#protective!bucky

You pride yourself on your independence. Don't let anyone in too close, and save yourself the disappointment. That's largely why your relationship with Bucky broke down - you both needed your independence to feel in control for once in your lives, which only led to distance growing between you. It wasn't as though you were in an official relationship, anyway, but it definitely felt like an official heartbreak when it ended.

Bucky pushes the door to your apartment open. You still keep a spare key under the welcome mat, much to his dismay. There's silence throughout your home, and an overwhelming sense of nostalgia washes over him.

It looks mostly the same as he remembers it, with some new things that serve as cold reminders that this isn't his home anymore. A rug he doesn't recognize. A pair of heels by the door that he's never seen you in. The same old coffee table with the wooden legs scratched to shit, courtesy of Alpine, but with a new cover thrown over it.

Slowly, carefully, desperate not to break or damage anything, Bucky walks through the apartment. You're not in the kitchen- though you have finally got new cabinets that shut properly. You're not in the back room, but the arcade game Bucky couldn't help but spend way too much money on still is, gathering dust. When he gets to the bedroom, he knocks softly on the door.

"It's me," He announces, not wanting you to worry that a stranger broke in. "Are you here?"

No response. It's entirely possible that you're not home, but Bucky slowly opens the door, just in case.

He's about to step inside but he falters when he sees you curled up in a ball on the carpeted floor. He sucks in a breath. "Y/N. It's Bucky," He says gently, taking a few steps in. His chest tightens with pain at the sight of you. "I'm here. You awake?"

You're breathing; that much is obvious. Though he wants nothing more than to run to you and hold you in his arms, touching you probably isn't the best idea right now. He knows what you would've seen in the Void. He knows how real it would've felt.

So instead, he leaves the room and goes to the kitchen. Brews you a cup of your favorite tea and brings it into your bedroom, hoping the smell will help to ground you in reality. He turns on the TV and puts on your comfort show, or at least what your comfort show was three years ago, at a low volume so as not to startle you.

Then, Bucky sits opposite you on the floor, not too close, but close enough so you can hear his whispers.

"I'm here," He utters lowly. "You're safe. Nothing and nobody can hurt you. I'm here with you. I got you, snow pea."

The nickname makes you flinch subtly, enough movement for him to notice. Slowly, you tilt your head which is currently being hidden by your arms, and peak one eye out through the strands of your hair. Your gaze is panicked when it lands on Bucky, before slightly softening.

"Hey, snow," Bucky says, offering you a small smile. "It's me. It's all over, I promise you."

You suck in a shaky breath. Slowly, you move your head a little more, so half of your face is exposed to him. "Jamie?"

"That's right," He says with a nod. "I'm here. You're home. You're safe."

With a deep breath, you push yourself up, leaning back against your bed and pulling your knees up to your chest. "What the fuck was that?" You ask lowly.

"Ah... it's hard to explain," He says. "But it's over."

You nod, fiddling with your thumbs. "I... how do I know I'm not still there?" You wonder out loud. "That this isn't just another room?"

"I can promise you that it's not," Bucky assures you.

Tentatively, you reach your arm out. He carefully takes your hand in his metal one and holds it. You flinch as if bracing for something that doesn't come. And when it doesn't, you visibly relax, letting out a deep sigh.

"I thought... I thought I died and went to hell," You admit to him. "Thought I'd be stuck in that loop forever."

Bucky elects to move closer to you, shuffling forward.

"I felt like a child again," You go on to say. "Just... weak, and pathetic, and powerless against him."

"I've got you now, snow pea," He says firmly. "Nobody is ever going to hurt you like that again. I won't ever let them."

"How come you're here?" You ask in a small voice.

"Wanted to check on you," He tells you honestly. "I... I was in it, too. Everyone, in fact. The whole of New York. And when I came out, the first and only thing I could think of was whether you were okay. I prayed you were out of town for work so you wouldn't have had to go through that. I'm sorry, snow pea."

With furrowed brows, you slowly crawl over to him and wrap your arms around him. He holds you tightly, and you realize just how much you missed him physically as well as emotionally. His strong, firm grip always made you feel so safe and protected, and it's exactly what you need right now.

"Thank you for coming," You whimper against his neck.

"I'll always be here for you, snow," He vows, rubbing your back. "No matter what happens. No matter how far away you might be. How much time it's been. Whenever you need me, wherever you are, whether that's in hell itself... I'll find you."

You hold him tighter, practically on his lap as you take in the familiar smell of his aftershave. His hair's longer than it was the day he walked out, but just as soft as you remember it.

Pulling back so you can look at his face, you scan his features, looking for proof that he isn't your Bucky. But there's nothing different about the way he looks at you. The way his eyes melt into yours. Leaning up, you gently kiss his lips. He kisses you back softly as though he's afraid to break you. His hands are on your waist but his touch is feather-like. It isn't until you deepen the kiss that he grips you tighter, falling into old habits as your tongues clash.

When you pull away, he brings up one of his hands to your face, cupping your cheek.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, feeling guilty for not having asked earlier.

"I'm okay," He assures you with a smile.

"Really? It can't have been easy," You say with a frown, knowing what he would've seen.

"It wasn't. But I'm here with you, now," Bucky says softly. "So I'm more okay than I have been in three years."

You wince at the mention of how long you've been apart, because now, as you sit on his lap with your arms around him, it feels like it's been no time at all.

"Jamie?" You utter.

"Yes, snow pea?" He replies, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb.

"Will you stay over tonight?" You request in a small voice.

"I'll stay as long as you need me to," He promises. "Have you still got that blow-up mattress?"

You give him a flat look.

"What?" He asks with a chuckle.

"There is no way you're sleeping on a blow-up mattress, Barnes," You say with an eye-roll.

"Fine. The couch, then?" He asks, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Shut up," You grumble, hitting his chest. "We have a lot to catch up on so you should probably sleep in here with me."

"A lot to catch up on," He agrees with a hum. "I think you're right."

Your fingers entwine with his, your chest against his, the beating of his heart calming yours. Though you still feel wounded from what you went through in the Void, this time, you know you'll survive.

"I've got you, baby," Bucky mumbles, his smooth voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "I always will."

ughhhhh a tight warm bucky hug is exactly what i need rn </3

bucky masterlist

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To you, it was serious.

His relationship with the mystery woman outside the compound hadn’t lasted very long. It ended ugly and with betrayal that cut deeper than he’d admit out loud.

She cheated with some guy she called an “old friend” Simon. She begged him to forgive her, swore it didn’t mean anything and it was a one time mistake. But Bucky wasn't interested in her excuses or lies. Once the trust was gone, it was gone. He wasn’t about to try to glue pieces back together knowing the cracks would always show and have a constant reminder of her betrayal by having to look at her everyday. He didn't need to go to bed at night wondering what she was doing or who she was with.

Bucky was done with her, once and for all.

Bucky needed a friend because it was what he so desperately needed and that’s where you came in.

Late nights brewing hot tea in the kitchen. Breaking into Tony’s ridiculously expensive stash of chocolate that he always hid in the top cupboard. Dunking cookies in milk, laughing at dumb movies, sitting shoulder to shoulder with books open but barely reading. It was just the little comforting things.

The things Bucky needed and loved doing, especially with you.

You got close. Closer than you had ever expected.

The walls Bucky had built around himself started to crumble piece by piece, especially during the times you smiled at him like he was worth something.

And maybe that’s why he looked so completely pissed and defeated when you walked into the common room with some guy’s arm slung around your shoulders.

This guy was no good, he could tell just by the aftershave he was wearing.

“Hey, everyone,” you said, voice quiet and nervous. “I'd like to introduce you to my new boyfriend. This is John.”

The team greeted John with handshakes, hugs and even ‘bro’ hugs as Sam liked to call them.

But Bucky just sat there with his fists clenched in his lap, jaw locked, staring ahead like the world had just ended.

And for Bucky, that's exactly how it felt.

John really did look the part. He was tall, he wore an expensive suit with shiny shoes and an expensive watch. His hair slicked back neatly with hair gel, though by how greasy it looked, it looked as though John had used the whole tube.

But there was something in John’s eyes that put Bucky on edge, there was something behind those eyes Bucky just didn't like about John.

Just as arrogant as Tony, he thought.

John's gaze flicked to him, a smirk etched into his features.

“Oh, you're the famous Bucky Barnes.”

John said, flat toned. But that smirk? It wasn't casual, it wasn't friendly. Not even close.

“You don't seem as scary as I imagined.” John chuckled, one posh hand slipped into the pockets of his tight slacks.

Bucky’s jaw twitched but kept focused on the white wall ahead. His vibranium arm whirred with the tension of the clenched fist.

Keep cool Barnes, keep cool.

But it didn't take too long for the cracks to start showing in yours and John's relationship.

It was very subtle at first. John would interrupt you mid sentence, intentionally being contradictive, making comments that he would disguise as a joke.

Intentionally being a dickhead.

Then as time went on John’s mask began to fall.

“Do you really think you should be wearing that? It’s a bit tight, you're going to attract unwanted attention.” he muttered one evening before training.

“Oh for fuck sakes Y/N! You're too damn sensitive. Why can't you ever take a joke?” whenever you would scowl at his immature comments.

The others noticed of course. Clint’s eyebrows nearly shot off his head. Natasha’s lips thinned every time she witnessed one of his digs.

But you being the sweet and stubborn you just kept brushing it all off, as if trying to make it hurt less.

Bucky however felt his blood boil hotter with every passing day that John was around. There were days Bucky was more tempted than others to ring John's neck.

Bucky often imagined what it would feel like to hear one of John’s pathetic bones crack under the pressure of his arm.

Because he’d heard those same words before. Cruel, narcissistic, leaving you to feel smaller than you deserved to be.

He just couldn’t stand watching it happen to you.

Things came to a boiling point one Friday evening.

The team had gathered in the common room for a takeaway and films, a rare moment of downtime that you cherished when it happened. You sat cross legged next to John, food in your lap and snacks on the other side of you. Your shoulders were tense and your smile felt a little forced.

Halfway through one of the films, you offered a light hearted joke on the plot. A few chuckles were heard, but your smile soon faded when John snorted.

“Babe, please don’t embarrass yourself tonight. Then again, you never seem to get it.”

The room fell silent. So silent that you could absolutely hear a pin drop. Your throat suddenly felt like sandpaper and it was hard to breathe. It felt as if there was no air and you were suffocating under the stares.

You tried to laugh it off, but nothing sound came out.

And that's when Bucky stood abruptly, his own food flying off his lap. His heavy breathing cut through the silence of the room. All eyes were on you.

“Get the fuck out.” Bucky’s voice boomed. His nostrils flared and vibranium arm whirring by his side, ready to punch that irritating smirk right off this guy's fucking face once and for all.

John blinked, chuckling as if finding this whole exchange humorous. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Bucky shouted. “You’re not welcome here. Not after the way you’ve been treating her.”

John scoffed. “Oh come on, Buck. She knows I’m only teasing.”

Bucky stepped forward, eyes blazing. “No you're wrong, John. Teasing doesn’t leave her looking small. Teasing doesn’t make her laugh like she’s trying not to cry. You’re not teasing her, you’re tearing her down and I've had enough of it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air.

John sneered, glancing around the room for backup. “Are you all just going to let him talk to me like that?”

Natasha crossed her arms. “He’s not wrong though.”

Sam gave a sharp nod. “She deserves better, man. Way better.”

John’s expression changed like the weather. He looked angry as he turned back to you, as if expecting you to defend him. “Y/N?”

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat, torn between instinct and the truth. For so long you’d brushed off his cruelty and comments. But the look in Bucky’s eyes, he was furious, he was protective of you and you realised it tonight. It made something inside you snap.

“I… I just think you should go,” you whispered, avoiding his stare.

John’s face twisted into disgust. “You are fucking unbelievable.” He shouted, causing you to flinch at both his words and anger.

He snatched his coat, muttered something under his breath, and stormed out.

The slam of the door echoed and rang in your ears.

The silence was intense. Embarrassment crept up to your cheeks.

Wanda leaned forward gently. “Are you all right, Y/N?”

You nodded quickly, though your throat felt tight. “I’m fine honestly. Just… I’m so sorry you all had to see th-”

“No,” Bucky said firmly, interrupting your train of thoughts, his voice softer now but no less intense. “Don’t apologise Y/N. He should never have spoken to you like that. Not once. Not ever.”

Your eyes met his, and something in your chest shifted. For a moment, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to cry or throw your arms around him.

“Thank you Buck.” You murmured instead, eyes glossing over.

When the evening officially ended and the team headed off to their own rooms, you lingered in the kitchen staring thoughtfully into your lukewarm cup of tea. Your chest felt tight, and your shoulders slouched under the weight of what happened tonight. Your mind replaying everything John ever said to you, his jokes, his control over you.

Bucky found you there, sitting on the stool in the kitchen staring out into the void.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You gave a weak smile. “I will be. Just… I just feel stupid, you know? For not seeing it sooner.”

“Don’t.” His tone was fierce, but not with you. “People like him Y/N, they’re very good at hiding it, at twisting things and never taking accountability for it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your throat tightened. “Still. I thought… I thought he cared. I only wanted that.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He didn’t deserve you. Not even close.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them was low, steady, filled with genuineness and made the warmth spread through your chest despite the ache.

You studied him for a long moment, searching his face for any signs he's lying. “Do you really mean that?”

He stepped closer, blue eyes locking with yours. “Y/N… you deserve someone who sees you for who you are, doll. Someone who makes you feel stronger and taller, not smaller. Who knows exactly how lucky they are to have you.”

Your breath caught. “Bucky…”

He swallowed hard, fighting the war inside himself. For years he’d kept it buried. Convinced he wasn’t good enough for you, convinced you deserved someone whole. But watching that man tear you down had snapped something inside him.

Bucky didn't just need you. He loved you.

His voice was raw when he finally admitted, “I’ve always seen you that way. Even when I tried not to.”

The air between you shifted, heavy with something unspoken, finally given breath.

You blinked, heart drumming fiercely against your ribcage. “You… you’ve always…?”

“I thought it was better if you didn’t know,” he said, voice low. “When I was with someone else, when you deserved more than a broken mess like me, I thought keeping it to myself was protecting you. But tonight, seeing him like that… God, Y/N, I can’t just stand by and let you think that’s all you deserve. Because it’s not. You deserve everything. You deserve love.”

Tears stung your eyes, but for once they weren’t from pain.

You reached for his hand. The cool metal of the vibranium was steady beneath your palm.

“Bucky…” Your voice shook. “All this time, I thought you didn’t want me.”

His laugh was rough, almost disbelieving. “Want you? Doll, I’ve been in love with you longer than I ever care to admit.”

The words settled over you like a balm, like sunlight breaking through a storm.

Everything was fine. Everything would keep being fine as long as no one asked any questions. Because if anyone asked you a question, something was going to break open inside you so wide, so broken, that you could never force close it again. So, coffee in hand, makeup checked and double checked, laptop in bag and shoulders squared, you walked into the compound. 

You smiled and waved at Gary, calling out a soft ‘heya’ to the security guard who sat at the front desk daily, diligently checking everyone coming in and out of the labs. When you could, you remembered to bring him a coffee: for such a giant of a man, he loved an extra-sweet latte. He kept you all safe, or as safe as he could, and you thought he probably didn’t get enough recognition for it. He was as part of the brickwork of the place as much as any avenger or director alike. He kept the place going, and it was important to you to recognise every turning cog of a machine. 

It was the small things that mattered. They could make someone’s day. They could blow your life wide open in a way that made it hard for you to sleep at night. Focus on the little things. Sleeves pulled down, top button done up. Hair down to cover the bruise, just skimming past the edge of your hairline. He usually paid more attention when he hit you. It was usually easier to hide. 

Never mind; you’d just have to work a bit harder at hiding it until it faded. 

You passed a few fellow scientists on your way through to your lab. Dr Sophie Rosen, who was working on improving the space tech Stark Tech had started and got bored of, caught up with you, and you made your way through the winding corridors together, catching up after the weekend. You were meant to meet her for drinks on Saturday night - a group from the lab had agreed to meet up. But Mark had made it clear you wouldn’t be going when he’d thrown you to the floor and slammed the door to your shared bedroom in your face, locking it behind him. He’d left a boot print on your back, bruises on your wrists, and a ringing in your head.

‘Anyway, I’m jabbering on. I wasn’t sure to expect you in today’ Sophie’s comment pulled you back into reality as you turned to look at her, confused. She looked back at you, an equally confused smile pulling at her lips, ‘your cold? Gone now?’ Oh. God, you were slow today. You’d told her you were sick to get out of drinks. 

You brushed it off with a laugh, ‘Oh yeah, must have been one of those 48-hour things! All good now.’ The words rushed out of your mouth slightly too quickly, and slightly too dismissively, but Sophie didn’t clock it. Instead, she knocked into you gently, whispering in mock conspiracy, ‘Mark better have looked after you or I’ll send him up to space next instead of a test dummy.’ 

You laughed her comment off, the same way you did every time someone at work brought Mark up. Smile. Laugh. Brighten your eyes. Keep the small things hidden. Don’t think about the friends you’ve lost. The nights alone. The nights in agony. 

You made up some story about ‘soup or something’ before being internally flooded with relief as your lab’s door came into view. You sped up slightly, rushing to get away from a conversation you didn’t know how long you could lie through. You told Sophie that you were close to a breakthrough and that you were gonna ‘crack on’. You hoped she took the startled gasp of pain you let out as she pulled you into a hug as one of surprise. She didn’t need to know your ribs were pulsing in sharp pain at the contact.  

As the doors to your lab let off the gentle hiss that told you they were closing, you walked to your workbench, gingerly, letting the pull of your aching body envelop you for a second. You all but fell into your chair. Shut off inside your lab, you let yourself have a second to think of what happened on Saturday. A few seconds to process before getting on. 

Mark had come in from his shift in a shit mood. You should’ve known better than texting him to say you were going out that night. Should have asked permission. Should have had his lunch ready when he came in. Should have woken up early to clean the apartment.

 But you were tired. You were so tired, and you had been for a while. So, in the safety of an empty apartment, you’d let yourself rest, let the warm sunlight lull you into a false sense of security as you dozed. 

But suddenly it was midday and the door slammed open. Suddenly, he was in the bedroom. Suddenly, he was on top of you. Suddenly, you hurt. Different parts of your body screaming at you in pain while he spat abuse down onto you. You’d tried to curl in on yourself. Begged him to stop, tears streaming down your face. It didn’t make a difference.  

The slight sting of the cold metal workspace in front of you pulled you back to the lab as your forearms rested on it, your head cradled in your hands. You’d loved him. He’d loved you. He still did. Or at least, he told you he did. What was worse, you knew a part of you still loved him. It hurt to stay, but what if it hurt worse to leave? How could you even leave now? Where would you start?

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

In. Out.

You pushed the thoughts from your mind as you picked up an AJ and your souldering iron and got to work. What better distraction could there be than finishing your upgrades to the arm in front of you? 

About five years ago, you’d finished your degree and stepped into the world of the Avengers. Or, more accurately, you’d been brought in. The tech you’d made for one of your final projects had caught the eye of Fury; the next thing you knew, you were sat in SHIELD HQ being given some equipment and designs, and told to ‘have fun’. By the end of the day, you’d signed a contract. 

Like every other SHIELD agent, you’d had to complete basic training to become a fully qualified agent, basic self-defence, weaponry and combat. It was how you’d met Tasha. She was training your group one day, and while you were sparring, she used a Widow Bite on you. Once you’d recovered, you’d asked her if you could hold on to it. When you brought it back a week later with five improvements and a more compact design, she got you relocated to the compound. 

You missed her fiercely. She’d been like a big sister to you, so when you’d come back from the blip to find her and Tony gone, something in you withered. Back then? They would’ve noticed the small things. They all would have. Nat, Tony, Steve, Sam…Bucky. They would’ve seen the way the fire in your eyes had turned to smoke. They would’ve seen the long sleeves in summer, the high necks. The black eyes hidden under bad makeup. 

They would’ve gotten you away from Mark before you even realised what he was doing was wrong. But most of them were gone now. Mark had pulled you away from the rest. And you were trapped with him. Someone with basic fucking shield training couldn’t even defend herself. Pathetic. 

So, you kept your distance from the rest of the team that came back from the blip. You clocked in. You clocked out. You did good work, and you went home. You pulled away from everyone. No more training days. No Avenger and Co get aways. No film nights. 

You smiled softly at the project in front of you, the upgraded arm for Bucky. You remembered how he’d told you late one night that the weight of the metal pulled at his shoulder uncomfortably. A small thing, he’d said, barely mentioned in passing, but something that you’d remembered. And one that you’d, hopefully, just fixed. A gesture. A way to remind him you were still there. To keep him in your life when Mark had cut him out of every other part. You pulled up a holo-screen, sending Bucky a quick message: Upgrade’s ready when you are! :)

You knew he’d come pretty quickly; he always did when you called, but you kept yourself busy anyway. Less time to think that way. Yelena had said something about her batons feeling ‘clunky’ - you could help fix that. The problem was, you got a bit carried away. So carried away, with your ear defenders on and angle grinder going, that you didn’t hear Bucky come in. Didn’t notice him until a hand landed on your shoulder. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from flinching, no matter how much you wished you had. You shrank into yourself, expecting a blow that, of course, would never come. You turned around as fast as the disk on the grinder spun, to find Bucky, stepped slightly back, wide-eyed and hands held up as if he was looking at a startled deer, not a woman with a tool that could be lethal. Your finger left the trigger, your heart hammering in your chest at a thousand beats a minute as adrenaline burned through your body and every muscle clenched out of fearful memory. ‘Fuck’ you breathed out, panic coursing through you. The second the tool spun down, you placed it on the counter, yanking off your gloves and ear defenders; ‘Oh my god, Bucky I am so so sorry! I didn’t hear you come in.’ 

Bucky hadn’t stepped any closer. His hands were still up, but his brow had furrowed slightly, his eyes flickering up and down your body, before catching on the purple, hand-shaped bruise, encasing your wrist where you’d just pulled your glove off. Your eyes followed his own. 

You couldn’t help but gasp a little as you saw it, turning away from him and immediately pulling your sleeve back down. No. No no no no no. Not now. He couldn’t see now. Not after everything. Not after you’d survived so long like this. Bucky’s voice came slightly gruff from across the room as he tried to force some lightness into his tone, ’It’s okay Doll - you alright? Thought you were gonna get me for a sec there.’ 

Your heart was still running at a million miles an hour, but you let out a slightly breathless laugh as you turned back around to him. There was something sad in his eyes. It was only small. Barely noticeable. But you liked the small things. You saw the small things. The way his frown crinkled the skin between his eyebrows, how his eyes seemed to get darker when he was upset. And Bucky was sad. Sad, and maybe angry. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t push. He kept a false, gentle smile going your way. Kept his voice soft and his tone light. He was trying to make  sure he didn’t spook you.

‘Nah, gramps. I think it’d take more than me and an angle grinder to take you down,’ you laugh out, picking Bucky’s new arm up and crossing the lab space towards him. 

‘I don’t know. I reckon you got some rage hidden in there.’ 

‘Hah, if you say so, old man.’ You were standing just across from him now. ‘You okay if I attach it the first time?’ Bucky nodded at you, ‘Sure thing, genius,’ you could feel his eyes flickering over your form again, searching for something as the hem of your t-shirt rose up without you realising, Bucky’s eyes immediately honing in on another bruise. But he didn’t say anything. He added it to the mental catalogue. He’d taken your disapperance the hardest, never knowing why. Except now, now he was finding out, and he hated the answer. ‘Remind me what upgrade this one is?’ You’d just finished attaching the new arm as he asked, so instead of replying, you told him to ‘give it a go, soldier, you tell me.’ 

Bucky quirked his eyebrows at you, a cheeky grin pulling at his lips, as if saying if you say so. You weren’t talking. Either you didn’t realise he’d blocked a bruise on your wrist that was filling him with rage, or you were hiding it. So he played along. He curled his fingers into a fist before swinging the arm in a full circle, the machinery now barely making a sound at the action. A surprised look came onto Bucky’s face as he brought his arm up backwards and slowly moved his arm in a back-and-forth motion a few times. ‘It’s not pulling,’ Bucky almost whispered in disbelief, before locking eyes with you, his features softening in gratitude, ‘you remembered.’ You smiled and nodded your head slightly, ‘you said it was hurting, I wanted to stop it.’ 

Before you knew it, Bucky had closed the distance between you, pulling you into the gentlest hug, but you couldn’t help but flinch again. Bucky felt every single muscle in your body tense, but he held you close, not letting you, but pulling you closer, letting your body realise it was safe, letting it relax into the hug. The contact put pressure on your ribs. It was worth it. Above you, Bucky simply whispered a ‘thank you,’ into your hair. 

The pair of you stayed like that for a while, bodies pressed against each other, pulling comfort from the other. It was nice.

You’d been so close once. Bucky was your person. Your best friend. Your safe place. You were one of the first people he was introduced to. The pair of you had bonded over 40’s music and good food. Movie nights happened weekly, and you’d stayed over in his room more than once after falling asleep mid-movie. Bucky always took the couch when you did. But Mark started making comments about the men you always seemed to hang out with. Then the comments turned into punishments. So you’d pulled away from the team. From Bucky. 

But you missed them. Missed him. Missed his messy hair in the mornings and the way his hoodies smelt of home. Missed how you felt safe with him. Eventually, you pulled away from each other. 

‘What are you doing tonight, Doll? We’re gonna have a movie night if you want to join us?’ Your heart broke a little knowing you had to say no. Everything in you wanted to say yes, to hide away with the team and never come back. But you couldn’t. Not with how Mark had been recently. Staying would only mean more bruises. More pain. You couldn’t cope with it.

‘I’d love to Bucky, but I can’t, Mark wants me home tonight.’ You didn’t miss how Bucky’s jaw clenched at Mark’s name.

‘But what do you want?’

You tried to laugh it off, ‘Come on Buck, it’s a Monday night.’ 

You tried to pull away. Bucky wasn’t having it. He fixed his gaze on you, immovable and hard. Before you knew what was happening, Bucky had your wrists gently held in his, pulling you over to the couch that sat in the corner of your lab. He sat you down before letting go of your hands and kneeling in front of you. You couldn’t look at him. His hand came up to your cheek, softly guiding your face so that you were looking him in his steel blue eyes. 

‘I miss you.’ 

He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact. It hit you in the gut like a bullet. You were frozen in time. Your brain was running at a million miles an hour, but you couldn’t make sense of any of it. You drew in a sharp breath as Bucky’s hands gently closed around your right wrist, and his voice, soft as sunrise, said ‘I miss you. And you’ve been pulling away from us. And now, I think I know why.’ He turned your palm upwards, cradling it in his hand, before shifting to sit next to you on the couch. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything about the rising panic storming inside you. About the fear. The shame. The embarrassment. You couldn’t move when Bucky’s hands slowly pulled your sleeve up, revealing those small things you’d worked so hard to hide. 

Ugly, purple and black bruises, fading green ones with a sickly colour, and scars. 

‘I’m going to kill him.’ 

Bucky’s eyes, filled with anguish, took in the bruises, cuts and burns as he drew in a shaky, stuttering breath, his thumb gingerly tracing over the marks. He didn’t yell it. Didn’t shout. Didn’t rage. He said it like it was a fact. 

You’d been hurt. He was going to make sure it didn’t happen again.

You were crying. From nothing but the sheer gentleness that Bucky held you with. You hadn’t been touched, held, gently, like something precious, for so long. From the fact that he looked so sad that someone would ever hurt you. A stray tear turned into two, into a litany of sobs that were racking your body. 

At some point, Bucky simply curled his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. He held you close, held you tight, a promise that he wasn’t going to let go. A dam had opened, and water was flooding through. All the misery. All the sorrow and hurt of the last year, hitting you at once.

 Finally, you let it break you. You stayed in Bucky’s arms, protected from the rest of the world so long as he held you. And through each wave, each sob, each cry, he whispered comfort to you. Promises that ‘I got you now’, encouraging you to ‘let it out’, swearing that ‘you’re safe.’ 

Eventually, your cries wore out. You weren’t done crying. You weren’t gonna be for a long time. But for now, you’d tired yourself out. You pulled away from Bucky. He wouldn’t push. You knew he wouldn’t. But there was no going back now. Something in you had finally admitted the nightmare that your life had become, and you needed to tell him. Voice wobbling, breath shaking, you started talking. 

‘He didn’t used to-’ you paused, swallowing, steeling yourself as you looked into Buckys eyes and saw no judgement, only comfort and sorrow, ‘He didn’t use to hit me. I swear he didn’t. It started last year, when he got his new job after the Blip. Money was tight, and things were tense. We’d been arguing, and I said I was gonna stay the night here. It-‘ you broke off, looking away from Bucky. ‘It was the first time he hit me. Said the only reason you guys liked me was because you were probably passing me around like some fuck toy. It started that night and-‘ You could hear the groan of Bucky’s arm as his fist clenched, ‘and he hasn’t really stopped since.’

‘I wanted to come to you. I swear I did. But we’d just lost Nat and Tony and I…’ You looked away from Bucky, blush colouring your cheeks in shame, ‘I didn’t know how. It all happened so quickly, I couldn’t get out, couldn’t admit what he’d done. I’m sorry’ 

‘Dont,’ Bucky’s voice broke in, hoarse, sad and deadly, ‘don’t ever apologise for what he’s done to you. Don’t you ever feel embarrassed about this. We should have seen that something was wrong. I should have.’ Suddenly, Bucky was kneeling in front of you again, looing up at you like it was a prayer, ‘I am so, so sorry I wasn’t there before. But I am now. Please let me help you, Doll.’ 

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t say it. The pressure in your throat was too much to battle against. But you nodded. It was timid. It was scared. But it was there. He’d offered to help. You’d accepted.

He knelt up in front of you, pulling your body into another gentle hug. ‘I got ya. I’m gonna look after you now. I promise.’ He stood gently, helping you stand on shaky legs and wrapping you into his side. 

As you stepped out of the lab, you could feel eyes on you, your colleagues, on their lunch breaks, chatting, watching you be all but carried by Bucky Barnes into the personal quarters of the compound. But above you, Bucky was on high alert. Someone’s eyes locked onto you? He stared them down in seconds, making sure that not only would they look away, they’d never mention it ever again. He would protect you. Not only from Mark. From everyone. From the rumours. From the whispers. From the world. 

Before you knew it, you were sitting on Bucky’s bed. Gentle hands passed you a pair of joggers and one of his hoodies. You and Bucky were moving in a peaceful silence until you pulled your top off. The low growl that left Bucky’s chest was unmistakable as he took in the extent of the damage Mark had done. You locked eyes with his, which were full of apology and anger. He whispered out a sorrowful ‘I am so sorry.’ You didn’t need to reply.  

Without saying anything, he grabbed a balm off his bedside table and lowered himself onto the bed next to you. ‘Can I put this on you? It’s just a balm, helps bruises heal quicker.’ You gave a gentle nod of your head, and Bucky got some of the balm out onto his metal hand, warming it up with his human one. He kept all of his movements in your eyeline, quietly promising not to touch you without your consent, not to surprise you, and promising that you were in control. 

Warm hands started to work the balm over the bruise on your back while Bucky’s frown deepened. ‘It’s not your fault Buck,’ you whispered out. Bucky barely grunted at you in response, so you turned to look at him, moving your back out of reach and catching his hands in yours before he could carry on. ‘Bucky, look at me,’ he did. ‘This is not your fault.’ He just clenched his jaw and shook his head. ‘I should have noticed.’ A stray tear fell from his eyes. ‘I made sure you didn’t, Buck. This is no one’s fault but Mark’s. Promise me you know that?’ It was Bucky’s turn to nod in reply, but it was enough for you to turn back around and let him keep applying the balm. 

When he’d finished your back, he moved on to your arms, placing a kiss on each wrist when he’d finished. You stood up, quickly changing into Bucky’s sweats while he was turned around, before sitting down on the bed again, the smell of Bucky’s clothes immediately making you feel safer. 

In the smallest voice he’d ever heard, you whispered out, ’What do I do now, Bucky?’

‘Tonight you rest.’

‘And tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow we get you out of there for good.’

When you wake up, nothing makes sense.

Not in a scary way, exactly.

Just…in a deeply what the hell is happening way.

Your eyelids feel ten pounds each. Your mouth is dry. The room is all soft beeping and pale curtains and fluorescent light that somehow feels both too bright and too far away. Your thoughts are swimming in syrup, bumping into each other like sleepy bumper cars.

You blink once. Twice.

There’s a man sitting in the chair beside your bed.

A very handsome man.

A ridiculously handsome man.

Dark shirt stretched over broad shoulders, skin covered in tattoos, hair a little messy like he’s been running his hands through it too much. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring at you with this look on his face that is way too soft and way too intense for a stranger.

You squint at him.

He immediately perks up, relief washing over his face.

“Hey, baby. There you are.”

You stare. Because, okay…?

One, he is very pretty. Two, he is definitely not a nurse. Three, why is he talking to you like that?

Your brows pinch together.

“Who…are you?”

He freezes. Actually freezes.

The relief on his face gets replaced by a very specific kind of panic.

“…what?”

Your eyes drift over him again, suspicious and a little impressed despite yourself.

“Why are you in my room?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again.

“I’m—”

He glances at the nurse by the monitor like maybe she’s going to jump in and explain this better than he can.

She does not.

In fact, she very obviously bites back a smile and busies herself with the blood pressure machine.

The man looks back at you, now fully thrown.

“I’m Bucky,” he says carefully. “Your boyfriend.”

You stare at him for a long, long second. Then glance around the room like there might be hidden cameras.

“My boyfriend,” you repeat.

“Yeah.”

You look at him again. Really look.

At the tattoos. The jawline. The shoulders. The concerned blue eyes.

Then, very seriously, you whisper, “…why?”

The nurse makes a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh covered by a cough.

Bucky looks like you’ve just shot him.

“Why?” he echoes.

You blink at him, still drugged to hell and trying to work this out with the two functioning brain cells currently available.

“You’re very…” You gesture vaguely at all of him. “That.”

He lets out one startled, helpless laugh. “That?”

“Handsome,” you say, like you’re doing him a favour by clarifying. “And tattooed. Like…a suspicious amount.”

He puts a hand over his mouth. The nurse fully turns away at that point, shoulders shaking.

You narrow your eyes at him and continue, “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?”

“That you’re my boyfriend.”

He drags a hand down his face and looks at the ceiling for strength.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m sure.”

You consider this.

Then, with total sincerity, “So I really pulled you?”

He just stares at you. The nurse loses it entirely and has to walk out of the room for “supplies.”

Bucky looks back at you, somewhere between offended and wildly amused.

“Yes,” he says finally. “You ‘pulled’ me.”

You nod slowly, deeply impressed with yourself.

“Good for me.”

That gets him.

He laughs, head dropping, one hand scrubbing over the back of his neck as he tries to recover.

“Oh my God.”

You’re still studying him, though, because this is a lot to take in while your brain is full of anesthesia fog and hospital ceiling tiles.

“You seem sad,” you say.

His head snaps up.

“What?”

“You looked sad when I woke up.” You frown. “Did I die?”

His entire expression softens so fast it almost hurts.

“No, baby,” he says quietly. “You didn’t die.”

“Oh.” You relax a little. “That's good. Dying sounds inconvenient.”

He leans closer, forearms resting on the bed rail now, like he can’t quite help himself.

“You scared me a little, though.”

You squint at him.

“Because I forgot your face?”

He huffs a laugh.

“Yeah. Little bit.”

You look at him again, really trying this time. The voice is familiar in a way the face still isn’t. Warm. Grounding. Like hearing a song you know through a bad speaker.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be.” His hand comes close to yours on the blanket, then pauses. “Can I?”

You look at his hand.

Big. Veined. Rings glinting in the stark hospital light. Familiar in a way that makes something in your chest tug even through the fog.

You nod.

He takes your hand so gently it’s almost ridiculous, thumb brushing once over your knuckles.

There it is.

That feeling.

Something in you settles. Your eyes flick back up to his face.

“Ohhh.”

He lifts a brow.

“Ohhh?”

“I know you.”

That smile he gives you then is so soft and relieved it makes you want to cry for reasons your medicated brain cannot currently process.

“Yeah,” he says. “You do.”

You squeeze his hand weakly.

“Still weird that I’ve got such a hot boyfriend.”

He chokes on his own breath. From the hallway, you hear a nurse laugh again. He points at you with his free hand.

“You are never living this down.”

You blink slowly.

“That sounds like a future me problem.”

“Absolutely is.”

You sink deeper into the pillows, still holding his hand.

“Are you famous?”

He stares.

“What?”

“You look a little famous.”

He barks out a laugh.

“A little?”

You nod, then immediately regret the motion because the room gets floaty again.

“Like if a tattoo convention and a cologne ad had a baby.”

He covers his face with his hand.

“Jesus Christ.”

You smile dreamily.

“I’m hilarious.”

“You are on so many drugs.”

“And yet.” You lift his hand slightly. “Still got you.”

He looks at you over his fingers, completely gone now. Amused. Wrecked. A little helpless.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “You do.”

There’s a quiet moment after that.

The monitors hum. The curtain shifts. His thumb keeps moving slowly over your hand like he’s reassuring himself you’re really okay.

You squint at him again.

“Do you have snacks?”

That makes him laugh again.

“I do, actually.”

“You really are my boyfriend.”

He nods solemnly.

“Emergency crackers in my jacket pocket.”

You gasp, scandalized and impressed.

“That’s husband behavior.”

He goes very still.

Then very, very carefully says, “You wanna maybe remember my last name before we discuss that?”

You smile, eyes already drifting shut again.

“Too late,” you mumble. “I’m in love with Hospital Boy.”

He leans forward and kisses your forehead, smiling into it.

“Tough break for Bucky, then.”

Your fingers tighten around his one last sleepy time.

“No,” you murmur. “He can stay, too.”

And if he sits there grinning like an idiot for the next twenty minutes while you doze off holding his hand?

Well.

you’d taken the job because of the sign on bonus. you’d heard through the grapevine of mutual friends of a job offering high pay and immediate compensation. when the money hit your account, you didn’t bother asking questions. 

maybe that was a mistake because now, you’re getting pressed up against the wall by a man nearly twice your age. he’s trapped you, and normally there are bodyguards all over the place but you can’t seem to find where they’ve all gone off to.

“please… leave me alone.” your voice comes out smaller than you wanted it to, but after repeatedly telling the man to stop harassing you, he only grew more determined to get what he was after. 

“c’mon, pretty girl. just give me a taste.” 

trying to squeeze past him, you drag yourself along the wall, but he comes with you. you’ve shifted to the right about 6 feet, a round piece of metal lodging itself into the small of your back before the wall gives out and you go tumbling backwards.

you had hit the doorknob of a door that was too easy to open. falling to the floor with a thud, you wince, leaning up on your hands only to be met with a room full of eyes all on you. your jaw drops, embarrassment flooding through you.

“what the fuck?”

you whip your head towards the end of the conference table where the voice came from. seated is a man with an arm of metal, glinting underneath a dress shirt rolled to his elbows. your boss. you scramble to get up, flustered and completely ashamed. the man with the metal arm makes his way towards you.

“what is going on?”

his voice is demanding and you try not to flinch.

“i’m- i’m sorry, sir. i swear i didn’t mean to barge in here, he was pushing me up against the door and i didn’t know where i was going an- and- and-” you’re on the verge of tears.

“get the fuck out.”

one slips down your cheek. then another. you’re trying not to sob.

as you’re about to comply, a hand reaches for your wrist. 

“rumlow. leave.”

opening your eyes in shock, you watch as the man leaves his spot from the doorway. with a nod from bucky, a guard follows him out.

“are you okay?” his voice is softer now and his eyes finally settle on you. 

he notes the tear streaks and wordlessly slips out of the room, leaving behind the men at his table.

“but sir, your meeting-”

he shushes you, pushing open the door to another room down the hallway. a mahogany desk sits comfortably in the middle of the room, bookshelves lining the walls. a set of matching armchairs are resting by the unlit fireplace.

“sit.” 

you comply, feeling the warmth from his body leave your back. he goes off to the side of the room, coming back with a glass of water.

you take a feeble sip, keeping your head down.

“are you okay?”

“i’m sorry.” “you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart.” he kneels in front of you, fingers lifting your chin to look at him. “are you okay?”

you nod. “yeah. i just… i was looking for you or one of the bodyguard-men-guys. they’re always around and when couldn’t i find one i got really scared and started to panic and…” you ramble and bucky tsks, his hand dropping to your knee to rub soothing circles. 

“i’ll make sure to always have security for you.”

you look at him, his eyes holding something else in them. 

“you don’t have to.”

“i oughta kill him for laying a hand on you.”

your jaw drops. “you- what?”

“he knows better than to fuck around at my business.”

you don’t respond, dwelling on his words.

“you can take the rest of the day off.” he stands, twirling a silver ring around a finger on his right hand. “i’ll have steve take you home.”

“but, i-” 

bucky’s hand waves around, cutting you off, a light hum leaving his throat.

“but, sir-”

“what is it?” he turns back to you.

“i don’t… i don’t want to leave.” you admit, holding yourself with your arms and trying to make yourself smaller.

he frowns, bending down again to be eye level with you. “but i need to take care of rumlow, sweets. he needs to learn not to fuck around with me.”

this time, you frown too, staring at your knee in defeat. 

your voice is small again, already ashamed at the words that are about to leave your mouth. “i don’t want to be alone.”

he tsks again and you can tell he’s mentally debating what to do next. 

“can you give me fifteen minutes?”

“okay.” you try to smile but it’s not very convincing. “i’m sorry.”

“nothing to be sorry for.” he stands, softly rubbing your shoulder before making his way to the door. standing in the threshold, he beckons someone over but your chair faces away from the door so you don’t see who he interacts with. after some shuffling, a blonde-haired man hands you a blanket. you recognize him – steve – but you’ve yet to be introduced. 

he sits in the other arm chair opposite you, offering a delicate smile and grabbing a remote to light the fireplace.

“he won’t be long.”

you nod, unsure what else to say. you wrap yourself in the blanket and stare off into the flames, dancing away in the soot-covered hollow. you hadn’t realized how cold you were. 

the door behind you opens and you recognize bucky by the sound of his shoes. 

“thank you steve, you can go.” he dismisses him, grabbing a fluffy rag and taking the seat steve just had.

bucky’s knuckles are already bruising, and he’s wiping off the remnants of some blood.

“did you… hurt him?”

a spark of remorse flickers across his face but then he clicks his jaw and sits up a little straighter. 

“i had to.”

“because he bothered me?”

“yes.” he doesn’t snap, but he’s so confident in his response that it makes you wary to ask anything else.

“but you barely know me.”

at this, he shrugs. 

“i hired you, didn’t i?” he chuckles. 

“yeah but… still. i didn’t even meet you until today.”

he fiddles with his ring again. “alright then, sweets.” he carelessly puts the rag down on the table beside him. “why don’t i get to know you, then?” he muses at you, awaiting your response.

“oh.” 

a deep chuckle leaves his throat.

“since you don’t want to be alone.”

you sit there in shock, still silent. he picks up a book, opening to the page with the bookmark placed neatly inside.

without glancing up, he speaks again, teasingly. “or is that not what you want?” his eyes soften when he sees you nervously bite your lip.

“can i have a hug?”

his shoulders slump like you’ve melted him. he thinks you’re so adorably innocent. 

“i don’t know if i’m any good at those.”

you tilt your head at him, a smile forming. “you’re still human, even after becoming a mob boss.”

he smirks, “a mob boss, huh?”

your eyes widen, regret coursing through you. “i didn’t mean-!”

you stop speaking when he stands up, opening his arms and beckoning you to embrace him. slowly, you abandon the blanket and snake your arms around his waist, successfully nuzzling into the crook of his neck and exhaling. 

“i haven’t done this in a long time.”

“what? hug?” 

his chest rumbles in a gentle laugh. “yeah.” 

letting out a big breath, you squeeze his middle like you’re trying to pull him closer. “well i think you’re doing great.” 

bucky squeezes you back and as you inhale the scent of him, you realize he smells like something you want to call home. afraid of what you started, the fit of butterflies in your stomach erupts and after tonight, you know you’ve started something you can’t ignore. but maybe… bucky feels it too. 

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

It started with movie night.

Wrapped in blankets and candlelight, the soft glow painting your features in angelic tones. You felt the shift under the covers as his metal fingers brushed against your knuckles, just the lightest of touches, wordlessly asking for permission.

Your fingers flexed before reaching out, curling around the tips of his fingers before intertwining your hands completely. Neither of you dared to look at the other for fear of breaking the spell, but Bucky could have sworn he felt a little lighter that evening.

It continued the following week.

The rubble seemed endless, the building collapsing brick by falling brick, cascading down upon you both.

Bucky didn't hesitate. He launched himself at you, tackling you to the ground with immeasurable force, shielding your body completely with his own. Debris continued to fall but his eyes never left yours, blue ocean tides carrying you out to sea, never faltering in their devotion to keeping you safe.

When the walls stopped shaking and the dust settled in the most literal sense, he pushed himself up from the ground, still staring at you all the while.

"You're safe, doll." It wasn't a question. "I promise, you're safe."

His arms stretched down to yours, pulling you up on uncertain legs.

"I had it handled," you rasped, voice cracking on an exhale of empty laughter.

"I just had to be sure," he responded, hand squeezing yours reassuringly. "I'd be lost without you, you know."

It was soft and sincere and whispered like it was meant just for him, but you heard it all the same.

Your hand was still gripped tightly in his warm palm, so much so you could feel his pulse thrumming through his body, the adrenaline hit only just starting wane.

The pad of his thumb traced the back of your knuckles, painting delicate patterns for you to feel, easing the tension from your body one pass at a time.

When the cleanup crew arrived, you were both halfway back to the team's rendezvous point, walking hand in hand all the way.

It ended here, naturally.

You were sprawled out on the bed, sweat beading at your temples, your breasts, your back. Bucky had you laid out like a man come to devour - and devour he did.

Your thighs squeezed his head while his tongue delved deeper, deeper. Feeling the soft pliancy of your walls, licking broad stripes through your folds before swirling your sensitive nub, suckling down your juices as if they were sweeter than honey.

But no matter how you squirmed - how you thrashed your head or jolted your hips or flexed your heels into the muscles of his back - Bucky never released your hand.

The fingers of his left hand, cooler and grounding, splayed out over your stomach, pressing gently against the soft flesh and anchoring you, both to the bed and to him.

By contrast, the fingers of his right hand tangled with those of your left, gripping tightly as if scared to ever let you go. Bucky knew all too well how fleeting moments of peace could be, how easily the things you love could be lost, and he certainly wasn't about to take that chance with you.

And when you came, back bowed and voice crying out, it was with one hand tangled in Bucky's hair and the other hand linked with his. Right where it would always be.

🪻dividers by saradika-graphics <3

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Bucky was two time zones away when it happened. When Sam called, he didn’t even let him finish the sentence. Bucky was already moving, already packing, already shoving knives and ammo into bags. He didn’t eat. Didn’t speak. He flew out with Steve that night, stone-faced and silent, fingers drumming against the grip of his knife the entire flight.

By the time they reached the site, it was ashes.

No body. No trace. No sign of you except for the busted comms unit found in a bloodstained hallway.

They told him the mission was a trap. That Hydra had been waiting. That you’d been the target.

He told them you were still alive.

No one argued. Not because they believed it, but because Bucky Barnes looked like a man who would kill anyone who said otherwise.

The next days blurred. He tore apart the war room trying to trace your location, running on caffeine and fury and gut instinct. No detail was too small. No theory too far-fetched. He didn’t care what rules he broke, what old contacts he had to burn—he would find you. He had to.

The rest of the team tried to help, but they couldn’t reach him. Steve offered quiet support. Sam tried logic. Nat said nothing, but her eyes followed him with worry every time he passed.

He barely noticed.

The nights were worse. That’s when the dreams came—visions of you bleeding out in some freezing cell, your eyes dull and lifeless as you whispered his name and he couldn’t reach you in time. He’d wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, fists clenched so tight he left bruises on his own palms. But you weren’t there to pull him back. You weren’t there to touch his cheek and tell him it was just a dream. You were gone.

The guilt ate him alive.

He’d failed you.

He’d let them take you.

So he worked harder. Days turned to weeks. He stopped shaving. Forgot to eat unless someone physically handed him a protein bar. His knuckles were raw from punching walls when leads went cold. The spiral was vicious. Dark. Dangerous.

He started slipping.

It was Steve who noticed it first—the twitch in Bucky’s jaw, the way his eyes glazed over in moments of silence, as if a colder part of him was surfacing. He didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to see the signs.

But the Winter Soldier wasn’t gone.

He was waiting.

And the moment Bucky found what he needed, he let him out.

Three weeks after your disappearance, Bucky found it. A shred of code embedded in an old server they’d recovered from a black-market trader in Latvia. It matched a defunct Hydra division last believed to be dismantled in 1994. One of the scientists linked to it was still alive, operating under a new alias in Smolensk. Bucky went alone.

He came back with blood on his shirt and coordinates burned into the inside of his arm.

Steve tried to stop him. Told him they needed a plan. Reinforcements. Surveillance.

But Bucky looked him dead in the eyes and said, “If she dies while we wait, I will never forgive you.”

And then he was gone.

The compound was buried beneath a forest near the Russian border, surrounded by snow and fog and silence. Bucky made it there by nightfall.

He didn’t wait.

He didn’t sneak.

He descended.

The first guard didn’t see him coming. A blade to the throat. The second got a bullet to the skull. Within minutes, alarms were blaring, red lights spinning, but it didn’t matter—he wanted them to know. He wanted them to fear. He wanted them to understand what they’d done.

They took you.

So he brought hell with him.

The Winter Soldier moved through the compound with terrifying efficiency. Every bullet found its mark. Every bone he broke was precise. The corridors were painted in blood by the time he reached the sublevels.

He tore the last guard’s arm from its socket before demanding access codes. When the man refused, Bucky ripped the panel from the wall instead.

He found you in the last cell.

The door was thick steel, bolted from the outside. There was no window. No light. The air reeked of rot and decay.

And then he heard it.

Your voice.

So faint he thought he imagined it.

“B-Bucky…?”

His vision went white.

He punched through the door like it was paper.

You were huddled in the corner, covered in bruises, eyes swollen, lip split, body shaking. Blood soaked through your shirt. There were fingerprints on your neck. Rope burns on your wrists.

But you were alive.

Alive.

He dropped to his knees beside you, metal hand trembling as he reached out. “Y/N… it’s me. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Your fingers curled weakly into his collar. “I knew… I knew you’d come.”

He let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and pulled you into his chest. You winced, and he cursed himself, adjusting so he held you without pressure.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe now. No one’s ever going to touch you again.”

You nodded against him, breathing in his scent like it was oxygen.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered.

He carried you out of that compound like you weighed nothing, blood soaking into his shirt, your breath warm against his neck. The building burned behind him. Hydra soldiers lay broken at his feet. And he never once looked back.

You spent the next two weeks in the hospital. Internal bleeding. Three fractured ribs. A dislocated shoulder. Malnourished. Sleep-deprived. But you were alive.

Bucky didn’t leave your side.

Not once.

He sat beside your bed every night, head resting on your mattress, hand wrapped around yours like a lifeline. When the nightmares came for you, he was already there. When the pain was too much, he held you through it. He fed you ice chips, brushed your hair, kissed your forehead, and whispered promises you barely remembered.

“I’ll never let you go again.”

“They’ll never find us.”

“You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

The doctors said you were strong. That your survival was a miracle. That patients who endured what you did often gave up long before rescue.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew Bucky would come.

And he did.

By the time you were cleared to go home, you could barely walk unassisted, but you refused the wheelchair. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and supported your weight like it was nothing. The rain poured down in sheets outside the hospital doors, but he didn’t flinch. He was waiting with your favorite hoodie, your warmest socks, and a blanket tucked under his arm.

You looked at him, trembling, exhausted, but whole.

“Hi,” you said softly.

And he broke.

His lips crashed into yours, hands framing your face so gently you wanted to cry. The kiss tasted like rain and salt and desperate joy. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“You didn’t,” you murmured. “You never will.”

The weeks after weren’t easy. You couldn’t sleep through the night. Certain sounds made you flinch. You hated closed doors, and sometimes you just cried for no reason.

But Bucky never left.

He learned your rhythms. Your silences. The way you needed space but hated being alone. He’d sit at the foot of the bed and read when you couldn’t talk. He cooked you soups and changed your bandages. He helped you shower the first time, fingers gentle as lace, voice steady even when yours cracked.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

He never asked what they did to you. Not once. He never made you relive it. But one night, curled against his chest, you told him anyway. In the dark. Just a whisper.

And when you woke the next morning, a news report aired of a black site explosion in northern Russia.

No survivors.

Bucky never said a word.

Weeks passed. You healed slowly. On the surface, anyway. The bruises faded. Your bones knit back together. You walked more. Slept a little better.

But it was the way Bucky looked at you that healed the most — like you were made of stars. Like you were unbreakable. Like nothing, not even a whole fucking war, could ever make him stop loving you.

One morning, months after it all, you woke before him. The sun was rising through the curtains, pale light pooling across the bed. Bucky’s arm was slung over your hip, his face soft in sleep.

You touched his jaw gently and whispered, “You saved me.”

His eyes blinked open slowly, blue meeting yours.

“You saved me,” he whispered back.

And neither of you had to say the rest.