۶ৎ tess ⊹ ࣪ ˖

user7 body tea

user8 new music when?

user9 is anyone else noticing an aesthetic shift or is it just me

user10 middle outfit is so summer actually

user11 love Tate but yn should be headlining her own tour not opening

user12 kinda the gaggiest opener of all time actually

--

--

--

youruser

🎵 Midnight Sun - Yn Ln

liked by tatemcrae macklincelebrini and 1,062,988 others

youruser its never-ending...

midnight sun song and music video out now ☀️

load comments...

user13 GAGGYYYYYY

user14 A NEVER-ENDINGGGG MIDNIGHTTT SUNNNNNNN

user15 oh she's coming for the girls

user16 got this shit on replay

user17 kinda obsessed with this

user18 gagged

user19 song of the year

user20 this is gonna be a hit im telling you

user21 okay so why are we already at a million likes on this post what is happening

user22 this is going to be her breakout song watch

user23 let this be the proof that I was here for the lush life era, I am not new to this I am true to this

user24 so summer vibes

user25 SONG OF THE SUMMERRRRRR

user26 now why did Macklin Celebrini like

user27 no one has ever served this hard

--

--

youruser

🎵 Miss Possessive remix ft Yn Ln - Tate McRae, Yn Ln

liked by e.malkin71geno mackinnon29 and 3,878,901 others

youruser my run on the miss possessive tour has come to an end! I'm sad to see it go but so thankful for my time I got to spend on this tour with my baby @|tatemcrae and for every single fan who sang along with me <3

stay tuned, this isn't the end for me...

load comments...

user28 ominous ass caption ending

user29 solo tour when

user30 there is a man in this post and I need to know who it is for my sanity

user31 geno and Nathan being in the likes of this post is very funny to me and im not going to explain it

user32 A MAN???

user33 there is two pictures of Pittsburgh in this post hello

tatemcrae 💛

user34 my Swedish queen

user35 the number of hockey players in her likes increases exponentially every post. get in line, boy aquarium! we been knowing she was bad!!!!

user36 aww the tate photos

user37 need the album diva

user38 who's the guy

user39 summer isn't over yet queen still time for a tour

user40 fifth photo is a serve

user41 Georgies corner is so good

--

--

youruser added to their story

e.malkin71geno liked your story ♥️

mackinnon29 liked your story ♥️

macklincelebrini liked your story ♥️

tatemcrae liked your story ♥️

jackhughes86 liked your story ♥️

sabrinacarpenter liked your story ♥️

kevinabstract liked your story ♥️

champagnepapi liked your story ♥️

sza liked your story ♥️

taylorswift liked your story ♥️

trixiemattel liked your story ♥️

--

--

youruser

liked by e.malkin71geno sabrinacarpenter and 4,892,098 others

youruser summer isn't over yet!

this album was one of the easiest projects I've ever created. in past albums I've had to really search for inspiration but, over the six months it took me to create this, inspiration was always all around, specifically from the people I love.

this album contains my soul, my sweat, my tears, and definitely my heart. this album is my baby and I can not wait for you guys to hear it and dance along with me.

here is my never-ending love: Midnight Sun is out now ☀️

(Midnight Sun Tour tickets on sale next week)

load comments...

user42 OH MY GOSH

user43 BLUE MOON IS THE SWEETEST SONG EVER

user44 wait serve

sabrincarpenter puss puss xx

user45 puss puss is...horny 😭

user46 girl its september

user47 this album had to come out after summer because only summer could produce songs that sound like this

user48 okay eurosummer makes me think her man was just a summer fling

e.malkin71geno very good!

user46 geno commented?????

user49 PUSSPUSS97 on the number plate !!! 😛

user50 who tf is she writing these HORNY ASS SONGS ABOUT???!!!

user51 thank you yn

user52 yn thank you for reminding everybody that you're swedish

user53 I will never not giggle when I see geno in the likes...do we think hes told Sid about the tweet yet

tatemcrae ☀️

user54 baby girl it is fall

user55 you've heard of hot girl summer but now its eurosummer autumn

user56 mr Ln please come to the front

user57 WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THE TOUR ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE CAPTION?????

--

youruser

🎵 Puss Puss - Yn Ln

liked by tatemcrae pinkpantheress and 4,591,011 others

youruser opening night of the Midnight Sun Tour was one of the best nights of my life!

thank you so much to the fans and thank you so much to Pittsburgh for being such great hosts!

love you all, see you in Chicago xoxo

load comments...

user58 now why did she start her tour in pittsburgh of all places

user59 weird thing to notice but I feel like ive never seen PPG leave their banners up during concerts but they definitely had them up last night when we were there

user60 and lets talk about the fact that sidney and geno were there. geno constantly liking her posts combined with this, I feel like hes a secret Yn stan

user61 HAWT

user62 she's kinda my favorite person ever

user63 I dont think anyone has ever served this hard

user64 Chicago here I come

user65 this aesthetic is so pretty

user66 so obsessed

user67 its times like these I wish sidney had social media

user68 opening night and its already so good

user69 she's the next Taylor swift

user70 can't wait for the bump in listeners from the tour starting

user71 im so proud of her

--

youruser

🎵 Stateside - Pinkpantheress, Yn Ln

liked by pinkpantheress alysaliu and 8,781,988 others

youruser I've been touring stateside

stateside by pinkpantheress featuring me is out now!

thank you pinky pie I love you xoxo

load comments...

user72 "Ive been touring stateside, kissing my hockey boy over FaceTime" what did you just say to me????????????

user73 WHO KNEW OPENING UP WOULD MAKE ME A HEADLINE!!!!!!

user74 wait serve

user75 kinda crazy to see her in pink's aesthetic after four months of midnight sun tour lol

user76 Boots! that's my ego boost!

user77 they're kinda polar opposites but also the same person at the same time

user78 I KNOW THATS RIGHT!!!!!

user79 I feel like saw the twitter thread of all the times she'd flown between Europe and LA and asked pink to let her feature on this song as a response

user80 yn you'll have to learn that, no, not all boys out here are the same as your respectful ass man

user81 okay so clearly her soft launch guy wasn't a fling

user82 okay wait so the point of her verse is that she's in the states and her man isn't. then where is her man....?

user83 okay so can we all agree "hockey boy" has to be Canadian? I feel like that's why geno won't leave her alone, he knows something

user84 hot take: the hockey boy is Swedish and that's why he can't be with her in the states

user85 why can't he be with her? is is work? it is visa-related? in this essay I will-

user86 what a serve

--

--

youruser added to their story

e.malkin71geno liked your story ♥️

e.malkin71geno replied to your story!

Evgeni

thank god you are moving here

sidney is so whiny whenever you are not here

you loved a message from Evgeni ♥️

--

mackinnon29 liked your story ♥️

mackinnon29 replied to your story!

Nathan

you two are so in love it makes me sick

you loved a message from Nathan ♥️

--

tatemcrae liked your story ♥️

tatemcrae replied to your story!

Tate

so excited to have you closer all the time

Yn

im living in pittsburgh while youre in la :(

Tate

at least its the same country

ill come see you I promise

Yn

and ill come to LA

keep chasing the American dream

Tate loved your message ♥️

--

macklincelebrini liked your story ♥️

macklincelebrini replied to your story!

Macklin

okay now make old man Sidney Crosby get an instagram account

texting him scares me

Yn

actually lol

im working on it

Macklin

thank god

you loved Macklin's message ♥️

--

user1 replied to your story!

did you move to america!!!???

--

user2 replied to your story!

wait are you moving here?

--

user3 replied to your story!

girl where in america are you

--

user4 replied to your story!

I recognize pittsburgh airport anywhere

--

--

--

--

youruser

🎵 Blue Moon - Yn Ln

liked by sidneycrosby87 e.malkin71geno and 15,877,988 others

youruser get to kiss my hockey boy in real life now

load comments...

user87 OH MY GOD

user88 THEY HIT THE PENTAGON!

user89 she saw people calling her the next Taylor swift and said bet and went and got herself her own generational athlete who's fine asf

user90 she's living the life we've all dreamed of

user91 WHAT

user92 ur kidding

sabrinacarpenter my favs

user93 she moved to Pittsburgh for him 🥹

user94 can't wait for her canada era when he retires in a few years

user95 this just in: yn loves people from Nova Scotia 😛

taylorswift 🙌❤️

user96 im genuinely shell-shocked

user97 I feel like ive been hit over the head

user98 first post I see when I open the instagram app this is insane

user99 this relationship is my roman empire

user100 I have quite literally never been so shocked by something in my entire life

e.malkin71geno welcome to pittsburgh ⭐️

user101 yeah the geno and mackinnon thing makes a lot more sense now

tatemcrae canada down 🇨🇦🙌

user102 im beyond obsessed with this

user103 im sorry but they are both so hot I can't do this

mackinnon29 you're out of his league

sidneycrosby87 trust me I know

user104 oh my god sidney is on instagram now

user105 im sorry but sidney downloading instagram just so he can support yn is kinda my favorite thing

user106 and he already went back and liked all of her posts this is so endearing I love him

user107 yn that is not a boy that is a MAN

sidneycrosby87 I love you

youruser love you too Sid 🥹

--

sidneycrosby87

liked by youruser mackinnon29 and 15,671,676 others

sidneycrosby87 I love you baby

load comments...

user108 he posts like someone who hasn't been infected by instagrams obsession with being demure and nonchalant I love him bad

user109 a face men would fight wars over

user110 a face sidney would definitely go to war over

user111 this is the cutest thing ever

mackinnon29 you're down bad

sidneycrosby87 yeah I am

user112 so obsessed with the difference in the way yn and sidney type and post

user113 how long do we think it took for sidney to figure out how to post on this app

user114 how long do we think it took until yn just took the phone out of his hands and navigated to the post editor for him

user115 my roman empire

user116 im actually beyond happy for yn sidney seems like a genuinely good guy

user117 okay well now im going to think about sidney crosby when I listen to puss puss :(((((

user118 Yn in her wag era

macklincelebrini 🙌

e.malkin71geno happy to see you happy

user119 actually hope yn loves the NHL because this is kinda the crossover of my dreams

user120 yn and tate both being hockey wags, I love. bestie goals actually

user121 maybe the cutest couple ever

user122 this is so important to me

youruser my hockey boy 🫶 love you forever

sidneycrosby87 💛

Bucky had closed on the house exactly nine months and fourteen days ago. A week later, he’d married you under a willow tree in the backyard with no fanfare, only Sam, Joaquin, and Isaiah Bradley as guests, and a ring you both picked out from a vintage shop in Brooklyn. Sam had joked that it must have been the best day of his overextended, complicated life.

He was right. 

Still, not a single member of his newly assembled team had a clue.

They knew Bucky Barnes, the leader of the New Avengers, war-hardened and famously chronically single. They knew the efficient, don’t-ask-me-about-my-weekends version of him. They did not know that the same man kissed his wife’s temple every morning before she left for work, took out the trash without being asked, and spent his evenings slow dancing with you in the kitchen to whatever jazz record was spinning on the old turntable.

That part of him was private.

He didn’t keep you a secret out of shame — Bucky showed how much he loved you in the ways that mattered. But with many of his old enemies still out there, keeping you out of the spotlight was non-negotiable. 

It was especially necessary now that the New Avengers were under public scrutiny, the media hounding them with every move, and Val running ops like a government-sponsored reality show.

But, of course, what he least expected happened.

When Val asked Mel to source a top-tier interior designer for the Watchtower’s massive renovation, Bucky didn’t say anything.

He didn’t pull any strings. He didn’t say a word.

But of course, Mel found your firm. It was one of the best in town, after all.

Of course, all he could do was stare blankly when Mel casually dropped your name in a team meeting two weeks later. You, who’d been growing your design firm from the ground up, known for clean lines and warm spaces and zero tolerance for pretentious decor.

And when you told Bucky that you’d accepted the Watchtower job, he’d smiled weakly and said, “We’ll figure it out.”

Which led to this moment.

—

Your first day on the job was a Monday morning. 

You stepped into the lobby of the newly renamed Watchtower, hard hat hooked on your hip, leather-bound notebook under one arm, and your chewed up pencil behind your ear.

You, as planned, acted completely unfamiliar with the man you’d kissed goodbye at 7 a.m. over toast.

You approached the cluster of Avengers who’d been haphazardly gathered for your arrival — Ava, John, Yelena, Bob, Alexei, and Bucky. Your husband leaned against a column, arms folded, feigning indifference while silently praying his face didn’t give away his precious little secret.

But then your eyes met.

For one fleeting moment, your smile brightened. But you covered it up and offered him a hand like you hadn’t fallen asleep his bare chest fourteen  hours ago, and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m your interior designer.”

Bucky took your hand.

The handshake lasted two seconds too long.

“James Barnes,” he said. “Pleasure.”

Ava raised an eyebrow.

You let go of his hand, nodded politely, and turned to the others to introduce yourself. 

Your voice was steady, your posture perfect, but Bucky noticed the way you tapped your thumb against the spine of your notebook — the tiniest nervous habit. He kissed that hand every night.

When you walked off to start your tour, Ava elbowed Bucky in the ribs.

“She is too pretty. If you don’t ask her out, I will.”

“M’ not into her,” Bucky said. It was the worst lie he’d told in years.

“C’mon man,” John chuckled. “That looked like love at first right.”

Bucky just shrugged and turned away, pretending to be interested in a support beam.

—

Six Weeks Later

You were everywhere.

Literally everywhere inside the Watchtower. 

You were in hallways, stairwells, and repurposed labs. You were under floorboards to check for old wiring. You were balancing precariously on scaffolding with paint samples in one hand and a clipboard in the other. You had a team, sure, but you were the kind of interior designer who believed that breathing the same dust as your contractors was the only way to truly understand your art.

Within a month, you turned a gutted superhero facility into your battlefield.

And you made it look good.

You had turned bare concrete into well thought out sketches, made a temporary lounge out of broken furniture and vintage rugs, and wrestled the tower’s unmaintained lighting grid into semi-functional compliance. You worked long hours. You cursed openly at bad insulation. You drank your coffee black and your water in gallons, and somewhere along the way, the tower became a passion project, your baby. 

And the New Avengers grew fond of you. 

They tried to be subtle about it, watching you from doorways or pausing in their sparring sessions whenever you passed through to say hi. 

You’d wave a friendly hi back, before going back to being all-business.

At this point, you and Bucky had practiced your we-just-met act to an Oscar-worthy level. You faked polite smiles, formal greetings, and total lack of familiarity, even when you showered together the night before. 

But sometimes, it slipped through the cracks. 

You can help but steal glances at each other — each one lasting just a little too long. His hand would find your lower back when he leaned over your desk to study a blueprint, fingertips brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your shirt hem. Your voice dropped half an octave whenever you addressed him in front of others, slipping in sergeant under your breath like it wasn’t a private reference from your bedroom.

Sometimes, you’d pass him in the hallway and murmur things quiet enough only he could hear. A reminder of what you’d do to him the moment he got home. Or what he’d done to you the last time he snuck back to the house for the night. You’d say it just loud enough to leave him frozen in place for a second — then he’d look like he needed to punch a wall or take a very cold shower to stay professional.

You made it impossible to concentrate.

So Bucky, for all his practiced stoicism and control, was coming undone.

Which was probably why the team started to notice.

Or, more accurately, why John Walker lost his goddamn mind one Tuesday afternoon.

The makeshift common room — still mid-renovation — was still half-furnished, but they made it work. Yelena was scrolling through her phone while Bob napped on a deflated air mattress. Ava cleaned her knives at the dining table that had mismatched chairs. Alexei was rearranging the fridge after someone messed up his system.

Bucky stood near the large window, arms folded, pretending to be interested in the HVAC schematics you were showing to one of your contractors across the room.

You laughed at something the guy said, and Bucky’s eyes twitched in jealousy. 

That was all it took.

John groaned loud enough to echo off the half-installed acoustic panels. Then, on his last straw, he flopped onto the couch dramatically.

“If you like her, Barnes, just ask her out already. Jesus,” John said, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve been eye-fucking her across the hall for a month.”

Bucky just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“She’s out of my league,” he said coolly. It was a textbook deflection. “Besides, she’s not even my type.”

Yelena immediately snorted. “Liar.”

Ava didn’t look up from her knives. “Liar.”

Even Bob, barely conscious, mumbled. “Liarrrr.”

Alexei only chuckled.

“What is wrong with you?!” John sat up, “You’re literally, like—what? A hundred and ten years old? You can’t still be doing the whole ‘girls don’t like me’ routine.”

Bucky gave a half-shrug, still not looking away from where you were, now climbing a ladder with a pencil behind your ear.

“She’s here to work,” he said. “I respect that.”

“Ah,” Alexei scoffed. “Is that why you follow her around like Roomba?”

Bucky had no answer to that.

—

One Afternoon

Today had been a long day

It was dusty. It was loud. Contractors bickered, blueprints got smudged, and Bucky had looked unreasonably good doing absolutely nothing — just standing around in that damn new uniform with the red star on his right arm.

You hadn’t had more than a couple hours alone where you weren’t sleeping or eating— not at home, and especially not in the Tower, when at least one other team member would be hovering like a nosy, overgrown child.

So when you saw Bucky slipping into the elevator alone, you called out for him.

“Mr. Barnes,” you half-shouted to get his attention, jogging across the hall. “Hold the door.”

He pressed the button with his metal hand, glancing up with a fond smile. “Didn’t know we were doing last names now,” he said, just above a whisper.

“Would you rather I call you Sergeant?” you replied quietly as you slipped inside, brushing past him just enough to make it intentional.

The doors slid shut.

And then, just as the elevator began its slow descent, you heard a mechanical in the belly of the Watchtower. The lights above flickered once—then again—before cutting out entirely.

A single red emergency light buzzed to life.

You stumbled slightly, grabbing onto Bucky’s arm instinctively. 

“What was that?” you asked.

“Power’s off,” he confirmed, chuckling when you jumped, kissing your temple to let you know that it was going to be okay, that the elevator was ventilated well enough for you to survive a long time in there. 

You slapped the emergency call button, and…. Nothing. Not even a buzz.

You blinked up at the ceiling like divine intervention might come through the grates. 

“Bucky,” you pouted, clutching his arm a little tighter, “do something.”

“I am doing something,” he said as he crouched down and nudged at the panel, making no real effort. “It's just not working.”

“Well, pry the door open or—use your metal arm or something!”

He shot you a dry look over his shoulder. “Can’t. This thing was built to withstand the hulk.”

You watched him stand and lean back against the wall like he was settling in. Like… he didn’t mind this.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you sighed, “I’ve got to meet the people installing wallpaper in ten minutes.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, his eyes maddeningly calm. “Could be worse,” he offered with a shrug.

“Bucky,” you warned, eyes narrowing.

“What?” he replied, too innocently, too calmly.

“We’re technically both on the clock,” you reminded him.

He shrugged. “We’re also stuck. Sounds like PTO to me.”

You rolled your eyes, but can’t help the smile on the corners of your mouth. “You’re impossible.”

That crooked grin formed on his face. “You’re tellin’ me you haven’t missed me, doll?”

“Don’t,” you said, pointing a finger to his chest.

“Don’t what?”

“That voice. That look. You're gonna  get us in trouble.”

He pushed off the wall and stepped closer. He was not touching you, but he was near enough that your heart began its traitorous dance, even after all this time. “We’ve barely touched each other. Last time was what— four days ago?”

“Four days is not that long,” you said.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It used to be four hours.”

You swallowed hard, but he was not done yet. 

“Used to be I couldn’t walk past you in our house without stopping to touch you.”

You looked away, heat creeping up your neck.

“Used to be I’d wake up with your thighs already wrapped around my face,” his voice dropped an octave lower, “And now I’m lucky if I get a quick kiss before you run off to yell at plumbers.”

“I did give you a kiss this morning,” you looked up at him.

“Not the kind I meant,” he said, eyes glued to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

You choked on a laugh, shoving at his chest weakly. “That’s very inappropriate, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m your husband.” He bit your earlobe gently. “And I’m tired of pretending we don’t wake up in the same bed.”

“We’ve got… responsibilities.” Your fingers were already in his hair. “People are counting on us.”

“Let them wait,” he muttered, kissing you slow and deep now, mouth moving with that sinful confidence that made your knees buckle. “You’ve been killing me all week, walking around this place like you don’t belong to me.”

“I am yours,” you whispered against his lips, heat coiling in your belly. “But the cameras—”

“Power’s off.” He reminded, hand sliding up your thigh, curling behind your knee and hiking your leg around his hip. “You need this. I know you do.”

“You’re cocky.”

“I’m right,” he said, kissing you again. This time you kissed him back harder.

Your body gave in before your words did. It always did with him.

And as his fingers slipped past the lace of your underwear and his mouth returned to your neck, you forgot entirely about the elevator, the job, the rules.

You weren’t the Watchtower’s interior designer anymore.

You were just his wife.

And he was very, very good at reminding you why.

Neither of you noticed the faint red light in the ceiling blink back to life. Didn’t notice the tiny lens in the far corner of the elevator was still functional. 

You had no idea Yelena had rigged a backup battery into the surveillance system.

And you definitely didn’t know the power outage wasn’t an accident.

It was a setup.

—

Later that afternoon 

The new Avengers gathered in the security room like kids about to witness an R-rated movie.

And in a way… they were.

Yelena had the footage queued up. She sat with arms folded, boots propped up on the console, a smug grin across her face.

This was her idea, after all— playing matchmaker as a favour to Bucky. 

“It’s visual-only,” she said, almost too casually. “No audio. You know—normal CCTV stuff. But we don’t need sound to read body language.”

She hit play.

The plan was simple: trap Bucky Barnes and that absurdly hot interior designer in the Watchtower elevator to see if he finally made a move.

“Ten bucks says he doesn’t even talk to her,” Ava declared, leaning against the wall.

“I say he kisses her,” Bob offered gently, still half-asleep in sweatpants, rubbing his eyes. “Just a little one. He’s always so tense, it would be nice to see him… be sweet.”

John had brought popcorn like it was a movie premiere. “I want to believe he asked her out,” he said. 

“Today is the day,” Alexei nodded in agreement, “ I can feel it.”

The screen flickered to life.

Bucky stepped into the elevator first, holding the door for you. 

The doors closed.

Nothing out of the ordinary at first. It looked like normal conversation.

Then the elevator stopped.

You pressed the emergency call button. Nothing. 

Bucky tried the panel, giving up too quickly.

Yelena’s grin widened. “Showtime.”

And then, Bucky stepped closer, whispering something into your ears.

“Classic,” John said, leaning in. “Here we go. Here comes the kiss on the cheek.”

The kiss landed on your lips instead.

It was not a peck. To everyone’s surprise, it was hungry.

The room went deathly silent.

Ava’s arms slowly uncrossed. “Okay….”

Bob’s mouth parted. “Oh…”

Then— then came the second kiss.

It was longer. 

Your hands in his hair. His metal arm was up… your skirt? 

Your back hit the elevator wall.

John sat forward slowly. “Wait… wait.”

Then, you climbed him.

It got very explicit very quickly.

John’s popcorn slid from his lap, forgotten.

Alexei was blinking like he’d witnessed a cult ritual.

Ava whispered, “Jesus Christ.”

Bob clutched the arms of his chair. “That’s— that’s not him asking her out on a date.”

“Is the—” Alexei squinted, his voice dry, “—is the camera shaking?”

“No,” Ava said hoarsely. “That’s the elevator shaking.”

“Fuck,” John gasped. “We should— we should stop.”

Yelena stared at the screen, frozen. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Alexei held up a trembling finger. “He has not taken her to dinner. There was no courtship. There was no honour.”

Ava turned away from the monitor. “Turn it off. Turn it off!”

Yelena did.

The room plunged into an eerie silence.

Bob was still cross-legged on the floor. “I… I think there was a round two. Like… halfway through. I think I counted it. Different positions. Less vertical.”

They were all pale now.

Yelena stood up like she’d survived a car crash. “We are never speaking of this.”

“Delete the footage,” Ava added. “Burn it. Hack the cloud. Scrub the backups.”

“Gone,” Yelena said grimly. “It’s already gone.”

Alexei placed his mug down. “He has not even taken her out on date yet,” he repeated, horrified.

John slumped back into his chair, stunned “I’ll never look at elevators the same way.”

No one—not one of them—suspected marriage. No one suspected long-time commitment.

Not even a little.

They thought they’d witnessed a slip. A one-time break in Barnes’ solitude, a rare show of his desire.

They had no idea he fucked you like that at home every other day.

They just thought Bucky Barnes had the most soul-shattering game any man had ever possessed.

And not a single one of them ever got in that elevator without wincing ever again.

—

Six Weeks Later

It started out like any other off-day in the suburbs.

The early morning was quiet, with pale light spilling across the hardwood floors, the distant hum of a lawn mower down the street, and the smell of Bucky’s burnt-but-endearing attempt at breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. 

It was supposed to be peaceful.

But you were in the bathroom, staring at the positive pregnancy test with your hands trembling and your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

Pregnant.

Three times, all different brands.

It wasn’t planned, not really. You have been talking about it, and even said you’d give it a go by the end of the year. 

Hell, you were on even the pill. But the last couple months had been a blur— long hours at the tower and stress-induced forgetfulness. 

Somewhere in the chaos of overtime and rushing out the door with a protein bar instead of breakfast, you must’ve slipped up. Maybe once. Maybe twice. Maybe that was enough.

You barely heard your own footsteps as you tiptoed down the hallway in a fog, still holding one of the tests like it might disappear if you blinked. Bucky was at the kitchen counter, humming under his breath, shirtless in his gray sweatpants, a bowl of strawberries in front of him with his dog tags reflecting in the morning sun.

He turned when he heard you come in, and his smile immediately faltered.

He could tell by the look on your face that something was… off.

“Sweetheart?” His brow furrowed as he stepped toward you, eyes looking over as if scanning for wounds. “Are you okay?”

You tried to say something, but nothing came out. You just looked at him with wide eyes, parted lips, and the test clenched tightly in your hand. 

His hands gently closed around your arms.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Breathe, doll. Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen?”

You shook your head, lip trembling. “No. Nothing like that. I just… I…”

He ducked his head, trying to catch your eyes. “Look at me,” he said, less demanding but more gentle. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just tell me.”

Your breath hitched. You looked down, uncurled your fingers, and held out the test.

Bucky looked at it.

Then up at you.

“…What is this?” he asked, almost cautiously. Like he needed confirmation.

You opened your mouth, but your voice cracked before it even came out. “I think I’m pregnant.”

He blinked twice. “You’re—”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “I—I know. I was on the pill. I swear I was. But with everything going on at the tower and those back-to-back all-nighters and fuck, James, I must’ve messed up, I must’ve missed one or two—”

“Wait. Wait—wait,” he said suddenly. He stepped back just enough to look at you fully, like he needed the whole picture to understand. “You’re serious?”

You nodded again. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t joke about this.”

He was completely still, like the words were sinking into him bit by bit.

And then, to your surprise, he let out a shaky breath, laughed a little, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re pregnant.”

You looked at him nervously, heart pounding. “I—I mean, it’s early. Like really early. Just a few weeks, I think. We don’t have to freak out. We can talk about it. Think about it. We can—”

But he cut you off, stepping forward again and cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. His eyes were glistening.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. I’m just—holy shit, baby. I— you’re growing a little version of us in there. We’re doing this... if you… if you want this, too.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, your arms wrapping around him instinctively.

“We’re doing this,” you whispered back, like saying it out loud made it more real. “I… I do want this.”

He kissed the top of your head, your temple, your cheek. “We were headed here anyway. Maybe I didn’t know it’d happen now, but…” He leaned back to look at you, eyes full of wonder. “I love you so much.”

You sniffled, laughing through it. “I was so scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said, “Never with me.”

There was a long moment where the two of you just held each other, breathing in the warmth of the moment. When…

“So, uh. What do we tell the team?”

You chuckled. “About what? The baby or the fact that we’re married?”

He winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky wanted to share his joy, he really did. 

But he still had enemies. The kind who would use anything, anyone, to get to him.

And he would rather die than see your name — and his baby’s— end up on one of their lists.

“You still want to keep it quiet?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. He looked at your stomach, his teeth clenching. 

“I don’t want anyone knowing if it puts you in danger,” he said finally. “I don’t care what they think of me. I just want you safe. Our family safe.”

You nodded. “Okay. So... in two or three months— the tower renovations’ll be done by then. I can just wear baggy clothes.”

He gave you a wary look. “You already wear baggy clothes.”

You shrugged. “I’ll wear bigger ones.”

Surely, this was a foolproof plan, right? 

—

It was successful for all of two weeks. You played your part, showed up to the tower, exchanged the usual small talk with the team, and pretended everything was normal, all while avoiding harmful construction materials and focusing on furnishing.

Then one morning, you looked pale coming out of the toilet, wiping acid from the corner of your mouth with tissue. Bob looked over, eyebrows raised in concern. You waved him off with a smile. 

“Fuck morning sickness,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

And that was it. You didn’t even think twice. You were too focused on the nausea, the spinning room, the unpleasant taste in your mouth. You didn’t realise you’d said it.

Bob didn’t clock it right away either. You’d already left the room by the time the words caught up with him. He was halfway through his coffee, reading a book, when—

He froze. His eyes widened.

“Wait…”

Morning sickness?

—

Bob didn’t say anything right away.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the spot where you’d stood. 

Morning sickness, his brain repeated again, louder now.

He stood up so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a closed-door meeting in Conference Room 7.

Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John filed in, curious and worried—it wasn’t often that Bob called a we-need-to-talk-right-now meeting that didn’t involve a breach or a fire drill.

Bob stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s pregnant,” he said flatly.

Everyone blinked.

“…Who?” Ava asked, tilting her head.

Bob stared at her. “Bucky’s little elevator secret.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “How… How do you know?”

“She….” Bob started. “She said something about morning sickness.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh,” said Alexei, thoughtfully.

“...Oh,” Ava echoed.

Yelena’s eyes widened. “OH?”

John straightened up in his chair. “Hold on. Do you think—” He looked around the room, dropping his voice to a whisper, “—do you think Bucky could be the dad?”

They all looked at each other. The memory hit them at once like a suppressed group hallucination.

No one’s talked about it since. 

Not out of respect, but out of sheer trauma suppression and the fact that, frankly, they weren’t paid enough to bring it up.

“I mean,” Ava said slowly, “Did anyone see him with a condom?”

“Not that I can remember,” Yelena shuddered, brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t exactly memorising it.”

“Elevator baby,” Alexei whispered, stunned.

Bob just nodded grimly.

Then John, who’d been thinking too hard, looked up. “Do you think Bucky knows?”

The room went completely silent.

Ava blinked. “Shit.”

Yelena exhaled through her nose. “He’s either going to marry her in a panic or pass out.”

John rubbed his temples. “Do we… do we tell him?”

Bob looked down nervously. “Better question—who’s going to tell him?”

Everyone looked at each other.

No one volunteered.

So they did it together.

—

They confronted Bucky two hours later. In the gym, of all places.

He was mid-rep when they approached—shirt damp with sweat, and music blaring in his ears. His brows furrowed in concentration as he finished his set and racked the barbell with a clang.

That’s when he noticed them.

Five fully-grown adults in a semicircle, watching him. Staring, like it was going to be a goddamn intervention.

He tilted his head. “...who did you kill and where did you bury the body?”

Bob cleared his throat, stepping forward like a nervous HR rep. “Umm, that’s not why we’re here.”

Bucky pulled out one earbud. “Then what’s going on?”

“We need to talk.”

That phrase never meant anything good, and they all knew it. Ava shifted her weight from foot to foot like she had somewhere more pleasant to be (a landmine field, perhaps). John had his arms crossed and was chewing the inside of his cheek. Alexei was trying to look fatherly and failing spectacularly. And Yelena—oh, Yelena—was vibrating with the kind of energy that suggested she either had bad news or gossip so juicy it came with a side of fries.

Bucky glanced at them, suspicious. “Okay… what is this? Am I getting voted off the team?”

Yelena stepped forward, and just… spat it out. “She’s pregnant.”

That landed like a punch to the solar plexus. His brain buffered.

Oh shit. Oh shit. 

They knew. They’d figured it out.

How?

He licked his lips, then attempted to play dumb. “….Who?”

Ava folded her arms. “We have a feeling,” she started, unimpressed, “you might be able to figure it out. Considering you had some… fun… in the elevator a couple months ago.”

Bucky’s eyes twitched.” I—what? You’re saying—how do you even know about that?” 

Yelena raised a hand, almost sheepishly. “We, uh… we might’ve set up the elevator failure.”

John immediately smacked the back of her shoulder. “You. Not we. That was your idea.”

“I said might’ve!” she hissed.

“What we’re saying,” Alexei interjected, rubbing a hand down his face like a weary dad at a PTA meeting, “is that there is chance you are going to be dad.”

Bucky tried to laugh. It came out like a goose being strangled. “I’m not ready to move on from the elevator camera. That’s a massive violation of privacy. I—what kind of sick—”

“You did it in public,” Ava interrupted coldly.

“And you’re not denying it,” Bob added.

“I’m just saying,” Bucky snapped, pointing wildly, “you kept it? You still have the tape? Can I see it?”

Everyone groaned in unison.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You might have gotten a hook up pregnant, and the first thing you care about is your sex tape? Seriously?”

Bucky didn’t respond, which said a lot.

Bob said plainly, “But we’re pretty sure you didn’t use protection.”

“She was on the pill!” Bucky snapped.

“You still don’t do hookups bare, Bucky!” Ava exclaimed, voice rising.

“She hadn’t had sex with anyone else in years!”

“Anyone… else?” John asked, skeptical.

Bucky opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

And shut up.

Bucky groaned, dragging his hands down his face like he was trying to scrape the stress off his skin.

Then, finally, with a voice so quiet it barely made it through the hum of fluorescent lights, he finally said, “She’s…my wife.”

A beat passed with silence.

Then Ava shrieked, “I’m sorry—WHAT?!”

“When?!” John thundered.

“About a year ago,” Bucky admitted. “We kept it a secret. It wasn’t safe for her. I didn’t want anyone coming after her because of me.”

Alexei frowned, tone softer now. “And now…”

“Now she’s having my baby,” Bucky said. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And I don’t know how to protect her from this. From all of this.”

“Fuck,” John let out a low whistle. “Is it… is it the elevator baby?”

“We did the math,” Bucky turned beet red, “there is a… pretty good chance that’s the case.” 

“Elevator baby,” Yelena echoed, eyes wide. 

She sounded almost proud.

Bucky looked at each of them— serious now. “You can’t tell anyone,” he warned, “She’s… she’s everything to me. If this gets out—if she’s hurt, if someone uses her to get to me—I wouldn’t— couldn’t— live with myself.”

And just like that, gone was the teasing.

They stood there, in a loose circle around him, the lights humming overhead, the scent of sweat in the air. A line crossed, and secrets spilled open. This was a line where their friendship was tested—and affirmed.

John, finally, clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. You’re gonna be a dad.”

“Elevator dad,” Yelena added.

“Don’t,” Bucky warned, but he was smiling, just a little.

—

The shift was subtle at first.

Alexei started carrying things for you.

You’d walk into a room with a stack of sample boards or fabric swatches for a renovation pitch, and before you could even blink, he’d be at your side, snatching half of them away and saying, “You should not be lifting this.”

You tilted your head the first time. “I… I’m okay, Alexei.”

He just stared back, deadpan. “Does not mean you should.” And then walked away before you could argue.

Then there was Ava, who started checking the air quality constantly.

“Gotta keep the air pure,” she’d say, making sure your workstation was well-ventilated from paint fumes. 

You started to get suspicious after the third can of air purifier she smuggled into the conference room.

And then came John, who strolled past your desk one morning with a coffee in one hand and a brochure in the other. He stopped like he just happened to remember something.

“Oh hey,” he said, waving the paper around. “That new baby store down the street? Massive sale. Car seats, little shoes, those bib things shaped like bandanas? You know, the cool ones. Just… figured I’d pass it along. Y’know. In case… anyone.”

You squinted. “Anyone?”

He coughed. “Just in case anyone… likes sales.”

Right.

It wasn’t until Yelena hugged you, that the alarm bells started getting harder to ignore.

She pulled away, uncharacteristically gentle, and said, “You’re good at taking care of things.”

“…Okay,” you said cautiously, “Are you dying?”

She just blinked. “No. I just think you are doing great.” She paused. “And you should not wear heels. They’re bad for your ankles.”

That was it.

You came home that night, dumped your bag by the door, and found Bucky on the couch eating mac and cheese he probably stole from the tower. 

He looked up, beaming. “Hey, doll. You okay?”

You squinted at him. “Do you know something I don’t?”

He tilted his head. “About what?”

You flopped next to him, sighing. “Yelena hugged me today.”

His eyes widened. “…Oh.”

“And told me I’m good at taking care of things.”

He was dead silent.

“John is talking about baby boutiques to me. Ava keeps purifying the air. And I’m pretty sure Bob gave me vitamin water.”

Bucky looked down.

You gave him a pointed look. “So, I’m just gonna ask: Did you tell them?”

He winced. His whole face did the oh-no-don’t-be-mad-at-me scrunch.

“Umm…” he said.

“Oh my god.”

“I—I didn’t tell them, technically,” he started, clearly floundering. “They figured it out! Bob overheard something, and then there was a meeting, and I got cornered at the gym and they were all standing in a circle like some kind of intervention and they were like ‘we know,’ and I panicked and I didn’t want to lie and—”

“Bucky.”

He stopped, biting his lip.

“I’m not mad,” you said, cutting him off before the ramble could spiral into an apology monologue. “I’m… relieved.”

His brow furrowed. “You are?”

You nodded. “Do you know how exhausting it is trying to hide a whole human and pretend I’m not in love with you?”

“I just wanted you to be safe.” He looked down, a little guilty. “I thought if they didn’t know, there’d be less risk.”

“I know,” you murmured, reaching over to take his hand. “But honey…  they’re not strangers. They’re your people. Our people, now.”

He smiled, fingers threading through yours. “Yelena did threaten to murder anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.”

“See?” You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “That’s the kind of prenatal care I’m talking about.”

He chuckled, pulling you close, one hand resting gently against your stomach. “We’ll still keep it quiet outside the tower. For safety.”

“Of course,” you said. “But at least I don’t have to hide there.”

Then Bucky said, “Also… Bob wants to throw you a secret baby shower. In the hangar. With… themed cupcakes.”

—

Eight Months Later

Jamie was six weeks old the first time you brought him to the Watchtower.

He was bundled up in a little blue onesie with a cartoon white wolf on the chest, swaddled like a burrito in a cotton blanket, and blissfully asleep in your arms.

The 87th floor had been converted for the three of you— a secure residential wing with baby gates and blackout curtains and a surprisingly tasteful wallpaper Bucky picked himself. You were here to check it out, and also introduce your baby to the team.

Most days, you would stay at the house in the suburbs, where birds chirped and neighbors waved and no one could hear Bucky singing lullabies off-key at 2 a.m. But it was nice to know you had a home in the Watchtower.

You barely stepped in the common room when the team got up.

“Is that him?” Ava whispered like she was approaching royalty.

“Don’t crowd the baby,” Bucky said, holding out an arm protectively.

John peered over Ava’s shoulder. “He looks like a tiny Bucky. But like, angrier. Is that even possible?”

Jamie yawned.

Yelena, unusually soft-voiced, leaned in “Look at him. So small. So squishy. Like a baby potato with many opinions.”

“He does look judgmental,” Bob offered.

“He is judgmental,” you smiled.

—

There were a couple more visits after that before your first official night at the tower. 

They’d been asking for weeks to hold him now. 

Every visit, every mission debrief, every team meeting that you attended with Jamie snoozing in a carrier strapped to your chest, someone would inevitably ask:

“Can I hold him?”

The answer had always been not yet.

Not until he had more of an immune system than a fruit fly.

Especially not until Bob stopped referring to his hands as “clean-ish.”

But today, Jamie was twelve weeks old. 

Today was the day.

You warned them ahead of time, sending them a group text. Bucky enforced it like a drill sergeant, passing non-alcohol hand sanitiser around like communion.

The baby was clean. The adults were clean. The air smelled faintly of lemon.

Yelena was first, practically vibrating as she took Jamie into her arms like a sacred artifact.

“Bozhe moi,” she whispered, eyes wide. 

“He’s real,” Bob said, as Jamie curled his arm around his finger, “we can touch him.”

Then John took a turn, cradling Jamie like he was made of glass. Bucky, perhaps knowing he had some experience and was trying to make amends with his own son, trusted him most. “He’s so… light.“

Eventually, one by one, everyone got their turn.

And then… Alexei.

He stepped forward quietly, hands extended, palms open and ready. There was a certain fondness in his eyes.

You gently handed Jamie over, and Alexei took him with a grace that didn’t match his usual bull-in-a-china-shop aesthetic. He rocked him slightly and began saying something soft in Russian. It sounded like a lullaby.

Jamie adorably blinked up at him.

And then, with the seriousness of a priest delivering a sermon, Alexei slowly walked across the room… and stopped in front of the elevator.

“Little Jamie,” he said in a soothing voice, still swaying, “this, my sweet little cherub, is where you were conceived.”

“Dad!” Yelena whisper-shouted, her hands in the air. “Stop!”

“I’m just telling him the truth!” Alexei protested.

“He’s a baby!” Ava barked. 

“He needs context!”

“HE NEEDS A NAP!” John insisted.

Alexei looked down at Jamie, who stared back, completely unbothered.

“I think he gets it,” Alexei said, beaming.

Jamie sneezed.

Bucky buried his face in your shoulder. “I can’t believe we let him hold the baby.”

You, already laughing, said, “At least he didn’t point out the exact panel of the wall.”

Alexei turned around, lifting Jamie like Simba. “And over here, by button 13, that’s where your father’s ass was—”

“OH MY GOD,” Yelena wailed, launching a pillow at him.

Bob hastily caught it. “We shouldn’t throw things when the baby is airborne.”

John held out his arms. “Give him back before you scare him with a detailed retelling.” 

Alexei sighed, but passed Jamie over. “You are going to be great warrior like your father, Jamie.”

You settled onto the couch beside Bucky, your body relaxing as you leaned into him. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then let his lips linger in your hair. He never failed to remind you that you were safe. That Jamie was safe.

Your eyes drifted across the room— your strange, chaotic, beautiful little makeshift family in a room that was a labour of your love. Bob was wiping down a clean countertop for the third time. Ava and Yelena were mid-argument about the correct way to swaddle a baby, neither remotely qualified but equally committed. 

Jamie, unfazed by the commotion, cooed contentedly in John’s arms, his tiny fingers reaching for the man’s bead as Alexei kept talking to him in russian.

Your heart felt like it might burst.

He had your nose, Bucky’s eyes, and all the love in the world.

In the background, Alexei’s voice rose again, brimming with mischief. “Next time, I’ll show him the armoury.”

“NO!” came the instant chorus from everyone in the room.

You couldn’t help it, so you laughed.

Jamie was loved. Fiercely, ridiculously loved.

And there wasn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t burn the world down for him.

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault @average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @boy--wonder--187 @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125

He’d stared at the ceiling like he was praying for patience. “If you cry into your glass about being single, I’m leaving you in the bushes.”

You did not cry. You just got stupid-happy-drunk faster than should be humanly possible.

Four tastings in, the room was doing gentle somersaults. Bucky, stupid super-soldier liver, was still annoyingly composed, swirling his glass like he was auditioning for a wine commercial, metal arm sparkling under the lights like he was secretly a disco ball. You, meanwhile, were basically a human koala attached to his left side, cheek smushed against his bicep, giggling at nothing.

“You’re doing the serious face again,” you announced, poking the dimple that only appeared when he tried not to smile. “Like you’re about to arrest the chardonnay for crimes against flavor. Detective Barnes. Very stern. Very hot.”

“It’s literally just old grape juice,” he muttered, but his ears were turning pink and he wasn’t moving you away.

Outside, the February air slapped both of you like “get a grip,” but you were too busy clinging to his arm like it was a life raft. Every few steps you’d plant your feet, yank him to a stop, and stare up at him with huge, shiny, wine-glazed eyes.

“Bucky Barnes,” you declared to the empty sidewalk and probably three confused pigeons, “you are the prettiest grumpy man in the entire history of grumpiness. Like… illegally pretty. I should call the authorities. Your face is a crime scene.”

He snorted so hard he almost choked. “You’re hammered.”

“And you’re blushing! Look! Little pink cheeks! Baby pink! I wanna squish them.” You reached up on tiptoe; he caught your wrists before you could actually smoosh his face.

“You’re gonna fall on your ass,” he grumbled, but he was smiling, small, helpless, the kind that made your stomach do cartwheels even through the rosé fog.

Back at your place, you yeeted one shoe across the living room (it bounced off the lamp), fumbled the keys until Bucky sighed dramatically, plucked them from your fingers and locked the door like a long-suffering parent.

“Stay,” you demanded the second the door clicked, grabbing his jacket sleeve with both hands. “It’s Valentine’s. You can’t leave me with my feelings and this sad half-bottle of pink wine. That’s cruel and unusual.”

He looked at the ceiling again (his favorite move when you were being ridiculous). One heartbeat. Two. Then-

“Fine. One movie. Then I’m gone.”

You squealed like you’d won the lottery, dragged him to the couch, and shoved. He landed with an “oof,” still in his jacket and boots like he didn’t trust himself to get comfortable. You flopped beside him, dress riding up, mascara giving raccoon chic, hair looking like a bird’s nest and immediately glued yourself to his side.

“Mean Girls,” you announced, hitting play. “You’re gonna love it, grandpa.”

“I’m not old,” he muttered, but five minutes later he was already side-eyeing Regina George like she’d personally offended him in 1943.

“Plastics,” you whispered dramatically. “You’re so fetch.”

He laughed, actual, surprised laugh. “I’m not fetch.”

“You’re the grumpiest fetch. My favorite fetch.”

“Jesus,” he said again, but he was smiling, eyes glued to the screen now. He got weirdly invested, muttering at Regina, scoffing at Gretchen, even chuckling at Damian. You watched him more than the movie, chin on his shoulder, stupid butterflies everywhere.

Halfway through Jingle Bell Rock the wine finally drop-kicked your brain. You nuzzled deeper into his shoulder, mumbling, “You smell like cedar and metal and… boyfriend. Why do you smell like boyfriend?”

His laugh was low and rumbly. “Doll, you’re killing me.”

You tilted your head back, blinking slow and syrupy. His face was right there, blue eyes soft in the TV flicker, jaw tight like he was fighting something huge. His metal hand lifted, slow, careful, fingertips brushing your cheek like you were made of sugar.

You giggled, brain cells on vacation. “Bucky Barnes… are you about to kiss me? For real? On Valentine’s? Like a rom-com idiot?”

He huffed a laugh against your mouth. “Shut up before I change my mind.”

Then he kissed you.

Soft. Careful. Testing. Like he thought you might vanish if he pressed too hard.

You melted like a chocolate strawberry left in the sun, hands fisting his jacket, kissing back messy and eager and tasting like pink wine and dumb crushes that had been simmering for years. It was wine-sweet, clumsy, perfect.

You pulled back an inch, eyes huge. “Your grumpy mouth is so soft. That’s cheating. You’re not allowed to have a soft mouth and be sexy. Pick one.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “You can’t be serious.”

You giggled harder. "Sorry. Keep going. I like it."

He tried. God help him, he tried.

But then you hiccuped, loud, ridiculous and immediately yawned so wide your jaw clicked. “Mmm. Sleepy now. Very comfy. You’re my favorite pillow.”

And just like that, lights out. Head lolling onto his chest, mouth slightly open, a tiny glistening trail of drool already migrating toward his collar. Still in your cute dress. Mascara smudged. One sock missing (when did that happen?).

Bucky stared down at you for a long beat, lips still tingling, heart doing something embarrassing and loud.

“Look at you,” he whispered, half-laugh, half-sigh.

He didn’t move you.

Just eased you both down a little, tugged the throw blanket over your tangled mess of limbs, and wrapped his arm around you like it was the most natural place in the world. Metal fingers drew slow, absent circles on your shoulder.

The movie kept playing but he wasn’t watching.

He was watching your dumb, drooly, sleeping face. The way your fingers had curled into his shirt like you were scared he’d disappear. The way you sighed his name once, all soft and slurry, even in your sleep.

He pressed the lightest kiss to the top of your head, barely a brush.

Then the big grumpy super-soldier idiot stayed right there, boots dangling off the couch, heart full of pink wine and something much stronger, until the sun came up.

Because apparently best friends who were also very stupidly in love didn’t leave on Valentine’s morning.

Not even a little.

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

masterlist | collab masterlist

“You’re doing it again,” he rasps, voice scraped raw from growling your name against your throat.

You don’t look at him. “Doing what.”

“Blushing like a fucking schoolgirl who just got her first hickey.” He drags the word out, savoring your discomfort. “After I just had you riding me like you were trying to win a medal for it.”

“Fuck you, Barnes.”

“Already did, sweetheart.” His flesh hand drifts over, fingertips skating feather-light along your hipbone, just enough pressure to make your stomach clench. “Twice. And you were loud enough the neighbors probably kept score.”

Your cheeks burn hotter. You hate it. Hate him. Hate how your body still twitches toward his touch like it’s forgotten every insult you’ve ever thrown at each other.

Before you can stop yourself, you snatch the blanket and yank it up over your face, hiding from nose to chin under faded gray cotton. Only your eyes peek out, narrowed at him like you’re plotting his slow, painful death.

Bucky’s laugh is low and delighted, the kind that vibrates through the mattress and straight into your bones.

“Are you serious?” He sounds genuinely thrilled, the cocky bastard. “Hiding under a blanket? Right now? After you came so hard you forgot English for a solid thirty seconds?”

The fabric muffles your growl. “Shut up.”

“After you begged, begged, ‘harder, Bucky please’ like it was the only word you knew?”

“I didn’t beg.”

“Sure, doll. You just strongly suggested I fuck you until the bedframe gave up.” He shifts closer, thigh sliding between yours, pressing just enough that you feel how slick you still are against his skin. A low groan rumbles in his chest. “Fuck. You’re dripping again already. Can feel it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love it.” His fingers hook the edge of the blanket, peeling it down inch by torturous inch, exposing your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the way your breath hitches when his gaze drops to your chest. “Look at that. Face redder than your ass was when I had you bent over the couch last week.”

You turn your head away, glaring at the wall. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His hand slides up, thumb circling one peaked nipple without quite touching it, watching your back arch off the mattress on instinct. “Don’t tell you how fucking gorgeous you look when you’re wrecked and pretending you don’t want my mouth on you again? Don’t remind you how you clenched around me like you were trying to keep me there forever?”

Your thighs press together around his leg. A whimper slips out before you can stop it.

He grins wide, boyish, victorious. “There she is.”

Then, because he’s Bucky and he can’t help himself, he leans in and starts peppering your face with obnoxiously loud, silly kisses, forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose, making exaggerated mwah sounds like a cartoon character.

“Stoooop,” you half-laugh, half-groan, squirming under the assault. “You’re disgusting. Sweaty. Gross.”

“You love it.” Kiss. “You love me.” Kiss. “Admit it or the kisses continue until sunrise.”

“I will literally bite you.”

“Promise?” He lands one last loud smack on your lips, then pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes softer now, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing the blush he caused. “C’mon. Say it. You like me. Just a little.”

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “I like your dick. And your stupid shower. That’s the full list.”

“Uh-huh.” He flops back beside you, dragging you against his chest before you can protest. Metal arm loops around your waist, flesh hand splaying warm over your heart. “You also like when I make you coffee in the morning even though you pretend it tastes like motor oil. You like stealing my hoodies and wearing them when you think I’m not looking. You like when I do the dumb dog voice just to make you laugh.”

Your lips twitch. “Those puns should be illegal.”

“Admit it,” he murmurs into your hair, voice dropping back to that low, dangerous timbre that always makes your pulse jump. “You keep coming back because I’m your favorite bad decision.”

You bury your face in his neck so he can’t see your smile. “Shut up and hold me before I remember why we’re supposed to hate each other.”

He chuckles that warm, unguarded sound you secretly love and tightens his arms around you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Bossy.”

“Learned from the best.”

For once, neither of you says anything cruel. Just breathing. Tangled together. Hearts slowing in sync.

You’ll bicker about it tomorrow, call him an asshole, threaten to never come back.

Tonight, you let him win.

And you let yourself stay.

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

masterlist | collab masterlist