#bbb2025

The night you were born, you almost didn’t make it. During her other pregnancies, your mother was overly careful because she was carrying her precious boys. After hearing that you would turn out to be a girl, she forgot about precautions.

She did things she shouldn’t have and risked your life. Even while you were still in her womb, your mother and father already despised you. They wanted their legacy to be taken over by their male heirs. A girl in the family meant a part of their wealth, and the company would go to you.

It happened as it had to happen. Your mom gave birth to you and left the hospital, knowing your life was on the line. They didn’t visit or even ask the hospital if you were still alive until two months later. People started to talk about how they abandoned their newborn at the hospital. 

Your parents and brothers came to the hospital to check on you for damage control, not out of love. They didn’t care. Your mother refused to hold you. In the end, your aunt Martha had to take you out of the nurse’s arms.

She was, from the beginning, the only person in your corner. This never changed. From nursery to graduation, your aunt stood by your side. She held your hand when you fell and helped you get back up.  

During childhood, you learned the hard way not to expect anything from your family. Once you asked your mother for a girl’s day. Nothing special. Just shopping and ice cream, maybe watching a movie you’d like.

She said no, calling you selfish, only for all of them to leave you all alone on your brother’s birthday. They travelled overseas, leaving you at your aunt’s place. You were barely nine years old, but you finally understood that you were unwanted and unloved. While your brothers got everything they asked for, you got nothing.

From that day on, you never asked for anything. No gifts, no time with your mother, not even a cake on your birthday. It didn’t matter anymore. Your aunt was your light in these dark times. She always found a way to cheer you up and made you feel like you mattered.

You had a plan. All you had to do was wait to turn eighteen to leave their house, never looking back. It was a good plan.

Your plan was shattered at the age of fourteen, when your eldest and cruelest brother accused you of sleeping around with the football team. It didn’t matter to your parents that you had never even kissed a boy at that time. They wouldn’t listen, and you were thrown out with nothing but a suitcase and a backpack.

Luckily, one door closed, but a better one opened. Your aunt took you in and tried to talk to your parents. She gave them proof that you were neither pregnant nor promiscuous. It was no use. Your brother’s lies were the truth to them. Aunt Martha gave up after they called her a liar.

Your parents believed she favored you. And in a way, she did. Not out of favoritism, but because she knew no one ever chose your side.

She was there when no one else was. It took you years to recover, and you still do not easily trust people. Now, a lifetime later, she is standing in a bridal shop next to you for that very same reason. Your aunt was your real mother, and she’d have the honor of walking you down the aisle.

“Oh, my goodness,” she sniffled while looking into the mirror with you. You were wearing the wedding dress a friend of yours designed for you, which moved you to tears. “You look so beautiful. Jada did a great job.”

“She outdid herself,” you choked out, looking at your aunt in the mirror. She, too, wore a dress Jada created. You met your friend during college, while you both struggled to make ends meet. “I knew one day, I’d be wearing one of her dresses for my wedding day.”

Aunt Martha nodded, unable to speak because she would only sob. You were both staring into the mirror, overwhelmed by the sight of your dress, but also the love you felt for each other.

“James will cry seeing you in that dress,” your aunt said. “He loves you so much.”

“Please call him Bucky,” you laughed through happy tears. “You know he hates it when people call him James. He calls you my mom every time we talk about you.”

“Fine,” she nodded, feeling her heart swell in her chest. Hearing that the man you love accepted her as your mother makes her happier than you’ll ever know. “I’ll call him Bucky.”

“Good.” You smiled in the mirror, feeling a little nostalgic. “Thank you, Mom. For everything you have ever done for me. I know it wasn’t easy raising a child that wasn’t yours. You gave up so much for me.”

“Y/N,” you said, turning to face you. She cupped your face, tears in her eyes. “Raising you was never a sacrifice. I must thank you for being my daughter. I know it was hard to trust someone after…”

“No, it was easy with you, Mom,” you sniffled, wishing you could hug her, but you don’t want to ruin your dresses. “You made me feel safe and loved from the beginning.”

“Are you ladies for real?” A voice you haven’t heard in years ruins your moment. “Other customers want to shop in silence.”

“Ma’am, I must ask you to leave the private room,” Jada’s assistant sternly said. “This is a private fitting and not for the public eye. You were the one wandering off.”

“I was looking for a better dress,” she said, pointing at the dress you were wearing. “I want that one!”

You and your aunt slowly turned toward the woman giving birth to you. Your mother stared at you for a second, swallowing hard. She believed you’d never make it without your family.

“Ma’am, again, please leave the private room. And this dress was custom-made by Jada for her best friend, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. It’s not for sale.” The clerk slowly lost her patience, but your mother froze to the spot. Her eyes flitted from the expensive dress to the diamond necklace Bucky bought you for your anniversary to the engagement ring on your finger.

“I see you found yourself a rich husband,” she sneered in your direction. “We knew that’s all you were ever good for.”

You huffed. All these years, you wondered what your mother would tell you if you ever met again. You didn’t imagine she’d accuse you of becoming a trophy wife.

“No,” you coolly said. “We found each other and built a life together. I was rich before I even met my husband. Unlike you, I never depended on a man.”

She made a face, not believing a single word. Why would she? You were a liar to them before you could talk. Your mother stormed off to join her daughter-in-law and her friends. You didn’t watch her leave or feel sad.

“Mr. Barnes,” the maid knocked at your shared office. Five years ago, Bucky and you decided to merge your companies. “There are people who claim to be Miss Y/L/N’s relatives.”

You blinked at her. “My mom is having a spa day with her girlfriend. I have no other relatives.”

Bucky frowned deeply. You told him about your encounter with your mother. “Do you think your mother told them about your encounter?”

“Don’t call that woman mother,” you said a little too harshly. “Sorry,” you sniffled, “I just can’t stand hearing anyone call her that.”

“Y/N, I should be sorry.” Bucky got up from his chair to kiss your temple. “Let me handle this. They won’t get anywhere near you.”

“No,” you sternly said. “If they came here to stir drama or demand I give their daughter-in-law my dress, I will not stand on the sidelines.”

“Mr. Barnes!” You couldn’t believe your whole family was standing in your and Bucky’s home. Your brothers and parents smiled at your fiancé as if he were their best friend. “We heard the good news from my wife.”

Your father made one step toward Bucky, holding out his hand. “Thank you for making my daughter an honest woman. I know she came around a lot and…isn’t the smartest.”

“What did you just say?” Bucky squared his jaw. He clutched his hands to his sides to stop himself from punching your father to death. “Y/N built a company on her own. Before that, she went to Harvard Business School because she earned a scholarship. All without your help.”

Your brothers wanted to protest, but Bucky raised his hand. “I’m not done. She became a wonderful woman because her true mother, Martha, was there for her all the way to the top. She was a billionaire before I even made a dime.”

Gasping, your father looked at you, still in denial. “No…she’s just a useless girl. My sons know everything about business, not her.”

“If you say so,” Bucky laughed in your father’s face. “Now, why did you come here?”

“We didn’t get an invitation,” your mother piped in. “My only daughter is getting married, and we want to be part of the wedding.”

You couldn’t hold back a snort. Years after they abandoned you, they dared to come to the home you built with Bucky and demand to be part of your life again. 

“Wow,” you laughed. “Do you even hear yourself? You accused me of something I didn’t do and kicked me out of your house and life. Now that I’m a made woman, about to marry the man I love, you want to be part of the celebration?”

They all nodded, making you even angrier. “Like hell!” Bucky smirked when your family’s faces fell. “The only family I have consists of my fiancé, Bucky, and my mom.” Your mother’s eyes lit up. For a second, she believed you meant her. “Martha. The woman who was there for me when no one stood by my side. She will walk me down the aisle and give me to the man I love. Now, get fucked!”

You twirled around and stormed off to not waste more energy on them.

Bucky grinned from ear to ear. He was damn proud of you. “You heard my wife. Get out of our home and never dare to even look her way…”

Part 2

It hurt too much to be in a place that felt more like any home you could remember.

You did some work for Sam, under the radar, not wanting to get involved again.

But then his face kept appearing on the news.

Sometimes beside Sam.

Sometimes behind a podium.

Sometimes with a new team. An Avengers knock-off. The Thunderbolts.

Congressman Barnes.

Thunderbolt.

Bucky.

You began to wonder if maybe you’d stayed away for too long.

And that’s how you ended up here - standing in the lobby of the Watchtower with your heart in your throat.

The security guard did a double take when he read your ID - one of those quick flickers of recognition that he tried to hide, but he placed the call upstairs anyway.

“Take the second elevator to the twentieth floor,” he said, handing you a visitor’s pass. “Someone’ll meet you there.”

Someone.

You tried not to overthink who that meant.

The elevator hummed softly as it rose. The mirrored walls reflected a version of you who looked calmer than you felt.

It wasn’t the Tower as you knew it.

There wasn’t Stark tech everywhere.

It wasn’t home.

But it held at least one person who used to be.

The doors slid open onto the twentieth floor with a gentle chime. The hallway was quieter than you expected - full of sleek metal and soft lighting. It felt too new, too polished, a far cry from the chaotic hallways where Tony once nearly blew a hole through three floors because he “forgot to carry the two.”

You took a breath and stepped out.

And then you heard footsteps. Slow and familiar.

He appeared at the end of the hallway with his hands shoved into the pockets of a worn jacket, his hair was a little longer than when you last saw him. He looked surprised. Then relieved. Then nervous.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly.

Snowflakes clung to his shoulders from the outside cold.

“Hi,” you breathed. “S’been a while.”

“Years, I think.” His voice was rougher than you remembered. He jerked his chin toward the stairwell behind him. “I was just up on the roof, if you… want to come up?”

You smiled before you could help it.

“I’d like that.”

He turned and led the way, his boots echoing against the metal steps. You followed, hugging your coat a little tighter around you. The air grew colder as you neared the top, until Bucky pushed open the door.

The snow had started while you were downstairs - soft flakes drifting lazily at first, but settling on the concrete quickly, catching in your hair, sticking to the sidewalk.

From the roof, New York stretched out muffled and peaceful beneath the falling snow. The Watchtower’s harsh angles seemed softer under the snowfall.

Bucky stepped aside to let you out fully, then leaned against the railing, watching you more than the view.

“Sam send you?” he asked quietly.

“He didn’t send me.” You rolled your eyes, breath fogging the air. “He just said you’d pissed him off and I should try talking to you.”

A faint smirk tugged at Bucky’s mouth. “Sounds like something he’d say.”

“It was more like ‘if you don't beat some sense into him, I will.’” You grinned.

“And you didn’t want to call?” he asked casually.

Your gaze drifted out over the skyline. “I wanted to see the Tower.”

The snowfall thickened, dulling the noise from below.

Bucky swallowed. “I… wasn’t sure you’d ever come back to the city, least of all here.”

“Neither was I,” you admitted.

The words came out softer than you intended, carried off a little by the drifting snowflakes. You shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets, suddenly aware of how alone the roof felt - how long it had been since you’d stood this close to him without a mission or a crisis between you.

It felt like you’d spent years dancing around moments like this.

Getting closer.

Backing away.

Circling each other.

Bucky shifted his weight, his metal hand tapping the railing once before going still again.

It was his tell.

It always had been.

“Heard you and Torres were kinda close,” he ventured, not sounding nearly as casual as he hoped.

You huffed out a laugh, your warm breath meeting the cold air. “You heard wrong.”

He glanced over at you sharply - relief flickering across his face before he could hide it.

“He’s just a kid,” you added quietly. “Feels weird when people keep pairing me off with whoever stands next to me.”

“I'll bet.”

A few snowflakes caught on his eyelashes, melting slowly in the faint rooftop lights. He didn’t blink them away. He just carried on looking at you the way he used to before everything fell apart.

Before the blip, before the losses, before the distance.

Back when you welcomed him reading you like an open book.

“Besides,” you said quietly, “if I was going to date someone… it wouldn’t be Torres.”

Bucky’s brows pinched. “No?”

You shook your head, “no.”

Something that looked like hope flickered across his face cautiously.

He looked younger again. Boyish.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I used to think the reason we never got anywhere was timing.”

You looked over, surprised by the confession.

“Timing?”

He nodded once. “Every time I got close to saying something… something would happen. HYDRA memories. Missions. The blip. Losing Steve.” He sighed. “And you were always right there. Kind. Too good for whatever mess I was dragging behind me.”

Your breath caught. “Bucky -”

“I thought I’d missed my chance,” he said. “Thought maybe you’d moved on. Or found someone who didn’t come with… all this.”

He gestured vaguely at himself. His history.

At everything he never said aloud.

“You’re not a mess,” you whispered.

“I’m not easy, either.”

“No,” you agreed, stepping closer, the snow crunching beneath your boots. “But loving someone isn’t supposed to be easy.” You smiled softly. “You’ve always mattered to me, you know?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

“Since Wakanda,” you admitted. “I don’t know. It kind of snuck up on me and then it never left. Except Ayo and Xoliswa said I needed to give you space. And time.”

His breath stilled.

“Your turn,” you pushed gently. “How long?”

He waited.

And then -

“Since the day you and Sam clocked me when you were doing recon for Steve,” Bucky said. “You laughed at something Sam said, and I remember thinking - ‘God, that’s what safe sounds like.’”

Your knees almost gave out.

“That was years ago -”

“Yeah. And every year after that,” he murmured, “it just… got worse. More. And Ayo told me the same thing she was telling you.”

He took a slow step toward you. Then another.

You didn’t move back.

Snow swirled around you both, muffling the city.

“Just tell me if I’m too late,” he breathed.

“You’re not,” you said instantly - because he wasn’t, he never was. “You were never too late, Bucky.”

His voice dropped as soft as the snowfall.

“Can I -?"

You didn’t let him finish.

You leaned in and kissed him gently.

A slow, steady, years-in-the-making kiss that tasted like snow and everything you’d never said aloud.

When you finally broke apart, he broke into a smile you hadn't seen since Wakanda.

“Worth the wait,” he murmured.

“So worth it,” you whispered back.

Snow kept falling around you, settling across the roof in a quiet, perfect blanket.

And for the first time in years, New York felt like home again.

@knowledgeableknitter , @ficmeiguess , @ozwriterchick , @thenameswinter99 , @themareverine ,

@boomyoulookingforthis , @florie1 , @crdgn , @winchestert101 , @stevetonycupcakes ,

@lolobeey , @bts43a , @gumballofshame , @tessastarfire , @buckytakethewheel ,

@multifandomneeerd , @furiousprincesskingdom , @s-sh-ne , @buckyslefttooth , @imslimshadey ,

@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes , @darylandbethfanforever9 , @kae1anplanned , @castielscaplan , @sinistersnakey ,

@multiversefanfics , @thelastbluecookie , @winterdecember18 , @wickedfun9 , @singsosworld ,

@kisskittenn , @amycartledge , @resting-confused-face , @blonde-bansheee , @sassandscribbles ,

@2nduserfornow , @posierosie , @ivy-afterglow , @pigeonmama , @delusionalwomsn ,

@greatenthusiasttidalwave , @misswhiddless , @herejustforbuckybarnes , @mistressmkay , @cassity357 ,

Ahh finally! For my fourth year in a row of participating in the @bylerbigbang event, I was paired with @jabberwockymoreau to draw for their fic “The Impossible Wish”! I’m so glad I got to be paired up with them, being able to draw for this beautiful fic was the highlight of my December ❤️ thank you again for this opportunity!

Here’s the link to their fic!

1 - Steph and Duke

“It’s baking soda, not baking powder,” Steph said.

“Alfred told us to get the baking powder,” Duke replied. “Hang on, let me find his message.”

Steph pushed the overloaded shopping cart past the fruits, through the deli aisle, and made a sharp turn into the cereal section.

“Here.” He showed her the message from yesterday. “Double-acting baking powder.”

She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Go get it while I take care of Dick’s cereal list.”

She took exactly two steps into the cereal aisle before swerving back around faster than the Batmobile when Bruce heard that Cass “found a snack in the ocean.” She ducked behind the pastry display. 

Jason stood in the middle of the aisle, debating between Batman raisin bran and Harley Quinn cupcake bombs. Steph’s eyebrows furrowed. He hated both of those. He called Harley’s cereal a box of cavities and Batman’s “the most boring food since oatmeal.” Plus, he told them last night that he was leaving town for a mission, but by the looks of it, he brought the mission back home. Sitting in the cart, surrounded by produce and ice cream, was Roy Harper. 

Roy pointed at the Red Hood cinnamon cereal. “Those are Lian’s favorite.”

“Uh-huh. Lian’s favorite.” Jason put the Red Hood cereal in the cart next to the Wonder Woman corn lassos. 

Steph cupped her hands around her eyes as if they were real binoculars that could tell her what she was looking at. Roy pointed to two more boxes of Rogue-themed cereal and a family-sized box of Wayne Foods Organic Granola Bars, which Jason added to the cart one after another with his sarcastic comments. Roy then said they still needed bread, coffee creamer, and tomatoes. What, did every grocery store in Star City spontaneously combust?

Actually, she thought, not my circus. 

“So who’s footing the bill?” Jason asked. 

Roy replied, “It’s Gotham. How much could it be, five bucks?”

“Three-hundred eighty-six dollars and ninety-four cents.” Jason tapped the side of his head. “After the vigilante discount.”

“Isn’t Barbara supposed to be the human calculator?”

The song over the speakers ended and the next one came on, completely different. Looks like the scene kid was on shift. As the upbeat notes of a guitar reverberated through the store, Roy hopped out of the cart and took Jason’s hand with a stupidly wide retriever smile.

“Not in public,” Jason said. 

“Please? It’s the song from when we were in Coast City.”

Jason glanced over his shoulder. Steph ducked lower out of view.

“Fine,” Jason replied.

Steph whipped out her phone and hit the record button. As the chorus played, Jason spun Roy under his arm before planting a quick peck on Roy’s lips. Steph nearly dropped her phone. 

Duke returned with multiple cans of baking powder. “I didn’t know which one Alfred wa—”

“Shush.” She yanked him down by his hoodie strings. 

He paused. “What am I looking at?”

“What do you think?”

“I thought Jason was on a mission.”

“Apparently not.”

“I didn’t even know he was—not that there’s anything wrong with it, of course,” said Duke.

“Of course,” she said, watching the two walk away hand-in-hand. “Why wouldn’t he tell us? Tim did.”

Duke shrugged. “He’s grown. He can do whatever he wants.”

“But we’re family.” She shook her head. “What am I saying? We’re not related.”

He gently elbowed her. “You love us.”

“I show up for Cass, Alfred’s cookies, free Wi-Fi, and to watch Damian make people cry. That’s all.”

“Sure.” He dumped the baking powder into their cart. 

“Why did I even bring you here?”

“Because you pitied your kid brother who got benched over a sprain, trapped and lonesome in his tower while everyone went on their grand adventures.”

“You’ve been watching way too many movies.” Steph added a box of pastries to the cart, because one danish never killed anyone.  

“Because I’m trapped and lonesome—”

She threw a can at him. “Put this one back.”

He caught it with his un-bandaged hand. “Send me the video?”

“I’m not violating Jason and Roy’s privacy,” she said, “for free.”

Duke tossed her a crumpled dollar. “I’ll meet you at the self-checkout.”

.

.