Wyatt Being The New Extrovert To Sebastian While Anthony Is Away😭

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

---

Y/N sat on the rooftop, knees drawn up to her chest, a thick hoodie wrapped around her. The stars were faint, blurred by the city lights in the distance, but still visible if you looked hard enough. She liked it here—above everything, where the air was just a little colder and a little clearer. Where she could breathe.

She didn’t expect to hear footsteps. But she knew whose they were and her heart began to beat faster, her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. 

“I figured I’d find you up here,” Bucky said, his voice low, carrying just enough to reach her without shattering the quiet.

She didn’t turn around right away. “Can’t sleep either?”

He chuckled, sitting beside her. “Do I ever?”

She glanced at him. He was in a black Henley, sleeves pushed up, metal arm glinting faintly under the moonlight. He looked tired—but softer. Like maybe he found a kind of peace in the stillness too.

“I like the quiet,” she said after a while. “When everything slows down.”

“Yeah.” His gaze followed hers, out toward the faint skyline. “Me too. It's easier to think.”

“To feel?” she asked, careful with the question.

Bucky looked at her then. Really looked. “Yeah,” he said, quieter. “That too.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t empty. It was warm. Safe.

“You don’t have to talk,” Y/N said, resting her head on her knees. “Not if it hurts. But if you ever do... I’ll be here.”

A breath left him—soft, like it took weight with it. Then, after a beat, he reached out and wrapped his metal hand gently around hers.

It was cool, careful, but steady.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“The news?” Y/N questioned. 

“Yea…I just can’t believe that Sam would give up Steve’s shield like that.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment. “Do you think maybe he’s just not ready?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just continued to stare ahead. “I just- it makes me think that if Steve was wrong about Sam then maybe he was wrong about me.” 

Y/N turned her body towards Bucky. She reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand-the flesh one- and squeezed it. “Please don’t say that. I didn’t know Steve and don’t know Sam but I’m sure Steve knew what he was doing when he gave Sam that shield. He also was not wrong about you, Bucky. I’ve known you for a few months and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I mean sure maybe you can be a little grumpy but you’ve never made me feel threatened or uncomfortable.” 

Bucky looked at Y/N. “Grumpy?”

Y/N chuckled and gave him a playful smack on his arm. “Only a little and only sometimes.” 

Bucky’s hand brushed gently against Y/N’s, the faintest touch sparking something quiet and familiar between them. Neither moved away. Instead, their hands lingered, fingertips grazing in a silent understanding—an unspoken comfort that had settled between them like second nature.

----

The last of the customers trickled out of the bar, their laughter fading into the night as the door clicked shut behind them. Y/N made her way to the front, fingers brushing against the slightly smudged glass as she flipped the sign to Closed, the quiet of the empty room settling around her like a soft exhale. It had been a long shift—steady, a little chaotic at times—but now all that remained was the comforting rhythm of cleanup before she could head home, curl up on the couch, lose herself in a feel-good movie, and dig into some well-earned takeout.

But just as she turned to grab a rag from behind the bar, the front door creaked open again. The bell gave a soft chime as it swung closed, and Y/N instinctively pivoted, ready to let the late straggler know they were done for the night.

The words caught in her throat.

A slow, surprised smile bloomed across her face when she saw who stood in the doorway.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway, his frame slightly hunched like he wasn’t sure he should be there, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie. There was something uncertain in his eyes, the kind of vulnerability that made Y/N’s heart squeeze just a little.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, drying her hands on a towel. “How did you know where I worked?”

He gave a small shrug, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that almost resembled a smirk. “I have my ways.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her, but the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was weighted, familiar. He made his way over to the bar, pulled out a stool, and sat down with a quiet sigh, resting his arms on the counter. His fingers traced absent patterns on the worn wood, eyes downcast.

Y/N turned back to her cleaning, though her movements had slowed. She kept stealing glances at him, watching the way he sat so still, like he was trying to sort through a storm in his head. She wanted to ask if he was okay, the words right on the edge of her lips. But instead, she waited—giving him space, hoping he’d let her in on his own terms.

“I know that look,” Y/N said gently, glancing over at him as she wiped down the last bit of the counter. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

Bucky shook his head almost too quickly, eyes darting away. “Nope. Nothing’s wrong.”

She didn’t push, just gave him a quiet, knowing look. “Alright. I’m almost done here, then we can head out.”

He gave a small nod, the kind that said he was grateful she wasn’t pressing him. Y/N tucked the last few bottles back into place, the clinking of glass the only sound between them. Then she bent to grab her bag from beneath the bar, slinging it over her shoulder with a tired but content sigh.

As they stepped outside, the night air wrapped around them—cool, crisp, and a little biting. She grinned, nudging him playfully. “So… did you really come all the way down here just to walk me home from work?”

Bucky’s lips twitched with a trace of a smile. “Maybe.”

A chill danced up her spine, and she shivered without meaning to. Bucky noticed immediately. Without a word, he tugged off his hoodie and held it out to her. She blinked in surprise, hesitated for a second, then took it. As she pulled it on, the sleeves hanging long over her hands, she caught the scent of him—clean soap, leather, and something warm that was just him. It made her chest ache in the sweetest way.

“I was thinking we could grab something to eat,” he said casually, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to play it cool. “Or… whatever you want.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “I was planning on takeout and a movie.”

He tilted his head. “Unless that sounds boring to you,” she added quickly.

His smile came easy this time—gentle, genuine, the kind that lit up his whole face. “That sounds perfect.”

-------

Y/N led the way down the quiet street to her favorite little pizza place, the one she always ended up craving after a long shift. The familiar scent of garlic and melted cheese hit her the second they stepped inside, instantly lifting her mood. She placed an order for her go-to pizza, the one she could eat a thousand times and never get tired of.

“Are you sure you don’t want your own?” she asked, glancing up at Bucky with a raised brow.

He just shook his head with a faint smile. “I’m good. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

When the total popped up on the register, Y/N instinctively reached for her wallet—but Bucky was quicker. He slid his card across the counter without missing a beat.

“Hey—come on, I’ve got this,” she protested, nudging his arm.

He just gave her a look. Steady. “Next time.”

With the warm box of pizza in hand, Bucky carried it like it was something precious as they walked the short distance to their apartment building. Inside the elevator, the hum of machinery filled the space as he hit the button for her floor. The moment was quiet, but not awkward—just a soft kind of stillness that felt easy between them.

Once inside her apartment, Y/N headed to the kitchen, pulling out two mismatched plates from the cabinet and handing one to Bucky.

“I’ll be right back,” she said with a smile, before slipping down the hallway to her bedroom.

She changed quickly, trading her work clothes for a pair of well-worn leggings and her favorite oversized t-shirt. After a moment’s pause, she grabbed Bucky’s hoodie from where she’d left it earlier and slipped it back on—it still smelled like him, and the extra weight of it around her shoulders was oddly comforting.

When she padded back into the living room, Bucky was already seated on the couch, the pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of him. He sat back with his arms crossed, muscles stretching beneath the tight fabric of his t-shirt in a way that made Y/N pause in the doorway a second longer than she meant to.

She shook herself out of it and moved to the couch, settling a safe-but-not-too-far distance from him.

Grabbing the remote, she pulled up her favorite comfort show—one she’d seen a hundred times but never got tired of—and hit play. She reached for a slice, the warmth of the food matching the growing ease between them.

Bucky grabbed a piece too, and for a while, they sat side by side, the glow of the TV flickering across their faces, saying nothing at all.

But the silence was anything but empty—it was filled with the kind of quiet comfort that only comes from being with someone who feels like home.

As the night wore on and a few more episodes passed, Y/N realized—somehow, without even noticing when it happened—that she was sitting much closer to Bucky than she had been at the start. The gap between them had gradually disappeared, replaced by the easy lean of shared warmth. She knew he usually shied away from touch—but he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t flinched or pulled back. If anything, he seemed… settled.

The credits of the latest episode began to roll, the soft background music filling the quiet room.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, his voice low and almost hesitant.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her brows drawn together gently. “For what?”

He gave a small shrug, blue eyes fixed on the screen like he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “For letting me crash your night. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly, her lips lifting into a smile. “I like hanging out with you, Bucky.”

And before she could overthink it, she reached down and slid her hand into his—his flesh one—her fingers curling gently around his. She gave a soft squeeze, grounding and sincere.

“You’re always welcome here,” she said. “Even if you don’t want to talk. We can just sit. Be. I’m okay with that.”

For a beat, he didn’t say anything. Then she felt his hand tighten around hers, not possessively, just… steady. Reassuring. And he didn’t let go.

The next episode began to play, the familiar theme music rising again, but neither of them really paid attention. They stayed just like that, fingers laced together, hearts quietly aligned in the shared silence—trying, and failing, to focus on the screen when all they could really feel was the presence of the other.

---

Y/N stirred slowly, her eyes fluttering open as the early morning light filtered softly through the curtains. For a moment, she blinked against the haze of sleep, her brain sluggishly trying to piece together where she was. The couch. Her living room. The remnants of the night before flickered back into focus like a warm dream.

What she hadn’t expected was the weight wrapped around her—the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek, the warmth of two strong arms encircling her.

Bucky.

Her head rested against his chest, where his heartbeat thudded in a calm, even rhythm. His breath was slow and steady, lips slightly parted in sleep, completely at peace in a way she rarely got to see. And somehow, over the course of the night, they’d both melted into one another, tangled up on her small couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She should’ve been surprised. But she wasn’t. Not really.

Y/N shifted slightly, her body stiff from sleeping in one position for too long. Carefully, she reached out, fingers brushing against his arm as she tried to slip out of his hold without waking him.

But before she could move more than an inch, Bucky’s arm tightened around her waist—gentle but firm. His other hand came up sleepily to rest at the small of her back, and without opening his eyes, he pulled her right back against him with a quiet, content sigh.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, caught between amusement and something far softer, deeper. Her lips curled into a sleepy smile as she relaxed into him again, letting her eyes drift closed once more.

If this was how mornings with Bucky felt—quiet, safe, wrapped in warmth—she wouldn’t mind waking up like this a lot more often.

“Don’t move. I’m comfortable,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. 

Y/N let herself relax against him again, her cheek resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The world outside didn’t exist—not the mission reports, not the news, not the ghosts that sometimes lingered in both their silences.

Just the two of them.

She felt Bucky shift slightly, just enough to rest his chin lightly on the top of her head. His hand—flesh and warm—brushed slow, absentminded strokes along her arm. It sent a tingle down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“You’re warm,” he murmured sleepily.

She smiled against his shirt. “That’s because I’m wearing your hoodie.”

“Keep it,” he said, without hesitation.

Y/N tilted her head back slightly so she could look up at him. “You sure?”

His eyes met hers, blue and unguarded, still heavy with sleep but clear in a way that made her breath catch. “Yeah,” he said, softer. “Looks better on you anyway.”

That made her cheeks flush, and she quickly looked down to hide the smile pulling at her lips. His fingers brushed her jaw gently, coaxing her gaze back to his.

“You always do that,” he said, voice quiet.

“Do what?”

“Look away when I’m staring at you.”

“That’s because you stare,” she teased, her voice a little too breathless for her liking.

“I do,” he admitted. “And you never seem to notice how much I like it.”

She blinked. The teasing vanished from his voice—replaced by something quieter, deeper.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

“Bucky…” she started, unsure of what to say. But he was already leaning in, his hand moving up to cup her face with infinite care—like he was afraid she might flinch or vanish if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he murmured, eyes flicking from hers to her lips and back. “Unless you tell me not to.”

She didn’t say a word.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she nodded, just once—barely a breath of movement—and then he was kissing her.

Soft. Slow. Deliberate.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that demanded or rushed. It was the kind that lingered, like he had all the time in the world. His lips moved against hers with a careful sort of reverence, like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and she kissed him back just as softly, pouring into it every quiet moment they’d shared—every time he’d sat beside her in silence, every word he hadn’t needed to say.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling.

“Well,” she whispered, her lips still tingling, “that was... worth staying up for.”

Bucky gave a small huff of laughter. “Yeah?” he said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Because I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I think I just did,” he said, and this time, the smile that curved his lips was real—and a little smug.

Y/N shook her head, grinning as she nudged his chest playfully. “You’re lucky I like you, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” he said, pressing another feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

THIS IS SO SWEET😭😭😭😭😭💓

Best Laid Plans

Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

When your plans for the town's Easter egg hunt go awry, you find help from an unlikely source...

This is for the lovely's @buck-star 's Easter Special ! Felt very inspired so started this earlier this afternoon and it just flowed! Way longer than planned lol sorry.

Character: Lee Bodecker

Trope: 🌷 Enemies to lovers

Prompt: 🐰 Easter egg hunt

Wordcount: Approx. 3.9k

No major warnings. I have also been deliberate vague about when this is set - so it's up to you! Hope you enjoy - as always I love hearing your thoughts ❤️

🐰

A satisfied grin spread across your face as you arranged the model chicks and bunnies, a sea of pastels brightening up the tired storefronts amongst the floral arrangements you’d already hung. Perfect. You smoothed down your polka dot sundress as you took in the scene. Just beyond the storefronts were the stalls for the fair later, selling everything from lemonade to chocolate, handmade crafts and freshly baked goods. A few of the vendors had started to set up, but there was still a nice amount of time before people would start to arrive. You’d given yourself a wide margin to prepare everything, hopefully you’ll have a little downtime to relax before the festivities began.

Your vision was finally all coming together. It was touch and go there for a while, especially with the well-meaning-but-pretty-useless Jake as your helper, but it was actually starting to pay off. It actually looked…good! Especially for a smalltown fair. You couldn’t wait to see the kids’ faces when they arrived later.

“Looks like the Easter bunny threw up out here,” someone chuckled from behind you.

Your smile dropped as you turned to face the culprit. But you already knew who that smooth voice belonged to.

Ugh. There he was. Again.

His uniform looked surprisingly crisp for him, stretched over his broad shoulders. He must’ve finally given the iron a try. Or maybe he’d convinced old Mrs O’Malley to help out a busy bachelor. You could still spy the curve of his stomach peeking out over his waistband from under the starchy white shirt. Not that it mattered, you normally liked a hefty man.

Just not this hefty man.

He stood there confidently surveying your handiwork, like a judge at a dog show. His sheriff badge caught a flicker of morning sunlight as his mouth pulled into a pensive sneer. He was normally quite handsome, not that you’d ever admit that. He had a gorgeous smile on the rare occasions you saw it, almost boyish in contrast to the severity of his short hair and tense jaw.

“Very funny, Sheriff Bodecker,” you replied in a deadpan tone. “Come up with that one all by yourself?”

He leaned on the roadblock barrier and chuckled. “Yeah. Spent all morning workin’ on it,” he grinned devilishly as he manoeuvred the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other, his eyes alight with mischief. Lee Bodecker had the most beautiful blue eyes, you’d noticed…

…Shame the man they belonged to was utterly insufferable.

“Glad my tax dollars are going to good use…” you sighed as you moved to collect the baskets for the egg hunt.

“Hey, you’re gettin’ free labour from my men and a whole street closed off for your little Easter party here, maybe save me the sass,” he scoffed. You didn’t like the patronising hand gesture he used to emphasis ‘little’.

You sighed incredulously, continuing to arrange the baskets, “it’s not my Easter party. And it’s a fair by the way. And it’s for the whole town. It’s about community, being together – whether you celebrate Easter or not. A little morale goes a long way…”

He rolled his eyes “Mm. Well the residents who lost their parking spaces to the roadblock this morning certainly didn’t have much morale when they came to bitch at the station about it…”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned to him again, one hand on your hip and the other clasping one of the little yellow baskets which you pointed at him accusatorily. You knew exactly who he was referring to. That same vocal minority had also come to PTA meetings, written angry letters to the school – and once even ambushed you at the market. They seemed unmoved that it was a joint effort from the school and the church to do something nice for the town. The way they reacted, anyone might think you were responsible for evicting them from their houses, not using their preferred parking spaces for a few hours. You’d already repeated the same arguments so many times that you could probably recite them in your sleep. You were simply sick of talking about it, which you quickly made clear to Lee.

“Listen here, Sheriff. I’m going to tell you what I told all of them. It’s one day. One. We gave them plenty of notice about it, explaining it was so the kids could do the Easter egg hunt without the fear of getting mowed down, and folks can set up their market stalls with plenty of space. God forbid they park in that lot a few streets over and walk the short distance to main street – they can all fit in there, we’re not exactly New York City levels of population here in Meade…And most of them walk to town anyway!! Besides, the district owns those spaces, not them – just because they park in them most days when they come to shoot the shit at the barbers doesn’t mean they’re theirs.”

A little sharper than you had anticipated, but it did the job. You exhaled, trying to calm yourself down as you felt yourself get riled up.

Lee smirked, cocking his head to the side as he studied you. “Wow. Is that how you talk to your students when they act up? Or is it just me that the local schoolteacher likes to put in his place?” his voice was low, almost a purr.

You didn’t like the strange flush that he somehow brought to your cheeks. You briefly felt off balance. You needed to shake that off.

“My students know how to behave,” you quipped. And just like that, the flush had gone. The familiar irritation had taken its place.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, a strange buzz between you that you couldn’t quite identify. You felt that with him sometimes. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was just anger.

His eyes were on you so intensely it seemed like they could tear a hole in your skin.

Then he just laughed. The irritation burned through you, down to your bones.

“Why are you even here? The roadblock is up, nothing starts officially for another couple of hours…” you shrugged. “Surely the Sheriff has better things to be doing than supervising me putting up toy bunnies…” you muttered.

“Wow…so much for community and morale,” he replied in a mock-outraged tone.

You didn’t know why you let him get to you so much. You didn’t know why he did get to you so much. It had always been this way with him, nothing but a sliding scale from feisty jibes to outright loathing.

You weren’t like this with anyone else. You were a schoolteacher, priding yourself on being approachable and kind – a figure in the community who was happy to be a listening ear, who took her responsibility for the town’s children and their education very seriously. You were heavily involved in the church, in the PTA, volunteered at the old folks’ home when you had time. This strange feud with the Sheriff was the one misshapen puzzle piece that didn’t fit with the rest of the picture. A fault by the manufacturer.

And it had been like this since day one, since you moved to town just over a year ago. You had been keen to meet the local Sheriff, hoping to ingratiate yourself with him and work together to benefit the community – but he’d shut you down almost immediately when you’d introduced yourself at a town meeting. He’d lazily looked you up and down in a way that could only be described as with contempt. Your smiled had faded as he introduced himself with disinterest, moving back to talk to his deputies like you were some chore he couldn’t wait to finish. You had no idea what you’d done wrong.

Since then, you had just never met eye to eye. Never been on the same wavelength. He just had a way of getting under your skin, of draining your patience in a way that even a rowdy group of six-year-olds couldn’t pull off. Although you generally aimed to always be the bigger person in life and rise above petty things, Sheriff Bodecker seemed to be the exception to that philosophy. Maybe his dismissal of you before he’d even properly spoken to you was what provoked such strong feeling, but you couldn’t explain the inevitable descent every time you met him.

You bickered every time you crossed paths. Arguing in line at the market, squabbling in the street, once there had even been (hushed) strong words at the back of church during a service.

You’d turned up to the station one afternoon to meet with Deputy Carter about arranging a school safety talk and the officers on the front desk had audibly sighed knowing what was going to happen. The whole town was aware of this rivalry, and just sort of took for granted that this was just how things were with the Sheriff and that schoolteacher.

…and yes. The officers were right. You and the Sheriff had managed to get each other’s backs up after a mere few minutes because you had laughed a little too loudly when his hat briefly slipped off his head. Business as usual.

You couldn’t really admit it to yourself. But maybe you also kinda enjoyed it. Just a tiny bit. Sometimes.

“Oh whatever…” you hissed, trying to focus on the task at hand. You didn’t have time for this, you can’t let Lee distract you when you have so much still to do. “Go. Stay. I don’t care either way. I need to hide the eggs and-”

You froze as you tugged at the trash bag containing the coloured eggs that you were going to hide for the hunt. It didn’t feel…right. The weight was off. It didn’t sit like a bag of small toy eggs.

You untied the bag and gasped when the contents were revealed.

Not eggs.

Not even close.

…a bag of trash.

You let out a pained moan as you fell to your knees, rifling through the bag in the weak hope that the eggs were at the bottom, and someone had put trash in the wrong bag by mistake. But no. Not a one there.

How could this-

And then it all fell into place at once. Jake, the enthusiastic but somewhat hapless school coach who had offered to help with the planning. Yesterday, after school you’d given him the eggs as you bagged up the classroom waste bin…he then offered to take it out for you as he was parked near the dumpster…so he must’ve mixed up…

Oh.

Oh God.

…And trash pick-up had been early this morning.

Those eggs were long gone.

Even if by some miracle you managed to somehow track them down, they’d most likely be crushed by the truck anyway – or all mixed in with the town’s other garbage. Covered in God knows what.

You stomach churned. You thought about the kids in your class, how excited they were about the hunt. They’d all been talking about it for weeks, all claiming they were going to win and find the most eggs – win the ‘mystery prize’ that the flyer tantalisingly offered (a brand-new bike, sponsored by one of the richer families in Brewer Heights. You had been so proud to source that).

How could you let them all down? See the disappointment on their little faces when they realised?

You couldn’t.

So, you switched into problem solving mode. As satisfying as it would be to tear Jake a new one for his mistake, that wouldn’t help the kids. Where could you get more eggs? You had already bought out almost the entire supply locally to ensure as many kids as possible could participate. You could drive to another town, but would you make it back in time? What if they were sold out too? This close to Easter…how many eggs were going to be left in stores exactly? Would they even be open? A lot of places had already closed up to spend time with their families. It was that way around these parts, these were mom and pop operations - not national chain stores. You could call ahead but-

“Well. That’s gonna be a weird egg hunt,” Lee interrupted your internal monologue as he toed at the now ripped open bag of trash. “I know the school budget has been cut, but damn…”

You closed your eyes. You’d been so caught up that you’d almost forgotten he was still here. “Just…not now, please,” you snap without looking up.

“Didn’t need to close the street just for you to hide garbage. Ain’t that just littering…?” he chuckles.

You look up at him, tears of frustration swimming in your eyes. “Coach Jensen must’ve switched the bags by accident,” you say softly.

Lee furrows his brows, his ever-present smirk shrinking as he takes you in. Maybe for the first time ever. His features soften as he starts to absorb that look on your face. The look that tells him this is serious. “That guy’s an ass…” he replies, his voice low.

“Yeah, I know,” you whispered. “God…The kids are so excited…”

“You can’t just call it off?”

“No!” you said incredulously. “This is all they’ve been talking about in class, all through school! I can’t just cancel it. I just need to figure out how to find more eggs before the hunt. There’s none left in our store but maybe I could drive to the next town over…”

He put his hands on his hips, his stance authoritative like he was doing a traffic stop, or talking to a perp. He checks his watch. “At this hour? You won’t make it back in time…”

“Thanks for your help Sheriff, as always,” you snarl.

He sighed defeatedly. “Could you just…hide something else for them to hunt? Matchsticks or something? I dunno…”

“It’s Easter! They were promised eggs!” you huff, “what kind of easter egg hunt would that be?”

You are unable to stop the few tears that break through the barrier and onto your cheek. You’re just so frustrated, so tired after staying up late to prepare all of this. And all your hard work is coming unravelled because of a few lousy eggs and a feckless man who doesn’t check garbage bags.

God, what a mess. Why do you even care so much? This is silly. Mistakes happen. The town will understand.

Right?

“Hey, hey,” Lee coos gently and takes a step closer to you, “don’t get upset…it’s just eggs…” His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, it barely sounds like him at all.

You feel a wave of shame, mortification that he is bearing witness to this. The unfamiliarity of his tone is so unexpected, so jarring, that it adds to your embarrassment rather than soothes it. Why did he have to be here? Why him of all people? And what, he pities you now? More ammunition for his side in your little war – the silly, emotional teacher who cries over easter eggs. A chink in your armour, vulnerability for him to mock and dine out on for years to come…as if he didn’t already think you were a fool…

“It’s not just eggs,” you reply dully. Your eyes lock onto his. He simply doesn’t understand how important this is. How many children are counting on you. He doesn’t understand anything about you.

You turn away from him, taking a deep breath as you quickly wipe away your tears with your knuckles. You won’t let him have any more of you than you’ve already given. You shakily get to your feet.

“I’m gonna go around to a few parents’ houses and see what I can find,” you say out loud, more for you than for him. To anchor you, make you feel like you have a plan – however weak. “I should be able to rustle up some from their Easter decorations at least. I’ll be back to finish setting up”.

Lee stares at you. It seems like he has more to say, but he remains quiet. He clears his throat, nods. “Uh. Alright. Well, I’m going to go back to the station. Check on a few things. Good luck…with the eggs…it’ll work out.”

You nod, but don’t turn around as you leave him behind. You don’t believe him.

🐇.•*¨`*•.¸ 🐇.•*¨`*•. 🐇¸.•*¨`*•. 🐇

A little while later you make your way back to the fair. You feel so downtrodden that there could almost be rocks in your pockets, every movement takes effort and energy you no longer possess. You dread every step closer as you trudge heavily across town.

Despite a committed campaign, working your way across several neighbourhoods, you were only able to source a pathetic few eggs. Nowhere near enough to sustain a full-on egg hunt for all of the town’s children. Maybe even neighbouring towns if word got out. You check your watch; and you’re running late, too. You were going to have to explain to dozens of disappointed kids (and their angry parents) why their most anticipated Easter activity wasn’t happening. You practiced your speech in your head as you walked.

As you rounded the corner to the roadblock, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the worst. Your stomach swam with nausea, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You should’ve called Jake and made him do this. It was his fault after all.

You brace yourself for the crowd of confused children, when…

You can’t quite believe your eyes.

The kids are here, yes. But they’re running around, yellow baskets in their little hands as they shriek and holler, darting underneath doorsteps and plant pots to hunt. A small pile of coloured eggs sits in each of their baskets. Every single one of them is having a blast. Their parents watch on proudly, sharing their joy.

Are you going insane?

Some of them notice you and wave excitedly, calling your name and shouting over to you about how much fun it is. Their parents echo similar sentiments, and you just wave back gormlessly, trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

Is this some sort of hallucination?

“Phew. Told ya it would work out.”

You turn to the figure who has sidled up next to you, your eyes wide with surprise as Lee watches the joyful chaos unfold in front of you both.

“How…what…” you splutter.

“I remembered we did a similar thing a few years back,” he says casually without taking his eyes off the fun. “It was a police fundraiser around Easter time. One of my dim-witted deputies thought he ordered 100 eggs…turns out he ordered 100 cases…”

Your mouth falls agape as realisation slowly dawns.

“Shoved ‘em in the old outbuilding and forgot we had ‘em if I’m honest, ‘til this morning. Never thought we’d use them all, but here we are”. He laughs and rests his hands on his belt buckle.

“You…you did this?” you whisper, your throat tight with shock.

He shrugs, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Sure. Rounded up a bunch of the boys and we got ‘em all out. Not the most creative hiding places, you probably woulda done better – but the kiddos don’t seem to mind. Some of them are a bit dusty from storage – but again, kids are paying that no mind. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell no one. So, you’ll still get all the credit, you deserve it anyway – you put all the work in”.

Your eyes round as you stare at him. He stands there nonchalantly, like he didn’t just save the day. Didn’t just save you.

“You did that…for me?” you ask, bewildered.

“Sure. You needed help. That prick Jensen wasn’t gonna fix it, was he?”

“B..but. You don’t even like me?” you stammer weakly. Your brain simply can’t absorb any of this.

He finally turns, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. His blue eyes squint as his lip curls. “What? ‘Course I like ya”.

You feel like you’re going insane. “What?? We fight, all the time! You are always jabbing at me, making fun of me, riling me up…”

His face mirrors your own puzzlement but for a different reason, “yeah, but it’s just fun, isn’t it? Banter. I love fighting with you. It’s always a highlight of my day. You’re so…fun. Feisty. I love it. I never actually meant any harm…”

If you’d been sitting on a chair at that moment, you would’ve fallen out of it.

“WHAT?” you roar so loudly that some people turn around. You hush yourself immediately, trying to avoid a scene. “You were SO RUDE, the first time we met…it’s been hell ever since…”

He finally has the decency to look embarrassed as his eyes drop to the ground. “Oh, right. That. Yeah. That was shitty. I should’ve apologised…you just caught me off guard…”

“What do you mean?! All I did was say hello?” you sneer through gritted teeth.

“Yeah…and be gorgeous. Nobody told me the new teacher was a goddamn beauty. I panicked, couldn’t form words. You made me feel like a damn teenager with how nervous you made me”.

You just stare at him as you try and process what he’d just said, your mother would say you could catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that.

“Wait…You were rude because…you thought I was pretty?”

“Damn beautiful, actually. And I didn’t mean to be rude. Really. My brain just damn near stopped working”, he says bashfully.

“So, wait, this whole time you…”

You trail off as you suddenly reframe every interaction with him in your memory in a matter of seconds. The strange, unidentifiable buzz you felt with him sometimes. The way he got to you like nobody else. His smile widening every time he saw you, which you’d always assumed was just him getting ready to rile you up. How he would always gravitate to you if you were in the same place. The way he seemed to take so much pleasure in making fun of you, of talking with you…

…being with you?

“I should’ve just not been a coward and spoken to you properly, I’m sorry,” he sighs as he looks down at his feet. His voice more passive than you’d ever heard it. “Ask you on a date. Treat you nice, court you a little. I guess I never thought a pretty girl like you would go for a schlub like me, and I always had your attention when we argued – so why risk it?”

You look over at the giggling kids, the proud parents, the townspeople enjoying the stalls, sipping lemonade and laughing. You look back at him. You think of him hauling those old boxes from the station, getting his staff to help. Trying to find good hiding places for the eggs, wiping the dust from them. Greeting the kids and their parents as they arrived, giving them the little baskets. Doing it all for you without being asked, doing it for you because he wanted to.

Maybe he understood more about you than you realised.

He cautiously stands in front of you, you look deep into his cerulean eyes and before you know it, you’re kissing him. He wobbles slightly in surprise but corrects himself and finds his feet, kissing you back, his arms around your waist like they’d always been there. The rest of the world melts away and suddenly everything feels right. You don’t care that they can all see. You don’t care about anything else.

You break away and rest your forehead on his. You both laugh at the hooting and hollering from behind you, the cries of ‘about time!’ from his deputies. Apparently everyone could see it but you.

“Don’t I get a thank you? For fixing it?” he grins.

“Why? It’s just eggs,” you beam.

“…it’s not just eggs,” he chuckled as he moves to kiss you again.

THE END

I need to be his controversialy young girlfriend 🏌🏻

babydoll ⋆.𐙚 ̊

cw: age gap

He feels like a creep. Plain and simple. Bucky knows that any woman would be considered “younger”, but you just take the cake. He momentarily feels how hot hell is when you delicately push his hair to the side, clipping in into place with pastel beret. The rest of it gathered into a cutesy scrunchie. “Okay, this one is for wrinkles.” You say, clambering onto his lap. His girl isn’t the most graceful.

The bottle makes him grimace, but the feel of your cute butt in his lap makes it tolerable. He has wrinkles older than you—yikes. “It smells.” He grumbles as he feels you rub skincare product into his skin. “It’s supposed to be lilies!” You say lightly patting his cheek. “This is stupid.” He deadpans, he wraps his arms around your middle when you loop your arms around his shoulders. “It’s not stupid, you’ll thank me someday mister.” You chide very seriously, yelping when he smacks your side. It’s not fair, when you pout like that he wants to kiss you senseless. “Don’t call me mister, ‘m not some stranger you little brat.” He grumbles, being particularly gentle as he slides his cool metal arm under your shirt, just over your tummy. “Sorry baby.” You croon, taking the moment to steal a kiss.

His mental crisis is not helped by the pet name. Baby? If anything you’re the baby here, he gives you a look, it makes you laugh. He finds you to be soothing. You’re a modern woman sure, but those little pj’s you have on with your hair all done up in rollers make him remember a simpler time. He’ll deal with the weird glances whenever you two walk down the street together. He’s not embarrassed anymore to pad over and ask you whatever slang word he’s picked up while people watching. Best of all, he’s finally stopped being stubborn about using his reading glasses to read your texts and see all the cute little selfies you send him.

You pat lotion into his skin, and smile at him. He kisses you, scratching you with stubble. It’s a welcomed itch. When you pull away and kiss the tip of his nose he can’t help but squeeze you. You make him want to smother you. It’s the same when you hear a kitten mew or a baby coo. He likes the feeling. He likes you.

a/n: its almost been an entire month LOL anyways… i think dating a woman under the age of 35 would send bucky into crisis mode and make him feel like a total scumbag (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

credit to @aquazero for dividers

'cause he's just so cool

Piece of art 💓🦇

unsolved masterlist

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse.

(Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, horror/paranormal elements

Disclaimer: no plot just vibes <3 it's just another banger dynamic that i loved and therefore had to write a garbage fic about. This is, in no way, a literary masterpiece so just be warned.

Here’s my Ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Sarge? 🪖

Frostbites

Summary : Bucky found you injured in the middle of a snowstorm.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x hero!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mention of a dead body (neither yours nor bucky) hurt/comfort (?), Fluff! Lots of angst!!! Injury. The ending is open to interpretation.

Word Count : 1.9k

Notes : Hi all! It's moving day for me a this is a queued post. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes hated the cold.

It crawled into his skin, crept into his bones—even in the nonexistent metal one—and wrapped around his lungs like a chokehold. It reminded him too much of long Russian winters, of blood stains in the snow.

But he was out here anyway.

Because you hadn’t come back.

Your comms had gone silent almost two hours ago, right after you reported heading up the north ridge. The snow started coming down harder, so they said it was probably a dropped signal. They said that you'd hole up and wait it out.

But Bucky knew you. You wouldn’t just go dark.

Not unless something was wrong.

So here he was, face numb, human hand freezing through his gloves, trudging through knee-deep snow with nothing but a flashlight and sheer willpower.

He shouted your name into the wind, but got no response.

The woods swallowed his voice, muffling it like the storm wanted to bury everything— including you.

He finally found you by the edge of a ravine, half-covered in snow, lying awkwardly against a fallen log. Your leg was twisted beneath you, and your lips were trembling. There was a body of a man next to you— probably your attacker. If you didn’t kill him yourself, the cold definitely did.

“Bucky?” you whispered when he dropped to his knees beside you.

His breath caught and said your name again, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, yet eternally grateful you were alive.

You tried to sit up, but winced. Your right ankle was broken. “I—I— this guy came out of nowhere. Comms went out. I couldn’t—”

“Shh,” he said, already shrugging out of his jacket. “You're freezing.”

He wrapped it around you, his hands rough but gentle. The cold bit into his skin faster than before, but it didn’t matter. Not when you looked like that— fingers trembling, fear in your eyes.

“I’m so stupid,” you said through your chattering teeth.

“No. You’re not.” He pulled you close, bracing your body against his chest. “You’re hurt. Big difference.”

“But you came out here. I thought—” You looked up at him, eyes glossy. “You hate the cold.”

He laughed, “Yeah. I do.”

“Then why—”

“Because it’s you.”

He tightened his hold on you, ignoring the sting in his fingesr. “Because if it were me out here, you’d come for me.”

You buried your face against his neck. He shifted so your weight rested against his chest and activated the beacon on his wrist, signaling HQ. 

He didn’t get an answer.

“I got you,” he muttered into your hair anyway. “I’ve always got you.”

You were shaking so hard, your teeth wouldn’t stop clacking. Bucky pressed the beacon on his wrist again and cursed under his breath.

Nothing. No signal.

Of course. Mountains. Snowstorm. 

Probably the same things that took away your comms. 

The universe just loved giving him a hard time.

He looked down at you, curled into his arms like a dying ember, and felt a bolt of fear slice through him. Your eyes were barely open now, and your skin was a different terrifying shade than it usually was.

“Okay, okay. Change of plans,” he said, more to himself than you. “Can’t freeze out here. Gotta find shelter.”

You made a half-groan, half-protest as he adjusted his grip.

“I know. I know it hurts,” he whispered, lifting you into his arms carefully, trying not to jostle your ankle. “But if we stay here, you’re going to turn into an icicle. And I like you warm and complaining.”

“Not… complai…ning,” you smacked his back, head lolling against his shoulder.

“You will be once you warm up,” he said with a sad smile, starting the trek up the ridge.

It took twenty agonizing minutes before he spotted the dark mouth of a cave up ahead. It wasn’t much— but it’d hopefully block the wind. 

“Alright. Temporary five-star suite,” he said as he stumbled into the cave and placed you to the ground gently. “Complimentary frostbite. No room service. May or may not be home to a bear.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Don’t joke about bears…”

“If one shows up, I’ll punch it in the face.” He reassured.

He ripped off his gloves and set to work immediately—gathering dry twigs from under the overhang, shredding cloth for kindling, using the flint he kept in his belt pouch. The fire took forever to catch, and once it did, it wasn’t nearly as big as he wanted it to be— there wasn’t enough oxygen for it to feed, which probably meant there wasn’t enough oxygen for you, either. 

Bucky shed the rest of the clothing he didn't need and wrapped you in everything he could. Then, without asking, he settled down behind you, pulling you against his chest, and wrapping his arms around you like a blanket.

But then… Bucky felt your shivering slow.

That was bad.

Shivering meant your body was still fighting. But now you were just…  heavy in his arms. Your breath came in weird, shallow bursts.

He pulled back to look at you and called out your name once again.

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glossy. But you smiled.

“Oh, hey,” you slurred. “When did you get here?”

He blinked. “I’ve been here for forty minutes.”

“Nooo,” you whispered, waving a limp hand at him. “You’re too pretty to be real. You’re, like, a hallucination.”

He made a choking sound. “No. No, no.” Your cognitive function was slipping. A sign of hypothermia.

You laughed—or, at least you tried to, but it just came out as a wheeze.

“Sorry. That was dumb. I’m cold.”

“I know,” he said, already piling more of his clothing onto you, pressing his chest to your back, trying to transfer his body heat as he pushed you closer to the barely-there flame. “Just hang on. Come closer to the fire. You’re gonna be okay.”

You squinted at the fire. “That’s a baby fire. Tiny lil’… lil’ guy. He’s doing his best.”

Bucky chuckled sadly. “He’s gonna save your life if he gets big enough.”

You blinked again. You didn’t feel your toes. Or your fingers. “P-pretty,” you mumbled.

Bucky froze.

“…What?”

You smiled faintly. “You’ve got really pretty eyes.”

His hand hovered near your cheek, not touching, as your eyelids struggled to keep themselves open. “Hey—”

“Mmmm… My brain feels like mashed potatoes.” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Bucky said instantly, cradling your face in his hands, tilting it up toward him. “Eyes on me, c’mon.”

You blinked up at him, slowly. Your pupils were blown, unfocused. “You’ve got nice hair.”

Bucky froze for a second. “Huh?”

“You’re always tying it up and stuff, but when it’s messy it looks nice,” you mumbled, your voice thick, like you were drunk on cold. “Like… like a sad prince or sum’thin’.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Okay. You’re out of your damn mind.”

“Not always,” you whispered. “Sometimes I think real good.”

“Hey—”

“Once I watched you fix a sink with a spoon and I fell in love with you right then.”

He let out a choked laugh that was half sob, half terror. You were slipping from his grasp. “I fixed the sink with a wrench, not a spoon.”

“W-w-wasn’t paying attention,” you hummed, too pleased with yourself. 

Bucky was shaking now, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was from panic. He didn’t know how much longer you’d last. 

Your words were slurring, your breath shallow, your body limp against him. And still, you rambled.

“I u-used to sneak looks at your file, when we first met,” you had to stop mid sentence. Bucky could tell you were struggling spitting your thought out. “I-I said it was for tactical research but I really… I just wanted to know if you liked dogs.”

“You absolute little shit,” Bucky breathed, brushing the snow from your eyebrows, from your lashes, his voice cracking. “You’re just saying everything, huh?”

“Bucky. I’m tired.” You laughed weakly, then let out a soft groan, “My head feels leaky.”

“No,” he gripped you tighter, “Don’t. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Just for a sec—”

“No.” His voice broke as he pulled you tighter against his chest, practically wrapping himself around you. “You’re not sleeping. You’re gonna stay awake, yeah? How bout this? You wanna tell me about your most recent dream?.”

“…I had a dream once that we got married. In like… a Taco Bell.”

Bucky stared down at you. “A Taco Bell?”

You made a little noise. “You wore a leather jacket over your suit and wouldn’t let go of my hand even when we were eating.”

His chest hurt. It ached. His heart felt like it was being pulled in two— half of it melting at your words, the other half broken because your pulse was thready. Even his supersoldier hearing could barely pick it up now.

You looked up at him, pupils barely tracking any movement. “I think I love you.”

He went still. 

What?

Your lip trembled. “Is that o-okay?”

His voice broke as he whispered, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.”

“Oh good,” you sighed. “Because I think I’m dying and I didn’t want to die while embarrassing myself—wait. Am I dying?”

He didn’t answer.

That told you everything.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Shit.”

“No, no. You’re not,” Bucky snapped suddenly, grabbing the bundle of twigs from the corner of the cave. His hands shook as he fed them to the tiny fire, sparks crackling weakly. 

“Stay with me,” he barked. “You don’t get to drop ‘I love you’ and then peace out into the afterlife, alright? That’s not how this works.”

You giggled faintly. “‘Peace out?’ That’s so lame.”

“You little—” He choked out another half-laugh, half-sob, burying his face in your neck. “Fuck. You’re insane. You’re actually insane. And I- Fuck, I... Argh!! I-I love you, too.”

You didn’t react.

He pulled back fast. No, no. “Hey. Hey. Did you hear me?”

Your eyes fluttered, head lolling uncontrollably. “Mmhmm. Say it again, louder. For the people in the back.”

Bucky let out a hysterical, wrecked laugh. “I love you. I love you. I have loved you for years, so you gotta stay awake for me, okay?”

“Hmm,” you agreed faintly. 

“Stay alive,” he whispered, rocking you gently, cradling your body close to the heat. “Please, just stay alive. We can talk about all of this when you’re not dying. You can tell me about your Taco Bell wedding dreams and I’ll tell you about the time I nearly kissed you in the quinjet.”

“You what?” you slurred.

“Remember that time you were dressing my wounds? I…chickened out.”

“Loser.”

Bucky could feel tears pricking in his eyes as he saw you fight the darkness that threatened to take you away. You were drained— he could see it. You’ve used up all your energy trying to stay awake, he wasn’t sure how much you had left in store.

Desperately, he chuckled his gloves into the fire. It was flammable— so it would help. It should.

The fire caught a bit brighter, and it gave you the first bit of warmth in your cheeks he’d seen in a while. Still, he didn’t know if it was enough.

Your eyes fluttered again. “I’m cold, Buck.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know. Just hold on.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” you asked, like a child asking about a bedtime story.

His heart splintered into a million little pieces.

“Yeah,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m not going anywhere. So you better wake up, sweetheart.”

“…Love you, Bucky.”

He closed his eyes, frozen tears pricking at his skin.

Outside, the wind howled.

Inside the cave, two hearts —barely— kept beating.

“Love you, too.”

Your lips parted. You let out a breath. It was faint, but it was there. 

Somewhere in the haze, you closed your eyes and smiled.

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

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

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

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @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

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23

Loving how they used the comic design for the new red star ⭐

Make-Out Point

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Making out with Bucky is always an event to remember.

Warning: Uuh making out? Not really any I think?

Word Count: 810

A/N: Here’s the 2nd request for Miri’s 2k Celebration. Thank you to everyone who has submitted requests. I am working on them as first come first serve style. I hope to get two more out this weekend and work on rest throughout the week. This one came from @moodymcu​ Thank you for the requests sweetheart.

hi! i recently followed you and congrats on 2k! i was wondering if you could do a drabble about the STEAMIEST make out session with bucky or steve would be like?? congrats again! 💗  

Keep reading

Small Circles

Summary : Bucky Barnes is still getting used to modern dating… and hates that you have to work with your exes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x vigilante!reader (she/her)  / ex!various MCU anti-heroes/vigilantes x ex!reader

Warnings/tags : jealous!Bucky. Bi!Reader Hurt/comfort. Injury, references to violence, sex references. Reader used to be an anti-hero, and also used to date a lot of anti heroes. Angst/Fluff!!!!

Word count : 7.7k

Note : Retroactive jealousy is very common, and I definitely struggled with it when I first started dating my partner. I don’t really see it solved healthily in fiction, so I thought I’d write about it. I just finished moving in, so I will resume my series writing soon! And please, if you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes didn’t talk about his exes.

For one, they were from a time when women wore red lipstick like armour and wrote love letters to the men who might not make it back home. Two, in the 1940s, talking about past relationships was basically the equivalent to hanging your dirty laundry out in the street— and not just because most of them ended with him shipping out to war. Sex and feelings simply didn’t belong in polite company.

But here he was, in the 21st century, trying to navigate dating after missing eight decades of social evolution— trying to keep up with you. 

And god, he hadn’t stood a chance from the moment you first met.

You were the first person he met post-pardon that didn’t look at him like the sum of his past. Sam introduced you at a bar in D.C.—nothing fancy, just three tired veterans nursing drinks and pretending the world wasn’t still spinning out of control.

“She’s an old friend,” Sam said. “Used to serve with me in the air force. Then she went off grid and disappeared to be an antihero—”

“Vigilante,” you corrected, scoffing.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes, “But she’s retired now.”

“You’re prettier than the photos.” You gave Bucky a once-over. “Grumpier, too.”

He blinked, thrown off by how casual you were, and before he could respond, you leaned in and asked, “You always look like someone stole your puppy, or is that just for special occasions?”

Sam just laughed and walked off to grab another round, leaving Bucky staring at the woman who didn’t flinch when he said “Winter Soldier” like it was some contagious disease.

Instead, you talked and talked through the night. At one point, he was talking about his brainwashing, and you just leaned your elbow on the bar, eyes on his metal hand, and said, “I’ve done worse.”

It was the first time someone didn’t try to talk him out of his guilt. You didn’t say he was “more than his past.” 

You didn’t try to fix him. 

You just looked at him and recognised the survivor with blood under his nails and scars that never faded.

That night, he walked you home. It was supposed to be a formality, but you talked the whole way, about the desert missions you and Sam survived, about the ops you ran without orders, about why you quit the military, and the blurry line between heroes and people who did what had to be done.

“Why’d you retire?” he asked at your door.

“After the Blip, I helped the Avengers out. Did some good. Got tired of seeing my hands stained red, even when it was for the right reasons.” You shrugged.  “Figured if I couldn’t die, I might as well live. Got a nice place. Set up offshore accounts. Now I make pancakes and talk to my plants.”

He smiled. 

“What about you, Barnes?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe. “You ever get tired of the life?”

Fuck, he hadn’t flirted in decades. He wasn't even sure if he still knew how anymore. 

But with you, it was easy. It was awkward at first, sure, but you laughed every time he stumbled, and you never once made him feel like he was too broken to try.

He brought you flowers a week later. 

Tulips. 

He had said he read somewhere that they meant forgiveness. You didn’t ask who he was forgiving.

“I’m not afraid of your past,” you told him one night, sitting on the floor of your living room after Sam convinced him to take you out on a date. “Not when I’ve got one that would make priests faint.”

He looked at you then, and the walls he’d spent so many years building fell all at once, because you weren’t someone he had to hide from. 

You weren’t afraid of the blood on his hands, because you’d seen it on your own.

So you became a couple. 

Three years later, he still couldn’t believe how easily you loved him.

You were loud where he was quiet, open here he was closed— a perfect balance. 

You called his name like it wasn’t borrowed from another lifetime. And for the first time, he wasn’t just surviving— he was healing. 

He was planning a future. 

With you.

And then… Sam had to drag you back into the field.

That’s when everything started to unravel.

See, Sam had said it would be one mission.

"Just a quick assist," he told you, sliding a file across the table while Bucky sat beside you, arms crossed and already suspicious. "No big commitment. We just need someone who knows how to hit hard and get out clean. I know what you’re capable of,” Sam leaned back and crossed his arms, “And this has your style written all over it.”

“This isn’t just a mission,” You raised an eyebrow, flipping through the folder and studying the requirements. “This is a clusterfuck.”

“That’s why we need you,” Sam fogged. “Come on, for old times’ sake.”

You said yes. 

Later that night, Bucky looked at you like Sam had handed you a grenade. “You’re retired.”

You smiled sadly. “It’s just one job, Buck.”

And at the time, you meant it. 

You really did. 

You had an house together, the pancakes and the plants. 

You had Bucky. 

You had a life.

But then you got out there again—suited up, boots in the dirt, heart pounding like it used to—and it was like a switch was flipped in you.

Adrenaline was one hell of a drug.

You weren’t craving chaos or the violence. Not anymore. 

Unlike your antihero days, you didn’t kill this time. You’d made that choice before stepping onto the field. You weren’t going to be the person who solved problems with blood anymore.

But the mission lit something inside you all the same.

Perhaps it was control. Perhaps it was purpose. Or clarity. 

The world didn’t make much sense most of the time, but in the field, you knew exactly who you were.

So when you came back home after that mission—Bucky could already see it in your eyes.

“You’re going back,” he said flatly, watching you drop your gear in the hallway.

You shrugged, breathless, hair stuck to your forehead. “I mean… yeah. I missed it. But I’m not that person anymore, Buck. No killing. Just in and out. Recon only. You know the drill.”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Because part of him was proud. You’d stepped back into that world on your terms.

But another part of him… was afraid of who you were behind the mask.

—

The first sign was Matt Murdock.

It was your and Bucky’s first mission together since you’d unretired. Sam had assigned a simple intel grab in Hell’s Kitchen. You needed a legal inside man, someone who knew the network by heart, and Sam had said, “You still got a contact in New York, right?”

That’s how you and Bucky ended up across the table from Matt in his firm, the three of you tucked into a room that smelled like paper and secrets.

From the moment you walked in, there was chemistry— it wasn’t active, nor was it inappropriate, but it was present. 

Bucky could see it in the way Matt tilted his head to the sound of your laugh, how your posture relaxed like muscle memory. It was subtle, but it was there.

“You told him,” he said with a small smile. He could hear it in Bucky’s heartbeat. “About my… other job.”

You glanced at Bucky, who was stiff beside you. “Yeah,” you said. 

Matt hummed. That told him more than it should. “You must be serious about him, then.”

You just nodded, infuriatingly calm and confident. “I am.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to, especially because Matt’s voice was too casual when he added, “We used to be a thing, her and I.”

It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t even smug. But it was there. As far as Bucky was concerned, it was a punchline with no joke attached.

You shrugged as the meeting wrapped, grabbing your jacket. 

“His job and crime fighting? No time for me,” you whispered an explanation on your way out. 

But it was the way you said it— the lack of apology. It was the way you weren’t surprised your old flame was part of the mission. 

“You never told me he was your ex,” Bucky mumbled under his breath. 

“We never had to meet any of my exes in retirement,” you shrugged.

That night, Bucky lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling while your body curled toward his. 

But all he could think about was Matt fucking Murdock—Daredevil. Lawyer by day, masked vigilante by night. Another man who had kissed you, fought beside you, known you in a world Bucky still wasn’t sure he fully belonged in.

What the hell.

This was the first time you’d fought side by side. The first time he saw how natural you were when the mask slipped back on. And suddenly, Bucky was wondering if he was the only one still trying to catch up.

—

The conversation about Yelena came over coffee. 

It was one of those late mornings, with sunlight spilling through the window of your kitchen, his metal fingers on your knee. You were sitting close, like always, thighs touching under the table, his hoodie drowning your body in a sense of safety. 

Bucky was scrolling through contacts Sam had floated for upcoming intel work, casually tossing out names. “Yelena Belova might be a good person to reach out to for our next mission. She’s low-profile, knows how to stay off the radar.”

He didn’t even look up when he said it, but you froze, coffee cup hovering in the air, just long enough for him to notice.

“Well… yeah. I haven’t seen her since…”

His head tilted slightly. “Since what?”

He tried to keep his voice neutral. But it came out just a little too sharp, like it scraped on the way out.

You hesitated, a little sheepish. “Since Paris. There was a caper. Messy one. We got out clean, but… one thing led to another.”

Oh.

He knew you were bi, so that wasn’t a surprise. But he never expected that knowledge to ever come with knowing names, too. 

Another sip of coffee wouldn’t fix the knot in Bucky’s stomach, but he took one anyway. It gave him something to do besides look at you—at the woman he’d fallen in love with, who kissed him in the dark and said “I love you” every night.

He nodded pretending it was fine. Pretending it didn’t sting.

But it did. Because it was another name from the same small, bloodstained circle of vigilantes and morally gray heroes. 

He didn’t realise how many people you’d still work with were the same people you’d trusted with your body before you ever handed Bucky your heart.

You were experienced. Not in a shameful way, but you'd lived. You’d fought and fucked and fled and loved in all the places Bucky had never dared go. And now you were here—his—but he couldn’t stop that stupid thought in the back of his head:

Where do I even fit in the story?

You reached for his hand, your thumb brushing the metal knuckles like it was second nature. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple, voice soft.

“She didn’t mean anything long-term,” you reassured him.

He wanted to believe that settled it. He wanted to lean into you, like he always did, but he froze—just for a moment. It was a childish, stupid insecurity rearing up where your warmth used to melt it down.

And Bucky hated that, even now, three years deep in love with you, he still sometimes felt like the last one to the party.

—

Then came London, and of course, Moon Knight.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction—intel swap, quick in and out. You and Bucky were working in sync like you'd done this a few times now. 

There were no hiccups, until he showed up.

You spotted him across the plaza first— casual clothes that you knew could turn into a divine suit any second, and a woman at his side. You froze instinctively, and Bucky felt it immediately.

The guy was weird in that charming, cryptic way, like he might shake your hand or break your nose, depending on what time of day it was. And you smiled at him. 

“London is always full of surprises,” you said as the man approached. You turned your attention to the two people now standing before you.

“Who am I talking to?” you asked, casual on the surface, but your eyes scanned him like they used to.

“Relax, it’s Marc.” The man gave a small, tired smile. “This is Layla.”

“Layla,” you repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re married,” Marc added.

“Good for you!” You beamed genuinely. “Seriously, never thought I’d see the day. This is my boyfriend. Bucky— Marc and I used to… date. A lifetime ago.”

Bucky gave a tight nod, hands in his pockets. “Of course you did,” he muttered under his breath.

Marc caught it. So did you. You shot Bucky a really? look, but Layla just laughed, clearly unfazed. She greeted you like she’d known about you already, because you were clearly another name Marc had mentioned.

“So… does he still talk to Khonshu in the bathroom?” you asked Layla with a crooked grin.

“All the time,” Layla said dryly. “Once, I came in to see the bathtub trashed. He said it was because of Khonshu. At least Tawaret isn’t that demanding.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, we weren’t all superheroes with government contracts,” Marc added, trying to joke, but there. “Some of us were just bleeding in alleyways hoping the gods were paying attention.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a dig. He also wasn’t sure how to respond. Was there a polite way to talk to your girlfriend’s ex who serves a moon god and still too-casual wife who served the goddess of fertility?

You tried to smooth it over, looping your arm through Bucky’s. But he was still stuck on the fact that you had dated this man—this strange, fractured vigilante with too many voices and a ring on his finger now. You’d been part of his chaos once, too.

And that he hated that Layla was okay with it, hated that Layla was secure— because fuck, if it didn’t make him feel bad. That’s who he should be. 

He shouldn’t be bothered by any of this. But he couldn't help it, he was.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he was the only one trying to learn how to stand still while everyone else had already danced through the fire and survived.

He was old-fashioned. He didn’t know how to joke about weird missions with exes or that time you almost died in a tomb under the Nile.

You, on the other hand, just kept moving forward. 

And Bucky loved you—but in that moment, he felt like the odd one out in a room he hadn’t realised he was still learning to walk through.

—

Then Nebula arrived on earth, as she always did every couple of years. It was a routine visit.

She talked to Sam for a while to exchange intel, but after that… the lines between work and play got blurred.

Sam had dragged you and Bucky to a rooftop bar, insisting that even people with kill counts needed to let loose. Nebula was tagging along. She wasn’t the nightlife type, but she was making an effort to try Earth customs.

So, there you were, nursing a coke, while Bucky was ordering himself another drink. 

He was watching you across the room, laughing at something Sam had said when Nebula slid in next to you.

She said no greetings. No small talk. Just a hand on your thigh and a blunt, “Are we doing this again?”

Bucky could hear that, thanks to his enhanced hearing.

You choked slightly on your drink, startled but not shocked. You swatted her hand off gently, not unkind, but firm.

“I have a boyfriend now,” you said with a smile. You tipped your head toward Bucky’s direction. “Long-term.”

She blinked, entirely unaffected. “What’s that like?”

Bucky was across the room, eyes fixed on you. His knuckles were white around his glass.

Later, when you were alone again, Bucky asked, “You…  and her?”

You curled up beside him on the couch, his vibranium arm slung heavy over your shoulders. You kissed his jaw once, then the corner of his mouth. “It was during the Blip, when she went to Earth a lot more,” you said casually, “Long-distance didn’t work. It… happened a couple times. Nothing serious.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

Nothing serious.

The words sat in his gut like a stone.

That was what got him. Not that it happened. Not that you’d been with someone else. He knew—internally, logically—that he wasn’t your first. But that phrase stuck like a splinter under his skin.

Nothing serious.

You said it so easily. That sharing a bed, even briefly, didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t long-term.

But Bucky came from a different world. One where people didn’t talk about past lovers. Where something like a hand on a thigh meant you were hers.

And now here he was—three years in, in love with a woman who kissed him like he hung the moon and yet casually mentioned flings with alien assassins.

He didn’t say anything that night, but pulled you in closer and let you fall asleep on his chest.

But he stayed awake long after, staring at the ceiling.

You were his peace. 

But when it came to your past, he felt like a stranger in your house. 

—

That month after, you came home flushed with mission energy, shedding your jacket before the door had even shut.

“She’s still as annoying as ever,” you said, grinning. “Yelena. She hasn’t changed. Made me climb five flights of a condemned building instead of going around because it was ‘more fun.’ See, this is why it would have never worked out between us.”

You were buzzing— adrenaline and nostalgia glowing in you. Bucky didn’t match your energy.

He stood in the kitchen silently as he rinsed a mug. You didn’t notice at first. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t think anything of it until he set the mug down so hard, it cracked down the middle.

“You ever gonna tell me how many of these people you’ve actually slept with?”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

He turned, tense as a live wire. “Every time we go out in the field, you’ve got history with someone. Is there anyone we’ve worked with who hasn’t had a piece of you?”

Whoa. Where did this come from? 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He didn’t back down. “I’m serious. Daredevil. Moon Knight. Nebula. Yelena. I can’t take two steps into a mission without watching someone look at you like they already know how you sound in bed.”

You blinked, stunned. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped. “I’m—”

“You are,” you cut in. “And possessive, apparently.”

He didn’t deny it. “I just— I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t eat at me. I walk into a room with you and wonder who the hell knows you better than I do.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling. “You never told me this bothered you.”

“Well, I didn’t know half this shit until the last few months!” he barked. “Because you’re so damn casual about it. ‘Oh yeah, we hooked up a few times,’ like it’s a joke—like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Because it didn’t, Bucky!” you shouted back. “Because none of them were you. None of them lasted. You’re the only one I gave three years of my life to, and you’re standing here acting like I cheated on you with my past.”

He didn’t respond. 

And something inside you broke a little.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” you said, smaller now. “Erase it? Lie? Pretend I lived like a nun until you came along?”

“I want to not feel like I’m sharing you with half the damn underground,” he looked down, teeth grinding.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Then maybe you should’ve picked someone from your own century.”

That landed like a slap. 

You shook your head. “We’ve got an early mission tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Without waiting for another word, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and walked down the hall.

You slept in the second bedroom that night.

You didn’t cry. But god, it hurt.

And Bucky sat awake in the kitchen for hours, guilt and resentment twisted in his chest like barbed wire, because he knew none of what he said was fair. 

But the feelings he felt were still real. And they were starting to rot.

—

In the morning, you two were so quiet still that every small sound felt amplified: the click of your knife sliding into your boot, the zip of your jacket, the dull thud of your holster being strapped across your chest.

Your movements were efficient, muscle memory from years of knowing how to armour up always kicking in.

Across the room, Bucky stood still, with his gear slung half-forgotten over his metal arm. His eyes were rimmed with red, dark bruises blooming underneath from a night without sleep, but he had a job to do, so he was awake anyway. 

“Y’know…” He finally said. “You didn’t have to sleep in the other room.”

You fastened the last strap on your thigh holster and glanced at him. “Didn’t feel like pretending we were okay.”

You saw it—the slight flinch in his muscles, the way he looked down like the floor might offer a better answer than anything in his own damn head.

“You think I don’t know we’re not okay?” he said, quieter this time. “You think I didn’t lay awake wishing I could take it back?”

“Then why’d you say it?” you snapped, finally turning to face him. 

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed it immediately. He had no excuses.

“You didn’t ask. You never asked.” You shook your head, biting down the lump in your throat. “You just… threw it in my face like it was supposed to shame me. Like I was a toy being passed around!”

He stepped forward, desperate now. “I wasn’t trying to shame you, I— I was pissed, okay? I was stupid. I saw the way Matt looked at you, and then Nebula, and—Christ—Marc—”

“They were my exes, Bucky!” You raised your voice, “what do you want me to do? Never speak to them again? I would have no help in this line of work!”

“Doesn’t matter!” he snapped, frustration boiling over. “BecauseI feel like I’m just the guy keeping your seat warm.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Killing time?”

“No,” he said, gentler now. “No. I know you love me. I know.” His voice cracked. “But I come from a time where no one talks about this kind of stuff. Where men didn’t have to wonder how many people their girl used to patch up in back alleys and kiss between fights.”

“Well guess what, Bucky,” you said, voice trembling. “I didn’t get the luxury of going to swing bars and holding hands on Coney Island. I got blood and war and figuring out how to survive without falling apart. I didn’t know I was going to make it past 25. And then you came along. You—you, James—you made me realise some things last. And now you're throwing it in my face because what? You didn’t like the guest list to my past?”

He looked like you’d shot him.

But there wasn’t time to let the silence fester again—your comms buzzed with an urgent ping from Sam.

The mission. 

You turned toward the door.

“Let’s just get through today,” you said, voice brittle. “We’ll figure the rest out after.”

You walked out first.

And this time, Bucky followed—not because he knew what to say, but because even after everything, he couldn’t stand not being by your side.

—

The op was supposed to be easy.

But nothing was easy when you were angry.

You and Bucky moved like soldiers, but not like partners—not like you usually did. 

You were out of sync, one heartbeat off, one glance too short. One command left unsaid because your pride wouldn’t let either of you speak first.

That got you ambushed.

Suddenly, you were ducking behind crumbling concrete, the walls of the building already groaning as a blast from beneath shook the foundations.

Gunfire rained down the stairwell.

Bucky shielded you without thinking, metal arm flashing as he tore through two men, fast and efficient—but not fast enough.

A stray bullet lodged  itself in you.

You screamed.

“Goddammit!” you hissed, hand pressing to your shoulder as blood spread fast. “Fucking—shit!”

Bucky was already beside you, crouched low, blue eyes wide and terrified. “You’re hit.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

You leaned against the wall, blood soaking through your suit too fast, pooling in your glove as you applied pressure. Your vision blurred, but you forced yourself to stay upright. 

“We have to move,” you growled, pushing off the wall. “Extraction’s too far, comms are jammed.”

“Then tell me where to take you,” Bucky said, already moving to sling your arm over his shoulder. “You’re losing blood.”

You paused, teeth clenched so hard your jaw hurt. You did know someone in the vicinity. “You’re gonna hate this.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You guided him three blocks through the back alleys of the city, stumbling past broken windows, flickering lights, and blood left behind like breadcrumbs. You turned down a shadowed stairwell, and at the end of the corridor was a steel door. 

You raised your good hand and knocked: four slow, two fast.

A secret code. 

Bucky stiffened beside you. “You have a safehouse down here?”

“Not mine…” you mumbled under your breath. 

The door swung open, and there he was.

Frank Castle.

Bucky had heard about him— The Punisher.

He looked at you. Then at Bucky.

Then at your shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “Let me in.”

Frank stepped aside immediately, grabbing you by the waist like it was second nature. Bucky’s hand was still on you. Neither man let go.

“Nice to see you, too,” Frank said with a worried frown.

Bucky followed, staring at Frank like he was a ghost come to life—except this ghost had callouses, bruises, and knew your name too well.

“You’ve got him on speed dial?” Bucky bit out.

You sank down on the battered couch as Frank pulled out a med kit and started cutting through your gear. “I said you’d hate it.”

Frank smirked without looking up. “Still dramatic, huh?”

“She’s bleeding,” Bucky growled, stepping in. “Maybe shut the fuck up and do something useful.”

“Relax, soldier.” Frank didn’t blink. “I’ve patched her up worse.”

Bucky's jaw twitched. "Worse?"

You groaned. “Please. Not now.”

But it was already too late— you could smell the testosterone and unfinished history. 

Frank’s hands were on you. Bucky’s heart was in his throat. He saw the way Frank looked at you— like he knew what your skin felt like already. 

“You two…” Bucky started, then stopped. His voice was dangerously low. “You fucked, didn’t you?”

Frank looked up. “We didn’t bake cookies.”

Bucky surged forward. “I swear to God—”

“Both of you!” you barked. “Enough!”

Frank didn’t flinch. He just scoffed under his breath and turned back to your shoulder, grabbing a syringe from the med kit and tearing open a pack of gauze with his teeth. 

“Didn’t realize you were dating the Winter Soldier,” Frank muttered, injecting the numbing agent into the skin around your wound. “Last time I saw you, you were with that blonde Widow chick. Got a thing for Russians now, pretty girl?”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a second. Pain, exhaustion, and frustration welled up inside. “Shut the fuck up, Frank.”

“I’m not Russian,” Bucky snapped before he could stop himself.

Frank glanced over his shoulder. “That’s not what I heard.”

Bucky stepped closer, chest heaving. “You want to test what I’ve got in common with the Red Room, Castle?”

“Easy,” Frank shook his head, “just sayin’. She always did have a type.”

That almost did it.

Bucky’s fists curled at his sides. His breath came faster. He saw red— and for a split second, he was ten seconds away from tearing Frank’s smug face off. 

But then… he heard your soft whimper. It was a hiss of pain. Your head tipped  back against the couch, eyes fluttering as the blood loss started to catch up. 

And suddenly, Bucky remembered why he was here. What really mattered.

You.

He was at your side in an instant, kneeling by the couch as Frank packed the wound and started stitching. You were grunting, your fingers twitching for something to hold.

Bucky took your hand.

You gripped him like he was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Frank worked without saying much after that. The tension between him and Bucky didn’t fade—it settled like a landmine they both agreed not to step on. For now.

“Got anything for the pain?” Bucky asked, looking toward the dingy kitchen.

Frank jerked his chin. “Cabinet over the fridge. Bottles labeled in red are painkillers. Other colors are mine.”

Bucky found what he needed. Got the pills into you with a cracked water bottle. He sat by your side while you slowly went limp under the weight of the drugs.

You passed out with your head in his hands. He brushed the hair from your face with a touch so gentle it made Frank’s heart ache.

—

An hour later, Bucky stood at the tiny sink in Frank’s dimly lit bathroom, water running red as he scrubbed blood from his hands. 

The cracked mirror above the sink showed him a version of himself he didn’t like: wild eyes, tired lines on his forehead, and blood smeared up to his wrists.

This was your blood.

He gritted his teeth, pressing his palms harder under the water like he could scrub away his sins, like he could rewind time just by cleaning fast enough.

You got shot because we weren’t focused. He thought to himself. Because I couldn’t shut my mouth. Because I couldn’t let go of the past. Because I just had to pick a fight.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

You had every right to have a past. You told him, over and over, that you chose him.

But it hadn’t been enough in the moment. 

And now…

Now you were unconscious on Frank Castle’s couch with stitches in your shoulder, and he was standing in a stranger’s bathroom washing away the evidence of his own failure.

He slammed the faucet off and leaned heavily on the sink, breathing hard. For a moment, he just stared at himself. The blood was gone, but the shame still clung to him like a second skin.

“Get a grip,” he said to his reflection.

He grabbed a towel and dried his hands.

Behind him, the door creaked open. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was Frank.

“You done crying in there, Barnes?”

Bucky met his own bloodshot eyes in the mirror and took a deep breath. When he stepped back out, Frank was already cracking open two beers— one slid across the counter toward him like a peace offering.

“Don’t drink on missions,” Bucky said, even though alcohol didn’t give him anything to work with. 

“We’re not on a mission anymore.” Frank shrugged.  “You’re in my house. She’s breathing. “Take the fuckin’ beer.”

Bucky hesitated, but still sat down.

He cracked it open and drank in silence.

Frank leaned back, arms crossed, smiling like he’d already written this whole scene in his head.

“So,” Frank said. “How’s that working out for you?”

Bucky shot him a sideways glare. “You mean her?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “No, I meant your bloodstained fashion choices. Yeah, I mean her.”

Bucky drank again. “Fine.”

“That right?” Frank said, not buying it for a second. “Cuz she showed up bleeding out on my doorstep and you looked two seconds from throwing me through a wall.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You didn’t exactly help.”

Frank’s grin widened. “What, calling you soldier? That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Both of them drank.

The air between them stayed hot, but not explosive. 

Frank looked toward the back room, where you were still out cold. The lines of his mouth softened slightly, the smirk dying in the corner of his mouth.

“She still talk in her sleep?”

Bucky glanced at him. “Sometimes.”

“Used to scare the shit out of me. She’d mumble names. Codes. Orders. She’d say something about Wilson or about how Riley’s in danger. Good ol’ air force PTSD,” Frank nodded, “One time she said my name and thrashed so hard I thought she was gonna kill me in her sleep.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

“She doesn’t talk.. about you,” Bucky said finally. His voice was low, eyes locked on the floor. “I didn’t even know you two…”

Frank shook his head. “Didn’t bake cookies,” he echoed.

“Yeah. Got it.”

They let another beat of silence fester.

“You loved her?” Bucky asked, even though he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“I did,” Frank took a sip, but didn’t look at him. “Still do. Not the same way, though.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around the bottle. “What the hell does that mean?”

Frank finally looked at him. No sarcasm now, just tired honesty.

“I don’t know if she told you about my… past. But after all that happened to me, I didn’t think I was capable of it again. I was half dead. Barely human. And then she showed up and saw through all the bullshit. And she stayed.”

Bucky was listening. Processing.

“She taught me how to feel again. Real shit. Not just rage. Not just grief.” Frank rubbed the back of his neck, like the memory itched. “She used to tell me I wasn’t broken, just dented. I believed her.”

“So what happened?”

Frank leaned back, eyes on the cracked ceiling.

“She fed my flame and I fed her violence. I knew if she kept me around, she’d forget what peace felt like. So I ended it.”

That made Bucky’s stomach twist. He hated how much of that felt familiar. 

Frank glanced toward the couch where you were still curled in sleep, bandages soaked but holding. “She deserves better than that.”

“She deserves someone who doesn’t get jealous of her past,” Bucky muttered.

“You and me both,” Frank chuckled under his breath. “I used to hate that I shared an ex with Red,” Frank admitted. Bucky could just assume he was talking about Daredevil. “But it’s a small world. Small circle. Vigilantes fuck around. You think we go home to nice houses and clean sheets?”

Bucky said nothing. Because now, you did. 

“How long you two been together?” Frank asked, casual.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Just watched the light shift across the floor as the old ceiling fan spun overhead. Then, finally, “Three years.”

Frank’s eyebrows lifted. “Three?”

He let out a low whistle and took a sip. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s like… eight decades in vigilante time.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but nodded once.

“Congratulations,” Frank tilted his beer toward him in a mock toast. “Longest relationship I ever seen her in. Not that I was taking notes or anything, but…” He grinned. “I knew all the flings. None of ‘em made it past a year. Most of them burned out around month ten.”

Bucky shifted, fist clenched, but not as harsh as before. “I’ve met a few of them. Or… worked with ‘em.”

Frank chuckled. “Bet that’s fun.”

“Not really.”

Frank scoffed. “Y’know,” he said, “you don’t gotta worry about me. Or any of the rest of us.”

Bucky looked at him sideways. “Yeah?”

Frank nodded toward the living room, where you were sleeping under a threadbare blanket, one leg hanging off the side of the couch.

“She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t love you. Still a bit of a dick when she’s mad, but who isn’t? She chose you. That woman’s got trust issues deeper than the fuckin’ ocean, but she lets you near her when she’s bleeding?” He shook his head. “That’s something, man.”

Bucky’s hand curled loosely around the bottle. “Doesn’t stop the way it feels sometimes. Like I’m… following ghosts.”

Frank leaned against the counter, arms folded, studying him. “You’re not a ghost to her.”

“Feels like I am.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

That hit a little deeper than Bucky expected. He looked away.

“You’re not me,” Frank said finally. “And that’s a good thing.”

Bucky blinked. Looked up.

Frank gestured between them. “You know what I gave her? Rage. Like I said, we fed each other’s worst instincts.” He took a breath. “You give her something I couldn’t: Peace.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter little noise. “Peace? You should see the way we’ve been acting lately?”

Frank shrugged. “Fights happen. Especially with her.” He smirked. “But she came here because she trusted you to carry her when she couldn’t stand. That’s what counts.”

Bucky  took a sip of the beer, but didn’t really taste it. He still felt the heat of the moment in his chest.

Frank tilted his bottle toward him again. “You love her?”

“More than anything.”

“Then hold on to that.” Frank’s voice was sincere. “Cause’ if two broken people can get their shit together and still choose each other every damn day, that’s more than most people get.”

They sat in silence for a while, before eventually, Frank raised his bottle one more time. “To the girl who survived all of us.”

Bucky hesitated—then tapped his bottle gently against Frank’s.

“To the girl who made us feel human again,” he said.

They drank.

In the back of the room, you shifted in your sleep, muttered something under your breath, then went still again.

Frank leaned back. “Think she’s gonna be pissed when she finds out we bonded?”

Bucky found himself a smile— just a little. “Probably.”

—

The pain was dull when you woke up—  more like a memory than a wound, pulsing behind your bones in sync with your heartbeat. Your shoulder throbbed under tight bandages.

You cracked your eyes open, vision swimming in the dim light. The ceiling was warped and water-stained, familiar in the worst way, lit only by the flicker of a busted lamp somewhere in the room. The air smelled like old cigarette smoke, sweat, and gun oil.

You remembered where you were. Frank Castle’s safehouse.

You felt a body pressing against your side. 

Bucky.

He was crouched beside the couch, looking like he’d been glued to your side for hours— maybe longer. His hair was a mess, flattened in places from where he’d run his hands through it on repeat. 

“Hey,” he greeted, rough around the edges but laced with so much affection it you felt it more than you felt the wound. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, “You okay?”

Your lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. You tilted your head just enough to brush your mouth against his in return, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mmhmm.”

Behind you, someone cleared their throat.

You glanced past Bucky, and there was Frank— arms crossed, watching the two of you with a look that wasn’t quite judgment and wasn’t quite amusement either. 

It looked like... approval.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, but shifted closer to you anyways. His hand brushed your hair back with the softest care, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“We gotta go, yeah, doll?” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You winced as you shifted upright, his hand already sliding under your good arm. You leaned into him without hesitation. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, trying to shake the fog from your head. “Just... give me a sec.”

You rested your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, letting the world settle, then pushed yourself upright again. 

“Thanks, Frank,” you managed, voice rough but sincere. “For the whole... keeping me alive thing.”

His mouth curved upward at the corner. “Anytime, pretty girl.”

The words had barely left his mouth before Bucky’s voice cut through the room— “Don’t call her that.”

But.. there was a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Frank’s brow ticked up, amised. “Relax, soldier. It’s a nickname, not a ring.”

“She’s not yours to nickname.”

You let out a low groan, rubbing your hand over your face. “Jesus Christ. I almost died and you two are busy measuring dicks?”

Frank huffed a small laugh. “Still got that attitude, I see.”

Bucky glanced down at you, brushing your knuckles lightly with his thumb. “Good. Means you’re still alive.”

Frank pushed off the doorway, “She’ll outlive both of us at this rate.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, his hand never leaving yours. “That’s the plan.”

You leaned against him, blinking up at the two men, brow furrowing as the realisation finally hit. 

These weren’t snide remarks. This was… banter. 

They weren’t trying to kill each other.

“What the hell…” you mumbled. “You two friends now?”

Bucky looked down at you, shrugging. “Had a long night.”

Frank smirked from across the room, raising an eyebrow. “And a few beers.”

You stared between them, utterly baffled. “The fuck did I miss?”

—

The drive back was a quiet haze of streetlights. You slumped in the passenger seat, curled toward the window, your shoulder still aching beneath layers of gauze. 

When he pulled up to your shared home, Bucky came around to your side before you could even try to open the door. He lifted you again like you weighed nothing and carried you into the apartment without saying a word.

He laid you gently on the couch, brushing the hair from your face as you settled back into the cushions. His fingers lingered on your cheek, “I’ll get your painkillers,” he said.

You let your eyes follow him as he crossed to the kitchen, retrieved a glass of water, and returned with a small pill in his palm.

“Small dose,” he warned, crouching beside you again. “We’re spacing them out.”

You took it, swallowed, then leaned your head back and sighed. You tilted your head toward him.

“So… you and Frank buddies now?”

Bucky snorted softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“But you talked.”

“Yeah,” He confirmed. “We talked.”

You raised a brow, mildly impressed. “And you didn’t smash each other’s face in?”

Bucky chuckled. “Came close.”

You let a beat of silence pass between you. 

Then you finally said, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicked back to you. 

“I should’ve seen how uncomfortable you were,” you admitted. “I… I just didn't think the exes would be a sore spot.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He reached up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I let all that shit build up. That’s not on you.”

“Still… I could’ve talked to you about all of it before I got back into the field.” You swallowed. “I… I just didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I do see you differently,” he said quietly.

Your stomach twisted.

“But not in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Your past… is just that. Frank helped me see that.”

You blinked fast, trying not to cry. “But it keeps finding me.”

“I know,” he said. 

You gave him a sad smile and a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. You’re my now. You’re my future. You're it.”

His breath caught, and he looked at you like you’d just pulled him out of the deepest part of the ocean.

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and soft and sweet. It was the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, because he was still learning what it meant to be loved out loud by someone so unfiltered, by someone with nothing to hide.

You stayed pressed againsthim for a long time, your hand in his hair, his forehead against yours.

Eventually, he pulled back and smiled faintly. 

He stood, walking toward the kitchen. “I’m making you hot chocolate.”

You blinked after him. “Are you serious?”

“You want marshmallows?”

“Obviously.”

He got up, and from the kitchen, you could hear Bucky moving around — the clink of the saucepan on the stove, the rustle of a cocoa tin being opened, the faint hiss of milk heating as he stirred. 

You sank deeper into the couch, letting the ache in your shoulder fade into the background.

Your eyes drifted half-shut, but then you heard it.

A ding from beside you on the couch.

You blinked, turning your head slightly, and there it was — Bucky’s phone lighting up on the cushion, his name glowing on the lock screen along with the preview of a new text.

Frank Castle.

Of course it was Frank.

Curiosity got the better of you, and your eyes skimmed the message: "If you wanna give your pretty girl a break and need someone who doesn’t pull his punches on a mission, give me a call, Barnes. And I’ll be there."

You smiled — part fond, part exasperated — and the warmth in your chest didn’t dim.

Before you could say anything, Bucky’s voice floated over from the kitchen, teasing, “You looking at my phone, doll?”

You glanced toward him, two mugs cradled in his hands as he walked towards you.

“Didn’t know you and Frank exchanged numbers,” You lifted your brows. “He says he’s offering his services.”

Bucky lowered himself onto the couch beside you, placing the mug carefully into your hand.

Bucky let out a quiet snort, shaking his head as he picked up the phone and read it for himself. His thumb hovered over the reply button, but he didn’t type anything right away.

“At least,” he muttered under his breath, “he’s now calling you my pretty girl.”

You leaned your head toward him, letting it rest against his shoulder.

“Damn right I am,” you mumbled fondly.

Damn right you are. 

–end.

General Bucky taglist:

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

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

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

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

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@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

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23