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You thought you would never see him again. Bucky Barnes x Reader
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Synopsis : After the blip, you thought you had lost Bucky forever. Never in your right mind would you have thought that the half of the population that disappeared for five years would suddenly return.
Warnings : a lot of confusion, a lot of love, a lot of tears.
A/N : I consider this story out of the actual events of the films, so it is completely normal if it isn't accurate.
Masterlist
It had been five years since the Blip. Five years since Thanos had claimed, with terrifying certainty, that he would erase half of humanity. At the time, you hadnāt truly believed it was possible. No one really had. It sounded too vast, too unreal, too impossible to ever become reality.
And yet, you had been wrong. Terribly wrong.
Five years later, the pain was still just as sharp, as if time had refused to soften even the edges of your grief. You could still remember that exact moment your heart shattered, Bucky disappearing in your arms, too fast, as though the world itself was pulling him away from you. You had watche him disappear. Frightened. You didn't even have time to understand what was happening.
It wasnāt fair. None of it was. Not after everything he had endured. After years of fighting just to build something resembling a normal life, something peaceful, something that finally felt like his own. And just when things had begun to feel right, when happiness was no longer just out of reach, he was gone. Snatched away as if the universe had decided he wasnāt allowed to keep it. As if peace was something he could never truly have.
You werenāt prepared for it.
The first six months were the worst.
You shut yourself inside the house you had shared with him, refusing to leave, refusing to move forward. Everything inside felt frozen in time, as if the world outside had ended but this place had simply stopped living. The light came in through the curtains at strange angles, untouched, unfamiliar. You couldnāt bring yourself to change anything. You couldnāt even breathe properly most days.
You avoided your reflection completely. It had become something cruel, something that no longer felt like you. Every detail reminded you of him.
The small freckle along your jaw that he loved to kiss just to tease you, knowing it would make you roll your eyes and smile despite yourself.
The necklace he had given you only a month before everything fell apart, still resting against your skin like a memory you couldnāt remove.
Even your hair, still carrying the traces of his fingers running through it absentmindedly during quiet mornings that now felt like another lifetime.
And the house was even worse.
You didnāt touch anything at first. Not the mug still half-full of coffee sitting on his bedside table, as if he had only stepped away for a moment and might return any second.
Not the curtains left open just the way he liked them, even though you always used to complain, insisting it looked better when both sides were drawn evenly. You used to scold him for it every morning. Now you couldnāt even bring yourself to close them.
The following years wereā¦ less painful. Not easy. Just less unbearable. You had learned how to exist alongside his absence, how to build a fragile routine around the hollow space he left behind.
And yet, there were still nights when it all came crashing back, when you cried yourself to sleep, unable to clearly recall his face anymore, or the sound of his voice as it used to be in your mind. That was what hurt the most. You hated yourself for it. For the way memory faded. For the way even love couldnāt keep him perfectly intact inside you.
You never let anyone else in. Even when a few friends told you that you had the right to move on, to love again, you couldnāt bring yourself to even look at someone else. It felt wrong, like betrayal. As if turning your head even slightly in another direction would erase him completely.
The only connection you still had to the word love was the family you had slowly built over the years, with him, through him.
You had watched Tonyās family grow when little Morgan was born, and you had officially become her godmother. You were never an Avenger, not in the way they were, but you were still family. You had been welcomed into that world long ago, the day Bucky had introduced you to the team, as if he had always known you belonged there too.
Many of the friends who had survived had rebuilt their lives. Some had left, traveling the world, chasing whatever second chance had been given to them.
But you stayed.
You stayed in the same house, still filled with fragments of a life that no longer existed. Still surrounded by memories that refused to fade, even when your mind struggled to hold onto all of them. The love was still there, quiet and persistent, woven into every corner of the place, even when you could no longer fully remember what it had sounded like.
Five years later, you were lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. You werenāt really thinking about anything anymore, you had long since lost the ability to focus your thoughts into something coherent. There was only a dull, familiar numbness that filled the space where emotion used to be.
Until a sharp crack echoed from the living room.
You jolted upright instantly, your body going rigid as silence swallowed the house again. You held your breath, straining to hear anything else. For a moment, you wondered if you had imagined it, another trick of a tired mind in a house too full of ghosts.
Then came footsteps.
Hurried. Almost panicked.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as you slipped out of bed, reaching for the gun Natasha had given you when she had decided you needed something to protect yourself after Bucky Barnes was no longer there to do it.
You hadnāt taken the safety off yet, but your grip tightened as you moved carefully toward the hallway, each step silent, controlled. Your pulse thundered in your ears, loud enough to drown out everything else.
Just as you reached the door, it swung open abruptly.
You screamed at the top of your lungs.
āAnd on the other side, the person in front of you let out an equally startled - but far less terrifying - yell in response.
āHey, hey, hey !ā the man said quickly, raising both hands in a calming gesture.
The moment he touched your arm, instinctively, like it was something familiar, you immediately stepped back, still not fully processing who he was. Your breath was shaking, your body stuck between fight and recognition.
Your weapon stayed trained on him, though your grip was unsteady now. It wasnāt until he said your name, softly, confused, that something inside your mind finally cracked open.
Slowly, your gaze focused.
Really focused.
And then you saw him.
Bucky.
The gun slipped from your hand and hit the floor with a dull, echoing sound, but you barely heard it. Your ears were suddenly filled with blood, with disbelief, with something too overwhelming to name.
Tears rushed into your eyes instantly, blurring your face before you could even properly take it in.
āWhat is it ? Why are you crying ?ā he asked, stepping closer without thinking, hands hovering like he wanted to comfort you but didnāt understand what he was stepping into. His voice was careful, confused, completely lost.
āYou- youāre really here ?ā you managed to whisper, your voice breaking in the middle of the sentence.
He frowned, clearly unsettled now.
āUhā¦ yeah ? I meanā¦ I think so ?ā he answered slowly, uncertainty creeping into his tone. His eyes searched your face, trying to understand your reaction. āShould Iā¦ not be ?ā
That hit you harder than anything else.
He didnāt know.
He didnāt even know he had been gone. He didnāt know what you had lived through. He didnāt know that five years had turned into grief, into silence, into a life built entirely around his absence.
And yet he was here. Real. Warm. Breathing. Looking at you like you were the one who didnāt make sense.
Your hands started shaking as the relief finally broke through the shock, crashing into you so violently it stole your breath. Your knees almost gave out.
āOh my Godā¦ā you whispered, barely audible.
And then it all collapsed.
You fell into his arms, gripping his shirt like he was the only solid thing left in the world. Your forehead pressed against his chest as the tears came hard and fast, relief, grief, disbelief all tangled together until you couldnāt separate them anymore.
Five years. Five years of imagining this moment, of surviving without it.
And now it was real.
Bucky stiffened for a second, caught off guard by the intensity, still confused, still trying to piece everything together. But his arms wrapped around you anyway, instinctively strong, grounding you as if his body remembered what his mind didnāt yet understand.
āHeyā¦ hey,ā he said softly, voice lower now, more careful. āItās okayā¦ Iāve got you. I need you to tell me whatās going on. What happened ?ā
His grip tightened slightly, protective, even as uncertainty lingered in his tone.
āPleaseā¦ I donāt understand.ā
You couldnāt breathe properly, still clinging to him for dear life, as if letting go would make him disappear again. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt so tightly it almost hurt. Only when he gently, carefully, pulled back just enough to see your face did you realize how visibly you were falling apart.
Your eyes were swollen, red, overflowing. Your breathing was broken between sobs you couldnāt control.
āWhat happened ?ā he asked again, softer this time, more fragile.
That question was enough to break whatever control you had left.
Another wave of tears hit you instantly, harder than before. Your chest tightened painfully as the memory resurfaced with brutal clarity.
Bucky guided you gently toward the bed, his hands steady on your arms, trying to ground you without forcing you. He sat you down, kneeling in front of you, staying close, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.
You took a shaky breath, but it didnāt help.
āYou vanished,ā you finally said, your voice cracking. āIn my arms.ā
Your sobs didnāt stop. If anything, they grew heavier.
āWe were on the couchā¦ you were asleep, your head on my lap,ā you continued, shaking so hard your words kept breaking apart. āAnd then- then you justā¦ disappeared. Right there. Just like that. It was five years agoā
Bucky went still.
His expression shifted, not into recognition, but confusion. Deep, unsettled confusion. Like someone trying to grasp a language they didnāt speak.
Because for him, none of it made sense.
From his point of view, he had been with you a moment ago. Five minutes ago, maybe less. He remembered the warmth of the couch, the quiet, the comfort of your presence beside him. He remembered closing his eyes, just for a second.
And then, nothing.
He had woken up alone.
āIāI donātā¦ā he started, his voice strained. āThat doesnāt make sense. I was justā I was just with you. Five seconds ago.ā
āIām not crazy,ā you said quickly, your voice breaking as you shook your head. āI promise. You have to believe me, Buck.ā
There was something desperate in the way you said it, like you needed him to understand, needed him to see you, or you might fall apart all over again.
You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your tears with trembling hands, but they kept coming anyway.
So you told him everything.
You told him about the snap, how Thanos had wiped out half of the worldās population with the Infinity Stones. How people had turned to dust in an instant, gone without warning, without explanation. How no one understood at first. How chaos had followed.
Your voice faltered more than once, but you forced yourself to keep going.
You told him what it had been like to lose him.
How you had held him as he disappeared. How you had called his name, over and over again, like it might bring him back. How the silence afterward had been the worst part.
And thenā¦ the years.
āFive years, Buck,ā you whispered, your voice barely holding together. āI thoughtā¦ I thought I was never going to see you again.ā
Your gaze dropped, your hands twisting together in your lap as if trying to hold onto something solid.
āI mourned you,ā you admitted, your voice fragile, barely holding together. āI tried toā¦ live without you. I couldnāt.ā
Bucky didnāt interrupt this time.
He just watched you.
Really watched you.
His eyes traced every detail he didnāt recognize, details that shouldnāt have changed in what felt like mere seconds to him. The dark circles under your eyes, deep and permanent. The way your cheeks were more hollow than he remembered. The slight tremble in your hands. Your hair, longer nowā¦ different. Everything about you carried the weight of something he hadnāt lived through.
Five minutes for him.
Five years for you.
āIām not crazy,ā you repeated softly. āYou were gone.ā
Your hands came up to cup his face, gentle, almost reverent, as if you were afraid he might slip away again if you didnāt hold him there. You leaned your forehead against his, your eyes squeezing shut as if that could anchor you to reality.
āI had to prepare your fucking funeral.ā you whispered.
The words shattered in the space between you.
Bucky froze.
For a second, he didnāt breathe.
And then it hit him.
Not fully, not all at once, but enough. Enough to see it. To picture it.
You. Alone. Standing there. Saying goodbye to him when he hadnāt even known he was gone.
A tear slipped down his cheek before he even realized it was there.
Because the image didnāt feel distant. It felt real. It felt wrong.
You werenāt supposed to go through that. Not because of him.
Not without him.
His hand moved instinctively, covering yours where it rested against his face, grounding himself as much as you.
āIām so sorry,ā he whispered, his voice breaking in a way it almost never did.
There was guilt there. Immediate. Crushing.
Not because it had been his fault, but because you had suffered, and he hadnāt been there to stop it.
Bucky didnāt hesitate.
He pulled you into his arms again, more firmly this time, holding you close as if he could somehow make up for lost years just by not letting go now. Your face buried itself in the crook of his neck, your breath still uneven, your fingers gripping him like you were afraid he might slip through them.
āIām not leaving,ā he murmured against your hair, his voice low, steady despite the emotion tightening his chest. āI promise. Iāve got you.ā
His hand moved slowly along your back, grounding, reassuring, repeating the motion over and over like he was trying to anchor you both in the same moment.
Only then did your breathing begin to steady.
Still pressed against him, wrapped in the warmth you had thought youād lost forever, something inside you finally started to loosen. The panic didnāt disappear completely, but it softened, replaced, little by little, by something fragile and unfamiliar after so long.
Relief.
You stayed there, hidden in the embrace of the man you loved most, letting yourself believe that he was really thereā¦ and that this time, he wasnāt going anywhere.
