did wrong.

The warehouse smelled like damp concrete and trouble. You hated that smell.

“North corridor looks clear,” Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms, calm as always. “Yelena and I will sweep the other side. You two, check the labs.”

You cast Bucky a quick glance, but he didn’t return it. He was busy checking his gun, jaw set, posture locked in that soldier-straight way that always made you want to nudge him to see if he’d flinch.

He didn’t. Not even a twitch.

“Copy,” you said, because someone had to.

The labs were exactly what you’d expect in a bioweapons facility. Sterile walls, glass vials, enough ominous-looking refrigeration units to make you wonder how long it would take one bad leak to end civilisation. You tried to focus on cataloguing and checking for Hydra insignias, but it was impossible not to notice every tiny brush of proximity.

When you both reached for the same file on the counter, your fingers grazed Bucky’s vibranium hand, just a whisper of contact. But you felt the sudden hardness of his grip as he pulled away, and you saw the way his eyes flicked to yours for a microsecond. 

You swallowed, surprised at how much your chest skipped. 

Then, when you crouched to check under a lab bench and came up too fast, you collided shoulder-to-shoulder with him. The contact was short, but Bucky stiffened against you, eyes narrowed in a way that made your stomach drop.

You winced, ready to laugh it off, but the look he gave you had you biting your lip instead.

Your gaze caught a glint of red along the edge of his temple: a shallow cut from a piece of flying debris when the door gave way. “Bucky, let me see,” you murmured, reaching up toward the wound.

“I’m fine,” he said, waving a hand and jerking his head back just enough to evade your touch.

“Just let me look,” you pressed, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.

Bucky tensed, jaw tight, and for a moment, you almost didn’t recognise him. “I said I’m fine,” he snapped, voice low and brittle. “The serum takes care of it. Don’t fuss.”

You hesitated, caught between wanting to push and knowing when to step back. You frowned, growing defensive. “I’m not fussing, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Bucky stared at you, his eyes harsh and unreadable, and then he sighed to let you know he was done with the conversation. You wanted to ask him if he’d always made everyone else feel this way or if it was just you. But the moment passed before it could take shape. 

By the time the mission wrapped and you were making the trek back to the Quinjet, your nerves were shot. Your shoulders brushed, once, then again, and neither of you pulled away.

You could feel Bucky holding himself back, the tension radiating off him like something resembling anger. You stole glances at him, studied the furrow of his brow and the tight line of his mouth. It was like watching a storm brew in human form.

The Quinjet landed back at the Avengers Tower smoother than your nerves. Bucky had been staring at you the whole way home, or at least you thought he had. Every time you glanced up from adjusting your seatbelt strap there he was, heavy gaze fixed on you like you were a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong box. 

Not glaring, just watching. And not in a fun, this could lead to kissing kind of way. More like this could lead to homicide.

So, naturally, when the ramp lowered and the others filed out, you decided to test the waters. Light and breezy. Nothing that could be mistaken for poking the grizzly bear.

“Hey, Sarge.” You jogged a couple of steps to fall into stride with him. “Quick question: are we good? Because if this is about me finishing the last donut, I promise I’ll buy another box. Maybe two. Chocolate with sprinkles, right?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you, just kept walking—shoulders tight, jaw flexing. Your stomach dipped. Okay, not the donut thing. Probably something worse. 

“Bucky?” you tried again, quieter this time. “You’ve been—” You flailed for a word less desperate than glaring at me like I killed your family. “A little weird. Is everything okay?”

That’s when he paused; stopped dead in the middle of the hangar, boots planted, head bowed like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread. 

When Bucky finally spoke, his voice was low and taut. “No. It’s not okay.”

Oh, good. Not terrifying at all.

You forced a laugh, aiming for light but landing somewhere nervous. “Well, bonus points for honesty. Do you maybe want to elaborate, or should I just start apologising for every stupid thing I’ve ever said since we met?”

Bucky’s head lifted, and the intensity in his eyes rooted you to the spot. “You’re driving me insane,” he said.

The air left your lungs. Not playful, not an exaggeration. Something raw and jagged bled through every syllable.

“Um,” you blinked. “Okay. Can I ask why, specifically?”

“I can’t sleep without thinking about you,” Bucky pressed on, like your joke hadn’t reached his ears. He took a step toward you, each word sharp, cracking. “I can’t think without hearing your voice. Everything I do, every thought—it comes back to you. It’s like you’ve taken over every part of my brain, and I can’t shut it off.”

Your breath caught. Your pulse was a thunderclap in your ears. Part of you wanted to laugh it off, but the panic in his eyes shoved the humour back down. “Bucky,” you said carefully, trying to steady your voice, “I don’t—”

“You need to stop.” Another step, his shadow spilling over you now. It was the first time you’d ever felt small next to him, not because he was towering, but because his walls were closing in, bricked high.

Your back hit cool concrete of the wall before you’d even realised you’d been walking backwards. Your heart tripped over itself. “Stop what?”

“Using your powers on me!”

You blinked, disoriented. The words made sense in order, but together? They might as well have been a foreign language. “My what?!”

Bucky was breathing hard now, as if saying it out loud tore something open in him. His flesh hand raked through his hair, his metal one clenched like it might shatter. Then he shook his head, hard, like he could fling the thoughts out by force.

“This, whatever this is, it isn’t real!” Bucky’s voice was rising, frayed, trembling with panic. “You’re making me feel things I don’t want to feel, thoughts I don’t want. And I know why, I know what you do to people.”

Your gut swooped uncomfortably. “What I do to—Bucky, are you serious right now?”

“You think I don’t get it?” His voice cracked like a whip, close enough that you felt the heat of his breath. “They call you Siren. You sing your way into people’s heads. Twist them around until they can’t think straight. Well, congratulations, you got me.”

The accusation slammed into you harder than a punch. You swallowed, the air thick and sticky in your throat. Of all the things you thought he might accuse you of—being annoying, overeager, maybe even too much of a flirt—this cut bone-deep.

“That’s—” Your voice cracked before you fought it steady. “That’s not what I do. The name, Siren? It’s a joke. A stupid one, from when I was a new recruit at S.H.I.E.L.D. But I don’t manipulate people’s feelings! I can’t make you feel—”

But Bucky was already shaking his head. “Stop.” His tone was softer this time, closer to a plea than a command. “I just—” His hands flexed, metal glinting under harsh lights. “I don’t want you to talk to me anymore. I don’t want you around.”

And then Bucky tore himself away, storming out of the hangar as if he stayed a second longer, he’d break in half.

You stood frozen in the echo of his absence, heart pounding hard enough to bruise, skin prickling with the sting of it. You’d wanted clarity, reassurance that the tension between you wasn’t all in your head.

Instead, you got a mess of raw nerves and jagged mistrust—and the unmistakable sense that Bucky Barnes had just put you behind enemy lines.

Bucky had apparently mastered the art of disappearing in plain sight. 

It didn’t matter if you were in the gym, the kitchen, the common room, or wedged shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of the team in debriefs—he was suddenly the kind of man who always had someone standing between you and him. Yelena. John. Sometimes even Steve, which felt like adding insult to injury. And then, before you could so much as blink in his direction, Bucky’d be gone. 

A ghost in tactical boots.

You tried. God, you tried. A couple of subtle attempts in hallways, a few “funny running into you here” gambits that weren’t funny to anyone, least of all you. Once, you even faked needing an extra hand moving groceries into the kitchen. Bucky had slipped through a doorway like mist before you’d finished the word “carry.”

At night, when you stared at the ceiling of your tower room and felt the press of unsaid words burning behind your ribs, you replayed it all: his voice, his accusations, the wrecked look in his eyes when he told you he couldn’t sleep without thinking about you. 

That last one was the killer. Because even knowing he’d meant it as a confession of torment, you couldn’t stop the treacherous part of you that wanted to savour it. It was, in many ways, a confession of everything you’d wanted to hear from Bucky. But it was cloaked in a fear you couldn’t let yourself romanticise.

You might have happily earned your honorary degree in self-pity if your door hadn’t swung open without warning.

“Get up.”

You blinked at the sudden intrusion. Yelena, the picture of menace in cargo pants and a strapless crop top, leaned against your doorway like she owned the place. Behind her, Kate was juggling a bag of chips, a bow case, and the kind of apologetic smile you knew all too well.

“I’m sorry,” Kate stage-whispered, tilting her head toward Yelena, “she doesn’t really, uh, knock.”

“I do knock,” Yelena said flatly, stepping into your room. “But sometimes people pretend not to hear. This is more efficient.”

“Right,” you said, pushing up on your elbows. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this home invasion?”

Yelena crossed her arms. “We are going out.”

You blinked again. “Out where?”

“Bar,” Yelena explained. “Drinks. Dancing. Maybe karaoke if Kate Bishop here does not embarrass us.”

Kate made a wounded sound. “My karaoke skills are amazing, thank you very much.” Then, turning back to you with that earnest, slightly awkward energy that was somehow impossible to resist, she added, “You’ve been kind of out of it for the past couple of days. And since this is our last night in the city before heading back to the compound, we wanted to have some fun. No missions, no strategy briefs, and no sulking.”

“I don’t sulk,” you muttered automatically.

Yelena arched an eyebrow so sharp it could cut glass. “You are sulking right now.”

Kate nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, you kind of are sulking.”

You groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “Look, I appreciate it, but I’m not really in the mood to—”

“Wrong.” Yelena clapped her hands once, decisive. “You are in mood. Bad mood. We are fixing it.”

Kate dropped the chips onto your bed and perched on the edge with a grin. “C’mon. One night. Just us. You can wear those sexy combat boots with your black dress. I know you always pack it just in case.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Well, it would be irresponsible to consider heels with her around,” you said, motioning to the blonde menace in the room.

Yelena grinned approvingly. “Smart girl,” she said proudly.

And that’s how, twenty minutes later, you found yourself shimmying into a short black satin slip dress, the hem swishing around your thighs, your favourite black combat boots laced tight. The outfit, while not exactly groundbreaking or original, said you were fun but willing to fight if things got dicey. 

Exactly the vibe for a night out with Yelena Belova.

The bar was already humming when the three of you pushed through the door, Yelena leading the way. Warm golden light spilt from old-fashioned sconces onto scuffed hardwood floors, softened by the lazy swirl of neon lights spilling from behind the liquor shelves.

It wasn’t just the strong drinks or the comfort of knowing the staff would keep any gawkers in line—this bar was used to Avengers appearing like a travelling circus in leather jackets—but the fact that nobody cared who you were, so long as you tipped well.

“See? Already better than sulking in your room,” Yelena declared, tossing you a look over her shoulder. “Less pathetic. More you.”

Kate trailed behind, giving you a conspiratorial smile. “I told her you’d say no if we gave you the option. So she took away the option.”

“Very Russian,” you deadpanned, but your lips curved when Yelena smirked. She knew your comment was all in good fun.

Inside, familiar faces were already waving you over. Natasha with her usual low-key poise, Ava looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here, and Wanda, already halfway through a cocktail that shimmered in deep scarlet like her powers.

Natasha slid a glass across the polished bar toward you. “First round’s on me,” she said. “House rules: no talking shop, no moping, no sneaking out early.”

“Wow. Subtle, Nat,” you said, narrowing your eyes at the look she sent you specifically.

“Subtle is for people who don’t know you,” Natasha shot back.

You laughed, and when Yelena shoved a shot glass into your hand with a curt, “Drink. Or I tell embarrassing story,” you found yourself clinking it against Kate’s clumsily raised glass.

The first swallow burned in that good way, warm spreading through your chest. Around you, the energy of the bar shifted up a notch. 

“Look at that,” Ava murmured, eyeing you with a pleased look. “She remembers how to smile.”

“Barely,” Yelena cut in. “We haven’t seen Siren in forever. She’s hiding.”

At that, Kate raised her glass in mock solemnity. “May she rise from the ashes tonight, preferably on the dance floor.”

“To Siren,” Wanda added. “The one who makes half the room fall in love and the other half wonder what hit them.”

You rolled your eyes, but their laughter was infectious. “You’re all ridiculous,” you said. It was hard to fight the warmth of Wanda’s grin, Yelena’s sharp shove at your shoulder, and Kate’s eager nodding.

“Ridiculous, but not wrong,” Yelena said smoothly. When the music shifted into something louder and sultrier, she tugged you to the dance floor with zero hesitation. 

By the time the others arrived—Steve’s broad frame cutting a path through the crowd, John already chuckling at something Sam muttered, Bob trudging behind with an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else—you were gone.

Not literally, but lost in the pulse of it: twirling Wanda, laughing into Yelena’s shoulder, hips moving in tandem with the rhythm.

Bucky stopped dead just inside the doorway.

It hit him like a punch, the sight of you under the neon haze, hair catching the light like spun fire, laughter so unguarded it seemed to crack the shell he knew you kept tight around yourself. Everyone else in the room was drawn toward you without even realising it. 

You were gravity, you were the centre of orbit, you were Siren in full force, and he hadn’t realised until this moment how much he’d missed it.

Bucky’s chest ached with something he couldn’t name. Not quite jealousy, though the sight of you pulling Bob in and letting him spin you in a circle did spark something sharp.

More than anything, it was awe. You didn’t just light up the room, you made it warmer.

Sam elbowed him as they skirted toward the bar. “Man, you’re staring like you’ve never seen her before.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He couldn’t, not with the sound of your laugh carrying over the music and the way the hem of your already short dress teased the tops of your thighs.

His eyes tracked you without his permission, cataloguing details like he was back on a mission. The sway of your hips was controlled, but loose enough to let the beat pull you. The stretch of your arms above your head, bracelets sliding down your forearms as if the music shook them there. A bead of sweat curved down the side of your neck, catching in the hollow of your collarbone.

Bucky swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, and he took a sip of his beer that did nothing to fix it.

His gaze fell to your legs again. The shift of muscle as you bent your knees, the arch of your back when you moved, and the combat boots that always drove him crazy when you wore them. Bucky knew those legs could knock a man flat in the field, but here, they were all allure and temptation. 

Every step you took felt like it was being stomped on his chest.

You leaned into Bob’s side at one point, laughing, your hair sticking slightly to the sweat at your temples. It should have looked messy. Instead, it was devastating.

Bucky gripped the glass tighter. Cold condensation seeped into his gloved palm. He wished it had done more to ground him, because his body sure as hell wasn’t helping. Heat had pooled low in his stomach, spreading fast, leaving his shoulders tense and his pulse too quick.

He told himself it was just instinct, just observation, just knowing a teammate well. But then your head tilted back in laughter, exposing the clean line of your throat, and he knew he was lying to himself.

Steve said something beside him. Bucky didn’t catch it. His eyes didn’t leave you, the way you lost yourself in the song like no one was watching. Except he was watching; every second, every movement.

You were the first to notice the drinks were running low. Sweat sticking to your skin, music thrumming in your veins, and your glass bone-dry. Bob, bless him, had nursed the same Coke for nearly half an hour, so he needed a refill too.

“I’ll grab us some drinks,” you announced, shouting over the music.

Bob pushed his sleeves up as if he were gearing for battle. “I’ll come with you.”

You gave him a look, half-amused, half-incredulous. “It’s a bar, Bob. I can take care of myself.”

Still, he looked was protective in that gentle way of his. Before you could explain your plan, Yelena leaned in, smirking. “She does not want you cramping her style. Nobody will buy her drinks if you are standing there like bodyguard.”

That earned you a confused blink from Bob, then a sheepish laugh as realisation hit. You couldn’t help the smug little smirk that tugged at your mouth. Yelena wasn’t wrong.

You slipped your way to the less busy side of the bar—far from where the guys had staked out their corner—and sure enough, the second you claimed a sliver of space at the counter, the swarm arrived.

A few leaned too close, voices already slurred; one was way too interested in your neckline. But one—tall, dark hair, dimples—looked more like the golden retriever type. Friendly smile, easy energy. You gave him your brightest grin back.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he said, raising his voice over the bass.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” you drawled. “One Coke, one gin and tonic, and…” You rattled off the rest of the order, watching his brows climb as the list grew.

But he only laughed, waving the bartender down. “Guess I’ll be the hero of the night.” You tilted your head, enjoying the view.

The bartender set about juggling glasses, and while you waited, Dimple Guy leaned an elbow on the counter, turning toward you like you were the only person in the room. You nodded, smiled, threw in a quip or two, perfectly aware that your friends were somewhere behind you taking bets on how long it would take you to walk back with a tray full of free drinks.

The bartender slid the Coke drink across the bar, glass clinking against the counter, and you smiled at Dimple Guy like he’d just solved all your problems and passed it to Bob. Then you leaned in a little closer to Dimple Guy—because it was loud, because it was fun, because you could—and laughed at something he said. 

The sound of your giggle carried easily over the music, bright and unrestrained, drawing a few more glances your way.

You didn’t notice the way Bucky’s jaw tightened from across the room, the muscles in his forearm flexing where he gripped his own glass too hard. Didn’t see the way his eyes tracked your hand as you gestured, or how he watched your head tilt back when you smiled.

From his vantage point, it didn’t look like you were talking. It looked like you were working.

Siren.

His stomach twisted at the thought—like maybe the sparkle in your eyes and that easy sway of your hips weren’t just you enjoying yourself, but something deliberate, something calculated, meant to reel this guy in.

You had no idea. You were riding the high of the night, warm with sweat and music, free and a little reckless. But across the room, Bucky sat stiff and silent, every instinct in him coiled tight. 

Bob drifted over to their cluster by the bar, a fresh Coke in hand and his cheeks still a little pink from the dancing you’d roped him into. John caught sight of him and smirked, jerking his chin toward the dance floor.

“Guess she got you, huh? Should’ve warned you, she only drags in reinforcements when she’s planning to unleash the full Siren routine,” John said affectionately. He’d been the happy recipient of free drinks on a night out with you before.

Bob chuckled, still catching his breath. “I didn’t even get two steps in the door before she had me. She’s killing it out there, though. Haven’t seen her light up like that in a while.”

A couple of the others laughed, Ava shaking her head with an indulgent little smile. But Bucky’s expression didn’t budge. He set his drink down a little too hard. “You all just let her do that?”

The laughter tapered. Sam tilted his head, wary. “Do what?”

“Use her powers on some guy like that,” Bucky said flatly, his jaw tight. “Make him feel something that isn’t real just because she wants free drinks. That’s not right.”

A beat of silence followed. Kate blinked. Sam looked at Steve, confused. Natasha raised one brow like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“Buck,” Steve said carefully, “what are you talking about?”

“You know damn well,” Bucky snapped, low but heated. “She’s Siren. That’s her thing. She manipulates people, makes them fall over themselves and puts all kinds of thoughts in their heads. And now you’re all just standing here letting her do it.”

Steve stared at him for a moment, then laughed—short, incredulous. “Now, wait just one minute. You think that’s her power?”

Bucky’s frown didn’t ease. “Isn’t it?”

Natasha snorted softly and folded her arms. “No, Barnes. That’s just her.”

Bucky’s head jerked toward her, but she continued, her voice edged with fond amusement.

“When she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., half the recruits couldn’t keep their eyes in their heads. And instead of fighting it, she leaned into it, let them underestimate her. Let them drool and stumble over themselves while she smiled pretty.” Natasha’s smile grew proud. “And then she flattened them in hand-to-hand. Outshot them, outran them, outplayed them at every turn.”

Steve’s tone softened, adding, “She can’t mess with people’s heads, she can make people tell the truth. Useful for interrogations, but nothing she uses outside of work. The code name stuck because she was the perfect spy: charismatic, adaptable, instinctive. She could mirror anyone, win their trust, then turn the whole game on its head. That’s Siren.”

Sam let out a low whistle, grinning. “Yeah, man. If she’s getting free drinks, that’s just her charm. Not powers. Don’t cheapen it.”

Bucky stood stiff, processing. His gaze pulled helplessly back to you across the bar, where you were holding a tray of drinks, nodding at something Dimple Guy said. For the first time tonight, the knot of anger in his chest unravelled into something else.

Something that scared him more than rage ever could.

Bucky’s chest felt too tight. The floor seemed to tilt under his boots as Nat’s words replayed in his head, each one hammering another nail into the coffin of his assumptions.

No powers. No manipulation. Just you.

And suddenly every sharp glance, every clipped word he’d thrown your way over the past weeks felt like shrapnel lodged under his skin. He’d treated you warily, even cruelly sometimes; pushing you back, refusing to trust you, accusing you of pulling strings you’d never even touched. 

He’d dismissed your kindness, doubted your laughter, second-guessed every spark of warmth between you, and you hadn’t deserved any of it.

A wave of shame clawed up Bucky’s throat, raw and hot. He should have seen you clearly. He should have known. Instead, he’d twisted every smile into proof of something sinister because it was easier than admitting the truth: you got under his skin, you always had.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the noise of the club fading to a dull roar in his ears. And then, like a gut punch, another realisation hit him.

That night after the mission.

Bucky’s stomach dropped, cold dread sinking deep. He’d cornered you outside the Quinjet, tense and accusing you of messing with his head. About how you were in every thought, how he couldn’t shake you, how you consumed him without even trying.

At the time, he’d believed it was your doing. Your powers; some invisible hook you’d buried in him. But if what Natasha and Steve were saying was true, if none of that had ever been manipulation, then he hadn’t accused you.

He’d confessed to you.

Bucky’s breath caught, rough and uneven. You knew. You’d known all along. Every word he thought was an accusation had been nothing but a bare-knuckled admission: that he couldn’t stop thinking about you, that you lived in his head, that he was falling—hell, had already fallen—for you.

You knew he loved you.

His metal fingers curled into a fist against his thigh. Bucky could almost feel the moment again, the way his voice had cracked, the raw edge of desperation when he’d said you were everywhere. He’d meant it as a warning, a complaint. 

But looking back on it, it sounded like devotion.

And you hadn’t called him on it. You hadn’t laughed, or brushed him off, or told the others. You’d just looked at him. That soft, confused look he hadn’t been able to stand at the time.

Now Bucky understood why.

A low curse slipped between his teeth. He felt exposed, skinned alive. The part of him that still thought like a soldier, like an asset, wanted to retreat—bury this mess, shove it down, pretend it never happened. But the rest of him, the part that had been pulled closer to you despite every protest, was thrumming with the humiliating awareness that you knew him better than he wanted to admit. 

Bucky dropped his gaze to the sticky floor, fighting the useless urge to rewind time and unsay all of it. To crawl back into the comfort of thinking you’d tricked him somehow, because that lie had been easier than the truth pressing down on him now.

The truth that you hadn’t taken anything from him. He’d handed it over, piece by piece, all on his own.

The tower was still humming from the afterglow of laughter and music, the others scattering off to their rooms with flushed cheeks and unsteady footsteps. Natasha’s heels clicked faintly down the hall, Sam’s voice trailed off in a joke half-finished, and then—silence.

You lingered at the counter, fingers curled tight around a half-empty glass of water, as if you held it hard enough it might anchor you. You hadn’t planned on staying, hadn’t planned on being here when the room thinned out, but there was Bucky, leaning in the doorway like some inevitability.

The last person you wanted to see. The only person you wanted.

You didn’t look at him. Your arms folded tight across your chest once you put your glass down, a makeshift shield against the weight of his gaze. 

Bucky’s voice was low, rough. “I need to talk to you.”

“Don’t.” You cut him off, sharper than you meant to. “Just, let me say one thing.” Bucky paused, then nodded. “You of all people know what it feels like to lose your ability to choose. Did you really think I’d do that to you?”

That landed. You saw it in the way his jaw clenched, in the flicker of pain that crossed his face like you’d struck him clean through. Bucky moved a step closer, then another, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I know.” His voice cracked, raw enough to scrape at your chest. “I know, and I was wrong. I panicked. You—” Bucky broke off, dragged a hand through his hair, metal fingers catching the light. “You make me feel things I thought were gone for good. Want, longing, desire. All of it. And I didn’t know what to do with it, so I twisted it into something darker because that’s what Hydra trained into me.” Your breath caught, and you fought to steady the shaky exhale that followed. “I thought that if I let myself want anything, it’d be used against me. So I put it on you, and that wasn’t fair.”

You could feel your own heartbeat everywhere: in your throat, your wrists, low in your belly. Bucky’s confession made you grip the counter behind you to stay steady. Because God, if he only knew how many nights you’d been lying awake, caught in that same impossible ache.

And now here it was, on his tongue.

Bucky was a breath away now, and your pulse hammered like a drum in your ears. The space between you was agony and heaven all at once. His eyes darted to your lips, then flicked away, as if he were trying to measure the consequences of the smallest movement.

“I—” Bucky hesitated. He reached out, metal fingers brushing against the air beside your hand before pulling back sharply. “I had to make myself think badly of you. I had to because you’re so good. Funny, warm, and honest. And I didn’t trust myself to feel anything like that and not ruin it. Not break it. So I let my mind turn it into something to be scared of.”

Your chest tightened, a wild thrum of hurt and want colliding. “Bucky,” you whispered, trembling hands moving from the counter to clench at your sides. “I need honesty, not guilt. Talk to me, tell me why you thought I cut put thoughts and feelings in your head.”

“I heard everyone call you Siren, on game night, and saying that you’d have me wrapped around your finger,” he said. “I guess it was convenient for me to believe you were putting thoughts in my head, making me feel things I didn’t want to. I—” Bucky broke off, exhaling. “I wanted my feelings for you to be someone else’s responsibility. That way, I could just say they weren’t mine in the first place.”

“I was born with these abilities,” you explained slowly. “When I was little, I realised I could make people tell the truth when I suspected they were lying. That was it. That’s all I can do with my powers, make them verbalise the absolute truth. I mostly ignored it because I knew it was manipulation.” Bucky nodded like he already knew. “I got through S.H.I.E.L.D. on my own merits, earned the codename Siren, and—yes, I can force the truth when I have to. But everything else is just me. Your feelings for me, though? The want, the desire? That’s you.”

Bucky flinched a little at the words, metal arm twitching involuntarily. “That’s me,” he echoed, voice shaking with disbelief.

“Yes.” You took another step closer, your hands brushing the air just above his chest; not touching, just daring him to meet you halfway. “I can’t make you feel this. I may be good at flirting and figuring out what people want from me, but I never turned on the Siren charm for you. So all of this,” you paused, letting your gaze lock onto his, unwavering, “Is you, Bucky. Own it.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed, and his eyes shimmered with something raw, almost dangerous in its intensity. You could hear the faint scrape of his boots against the tile, the subtle shift of his weight as he closed the space, inch by inch.

The warmth of him, barely separated from your body, made your chest tighten. You could feel the faint heat radiating off Bucky’s neck, smell the sharp tang of metal and soap mingled with the faint smoke of the city outside. His breath, slow and deliberate, ghosted over your cheeks.

Bucky didn’t speak. Everything was sound and heat and the faint tang of his cologne, vibrating with the tension of the nearness. Every subtle movement he made, each tilt forward, each flex of muscle, made the desire between you so thick it almost had a taste.

Then his hands moved, a careful, almost excruciating centimetre away from sliding fully against yours, letting you feel the heat, the weight, the need.

Bucky exhaled, an almost inaudible sound that brushed against your ear. He was so close. Every inch of him spoke of everything you’d been holding back, every suppressed need, and now the energy between you crackled, waiting for the moment someone gave in.

His hands found yours before you could think to move, fingers threading through yours, warm and solid, and the shock of contact made you shiver violently. 

Bucky held your hands, careful but insistent, letting you feel his weight, his presence, his unabashed want. You could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, the subtle tension of muscle beneath your palms. Your own hands tingled, every nerve ending singing.

The low rasp of his voice, barely more than a whisper, broke the silence. “I don’t know how to want something without being afraid of it anymore,” Bucky said, and the honesty in it dug into you.

You felt the tension in his shoulders, the taut line of his jaw, the slow rise and fall of his chest as if he were holding back the rest of the words.

“I don’t know if I believe in good,” Bucky continued, his voice breaking slightly, “but I believe in you. And how could you not be good?” His thumb brushed along the back of your hand, tentative but deliberate.

The weight of his admission was almost too much to bear. You lifted your chin, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“Then let me show you it’s okay to want me,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the heat pooling through your chest. “Let me show you that I want you too.” Your fingers tightened around his, a silent promise and invitation.

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, a sharp intake of breath that mirrored your own. His gaze never left yours as he leaned forward, careful, deliberate, giving himself permission, giving you permission. 

His hands slid up your arms, tracing the line of your shoulders, grounding him even as the rest of him seemed ready to unravel. 

“I—” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, swallowed by the tension, but the word cracked through the air like a lightning strike. “I love you.”

You blinked, breath catching on the confession. It was so quiet, almost lost in the shuffle of your racing pulse, and it landed inside you like a shockwave. You didn’t have time to respond before he closed the space between you.

His lips pressed onto yours, desperate, hungry, as if he’d been holding back decades of want and need and fear all at once. The force of it drove you back into the counter, and you clutched at him—fingers tangling in his hair, gripping the leather at his shoulders, pulling him closer with a ferocity that matched his own. 

For so long you’d both been denying this; now there was no holding back.

Teeth grazed in the frenzy, breath tangling, the kiss deepening until it felt like he was trying to drink you in whole. His chest pressed against yours, hard and unyielding, the heat of him searing through your body as his arms wrapped tight around you, like if he loosened his grip for even a second, you might vanish.

Every nerve in you screamed, every breath was stolen. You could taste months of restraint unraveling on his tongue, feel the quake in his body as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you. The ache you’d carried, the hollow nights of longing, all of it poured out of you.

And still, Bucky couldn’t get enough. 

His hands roamed as though he needed to map every inch of you at once—one sliding down your spine, pulling you flush against him, the other cradling your jaw, tilting your face so he could claim your mouth deeper, longer, harder. He kissed you like a starving man finally given food, like he didn’t know how to slow down even if he tried.

But then it slowed, achingly so, like Bucky remembered that he could take it slower. His grip softened, his lips brushing yours in featherlight passes, reverent and trembling. One hand stayed at your waist, grounding, the other cupped the back of your neck with searing gentleness.

Bucky loved you.

You let your fierceness meet his, but there was tenderness too, a painstaking devotion in the way your lips traced his. Your fingers combed through his hair, your body leaning into his with unguarded trust. You kissed away the ghosts clinging to him, kissed away every Hydra shadow, every jagged scar of memory.

Bucky groaned low in your mouth, raw surrender, and you swallowed it eagerly. Your bodies pressed closer until there was no space left. Just heat, hammering hearts, and the dizzying rush of being completely his. 

Everything around you dissolved. Every brush of lips, every sigh, every whispered gasp became the center of your existence. The kiss broke only to return again and again, each one as hungry as the last, as though neither of you could stop feeding on the moment.

Bucky whispered your name against your lips—over and over, soft and worshipful—and you clung to as you clung to him.

When you pulled back just enough to look at each other, chests heaving in tandem, the room felt impossibly alive. Bucky’s hands lingered on you, thumbs brushing lightly over the exposed skin of your back.

His lips moved against yours in soft, breathless murmurs, just barely grazing your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your cheek. “I love you,” he whispered again, voice low and rough, almost in disbelief.

You smiled against him, a gentle warmth spreading in your chest at the sound of it. “I think you’re going to have to say that more than once,” you murmured, teasing just enough to lift the tension without breaking the intimacy.

Bucky chuckled, an unguarded sound that made your stomach twist in the best possible way. Then, almost reflexively, he said again: “I love you.” And again, and again, and again. Each time, quieter, breathier, and somehow even more insistent, as though saying it aloud made it more real to him.

Your smile deepened, and you pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Guess I didn’t need to use my powers after all,” you murmured, letting the warmth of your laughter bubble through, teasing but tender.

Bucky let out a full, real laugh this time, unrestrained, and pulled you back against him, lips claiming yours in another deep, desperate kiss. His hands held you tighter, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

You both eased back just enough to breathe. Bucky’s arms stayed wrapped securely around you, holding you as if letting go might undo everything. Your hands rested played lightly with his hair, sending a shiver down Bucky’s spine.

He nuzzled your temple. “You’re amazing,” you murmured, half-teasing, half-awed, as the adrenaline and heat of the kiss slowly ebbed.

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, low and rumbling, shaking his head against you. “I don’t even know how to do this without screwing it up,” he admitted, voice thick with vulnerability.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “You’re here. That’s enough. That’s all I need.”

For a long moment, silence settled over you, comforting and warm. Bucky pressed careful kisses to your head and hair, quietly murmuring to himself.

Then, with a soft giggle escaping you, you tilted your head back slightly. “You’re still saying it,” you teased, voice light, fingers brushing over his jaw.

“I can’t stop,” Bucky murmured against your temple, voice hoarse and intimate. “I love you… I love you… I love you—”

“I love you,” you cut in, grinning as he pulled you closer again.